#the end!!! and i think the warmth your personality has fits so well with him!!!

[z3vie]

( @musouie ) ENCHANTING! — dan heng insists that you don’t have to keep him company if you don’t want to, but it’s easy to notice the way his shoulders visibly relax whenever you’re near him. for someone so persistent that he would be the one to enchant all your tools for you— a perfect set, he might add, he seems oddly distracted. perhaps his fingers linger over your own for a couple seconds too long when he hands you an enchanted book to look over, or maybe it’s the way his eyes soften ever so slightly when you thank him for his help. “don’t worry about it,” he says, calmly, but he’s tugging at your sleeve as soon as you turn. “perhaps i can look over your armor next… since you’re already here.”

[lovemomhatepolice]

i'll make it fit - rafe cameron

navigation taglist requests

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: sexual overtones, established relationship, fingering, teasing, unprotected sex (PROTECTED YOURSELF), this damn tiny polo!!, English is my second language!, NO SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4

belonging: NO NUT NOVEMBER!

type: totally smut (this is the first time i've written something like this, which has practically no plot at all, just sex itself. keep my fingers crossed that it didn't turn out badly!!!), small plot but really small

word count: 1,8k

summary: rafe cameron likes things too small for him.

more content: obx masterlist, rafe cameron masterlist

Mornings in Tannyhill were mostly quiet. Since Ward Cameron was dead and his entire family had moved to a house in the Bahamas, it was quiet there. Hearing of Sarah had disappeared - she was probably somewhere with her friends, again putting her life at risk, nothing new. And the only one who lived there was Rafe, who had taken over the company from his father and decided to return to the “old garbage.” Well, and you lived there too, by the side of your beloved. You couldn't have dreamed of a better life.

You were awakened by the bright rays of the sun, which rudely crept through the slightly parted curtains into your shared bedroom. You dragged yourself lightly and glanced at the clock, which was on the bedside table and, as usual, was making that unbearable sound.

After muttered under your breath, you slipped out from under the warm quilt, which, to say the least, wasn't all that necessary - after all, it was summer. But by the fact that you were in just a lace petticoat, it definitely enveloped you with a warmth that was missing.

You didn't know what time it was, but by the fact that Rafe wasn't next to you, you knew it was probably after nine o'clock. You didn't have to look for him for long, because as soon as you stepped out into the hallway from your bedroom, you heard his voice. You looked out the balcony door, which was gently open, and smiled at the sight. Rafe, in a freshly stitched buzzcut, was sitting on the couch talking on the phone. In front of him on the coffee table he had papers spread out and a laptop in which he was busily tapping something. As soon as he noticed you he sent you a slight smile, but he was so engaged in the conversation that he did nothing more. And you couldn't be passive, after all, he was wearing a beautiful blue and damn tight polo that exposed his perfectly shaped biceps. You laughed quietly, seeing him nervously tweak them as they rolled up higher and higher each time, not covering as much of his arm as they should.

Despite his serious tone on the call, his eyes would flicker toward you every few moments, his smile softening just enough to let you know he was glad you were there.

Not one to resist temptation, you decided to have a little fun. You strolled over to him, moving slowly, letting your fingers trail along the back of the couch as you circled around to where he was sitting. Rafe’s eyes darted up, narrowing slightly in a silent warning.

You didn’t make it easy for him. With a mischievous smile, you leaned over and whispered into his ear, "That polo looks a little tight, don’t you think? You might need help taking it off later."

“Uh, yeah… sure,” he said to the person on the other end of the call, clearing his throat as if to regain his composure. “Send it to the office, they'll take care of it,” he muttered, hanging up.

You moved your hands over his shoulders, gently massaging them. Rafe put the phone down on the table, closed the laptop and leaned his head against the back of the couch, looking at you.

“You know what you're doing, huh?” he parroted under his breath.

“Maybe I do,” you whispered, letting your breath tickle his skin. “Just trying to make sure my man relaxes after handling all that business.”

“And what am I supposed to do with you?” he muttered, covering yours with his hands. “Whatever you want,” you muttered, going down with your palms on his chest. “Oh, but this polo is really too small for you.” Rafe laughed under his breath and gracefully helped you past the couch so that you were now standing in front of him, between his legs. You were in just a white lace slip that didn't cover much underneath, so Rafe could immediately see your hardening nipples.

You let out a soft laugh as Rafe’s strong hands gripped your thighs, pulling you effortlessly onto his lap. You straddled him, your knees sinking into the plush cushions of the couch on either side of his hips. The way he looked up at you—like you were the only thing in the world that could hold his attention—sent a warm rush through your veins.

"So needy" He muttered, stroking your hair and putting it behind your ears. “Who would have thought that you would beg for my attentions so much?”

“I'm not begging,” you muttered, swallowing your saliva loudly.

You could have sworn that in that moment Rafe heard your loud heartbeat. And even though you had been together for more than a year, he continued to trigger the same feelings in you. “No?” he asked ironically, his hand touching your pussy, which was covered only by a thong. “I would say something else.”

“Rafe,” you muttered, gently pushing your hips out to meet him as his nimble fingers pressed your clit harder. “So wet,” he mumbled, moving your panties aside and nimbly sliding his ring and middle finger into you.

You brought your face closer to his and grabbed his jaw, bringing your lips together in a sweet kiss. It was still quiet around you, the only things you could hear were the birds and your moans, drowned out by your boyfriend's mouth.

His thumb moved to your clit, the touch was light, teasing, his fingers tracing slow circles that sent tingles up your spine. And his fingers didn't stop moving up and down, each time hitting the exact same spot. Rafe knew what the fuck he was doing, he always knew how to make you in heaven in a moment by his precise movements. He knew your body like no one else, just like you knew his.

“Cum for me, baby,” he said, moving his lips to your naked neck. You felt you were close - Rafe did the same, following the feeling as you pulsed on his fingers. You didn't have to wait long until your body shook with pleasant and familiar reflexes, and you came on his fingers, burying your head in his neck.

Rafe took his fingers out of you and put them in his mouth, sucking on them. Oh this sight and Rafe in his damn tight blue polo, was something too strong for you to go through. You moved against his lap, letting him know that this was not what you wanted. “Still eager, huh?” he laughed throatily, but you didn't have to wait long. Rafe always knew what you needed and you got it right away. "You taste so good, baby"

“Rafe please,” you muttered, clasping your small hand over his large cock, which was getting harder and harder under you. “Anything for you,” he muttered, quickly getting rid of his pants.

Without much warning, he entered you. Slowly at first, because you knew very well that he was big. And even after so many times together, you continued to feel a slight discomfort at first. But Rafe always made it fit. He couldn't resist your tight pussy, which was even screaming for his attention. “Fuck, tight as ever,” he whispered, correcting himself on the couch so that you were more comfortable. “But don't worry, I'll make it fit.”

And as he said, so he did. With agility, he began to move inside you, making both of you nothing but moaning messes.

“Wait, I want,” you said, putting your hand on his chest. On that damn sexy polo. “Oh, a princess wants to take control?” he laughed under his breath, catching you under the thighs, but as if on cue he stopped moving inside you, making you feel again how big he was inside you. You groaned involuntarily, but didn't give in. You moved nimbly on top of him, practically taking him out of your pussy every now and then, and then lowering yourself all the way down again.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Rafe groaned, his head falling back against the couch, exposing the strong line of his throat. His eyes were hooded, his lips parted as he watched you, completely entranced by the way you were moving, the way you were making him feel.

