#just saying they'd look hot in uniforms

[ellii0tt]

top gun mishanks au when

[whirlybirbs]

— MOONBEAM ; SANEMI ; 実弥

summary: you & shinazugawa have a score to settle, but you never did agree on the stakes, did you? pairing: sanemi shinazugawa / f!reader ; retired hashira word count: 4.7k tags: rated t+, mutual pining, drinking games, romanticization of everything in sight, sun and moon tropes, reader is a hashira, reader is missing her arm, cool prosthetics are my shit, sanemi can be nice when he wants, sanemi has no idea how to be touched, ranging hashira appearances for comedic impact a/n: i love this eyebrow-less fuck. let him be kissed. and pegged, probably.

"Another round."

Someone is going to die tonight. 

Someone is definitely going to die tonight, and no one even seems remotely concerned aside from Tanjiro Kamado, the designated sake pourer. 

H-He shouldn't even be here! 

Wrong place, wrong time, but Mr. Shinazugawa might kill him if he said no to the barked order of fetching sake for the drinking game. 

I mean — sure, sure. You're both Hashiras. Or, well, you were a Hashira. The Light Hashira. The Light Hashira who was forcefully retired as of last year due to losing your right arm facing down an Upper Moon. 

The entire room is packed with fellow rank-and-file members, and with each downed glass of sake, there's a raucous roar of cheers. 

Sanemi Shinazugawa thought this was going to be an easy win. 

After all, you're little Miss Perfect. Delicate and polite and demure, and always so well-mannered, and oh so soft-spoken. 

You may be retired, but you still serve the Demon Slayer Corp, working to rehab injuries just like your own. Your estate is the secondary stop after the Butterfly Mansion for many members who have lost limbs — your prosthetics are state-of-the-art. The custom, mobility aids have changed the lives of men and women who thought they'd never bounce back.

It's beautiful, really.

Just like you, Sanemi laments.

Your silver kimono is faultlessly pressed; the wisteria blossoms embroidered into your obi glimmer in the lantern light of the dining hall. That wisteria hairpin keeping your hair up and out of your face makes his stomach churn. He wants to yank it out of your hair and throw it across the room. He wants to see you... undone. Any less perfect than usual.

It's driving him insane.

You're on your fifth cup of sake. You hold the bottom, tilt it back, and finish it with a slow, thankful nod directed toward Tanjiro. The ceramic prosthetic of your right arm tinkers gently against the cup. Delicate. Poised. Perfect.

Sanemi's lip snarls.

"Oh come on—"

"Another round, if you would, Mr. Kamado."

You slip Sanemi a leveled look through heavy lashes. 

The Wind Hashira is drunk. There's no denying it. You can see the hot flush creeping up his chest, peeking out from the top of his undone uniform. There are his scars, and then there is a flush. It's cute. 

He's always been cute.

More than cute, recently. Handsome. Insufferable in every single way possible, but handsome. 

Rumor has it he's quite the gentleman, too, if you believe the girls over at the Butterfly Mansion. The youngest three seem partial to him — hailing him with an unbridled sense of respect (and infatuation).

"You've gotta be kidding me," he grits out as he runs a calloused palm down his face; he's sweating. He's hot. It's hot in here. Maybe it's the sake. Whatever. Sanemi lets out an exhausted sigh, "There's no way." 

There's a little crack — a tiny, sliver of a crack in your usual placid composure. Sanemi swears he sees a smirk. It's gone before his hazy vision can memorize it. 

"Shinazugawa," you breathe as Tanjiro worriedly pours another cup of sake for you both; your voice is punctuated with repose that dares to lightly mock, "Are you saying you can't continue?"

There's an edge to your voice — a slight slur. The only indication that you have been keeping up, drink-to-drink with him. 

The room coos a goading little cheer. They egg him on. 

Sanemi's eyes narrow dangerously. His eyelashes are quite pretty, you muse. The whole of him is. Scarred and rugged and always so tough...

"Oh, please. You think I'm going to tap out?" he shirks, slamming back the freshly poured sake with reckless abandon. Best to go fast. If he slows down, it's all going to catch up to him. That's five. You're both tied, "I'm not losing to you." 

Your cup pauses, right about to meet painted lips. There's the smirk again. Then:

"Break it up! Curfew started ten minutes ago!" 

You recognize it as Obanai's voice. 

Sanemi's eyes flick to your face, then to the door beyond the gaggle of swordsmen and Kakushi. You're pouting. The interruption has brought a wave of groans and chattered disappointment. 

Sanemi grits his jaw. You mirror his expression.

He wasn't done. 

You weren't done. 

You both concede with scowls on your face. 

No one died. 

Which is great! 

Except that was before, and this is now. Tanjiro winces sharply at the escalating volume of Mr. Shinazugawa's voice across the courtyard. 

"Rematch!" he's shouting at you as you cross the courtyard; a picture of elegance and grace. You've got a large wooden box in your arms. No doubt the delivery of a new prosthetic. 

You glide across the gravel, head held high. 

Perfect. Even in this fuckin' heat. 

Sanemi's jacket is in the grass — every recruit around him is winded. Seems they've begun another training regime. The summer heat beats down your neck as you rake your eyes across his figure. You watch a bead of sweat run down his temple.

"Name the place, Shinazugawa," you throw his way flippantly; Tanjiro can see you're not afraid of Sanemi and it's confusing, "You'll have your rematch."

"Tonight. Same place. M' not loosin' this time, Lady Hashira." 

He hates your laugh. He hates how fucking pretty it is — how soft and light it is, like a bell, like a breeze against his skin. 

Fuck.

You're so pretty. So kind — so... fuckfuckfuck. 

Tanjiro is definitely going to die. Mr. Shinazugawa has never gone this hard on them before, like, ever. This is bad. This is so bad. A wooden sword strike rattles the bones in his hands, pain echoing up his wrists, as he blocks a whirlwind of frustrated attacks.

He's going to die.

Obanai figures this is exactly how this would go.

It is Sanemi after all. The Wind Hashira is worse than himself. At least he can talk to Mitsuri without acting like it was the world's biggest inconvenience... 

Sanemi is not exactly subtle. The pent-up frustration is—

Oh. 

Oh, you're into it. 

Sanemi misses it, but Obanai is watching the rematch from the far table — he was trying his best to mind his business as he eats. The Serpent Hashira can see the way your eyes linger on the Wind Hashira whenever he might not be looking. 

Sanemi tips his head back, as he downs his cup of sake. Obanai notices your gaze.

There's something heavy about the way you take Shinazugawa in. Something... adoring. 

Well, shit.

Tanjiro Kamado's voice wavers as he throws a leg over the bench and settles to sit beside Obanai. 

"Are you sure... this is allowed?" the auburn-haired swordsman laughs nervously as he clutches the designated sake refill bottle, "I mean curfew is soon—"

"Did I say you could sit here?"

Great.

He's going to die.

And this time it's Obanai's stare that's going to do it.

Giyu is the one to enforce the curfew that night. It ends the same. Five drinks even. Sanemi almost kills the Water Hashira, and you smirk as you gather yourself up and retire for the evening. 

Giyu doesn't get it.

"Why entertain this?" he asks the next morning, juggling the large order of birch wood in his arms; you'd asked for his help, and truth be told he was always partial to you. You were kind and easy to talk to. Giyu's voice is level, "He's a brute."

You have a large box in your arms — your second piece of the week. This time, a knee-jointed leg prosthetic made from boxwood. It's for that young swordsman, Hime. 

"I don't mind him," you offer lightly.

Giyu doesn't get it. 

"He's loud," he challenges.

"He has a nice voice," you muse back, falling in step with the Water Hashira.

"He's rude."

"He cares not what others think of him."

"Is that supposed to be a good thing?" Giyu shirks, his lip curling a bit in distaste.

"I think so," you softly reply, slipping Giyu a sly look, "I find it charming."

"Is that what this is about, then?" he asks suddenly, almost tripping over his own feet. The gravel beneath his feet crunches, "Finding him... charming?" 

"...And what if it is?"

Giyu really doesn't fucking get it. 

The Water Hashira is quiet for a long time after that, but the silence is comfortable. You don't mind it. It's just the sounds of summer along the path and the soft footfalls of their steps. 

Then:

"He likes red bean paste mochi," Giyu mutters, "Tanjiro told me."

The parcel lands on his lap. 

He's trying to meditate. He's trying to think about anything other than you — anything other than your smile, your laugh, the way you wear your hair, or the way you say his name. 

Irritation cracks his placid expression.

His lavender eyes are still shut. 

His lips curl into a snarl. "Do you mind?" 

"A little something," comes your soft voice; you're standing before him, your hands clasped in front of you. Oh so proper, "for our next rematch."

Sanemi's eyes fly open. 

The sun is like a halo around your silhouette. Framed by blue sky, it's like staring at an angel. You're so fucking beautiful, it feels like someone's rammed his very own nichirin right through his heart. 

He swallows roughly.

"...What is this?" he grovels hoarsely. 

Skepticism softens into a fading sense of annoyance. Sanemi's eyes flick downward, eyeing the meticulously wrapped parcel on his lap. The handkerchief around the bento is... yours. It's clearly a scrap from your old Haori. He'd know the pattern anywhere. In the dark, even. In his dreams, always.

"Red bean mochi," you say slowly, tilting your head; your voice is coaxing, "Is that not your favorite...?"

You swear his eyes widen a mile. 

What a pretty sight.

Sanemi's lip twitches. He's hesitant to reach out and even touch the box. "...Who told you?"

You shrug. Your expression is light and playful. "Would it matter?"

"I need to know who I should kill," he grits out.

"If you don't want it—"

Sanemi snatches the box up. You'll have to pry it from his cold, dead hands. Handmade, fresh red bean paste mochis? From you? He'd rather die than give this up. 

You wet your lips, the gesture an attempt to hide your growing grin. You drop your gaze and idly fiddle with a sleeve. 

There's a tense moment of silence. Then, his voice rumbles out like a summer thunderstorm:

"Tonight. Rematch."

"Same time?" you ask brightly, already beginning to walk backward down the path. 

Sanemi watches, his eyes glued to your face. "I'm going to win."

"You can try, Sanemi Shinazugawa."

You might lose.

You — ha! 

You might just lose. 

You decidedly blame Mitsuri and Shinobu. They're laughing — and pouring a lot more than poor Tanjiro did. You aren't even that angry about it, because Sanemi looks so damn proud of himself and it's adorable. 

Your tongue is loose. Your posture is slipping. 

Sanemi's never seen something hotter. 

He's going to suffer for this tomorrow — he knows that. He's on his seventh cup, his smirk mingling by the edge of the sake as you drop your head and giggle at something Mitsuri says. 

Your eyes find his. You look so... beautiful. 

The other Hashira have stolen their sips from the jug. Not that either of you mind. You're both locked in your own little game. The others have drifted out to the engawa, sitting in the warm summer evening air. 

Stolen glances between you both bleed into decidedly light banter. 

"You're slipping," he chirps; his expression betrays his words. He's gone soft, "Keep up."

You lean forward onto the table, chin propped up in your hand. You lazily finish the sake in your cup while raking your eyes across his chest and neck and shoulders and face. All of him. 

Openly.

"Haven't you heard the story of the tortoise and the hare, Shinazugawa?"

"Sanemi," he corrects as gently as a man like Sanemi can, ignoring the way his heart skips a beat when your smile cracks just a little bit wider, a little bit looser.

The ceramic cup tinkers against the wooden table as you place it down.

"Sanemi," you sigh back — testing the sound of it — and he wonders if this is some sort of dream. You let your head lull to the other side as you take another sip, "Right."

He lifts his drink to his lips. He hesitates for a second; you trace the line of his jaw with your eyes. 

"Thank you," he says suddenly — and your expression clouds with momentary confusion. That's how he knows you're drunk. You're usually so sharp, so fast. Your wit is like the crack of a whip. Sanemi clarifies before downing his seventh cup, "For the mochi."

Fucking hell.

That smile.

He's never seen someone so fuckin' beautiful before. Light Hashira be damned. You're an angel. You're the sort of woman men throw themselves on their swords for. He gets it. He'd rage a thousand wars if it meant a kiss. He'd even take a slap. Maybe a punch. Anything. 

Fuck. 

Make him bleed. 

You sway a bit as he places his empty cup down sharply. 

"Were they good?"

"Best I've ever had," he admits; he's being honest. 

You feel like you're in battle again. There's an adrenaline rush beneath your skin. Seeing him so... soft. Maybe the girls had a point. Maybe he is a gentleman when he wants to be. Sanemi is being sweet. Must be the sake. 

You let that lovely realization sit in your chest for a moment longer before dragging your eyes away from the Wind Hashira. 

Shinobu is nowhere to be found. 

Mitsuri has relieved herself from her role as designated inebriatior.

She's on the engawa, enjoying the breeze, fingers inching close to Obanai's. The other Hashira — Giyu and Rengoku and Tengen included — seem more interested in the stars hanging in the warm evening air than the competition beyond the open sliding doors.

He clears his throat. You draw your attention back to him.

He's been watching you.

"Do you concede?"

"No, not yet," you admit. Your chin is perched on your hand again, "I suppose I still have another drink in me." 

You watch as he moves, then. He stands and moves across the room to fetch the jug of sake perched by the door. You follow him with your eyes, tracing the line of his figure. He moves with less grace and with more carelessness. The jug swings from his fingers by the twine handle as he returns to your side.

He settles on his knees to your left. 

Sanemi's grin is devilish. Sharp. Handsome. His ashen hair falls in his eyes as he pours himself his next round. "Now, now, Lady Hashira, only one?"

He's so close, you can feel his breath on your neck. His voice makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Shinazugawa leans, scarred knuckles hesitating to pour your eighth cup. His scarred brow quirks in a quiet challenge. He stills himself and waits for your reply, only to smirk when you lazily wave a porcelain hand his way. Go on. 

"Perhaps two with the way you pour," you bite, eyeing the conservative amount of sake that spills into your ceramic cup, "Trying to spare me a loss?"

"Mind your mouth," he warns, rattling the near-empty jug. He tosses his cup back easily before settling back on his haunches. He snaps the cup down on the table and exhales.

Sanemi feels exposed. Moving closer was a bold move.

It's the way you're looking at him.

He watches as a piece of hair falls from your meticulous up-do — undone by the heat and drink — and he feels his entire chest lurch with need.

You're smiling in that honeyed way as you take a slow sip of this round's cup. Your words are slow like molasses on your tongue. "...We never settled on the stakes of this bet, Shinazugawa."

Sanemi is staring at that piece of hair kissing your cheekbone. His expression is less intense than usual, but there's still a burn there. However, it is not rage nor ire. It's something else — something that you're too blind and sake-adled to name. 

"Your hairpin."

He answers it easily without pause or hesitation.

Your painted lips quirk as your eyes flash to his. He sees a question flash behind your eyes but you allow it to slip by, unasked. You watch him cross his wide arms over his chest as if to shield himself from any ill reaction.

Without a word, Sanemi watches you tug the long, silver hairpin from your hair. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

He's never seen you like this before — never, not even in battle. Your hair tumbles free in mussed strands wanting to bend and bow in the humid summer air. 

Sanemi's mouth runs dry as you slip the metal pin between your fingers and offer it. Your eyes are heavy-lidded and you sway a bit as you hand it over.

"Does this mean I've won?" he croaks. His calloused fingers brush yours as he takes the pin into his hands. It's heavier than he anticipated. The intricate amythest wisteria ornaments tinker in his palm as he turns it over.

You tip the last sip of sake back down your throat. 

Then, you shake your head no. 

"Had you asked," you slip out, dotingly pouring him yet another cup; you mirror the action and fill your own, "I would have simply given it to you."

Sanemi swallows.

You watch him as you eye your ninth cup.

You're drunk. Very drunk. Drunk enough that you fail to see the slack-jawed awe sucker-punched across Sanemi's face.

"What will you ask of me, then?" he dares to utter, realizing that this game ended a long time ago — that this is no longer about winning. Maybe it was never about winning at all, Sanemi realizes rather suddenly, but he doesn't dare linger on the thought you may just enjoy his company. 

No one enjoys his company.

He is a bastard. He is a brute. He is horrible and crude and scathingly stubborn. He is not kind, well-spoken, or patient. He's none of the things he sees in you. He is ever bit your opposite — you are the light that breaks through the clouds, and he is the wind that bites.

The idea of drinking another cup of sake makes his head swim.

"...Truthfully? I had not thought that far."

Your voice is small. Sanemi watches the way your porcelain hand stills against the cup. The confession stirs those white-hot feelings in his chest again. He barks out a rough laugh that sounds more like a wheeze than anything.

Then, he pushes his cup across the table. Your eyes widen, and Sanemi is shocked to realize his pride allows him this.

He concedes.

He has his prize, after all. He tucks your hairpin into his jacket, in a pocket beside his heart, before rapping his knuckles upon the wood of the table. 

The Wind Hashira lacks his usual amount of grace as he stumbles to his feet. 

He bends like a birch in the wind, then pushes that strand of hair from your cheek.

"Think on it, then, Lady Hashira," he rasps, "You win."

Tanjiro isn't the only one who notices that Mr. Shinazugawa has been in a better mood lately. 

Training hasn't been nearly as disastrous. The Wind Hashira has even begun offering pointers rather than beaten-in instruction. The ashen-haired man has some sort of reason for being... gentler. It's almost as if his mind is elsewhere.

Obanai notices, which means Mitsuri pries it out of him, which means Shinobu is told over tea, which means Tengen hears about it from Rengoku who hears it from the three youngest Butterfly Mansion servants and proceeds to tell Tokito one evening in the onsen. 

The steam hangs heavy in the air, and Giyu's head is tipped back against the cool stone. 

Tokito, dipped low and deep to nearly his nose in the baths, listens with interest to Tengen babble on. The Sound Hashira is stumped.

"I mean, c'mon, I love him, but the guy is never in a good mood," Uzui mutters as he flicks at a drifting maple leaf atop the water, "And suddenly it's sunshine and rainbows?"

"Hardly," Tokito murmurs.

Rengoku wrinkles his nose and agrees with the Mist Hashira. "I do not believe sunshine and rainbows are within Shinazugawa's purview."

"I'm being hyperbolic," Tengen stresses.

Giyu sighs loudly.

The heads of those present turn towards him owlishly.

He doesn't even open his eyes as he speaks.

"It's her," he states plainly, "Our Lady Light Hashira."

And it is, isn't it?

It becomes painfully apparent.

Even Kagaya Ubuyashiki, whose eyes may not see as they once did, notices — he can feel the weight of something sweet in the air when he calls the Hashira together for a meeting in the early afternoon.

...It makes him smile.

A bird chirps and the sound of a breeze slips through the leaves in the courtyard. The sun is hot on the curve of your knee, beneath your kimono.

You are in the back of the room, hands folded neatly in your lap. 

Your hair hangs across your shoulders. 

Your eyes have not once left Sanemi's back.

He sits rigid and perfect, his nichirin laid before him. 

And then, as the meeting breaks, he dares turn his cheek. Lavender eyes connect with yours only for a second. Then, the room moves, but you stay there on that floor, watching him move gracefully as he sheathes his sword. His jacket parts and you spy the ornament of wisteria flash beneath his breast pocket. 

Your breath catches.

The others pretend not to see as he steps down from the engawa, turning his attention to you once more as he squints in the sun.

"Have you decided?" he asks.

"No," you reply softly, poised as usual.

Sanemi snorts through his nose like a bull; his words may be grating but his tone betrays it. "Fine then. Be indecisive."

The others pretend not to see his smile, nor the bashful way you duck your head as he retreats towards the grass where the recruits have gathered. 

But, Kagaya Ubuyashiki needs not to pretend.

He smiles.

He finds you in the garden, after dinner.

You've made a habit of walking the quiet paths in the evenings while the Ubuyashiki Mansion is quiet and calm. Here, while the sun slips away and the moon chases her kiss, you can linger among the wisteria and their weeping blooms. 

Your getas still upon the gravel.

"I've decided, I think."

Your voice is softer than the petals that drift through the air.

Sanemi, from behind the largest tree, steps into view.

His arms are crossed. He is without his nichirin. 

He ambles closer, his attention drifting to the sky seeped in reds and pinks and purples. The moon is full, and it spills out gilded light that makes your silver kimono glow. You look as if you belong here — among the beauty and calm and peace.

"Yea?" he rasps in reply, realizing you've turned on your heel to face him fully, "Go on then, Lady Hashira. I'm not a patient man. I've waited long enough."

His words lack any sort of real bite. 

(He would wait a thousand years more if it meant hearing you ask of him anything. He'd do it, too. Over and over, as many times as you ask. Anything. For you.)

You venture closer. His eyes are still turned to the sky and the wisteria petals that swirl like clouds.

You spy your hairpin.

Wordlessly, you reach for it.

His hand snatches your wrist and halts it — at first, the movement is rough. It's as if Sanemi forgets what a touch from another can be, what it's like. You exhale, and his calloused fingers loosen their hold. He sets his jaw, and his thumb ghosts along your wrist in silent apology.

Then, you smile.

And you slip your hand down and into his own. 

And, fucking shit, Sanemi doesn't know what the fuck to do with himself with you take one step closer. There's a small voice in the back of his mind telling him to fucking run, telling him to escape this fate — because he's already in too deep, isn't he? He's drowning, and now you're holding his hand. You're going to be the fucking death of him. 

"Is this," he swallows tightly, "What you decided on?"

Hand holding?

"Am I allowed to ask for more, Shinazugawa?"

"Sanemi," he corrects under his breath, his pupils bouncing from your eyes to your mouth. It isn't an answer. 

You take another step forward, and your smile is slow.

"Sanemi," you nod and rectify yourself as you look up at the Hashira, "Am I?"

He looks terrified — and then your porcelain palm touches his cheek.

"I told you," you swear his voice shakes as he turns his cheek and pulls away, "I am not a patient man—"

"A kiss."

Lavender eyes widen, and Sanemi swears he fuckin' dreamt it. 

There's a beat of apprehension — like you're both staring down the precipice. Like you're both one step from hurdling head-first into the crashing waves below. There's only one moment of it though, and it's long enough for both of your breaths to be stolen by the leap.

He knocks the wind out of you.

You suppose there's something poetic about that, him being the Wind Hashira and all.

At first, the kiss is rough. It's as if Sanemi forgets what a kiss from another can be, what it's like.

It's desperate, you realize, as Sanemi's calloused hands thread themselves to cradle your face. His teeth knock yours and his nose butts your own and you all but gasp as you stagger on your getas. It doesn't matter, because you're in his hold — and he won't let you fall. 

Not now, not ever.

One step backward, and then another. And another.

Your back meets the bark of the wisteria. 

The moon finally kisses the sun.

His chest heaves as his hand lands above your head, bracing himself over you. His other hand doesn't dare leave your cheek. It threatens to creep into your hair, to wind your further, to see you undone. 

When he pulls his eyes open, he realizes he has achieved it. 

Finally. Fucking finally. 

Your kimono has slipped further down your shoulder, your obi loosened by the act of being pinned to the tree. Your hair is mussed, your lips parted and near bruised. 

To Sanemi, you're more perfect than you've ever looked like this.

He kisses you again.

And this time, it's nearly chaste.

You sigh into the kiss, and your fingers shake as they come to settle over the patch of bare, scarred skin on his chest. 

His lips are nimble and the pad of his thumb traces the curve of your cheek. It's a gentleness you never thought possible of Sanemi Shinazugawa. You never expected it. 

He is like the wind, then.

Biting and harsh, or soft and beautiful.

You kiss him for a long time, there, beneath the wisterias in the growing dark — like teenagers, like these were moments you were never afforded. There are hardly any words shared, only breathless little laughs between bitten lips and wandering hands. 

It's when the lanterns are lit that Sanemi finally pulls himself away.

You're smiling — and you're a mess.

Soft and disheveled and twining your fingers with his.

That's when someone's voice cuts across the courtyard, calling for curfew.

[frostgears]

gardening

you did something stupid and now you're here in your itchy twice-a-year dress uniform in this bright busy room in the regimental HQ trying to figure out if you're going to be yelled at, shot, or promoted. the room's full of folding chairs. apparently not enough furniture in here normally to contain all the suits and all the brass.

your "ops coordinator" ("we don't say 'handler', grunt, it gives the civilians weird ideas") got pulled off for a side conversation two minutes after you got here and you haven't seen her since. you're looking anywhere for a familiar face. you're coming up empty. at least the woman next to you looks equally stressed. she must be civvie, some consultant or other; soft face, masses of curly hair. she's wearing a blazer and slacks with big round dataframes.

"hey," you elbow her. "what are you in for?"

"gods above and below." she sighs. "everything. but today mostly Neryx-9."

"the ag research station. you were there?"

"hardly," she says. "just came up on my huge list of problems."

"creepy shit. i was front and center for it…"

she cocks her head to listen. you explain.

Neryx-9 had been a cluster of greenhouses on the surface. supposed to be vacant, powered down — actually they'd said "mothballed", then looked at you like you were stupid when you asked what a moth was and what they did with their balls. but not vacant. far from it. you went in with a miniframe. first thing you found was the bodies of the grid authority techs that had called it in. purple mold already growing over them.

"it was wrong," you tell her. "not like that white stuff you get when an open nutripak sits in the fridge too long. i mean, i don't know if that would have been better. i just, i don't know, i didn't want to get any of that stuff on me. frame or no. maybe there was some already on me, but didn't want to get it on anyone else. so i backed out, sat in the airlock, thought about calling for extraction. thought better. backed to the wall, cycled my flight jets until it was starting to get warm even inside the frame, thought maybe i'd cook it off me. my ha– ops coordinator asked me what the fuck i was doing. snapped me out of it, i told her, i need fire. incendiaries."

they'd found them, somewhere. support rigged another airlock outside of the main airlock after you'd yelled at them to keep that shit inside. a miniframe-scale plasma cutter for outside construction work, and some purpose-built low-velocity liquid pyrophoric agent rockets.

the woman in the blazer made a face. "we just have those sitting around?"

"starship boarding actions. when we don't want to breach the hull but we do want to use all the oxygen. splashes around, gets everywhere, but nowhere near hot enough to melt anything structural. only used 'em in sims, of course, not like we get a lot of star traffic. horrorshow shit. or i thought it was, before this."

the outside airlock door opened and you'd taken up what they'd brought you.

you stepped over the bodies of the grid techs into hell. purple and orange jungle everywhere. insane external humidity and particle count. dome after hallway after dome of the shit, growing over the grow lights, growing up the walls, into the vents. you could feel it through your frame, through your suit. it was hungry. it wanted in.

"ma'am, compared to that feeling, that pressure, the first giant critter trying to eat my frame was a relief."

six thick legs, triangular jaws, scales and plates all over, massive paddle tail. it had reared out of a pond and tried to drag you back in with it. it wasn't as heavy as you, maybe, but it was mad as hell and a fast mover, and fuck, what right had anything like that to exist in an abandoned greenhouse? you knew you didn't want to be in that filthy water. who knew how deep it was? it'd clog your exhaust, choke your radiators. you twisted around as best you could in its grip, armed your wrist weapon, and blasted a thousand flechettes directly into its face.

"and that stopped it?"

"well, wasn't much left to be stopped, but yeah. and that's when i found it that it had friends and they could smell blood in the water."

she wrinkled her nose in a way that was either a dataframe input gesture or genuine surprise.

"why not just depressurize the domes, at this point?"

"thought about it. i had breaching charges. but… like i said, this stuff felt like it shouldn't get out. there's not much out there, yeah, but i just couldn't. and i had the cutter, and the rockets. so i decided to make it too hot on the shore for them to get me so easy."

you'd turned the artificial jungle into curtains of flame. the big creatures dove back into the water, giving you a narrow path to keep going. in the burning canopy, smaller things flared and dropped; you hadn't seen them moving until they died.

your handler had been screaming at you to get clear, get back to the airlock, but the flames made that a losing proposition. so you kept going in. Neryx-9 was roughly linear. there was another lock on the far side.

"past the labs, it turned out. and maybe some of those corpses in there had been growing these things, but it looked like the shit got away from them and was growing on them. there were these ribbons of orange moss, growing everywhere, out of containers, branching into foam and fabric and dead flesh — i tried to pull it off someone, before i realized they were all dead, and their skin came off in sheets, brown-black and full of tiny holes. charred, but not. think it was acid."

"something like a lichen."

"yeah, maybe? i learned about those in school. you can see 'em out the windows in a lot of places. they grow on rock, right?"

"they do," she says. "useful. so what did you do then?"

"i set the cutter to max spread and i torched a path through to the far airlock. and i don't mind saying, when i noticed the cutter battery and gas cylinder were doing okay, i started spreading it around a lot more. i just. i had to burn it."

"happens that was the right move," she said. "good instinct."

"please tell me someone did something about that shit."

"well," she smiled, "there's you. you know, you're refreshingly simple. like a cat that somehow had the sense to eat an invasive lizard. and since you didn't drag the bits all over, i tasked a solarsat to finish the job. can't beat a pass with an X-ray cloudpiercer beam for that kind of cleanup."

she wrinkles her nose again, and the general murmuring of a dozen conversations in the room changes as people look to the main wall display, which now shows a collection of greenhouse domes sagging as if collapsed by an invisible weight. the rock under them begins to glow.

"what's a cat?" you blurt out, before the words "i tasked a solarsat" have a chance to sink in. like, her, personally?

"an animal. a dumb little predator that associates with humans. from Terra, way before the Catastrophe. we're not ready for them just yet, but maybe someday."

a door opens to your side, and you both turn to see your handler, looking about at the end of her rope, and next to her, her boss, the major, who reports directly to the colonel.

"shit, there you are. look. you're gonna have to answer some questions. and it's not guaranteed you're going down for this, not yet, so just be honest, but for fuck's sake be brief, don't try to understand or interpret—"

both of their faces blanch. like, almost completely bloodless. eyes wide.

the curly-haired woman in the blazer smiles widely. "don't worry," she tells them, "she already did. she's been very helpful. in fact, i think i might like to keep her." she puts a hand on your knee.

"i'm not sure i understand, ma'am?"

"pilot," the major says, "is there a reason you've been occupying the time of the Director of Planetary Ecology? the woman who keeps this entire planet breathing oxygen and eating something other than rocks?"

and now your face must be bloodless too. the DPE? even you know that position. but you can't remember ever seeing a photo.

"oh, she was just telling me how she improvised containment protocols to prevent someone's experiment with Araukan imports from getting out of hand. clever girl. or lucky, at least."

you risk a glance to your side. she's still smiling. the woman who can steer any bioscience research on this planet, cut off power and water and air to anything she deems anathema to the coming ecosystem, commandeer keystone orbital infrastructure and burn habitats like you burned trees.

"i don't think we can possibly say no, Director," your handler says, carefully.

"no," the Director agrees. "you can't." □

[r3starttt]

WAX PLAY

PAIRING: Caitlyn Kiramman x reader

The pretty tone of the handcuffs highlight the veins under her skin, matching with the little red dots of wax that had just dripped from the pretty candle no longer adorning the room. The small drops burning the skin of her wrists to provide her a preview of what was ahead. Her eyes closed shut beneath the black bandage, the skin of her face looking brighter along her rosy lips- half open to let her teeth peek enough for you.

It took her about five drops of the hot red for the sensation to burn pleasantly. You stayed patient within each drip of the candle, a smile growing into a smirk at the sound of her pretty quiet whines and hisses. She would curse if her pussy wasn't growing wet already. "Good, just breathe." Your lips pressed on her forehead, the tone of your praise a murmur enough to drive her beyond insane. She needed you.

She keeps herself steady, waiting for the next drop to hit on her skin. Her legs are softly wrapped with more cuffs and the uniform she once wore was somewhere neatly folded. It was a nice contrast, how you kept gentle with her then burned her skin in the prettiest red and hugged her soft skin in the coldest metal, how you had her so exposed and vulnerable.

Your hands leaned to her clavicle, caressing down the soft flesh between her breasts until you got to her lower stomach. The same path was followed by small drops of burning wax. Caitlyn flinched, her thighs pressing together the slightest and her mouth opening a little bit more, enough to appreciate the shining of her tongue. You quickly shushed her, simply admiring how each drop fell on her body, making a growing read paint around her skin. She looked so pretty, the sweetest thing you'll ever get to taste.

"Please..." you could hear her gulping, see her throat moving after that quiet whisper. Her jaw clenched for less then a second, releasing itself just when you turned to fully look at her, only making the candle in your hand accidentally slip to the side, dripping more of its hot down on her body. "Please what?" the oblivious in your voice made her smile, she enjoyed this. "Let me see."

Your other hand came to cup at her breasts, giving them a proper squeeze before adorning them with the wax. "Why?" Her commands were usually listened and followed, not only by you but anyone she knew. It felt good to be questioned for once, mainly since her body was on full display and being eyed by you- if only she could see the drooling look of your eyes. "I'll be good, love. Please."

A quiet hummed vibrated on your throat, moving your eyes to focus again on her pretty tits. Your finger trailed around the sensitive of her nipples, taking advantage of their recent burn to elict more of those beautiful whines she'd let out. "Oh... just like that, let me hear you." You voiced it as if speaking to bother and nothing else, make her mad.

Caitlyn's back arched, adjusting her hips in hope to get any friction between her thighs, anywhere near her drenching pussy. "Want me to touch you, Cait?" the sentence was followed by a quiet laugh near her ear, your hand caressing the fat of her inner thighs, only getting the most delicious whine out of her. "Yeah? say it."

"Please, fuck me." She wasn't obscene, but smart- it had to work.

You laughed at her, rolling your eyes in a way it'll make her mad if she could see. The wax fell on her lower stomach, sometimes a pretty path, maybe drop by drop. You were merely playing with her, trying to see what made her sound the prettiest for you.

The tip of your nails came to trace small circles around the burned skin, abandoning her thighs once again. It didn't took long before she started to groan- plead you to fuck her, again.

So, you guided the candle to her thighs, dripping the warmth over her skin. They'd squeeze- try to. You digged your nails on the outside of her pretty flesh, scratching her skin up and down, watching her squirm, up her ass for you. "Mhm... you're being too good." the tip of your digits barely made it to touch at her clit when her mouth had already opened for you. A delightful scene to admire. "Yeah? feels good?"

Caitlyn nodded, whispering an interrupted "y-yes-" as your fingers slid between her wet folds, scissoring them up and down. "Oh love... you're drenched." You feigned pity, dripping more wax on her inner thighs. "I need you, please... please, please."

You scoffed, admiring the agitated breathing on her stomach and chest. You chose a spot in between to put the candle, shushing her whine. "You'll be fine. Just be good for me."

Your fingers rubbed small circles on her clit, occupying your tongue with her nipples. Close enough to hover at them with your tongue, let some drool cover them too. Yet far to not put yourself in a stupid risk. You could hear the wet of her pussy, sensing her pretty skin take you so good. Just like her. You slid with ease, her gummy walls clenching at you with so much need. The gasp that left her lips was oh so pretty. And it just kept on getting louder and gentler with each thrust of your curling fingers inside her. In and out in a repeated motion to properly listen at how wet you had her.

Your motions repeated steadily, admiring the candle rise with each thrust you made. Her vocal reactions accurate to her body. Your fingers filled her ridiculously good, and the burning of the candle hit her skin deliciously. Her brain became dizzy after attempting to look something beneath the tight black over her eyes. And the desperation of not being able to move- the fear of burning herself. She wouldn't last long.

Whenever you knew she was close, your fingers would leave her empty, cupping her pussy to slap at it gently. "my pretty girl, mhm?"

TAGLIST | KINKTOBER: @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @kiki5gigi @thesevi0lentdelights | CAITLYN TAGLIST: @imdrowningindispair @rkivedpages @mirconreadzztuff22 @crispers @moonlyblue @bruhhtsukjf

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

1.6k / 19 / same continuity as TF141's free use medic

...

Soap steps inside the makeshift saferoom with you and slams the door behind him. He looks down at you, his eyes hot and aggressive from combat moments before. You'd heard him loose all kinds of insults and frankly brutal threats on the enemy soldiers after they'd almost managed to get ahold of you. Even now, with both of you relatively safe and the room clear, you know the adrenaline will take time to run its course in his system.

He sees the look you're giving him. "What?" he snaps. "Got a problem? Want me a little less loose with my tongue? Maybe you ought to be, considering all the things I could say right now."

You set your jaw, patience short. "Yeah? Say it."

"Well," he says, "let's say I think it's bloody embarrassing that you've been acting like a moody little twat ever since we left the bird."

You cross your arms. "Yeah? So what?"

"So I think you should stop acting like a goddamn child before you make me put you over my knee."

nsfw ⬇

"You're the one who wanted to come this way. I told you not to."

"And I said that I was coming anyway," he snaps, leaning closer to you so that your faces are only a few inches apart. "I'm startin' to think that might've been a mistake."

You stand your ground against him, hot, self-righteous anger simmering under your skin. "What was your first fucking clue?"

"I think the real question," Johnny says, his temper rising as well, "is why I still waste my time on the likes of you."

"Because all you care about is getting your dick wet," you snap. "And you're too lazy to buy a fucking fleshlight."

His head snaps back a little at your reply. His expression darkens. "And all you care about is making people miserable just because you're so goddamn miserable yourself, huh?"

"Yeah. That must be it." You can't deny the spark this is lighting in your gut, either. It's like you need the catharsis.

His eyes travel slowly over your body before he leans back a little, looking you up and down. His expression is still murky, but there's something like interest there. "So you're just gonna stand there and talk like that? Is that what you want to do?"

"Depends," you snap. "Are you just gonna let me keep baiting you, or are you gonna shut me up?"

His expression seems to grow more intense for a few seconds, and then, without warning, his hand tangles in your hair and his mouth presses against yours. He kisses you roughly, aggressively, groping you roughly under your uniform.

You growl into his mouth, feeling his hands on you. It's rough, but you want it rougher. "Is that all?" you hiss. "Do you even want to fuck?"

"That all you want me for?" he barks. He grabs your wrists and pulls you in close. His eyes flick up and down your body, taking in every curve, before he leans down again and whispers roughly in your ear. "And let's not get it twisted here," he adds, his voice low. "Much as I like it when you act like a little tease, I came here to fuck you. So shut up and let me do it how I want."

Before you can retort, he grabs your waist hard and pushes you against the wall. He slides one hand into your uniform, grinding the heel of his palm against your core. You groan through gritted teeth.

He chuckles. "That's more like it."

With his free hand, he grabs your chin and pulls your head back so he can meet your eyes again. "Tell the truth," he says, breathing hard. "Are you being a brat on purpose so I'll be rougher with ya?"

You feel yourself get wet immediately at that and press your thighs together. "Maybe."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "You really are a fucking troublemaker, aren't you?" He suddenly releases your chin and jerks the neckline of your uniform down, exposing your breasts and nearly tearing the fabric as he kneels down between your legs. Your breath hitches as he starts suckling on your nipple, eliciting a whimper from you.

"Soap, we... we don't have much time."

He hums around your nipple, pulling it gently. "Don't you dare go changin' your tune now, hen," he warns, his voice like gravel. "Not when you were just beggin’ for it so hard." He undoes your pants and slides his hand back in, reaching for your panties and ripping them aside. He slides two fingers inside you, and you gasp. "Not when you're already so fucking wet."

He works you over until you're arching into him, your knee tucked under his arm and the soft flesh of your tits pressed into his teeth.

He smiles wickedly. "Oh, I thought ye were a brat, but now..." He licks along the tendons in your neck, moving up to your mouth. "Now I think you're openin' right up for me." He kisses you deeply, his tongue pushing past your lips. His fingers move faster, his need driving him faster and rougher.

The comm on your neck crackles to life. You bite down on a moan just in time to hear Graves' voice in your ear. The static jolts you back to awareness. You're standing in a dark room, mid-mission, coming apart in Soap's hands.

"This is Shadow 0-1," Graves says. "Encountering trouble reaching rendezvous point." There's a beat of silence as you bite your lip, not trusting yourself to speak. "... Do you copy?"

Soap's fingers slow but don't still inside you. "Copy that, Shadow 0-1. Anyone hurt?"

"Negative," Graves replies. "Just finding an alternative route. Assuming you two are making your way just fine. How's our little medic?"

You see deep irritation flash through Soap's eyes when Graves says that. You're not sure why Graves gets such satisfaction out of flirting with you in front of your team. You just know Soap's nerves are raw and his patience is razor-thin at this point in the mission.

"I'm fine," you say quickly. "We're close to the rendezvous point. How long will you be?"

"Not long at all, sweetheart," Graves replies. You hate that your cheeks heat up immediately.

"We'll be there in ten minutes,” Soap interject, sharp and strained. He glares at you. "And we'll be keepin' our voices low."

Your heart hammers in your chest as you hear Graves chuckle lightly over the comm. “Understood. She's in good hands, right, Soap?”

Soap switches his comm off, muttering something about that bloody fuckin' idiot under his breath. Then he shifts his focus back to you.

"Soap--"

"Felt you clench up just then. Don't act like you didn't."

You ignore that, pushing on his shoulders even though he doesn't budge. "We should keep going. We need to stay focused."

His grip only tightens around you. "Focus, my arse."

He shoves his fingers into you roughly again. You cry out in surprise, your head hitting the wall behind you as your body spasms. He redoubles his speed. Your hands hit the wall, almost climbing it in your haste to regain some semblance of control. Your thighs clench and twitch with the sudden, intense pleasure his rough fingertips send through your every nerve ending.

Soap's voice is hot on your chest. "Still likin' this, hm?" His fingers drag your inner walls tortuously. "Still want to cum?"

Yeah, and you hate how close he has you to cumming already. You've been too fucking pent up. Dealing with Soap's bullshit, even when he's not inside you, just makes it worse.

He starts to slow down and you buck your hips into him impatiently. You reach for his belt, but he pushes your hand away. You curse and slide your hand to your clit instead. "Let me cum on your cock already," you grit out. You're not sure what's making you more desperate to finish--your body's urges or the urgency in the front of your mind to get to the rendezvous point.

"I wouldn't want to do that," Soap murmurs against your shoulder, his breath warm and ragged. "Not until I'm good and ready." A smirk seeps into his voice as he rubs deeper, grinding against your clit as you're trying to work it yourself. The pleasure jolts through you like lightning, and you bite back another cry. "You don't call the shots here, hen. I do." 

"You're not my--" Your protests are cut off by a gasp as he thrusts hard again, driving you closer to the edge. 

"Might have a whole team to patch up once we get there," he murmurs, nipping at your earlobe. "They'll need their medic back in tip-top shape, won't they?" 

He pulls out abruptly, leaving you panting and cursing.

"Soap-- fuck--"

As you struggle to catch your breath, Soap fixes your clothes. There's a dark look in his eyes and a smirk on his face. You know instantly he was waiting until he felt you on the very edge of your orgasm--could feel your walls tightening up on his finger--before pulling out. He wanted to get you that close to the edge and leave you frustrated.

He refastens the last buttons on your shirt and leans in close to your ear again. "Next time, don't engage with that asshole." He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "But don't worry... I'll take care of you later. Let's move out. Wouldn't want to keep your man Graves waiting."

...

more Soap / more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

London calling

Summary; Price is invited to a military event, you're his plus one. A night of socialising and teasing leads to a hot night back at the hotel.

Pairing: Cpt. John Price x reader (sunshine!universe)

Rating: Explicit

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Onehsot 

Word; 12.5k

Warnings; alcohol consumption (drink in moderation), SMUT (18+ mdni), oral (m-receving), dirty talk, p-in-v, d/s themes, unprotected sex, captain!kink

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing​

A/N: Where's the nearest wall I can bang my head against? I need this man so bad and that's why you get 12k upon my return💀😭

SUNSHINE UNIVERSE MASTERLIST

If not for the Christmas lights dangling almost in line with your window, the quickly diminishing daylight soon would've shone with its absence within the room. Dusk was approaching, if not already present, but not with its rosy summer glory, but a gloomy and yellowy-grey sky of early winter. 

Things were still a scale of grey and dark rather than white. Even though some stray white flakes had fallen when you arrived yesterday, they'd melted even before hitting the pavement. And, if it had been cold enough, pedestrians still would've trambled it into mush, and cars would've melted it with their heat.

You put on the small pendant earrings you'd brought as you glanced out the window and down at the people mulling about on the streets. 

Most had shopping bags in their hands, everyone seemingly in a hurry. You didn't need to see their faces whip left and right to find the next store they could steer towards. The ant-like stir of people was enough to know Christmas shopping was in full swing.

A heavy breath escaped you, your eyes flittering back to the mirror. 

You ran your hands down the fabric wrapped around your body. The material felt cool beneath your sweaty palms as you tried to brush out any wrinkles from the dress. Impossible, seeing how you'd gotten it from the tailor this morning and barely touched it inside its casing.

You took another deep breath, one hand raising until your palm rested over the centre of your chest, fingers draped over your bared clavicles. There's a prickling sensation beneath your hand, resembling the crowd's irregular movement outside. If you concentrated enough, you could almost feel how it vibrated, causing your heart to do an uncomfortable double beat that quickly pushed the air from your lungs before you instinctively inhaled.

"Not goin' to faint on me, are you, love?" Your eyes flicker sideways, landing on John as he emerges from the hotel room's bathroom.

"Might just now", you say breathlessly for an entirely different reason than the edginess causing the prickly sensation in your body. 

The man now making his way towards you is the same one you travelled to London with. And yet, there's no jacket ladened with a furry lapel warming him from the chilly temperatures, no beanie atop his head to shield him from the consistent gusts of wind. Now, he's dressed smart. 

Whatever event he's invited to is military in nature. So, while John mentioned that it was a black-tie event for civilians, it was ceremonial for him, meaning you would see him in his formal military uniform. But nothing had prepared you for how regal he now looked in his dark blue suit, polished black leather crossbelt with shoes to match, and the row of medals proudly displayed on his chest. The only missing thing was the matching hat pressed close to his body beneath his arm.

"Flatterin' an old man?" Your gaze locks with his again from having roved over his body, noticing the creases in the corner of his eyes as he stops beside you.

"You deserve every ounce of flattery when looking like that". You turn to John just as he settles one of his hands on the small of your back. In return, you raise your fingers, barely brushing them against the underside of his chin as you lean up and kiss him.

"Mhm, don't look too shabby yourself", he mumbles against you as you pull away from the brief exchange.

"Thank you". You turn towards the mirror again, eyeing yourself. "I didn't know if it was too much". 

"Could never be". 

You'd meant it to be a quick look, but your attention stayed on your reflection, eyes flittering over your form. 

There were a few beats of silence until John stepped up behind you, the hand previously on your back sliding to accommodate the new position. You follow his larger frame in the mirror, simultaneously feeling and seeing how his hands settle on your hip.

"Nervous?" Those blue eyes meet yours in the reflective surface, knowing. You release yet another sigh, head ducking momentarily as you lean into the sturdy bulk of John at your back.

"Yeah", you breathe, the admittance not the first of its kind. 

When the news had been brought up that John needed to attend some military event in London, you hadn't blinked twice. However, when he mentioned the invitation inquired about a plus one upon acceptance, and he'd asked you, you'd looked at him wide-eyed.

"There's no need to worry, love". John dips his head, kissing the juncture of your neck. "You know nothing is expected from you".

Your shoulders slump, hands seeking his as he wraps his arm around your waist. The weight was a pleasant pressure around your mid-drift while his skin was warm beneath your hand.

"I know, but-". You bite your lip, shrugging timidly, eyes meeting John's in the mirror. "It's a military event".

"Nervous 'bout meetin' some colleagues of mine?"

"Not just any type of colleagues", you mumble, making John let out a gentle chuckle.

"You get along great with the lads".

"That's when we're at the pub, not a formal occasion with a lot more of the same kind of people around". You huff in protest. Though Ghost wouldn't attend the event, Johnny and Kyle thankfully would. So, while John won't be the only familiar face in the crowd, that's still only three out of everyone invited.

"I just don't feel like I fit the picture". You shrug once, gaze dropping to watch you play with John's fingers. Your fingertips trail over his knuckles, then up and down his digits. Only when John interwines your hands does your motion stop and attention return to him.

"You'll fit because you'll be there with me". John's gaze was intense as he spoke, voice a steady, deep reassurance. "The lads nor I fancy these occasions, but we need to attend nonetheless. Your presence will undoubtedly make it more pleasant for me, at least".