You could tell he was trying to hold back, trying to let you set the pace, but the way his fingers flexed against your skin told you just how badly he wanted to take control.

“Not yet, Rafey,” you muttered, moving even closer to him. “You deserve the best. Especially, when you're in that slutty polo"

You increased your pace, but Rafe couldn't stand it anymore either, and came against you, entering your pussy from below. At that moment your bodies were merging at the perfect moments and places, so you were already not far from orgasm. And with that, he captured your lips again, his kiss rougher this time, more urgent. There was no more teasing now-just the raw, unfiltered need that always simmered between you both, threatening to spill over the edges.

“I'm so close,” you whispered into his mouth, clamping your pussy against him every so often. “I know, baby, I can feel it,” he muttered into your mouth, gently biting your lip to reach inside again. "Mmm, so good for me"

Rafe grabbed your buttocks and with even more force began to pound his cock into you. Your tongues fought for dominance, and your hands couldn't find room on his body, clamping down on the collars of his shirt.

"Shit" he murmured into your lips, feeling as his cum shot into your pussy, making quite a mess.

Not much later you too reach climax, clenching around his dick. Exhausted, you leaned on his shoulder kissing his neck. Rafe stroked your back, still calming down after the orgasm that hit you surprisingly hard this time. You felt him smiling over your shoulder, so you shared his happiness, smiling too. You moved your head off his shoulder, looking him straight in the eyes now. He was still inside you, so every movement, made quiet sighs come out of your throats.

“What's so funny?” you asked, stroking his jaw and kissing the corner of his mouth gently.

“Maybe I should wear that tight polo more often, just to find yourself in your tight cunt again?” he laughed lightly, returning your kiss.

“Oh shut up, asshole,” you muttered, lowering yourself on top of him once more until he groaned and settled his head on the back of the couch, pulling you against him.

A/N: I know there's a lot of Rafe or Drew here lately, but I swear, when I see this man, I feel so ungodly that oh jesus, i hope you enjoyed this

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

[paucubarsisimp]

BABEEEE here me out what if like landos dating the reader in secret and pr sets him up for a publicity stunt thing with magui and he didn’t tell the reader about it thinking it wasn’t a huge thing but then they have a big argument about it and he realizes he’s wrong but the reader stays upset for a while and it has LOTSSS of groveling and happy ending with him finally being forgiven 😭 im sorry I’m just in a mood for some drama 🥹 feel free to not do this or change it to how you see fit :))) thanks so much and I hope you’re doing well!

pr stunt

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: in which lando hides his pr relationship with magui from you

warnings: angst, use of y/n

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, lmk if you want to be added!

you had always adored the quiet moments with lando—the two of you against the world, hidden away in your bubble. you liked that your relationship was yours and only yours. no one else needed to know. it was your escape from the chaos of his racing career, from the public eyes, from everything that expected something from him. he was yours in those moments, completely yours.

but lately, that bubble had started to feel like it was suffocating you.

the change had been subtle at first. lando’s schedule was always packed, and you were used to the unpredictability, to the nights he couldn’t be there, to the events he had to attend. but the way he was acting—distant, almost cold at times—had started to gnaw at you. you’d noticed the small things. the texts that were less frequent, the moments when he’d pull away from you a little too quickly, like he was already preparing to leave. you told yourself it was nothing. he was busy. it was just stress from work, and you didn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing.

but then there were the pictures.

it was late afternoon when you saw them—just scrolling through your social media feed, thinking you were doing something mindless. and then, there it was. a picture of lando and her—magui—out in public together. on a busy street, laughing and walking side by side, his hand almost touching hers. the way their heads were tilted toward each other, the warmth in their eyes, it was too familiar. the smile on his face was so easy, so natural, like it wasn’t just a public moment, like it was something much more personal.

your throat tightened.

the caption wasn’t much—just a casual mention of the two of them being spotted out in the city. but that didn’t matter. it wasn’t just about the photo. it was about the fact that he hadn’t said anything to you. no warning, no mention of it. it was like he didn’t care that you’d find out this way.

you stared at the screen, trying to keep your breathing steady, but the images kept flashing in your mind—the way they walked so close, the way they laughed at something only they understood. jealousy, confusion, and a bitter sense of betrayal rose inside you, threatening to spill over.

you tried to push it down. maybe you were overreacting. maybe it was nothing. maybe it was just a coincidence. but you couldn’t shake the hollow feeling in your chest. lando was supposed to be yours, only yours. Why wasn’t he telling you?

the questions spiraled as you stood there, your phone slipping from your fingers, the sound of it hitting the floor muffled by the weight of the silence.

when lando came through the door later that evening, he smiled when he saw you sitting on the couch. it was that familiar, warm smile, the one that made your heart flutter when it was just the two of you. but tonight, it didn’t have the same effect. tonight, all it did was remind you of the way he’d smiled with her—how it looked like he hadn’t even thought twice about it.

“hey,” he said casually, hanging up his jacket, but his eyes flickered to you, noticing the tense air between you. “how’s your day been?”

you forced a smile, trying to act normal, but you couldn’t. not after seeing that photo, not after feeling so… left out. “good,” you said, your voice tight, “busy.”

he nodded, coming over to the couch and sitting next to you. he reached for your hand, but you pulled back slightly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“what’s going on?” he asked, his voice softer now, his hand hovering in the air as if uncertain whether to reach for you. “you look like something’s wrong.”

“why didn’t you tell me?” you blurted out, unable to hold it back any longer.

“tell you what?” he asked, furrowing his brows in confusion.

“about the photos,” you whispered, “about her.”

his face went pale as the words hit him. the words you hadn’t wanted to say, but you couldn’t stop yourself. the hurt, the betrayal, the anger—they all poured out now, and you couldn’t take them back.

he blinked at you, looking more lost than you had ever seen him. his eyes flickered with guilt, but there was confusion too. “what photos? babe, what are you talking about?”

you looked at him, incredulous. how could he not know what you were talking about? “don’t play dumb, lando. the pictures of you and magui. out on the street. together. like you’re some… couple.”

his breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence between you, the weight of the situation pressing in on both of you. he opened his mouth to say something, but the words got stuck. he could barely look you in the eye.

“i… didn’t think it was a big deal,” he said finally, but the words felt hollow. “it was just a casual thing, babe. nothing serious.”

“nothing serious?” you choked out, your voice rising. “you don’t think that’s serious? you don’t think it’s serious that you’re out in public with her and not even telling me about it? that i find out through social media, like i’m some stranger?”

“it’s not like that, please,” he said, his voice shaky now. “i didn’t think it was something you’d care about. i didn’t want to worry you.”

“worry me?” you laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “of course it’s something i care about. you go out with her and don’t even think to mention it? we agreed on honesty, lando. but now i find out this way?”

“i wasn’t trying to hide anything,” he pleaded, his eyes desperate. “i swear, i wasn’t. i just didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

you stood up, pacing the room now, your chest tight. “that’s the problem, lando,” you said, voice breaking. “you never think. you act like i’m just here, waiting around for you to tell me what’s going on. but you don’t. you just… you leave me in the dark.”

he looked like he’d been slapped. his face twisted with guilt as he watched you turn away from him, your back facing him. “please,” he whispered. “don’t walk away. don’t leave

~~

lando lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing. the photos, the words, the look on your face—your eyes filled with so much hurt and confusion—haunted him. he couldn’t shake the image of you, standing there, so small in front of him, your arms crossed tightly, the distance between you both growing by the second. he’d messed up. so badly.

he had never been the type to shy away from hard conversations, yet here he was, stuck in his own guilt, knowing that the one person who meant the world to him was now the one person he was pushing away. his mind kept replaying his mistake over and over—his failure to prepare you for what was happening, to keep you in the loop, to tell you about the pr stunt that had taken place with magui.

lando should’ve told you. he should’ve given you a heads-up. but he didn’t. and now it felt like everything had crumbled between you two.

he closed his eyes, clenching his fists against the bed, fighting back the frustration that threatened to boil over. he’d been so selfish. he should’ve considered how it would feel for you to see him with someone else, in public, so easily, when all you ever asked for was the truth. instead, he’d hidden it from you, thinking it wouldn’t matter, that it wasn’t a big deal. but it was.

the guilt twisted in his gut. he hated himself for not being more considerate, for not thinking it through. he had kept this secret from you, and now, you weren’t answering his calls. you weren’t responding to his messages.

he ran a hand through his hair, standing up abruptly and pacing the room. how had things gotten so bad so quickly?

the quiet of the apartment felt suffocating, and the silence from you was even worse. it was like the weight of everything between you both had grown too heavy to ignore. lando felt like he was drowning, unable to find a way out of the mess he’d created.

the next morning, he sent message after message, trying to reach you, but there was no reply.

“i’m sorry. please, let’s talk. i didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“i should’ve told you about the pr thing. i realize that now.”

“please, can we talk when you’re ready?”

he stared at his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen, but there was nothing. no reply.

his heart sank. every minute that passed felt like a hammering weight in his chest. he knew that he had broken something between you, something that was now so fragile, and he didn’t know how to fix it. how could he, when you weren’t even talking to him?

he had failed you. and it was eating him alive.

hours later, the silence was killing him. there was no answer to his messages, no sign of you anywhere. he couldn’t take it anymore. he had to fix this.

without thinking twice, lando grabbed his keys and jumped into his car, the engine purring to life beneath him. he drove to your flat, his stomach twisting into knots as he tried to calm his racing heart. he didn’t know what he was going to say when he saw you, but he had to try. he couldn’t live with the guilt of not trying.

when he reached your place, he hesitated for a second before walking up to the door. he could hear his heartbeat in his ears, the sound so loud it drowned out everything else. lando pushed the door open softly, the quiet of your apartment greeting him like a heavy weight.

“y/n?” his voice cracked slightly as he called out. he wasn’t sure if he was even allowed to be here, but he needed to be. he needed to see you, even if it was just to apologize, to tell you that he understood the hurt he caused.

the sound of movement came from the other room—slow, deliberate footsteps. you emerged from the bedroom, and for a moment, lando’s chest tightened. you looked tired, eyes red, hair a little messy, but the most painful thing was the coldness in your eyes. you didn’t look at him the way you used to, not like you were seeing him. you looked at him like he was a stranger.

“what are you doing here?” your voice was low, but it carried the weight of everything you were feeling.

lando swallowed hard, his throat dry. “i needed to see you,” he said softly. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry. i should’ve told you about magui, about everything. i didn’t think about how it would make you feel, but i should have.”

you didn’t say anything, just stood there, your arms crossed over your chest, watching him with a guarded look that he hadn’t seen before.

“baby, please,” lando said, his voice pleading now. “i messed up. i should’ve told you everything. i should’ve respected you enough to let you know what was going on. i never meant to hurt you, and i can see now that i did. i… i was wrong.”

“you don’t get it, lando,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper. “it’s not just about her. it’s about you not telling me. it’s about me finding out through pictures, like i’m some outsider in your life. i trusted you. i thought you’d protect us—protect me from all of that.”

he flinched, the sting of your words hitting him harder than he could have imagined. “i know,” he whispered, feeling the weight of his mistake crash over him. “and i failed you. i failed you by not telling you. i let my job and the pr people control things instead of being honest with you. i was so wrapped up in everything that i forgot to think about you.”

“i needed to know, lando,” you said, your voice breaking a little. “i needed to be a part of this, not just pushed aside like i don’t matter.”

his chest tightened. “you do matter, baby,” he said, stepping closer, his voice barely audible. “you matter more than anything. i was an idiot, thinking this wouldn’t bother you. i should’ve told you before everything got out of hand. i’m sorry. please, i’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

you shook your head, your eyes filling with tears that you quickly blinked away. “i don’t know if you can fix this, lando. i don’t know if i can just forget how you made me feel.”

lando’s heart shattered at your words, but he nodded slowly, not wanting to push you. “i understand,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “i’ll wait. i’ll wait as long as you need.”

and with that, he turned and left, his heart heavy with regret and guilt, knowing that nothing could make this right—not yet. but he’d keep trying, hoping that someday, somehow, you would find a way to forgive him.

~~

each day felt like a heavy weight pressing down on lando’s chest. he couldn’t stop thinking about you—the way your voice trembled when you spoke, the hurt in your eyes that had haunted him every waking moment. he spent hours in his head, replaying that night over and over, mentally apologizing a thousand times. it wasn’t enough. nothing he said or did felt like it could fix the mess he’d made.

but he couldn’t give up.

even though you had asked for space, even though he wasn’t sure how long it would take for things to heal, lando couldn’t walk away. you were everything to him, and no pr stunt or careless mistake was worth losing you.

it was a week later when you finally reached out.

lando’s phone buzzed in the middle of the afternoon, breaking through his clouded thoughts. he froze for a second, staring at the screen, his heart stopping when he saw your name.

he picked it up on the second ring, almost breathless.

“y/n?” he said softly, almost afraid to hope.

there was a moment of silence on the other end before your voice came through.

“can we talk?”

his breath caught in his throat. “i’ve been waiting for you to say that. baby, yes, of course. i’m here, anytime, anywhere. just… just tell me when.”

there was a small pause before you spoke again, your voice quieter than usual. “i’ll come over. just… give me a little bit.”

“take your time,” lando said quickly, his heart pounding in his chest. “i’ll be waiting for you.”

when you arrived, you didn’t knock. you just opened the door like you always used to, walking into his flat like it was still your home. and for a moment, lando didn’t know what to feel. there was so much between you—so much pain, so much silence—but you were here. you were standing in front of him.

your eyes met his, and for the first time in days, there was a flicker of something else. something soft.

“i’ve been thinking,” you started, your voice steady but filled with emotion. “i’ve been thinking a lot about everything. about you and me, and where we go from here.”

lando’s chest tightened at the seriousness in your voice. he could feel his heart racing as he waited for you to continue, his hands trembling at his sides.

“i don’t want to lose you, baby,” he said, his voice cracking. “i know i messed up, i know i hurt you, and i hate myself for it. but i… i’m so sorry. i’ll do anything to make it right.”

you sighed, your gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “it’s not easy, lando. i was hurt. i felt like you didn’t trust me enough to be honest with me. but…”

“but?” lando whispered, hope flickering in his chest.