You smile, craning your neck so you no longer watch him through the mirror but look up at him. John dips his chin in return.

"You're good at motivational speeches".

There's a chuckle before he nudges his nose against yours, moving closer. "Gotten good at 'em through the years". Your chuckle is sealed into your mouth as he slots his lips with yours. 

Your muscles relax as you lean into him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours and soothe you just like a warm blanket. Even when you part, you linger within each other's presence.

John was the first to pull away entirely, his eyes falling from yours as he did. You watch him take a step back, keeping one hand on your hip as he lets his gaze rove over your body. 

"God, you're gorgeous", he mutters, taking a full once over before those blues lock with yours again. 

You bite your lip, a smile breaking through nonetheless. "Would hope so. You helped me pick, after all".

"Anythin' to make my missus feel pretty". Your smile widens even more.

John had known you were nervous about the event, reluctant to even agree to be his plus one at first. So, he'd done everything to make you comfortable. 

When you'd had half a breakdown while digging through your closet, only to find nothing appropriate to wear, John sat with you as you looked at dresses online. After seeing nothing that felt right there either, he'd booked a weekend trip to London to visit the tailor he usually entrusted when his formal attire needed a sow-up. 

It had been your first trip together, strolling through the city, having dinners, playing tourist despite not really sightseeing. Though one of the days, between walking and dining, you'd visited the tailor's atelier. 

For once, John only sat down on one of the plush armrests; no need to be attended to. Instead, it was your time in the spotlight, the storage manager ushering you to the racks of dresses, instructing you to pick whatever caught your eye to try on. 

None of the dresses were especially embellished. Still, they weren't simple but elegant. 

You'd switched between examining the dresses, showing John to get his opinion when you found any you liked, to testing them. Although he didn't complain once about you taking your time, chatting to the owner with an old familiarity, even you were tired when you found a dress that was just right. 

However, the sluggishness only brought on by trying on clothes disappeared the second the owner had taken your measurements and you stood by the pay desk. A deposit was needed for the dress, and the rest would be paid on the day you picked it up. But the pre-payment had been enough to nearly make you baulk and glance at John to see if he was okay with spending so much. However, the man at your side hadn't even blinked at the number.

After you'd bid the tailor goodbye and exited the store, you did ask about it. Though not unfamiliar with John's gentlemanly fashion of paying for things, how confidently he answered left you at a loss for an answer, only able to shake your head with a smile when he offered his arm to you. 'I want to, love. It's the least I could do when draggin' you to this spectacle. Now lead me wherever you can find some jewellery matchin' the dress".

"Would you help your girl feel even prettier?" You hold up the necklace bought to fit the dress. God, he'd spoiled you rotten for this event.

"My pleasure". John threw his hat on the bed, overtaking the jewellery from you. With a slight move of his head, he signalled you to turn around. 

Despite facing the mirror again, your eyes were cast down as you tipped your head slightly forward. The glittering metal links suddenly pass your vision as he raises it over your head, the necklace falling over your collarbones as he lowers it. Feeling his fingers brush against your skin, not long after, a barely audible click indicates the piece of jewellery is secured around your neck.

When you raise your head, your eyes immediately fall to the necklace, your fingers trailing over it. A smile slowly shifts your lips upwards as you follow the pretty drop down your sternum. The gentle bow of your lips remains as you turn, craning your neck as you pout your lips, insisting that John meets you in a kiss. And he's never one to turn you down. 

"Thank you", you offer after the sweet peck of gratitude, to which he hums in return. 

You feel how his blue gaze follows you when moving towards the desk that became your makeup table for the night. Even more so when you reach for the lipstick you'd saved to apply until now. 

Crouching slightly so your face aligns with the much smaller mirror on the wooden desktop, you carefully outline your lips before colouring the rest until an even shade coats them.

"What do you think?" You say, straightening up again. As you press your lips together, you put on the lid and place the lipstick in your purse, all in the motion of turning to face the man almost transfixed with you. "Thought the red matched those". You motion with your finger to the ribbons, half-red and half-other colours, attached to his medals.

"It does". You parry the hand reaching for you with a shift to the side, knowing that tone of voice from John would only mess up your makeup. 

He arches a brow at your move, but you only arch both of yours in return as you put your clutch beneath your arm.

"We'll be late", you claim. Even so, you can't deny you enjoy John's attention and the look in his eyes. He makes you feel pretty, desired. It completely overhauls your stomach's previous knots.

Deciding to tease him just the slightest, you pop your index finger much more dramatically than needed into your mouth, pursing your lips around the digit before pulling it out slowly, all whilst keeping eye contact with the man watching you. You smile at John after your finger leaves your mouth, now not afraid of red smearing your teeth thanks to the ring of colour around the middle of your finger.

"Goodness, women", he groans, hand trailing over his lower face. You can only giggle as you pluck a tissue from the box on the desk, rubbing off the lipstick as you slip around John. "Could think you want to be late". 

You throw the paper into the bin beside the dresser as you pass it to the short hall leading to the door, flashing a much more satisfied smile over his reaction than previously graced your lips. 

"Good things come to those who are patient. You just have to wait until after the event for me to paint something else a pretty red".

You catch another deep, grumbly sound coming from him, your previous display more than enough to conjure precisely the picture you insinuated.

As you turn forward, you chuckle again, plucking your heels from the shoe stand built into the dresser. What you hadn't anticipated was for your shoes to be plucked from your grip seconds later and to find John standing close behind you with his retrieved hat under his arm.

You send him a questioning look that he ignores as he kneels. Unable to do anything else, you shift to rest your back against the dresser and follow along when he taps his kneecap. 

You raise your foot so the front pad rests against John's knee before he gingerly grabs the back of your ankle, and the pump is slipped on. He gives you time to find the balance on your now-heeled foot as he drops it before repeating the process. However, before letting you go this time, he raises your foot just slightly as he dips his head, kissing the lowest part of your shin, all the while looking up at you. 

"Gonna hold you to your words, love", he declares, dropping your foot to the ground.

You swallow, going from looking down to up as he rises from the floor. "Don't mind if you do".

"Good", he kisses your cheek, heeding your desire for him not to accidentally, or very consciously, destroy your makeup. "Let us be on the way", he says, grabbing your coats from the racks. 

***

The venue was beautiful: an old building with pillared walls, a second floor acting as a running balcony overlooking the ground floor and high vaulted glass roofs that stare into the dark sky above. You'd only looked down from the stunning decoration and lighting when you ascended the stairs to the main floor, lifting your dress to not catch on the fabric.

You don't know how long ago that had been, but since then, you and John haven't been given much time alone. 

Each and every minute, the man who either offered his arm for you to hold or kept a hand on the small of your back introduced you to someone he knew in one way or another. Although politely greeting them with either a nod or a handshake, there were too many names and too fleeting conversations for you to remember any of them.

Only now did you get the chance to breathe. But rather than feel at ease for the momentary respite, you'd hastily moved from the midst of the crowd to the edge of the room where the table of aperitifs and drinks was, a plate filled with bite-sized food in your hands.

You would've shared them with John if he hadn't been whisked away a few moments prior. Albeit he'd been reluctant to leave your side, even when it was some affiliate from the U.S. who asked for a few minutes of his time, you'd reassured him it was fine. 

You'd told yourself you could survive at least a few minutes without John and that the buffet could keep you company enough. And though you weren't as uncomfortable as you previously thought you would be, the thought of socialising with someone you'd either met already or not at all felt... awkward.

You wouldn't call it shyness. Far from it, you were curious about some of those you'd met who sported black smokings, cocktail dresses or gowns. But, out of those civilians you'd met so far, most of them were not like you. 

Your sole connection to this event, to the military, was John. The other considered civilians had seemingly much closer ties, most acting as private corporate sponsors for military-tied causes through funds or services. While finding it interesting, you didn't know how much of the stuff was confidential, and you would much rather not make a scene just for some small talk. Neither did many have a plus one you could initiate a conversation with. So, the buffet became your company.

Your gaze travels over the mass of people as you plop the last canapé into your mouth. And as if the universe decided to be kind, you spot a familiar face lingering at the other edge of the room. 

With all the new people John had introduced you to and recently also had to part from you to speak with, exhaustion was starting to creep up on you, along with the feeling of being lost in a crowd of still most unfamiliar people. Hence, you quickly discard your plate to instead grab two flutes of champagne before moving straight across the floor.

With people moving almost sluggishly, if at all, around the room, it was no wonder a pair of brown eyes combined with a friendly smile welcoming you met your long before you joined the very man whose attention you'd gotten.

"Kyle". The man nods in response to his name as you get close enough to greet him. The silent hello looks incredibly more formal while dressed similarly to John. "How are you?" You slow until stopping before him.

"Good as can be", his voice was light, making your brows raise upon the humour in his tone. He was the first of John's closest circle you'd seen tonight; Johnny had yet to arrive. Even so, by the looks of it, the Brit looked like he rather wouldn't be here at all.

Kyle carried himself straight-backed, faint smile in the corner of his mouth, one hand behind his back while the other rested along his side. And yet, despite the at-eased posture and expression upon his features, something told you it was entirely for show.

You chuckle, handing him the flute you'd brought. "Yeah, not really my setting either", you admit in a low voice. 

Kyle cocks his head, smile widening as he shifts on his feet, accepting the drink you'd stretched forth. "What suggest I don't fancy this?".

"Don't know, but something about the all too delighted expression gave me a hint", you reply, sarcasm lacing your tone, on par with the amount that previously laden his sentence. That's the first time you see Kyle's shoulders drop somewhat as he chuckles, his posture less flawless as he looks more relaxed than previously.

You smile at his reaction, stepping forward to stand beside rather than in front of him. His brown gaze followed you as you did.

"Why ain't this your kind of setting then?". Your eyes fall on Kyle just as he shifts to look over the crowd.

"Too many of the older generation has gotten stuck and too comfortable behind their desks to remember what it's like out on the field. The rest are mostly snobs who think money and chest candy is our motivation". You bite your lip to stop the laughter rising from your throat at his quick remark. "Why isn't this your setting then? You fit in with the dress".

"Calling me a snob?" You raise a playful brow, a smile tugging the corner of your mouth.

"That you're here, talking to me, says enough", Kyle retorts, eyes falling on you. 

You chuckle, but it turns into a sigh when your gaze breaks from his, fleeting over the crowd. "It just makes me nervous, I guess".

"Why?"

"Well, for the same reason as when I first met you guys". You glance at him. "Just feels like I don't fit in with all of you military people, especially now, at this event".

"Didn't do too bad of an impression on us back then. Especially not Price". You duck your head, a bashful smile bowing your lips that's still present when you look at the man at your side again.

"Perhaps not, but as you said, many here are high-ranking military personnel or snobs that are more difficult to get along with than you lot".

"Cheers to that", he chuckles, raising his glass of champagne. You mimicked his movement and raised your flute in a small tip, you both taking a sip from your drinks as they fell from their elevated position.

Your eyes glide over the crowd, and as if it's second nature, you search for John again. While having tried to spot him previously, you hadn't been successful. Although this time around, you find him.

"He's good at that". You observe John as he talks to the same man who'd whisked him away previously, though now they're also joined by a woman.

Your comment pulls Kyle's attention in the same direction as yours.

He releases a huff not soon after, the reaction making your brows arch and your head turn towards him. His brown eyes flicker down to lock with yours, a humorous glint in them. 

"The old man is good at handling the higher-ups and other connections. That's why he does most of the talk for us". His eyes flicker sideways, probably towards the group you talked about, before they return to you. "Doesn't mean he despises it any less than the rest of us in most cases".

You turn to look at John, eyes narrowing as you closely watch him interact with the man and women. While he seems formal when talking to the man and more cordial with the women, he still doesn't seem relaxed. His posture is stiff, one arm bent behind his back as if wanting to pose fittingly to the occasion, his other hand clutching a champagne flute. Untouched.

Pissy excuse of fizzy water, he'd said once you asked if he wanted to share an old bottle you found in your apartment from god knows when, but acceptable enough that it wouldn't taste like the piss John labelled it as.  

"That's why he brought you". Kyle's voice pulls you out of your thoughts. "He's going to use you as a scapegoat the moment it's deemed enough for him to be here". You bit your lip to quiet your snicker, shaking your head.

"He isn't", you argue, only partly believing it yourself.

"Oh, he will". Your head turned towards the new but familiar voice, finding Johnny, dressed similarly to both John and Kyle, approaching from the crowd. "Don't put it past him". 

You immediately split into a grin. "Johnny, how are you?" You step forward, engulfing the man in a hug, getting anchored to the Scot's side as his arm remains over your shoulders.

"Think Gaz gave ya a brief 'nough for us", the Scotsman formally greets the young Brit with a raise of his brows and an upward nod of his head as he directs his attention towards him. Kyle only reciprocated the motion, not answering his question. "Ya gonna drink that, lass?" 

You shake your head fondly, Johnny taking the flute of champagne from your hand as you give it to him. 

"Drunkard", you mumble, rolling your eyes as he gulps down your drink, only to provide you with a cheeky wink when he's emptied the glass.

"Where's Price?" You're about to answer that he's socialising. But you don't get the opportunity before a voice cuts in.

"Savin' my missus from a drunk Scotsman, it seems". Your head snaps towards John's voice, a smile unfolding as you see him nearing your group while collective chuckles emerge from the men around you. "Easy on the drinks tonight, Sergeant". John's eyes switch from yours as he directs his attention to Johnny, the quirk of his lips now reaching his eyes.

"All stereotypes ain't true, Captain. Besides-". The Scot lets go of you, his arm falling as he steps to the side, giving John room to step into the semi-circle. As if you never left his side, his arm naturally falls around your waist, anchoring you to his broad frame again. "-can't get drunk on this, know it yaself", Johnny chuckles.

John hums in agreement, swirling the golden liquid in his flute with the hand hanging by his side. You tap his flank, and he looks down at you. As you motion for the glass with a nod, he gives it to you without any protest, probably delighted to get rid of the drink.

You happily sip it, your throat not feeling as tight anymore when John's with you and you're surrounded by familiar faces.

"How's the evening been then, Captain?" John shifts to look at Kyle.

"Not too shabby, lot of talkin' as always", he says. "Where the two of you been then?" His eyes shift from his fellow Brit to Johnny, who's standing with the hand not clutching the empty glass in his pocket.

"You know how London traffic is". Kyle offers with a one-shouldered shrug. "I'm not complaining about it this time around though".

"Only means you need to stay longer", John huffs, arm tightening around you. You can't help but shoot the younger Brit a look, an amused smile barely hidden beneath the rim of your glass. He cocks his head slightly, an unspoken 'what did I say' lingering between the two of you. "You two conspirin'?" Your eyes flitter back to John as he bumps his hip into yours.

"No", Kyle says as your eyes lock with the man at your side. John's eyes shine, a brow quirked in intrigue. It schooled the expression of rigidity he had previously, showing how at ease he became around his men despite the setting.

"What he said". You smile sweetly at John, fluttering your lashes, causing a ruckus of laughter around you. 

"Be careful, Captain. That one is a sly thing". Johnny claps him on the shoulder.

"I know".

"Don't paint me in a bad light", you joke, nudging John's side with your elbow. The man in question chuckles when watching the pout you send him.

"The lot rub off on me", he indirectly chides Johnny and Kyle, both of whom make faux hurtful sounds upon the comment. "I better steal you away from them and introduce you to better company".

"Who could possibly be better company than us? The silent grump ain't here anyway". The Scotsman questions, glancing around the space with a humoured look until it returns.

"Laswell is better than the two of you together", John returns with a chuckle, his arm tightening around your waist to signal that you soon would be moving to meet whoever this Laswell was.

Upon what's apparently a familiar name, Johnny's brows jump upwards. "She made it here? Didn't think she would". 

John only answers with an affirming hum. "Behave now", he offers in goodbye while you give them a wave before he tugs you with him.

As John directs the two of you through the crowd, you soon realise where he's taking you. The woman he's leading you towards is the same one he'd been talking to previously.

You give him a curious glance when you note she isn't dressed in any military uniform, only a long-sleeved jumpsuit. Even so, when you turn to face her again, the woman has noticed your nearing presence and turned toward you, eyes regarding you in a manner too in-depth to be a civilian.

Her eyes flicker sideways as you stop before her, most probably to the man at your side. It's brief but enough for her face to soften and a hint of a smile to quirk her mouth.

"Kate Lawsell", her American accent is apparent as her eyes fall to meet yours again upon the greeting. You're not late to shake the hand she stretched forth, introducing yourself in return. "So you're John's sweetheart?"

You shrug with a smile as you feel John's thumb start brushing circular patterns through the silky material of your dress. "Guess I am". She hums, the corner of her lip twitching a bit further upwards.

"Almost thought he made you up with the lack of evidence about his special someone".

You chuckle while practically feeling how John rolls his eyes. "S'no need to carry a photo with me everywhere".

"Expected it from a traditional one like you", she shrugs one of her shoulders. Their exchange makes you smile, head cocking slightly.

"So, where do you know each other from?" 

"I work for C.I.A., deal a fair share with the 141 and that British Captain of yours". Your eyes widen, lips parting in a silent oh as your eyes shift to John, then back to Kate.

"That ain't half-bad". Your comment brings out a chuckle from the dark blonde woman.

"Say that when trying to keep any kind of leash on him". Kate nods towards John, a conspiring look in her eyes, one he gruffs at.

"That so?" You face the man at your side with an amused expression, catching the look he sends the woman opposite him. "Am I hearing that you're a nuisance at work?"

John's eyes flicker to you, his features softening as his head dips in a shake and small huff of laughter. "You women always like to team up".

Despite his comment, you talked with Kate for a few more minutes, getting to know more about her, until separate parties dragged her and John off. This time around, however, you got tugged along to the new conversation, with no choice but to remain glued to the brunette's side as he didn't let up on his hold.

Although relieved to stay with him again, your feet start to feel sore, and your body tired. Consequently, you slowly let John take more room in the conversation as you fell silent, still with a smile present to appear interested in the conversation. 

You take a deep breath, careful not to let your exhale sound like a sigh. Even so, John caught it, giving you a brief look to check in on you. You spare him a glance, attempting a soothing smile to fend off any potential concern.

His eyes flitter over your face before he turns forward again, offering a chuckle at something the soldier said. You'd completely missed what it was but mimicked John with a much softer sound huffed through your nose. 

You try to concentrate after that, as it's the only polite thing to do. But god, you find your mind wandering to every little ache suddenly emerging. 

Shifting the weight on your feet subtly, you try to move your hips to ease the twinge in your spine. Unsuccessful, you straighten your back, rolling your shoulders to try a different approach. Through your peripheral, you notice your squirming caught John's attention again, his gaze flickering sideways momentarily. Soon after, his thumb starts rubbing the small of your back with slightly more pressure just to be a subconscious movement.

John had been attentive to you the whole night, but if you could catch his attention this easily, you had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't only your concentration that started to stray or energy to wither.

Even if you probably would do both of you a favour by asking if it was time to leave, you didn't want to interrupt their conversation, so you simply let your head fall sideways onto John's shoulder, content with feeling how his kneading thumb eased the discomfort in your lower back. 

Thankfully, whoever this Miller was, he didn't keep a long-winded conversation with John as Generals had. Instead, the soldier of equal rank soon bid you both goodbye, explaining his departure as not wanting to take up too much of your time. That made your smile more genuine than it had been while listening to the two men for the last few minutes.

As you sigh lightly, a gentle press against your back suddenly steers you forward. You don't protest when John moves you through the crowd, especially not when noticing he's leading you to the outskirts of it.

"How you feelin', love?" John ducks his head to ask the question as your pace slows.

"I'm good, just a bit exhausted after standing for so long", you return with a shrug as you stop at the edge of the crowd, between the columns lining the wall. You tilt your head to look at John as he stands opposite you. Blue eyes meet yours as his hand moves to the dip of your waist before they skate over the crowd.

You watch John as he does, feeling his finger through your dress as they rap against you, almost as if thinking about something. 

Gaze falling, you follow his profile: the slope of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw accentuated by the angle of his head, his beard shining with the oil he'd worked into it after his earlier shower. God, he's too bloody handsome tonight. 

From nowhere, you get the urge to lean up and kiss the skin of his throat right above his collar. Though quelling the desire to plant a red mark matching the outline of your lips on his throat here, amongst all these people, that's all it takes for your mind to spiral.

Gonna hold you to your words, love. 

His sentence from the hotel room echoes in your mind, and suddenly, you can't wait any longer to be the scapegoat Kyle had dubbed you. Sick and tired of this event already.

When you take a step closer to John, his attention is quickly pulled back towards you. With his now undivided attention on you, you lightly grab the tie tucked beneath his jacket, tugging slightly on it to straighten the material to its previous perfection a few hours earlier. 

Satisfied with the minor fix you'd done to his attire, you pat his chest, eyes travelling upwards to lock with his not soon after.

John scrutinises your hands that remain close to where you'd fiddled with his tie rather than drop to your sides. When his blue gaze locks with yours, his head cocks. "What are you up to?"

"M'nothing, just wondering when it's acceptable to leave this event".

John's eyes narrow slightly before his brows rise. "Any special reason to why?"

"Just want to go back to the hotel". You made it evident that trailing your hands down his chest wasn't a coincidence but a conscious decision as you lowered them to pull your purse from beneath your upper arm. "Don't know what you're insinuating". 

"You don't?" You only reply with a coy nuh-uh sound as you open your purse, pulling out the golden encasing housing your lipstick. 

You'd touched up your makeup once throughout the evening, right after John left you to talk with whoever the American man had been, along with Kate, for the first time. As you do it now, blue eyes fall from yours, following your move of painting your lips in a new coat of red. 

"You know very well what you're doin', love". His words are spoken slowly, but their edges are rough, frayed.

"Just playing my part as pretty arm candy". After putting away your lipstick again, you motion to your lips. "Want to help me so I don't get any lipstick on my teeth?" You form your lips into an o, knowing precisely what you're doing.

"Love...", he warns, fingers pressing into your waist.

"John?" You retaliate with a cock of your brow, only to shrug when he makes no move to help you.

Raising a finger, you place only the tip between your lips before pulling it out with a pop. 

A repressed groan escapes John, head tilting backwards, eyes shut tightly. "You're doin' this to me on purpose", he grinds out.

"Of course I am", you giggle in return, using your other hand to rather unceremoniously rub away the red colour with your fingers. "So what's the choice? We staying a bit longer or-". You're not even allowed to finish the sentence before John's head tips forward again, and he does it for you.

"We're goin', now". His arm swiftly wraps around your waist to turn the both of you towards the exit.

"Can't play polite anymore?" You let yourself be carried along.

"Been plenty polite when all I've wanted the whole evenin' is to return to the hotel". John's hand scorches the place it pushes against the small of your back, guiding you straight to the very stairs you'd entered through hours ago. "Then you're pretty arse go about actin' up, provin' how much more I would've gotten done there than here", he grumbles, making you swat the side of his chest with a low, chastising John concerning the setting you're on. The man in question only sends you a look, daring you to argue against him, but after forcing his hand to take you back to the hotel, you can't.

There was a warm, eager air between you and John as you retrieved your coats and exited the venue. You shared glances, fleeting but heated locks of your eyes that had your body igniting. Touches setting you aflame even if his was much the same as throughout the evening but firmer, while yours were brief, teasing over his torso. 

When John managed to hail a cab, he let you enter first, following seconds later and sitting down in the backseat with a low, frustrated sound. 

He tugs his hat from his head, the other hand smoothening his hair. You both know there's a twenty-minute ride ahead of you when even half the time would've been too long and yet you watch him with amusement as his head thuds backwards.

He must feel your eyes on him as his head rolls to face you. You didn't need to say anything; your smile was enough to make him release a low, impatient grunt, eyes closing. 

You chuckle, hand settling on John's thigh as you do. Apparently, he thinks there's an ulterior motive behind your action as his eyes snap open, sending you a warning look that, if anything, made you wish you had done something to deserve it. His large hand grabs yours to emphasise the message to not try anything, dropping it in your lap instead. Even so, he doesn't pull away afterwards, instead letting your fingers intertwine.

When finally rolling up to the hotel, John couldn't stop tapping his thumb against your hand as he paid for the cab, practically dragging you along when he exited the car. 