“but i know you never meant to hurt me. i know you didn’t do it on purpose. and i know you’ve been beating yourself up about it ever since.” you paused, stepping closer to him, your voice softening. “i love you, lando. i just needed time to think.”

he closed the distance between you two, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “i love you too, baby. i’m so sorry. please, just give me a chance to prove it.”

you let out a shaky breath, your hands coming to rest on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart beneath your palm. “i don’t want to feel like this anymore. i don’t want to be angry with you, and i don’t want to feel… hurt. but i need you to understand what i felt. and i need you to promise me that this won’t happen again.”

“it won’t,” lando promised, his voice earnest, his forehead resting gently against yours. “i’ll do whatever it takes to make sure it doesn’t. you mean everything to me, y/n. i’ll never keep something like this from you again. i swear.”

for a long moment, the world seemed to fall away. there was no pr, no public images, no mistakes—just the two of you, standing together. your arms slowly wound around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug, and lando melted into you, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“i missed you,” you whispered into his chest, your voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

“i missed you too, baby,” he murmured, tightening his embrace. “more than you’ll ever know.”

you stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, until the silence between you felt like peace rather than distance. when you pulled back slightly to look up at him, there was a softness in your eyes—something that had been missing before, something that made lando’s heart race with relief.

“i forgive you,” you said quietly, the words slipping out like a weight lifting off your chest. “but we have to be better about this. we have to be honest, with each other, always.”

lando nodded, his eyes full of gratitude and love. “i swear to you, y/n. no more secrets. i’ll be better. for you.”

you smiled then, a small, hopeful smile that made lando’s heart swell. “good.”

he leaned down, pressing his lips softly to yours, a kiss full of relief, regret, and the promise of better things to come. when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours again, his voice low and full of emotion. “thank you, baby. you don’t know how much this means to me.”

“i know,” you replied, a quiet laugh escaping your lips. “but i think you’re going to have to show me.”

lando chuckled softly, the sound of it like music to his ears. “i will, i swear. i’ll make it up to you every day.”

“you better,” you teased, but the warmth in your eyes told him that the hardest part was over.

don’t forget to leave a request!

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 20 / epilogue)

masterlist

-

Black trees against a yellow sky at evening time. 

It’s late when you finally reach home. Dark enough to almost be night—a full day longer to return than it took to leave, but then you hadn’t ridden as hard coming back, too sore and sleep-deprived to manage the same pace. Even the meager sleep you got on the road was hardly sufficient.

Then the shape of your house appears on the horizon and you nearly break down in tears. The sight of it fills you with such relief that you nearly lose your balance, your head slumping forward. Too long. Days that felt like weeks, your body and mind weary from the long trek home. Against the gold of the horizon light, it appears like a boat arriving at port. 

You throw yourself off your horse and to the ground before John has even had a chance himself to dismount and come help you down. He stomps over when your foot nearly catches in the stirrup, nostrils flared and mustache twitching with his scowl. 

“Don’t go breaking your leg before I’ve even gotten you home,” he growls when he reaches you, fitting his hand around the nape of your neck and giving it a squeeze. You’d shiver, but your body is too exhausted for your libido to manage more than a half-hearted twitch. Instead you nod, head bobbing like a baby doll. 

John takes the horses to the stables while you clamber up the stairs on wobbly legs, headed straight for your bedroom, passing out the second your head touches the pillow. Your growling stomach will have to be addressed in the morning.

You aren’t conscious for when John comes up to join you, but you swear even in sleep you can sense his presence in the room. Certainly when he curls himself around you, the wall of warmth at your back briefly making your eyes flicker open before sleep claims you again and they slide shut. 

In the morning, you eat a big breakfast before letting John rub a liniment onto your inner thighs and bandage the cuts on your hands and face. The doctor he takes you to see after breakfast for the shoulder that Graves dislocated prescribes bed rest and light stretching for recovery and laudanum for any lingering pain. 

“What did you tell him?” you ask when the two of you head out for a light lunch in town before heading back home. 

“Told him you fell off a horse.” He shrugs. “Not that uncommon around here.”

All you can do is roll your eyes. 

Still, it’s as good an excuse as any. No one questions your story when you tell it to them over the following days, when your shoulder is still too tender for you to move it too vigorously. Only Kate lifts a brow knowingly, all but cornering you for the real story when you finally get a moment alone. 

“That sonuvabitch,” she hisses when you finally break and tell her what happened. 

“It’s fine,” you insist, shushing her. “John… Well, John handled it.”

She nods approvingly, then looks like she might say more before thinking the better of it. Silence falls between the two of you. 

“He—” you pause in the middle of your sentence, unsure of how exactly to say it. “It wasn’t so bad. Telling him, I mean.”

Kate must catch the slight inflection in your voice because she stares at you expectantly, waiting for you to say more. “…I’m happy to hear that.”

You inhale as if gathering your breath to say more, but nothing comes out. You know what it is you want to say, but it’s getting it out that’s the tricky bit. What you want to tell her is that your trust wasn’t misplaced in the end; all of your fears that the truth would shatter the affection and trust that had finally been shown to you after a lifetime of nothing were unfounded, proven ultimately wrong. 

“Was there something else you wanted to add?”

You chew your lower lip. 

“No. Nothing else,” you say in the end. There’ll be a time someday to tell her that her trust wouldn’t be misplaced with John or Kyle either; perhaps that day will come sooner than you expect, but for now it remains on the distant horizon. It’s not your place to lecture or admonish; your place in her life is to offer the same feeling of security and companionship as she’s offered you.  

Today, you loop your arm through hers and join her for lunch. 

In town, people greet you like you never left. Only one person asks you about the man you were walking with the previous day, and Kate covers for you when you stumble over your answer, throat constricting in your panic. There’s no suspicion in the question, but still you anticipate it because life has conditioned you to expect pain as a response to any action or inaction. 

You are surprised when pain doesn’t come this time. But still, you are wary.

When you get home, John fills the tub with hot water for you and lets you wash up on your own while he tends to the horses, the third now unofficially his. You lean your arms over the side of the tub and drift in and out of your daydreams, ears attuned only to the sound of his voice and the owls calling from the trees just beyond the house. Eyes fluttering shut until slipping deeper into the water kicks you back into wakefulness. 

“You falling asleep in there?” he asks when he stomps back inside, the door slamming shut behind him and nearly giving you a heart attack. 

“No,” you deny, discreetly wiping the rheum from the inner corners of your eyes. “Just resting my eyes.”

“Of course,” he snorts. Amused as ever by seemingly anything that comes out of your mouth.

A telegram comes in to the sheriff's office some weeks later asking about a missing bounty hunter, and though you pitch forward in your chair when John tells you this, he’s quick to remind you that as far as anyone else knows, Graves moved on after his first visit a month or so back. 

It takes time to reassure you, but slowly your hands unclench from the edge of your seat. 

Still, you make yourself scarce for a week after that. It takes some time for you to feel safe again. You spend those first few days after hearing about the telegram constantly looking over your shoulder, plagued by the worry that you’ll be found out. Sharing your worries with John doesn’t go a long way towards alleviating them because his confidence never wavers. It’s almost infuriating. 

“Would it kill you to just pretend?” you huff, cracking an egg into the skillet. 

“Nobody’s gonna come looking for him here. ‘Far as anyone knows, he made his way west a long time ago,” he says, dismissing your concerns while clipping his fingernails at the kitchen table. You scrunch up your nose when you glance over your shoulder.

“You better not think I’m sweeping those up.”

He barks out a laugh at that, shaking his head at the same time. 

True to his word, the front door stays shut. No one comes knocking looking for an errant bounty hunter. Perhaps that is a lesson that you can take away from all of this—that there is no reward for isolating oneself. Your safety has only ever been assured in community, in putting your trust in others and safeguarding their secrets in turn. Only love has ever held out its arms for you to fall into. 

And now the days pass like clouds in the sky. 

Tranquility hovers on the periphery of your life with every intention of calling out your name. It’s waiting for you with open arms. 

In the evenings, John takes you upstairs to the bedroom and pries you open enough to fit himself in. His mouth blazes a trail across your body, sucking your nipples until they’re beaded, wetting his beard with the essence of your pleasure, and bringing you to the brink of completion time and again before pushing you over. 

After a while, he leaves a piece of himself behind. 

Weeks pass and the seasons change. The changes you notice in your body are physical as well as emotional. At some point since coming home, you must have started to unwind. Shoulders loosening up, knots melting down your back. Is it just you, or does the air smell fresher too? 

You pin the laundry up on the clothesline and wait for your husband to come home. The sun sets earlier these days with autumn just around the corner. Already the leaves have begun to redden and brown, some breaking off from the branches altogether and floating to the ground where you know eventually they’ll rot and dissolve into the earth, starting the cycle of death and rebirth all over again. 

Winter is fast approaching and you know this one will be tough with a little one on the way. You’ve already started preparing for the winter months—canning and storing corn and potatoes and other root vegetables harvested from your garden, making preserves from the fruits of autumn—apples and pears sealed in jars of thick syrup—and filling the cellar with barrels of salted and cured meats. In town, you visit the seamstress for clothes of thicker material and leave with an armful of wool flannel petticoats, fur-trimmed bonnets, and corsets of a heavier cotton coutil. 

You rest a hand on your belly as you stare off into the distant mountains. Even the sky darkens earlier these days. When all of the laundry is pinned on the line, you pick up the wicker basket resting by your feet and bring it back inside, shuffling into the kitchen to get started on supper. 

There’s still much that needs to be done before winter arrives. Firewood to be chopped, furs and blankets to be hung on the walls, the fireplace to be swept, and more. Enough to keep you busy and your mind occupied when you aren’t bent over a book because that’s also your reality these days. The librarian in town now knows you by name and knows to set aside a few books a week for you to pick up when you pass by with Kate. 

You don’t think much of the knock at the door at first, absent-mindedly thinking that it must be a neighbor come to visit. Only when you open the door to an unfamiliar face do you pause. 

It’s a woman, not too dissimilar in looks from you. A bit taller, but otherwise if someone were to describe you from looks alone, they might be tempted to use the same words for either of you. She stands on your porch with a suitcase held by her side, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead from the short trip from town. She dabs her forehead lightly with a handkerchief before pocketing it again.

“Hello there,” she greets, a bright smile on her face. “I’m looking for John Price. I was told he lives here?��

For a moment, all you can do is stare at her nonplussed, not understanding why a strange woman might be at your door asking for your husband in such a familiar way. It takes a moment for it to sink in. Then the light goes on and your confusion shifts to disbelief with a twinge of rage. 

“We’re engaged to be married,” the other woman hurries to explain, taking a step closer, foot wedged in the door almost as if intending to barge right in. 

Her gall nearly makes you lose your temper. Months ago, you might’ve welcomed her arrival, eager to prove to John that you weren’t the woman that he mistook you for so that you could be on your merry way. But that time has long since passed. There isn’t anywhere else in the world you’d rather be than here. You’ve put roots down, entrenched yourself in every way.

Your lips pull into a hard line, face set in stone. “You must be mistaken. He’s already married.”

She blinks, uncomprehending. “That’s…—are you sure? We’ve been corresponding. I know I’m a few months late, but I was held up back in—”

You cut her off by sticking out your hand, topaz ring shining bright on your third finger. “I’m sure. But thank you for stopping by; I’ll let John know you send your apologies.”

And with that, you shove her foot out with yours and shut the door on her face. On another day, you’ll allow yourself to feel guilty for your rudeness; for now, this is your happy ending to enjoy. 

And savor it, you will.

[gf2bellamy]

hi lovely,

it’s been a little while i hope you’re doing well!!

if it’s okay, id really REALLY appreciate if you wrote about an idea i’ve had for a bit, where spencer has been reader’s secret “admirer” for a while now, sending her books he thinks she’ll like and things like that, and it’s not really a stalker way, she thinks it’s cute. reader overhears spencer talking to morgan about his huge crush on her and she thinks that he’s the admirer person. she looks at his handwriting on a file for a case they’re working on and recognises it as the same as the ones in the cards and the books he wrote quotes in and calls him out on it and he’s all flustered

if that turns out to end up too long just ignore :)

- 🐚

admirer — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing a/n: hii !! i hope you're doing okay <3 tysm for this vv cute request !! <33

A smile immediately spread across your face when you spotted the book resting on your desk. It was Anne of Green Gables—a book you loved but hadn’t read in a while.  

You couldn’t help the warmth that bloomed in your chest. As you got closer, your eyes flickered to the cover, and the smile on your lips only grew wider. Without hesitation, you opened the book, your fingers gently flipping through the pages until you found the quote you were hoping for. 

“Perhaps love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship... as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.” 

You bit your lip, a wave of happiness sweeping through you. The words were so fitting, so perfect. 

Sighing softly to yourself, you took off your jacket, hanging it on the back of your chair, and set your bag down beside your desk. You sank into your chair, re-reading the quote, letting the words settle in your mind as a small grin played at the corners of your mouth. 

Someone had been leaving these thoughtful gifts for you—books, always with a carefully selected quote inside.  

At first, you thought it was some random gesture. But there had been no note, no identifying mark, and after a few books had appeared, you began to wonder if it might be someone closer. 

A couple of hours later, you were walking through the hallway, a stack of files balanced in your arms as you entered the bullpen. You barely made it to your desk before dropping them with a heavy thud, letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

Yawning loudly, you stretched your arms over your head. Coffee. That was the only thing that could save you now. 

With that thought, you turned on your heel and made your way toward the breakroom. As you approached, you noticed that the door was slightly ajar, warm light spilling out into the hallway. You could hear voices inside.

But it was a particular voice that made your footsteps falter. 

“I don’t think she sees me that way,” Spencer said, his voice laced with hesitation. “But I just—I like her. A lot.” 

You froze. 

Morgan’s laugh followed, a deep, amused chuckle. “Come on, Pretty Boy. What’s stopping you? You’ve been mooning over her for months. She clearly likes your bookish charm.” 

Your breath caught in your throat. Were they talking about you? 

“I don’t know.” Spencer sighed, and you could hear the weight of concern in his voice. “What if she doesn’t? What if she just thinks it’s all… I don’t know, weird?” 

Your heart clenched. 

There was a brief silence, and for a moment, you considered stepping back, leaving before you overheard something you weren’t meant to. 

But then Morgan spoke again, his tone reassuring. “I know she appreciates your gifts, man. She’s been telling me all about them.” 

Your pulse quickened. 

Oh. 

So he was the one leaving the books. The realization hit you like a rush of warmth, spreading through your chest.

Spencer—the same Spencer who sometimes stumbled over his words when talking to you, who always seemed just a little bit shy when you smiled at him—had been the one carefully selecting those books, leaving them without a name, choosing quotes that made your heart ache in the best way. 

And now, here he was, worrying that you wouldn’t feel the same way. 