With his hat in a white-knuckled grip and your hand in a gentler hold, the two of you moved through the lobby. You felt how fiercely John battled with himself to not stalk to the elevators but keep a pace that wouldn't draw attention and you could match.

It's always amusing seeing John like this, exhilarating if nothing. And that's why you can't help but poke the bear while waiting for the elevator. 

You slip your hand from his, blue eyes immediately falling to you as your arm closest to him slides beneath his coat and around his waist, squeezing his mid-drift teasingly.

"Someone seems impatient". The end of your sentence is perfectly followed by the chime of the elevator arriving. Letting your hand drop after pressing your fingers into John's side, you stride into the empty space with a sway to your hips. "I wonder why". You look over your shoulder, a smile gracing your lips as you cock a brow.

John is hot on your heels, pressing the button to close the doors rather than waiting for them to do so. 

Just when you turn to lean against the railing the furthest in, he takes the last step towards you, hands settling beside your own, caging you against the wall just as the door slides close. 

"You should know what torture it's been havin' you this good-lookin' and unable to do anythin' the whole evenin'". John's words are rushed as his head dips close to your face.

"Ditto", you return in a hum, gaze flittering down and then up again. "There was a relatively empty second floor I thought about dragging you to".

"Fuckin' hell, don't say that", he groans, hand coming to cup the back of your neck, angling your face towards his. 

Yet, before John can press his mouth against yours, the elevator suddenly halts on a floor too early to be yours.

He quickly drops his hand and moves so he doesn't corner you against the wall, even though he remains awfully close. Your eyes swiftly snap to the opening doors, schooling your features into a polite smile at the woman who steps into the elevator. She offers you a similar one before her eyes flicker to John. When they do, her eyebrows rise before they jump back to you. 

For a few mortifying seconds, you fear she knows precisely what she interrupted until her smile becomes softer.

"If the two of you don't make a stunning pair", she remarks kindly, making John turn his head to look at her, his body still firmly angled towards you. 

"Well, thank you", you answer for you both.

"My husband was also in the military", she directs the comment to you even if her eyes flitter to John when she continues. "But he never took me to those fancy events. The old man despised them like the plague".

"Seems like all of them do". You chuckle in return, patting John's side fondly. 

The man in question remains remarkably silent, only muttering something under his breath. Your eyes switch to him, sending him a questioning look. Blue eyes return your stare as his head tilts to the right, just a notch, but your brows only pinch together, still not understanding what he's trying to silently get at. That is until his face sets and John angles his hips just slightly more into the upper part of your thigh, and you feel it. 

You almost gasped at the considerable bulge in his pants that definitely would be in danger of showing. Yet, you manage not to, only letting your brows shoot up when you finally understand John's silence and the position he was adamant about keeping.

The woman, however, must have interpreted it like some coupley squabble as she chuckles at your interaction, pulling your attention to her.

"Young love, always so charming."

"Young?" John scoffs into your ear, his voice barely enough to be considered a whisper. "Got me feelin' like a bloody teen", he grouses over his predicament.

You duck your head, forehead falling against his shoulder as you muffle the chuckle bubbling in your throat. 

While the man you hide your face against notices your shoulders jumping and sends you a glare, the woman again misinterprets your reaction.

"No need to be embarrassed. We've all been young once".

"Did you meet your husband young?" You shift the conversation when finally facing her, sure no trace of your previous amusement could be detected.

"Oh goodness, yes, even younger than the two of you", she motions to you and John with a wave. "Much more immature, too". You almost laugh out loud at that. And like previously, John notices, husking a low, pointed 'Don't laugh' into your ear.

"This one's a real gentleman." You turn to face John, smiling up at him despite being met by a stern expression. What the women don't see is the way your hand trails down, down over his stomach until the flat of your palm presses into the spot just above his groin. 

John's jaw flexes, unable to snatch your hand and pull it away if not genuinely desiring to draw attention to what you're doing. But that doesn't stop his blue eyes from meeting yours as he lowly hisses, "And don't do that".

Then, the elevator suddenly lets out a ding as it stops.

"It was lovely to meet you youths, but this is my stop", the woman waves after the doors slide open, John craning his neck to watch her leave with a faint, for your eyes awfully forced, smile. "Have a great evening".

"You too!" You reciprocate her wave as she exits, receiving a friendly smile before the doors close.

Seconds, it takes seconds before your vision is once more filled by John.

"You... love-", he chuckles, nose scrunching as his head cocks to the side. "-oh, you are trouble".

"Don't be moody. You were called a youth", you chuckle. John only manages to open his mouth before the elevator chimes again, this time on your floor. 

You know it was your saving grace from how those blue eyes had narrowed at you. Instead, he only exhales sharply as you grasp his hand, forcing him to follow you to the exit.

Although reaching the doors, you stall with one hand holding them open, peeking outside, head swivelling right and left down the corridor. Noticing the coast was clear, you tug John with you.

Even if no one was around, he walked close enough behind you that the slight problem in his pants would be hidden enough if you stumbled into someone.

Thankfully, you didn't meet anyone on the way to your room, sparing you from the embarrassing interaction that could've occurred. However, it enabled John to whip out the key card and more than a bit unceremoniously push you into your room once the light flashed green, the door barely slipping close before he chucked his hat to the side to pull you against him. 

John's thick arm winds around your waist, pulling your body against his as his nose gently knocks against yours. Hot lips descending upon yours soon after, moulding your mouths together.

A groan vibrates against your lips, John's fingers digging into your ribcage and the side of your stomach. His near-desperate need to feel you against him makes your fingers curl into the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. The response is instantaneous, his tongue pushing into your mouth as he deepens the kiss. It's your time to release a pleased sound, something melting away from your body as hunger takes its place.

"Fuckin' hell", John nearly rips himself away from you as he grunts the words against your parted lips, hands enveloping your face as he lets his forehead rest against you. Heavy exhales puff against your face in an attempt to steady his heaving chest, to rein in himself. He doesn't remain like that for long, shifting backwards as his eyes flutter open. 

John's gaze locks with yours, eyes considerably darker than usual. Sodalite rather than aventurine. A warm shiver runs down your spine, unable to continue meeting those blues due to the flush spreading through your body. And yet, despite the tangible tension, a chuckle travels up your throat when your flickering eyes halt at one spot on his face.

Your amusement and thumb swiping over John's lips to wipe away the lipstick now coating them in a faint red pop the feverish bubble, turning it somewhat softer, less desperate.

When the added colour fades, you finally lock eyes with John again, finding they've creased in the corners.

"Maybe we should get you out of this, so I don't go about tainting that, as well", you hum, fingers falling to toy with his white dress shirt, mindful to keep the thumb you'd wiped his lips with at bay. Only a deep hum escapes John, yet it's enough for you to make do with your suggestion. 

Your fingers find the first golden button on his army jacket, unbuttoning that, then the next and all the ones until it falls open. Hands moving inside, you feel the warmth of his skin shielded beneath his dress shirt. 

Your hands move up his chest, over his shoulders, until you move the dark blue jacket down his arms. John shrugs out of it, and while letting his wool coat drop to the floor, you're mindful of the jacket, grabbing it in one hand as you move him backwards by pressing your body against his, lips teasingly close but not kissing, only brushing as your breaths mingle.

When you're close enough, you drape his jacket over the chair by the desk before attempting to move on to the next piece of clothing. But apparently, you move too slow for John as he steps back, yanking his tie loose to tug over his head, throwing it to the side. The buttons on his shirt make a frustrated grunt leave him before it's tossed aside as well. While your eyes never leave him, you slip out of your coat, letting it fall to the floor with no greater care than he'd done his clothes seconds later. 

Not only does your gaze drop to John's now-bared chest. Your hands move on their own, feeling him up, sliding over his pecs and the slight patch of brown hair covering them before they slide lower, over his stomach, reaching the happy trail beneath his navel. But too soon, your exploration of his burly upper body ends, John moving out of your reach as he steps backwards. 

Not until his shins hit the edge of the bed and he sits down does he stop putting space between you.  

You watch as his shoes are toed off, all while keeping eye contact with you. Not until John raises a finger, motioning for you to come closer, do you follow him.

You're about to straddle his lap when he stops you, making a twirly motion with his hand. Your head tilts even if you listen, turning your back to him. Gripping your hips, John steers you to sit on his thigh. You wobble slightly as you do, hands shooting to stabilise yourself by grabbing his hand and his other thigh as you press your feet to the floor to keep stable upon the muscular seat.

Once he notices you've found your balance, his big paws slide up your body until his fingers brush the back of your neck. There's barely an ounce of fiddling before you feel the clasp of the dress unhook, and the zipper descends. 

Kisses are pressed against the nape of your neck, the top of your spine and a last one on your shoulder blade before John squeezes your hips, urging you to stand with a delicate push upwards and forward. As you do, the heavy fabric of the dress falls to the floor, collecting in a lustrous circle around your feet. 

When turning to face the man whose attention never averted from you, only your necklace, panties, and heels are the remnants of your previous outfit.

"Always so fuckin' pretty beneath those things", John mumbles, hands rising from his sides. But, before his hands can reach for you, you settle one of your own on his equally naked chest, giving a gentle shove. But the brunette doesn't heed your want, not letting himself be budged an inch.

"Scoot up, John". You nod upward the bed, positioning one knee between his legs on the tiny sliver of the mattress available. He cocks his head in intrigue, hand grasping the back of your thigh, running up and down with gentle gropes.

"What you plannin', love?"

You press your lips together, John's eyes flickering downwards before returning in a slow trail upwards to meet your gaze. "Wanna be good after how I've teased you, Captain". Your voice drops, nearly entering a purr as you trail your fingers to his jaw.

You see him shudder, goosebumps flittering down his forearms as his big hand squeezes the back of your thigh.

"Fine then", John moves up the bed, and you crawl after him, effectively shrugging off your heels that thud to the floor as you do.

As he makes himself comfortable, you busy yourself with opening his belt and rucking down his pants and boxers in one. John's flushed and erect cock bobs upwards towards his stomach as he lifts his hips for you. Just as you rid him of his pants, you remember something. 

When you scoot off the bed again, you haphazardly throw his pants over the same stool as his jacket, moving towards your purse. John props himself on one elbow, brows pulling together as he follows you.

"Thought you say you wouldn't tease, eh?" His voice is husky, verging on impatient as you look over your shoulder, watching as he wraps a hand around the base of himself, most likely not the touch he'd liked as a frustrated rather than pleasurable grunt leaves him.

"I'm not, just fulfilling my promise", you say, wiggling the lipstick you'd fished out before returning to him. 

Moving up the bed, you settle on your knees between John's muscular legs. Opening the case, your gaze locks with his as you coat your lips in a more noticeable red. The sight makes his cock twitch in his hand, his head notching backwards slightly, resting on his shoulder, without ever letting those blues leave you. 

You shoo away his hand when you're done and throw your lipstick aside, your fingers wrapping around him instead. A pleased hum vibrates from John's chest as he relaxes backwards, head settling against the pillows. 

Although promising not to tease, you press a few firm kisses to the lowest parts of his stomach, along his adonis belt and the area just above the cock you're pumping lazily with twisting motions, colouring his skin with red lip-marks. 

When satisfied with your work, you finally slot your lips around him, the sudden heat of your mouth making John's cock jerk, one of his hands instinctually shooting to the back of your head with a drawn-out groan filling the air.

Despite usually building up to a swift pace gradually, pulling out the process to build his pleasure, you don't hesitate to overwhelm John with how you drop an inch or two down his cock immediately, tightly sealing your lips around his shaft, doing everything to leave those marks you'd promised around his cock.

"Fuck". John's hips jerk upwards, not expecting the suddenness of your actions, though he manages to stop the full thrust by slamming his head backwards, hand tightening considerably at the back of your head. 

A smugness fills your chest as you pull back slightly, suckling the tip leaking precum, tongue swiping back and forth over his frenulum while your hand creates slow, circular rotations at his base. 

Through the lowest corner of your eyes, you notice the red rings around his cock, yet you steadily look upwards, following how John's head rises again, eyes half-lidded as your gazes lock. But those blues don't meet yours for long before they fall, the twitch of him inside your mouth and the near growl telling you he also spots the stains left behind by your lipstick.

"Those pretty lips makin' such lovely marks 'round my cock". The sound of his voice is so rough and delicious that your cunt clenches around nothing. "Such a good girl, ain'tcha, love?" You release him with a pop, but rather than answer, you collect your spit on your tongue, stretching it out as your hand moves upwards. Letting the glob of spit hit his cockhead, you coat his saft in the slickness with a pumping motion.

"Fuckin' hell", John rasps, sounding almost pained as his eyelids flutter close, head falling backwards. Your smile is brief before you slot your lips around him again, bobbing your head up and down half of his length, the rest squeezed and jerked by your hand.

"Suckin' me off s'good. Come on, deeper you go". He's not even looking at you as he speaks, his throaty words subdued into the air, almost as if he chokes on them halfway through. If anything, it makes you moan around him as you let the hand on the back of your head press you all the way down until he hits the back of your throat. "Jus' like that", he groans between clenched teeth. 

As your tongue plays with the underside of his length and head bobs up and down, you feel him twitch violently inside your mouth, beefy thighs pressing against the side of yours, timbre-low sounds stemming from deep in his chest.

As John finally opens his eyes and looks down at you once more, always so transfixed with the way you desire to please him, he catches the faint glimmer of your jewellery behind the hand and mouth busy with his cock. The stones in the pendant glitter despite the room's dimness, the light from outside finding its way to make them gleam. What's remarkable is that your eyes harbour the shame glint.

Although heady with lust, your eyes are bright, excited, as your gaze meets his. The fact that you love this just as much as he does is enough to make him groan and tip his head backwards, wallowing in the pleasure creeping up his spine. 

Only when a slurping noise fills the air as you suck purposefully and tongue plays the underside of his cockhead, does John's release hurtle dangerously close, and he pulls you off with a firm grip on your hair.

"I wasn't done". 

"You're gonna be the death of me". That comment melts your stare into a smile.

"Don't die on me, handsome". 

"C'mere". John's hand falls from your hair to grip your jaw, pulling you upwards. Your arms shoot to catch you, stabilising on either side of his body as he bends forward, crashing his lips against yours halfway. 

It's dirty, your tongue slipping against John's as he pushes into your mouth, no doubt tasting himself on you. But it doesn't bother him, never has, not when it's on your lips that he tastes himself.

"You wet, love?" He groans against your lips before slanting his mouth against yours anew, your whined 'yes' going straight into his mouth. You unconsciously press your legs together, wiggling your hips, the motion along your forward-bent position exposing your drenched panties to the considerably cooler air. It urges another sound into the mesh of lips, a whine of discomfort this time. 

"Bet you fuckin' are, love suckin' my cock".

A shudder runs down your whole back. "John-"

"Love bein' fucked even more, eh? Get on your back". The demand barely leaves his lips before you shift over his form, laying down just to the left of his previous position in the king-sized bed. 

John moves between your legs, resting on his haunches as he pulls both your legs upwards, squeezing them together as he lets them rest against his chest. With a yank, he pulls your panties off your hips, the wetness on the crotch area dragging against the inside of your thighs as he tugs off the piece of fabric.

You don't know where they end up, wide eyes following John as he lets your legs down, pinning your thighs to the side, wasting no time before his hand slips over your cunt.

"Fuckin' soppin'", he drawls, confirming the answer you'd given him. "Can't wait to feel me stretch you out, can you?" His thumb runs down to your fluttering entrance, teasingly pushing against it. Before he goes any deeper, though, he collects some of your slick and trails his thumb to your clit.

He plays with your bundle of nerves just the way he knows you like. The pressure, speed, and everything he'd learnt about your body is now utilised to get you even more desperate, even wetter. And it works like a bloody charm too, your gasps soon turning to low moans and whines.

"C'mon, love, gotta be quiet", John shushes you, settling a hand over your throat, your necklace digging into his palm. He doesn't squeeze, simply rests it there to accentuate his point, and yet, he doesn't let up on playing with your clit, not even as your squirm, his thumb only chasing you through the movement. "Can't let everyone hear you, now can we?"

Even if you realise John deliberately must have kept his voice down as you blew him -because, of course, you're not at home- even if you try your damnedest, you can't contain your sounds of pleasure.

"Can't", you whine. John makes a deep sound, something between soothing and a snarl that makes your heart jump. Your eyes widen when his gaze darkens and he leans closer, all while his fingers apply more pressure on your clit, the pace quickening. As his face hovers over yours, your mouth falls open, letting out just one of those breathy moans he told you to hold.

"Can't, eh?" John releases your throat and leans back, but not enough to sit straight. Instead, he bends your legs forward and hooks his arm around your waist, manually flipping you over with a swift jerk. "That should do the trick".

It's a strength you know he possesses, but it makes you gasp in surprise anyway, the sound now muffled as your head is slotted in the crease between pillows. 

Two big paws suddenly grab your asscheeks, groping the fat as you feel the man behind you lean over you just after widening your legs with his knees. 

"Stunnin' fuckin' view from back here. This pretty arse-", John spanks your ass with one hand, making you keen, instinctually arching your back towards John. "- and your lovely cunt, just weepin' for me", the same hand that soothed the sting of his slap slide to your wetness.

You beg, a please moaned from your lips as he stretched you, barely any trouble going from one to two fingers with a few pumps. When he doesn't respond, you try again, louder, but only get a chuckle in return.

"Can't hear you, love". Amusement fills John's voice, making you frustratedly whine into the mattress before pushing a pillow to the side, raising your head only to crane it over your shoulder. Sitting behind you is an awfully smug-looking Brit.

"Please", you breathe the whisper, now mindful of your tone, which only widens his smile as he leans over your sprawled-out form.

The sudden prodding against your entrance comes without any warning, and you whip your head around to press into the mattress, muffling your moan so violently that John chuckles. But the sound swiftly deepens, evolving into a tight-lipped groan as he slowly pushes deeper.

Your back arches when his pelvis hits your backside, your motion prompting the slow grind of his hips against you. He doesn't even pull out, only rolls his hips shallowly against your rear.

All John can do is work his hips back and forth, listening to your faint moans slipping from the mattress your face rests against and the slick sounds of your pretty pussy being fucked. 

When he leans his weight forward, hands gripping your hips, John shoves himself even further inside you, driving your face further into the bed. You practically sob, clit pulsing and throbbing and god—

"Fuck, you feel s'good 'round me". The lewd way he said it, a groan breaking the sentence into two with the unhurried sound of skin slapping occasionally, had you choking on an affirming moan. "Makin' such a mess. Pretty cunt's so wet, stretched".

John stuffs his fat cock into you with slow, even thrusts from behind, watching how you grip him tight when he pulls out and sucks him in once he pushes forwards. 

It's slow until it's not. 

When John loses patience, or the pleasure simply gets too much for him not to chase more, he changes the pace, making the curve of your ass jiggle against his hips with each shove of his cock into your cunt. You push your face into the bedding as far as not choking yourself goes, moaning throatily as you clench around him. 

He fills you so deliciously like this. Each firm press of his hips against your ass crams his entire girthy length into you as his balls push against your clit. The rocking motion fills the air with wet slaps that make your head spin and fingers curl into the covers. 

You moan unabashedly as he fucks you. Deep and fast enough that he needs to angle your hips, but when you just keep sliding back prone against the bed from the force of his shoves, John simply leans over you with a growl, fucking you down into the bed. 

Whining, you thrash your head at the way he pounds into your sweet spot buried so deep. With your mouth falling open, it's no surprise if saliva soaks the fabric beneath your face.

Your orgasm doesn't even build slowly. It's a tumbling mess that, once it starts, just picks up momentum until you hurl face-forwards into it. It's so violent it catches John off-guard. The sudden way you shudder with a broken moan, the muscle of your back tensing, walls clamping down on him, everything without him even having to play with your clit, tells him you were just as worked up and exhausted as him, not able to do anything but let the pressure release.

"Fuck", he curses, thick and dark, feeling you get even slicker and tremble beneath his fingers. 

Even through your drunken haze, you catch the drawn-out vowel of the word, which tells you John's close. 

What surprises you, however, is that rather than rut irregularly into you until he buries himself deep and comes, his hand shoots to rest beside your head to catch his weight when he falls forward, slipping out of you in the process. Leaving your fluttering aftershocks to clench around nothing.

You feel as John jerks himself, his knuckles brushing over your skin rapidly. His breath cascades over the back of your head, head probably hanging low between his shoulders as he gazes down your body. Albeit not knowing what he has in mind -his fixation on spilling deep inside you as he pushes himself as close as possible to you no secret- you arch your spine, wiggling your ass upwards.

It prompts a deep, growling moan from him before his breath does a little hitch, then he groans, pleased and drawn out as you feel his release shoot over your ass and then straight over your pussy.

The bed quivers beside your head, all strength momentarily escaping John's burly frame that slackens against your back. Although he slumps to his forearm to keep most of his weight off, his other hand resting on the bed near the dip of your waist, he still presses you considerably deeper into the mattress.

John's heaving exhales disturb your hair, but your eyes remain closed, your whole body feeling light and satisfied as you relax, fingers uncurling from the covers. 

When the man behind you finally moves, you don't have the energy to rise and look at what he does when he grabs your cheeks in his big hands, massaging the plush flesh with parting motions. But, you can only imagine he stares at the white ropes of cum coating your rear, gaze dropping to follow the way it dribbles down over your cunt.

Even if John doesn't do it for long, a pleased hum fills the air before he stops. 

His hands are suddenly replaced with something that swipes over your asscheek and down between your legs. Despite twitching at the contact as it moves along your sensitive core, you release an appreciative sound as he wipes you clean of your releases. John replies by bending forward, kissing your shoulder-blade before shifting off you with a last squeeze to your hip.

Despite feeling the mattress dip beside you, his form slumping to the side with a low grunt, you already miss his warmth.

You breathe heavily, your exhale bordering on a whine warming the covers your face is burrowed in. When your sound gets nothing in return, your breath out softly again, hand searching for John. Just as your hand lands upon his chest, you catch a chuckle before fingers wrap around your wrist. You're tugged sideways, pulled partly onto the chest you'd fumbled your way to feeling. 

Although now looking down at John, you don't see much of him, your hair is mussed enough that most of your vision is covered. A giggle escapes you while a huff of amusement passes through John's nose as he brushes your face clear of its momentary shield.

"There she is", John hums when your gazes lock with nothing in between. There's a tug in the corner of his lip, eyes lidded as he watches you. 

The tilt of his head and craning of his neck is slow. The kiss he initiates is equally deliberate and sweet. Although the exchange is brief, as he parts, John lingers close to your face with his forehead resting against yours, hand brushing over your cheek feathery light.

He murmurs something low enough you can't catch but hum in return nonetheless. A few seconds later, he rises from the bed. As he does, you move to your back, wiggling beneath the sheets to not experience the cold, knowing the sheet must be warmed thanks to your bodies. A content sigh leaves you when you realise you've been right.

As your gaze settles upon John's bare form, rifling around his bag for whatever he's searching for, you can't help how your eyes trail over him. That's how your eyes locate the faint red marks littering his body, some more smudged than others.

Your giggle catches John's attention as he shifts towards you, a pair of boxer briefs now in his hands. But rather than meet his gaze, your eyes flitter over his form, numerous outlines of red lips littered along his lower stomach and groin. Your laughter intensifies, and John follows your line of attention, only to tilt his head upwards again with a smile when he finds what caught your attention.

"You look real pretty with my lipstick all over you", you comment once your laugh fades, head tilting against the pillow behind your head, eyes locking with John's.

"Quiet the artist", he chuckles as he pulls on his underwear.

"It isn't waterproof, so you'll be able to wash it off with water".

"Think about makin' one of 'em into a tattoo". John points to one of the still near-perfect copies of your lips just inside his hipbone and above his waistband. "Make 'em permanent". His wink makes your mouth fall open.

"Please don't!" Your revolt makes him chuckle.

"What do I get if I don't?"

"Me only asking for a pair of pants and not a shirt along with them. And cuddles?" You stretch out your arms towards John with your offer. He huffs a laugh, moving to your bag to dig through it for your underwear.

"Never sayin' no to half-naked cuddles with you, love", you shake your head fondly just before the clothing article you requested is thrown your way.

As John rounds the bed, you lean forward to snatch your panties from the covers. You barely have enough time to slip them on before John, with practised ease, settles into the bed on his side and pulls you close, naked chests pressed against each other.

You sigh in contentment as John's warmth seeps into your body, arms winding around his neck to get closer and being able to graze your nails through the hair on the back of his head, which makes him pull you even closer in return.

The moment drags on as you card fingers through his hair. Every now and then, you feel the gel he'd cursed over as he styled it before the event, still intact at certain places despite the overall moussed state of his locks. 

Somewhere along the way, a hefty, pleased sigh leaves the man holding you as his head burrows into your neck, nuzzling against the necklace still around your throat. Your eyes flutter close upon the rhythmic breaths puffing against your skin, melting more into John's burly body.

"You're awfully cuddly tonight", you hum but make no move to disturb the peaceful air by moving.

"Could say the same about you".

You chuckle at the response breathed against your skin. "Can never get too much of you". A set of warm lips press a kiss to your throat, making you hum contentedly before continuing to speak. "Especially not after tonight when everyone's been fighting for your attention".

There's a few seconds of silence and then a sigh.

"More people goin' to fight for it soon". Your brows pull together at the sudden shift of air when John emerges from your neck, blue eyes locking with yours. "Before introducin' you to Laswell, I got informed we're set out on a mission."

You sighed, nodding at his explanation. It was only about time. "When?

"A week, but it won't be a long one". You perk up at that, John noticing, a small smile tugging in the corner of his lips. "Estimated to be back home before Christmas".

"Yeah?" He hummed an affirmative. Your smile twitched just slightly wider, unable not to press a kiss to his lips. You felt his chuckle just before you parted from him.

"Someone's happy about that". John's brows arched, head tilting to the side.

"Just... didn't have much planned for Christmas this year, so I thought about maybe asking-", you got interrupted by his lips pressing against yours this time. The passion with which John kissed you made your chest flutter.

"Wanted you with me this weekend just in case you had somethin' in the calendar or I wasn't home", he breathed against your lip when putting some distance between the two of you again.

You bite your lower lip, brows raising. "John, are you saying you wanted to ask me about spending Christmas together too?"

"Didn't know if it was an awfully traditional period for you", he said, giving you a half-hearted shrug.

"How sweet of you". You cooed, pecking John's lips, earning yourself a content huff from the man cocooning you with his arms and body. "But I would've wanted to spend some time with you no matter what". As you said this, that handsome smile of John's unfolds as he pulls you on top of him. He released a deep chuckle at your slight squeal, only for both of your sounds to fade as he stared up at you and you down at him.

God, you couldn't wait until Christmas.

[six-eyed-samurai]

🌸Life would be so much fun with these two psychos as your overprotective, fashion forward, freaky poser older brothers!

🌸I can think of a few words on how you'll turn out raised by these two: spoiled, coddled, well dressed, short sighted, manipulative, badass.

🌸The Haitanis were living by themselves as minors. Meals probably weren't fancy back then but all three of you would be playing hot potato with the best piece trying to give it to the other - or, well, Ran and Rindou ganging up to give it to you.

🌸Probably felt bad when you go to school (you're the only one still going) and all the girls have pretty things, new bags, non dog-eared textbooks, uniforms whose colours have faded a little. Ran tells you you're the best out of all of them, the smartest, the most beautiful, etc instead and Rindou counts their savings to get you a new pair of nice shoes.

🌸Speaking of school, Ran nearly cried the day you stopped needing to hold his hand all the way there, or so he claimed. You insist you can carry your own bag now and Rindou lectures you on the dangers of scoliosis all the way.

🌸I’m not sure about their grades academically but since they're older they still try and help you study. Well, Rindou does, because Ran has a bad habit of getting distracted and dragging you along. By distracted I mean napping.

🌸Ran loves doing your hair! When you were younger he’d be the one to brush and braid it, figuring out how to do whatever struck your fancy from magazines, secretly feeling nostalgic and sad when you outgrow pigtails and no longer match with him. Still though, you two divas are always making Rindou drive to the salon and pay for it all. You want to dye? Go for it! You want a perm? Whatever you want! Bleach?…uh, no, bad for your scalp :)

🌸Rindou and you gossip a lot - mostly about Ran and how you’re both tired of his stinky ass sleeping twenty four hours. Aside from that you think your brother’s got the best taste in music, even if you’ll never say it now, and Rindou takes pride in you idolizing him and his DJing skills. You don’t understand how someone so great at that hates going to karaoke so much but there we go. You’re very embarrassed when he catches you singing and records it.

🌸When they got into gang stuff and the whole ruling Roppongi thing they didn't have time anymore, but they tried to have either one of them fetch you from school no matter what. No, don't walk home with Yukiko! Nii-chan can get you!

🌸You know those annoying moms at sports games going all “hey, look over there, that's my kid” every other minute and love yapping about said kid's accomplishments? Yeah, that's why the Haitanis are really unpopular with the other parents when they attend your competitions. Not just because they're delinquents. They're noisy delinquents.

🌸My own bro has this thing of yelling stuff at me like “SOCIALIZE!”, “IT WAS RIGHT THERE, GOD, WHY?!” , “NOOOOO”in front of everyone. Ran does that a lot when he's trying to get your attention, no matter whether you're outside or inside. It's all “HEY LOOK WHAT I GOT YOU”, “LITTLE SISSSSSSSSS”, “PRINCESS, YOU FORGOT YOUR LUNCH!!!”until you and Rindou beg him to stop. Please.

🌸They’re very, very proud that you know how to defend yourself so well, both physically and verbally, from bullies looking to harass the Haitanis’ kid sister or mean girls picking on your outfit or bitching about how the little princess always needs saving. Rindou had to stifle his smirk when he saw you beat down the creep that wouldn't take no for an answer with a move he taught you himself because someone needs to be responsible and reprimand you that violence, is not, the answer!

“But you're in a gang, nii-chan.”

“That's different. Next time someone's following you around, I'm beating him up.”

🌸Low-key I feel like they'd turn a blind eye on whatever less than appropriate stuff you're doing. Oh, you wanna stuff shaving cream into Usagi’s locker for talking shit about your friends? No, Ran definitely didn't see you stuffing a can into your bag. What's this Rindou hears about you copying off someone's test paper? Nonsense. He helped you study this topic himself.

🌸No way, absolutely not, their baby sister is too innocent and pure for such things.

🌸But when it comes to breaking their rules, nuh uh. They're not gonna stand for it; sorry, it sucks but it sucks. No involvement with gangs. No smoking. No skipping school without a valid reason (”Yes, princess, going to a cafe with your beloved older brother is a valid reason, now let's get going.”). If you need money just ask. Again, no interacting with gang members.

🌸Most of all: no dating.

🌸If you've never gotten a confession and feel left out that all your friends are dating, sad bad luck, sorrows, sorrows. Ran will comfort you and assure you you're a catch, beyond a catch, an angel no one deserved, but secretly be glad.

🌸If you have, though, and it's not a secret admirer, Ran and Rindou will show up at school looking for him/her and give him/her a nice chat. With a baton. And Rindou casually bringing up all the ways to hide a body.

🌸Heaven forbid you actually have a boyfriend/girlfriend.

🌸The actual problem isn’t that they’re against that. Ran’s the best person you want when preparing for a date and you know one text will have Rindou running if he/she tries anything uncomfortable. Your number one hype men, although you’re tired of yelling at them no, okay, stop, you’re not gonna do the nasty, so stop will all these protection warnings!

🌸No, the problem is that they have the most unrealistic expectations for whoever your (unfortunate) crush will be. You’re not saying their (impossible) ideals don’t sound pleasant, because who doesn’t want the perfect partner, but they don’t exist and do they really have to be so nitpicky about whoever you bring home?

🌸Their baby sister is just too pure and innocent for such things!

🌸Moving on they’re extremely against bringing you into gang life. You know vaguely what they get up to, but otherwise they keep their lips sealed. The idiots showing up at their house for revenge from a rival gang had their asses handed back to them twice as much for involving their sister. The rest learnt to stay away from you. On the one occasion they had to bring you along very reluctantly, Tenjiku low ranks learnt the hard way not to make a comment on you, not just because you gave them a nosebleed (from a punch, not…yeah). They’d only trust Kakucho with you…Izana, not so much, but what can they do if boss wants to induct you in?

🌸What happens when they go to juvie? Ran and Rindou worried sick about you, of course. You’re equal parts tears and indignant anger when they’re taken away and they’re pretty alarmed because how are you going to make it on your own? How? How?!

🌸I think it’s after they’re released the dynamics that had been changing since the day they became delinquents become more obvious; you’re the one taking care of them now, not the other way around. Ran doesn’t order takeout anymore, you make bento. You no longer need Rindou to come fix a flat tire, in fact you take his bike to the shop for maintenance. Ran grumbles that you’re pulling at his hair too hard with the comb and Rindou grudgingly lets you do his highlights over the sink. When they’re back, battered and bruised you set down whatever you’re doing with a complaining sigh to bandage them up, pass ice and wipe off the blood.

🌸You’re the most precious thing in their lives. Ran and Rindou aren’t ever letting you go, get hurt or worse. You’re going to get into a good college, graduate, get a good job and everything great in life, far, far away from the mess in theirs.

🌸For now they’re content to lazily smile and watch you those off in between them, horror movie long forgotten and popcorn crumbs all over your hoodie.

[powderpinkandsweeet]

Ellie x Reader

~6k words, 60s au, blue collar Ellie x fem waitress reader. Some fluff, some hurt comfort, eventual smut. Content warnings for stereotypical early 60s sexism, some naivety (not innocent, per say), and internalized homophobia.

The first time you saw her, it was from behind the counter of a roadside diner. They'd just built a highway through the plain so the diner had been busier than usual and Patti was letting you get in a couple extra hours. It was toward the end of service, right around the time that the lumber mill closed up for the night and the workers make their way home. Fall was creeping in so the day had been cold and rainy. The last customer of the night came through the door soaked to the bone. Her work boots squeaked and squished on the linoleum and drops of water fell from the tips of her hair. Her blue coveralls stuck to her frame, and you could tell it was uncomfortable by the way she shifted and pulled at the fabric.

Patti found her first, storming over to scold the customer about dirtying her freshly-mopped floors. Patti called for you to bring towels and you rushed to help. The supply closet only had dish towels, so you piled them high on the counter where Patti had settled the visitor. You returned to your customers but remained close by to eavesdrop on the two. As far as you could tell, she had been on her way home and got a flat tire on her truck. With the rain she couldn't get the tire changed or walk home, so she asked to use the phone to call a ride.

From the rotary phone in the break room, you could hear grumbling and expletives before she hung up the phone and returned to the counter with a frown and arms crossed. Despite her tough exterior, the poor girl was shivering so you set to making her a mug of hot chocolate. You stood parallel to her at the counter, getting a good look at her for the first time. Above her right breast pocket, under the lumber mill logo, was an embroidered name: 'Eleanor.'

"Eleanor?" you asked.

Her brow twitched at the name and she looked up with a frown, “what’d you just say?”

“It says ‘Eleanor’ on your uniform…”

She looked down at the embroidery and laughed bitterly, "only folks that call me that are my old man and my boss. It's Ellie to you."

You looked back at the mug in your hands, "well, you looked cold, so I thought maybe you would like some hot chocolate."

She looked surprised at the act of kindness, but accepted the cup gratefully, cupping it with both hands that had become almost numb from the cold. "Yeah... thanks, sugar."

You smiled shyly and muttered "of course," before scurrying back to the kitchen to wipe the same counter once again.

Only minutes later, you walked out of the to find an empty mug and a handful of change. 'The cocoa was only a quarter,' you think, dropping the spare change into the pocket of your apron with a jingle. They clinked in your pocket like silver bells the rest of your shift.

Ellie would drop by regularly, stopping to sit alone at the counter and sip a beer at the end of the work day. You would make idle small talk when business was slow, learning more about her every day. She was unlike any other girl you had known, indelicate and assertive, but most of all she had a certain magnetism about her that pulled you in. Every shift, when the clock struck six, you would linger by the counter, hoping the bell would chime and you'd see Ellie walking through the door.

This time, Ellie enters with a group of men you assume must be her coworkers. They all wore the same blue canvas overalls, with the same embroidered logo and marked with their names. They smelled like sawdust and sweat, a combination that you usually didn't mind on Ellie, but the group was overpowering your senses. You try to catch Ellie's eye and smile, but she seemed too focused on her work boots to notice.

You briefly panicked as you realized they weren't being seated in your section, and you had half a mind to take the hostess by the shoulders and shake her. Instead, you muster the courage to ask your fellow waitress to trade. Margaret looked confused at first, but an amused grin stretched across her face and she chuckled.

"What? Is there something on my uniform?" you ask and peer down at your dress and pinafore, but she only snorts behind her hand that is unsuccessfully muffling her laughter.

"No, I see what's going on, you don't have to be shy. You just had to tell me that you're looking to bag a lumberjack and I'd have switched in a second."

"What?! No, you've got the wrong idea," you whisper-yell to her. "One of them is just a friend so I wanted to say hi."

"Oh you don't have to lie to me. We both know exactly what you're doing." You did, but her... not quite.

Margaret glanced at the table once more before she leaned in to whisper in your ear "The one in the corner looks real cute, if you ask me." And she heads off to take the order of a table in what had previously been your section.

You sigh, "I didn't ask, actually." You looked at the man she'd pointed out to see him stacking creamer cups into a pyramid. 'I guess he's... creative? But cute I don't think so.' Your eyes wandered back to Ellie. Her pink lips were in a pout and her green eyes downcast as she traced the rim of her beer glass with a finger. She didn't seem to be entirely present, like something was on her mind.

You took a few deep breaths before marching up to the table with your best customer service smile. You introduced yourself and passed out menus, to which Ellie's head snapped up to see you. You offered her a polite smile, but she looked away, pretending to scan the menu.

The other three at the table ordered drinks as Ellie spaced out, looking at nothing in particular on the menu in front of her. "And for you?" broke her from her trance.

"Sorry, what?"

The man in the booth next to Ellie elbowed her in the side and teased, "your drink, buddy."

She realized and punched him in the arm before picking up the menu again. "Uh, I'll just take a beer... please." she ordered without looking you in the eye.

"Alright then, four beers it is. I'll be right back with you." You held onto your smile as you turned around but let it drop when you thought they could no longer see you. 'What the hell was that? She acted like we'd never met before,' you ruminated as you filled the glasses.

You didn't notice Ellie's repeated glances in your direction as you helped other customers, but the man beside him with "Jesse" embroidered on his coveralls certainly did. He leaned over to murmur in Ellie's ear, "the waitress is cute, huh?"

Ellie looked shocked, blushing and making nervous eye contact with Jesse, but she was overshadowed by the mouthiest of the bunch. "Real cute, alright. I oughta make a move on her," the bearded one, John, interjected. He obviously didn’t realize the question wasn’t directed at him.

Beside him, the one stacking creamer cups hummed in agreement. "Betcha can't get her number by the time we get the check."

"Oh just watch me, fucker."

Ellie couldn't wipe the look of disgust off her face, obvious enough to catch attention. "You got something to say, huh dyke?" John taunted.

Ellie sighed, "just that you're dumb as a bag of rocks if you think you can get her number looking and smelling like you do."

His beard was littered with crumbs and he smelled like an armpit. A chick magnet, truly, but his confidence was admirable at the very least. "Well, you can fuck all the way off, how's that?"

Ellie shrugged and raised her palms in mock-surrender, "just givin it to you straight, man. She's outta your league and on the clock. You wouldn't want someone hitting on you while you're at work, do you?"

John barked out a laugh, "boy would I! But I don't think any gal 'cept you that ain’t afraid to go near a bandsaw."

Ellie didn't laugh in return, instead muttering to herself "they wouldn't be afraid if you knew how to put down the guard and use the damn thing."

Jesse nearly spit out his water, to which John forgot what had been said and only laughed at Jesse's misfortune.

When you returned with the group's beers, Ellie looked away as nonchalantly as she could manage. You pulled out your notepad and scribbled down their orders, tucking it into your apron and turning around to give it to the cook, but you heard a "clink" behind you. You look back to see that the bearded man had knocked his fork and knife onto the floor. He met your eyes and let out an insincere "oops."

'Customer service smile' you reminded yourself. You bent down to pick it up, "here sir, I can grab you a clean set. It'll take me just a mo-MENT!" You fell back onto your butt on the linoleum as one of the glasses of beer was tipped over, splashing onto the table, the ground, and you where you had bent to retrieve the silverware.

For the first time that night, you heard Ellie's voice. "Johnathan! What the fuck, man!"

You scrambled to your feet and were confronted by frantic apologies from the bearded man. He had stood up from the booth with a fist full of napkins. From where you stood could see that the glass had tipped from right in front of him. "I'm so so sorry, I swear I'm so clumsy."

Your eyes were lining with tears at the embarrassment and the suspicion that he had done this on purpose. You looked down at your soiled uniform. Your apron had a huge stain spread across it, and you could feel the cold, sticky feeling as it bled through the apron and into your dress. You struggled to form words and stay polite, "I- it's okay, it's fine, I just need to-"

"Here, please, let me help," and napkins were pressed firmly to your breasts. Ellie yelled the man's name again and nearly climbed over the table but was held back by Jesse's grip on her wrist. She looked at you with sad eyes, only gifting you with her attention when you were distressed.

You jumped backward, "no! I don't need any of your help! I- I'm just-please excuse me," and you bolted through the kitchen, into the break room.

You were able to convince Margaret to bring out the group's food, but her shift ended shortly after, so you were stuck with the task of bringing them the check. They pooled in their cash, letting you know that you could keep the change. You wished them a good night, receiving a grunt and half-hearted wave from Ellie, still looking at you with pity. You turned back to close and count the money in the cash drawer, but stumbled forward as you were graced with a sharp slap to the ass.

You kept walking away as fast as you could, just wanting the whole ordeal to be over with. The bell above the door rang with their departure.

"Don't act like you guys didn't want a piece of that."

"Dude..."

"No kidding! A cute little thing like that would look real good on my arm, doncha think?" John was slurring and stumbling, obviously having been overserved by their second waitress.

Ellie chimed in, "it's a wonder you're still single, Johnny Boy."

"Don't call me that," was growled.

"Wouldn't have to if you weren't acting like a child who don't know better." Ellie laughed, "didn't your mama teach you how to treat a lady?"

"Don't go acting like you know my mama, she's a good Christian woman and she wouldn't take kindly to that."

"Obviously not good or Christian enough to teach you right from wrong."

Jesse stepped forward to put a hand on her shoulder, "cool it, Ellie. He's not worth it."

"Not worth it? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" John nearly shouted as the other man attempted to keep him upright.

"John, it doesn't matter. You scared the poor gal in there and that's that" Jesse admonished and led Ellie away. They could hear the incoherent shouts and slurs as they returned to their respective cars. Jesse pulled out of the parking lot with a wave in Ellie's direction, and Ellie sat in her truck for a few moments before resigning herself to wait.

You locked the diner's back door with shivering fingers. It was nearing 10 o'clock at night and the last bus had come at 8:30, so you would be walking home. After only a few steps, though, you heard a car door slam. You flinched and turned around with your bag held in front of you as a makeshift shield, but were met by Ellie leaning against her truck and smoking a cigarette. She offered you a weak, apologetic smile but you could only frown in return. Ellie waved and offered you an almost inaudible "hey."

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" you feigned ignorance, "cause you couldn't look me in the eye less than an hour ago."

She had the common sense to look ashamed, "I just didn't want anyone to get any ideas..."

"Ideas about what? That I'm worthy of your time and attention?"

"You know I didn't mean any harm by it-"

"It still hurt, Ellie, even if you didn't mean it." You felt tears line your eyes and tried to regulate your breathing, "and it hurt that you didn't do anything about your fucking coworker. He spilled beer on me and slapped my ass, but you just stood and watched, and another thing!” But you were cut off, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, okay?" Ellie burst out, remaining tense. "I just, I like you and I was afraid for them to know that."

"I like you too Ellie. I thought I'd made that clear by now."

She sighed and wiped a hand down her face, "I don't think we're on the same page..." She took in a deep breath, “I like you in the same way a man does a woman. And I think I could come to love you."

You felt your face go hot, and your thoughts were sent into a tailspin. She, a woman, liked you, a woman. It was a concept practically unheard of unless you sought it out or were fear-mongered away from it. It had always seemed to be the natural order of things for a woman to lose her last name and independence to become a Mr's Mrs. It gave you butterflies the idea of taking Ellie's last name. It was so simple, the answer why, but you had pretended not to see it all this time.

"I think I like you too Ellie, and not just in the friend way..." you shyly admitted. "I have feelings for you that I don't know how to explain."

Ellie chuckled, "you don't need to understand or explain. All I know is I feel a pull to you not like anyone I've met."

Ellie offered to drive you home since it was cold and window out and "there's shady characters out this time of night." She must have meant her coworker. You almost wished the drive could have lasted longer, but you and Ellie had to part ways. Ellie stood behind you as you unlocked the door, claiming she wanted to make sure you got inside safe before she left. Once it'd popped open, you stood in the entryway and stared, unsure of how to end the night. "Well... goodnight, Ellie. I'll see you at the diner again soon, yeah?"

Ellie nodded, and murmured out, "for sure, yeah. Have a good night..."

You smiled warmly and moved to close the door, but you were stopped by a foot in your doorway that nearly made you scream.

"Wait!" Ellie called, and you pulled the door back just enough to see her. She gulped, "Do you have plans this Saturday?"

"Um, I'm working in the morning but I'm free after three o'clock."

"Do you want to go dancing with me? On Saturday? At 7?"

You were excited but apprehensive, "Ellie... I would love to but where are we supposed to go dancing with each other?" Simply the act of dancing cheek-to-cheek with each other could feel like a risk, but Ellie was quick to quell your worries.

"It's called Tootsie's. It's out on the edge of town so you've probably never heard of it, but you'll love it, promise. I can pick you up?"

You were still apprehensive but agreed. The chance to see Ellie again was worth the anxiety. "Alright, you promised," you tried to say firmly, but couldn't help the smile on your face. You wished Ellie goodnight and made to close the door once again-

"Wait! One more thing"

You opened it again, "yes? Everything alright?" She was silent for a moment. "...Ellie?"

"Can I kiss you?"

You froze in disbelief. You took a tentative step forward, glancing between her lips and her eyes. "Please..."

She smiled and reached out to cup your cheek, and leaned in to give you a gentle peck on the lips. Smiling brighter than she had all night, she wished you goodbye with a wave, "see you Saturday, sugar."

You stood in the doorway and watched as Ellie crossed your yard and climbed into her truck. She drove away into the night, and you snapped out of the trance she had put you in. You shut the door behind you and leaned against it. Your lips still tingled where Ellie had kissed you, and you brought your fingertips to them to brush against your lip. Three days until Saturday, and you would count down the minutes.

You didn't expect Ellie to be the kind of girl to show up early, but you heard a knock on the door at 6:47. You had been running back and forth from bedroom to bathroom to obsess over your hair, face, and outfit. She had only seen you in your diner uniform, and you had only seen her in coveralls. You fiddled with the ends of your hair anxiously as you stepped up to the door and looked out the peep-hole. It was Ellie, hands tucked in pockets and rocking back and forth on her heels.

You took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and practically ripped it open to greet her.

"Hey! It's about... time." Ellie found herself lost in thought as she looked you up and down with an unreadable expression.

You shifted nervously on your feet, "does it look alright?"

Ellie cleared her throat to regain her ability to form words, "no, I mean- yes, I mean-- it looks more than alright, you look so pretty."

You look down at your dress and lean over the full skirt to peer down at your freshly polished shoes, "you really think so?"

"Of course. I meant what I said and I wouldn't lie to you about that." Ellie tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, "don't get me wrong, you look adorable in your little skirt and apron covered in food and beer. This though, you look... wow."

You laughed, "you don't clean up too bad either, El." She blushed at the compliment and turned to look away shyly. She smelled of sawdust and fresh spring air. Instead of her dirty old coveralls, Ellie wore a pair of blue Levis 501s with the ankles cuffed and a white t-shirt tucked into the waist. Her black leather lace-up boots thumped heavily against the planks of your patio, perfectly matching the black leather belt that accentuated her waist. On her shoulders rested a denim jacket with a sherpa lining, and she stood with her hands tucked in its pockets. She looked down at herself, "you really think so?"