You swallowed, your fingers tightening around the edge of the doorframe. Should you go in? Should you say something? 

But you didn’t go in. 

Instead, you turned on your heel and walked back to your seat, your heart hammering against your ribs. You sank into your chair, staring blankly ahead as your thoughts raced, your mind struggling to catch up with what you had just heard. 

Spencer liked you. 

Not just in a casual, fleeting way. No—he liked you enough to leave you gifts. Thoughtful, carefully chosen books with quotes that spoke to you in ways nothing else could.

He knew you well—so well.

A giddy chuckle bubbled up in your throat before you could stop it. You quickly bit your lip, trying to contain your sudden rush of happiness. Your eyes flickered to the book he had left for you, sitting neatly on your desk.

You reached for it, running your fingers along the cover, tracing the edges as if seeing it in a new light. 

Then, your gaze lifted to the small notes pinned to the board in front of you—notes you had stuck there without a second thought, little reminders Spencer had written and slipped onto your desk over time. 

You had kept them because they were sweet. Because they made you smile. 

But now, looking at them with fresh eyes, you realized just how much they meant. 

Your fingers twitched against the book’s spine as an idea slowly took shape in your mind. Your pulse quickened. 

You had to be sure. 

Slowly, almost hesitantly, you stood from your chair. The bullpen was quiet at the moment, only a few scattered agents moving about. You took a deep breath, stealing a quick glance toward the breakroom where Spencer and Morgan were still talking. 

Then, you turned toward Spencer’s desk—conveniently right next to yours. 

You reached forward, carefully pulling one of the reports he had been working on closer. 

And there it was. 

The same handwriting. 

The looping, meticulous script that had filled the pages of every note, every quote, every carefully chosen passage. 

It was him. 

Your breath hitched, and you swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the desk as a new wave of emotions crashed over you. 

That’s when you heard footsteps approaching. 

You turned around quickly, only to meet Spencer’s gaze. His brows furrowed slightly as his eyes flickered between your face and the fact that you were standing at his desk. 

“Do you need help with something?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with curiosity. His gaze dropped to your hand, still resting on the report he had been working on. 

Your breath caught for a second. 

“I, uh—no?” The words came out uncertainly, almost like a question. Realizing you were still gripping the edge of the file, you quickly dropped your hand to your side.

But you didn’t move away. 

You stood there, rooted to the spot, your mind racing too fast for you to keep up. 

Spencer’s hands twitched at his sides, a telltale sign of his nervous energy. He was trying to make sense of the situation, trying to read you the way he always did—except, for once, he seemed unsure. 

And before you could think twice, the words slipped out of your mouth. 

“Is it you?” 

His expression flickered with confusion. “What—what do you mean?” he asked, his voice slightly uneven. 

More proof. 

Your heart pounded as you took a small step closer. “It’s you, isn’t it?” You exhaled, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions in your chest. “The one leaving me the gifts.” 

The moment the words left your lips, you saw it—the confirmation you needed. 

The pink dusting his cheeks. The way his fingers fidgeted, a dead giveaway of his nervousness. The way his lips parted slightly as if he wanted to respond but wasn’t sure how. 

Spencer Reid—the most brilliant man you had ever met—was suddenly rendered speechless. 

And you couldn’t help the way your smile grew. 

“I love them,” you added, your voice softer now, filled with warmth. 

That made him look up. 

“Really?” His voice was barely above a whisper, as if he didn’t quite believe it. 

You nodded enthusiastically, your heart swelling at the sheer vulnerability in his expression. “Really.” 

He was smiling, and so were you. 

"How did you know?" Spencer asked, stepping closer to his desk, his fingers tapping restlessly against the surface. 

"Well, I, uh—" You hesitated, suddenly shy about admitting it. "I might've overheard you and Derek talking…" 

Spencer's eyes widened slightly before his face turned an even deeper shade of red. His fingers stilled against the desk as if he had just short-circuited. 

You bit your lip, suppressing a grin. "And… I also checked your handwriting," you added, lifting a shoulder in a small shrug. 

Spencer blinked, processing that, and then realization dawned. "That’s why you were looking at my report." 

"Yes?" You awkwardly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, shifting on your feet. 

He exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I should've known you’d figure it out." 

You tilted your head at him, eyes glinting with playful mischief. "I am an agent, you know. Observing things is kind of my job." 

Spencer huffed out a small, bashful laugh, his gaze flickering toward the floor before returning to yours. 

There was a moment of quiet.

Then, gathering your courage, you took a small step closer, your voice soft. "Maybe next time… instead of leaving the book on my desk, you could give it to me over coffee?" 

Spencer stilled. 

His eyes searched yours, something shifting in his expression—hope.

"As in… a date?" he asked hesitantly, like he needed to be sure he wasn’t imagining things. 

You smiled. "As in a date." 

For a second, Spencer just stood there, as if trying to commit this exact moment to memory. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—the kind of smile that made your chest tighten in the best possible way. 

"I’d like that," he murmured, his voice soft but sure. 

"Good," you said, grinning. "Then it's a date." 

[bratbby333]

was just thinkin about gojo if he played college baseball and it kinda spiraled from there…

baseballplayer!satoru who never misses the chance to show off—especially if you’re watching.

he is most definitely the starting pitcher. are you kidding? the aura? the charisma? the energy? he’s cocky and a total diva because he’s the team’s ace. their defensive lineup is nothing without his skills.

baseballplayer!satoru who has your initials stitched on his glove.

he is so superstitious and ritualistic that he will only wear his lucky batting gloves if you hand them to him. he’ll even throw a fit if you don’t give him a good luck kiss before the game because he’s absolutely certain that you’re the reason he’s preforming so well.

he’s not obnoxious about PDA (anymore), but he does always have a hand on your waist or around your shoulders. physical contact of some kind is a must or he’ll get pouty.

baseballplayer!satoru who loves all the snacks you pack for him. he claims he plays better when they come from you and he refuses to get anything store-bought because they don’t ‘taste the same’.

baseballplayer!satoru who gets mildly offended when you cheer too loudly for his teammates or even mention an opposing team.

he pouts and starts to sulk, his eyes narrowing in mock-suspicion. “i’m literally the best player on the field. you wouldn’t betray me like that…right…?” you just giggle and roll your eyes in response, squishing his cheeks fondly. he’s definitely still pouting, but it’s all facade. he’s actively trying not to smile and is hiding the fact that he’s melting on the inside at the sound of your laugh.

baseballplayer!satoru who always pushes himself to the limit and is absolutely exhausted after practice.

he’ll flop himself onto the bed, curling up against you with a huff. “babyyy…my body hurts. please love on me. it’s the only thing that’ll make me feel better.” and after about two minutes of head scratches he's out cold, head firmly planted on your chest as his fingers curl around your shirt. so big and bad on the field but turns to putty in your arms.

he’ll take you on long drives with no destination in mind, especially after a tiring day. the windows are down as the wind whistles through the car. the music is low, the melody soft and peaceful. his hand rests on your thigh, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.

he talks about his dreams of going pro, but always ending with, “as long as you’re there, i don’t care where i end up. and when i make it big, im taking you with me. first-class. forever.”

baseballplayer!satoru who sometimes sneaks you onto the field after-hours.

he teaches you how to hold a bat, how to throw a pitch, and would most definitely make terrible innuendos the entire time. “Gotta get a firm grip, sweetheart. Can’t swing properly if you don’t wrap your hands around it just right.” you almost laugh. almost. “Don’t be shy. Give it everything you’ve got. Full body movement. Trust me—hips make all the difference.” this one earns him a soft slap to his bicep as you roll your eyes, but the smile on your face and warmth in your cheeks tells him everything he needs to know.

you show up for him every single day, on and off the field. but don’t think he doesn’t also support you 100%. in fact, his reciprocity always goes above and beyond. when you do something amazing—ace a test, get a promotion, anything—he leaves a gift box on your pillow or takes you somewhere nice. sometimes, he wears your name written on tape over the back of his jersey just to make a point.