You shook your head and laughed, "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

You thought you had seen all of Jackson with how long you'd been there, but Ellie had taken you somewhere wholly unfamiliar. Tootsie's didn't look inviting from the outside, what with its location on the outside of town, its blacked out windows, or the empty storefronts on either side. There was no sign out front, just lettering on the door "Tootsie's--No trespassing, no solicitors, no loitering, members only."

"Members?" you looked at Ellie curiously.

"Just folks like us," Ellie responded with a half-smile. Ellie knocked heavily on the door, and after almost a full minute it opened to a tall, intimidating figure.

"Hiya, Barb! How ya been?" Ellie greeted and leaned "casually" against the door frame.

Barb didn't seem up for small talk. "You still haven't paid your tab from two weeks ago."

"Oh," Ellie looked to the side and itched the back of her neck, "about that, my timecard got processed late?"

"Is that an answer or a question?" Barb grumbled and leaned in.

Ellie flinched, "answer! It's an answer. 'Sides I got the money right here so it's no big deal. Here..." and Ellie dug through her pockets to pull out a few crumpled bills and deposited them into Barb's waiting hand. She counted the bills, looked up at Ellie briefly, and let you pass with a nod. You went in first, and didn't catch what Barb whispered to Ellie on her way in, but you did notice the blush on her face.

Inside the bar, it was dimly lit with a haze of cigarette smoke. Your shoes stuck to the floorboards that had long been saturated with beer. The smell of booze and ash hung in the air. Had it not been for the clientele, you would have assumed it was just another dive bar.

Across the room, pairs of women and pairs of men danced cheek-to-cheek to the crooning of the jukebox. Lyrics of love and devotion filled the room, dancers switching the song's pronouns to express the truth of their love. The booths held couples with hands on thighs and around shoulders, public displays of affection that you hadn’t seen anywhere else. Your heart softened. You almost had to hold back a coo at how intimate the scene was. Lovers held each other close; a closeness that couldn't be shared outside closed doors. You quickly came to the conclusion that this was love of a greater depth than you had ever seen or felt before. There was no power struggle or prescribed gender role. Simply two people looking into one another's hearts and feeling like they've found home. 'Where have they been all my life?' you pondered, 'why did it take me so long to find you?'

You were pulled from your reverie by a grip on your wrist. Ellie had taken you by the hand and gestured toward the jukebox, "will you dance with me?"

You stumbled behind her with a giggle, "I'd love to." Ellie dug through her pockets for a nickel, and deposited it into the machine to queue up her song. She contemplates her song choice before keying in her selection. Satisfied, she pulled you to the dance floor to sway with the other lovers until her song played. Ellie pulled you forward by the hips, guiding one of your hands to her shoulder while she held the other in her own. "I'll lead, okay? Just follow me."

She gave you an excited grin as the song ended. The drums and brass kicked in, and you returned her smile. “I've got sunshiiine, on a clouudy dayyy."

"You're so cheesy, you know that?" you say to her with your forehead pressed against hers.

You feel her breathy laugh hit your lips, "but it's working, right? You haven't left yet."

One of her legs remained between your own, guiding the movements of your feet and hips along with hers. Her touch warmed you through. The callouses on her hands reflected years of hard labor, and pale lines on forearms and cheekbones told stories of fights lost and won. You committed them to memory, determined to cherish this moment as Ellie held you and crooned over the Temptations that you were "my girl, my girl, my girl. Talkin' 'bout my giiirl." The lovers around you faded into the background. As far as you were concerned, it was just you and Ellie.

You couldn't stop looking between her eyes and her lips. Ellie smirked as the song came to an end, "why don't you believe she's all my girl?" The smile remained on her face as she took your chin between her index finger and thumb before meeting your lips with her own. She kissed you tenderly and passionately. You hummed into the kiss, and Ellie mirrored your enthusiasm with a swipe of her tongue to your bottom lip. You froze in surprise at her forwardness, to which she nipped at your bottom lip and slips her tongue against yours. Her lips and tongue were so soft as they worked desperately to taste you and feel you tremble under her hands.

Your hand gripped the front of Ellie's shirt as you began to run out of breath, and you both reluctantly pulled back to pant and stare into each other's love-drunk eyes. Her eyes met yours with an unspoken question and a bite to her bottom lip. Ellie's hands gripped your hips to pull them ever closer, hoping you understood her intentions. You blushed in realization but rewarded her with a nod.

Ellie pulled you past the bouncer with urgency, and you swear you heard a deep chuckle from Barb on the wait. Shaking hands fiddled with the keys to her pickup, dropping them once on the ground before successfully unlocking the door and lifting you into the cab with surprising strength.

Ellie climbed in after you with an order of "in the back."

Your skirt and petticoat flipped up over your behind as you crawled between the seats, flashing Ellie your thin panties. For a moment she swore she could see a wet patch at your center. You scooted back on the narrow bench, spreading your legs so Ellie could rest on her knees between them. She wasted no time, leaning down to kiss you messily. Ellie sucked on your tongue, causing you to whimper and pull back with a gasp.

Ellie huskily whispered in your ear, "I've wanted to touch you like this the second I saw you, prancing around in your cute little skirt and apron." You were practically breathless as she littered kisses and sucks down your neck and to your collarbones. You would get mad at her later for the multitude of bruises, but you didn't have half a mind to care.

Warm, rough hands slid up your shoulders and down your sternum to take the low neckline of your dress into her grip. She pulled the material to rest below your breast, whispering out a low "fuck..." Ellie took your breasts into her palms, squeezing them while circling your nipples with her thumbs. She admired their shape and softness as she held them in her hands, giving them a squeeze and leaning down to flick a nipple with her tongue. You arched your back into her touch as she took your nipple into her mouth to suck, pinching the other between her finger and thumb.

You moaned out her name as she lavished your breasts with licks, kisses, and the occasional bite. Your sensitivity heightened with every touch, and Ellie could tell from the twitching of your thighs at her hips that you were craving more.

Ellie withdrew, grazing your nipple with the points of her teeth to make you flinch. She sat back and circled each nipple with the pad of her thumbs, the saliva left behind making you shiver as they hardened with the attention and cold. "What do you need, baby?"

You brought the back of your hand to rest against your forehead, flushed and panting. "More... please, Ellie."

Ellie smirked, "more what, honey?"

If you were in your right mind, you would have attempted to articulate that this was all new. The pleasure you felt was more intense and mor intimate than anything you'd felt before, and all you knew is that you wanted Ellie to touch you more. Ellie took mercy on you after a few moments of watching your face twist with embarrassment. She hummed for a moment in thought and shifted to press her knee between your thighs. You gasped and bucked your hips at the sudden stimulation to your clit, and Ellie had found her answer.

"Right there, huh? You want to feel me right here?" she questioned despite already knowing the answer. You shyly nodded and continued to grind your hips against the pressure of Ellie's thigh. "Ah-ah, you gotta tell me out loud or I won't know what you really want," she teased.

You take one of Ellie's hands into yours to draw it toward the hot, wet patch on your panties, "here, I need you right here... Please, Ellie, I can't take it."

More than pleased with your answer, Ellie scooted backwards so she could press her palm to your core. She cupped your pussy through your panties, grinding the heel of her palm against your clit. She stroked her hand across the length of your pussy before slipping her fingers into the hem of your panties. You helped her wriggle them down your legs, and Ellie gripped your knees to spread your legs wide open. For a moment, she just admired your glowing frame beneath her. Your lips glistened with arousal, starting to drip down the curve of your thigh to pool onto the truck's leather seats. "Such a pretty pussy..." Ellie mused, licking her thumb to rubbing slow circles around your clit. She reveled in your sensitivity and the ease with which she could pull whimpers and whines from you. You were so much fun to play with. Your hips followed the movements of her fingers to chase the pleasure. "Feels so good, doesn't it, baby?" Ellie cooed.

You whimpered and nodded once again but squeaked out a "yes!" when Ellie returned your silence with a slap to your clit. But her tender touches returned with greater intensity, switching from slow circles on your clit to swipes left and right with the tips of her fingers. Your thighs trembled and attempted to thrash, but Ellie forced your legs to remain open. "And you're all mine..." Ellie murmured, mostly to herself.

Ellie couldn't wipe the smile from her face as she abused your pussy, but she knew that she could make you squirm harder and squeal louder. She slowed her ministrations on your clit just enough to draw your focus and a whine of her name, "wha- why'd you stop?"

Ellie's gaze was intense, more serious than she had ever looked. "I need to fuck you. I want to feel you squeeze my fingers and drip down my wrist." She leaned down to press kisses up your chest and the side of your neck. Her breath puffed against your ear and nearly made you shiver, "will you let me, honey? I promise if you be my baby I'll make you feel so good."

"I'll be your baby, Ellie. Please make me yours."

She met you with an excited grin before sucking two fingers into her mouth to wet them. She withdrew them with a "pop" and brought them to your core. "You ready?"

You looked between Ellie's eyes and her fingers, "mhm, please, Ellie."

The tips of her fingers circled your hole once, twice, three times before penetrating to the first knuckle and thrusting shallowly. "So warm... you feel so good," Ellie cooed. You had flinched initially, but melted into the haze of pleasure as she thrusted deeper. Ellie paid close attention to your face and voice to guide you to your orgasm, noticing your breaths slow and your brows furrow with her gentle pace.

"You need more, don't you, baby? Want me to fuck you harder?" You nodded with a whimper and a plead, so Ellie curled her fingers and pumped them upward to abuse your g-spot. Your pussy made obscene, wet noises as Ellie jabbed the tips of her fingers against the spot on your walls that made you squeal and arch. "Doing so so good for me, angel, I can feel you squeezing me." You could only respond with groans and guttural noises from deep in your throat. If you could only hear yourself, you would be ashamed at your whoreish behavior.

Your body shook and your jaw slacked as you gasped for air. One of your hands came up to squeeze your breast, while the other gripped Ellie's forearm tightly. She could feel the bite of your nails but couldn't be bothered to care when you were this overwhelmed with pleasure beneath her. The burn in your stomach was a raging inferno at this point, your clit and walls pulsing with heat. Ellie could tell you were nearing the edge by the way your eyes kept rolling and your back arching up and falling backward onto the leather seats. "Ellieee, I- I'm so close, please. Please..."

Her grin only widened, a vibrant flush on her cheeks from excitement and exertion. Her fingers picked up her pace, gripping you by the hip for leverage as she pulled you toward orgasm. She knew just what you needed to throw you over the edge, "rub your clit for me, honey." She guided your hand away from her forearm to the mess between your thighs, "two fingers, do little circles for me, baby. Yeah, just like that." The friction on your clit shot through you like lightning, and you had to withdraw your other hand from your breast to grip your other wrist and quell its trembling. Ellie's fingers curled up just right with a firm jab and a squelch, and your pussy gripped her tightly. You could only let out throaty groans as you peaked, unable to form words or warn Ellie of your orgasm. You cum drooled down between your lips, Ellie's fingers and hand covered in your slick as she guided you through your orgasm. She slowed and withdrew her fingers from your pussy, circling your clit with her thumb once again until the bucking of your hips slowed and she felt your muscles tense at the stimulation.

Ellie pulled back to revel in her job well done. Your hazy eyes refocused with a peck to the tip of your nose. You smiled tiredly at one another, and you couldn't hold back your thoughts, "I've never felt like this for someone..."

Ellie looked confused for a moment and tilted her head, "huh? Like you've never come before?"

You laughed and looked away shyly, "no, not that. I mean, you did make me feel better than anyone has but I meant like... I have strong feelings for you."

Ellie smiled like a kid on Christmas and dropped down to smother you in a hug, "you'll just have to be my girl, then, won't you?"

You mirrored her smile and laugh at her enthusiasm, "I would want nothing more."

Very loosely inspired by the setting (not characters, Ellie isn’t really butch to me) of Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg (an essential read and one of my favorite people). Be kind to each other, we’re just making our dolls kiss. I see a lot of discourse over characterizations of the subject or reader and how it should be done. We like our characters and we envision how they would or wouldn’t act, but unless you’re writing the story then it probably won’t fit your expectations.

[puppyguppy]

There's a moment a few select individuals were privy to. A memory forever burned into some lucky handful of brains; those that'd been there, and not drunk enough to forget it. No one's sure if Aizawa even remembers it -- the core of the memory itself. That moment-maker. Not a single soul has been brave enough to bring it back up, or maybe everyone's just been too busy, recovering still, and rebuilding.

Which is what should've happened that night, but.

Those lucky, lucky few disagree.

Vehemently.

All in all, it'd been good for everyone.

An irresponsible reprieve, yes, but they were all so sick of being strong and responsible and the ones left alive. Aizawa, one of the most. Maybe the most -- out of the adults around, anyways. (Not that the kids could really be considered kids anymore.)

So, maybe that's why he'd allowed himself to drink so much. To drink so much, and let it go to his head instead of his heart. To drink so much, and let it take him to the dancefloor of the club, instead of the couch in his campus apartment. He'd still be in uniform, technically, not that anyone cared about that in the interim. The upper half of his jumpsuit had been folded and knotted around his waist though, chest clad in a black tank top. He'd had his hair tied up -- sort of. In this messy updo he'd temporarily adopted, which infuriated some and sexually frustrated others. Not that he knew, or cared. At least, that'd been the general assumption.

But, war changed a man.

As did twelve drinks.

Or, maybe, he'd always been like that.

After all, he had been friends with the R-Rated Hero, and Present Mic was only just barely any better.

It'd been Yamada, actually, that'd sparked the whole thing. No one knows exactly what he'd said, or did, outside of say something in Aizawa's ear and sway his hips. But, it'd made Aizawa laugh; the kind of laugh that'd thrown his head back and everything. And then, for those that'd just so happened to have been watching; heads turned and eyes pulled to that one particular spot on the sweaty, crowded floor, like Fate herself had guided them --

They got to watch Aizawa dance.

They got to watch him pop a hip, and then the other, the action immediately repeated and accentuated by the bunch of his costume around his waist. He'd been on beat without even trying, his body not even stuttering as pops smoothly rolled into waves. While the song that'd been playing at the time had been suggestive, what Aizawa had done with his body had been borderline obscene. Even if only because anyone watching felt like they'd gotten a glimpse of some Victorian lass's ankle for the very first time. And then.

And then.

He'd done this cheeky little spin on his good leg, thrown his head back again, his tank top stretched just enough to expose a little strip of hip, and -

and his hair had fallen, fluffy and gorgeous and all down in his face, the hairtie lost to the abyss of bodies. It'd shocked him into another laugh, but not bad enough to stop him from dancing, from damn near grinding -- no, that'd only stopped once Yamada couldn't take it anymore, and slapped his ass with a hand before more or less collapsing against his side.

He'd looked so young, for just those few minutes. Which was to say, he'd looked his age. Despite everything, despite the loss, he'd looked happy. And so, so fucking hot.

And for some, more than two but less than a hundred, that's now the memory that gets them through the day.

And well into the night.

The world was worth saving, the war worth winning, and the aftermath worth surviving.

[ch3rriiii-bunn]

Won't you join us?

THE WAY I'VE BEEN WANTING TO MAKE A OBAMITSU X BLACK READER AHHHH <333 Bye its so long lol hope you enjoy

Warnings: black fem!reader, hashira reader, mention of scars from battles, hinted insecurities about scars, minor manga spoilers, scar kissing, 3some, over stimulation (?), praising but some degrading from iguro, dom iguro, switch mituri, switch reader, squirting

You've been in the demon slayer core for 3 years now. You were actually recommended by mitsuri since she was assigned to save your village, she just couldn't over look your bravery and how you were able to take up a weapon and fight a demon along side her.

You met iguro when you joined the demon slayer core, starting as a low rank. You didn't exactly hate iguro at the time. You understood his overprotective mindset towards his loving girlfriend mitsuri, but it was a bit much at times. Surprisingly, you had a lot in common with iguro.

You had told both iguro and mitsuti your uniform covers you from the neck, down because you wanted to hide all the scars you've gotten from fighting demons. Iguro grew closer to you and told you about his scar on his face. Mitsuri loved how that was the moment iguro finally got close to you since you were very dear to her.

As the years went by, you eventually made it to being a hashira. It was a bitter sweet moment since the spot was open from the former flame hashira, but mitsuri and iguro welcomed you with open arms. "Y/n, we are going to get some food! Wanna come?" Mitsuri always asked you so sweetly, and you could never refuse, that and iguro would give you the death stare wanting you to come as well.

You've spent much more time with a couple, almost like you were a part of their relationship. The other hashira would tease you about it since most of the time they'd invite you on their dates, but you would never be a third wheel. "It's not like that. I'm just close with them, you know?" You laugh but see the serious looks on iguro and mitsuris face. "What's so bad about thinking that!? Y/n is very dear to me" Mitsuri said, pouting. "y/n is a woman worthy of my respects" iguro said.

They'd often say possessive things when it comes to you, almost way past the limit of friendship, but you didn't mind it. Their compliments would be way past friendship levels as well. You've been complimented many times by your braids and how you style them with hair pins and accessories, also how full and beautiful your lips looked when you wore the lipstick most female slayers wore.

Mitsuri and iguro agreed braids looked amazing on you, but seeing your natural hair is where they'd praise you like their girlfriend. "Y/n!!! Your hair is so beautiful and fluffy!! I love it! You look so hot!" Mitsuri would say like it's nothing but then blush in embarrassment when she dose realize. "Your nature hair is beautiful on you. You're only allowed to look this beautiful for mitsuri.. and me," iguro will say with a straight face.

The hashira would just say that you're in a relationship with both iguro and mitsuti. Even if you'd tell them no in the back of your mind, it felt like you were. It did stay on your mind for a while. You'd brush it off, but you couldn't help but grow an attachment to them and often catch yourself looking at them with loving eyes when they speak to you or even around you.

You walked out of the masters house after being called in for a meeting and sighed. "his health is getting worse... I wish I could help him more, " you thought, already greeving for your beloved master and not noticing the small noises you heard as you approached the turning point to leave the mansion.

You couldn't sense any demons. It was still evening, too bright for any demons to show themselves. You slowly approached the turning point closer to make out the noise, your heart dropped when the noises you were hearing were muffled moans and clothes rustling against each other.

You sighed, understanding what was going on the other side and rubbed your forehead in annoyance. As a hahsira you and the others have delt with these kinds of things before where demon slayers will do inappropriate things on their work time and it's always the hashira who have to check them.

You mentally got yourself together and walked around the corner. "Enough. Don't do these foolish things...by the masters... house" all the blood rushed to your face to see it wasn't any regular slayers it was mitsuri and iguro.

They turn their heads, breaking their kiss and gasping, looking at you. Iguro being behind mituri with his hands on her hips and her skirt Hiked up with her legs spread apart taking iguros cock deep inside her. You kept staring at them until mitsuri spoke, "y-y/n let me-" before she could finish, you slapped your hands on your face to cover your eyes. "I'm sorry!" You squealed and ran, bumping into a tree, making you fall backward.

"Y/n! hold on a second- Shit" iguro pulls out of mitsuri and you see his cock hang down with mitsuri's mess on it. You gasped loudly "no no! It's ok! Go back to what you were doing!" You quickly got up and ran away, trying to pretend you didn't see a thing.

It's been a week since the incident. Iguro and mitsuri couldn't force you to speak to them since every time you saw them, you'd get all flustered and turn in the opposite direction. You didn't mean to be rude, and you even felt bad, but you didn't know how to approach them after seeing what they knew you saw.

The master had summoned you, iguro, and mitsuri to discuss your next mission. It involved protecting a popular village that supports the demon slayers core with medicine and has been having strange demon events happening there.

You raised your hand. "Forgive me for speaking out of turn master... but do you think I'm suitable for this mission? Mitsuri and iguro are much stronger than I, " you said, trying to find some excuse to back out. Iguro stared at you, almost like he was furious, but in truth, he felt deeply hurt. You kept your head down. You knew iguro was staring at you and couldn't brush off the cold sensation.

"I assigned you since your censorabilities will be very usual for this mission, especially since it's on a hasiras level. You'll be accompanied by two hashira you're most close with. Am I mistaken? Are you not close with iguro and mitsuri?" Kagaya asked.

You took a moment to respond. You knew you were being stupid and stubborn by not talking to them about the situation, but at the end of the day, you loved them both dearly. "You're not mistaken master. You're correct. These two are my beloved, close friends. Pardon my rudeness earlier. " You bowed and turned your head to them.

Mitsuri was blushing so much at your words, feeling so much relief she started sweating. iguro wipes her sweat, and his eyes change from narrow to rounded with light in his eyes.

On the mission, things went back to their usual self. Mitsuri was clingy to you as always, and you and iguro bumped heads but in joking seriously ways. The demon situation at the village didn't take too long to handle. You ended up getting hurt, making mitsuri panic so hard she almost failed, but you were fine, of course. "Mitsuri, it's just a cut on my leg, see? They already took care of it. " You try to calm her down "NOOO MY PRECIOUS Y/N!!!!!,

It was still too early to go back. The people at the village offered you to stay one more day to rest and to heal from your injury. After the bath you took with mitsuri in the bathhouse, you went with her to her shared room with iguro. Mitsuri opened the door, and you had seen iguro sitting on the bed, playing with his snake Kaburamaru.

You didn't think much of it and decided to sit next to iguro, letting his snake lick your hand and come towards you. "So what did you guys wanna talk about? Is it the injury I got? Because it's healed already, just kinda sore," you chuckled. "No... actually, we wanted to talk to you about that day, " iguro said. You went silent.

"We're sorry!" Mitsuri burst out loud, bowing her head extremely flustered. "It was my idea to do it with iguro at the time! I was sure no one was around, but you ended up seeing, and then you started to avoid us! I'm sorry!!!" Mitsuri said, and you saw fat tears fall from her face.

You lift Mitsuri's head up and quickly wipe her tears away "Mitsuri it's okay! Don't cry. Please don't cry and don't even apologize. If anyone should be saying sorry it's me, I shouldn't have avoided you guys, " you said and hugged Mitsuri. "Yeah, you should apologize. I could understand how you felt but avoiding us? What did you think we'd do?" Iguro said, almost angry.

"Iguro, be nice," Mitsuri said, still hugging you. "I don't know what I was thinking. I just went stupid and lost all common senses on what to do in the situation. For that, I am sorry, " you said, looking at iguro. There was silence in the room before iguro spoke again. "Why did you just stand there that day. Usually, if someone sees people having sex in public, they'd be grossed out, but you didn't look grossed out, " iguro said.

"I just... well. It's you guys and I'd never be grossed out by you" you said letting go of Mitsuri and looking down at your knees "I guess I could say I didn't mind it but I left after because I shouldn't be watching" you chuckled nervously. "I wouldn't mind if it's you y/n," Mitsuri said.

You could've sworn you heard her wrong. What did she mean by that? You had so many questions running in your head and then stopped once you felt the two hold your hands. "We would never mind if it's you seeing us like that y/n. Right iguro?" Mitsuri asked with a big smile, and iguro nodded. You look at them and couldn't hide your feelings anymore, "you know... the other hashira love to tease us about being a relationship, but now it feels like we are having a couples talk."

Iguro scoffs. "What if I told you mitsuri and I would want you to be in a relationship with us. Would it be awkward?" Iguro asked, intertwining his fingers with yours. "No, it wouldn't," you said softly, looking at iguro. Mitsuri scoots herself closer to you, getting in the middle, and leans closer to you. "y/n. Is it okay if I kiss you?" Mitsuri asked.

You bit your lip and nodded. Mitsuri leaned in, cupping your cheeks with both her hands, kissing you passionately. Her lips were so soft, so plumbed you loved the taste of her lipstick on your lips and getting lost in her hold with her warm, soft hands. You noticed moments after to see iguro taking off his mask and revealing his scar.

You took a moment to look at his scar, stretched almost to his ears, and noticed how iguro didn't look at you, only waiting for your response. Once mitsuri pulled back from the kiss, you went closer to iguro. "You're beautiful," you smiled. Iguro looked at you, almost shocked and tried to not get emotional, only letting himself smile at your response.

Iguro leans closer to you and puts his hand on your neck, pushing your clothing aside just enough to see the scar that starts at your neck. "So are you," he said. You chuckle "its just one scar you're seeing. Would you still think im beautiful with many scars?" You flirt but also being serious. "Of course I would" iguro said, putting his hand on your neck bringing you into a deep kissm

Moments after you two pulled back and looked at mitsuri, who was so happy to see her two most loved ones see the beauty in each other, almosy bring her to tears. "You're both so beautiful," she said, cupping your cheek with one hand and iguro with the other taking turns by kissing you and iguro switching a few seconds.

The sun went down, darking the room, and the three of you were still on the bed. Mitsuri took out her braids and laid down on her side and iguro laying next to her with just enough space for once more person to be in the middle.

Mitsuri pats the spot in the middle and looks at you with a sweet yet seductive smile. "Won't you join us tonight, my love?" She asked, blushing even with her ears turning red. "Let's make you ours tonight," iguro added, holding out his hand to you.

You didn't even need to say yes. You took iguro's hand and laid down between the two to get the long night started.

It was hot, the bed was a mess, clothes scattered and moans filling the room with mitsuri on the right side, playing with your nipple between her fingers kissing you deeply and her tounge swirling around yours. Iguro on the right side, having his thumb rub your clit with his twi fingers deep inside feeling your wetness and having his lips on your neck, bitting and sucking on it.

Mitsuri broke the kiss with a moan, grinding her pussy against your leg "y/n your legs won't stop trembling, are you going to cum?" She asked and leaned her head down to lick at your nipple. You nod looking at her with teary eyes "not yet" iguro said pulling his fingers out and you whined from your ruined orgasm. "Tell her what you want, Mitsuri." iguro looks at mitsuri.

Mitsuri holds your hands and kisses your jawline "I want you under me, licking my pussy with iguros cock inside me. Please can I feel your tounge on my clit? Please y/n. I've always thought about it," Mitsuri begs. "I've always tounge about having my tounge here too" you confess touching mitsuri's pussy, rubbing at her clit making her mewl at your touch.

"Look how wet she is" iguro crawls over to mitsuris side to open her legs and uses his fingers to spread her pussy open. "Mm, you're more we than ever. I saw how wet you were from obed there." iguro slides his fingers through her wet folds. "Is it because y/n is here?" Iguro pointed out with a smirk, and mitsuri covered her face. "Yes! Don't be a tease iguro!" Mitsuri whines. Iguro and you exchanged looks, smiling at her cuteness.

"Come on. Let us take care of you, mitsuri, " you said, getting in a 69 postion with you lying down and mitsuri's lower half hovering over your face. you saw iguro line his cock up with mitsuris pussy teasing her. "He's big, isn't he y/n?" Mitsuri looked down at you through her boobs hanging down. "He is really big. For a short guy" you joked and touched iguros cock. "After I'm done with mituri I think I won't go so easy on you for that little joke" he said, putting his cock inside her making mitsuri let out a moan.

You hum and held mitsuris thighs licking at her throbbing clit and already felt her become a trembling mess, moaning at the doubled pleasure she's receiving. "how's y/ns tounge baby? You're clenching down on me so hard it must feel good, mm?" Iguro asked mitsuri. "It's so good! Your tongue feels so good y/n, and with iguros cock in me! Oh, it's so good~ " She whines, moving her hips in circles to feel more pleasure from your flatten tongue.

Your hand went down to your clit, rubbing at it from how turned on mitsuri's moans were, getting eaten out by you, sucking on her clit and her taking a cock at the same time and how dumb she became from the pleasure. "aahh!! I'm cumming! Cumming cumming!" Mitsuri sobs, almost screaming as she orgasm.

Iguro made a big thrust, filling her up and pulling out moments after. You crawled out from underneath mitsuri and cleaned your mouth off from her juice. "You also tasted amazing mitsuri," you commented, making her hide her face. "Now it's you're turn" iguro whispers in your ear, biting it softly. "Lay down on your side y/n." Iguro said

"Mm," you hummed with a smile, laying down on your side with your back arched to tease him. Before iguro got started, he began to kiss at your body, especially where your scars were. "You're beautiful. So beautiful, " he said with each kiss, and mitsuri did the same."Your body is beautiful. No scar could ever take that away, " she said so sweetly, bringing her face to yours

"it felt so good having your clit played with while being penetrated. You should feel it too y/n" mitsuri said and licked her fingers, lubricating them and started to rub at your clit. Iguro got behind you, lifting your leg up and shoved his cock inside you without warning making you gasp.

You used your hand to reach behind you to push iguro back by his abdomen, but he cups your boob and grabbed it to hold you in place. "Don't run from it, y/n. Look how good your taking my cock." Iguro kisses the back of your neck "squeezing me in so much you cant let me go can you?" he says lowly in your ear, thrusting his hips slow yet hitting hard making you whimper out. "you're gonna be good and listen to me yeah? Since you want to make that joke earlier. How dose my cock feel in your messy pussy from a short guy?" He chuckles

Your mouth hangs open with your loud moans filling the room. You tried to hide your voice, dare someone walk by and hear you but iguro only puts his fingers in your mouth, preventing you from hiding your voice "what whoreish moans your letting out. Looks like you want more if your moaning like that on my cock. Or is it mituri giving you more pleasure? Tell us y/n" iguro said, snapping his hips faster.

Mitsuri began to rub your clit faster and lifts your chin up to look at her. "I love you y/n" she said and kissed you "I love this face you're making for me right now, if only iguro could see it. So pretty" Mitsuri smiles "you're voice is so cute. Why would you hide it from us?" she kisses you and goes down to your boobs and starts sucking at your nipple.

"Dose it feel good when I do this?" She asked and you nod quickly, to fucked out to even answer "You're such a good girl, cum for us" Mitsuri kept rubbing your clit, not getting tired since she could do this all day thanks to her given arm strength. "So good, such a fucking girl" iguro moans.

They say that with their sweet words and iguros, soft kisses and love bites almost distract you from their rough actions. "Please, please, I'm so close. Please let me cum" you begged "yeah thats it, cum on my cock. Show me what a messy slut you can be" iguro said, pouding his cock, bullying his tip on your spot.

"Let go y/n. Cum for me" Mituri said. Your legs tremble with tears rolling down your face from the over situation and squirt. Iguro cums inside you through your orgasm and he chuckles with heavy breaths "good girl" he spanks your ass and pulls out of you. Mituri pulls you in her arms and pets your head, laying down. "You did so well, my love," she said and kissed your forehead.

You gave her a half smile and rested your head on her big, soft boobs. You felt iguros hand run up your thighs and grabbed your ass, rubbing it and him doing the same action to mitsuri. "Just lay back and relax. I'll clean up the mess, " he said, and mituri nodded happily

"Thanks, iguro," you said, closing your eyes.

[satureja13]

After Dayn had left, Jack and Jeb went to the security office to check these ominous letters from Jasmine Holiday. Seems the winterfest season has begun (!) and she has a few tasks for them. The Boys totally missed it - they completely lost track of time out here in space! They aren't even aware of if it's night or day. Every time is night time out here... One of the first tasks was stargazing. Now, that was easy. They hadn't started the engines yet so Jeb and Jack were able to gaze at a lot of stars! Then they went down to the crew mess to cook Japchae, as requested. Jack already was excited about winterfest in September, so he urged Jeb to put on their winterfest sweaters. Jeb: "Are you sure this goes conform with the starfleet protocol?" Jack: "Of course it does! We still wear our uniforms. Just beneath the sweaters ;) And since our communications system still doesn't work, no one sees it anyway."

Jack already hung up the wreath they got as reward for stargazing :3 With the galaxy freezer boney in front of it. To protect Kiyoshi's cheese from Lenny.

Meanwhile Saiwa and Ji Ho had started their shift. They can't really contribute to the ship's repairs or research for a cure for Ji Ho, so they are cleaning up a bit. (They'd made a mess when they lived here at the bridge with the Little Goats and Malfoy.) Scrutinized by the gardening bot, Lenny and the Little Goats. The Boys had searched thoroughly for the Romantium ore, but the Little Goats seem to have hidden it well this time. Little Goat: 'They are going to keep an eye on the ventilation openings in the future. No chance to place it there again...' Little Goat: 'We could hide it in their rooms again. Not as effective but still better than nothing.' Little Goat agreed: 'Which room first?'

As soon as Vlad and Kiyoshi confirmed the new route to the outpost in the astrometrics lab, Sai and Ji Ho are going to start the engines to take their detour to gather the missing pieces for the repair of the communication system and the other devices... Vlad and Ji Ho's meteorites were glowing and humming in their container... They hover so close together, it almost looks like it's one piece.

After the route was set, Vlad and Kiyoshi were supposed to sleep to take over one of the next shifts. But they went to the other engine room first. Kiyoshi briefed Vlad (since he and Jack were on duty at the bridge when Dayn showed it to the others). He also told Vlad Dayn and the former crew used the cooling basin as a hot tub and that he can't wait to try it out with Jack. Kiyoshi: "Or shall we two dive in before bed?" Vlad: "Uh, maybe another time. I'm too tired after all that commotion over the last days." Vlad is a loner and after being caged at the bridge with all the others for who knows how long, he's craving his alone time.

Kiyoshi left, he's tired too and no one knows how long they are allowed to sleep until the next madness happens... He hopes Jack will join him soon. He's missing having him in his arms and being close to his mate. Vlad looked at the basin. Now that the Romantium wasn't permeating the air of the ship anymore - will Ji Ho and him ever end up here together? He hopes Ji Ho will at least join him in their bed later, when he finished his shift. Vlad relived their picknick at the 'meadow', when he'd kissed Ji Ho. It had felt so easy then - by courtesy of the Romantium? Vlad almost wishes it back. But he has to find ways to be close to Ji Ho without it. He doesn't want Ji Ho to just want him because he's under the influence of an ore...

The Little Ones are sleeping too. Only Skully is still awake. He already decorated a bit for Winterfest! And he switched to his Winterfest playlist.

Currently it's playing: 'Do they know it's Christmas?' by Band Aid (TMI: I laughed and I cried when I watched this video again. I haven't seen it for 40 years! This was a project to raise funds for starving children in Africa by Bob Geldof and so many amazing musicians had joined him! Bono, Paul Young, Boy George, George Michael, Simon LeBon, Phil Collins on the drums and so many more!)

'… It's Christmas time, and there's no need to be afraid At Christmas time, we let in light and banish shade And in our world of plenty We can spread a smile of joy Throw your arms around the world At Christmas time

… But say a prayer and pray for the other ones At Christmas time, it's hard but while you're having fun There's a world outside your window And it's a world of dread and fear Where a kiss of love can kill you And there's death in every tear And the Christmas bells that ring there are the clanging chimes of doom Well tonight we're reaching out and touching you'

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: starts ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-29

[jmdbjk]

Thinking too hard.

I was having a delusional episode while talking to my bestie:

Here's my wild concept for the BTS comeback MV: a Star Wars-like spoof where they are the rebel underdogs fighting the evil empire.

The song would need to have an overall "together we will overcome and save the world" theme. Or it could be a "fuck you evil bitches time to die". Either/or.

They are in those X-wing fighters and those huge land walker thingys.

Jimin can have smeraldo flower decals on his X-wing and JK can have tattoo graffiti looking decals on his. Of course both of their light sabers would be purple. Duh, right? It gets hot in those fighter space craft, they'd be shirtless of course.

Tae can be riding one of those two-legged horse/kangaroo looking things, wind blowing in his hair. Hey, I just googled what they are called... Tauntauns... tan tans? The universe is universing here. Stick with me, I might be on to something.

Yoongi can be operating one of those land stompers. Googled what those are called (can you tell I'm not a hardcore Star Wars fan? But I did see most of the theatrical movies, except maybe one... anyway) All Terrain Armored Transport or AT-AT Walker because at one point in Yoongi's life, he worked as a motorbike delivery person. Universe, stop it! While delivering more troops and weapons to the front lines, Yoongi can crush people who look like k-media and fake media... or MHJ. For sure kpoppies. Crush 'em all, Yoongi.

I don't want to say it but its a no-brainer: Namjoon is a wise and philosophical ancient being who can slice an enemy in half using only his words. May the force be with you. Slash.

That leaves Hobi. He's the commander of course. Perfectly fitting uniform (designed by LV of course) manning the war room.

Jin, since he's the oldest and the most hardcore gamer, would volunteer to be the one to fly into the heart of the evil empire's ship/vessel/planet/egg/brain/bowels/whatever and blow it to bits before he zooms out safely, escaping obliteration. I guess that would also lend itself to having a slight astronaut touch to it wouldn't it? Kinda also ties in with military stuff.

Cue the close up of Jin winking to the camera and blowing a WWH kiss.

At the end of the MV the evil in the world is destroyed and everyone cheers. The whales in the ocean rejoice.

A bit violent but in a sci-fi fantasy way. Hybe can spend a lot of money on special effects and make it very sparkly and over the top cinematic.

At least you can’t say I don’t have a sense of humor along with this wild imagination.

Time to exit the emo angst school boi era and enter the mature hunk oppa hero era guys. Universe! Get on it!

[deliciousspecimen]

Can you do separate peko, Mikan and tenko with male!reader who is depressed and scared of males due to his past abuse of stepfather?

A/N: Yes, I absolutely can! You didn't specify what kind of writing you wanted, so I just made oneshots for each of them :}

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.1

pt.2

Peko, Mikan and Tenko x Male!Reader

Warnings: Themes of Trauma/Abuse, Mentions of Assault/Threats, Mental Health Topics, Sensitive Touch & Boundaries

Word Count: 3628

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peko: 

The first time Peko noticed him, it wasn’t because of something loud or dramatic.

It was because he wasn’t loud.

(Y/N) sat alone in the corner of the classroom, always a little too still, a little too tense. His eyes rarely met anyone’s directly, and when they did, they flinched away like they'd touched something too hot.

Peko understood silence. She understood stillness. But this wasn’t the silence of focus or discipline. This was a silence built from fear.

She didn’t approach him right away. Observation came naturally to her. She watched how he gripped the sleeves of his uniform during conversations. How he edged closer to the wall when a male classmate got too close. How his breathing would subtly hitch anytime a voice raised near him- even in laughter.

It wasn’t hard to piece together.

What she didn’t expect was how he looked at her.

Not with fear. Not with pity. But almost... curious. Like he couldn’t understand why someone like her- stern and composed- was the only one he didn’t shy away from.

They shared the same routine. Arrive early. Leave late. Avoid the crowd. So one day, when they passed in the hallway, and he flinched from someone else’s raised hand when going in for a highfive with another student, Peko made a choice.

She stopped.

“You’re hurt,” she said bluntly, her tone flat but not unkind. “You mask it well. But I see it.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened, lips parting as if to protest, but nothing came out.

“I won’t ask what happened,” she continued, her voice steady. “But I’d like to offer... company. You don’t need to speak. I’ll simply sit.”

His throat bobbed. It was too much and not enough, all at once. He nodded.

That was how it started.

They began sharing quiet moments behind the school. No words, just the rustle of wind and the occasional time Peko pulled out her covered sword as she practiced her forms nearby. She never moved too fast, never startled him. The wood covering her blade slicing through the air with purpose, but her movements were deliberate- never violent, never chaotic.

(Y/N) started bringing a book. Sometimes he read. Sometimes he just listened to her breathe.

He trusted her long before he realized he did.

One afternoon, weeks into this fragile ritual, Peko put her sword down and sat beside him. Not close enough to touch- but closer than usual.

“I was trained to kill,” she said softly, her eyes fixed on the horizon. “But I don’t want to be feared.”

(Y/N) looked at her. Really looked. Her eyes were steady, but there was something buried deep- something vulnerable.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he whispered.

She turned to him. The softest flicker of something like relief crossed her face.

“You don’t flinch when I move,” she said.

“You don’t raise your voice,” he replied. “You don’t... look at me like I’m broken.”

“You’re not broken,” she said without hesitation. “You survived something that tried to destroy you. That takes strength.”

His breath caught. No one had ever said that before. Not like that. Not without expectation.

Peko looked down. “I don’t understand emotions well. But... I want to protect what’s important to me. You’ve become important.”

His heart stuttered.

He didn’t know what to say. But maybe he didn’t need to.

Because for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he had to hide.

And Peko, the girl who had only ever known her blade, sat quietly beside him- offering a different kind of shield.

After a while, they both stood, going off in their separate directions, like any other day. 

The next day, around the end of the school day, (Y/N) was making his way to his loacker to gather all of his things.

The hallway was nearly empty, that sort of eerie quiet where footsteps echo too loudly. (Y/N) had stayed behind, as usual, hoping the other students would clear out so he wouldn’t have to squeeze through a crowd. But he hadn’t realized one of the seniors- Riku, loud and full of something bitter- was waiting around the corner.

“Hey,” Riku said, stepping into his path.

(Y/N) froze.

He recognized that voice. Recognized the way his tone coiled beneath fake friendliness. He backed up a step.

“Relax, man. Just wanna talk,” Riku smirked, inching closer. “You’re always glued to that sword-girl. Pretty sure she’s not into shy little losers.”

(Y/N)’s throat tightened. His breath came shallow. Riku moved fast- too fast- blocking his path with an arm against the lockers.

Something snapped behind his eyes. He wasn’t seeing the hallway anymore. He was seeing him. The stepfather who slammed doors. Who raised fists. Who spat words like nails. His body went rigid. Breath caught.

But then-

A voice, sharp and cold as steel, “Back away from him.”

Riku turned. “What the hell-?”

Peko stood at the end of the hall, eyes narrowed at Riku. She wasn’t holding it in an offensive stance. She didn’t need to.

Her presence alone was enough to shift the air.

Riku chuckled, but it was weak now. “Geez, you’re really babysitting him?”

Peko didn’t blink. “This is your final warning.”

Her hand moved slightly, her fingers brushing the handle of her sword on her back.

Riku scoffed but stepped back, muttering something under his breath. He wasn’t stupid. No one crossed Peko Pekoyama.

The moment he was gone, Peko turned her attention to (Y/N), whose back was still against the lockers, chest rising and falling fast.

“(Y/N),” she said, softly now. “He’s gone. You’re safe.”

It took a moment, but his gaze finally met hers. Wide, haunted.

She stepped closer. Slowly. “May I?” she asked, gesturing vaguely toward him- not to touch, just to be closer.

He nodded once.

They sat down on the bench nearby, the world narrowing to the silence between them. Peko waited. Patient. Steady. He clutched his sleeves tightly, knuckles white, before he finally broke the quiet.

“My stepfather…” he began. His voice cracked. He paused. Swallowed.

She waited.

“He used to do things like that. The cornering. The threats. And worse. I’d hear his boots coming down the hall and- I just- I couldn’t breathe.” His voice wavered, and he shut his eyes tightly. “I always thought it was my fault. That I wasn’t strong enough.”

Peko didn’t speak right away. When she did, her voice was low. Intent.

“You survived that,” she said. “Not because you were weak- but because you endured. And that kind of strength... is rare.”

His lips trembled. “Why don’t you run from me, Peko?”

She tilted her head slightly, frowning. “Why would I run from you?”

“Because I’m messed up. Broken. You could be with anyone-”

“I choose to be near you,” she interrupted, voice firm. “Not out of pity. Not out of duty. But because... when I’m with you, I feel calm. Like I don’t have to always be a weapon.”

His eyes widened.

She hesitated, then reached out- not touching him, just letting her hand hover, waiting. “May I?” she asked again.

Slowly, (Y/N) nodded.

She took his hand gently, her grip warm but never tight. Never controlling. Just… there.

And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel like a victim.

Mikan:

The first time Mikan saw him, (Y/N) was curled up in the corner of the classroom, sleeves tugged over his hands, eyes glued to the floor like looking at anyone might make him shatter.

She recognized it instantly- the stiffness in his shoulders, the flinch at every sudden movement, the way his breathing changed when someone walked behind him. Fear. Not the kind that faded with time, but the kind etched into the nervous system like a scar.

She understood that kind of fear too well.

Mikan had always been too much- too clumsy, too anxious, too eager to please- but she was never too much for pain. Pain, she'd learned, made people pay attention. She'd hated it, but she'd lived in it for so long that when she saw (Y/N), she knew. He lived there too.

It started small.

A quiet hello after class, barely above a whisper. A bandaid offered when she noticed he was biting the skin around his nails until it bled. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t look her in the eye. But he didn’t push her away either.

That was enough for Mikan.

She didn’t try to fix him. She just sat next to him sometimes, talked softly about things that didn’t matter- how the nurse’s office was out of gauze again, how her hair wouldn’t stay right no matter how she brushed it, how the sky looked heavy with rain. He never responded, but slowly, he started listening. And eventually, he started nodding.

Then one day, he spoke.

“I hate being touched.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

Mikan froze. She didn’t ask why. She didn’t need to. She just nodded, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Okay. I won’t touch you,” she said.

(Y/N)’s shoulders relaxed, just a little.

Weeks passed like that. (Y/N) never told her what happened, but sometimes he’d trail off mid-sentence and she’d see the flicker of something behind his eyes- something haunted and heavy. She didn’t press. She just kept showing up. With warmth. With patience.

And one rainy afternoon, everything changed.

He was shaking when he stumbled into the nurse’s office, soaked through, bruises blooming across his ribs. He wouldn’t say who did it. Mikan didn’t ask. She only helped him sit down on the cot, hands trembling as she reached for the medical kit, then paused.

“I-I-I’m going to clean your injuries now, but… I won’t touch you unless you say it’s okay, okay?”

There was a long silence. Then, barely audible:

“…Okay.”

It was the first time he let her touch him.

Her hands were soft, careful. Every movement was slow, narrated in a gentle whisper. “I’m cleaning the cut now. It might sting a little, b-but I’ll be really careful, promise…”

He flinched, but didn’t pull away. His breathing hitched. She didn’t say anything when a tear slid down his cheek. She just handed him a tissue.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m so broken.”

“No,” she said immediately, shaking her head so hard her hair slipped from its pins. “You’re not. You’re hurt. You’ve been hurt really badly, but that’s not the same as being broken.”

He looked at her then. Really looked at her. She saw the raw ache in his expression, the doubt, the exhaustion. But also, the beginning of something else. Hope, maybe.

In time, (Y/N) stopped flinching as much. He started sitting closer. Sometimes, he even smiled. It was small and fleeting, but to Mikan, it was brighter than the sun.

He wasn’t healed, not completely. Healing didn’t happen all at once. It came in pieces. In trust built moment by moment. In safety found in gentle hands and soft voices.

Mikan didn’t need him to be perfect. She didn’t even need him to be okay.

She just needed him to know he didn’t have to suffer alone.

And little by little, he began to believe it.

After that, the nurse’s office had become a kind of sanctuary.

At first, (Y/N) had only gone there when he had no choice- when bruises needed hiding or a panic attack left him too dizzy to think. But now, he found himself drifting there even on quiet days. Days when nothing hurt, at least not visibly. Days when the ghosts were just whispers, not screams.

Mikan was always there.

She never asked him to explain himself. She never pushed when the words got stuck in his throat. She just smiled- nervous, shaky, but real- and made space for him beside her. Sometimes she offered tea. Sometimes she rambled about classwork or clumsily spilled cotton balls across the floor. Sometimes she just sat with him, in silence, and that was enough.

(Y/N) found comfort in her softness, in how careful she was. How she always announced every move.

“I’m reaching for the thermometer now, o-okay? I won’t touch you.”

“I’ll sit here, if that’s okay. I c-can move if it’s not…”

He never realized how deeply he craved that kind of gentleness until she gave it to him.

It was a Thursday when something shifted.

(Y/N) was staring out the window, watching a few birds hop along the grass just beyond the courtyard. The sky was a dull gray, the kind that made everything feel a little heavier. Mikan sat beside him on the cot, legs drawn up beneath her, chewing nervously on her lower lip.

She looked at him, then down at her hands. “U-Um… (Y/N)? Can I ask something?”

He stiffened, but nodded.

“Have you ever… had anyone tell you they’re proud of you?”

He blinked.

“…No.”

Mikan’s lips parted like she might cry, but instead, she scooted just a little closer. “I am,” she whispered. “I-I mean… I’m proud of you. You’re so brave. You keep going even when it hurts, and you’re always so kind even when you're scared, and… I just think that’s really, really strong.”

The room was too quiet. Too still.