“gotta let ‘em know who i play for.”

baseballplayer!satoru who takes you to all the college ragers and keg parties with him.

if someone starts flirting with you, he keeps his cool. however, he will slide in behind you, his arms snaking around your waist as he presses a few kisses to your neck. he’ll cast a sly glance at the person before looking down at you, “sorry, this one’s taken. isn’t that right, sweetheart?” he’d say, his smirk never wavering.

baseballplayer!satoru when he wears his backwards baseball cap and smirks down at you? dangerous. at first, he didn’t understand the effects—fidgeting with his hats is a compulsion at this point. but once he figured it out? he does it on purpose. he loves that it drives you crazy.

sometimes, during a heated makeout session, he’ll take it off and put it on you. he pauses, giving himself a moment to drink in the sight of you—lips swollen and eyes low. you gaze up at him with the cutest little smile while his thumbs trace your cheeks. he can’t help but bite his lip and mutter, “shit. you’re gonna be the death of me.”

and after a big win, he’s so hyped up and absolutely buzzing with adrenaline that he almost doesn’t make it all the way home. he pins you against the wall the second the door closes, growling in your ear, “i need you. now.”

his calloused hands run along your body as he roughly tugs on your clothes, lips sucking on your soft flesh while he nips at your skin.

baseballplayer!satoru who has an undeniable praise kink. i guess that's why he's such good team player...

he runs his mouth like it’s second nature—on the field, in the locker room, and especially when you’re beneath him. he's downright filthy. this man is obnoxiously confident, downright obsessed with you, and dangerously good with his words… he whispers praise and filth in the same breath, telling you how good you feel, how pretty you sound, and especially how lucky he is to have you like this. all his. “you like watching me on the field, baby? bet you like this more, huh?” he’s driven by his deep rooted desire for you to always know how badly he wants you. every moan, every arch of your back, every flutter of your lashes drives him crazy, and he’s not shy about saying it. “you hear that? that’s allll you. sounding so damn pretty for me.” “look at you—fuck, i don’t deserve this…my pretty girl—i don’t deserve you.” he gets especially talkative when you’re being quiet. if you try to bite back your sounds, he’ll go feral trying to break you open with his voice alone. “cmon, baby. don’t hide it. let me hear how good i make you feel.” you already know he’s got so much stamina, and if you don’t answer him the way he likes, he’ll thrust even harder, burying himself even deeper, trying to get those sweet sounds to fall from your lips once more. “say it, pretty girl. say who’s making you feel this good.”

and, when it’s just the two of you, the rest world fading into background noise, he’s soft in ways that only you get to see.

in his mind, he'd happily trade teasing smirks for sleepy smiles, his constant sexual innuendos for whispered “i love you’s,” and baseball caps for hoodie-covered cuddles. he still talks a big game, of course. that will never change. but now it’s about the future he wants with you, the tiny apartment he wants to share, the warm meals after practice, the wins you’ll celebrate together.

because to satoru, success means nothing if you're not by his side. you were always the real home run. his most valuable win.

author note! i know this has probably been done before but i have personally never read/seen any gojo x baseball before and the urge to write my own headcannons was too intense to ignore. i hope y'all enjoyed!

dividers from @/cafekitsune

[freakingholland]

“The way to a gal’s heart is through her stomach.” - Jason Todd x fem!reader

A/N: Beep boop another Jason imagine, enjoy cuties <3

Warnings: not proofread, slightly suggestive content, swear words

Summary: Jason Todd is not only a superhero, he’s also a master of tomato soups. (fluff, domestic theme, slightly suggestive content)

Word count: 850 +

If you enjoyed my work: Ko-fi.com/freakingholland

questions/requests/ideas here! - rules here

masterlist

my AO3 archive is here

-

“NOOO, no no no I GOT THIS, SIT DOWN MA’AM” Jay said, waving his hands dramatically as if he was trying to shoo you away from the kitchen.

“Don’t raise your voice at me fucker!” you said snorting with laughter.

“Yes, ma’am BUT SIT DOWN PLEASE-- I GOT THIS LOVE!” Jay tilted his head and waited for your reaction giving you an innocent look.

“PLEASE! I GOT THIS!”

“Okay! Okay I will…” you said with your hands up, slowly turning away from your boyfriend. You were standing in the kitchen. You just got back home from work and were about to start making dinner for the both of you. However, Jason had other plans and was making sure that you wouldn’t lift your finger.

“Soooo, what do we have on the menu chef Todd?” Jason smirked as he saw you folding your arms over your chest and leaning against the counter. He reached for an apron that was hanging near the stove.

His triceps rounded as he moved his hands behind his back to tie it on himself. They were pretty tightly squeezed by a short sleeve of his t-shirt. You were wondering whether he was purposefully flexing just to make you feel a certain way.

“I was thinking of a baked tomato soup. But-- I shall gladly fulfill my significant other’s…” he prolonged.

“-dining desires…as­-- it’s my personal wish to suffice her stomach.” His words made you shake your head with a growing smile. God. This guy’s eloquence is truly admirable. So is his charm. And his warmth despite the hardships that life had thrown at him.

“Sounds good.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

“Sweet. Tomato soup it is.”

“How was work?” he continued.

“Could have been better honestly.  Collins had a problem again and decided to throw a fit at the end of the shift. Called in a meeting last minute just to scream his ass of for 20 minutes-- AS IF we could change anything.”

“Monica was late to pick up her son from preschool because of the asshole.” You continued your rant.

“Yeah, Collins has a knack for ruining everyone’s day,” Jay said, shaking his head as he rinsed his hands.

“It’s like the guy feeds off stress.”

“Exactly! And the worst part is, it’s not just me. Everyone’s been feeling it. EVEN Monica, who’s usually so calm, was on the verge of tears today. It’s just not fair.”

“Did she call you?” He asked.

“She texted me when I was entering our building.”

He shook his head no sympathizing with your work story.

“Ugh, I hate that for her. And for you,” Jay said, turning to face you. “You don’t deserve to deal with that crap every day.”

“Thanks,” you replied with a tired smile. “It’s just frustrating. I mean, we’re all trying our best, but Collins seems to think yelling at us is some sort of solution.”

“Man, I don’t know what to say… asshole’s pissing me off.” He licked his lips.

“And how is Jared doing?” Jay continued wanting to change the topic.

“He’s alright as far as I know.” You bit your lower lip.

“You know what? I actually thought about inviting them for dinner some time.” You said shyly.

Jay, still focused on the cutting board, looked up, noticing the slight hesitation in your tone.

“Why are you shying away like that?” he asked, with curiosity and concern in his voice as he turned to face you, pausing his chopping.

“Well, I wanna know-- if you’d have the energy and will to have guests over on your night off…?”