Then- without thinking- (Y/N) reached out. His fingers brushed her sleeve. Not skin. Just fabric. But it was the first time he’d reached for anyone in years.

Mikan didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“Is… is it okay if I stay like this?” he asked, voice trembling. “Just for a minute.”

Her eyes went wide with emotion, then she gave the smallest, warmest smile.

“Yes. Of course it is.”

Later that night, (Y/N) sat on his bed with the lights off, staring at the soft imprint of her touch left in his memory. His stepfather’s voice still echoed sometimes, cruel and sharp and impossible to silence. But for once, it was quieter than the sound of Mikan’s voice.

“I’m proud of you.”

Those words replayed over and over, like a lullaby.

Tenko:

The dojo was quiet- unusually so. Dust motes floated in the sunlit air like tiny spirits, dancing just above the polished floorboards. Tenko Chabashira stood barefoot at the center of the room, her dark hair pulled into a high ponytail that swayed with every practiced movement. Her breathing was controlled, sharp, matching the flow of her kata.

But she paused mid-strike, her sharp eyes flickering toward the door. Someone was there- hesitating. Hovering like a shadow.

"(Y/N)?" she called softly, letting her arms fall to her sides.

He flinched, half-hidden behind the sliding door, as if even hearing his name spoken aloud was too much. His knuckles were white where he clutched the edge of the frame, shoulders hunched beneath his too-large hoodie.

Tenko straightened and offered a gentle smile- not too big, not too forceful. She knew better than to rush him. Over the past few weeks, she’d noticed how (Y/N) never looked anyone in the eyes, how he avoided crowded hallways and jumped at loud voices. And worst of all- how he tensed around every man, like his whole body was bracing for a blow.

She had been careful. Always letting him choose the distance. Always making sure he knew she saw him as more than what the others whispered behind his back.

"I was just finishing up training," she said, wiping sweat from her brow. "You can come in… if you want."

He hesitated, then stepped forward like he was walking into an unknown world. Every step seemed like a negotiation with himself. He didn’t meet her eyes, but he sat at the far edge of the room, back to the wall, as if needing a way out.

Tenko didn’t mind. She simply walked to the corner, grabbed a bottle of water, and took a slow sip before sitting cross-legged across from him.

"You’re always welcome here, you know," she said softly. "No pressure. Just… a place to breathe."

(Y/N)'s hands curled tightly in his sleeves. His voice, when it came, was almost inaudible. “You’re the only one who doesn’t… look at me like I’m broken.”

Tenko’s heart twisted. She leaned forward slightly, mindful of her posture- open, nonthreatening.

"You're not broken, (Y/N). You've just been hurt. And healing... takes time. But you're strong. I can tell."

He shook his head. "I'm not. I can't even look at half the class without freezing up. I can’t-"

“You showed up here,” she cut in gently. “That’s strength.”

There was silence. A long, aching silence.

Then, as if asking for something he couldn’t name, he whispered, "Can I stay a while?"

Tenko’s expression softened. She nodded, voice quiet but firm. “As long as you need.”

And so they sat there, in the soft golden light, surrounded by the scent of pine wood and old paper walls. No fighting. No fear. Just two people- one offering calm, the other learning to breathe again.

Tenko glanced at him, watching the way his shoulders relaxed just slightly.

"I don’t usually like guys," she admitted suddenly, rubbing the back of her neck. "They make me uncomfortable. Scared, sometimes. I… guess that’s why I understand you a little."

(Y/N)'s head turned, just barely, and for the first time, their eyes met. Not for long, not intensely- but it was enough. Enough to see the sincerity in hers, the warmth behind the guarded strength.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Tenko gave him a soft smile- one that didn’t need words. 

After that day, the dojo became their quiet haven.

Most days after class, Tenko would finish her practice while (Y/N) sat nearby, always keeping his distance, always watching. Sometimes, he brought a book. Other times, he said nothing at all. But he came back- day after day- and that was enough for her.

One afternoon, when the clouds hung low and the wind rattled the paper windows, Tenko finished a round of sparring with the training dummy and sat beside him on the polished floor. She didn’t speak at first. Neither did he.

Instead, she handed him a cup of tea she’d brewed earlier. Chamomile. Something calming.

He took it slowly, hands trembling just slightly as he held the warm porcelain between his palms.

“I used to drink tea with my mom,” he said, voice low. “Before everything… changed.”

Tenko glanced over, surprised he’d spoken first. She stayed quiet, letting him decide how much to share.

“She used to hum,” he added. “All the time. While cleaning, cooking… even when things were bad. I miss that.”

Tenko looked down at her cup, her brow knitting softly. “I miss my sensei,” she said. “She taught me everything I know about Aikido. She said it wasn’t just about defense- it was about connection. With yourself. With others.”

She turned her head to meet his eyes.

“That’s why I started letting you sit here. I wanted you to feel safe… connected.”

(Y/N) bit his lip, shoulders curling in slightly like he was trying to keep himself small. But he didn’t move away.

“Sometimes I think I’ll never be normal,” he whispered.

Tenko scooted just a little closer- carefully, never pushing.

“What if you don’t have to be?” she said. “What if who you are now is already enough?”

He looked at her, eyes wide. There was no judgment there. No pity. Just Tenko-blunt, honest, warm. After a few moniutes, she suggested something. 

“Just stretching,” she promised. “You don’t even have to touch me. It’s just you and your body. Reclaiming it.”

(Y/N) was hesitant. The idea of his body being his own felt... foreign. But Tenko’s voice was soft, and her patience never wavered.

He followed her lead one day, mirroring her as she slowly bent forward, arms extended. His form was shaky, unbalanced, but she never corrected him harshly.

“You’re doing great,” she said gently. “This part’s about feeling. Not perfection.”

Each day, he got a little better. He started standing straighter. Breathing deeper. Letting his hands relax at his sides instead of fisting in his sleeves.

He even laughed once- when Tenko tried to show off a high kick and accidentally knocked over a training mat.

She flushed red. “T-That was intentional, of course! A lesson in humility!”

His laugh was small but real, and she smiled like she’d just won a gold medal.

It was late one evening when (Y/N) had a nightmare and ended up knocking on her door at the dorms, pale and shaking.

Tenko didn’t ask questions. She pulled him inside and handed him a blanket. Made him tea. Sat on the floor with him until the trembling stopped.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

He shook his head.

She nodded. “Then we don’t have to.”

But after a while, as the tea grew cold between his hands, he said, “He used to come into my room when the house was quiet. Said it was my fault. That I was weak.”

Tenko’s hands tightened on her lap, her jaw clenching with quiet rage.

“You were never at fault,” she said. “Not even a little.”

And then- carefully, with the softness of someone offering a bridge- she opened her arms.

“I can hold you, if you want.”

His breath caught, chest rising unevenly.

“…Okay.”

He leaned in slowly, as if expecting her to flinch. But she didn’t. Her arms wrapped around his narrow shoulders, strong but warm. She held him like she meant it- like she wasn’t afraid of what he carried.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “No one’s going to hurt you anymore. Not while I’m here.”

[c0la-queen]

Harrowing Night | Viktor x Reader

Okay, I know I promised a drabble, but I've spent hours elbow-deep in the muck of League of Legends lore trying to figure shit out that I completely lost the motivation to write something complicated. However, I still have Thoughts that I want to share with you all, so I will post them in the form of Cola's Ramblings.

So, the only Halloween equivalent event I could find was something called Harrowing, but I noticed halfway through my research that this event was actually part of the old lore and is no longer canon. However, I am Not A League Player so I'm simply choosing to Ignore This.

From what I could find, it seems like Harrowing was a Ionian event that was spread to Piltover and Zaun through the Ionian refugees. (Again, I don't know how accurate that is, don't get mad at me if you actually know the lore please)

In my opinion, even though this holiday started out as a day of fear and caution, Piltover - as Piltovans are wont to do - takes this concept and decides to polish it until it shines as golden as the city itself. Instead of hiding away in their homes in fear of the dark, they decided to keep the spirits away by having fun. So, every October 31st, the throw a festival in the city plaza. There's lanterns, food and hot drinks, games and activities, music, and, of course, costumes! And they call this new version of the holiday Harrowing Night.

Reader absolutely loves Harrowing Night. She and Jayce, as childhood best friends, spent every Harrowing Night together. When they were young, they'd slip away from their parents' grasps and run off hand-in-hand to scope out what that year's festival had.

This excitement didn't fade away as they got older.

So, when October came around this year, your excitement steadily grew. You spent all month discussing costume ideas, trying to settle on the perfect one.

Then, the fated night arrived. As soon as you were done helping the boys out at the lab, you raced home to your apartment to get ready. As the sun sank below the city line and the sky turned from red-orange to inky indigo, you couldn't help but pace nervously. Jayce was 30 minutes late to pick you up. Where was he? Was he okay?

When you heard a knock on your door, that dwindling excitement built back up. You raced to the door as fast as you could, throwing it open and starting to berate Jayce for being so tardy -

...when you noticed that it wasn't Jayce. At all. It was Viktor, wearing comfy clothes and looking like he had just rushed over to your apartment last minute. (Had you ever seen Viktor in anything other than his Academy uniform?)

Viktor was having a hard time forming a coherent sentence. He had come over to your apartment in order to bounce some ideas for HexTech off you - something he'd started doing at your daily lunches together, something that he found helped him process his thoughts better. He would say this, but how could he say anything when you were standing there, looking even more beautiful than you already were? The costume you had chosen this year was an angel costume. You were wearing a knee length dress with your arms completely exposed - far too exposed for how cold it was outside at this hour - feathered wings with gold embellishments, and a matching halo headband. You'd done your makeup, something you didn't do often, and the glittery golden eye shadow really made your eyes pop. For the first time in Viktor's life, he was speechless. You were... ethereal.

He was broken out of his stupor when he heard that you were waiting on Jayce. Jayce? Ignoring the little pang of jealousy he felt (he hated it. You and Jayce had grown up together, and he was the newest addition to your lives. Of course you preferred Jayce over him.), Viktor was perplexed. You're waiting on Jayce? He asked. Jayce and Mel left for the festival an hour ago.

He hated how heartbroken you looked as that information set in. Viktor quickly realized what was happening. Jayce had ghosted you and taken Mel to the Harrowing Night festival without telling you. A hot flash of anger burned through Viktor.

In Zaun, Harrowing Night wasn't exactly celebrated. Plenty of Zaunites believed in it, but there was no grandeur to it. It was a quiet night where families placed jack-o-laterns and other wards in their windows and doorsteps in order to protect their homes from the spirits wandering about.

But Viktor knew that this night was important to you. You'd been rambling about it to him all week, telling him stories of the shenanigans you and Jayce would always get up to during the festivals throughout the years. You always had that sparkle in your eyes that he so adored.

The fact that Jayce, your best friend, did this to you? It infuriated Viktor. He thought that Jayce knew you best - a thought that had made Viktor bitter several times before - but he was quickly realizing that either Jayce didn't know anything about you or he just didn't care.

You didn't deserve that. You didn't deserve to be sitting in your apartment on your favorite night of the year, trying to hold back tears to keep yourself from messing up your makeup.

Viktor wanted to fix it. He was an inventor at heart. He took things that were broken or damaged and rewired them, restored them, and made sure they worked again. He was going to make sure he succeeded with you, too.

So, Viktor tells you that he'll take you to the festival instead. He may not be as passionate about Harrowing Night as you are, but he's passionate about you. Er... about your happiness. If that means biting his tongue and going to an overrated Piltie festival with you? Dammit, that's what he was going to do.

He even put on the stupid devil horn headband that you had bought for Jayce, that way you two were in matching costumes.

Viktor had to admit... the festival was pretty neat. While the music was a little too loud, he enjoyed the hot spiced cider that he had been sipping on while walking around the plaza. There were people in costumes everywhere. Little kids, parents, couples, and friends. The air smelled like cinnamon and apples.

But most of all, Viktor enjoyed your excitement. It was like he was getting a glimpse of your younger self, coming back out of hiding to partake in the nostalgia and joy. The warm lights of the lanterns made your skin practically glow and reflected in your eyes. You'd gotten several compliments on your costume, compliments you gave back with fervor to the other costumes you saw. It didn't bother Viktor as much as he expected it to - you'd worked hard on your costume, you deserved the recognition. Besides, how could he complain when you were hugging his arm as you two walked, your warm chest pressed to his forearm as you nibbled on the funnel cake fries you'd picked up.

Yes, you enjoyed yourself thoroughly. Until about an hour in, when you'd turned a corner and spotted a little crowd gathered around a particular booth. At the center of the crowd, soaking in the attention, were Jayce and Mel. They were wearing matching costumes - your matching costumes. Jayce had taken the concept you'd come up with for you and him and decided to use it with Mel. Even more heartbreaking, Mel's costume was much more breathtaking than yours. Her wings were bigger, her dress was more beautiful, and her golden makeup and jewelry shined brighter than yours. She looked like a goddess.

Viktor wanted nothing more than to beat Jayce over the head with his cane. He knew Jayce could be a bit thick sometimes, but this crossed the line into self-centered asshole territory. Unfortunately, he had to ignore that murderous rage in order to focus on you fully. With a "Let's go" whispered lowly in your ear, he nudged you away from the crowd and away from the festival. He had an inkling that you wouldn't be able to enjoy the festival anymore tonight, and his leg was starting to ache. It was time to go home.

Still... he couldn't stand how dejected you looked as you sat on your couch, unstrapping your wings. The night was still young and he had nothing else to do that weekend, so he - quite demandingly - ushered you off to your bedroom to get comfortable. In the meantime, he set up the living room with blankets and a few snacks and drinks from your kitchen. He even dimmed the lights and lit an autumn scented candle he found on your coffee table.

That's when you returned, dressed in warm, comfortable pajamas. Hair loose, makeup wiped off. The setup made you smile, looking at Viktor with a grateful expression. He could see the faint redness to your eyes. His job wasn't quite done.

You two spend the rest of the night tangled together on your couch, draped in blankets, watching different seasonal movies. You rested your head against Viktor's chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and you smiled. Maybe this Harrowing Night wasn't so bad.

As the credits of the third movie you watched rolled, Viktor noticed you'd fallen silent. He glanced down, blinking in surprise when he realized that you'd fallen asleep against him. As your chest rose and fell with your steady breathing, Viktor smiled. Maybe he could learn to love Harrowing Night.

[zalrb]

PLL 1x01 Review (Per Anon Request)

"I'm loving her new video." "Maybe a little too much, huh?" Allison, I already want to kill you.

"I've looked everywhere for her. I think I heard her scream" she says calmly.

I love that the newspaper headline is "Still Missing" and not something like "The Search Continues" "Still Looking for Answers"

PIPER.

They do look like they'd be mother and daughter.

Which network is this show?

"They're calling it the anniversary of Allison's disappearance like it's a party or something" I mean, does it sound like that?

Arya looks like her name should be Effy.

They're speaking like it's been a few months and not a year.

Why do they ALWAYS play lacrosse?

"Dad, I'm still keeping your secret, OK?" she says at normal volume in the middle of the house.

"Would now be 16" L O L. These "missing" signs are KILLING me.

"And I write too" of course she fucking writes.

"You're smart" how do you know? You said 3 things to this underage girl.

This bathroom makeout is impersonal and choreographed and it annoys me because if you two are so hot for each other that you have to make out in a public restroom, then it's this hot and heavy, grope-y type thing, it's not this teehee sit on the sink while we smile at each other. Public restrooms are disgusting.

It's also weird that they chose to cut to the theme song after this flat bathroom makeout and not after Allison goes missing??

Wait, who is this blonde girl? I thought this was a flashback. Guys, straight up, I'm not going to be able to tell these two apart that well

"Remember what she said that night about secrets?" YOU ARE ACTING LIKE IT'S BEEN A FEW MONTHS.

Spencer's blazer is pissing me off.

Maybe your dad cheated on your mom as karma for you being a bitch to Mona.

Her dad couldn't even be an adult about his affair? Get a room.

None of these people are talking like they're actual people.

"They're not so close anymore either." "So they're friendly but not friends" oh my lord, I miss season 1 Caroline.

"Holy crap" *as he looks directly at Aria in front of the ENTIRE class* NO ONE IS REACTING LIKE PEOPLE WOULD.

BIANCA.

Girl, you're just standing there holding this basket.

LMAO. "Would you kill me if I smoke a little weed? Would you like to join me?" Did any of these writers smoke weed?

Aww, Torey.

She is a teenager, Ren.

YOU ARE IN THE SCHOOL. All of these characters are idiots.

"You feel like this is right for us too" you two said TWO THINGS to each other and made out in a washroom???

Oh are you going to massage her shoulder.

Yes.

Piper, go find Leo. Sure, he'll leave you to be a a head angel but he would never cheat.

I never understood the Queen Bee Mean Girl in a group mostly because in my experience, the GROUP of girls are mean and there may be a leader but it's not one girl terrorizing her entire group of friends and everyone just taking it because

it's usually the group terrorizing that one friend in the group, idk.

And since Allison is so herself, why would any of you tell her any of your secrets anyway?

So weird, they're acting like it's been a few months since the disappearance not a year and yet they act like they don't know each other at all.

Wouldn't it be enough to send a uniform for shoplifting?

"In Rosewood, you don't have room to make a mistake" bro, I need to SEE this. Why is FNL and, like, True Blood the only shows I can remember who actually do what a small town feels like well?

When do they do that dramatic walk in the hallway and act like it's a runway?

Hanna eating ice cream and watching the news of her friend's death is actually hilariously morbid.

And you're just going to watch your mother makeout with the cop?

And your mother is just going to look at you as she goes upstairs to have sex with him? Would you not send your daughter away?

The school isn't having an assembly about this death or anything?

"For Alison or for being a jerk?" I mean, he is a grown ass man, Aria.

This dramatic turn and kiss doesn't make sense right now. None of this is earned.

Does the mother care that her child is "dead"? "Aria, thanks for coming!" It's a funeral not a housewarming.

Maya is the only one who is trying to look sad.

L M A O, Aria's mom couldn't even go with her daughter to the funeral?? Jesus christ, teen shows, give them parents or don't.

These forever 21 funeral dresses are SENDING me.

Detective, they are MINORS, you will have to speak to their parents.

The "Na na na na na na na" singing in the background is so unserious.

"and I know everything, A" in UNISON??? L O L this is so bad.

[musetheapothecary]

you're familiar (like my mirror years ago)

iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader (sfw)

The forest is sun-bleached and hazy, awash in a haze of white-gold that makes it difficult to discern the gnarled roots whose knuckles poke through the dry earth. It's hot out, but bearable—spring hot, not summer hot. It feels dusty and stiff.

Her lips are cracked like the dirt beneath her worn sneakers, a red-laced relic from her middle school volleyball days. She thinks she can see green up ahead and she squints, eager for something plush beneath her blistered feet. Perhaps Iwa-chan would let them rest there for a moment. She can see the angry red blooming across Oikawa's nose and cheeks, creeping down the column of his proud throat. It looked remarkably bear without a collar wrapped around it. Seeing Oikawa out of uniform was akin to seeing a pig in the ocean—it happened, occasionally, most often in strange and foreign places, but it never quite looked natural.

By contrast, Iwaizumi looked more like himself than ever in his torn up wife-beater. It gaped around his shoulders and little holes had been moth bitten across his midriff, displaying more of his Miyagi tan than she was accustomed to seeing. She'd been trying her best not to stare at him, focusing rather on the Makki's strawberry-blond head. He'd begun to grow out his bangs, finally. He'd let Mattsun cut them off with scissors in their middle school bathroom and had kept them obnoxiously short for years since. Somewhere overhead a pair of crows has begun to circle, their cawing echoes through the seemingly empty forest.

They were off to visit a shrine, to secure the third-years their “certain victory” in the upcoming volleyball season, and they'd made the unanimous and utterly stupid decision to not take the actual (straight, clean, clear, and generously sprinkled with vending machines) path towards it, but rather to forge their own through the foliage.

Idiots. The lot of them.

(She'd kill for a Pocari Sweat.)

“How much further?”

Oikawa holds up a finger, and shuffles about the map in his other hand. “About 3 kilometres, if my readings are correct.”

She groans, stumbling over another root. She doesn't expect the hand on her upper arm, hot and calloused and wide enough to encase all of her cotton-draped limb and then some.

“Getting' tired there stripes?”

Iwa's grin is savage, wild as the knotted vines beneath their feet and sharper than the crows' claws. It suits him perfectly.

Against her will her eyes stray down to that golden skin, bared to the dappled sun.

The hand on her arm tightens, fingers twitching against her until she can feel her own pulse.

He really is beautiful.

Her face tinges red, gaze flitting back and forth between his (big, strong, perfect—ok, get it together girl) hand, and his gunshot gaze. So, it turns out spending the bulk of the summer coaching herself through the self-destruction of her crush did not, in fact, get rid of said crush.

Bummer.

He'd asked her a question, hadn't he?

Iwa's brow ticks up, his smile takes on a slightly condescending lilt, with just the right amount of fang. He doesn't bully her half as much as Oikawa, but they'd been friends since diapers so he's not shy about roughing her up a little every now and then. She refuses to admit she enjoys it.

There'd been a brief period in middle school where things had gotten…complicated. Her friends had suddenly realised she was a girl and she had suddenly realised they were icky-yucky boys, and then all of a sudden roughhousing and play wrestling and casual insults trickled to a stop.

They picked up pretty quickly after the legendary tantrum she through outside the gymnasium though, so she can't really hold it against them.

(She still can't look their middle school coach in the eye, she'd brought out the waterworks and everything back then. How humiliating.)

“Yes,” she says at last, with what she believes to be a perfectly fair amount of attitude. “And my feet hurt.”

“Poor princess,” he mocks, giving her arm one last nudge before moving back to his spot beside Oikawa.

She ignores the twisting in her gut and the phantom sensation of warm fingers against her skin. And Makki and Mattsun's obnoxious kiss-y noises.

Well, she mostly ignores it.

If she sends a sharp kick to each of their ankles, that's her business.

“What will you be wishing for, Chibi-chan?” Oikawa calls back, his attention mostly stolen by the spiderweb that seems to have glued itself to his sleeve.

“Our assured victory, obviously,” Makki answers for her, looping a sweat-slick arm around her sweat-slick neck. Both of them shudder at the feeling, but he doesn't let go.

Mattsun, clearly feeling left out, reaches over to mess up her hair.

“Actually, I was going to wish for my assured victory, you self-absorbed piece of shit.”

She attempts to shove both boys off of her, but they've shot up like weeds over the past few years and whatever diet their coach has them on is working overtime. Neither boy budges, not even an inch.

“Victory in what, I wonder, dear chibi-chan.”

Oh, she doesn't like that. She doesn't like that at all. That mean glint in his eyes is only attr

active on Iwaizumi, on Oikawa it raises her blood pressure in a whole different way.

“Assured victory in love, perhaps?” Mattsun teases, tugging once more on her hair before distancing himself.

He trips over a tree root on his way back.

Instant karma. Nice.

Iwa's looking at her. And not just a regular look. Not even one of his teasing looks. He's Looking, with a capital 'L'. She hopes the scarlet stain across her cheeks can be attributed to the weather, but if the predatory tilt of his head is anything to go by It Is Not.

“Shut up,” she says, very maturely, and stomps forward to walk at the front.

Someone whistles playfully as she passes, which doesn't help the blush.

(That is exactly what she's going to wish for, which makes it all the more embarrassing. She just needs a little courage. A little push. She promised herself she'd confess this year, but man is she terrified of what will come from it—or not come from it, as the case may be. Still, they've been dancing around each other for years and she knows there's something there. She just doesn't know if he wants it.

If he wants her.)

There's heat at her shoulder and breath on her cheek, knuckles dragging against her own where they swing at her side. “You don't need a shrine for that.”

She takes a peek at him, knocks their hands together a little harder. He laughs and slips his palm into hers. It's clammy and honestly a little gross, but in that moment it's the best thing she's ever felt.

“Promise?” She whispers, just for him.

“Promise.” Iwa squeezes her hand. Sun dapples over his forehead, and his smile is spring-soft. The tough shell around him gapes open, if only for a moment. “I'll be waiting, when you're ready.”

She's young, she's in love, and everything is perfect.

(If you ignore the influx of kissy noises from behind them, and Oikawa's shrill whines.)