Jay walked over to the sink to wash his hands. He stepped away from the counters to kiss the top of your head as you were mentally supporting him in his cooking, watching from the tall bar stool.

“We can totally think about it, don’t worry about my energy.”

“I—Well I-- just didn’t want to overwhelm you--, you know? I know how hard you’ve been working lately, and I didn’t want to add more to your plate.”

Jay smiled, his eyes full of that familiar warmth that always made you feel at ease.

“I get it, and I really appreciate you looking out for me like that.”

“But honestly-- having them over might be just what we need. A break from the usual, a chance to relax, catch up with some good friends, and just enjoy each other’s company. It could be a lot of fun.” He continued.

„Plus, it would be a great opportunity to show off my cooking skills.” He said with a cheeky smile plastered across his face.

“Yeeeaah right…”

“Yeah right what?” Jay looked over his shoulder, pretending to be offended.

“’Kay hear me out-- how about we make a deal? If I can whip up the best tomato soup you’ve ever had, you have to admit I’m the better cook.”

“And if it’s-- just, okay?” you teased, biting your lower lip playfully. Jay leaned in closer, his voice deepened.

“Then maybe I’ll have to find another way to prove I’m the best at… handling things.”

“I like your confidence, Todd.”

“And I—like you Y/L/N.”

-

Stay whelmed xx

Tori

[kryannoy]

it slipped out, i'm sorry . . .

genre: fluff

character: xiangli yao

a/n: another fic about him because i am so in love with this man. i am fully aware he is sadly a fictional character 😀

Oh, how you love your boyfriend so much.

He has never raised his voice at you, never raised his hand at you, never even complained about you. He is just so . . . him! So perfect. The man any girl or woman would dreamt of. The man anyone wants as their partner because he treats you like royalty.

So, how? How does one get him to be your lover? And that person in question is you. How did you even hit the jackpot has always been a question you can never answer yourself. It has remained a mystery for as long as you can remember.

There has been a lot of time you look at him, stare at him, observe him and pinch him and yourself to see if this is real or not. And when you pinched him, guess what? He didn't get mad at you.

He flinched from the pain and immediately turned to you to see you pinching yourself as well. He raised his eyebrow and questioned you.

"Wha . . . What was that for?" His voice is gentle as the breeze, full of confusion yet patience.

"I don't think this is real. Yao, my love, can you pinch me so I know this isn't a dream?" You answered.

He chuckles at this. He doesn't need anyone else to keep him entertained after being buried in his research. You were enough. "No, princess. I don't want to hurt you."

You pout at him while playfully crossed your arms. "You saying that isn't helping, y'know?"

The look on his face isn't really worth seeing. You quite regret this action. Somehow, he seems to believe you. Or more likely, ready to apologize for saying something wrong—when clearly he wasn't.

"What is this all about? Is something troubling you? You can just tell me and I will help to the best of my ability."

He did it again! is what you want to say but you don't want to further upset your boyfriend. After all, why would you do that when he never does the same? He doesn't deserve it.

"It's just, I can't believe I have someone like you. No, wait. That sounded wrong. I meant, like, you're so perfect, how did I end up with you? And why did you choose me when there are other girls who are more fitting to be with you. You're so nice and I feel like I haven't done enough."

His heart bloomed. He feels suffocated but in a good way. An amazingly, romantically good way. He never gave a thought that you felt this way. He always thought that you were just as happy as him to be together.

He moves towards you and cups your face in his large hands. His prosthetic hand feels cold on your left cheek but somehow, you still feel the warmth resonating from his touch.

"My beautiful, lovely, sweet, gorgeous queen." He pecks your lips and even from that short kiss makes both of your skin hot, but still, he wasn't going to shy away now. "You are also perfect as is. So, we are perfect for each other. And I don't need anyone else. Got it?"

Oh, his eyes are shining. His smile is beaming. His touch is welcoming. But his distance is killing. He's so close!

At times like these are when you feel so shy around him no matter how many times you both have hugged, cuddled, kissed and such. You still feel butterflies in your stomach like having a school crush. You wonder if he feels the same way.

"And in another few years, we will be married, live together and have ki—"

He stops abruptly before he gets ahead of himself. Well, it's already slipped out anyways.

How else were you going to respond to that?! He just proves himself to be dreamier than before.

"Xiangli Yao . . ." You breath.

He notices you're so stiff and tense, not to mention, how red your face is right now. He better take a step back before you faint.

The proximity is now enough for you to take a breather. He scratches his cheek with his metal finger, looking flustered as you are. He must have felt the same way—the butterflies in his tummy, the blinking eyes, the awkward gesture.

He lightly clears his throat. "M—My apologies, I . . . uh, got ahead of myself. Forget what I said. I wasn't really thinking straight and it slipped out before I knew it."

It makes you much happier now after hearing his words and seeing you're not the only one who can get embarrassed. You're fully aware your boyfriend loves to make plans, even plans for next year, but you didn't know he made plans to be fully committed to you!

How'd you land a guy like him will always be the question.

You couldn't hide your smile anymore as you flung yourself into his arms as if he just put a ring on your finger. "I'll just say it now; I do!"

Xiangli Yao is so glad you couldn't see his face because if he does, he'll most likely malfunction like his robot one time. "I think you need to pinch me, princess. I feel like I'm dreaming."

[marsmaximoff]

🥀; the other side of the coin 𓇢𓆸 𐦍

content warning: wife!reader. angst. cheating. i do not specify which emperor you're with, as the situation applies to both. so feel free to choose the one you prefer. anticlimactic ending, kinda?

word count: 480

author's note: i had this idea in bed, before falling asleep. i've tried to use a fitting english given the time period, but i don’t know if i succeeded. it is my third language so i’m sorry for the mistakes. constructive criticism is welcomed. happy 2025 everyone!!!!! enjoyy 🩷🩵

“are you well?” her tone of voice, caring as it constantly is with me, now carries a hint of worry.

“why? what happened?” lucilla sits by my side on the golden divan. “nothing. just in general.” “do i not look well? is it my eye bags? am i wrinkling?” the last thing i need is having to sit through more of those comments about my sorrowful appearance not meeting my status. ‘for the wife of the emperor must appear graceful, delighted, along with content at all occasions’. a symbol of my luck and my gratitude for it.

“you look beautiful, as always.” “don’t scare me like that.” the question, though inoffensive, had not failed to unease me. “you’re more than a face, you know.” a scoff leaves my mouth, “in this palace?” however, as i dwell on it, i realize the truth of such comment. “i am a face and a body.”

we hold hands, a motherly gesture i am so accustomed to. despite not being her daughter, i cannot think of a single day she has not treated me like one.

“how are you dealing with your husband’s…. lustful tendencies?” she has always been quite an outspoken woman, the query amuses me. “you’re saying that like i didn’t know it before marrying him.” i was warned right at the very beginning, the emperors' carnal nature being one of my first lessons. and yet, “it hurts.” her gaze reveals pity and compassion. “i don’t know why.” oh, but i do. i just hate admitting it. besides, such cravings must be kept to oneself.

the soft caress of her thumbs grounds me. a silent reassurance, an invitation to confide. i decide to take advantage of our solitude and finally pour my heart out. “i guess i wanted my husband to stay loyal to me.” what an absurd thought for an empress. “as childish as it sounds”, i add, aware of my impossible desire. i am conscious of his affection. he loves me, in his own way, that is. at the end of the day, solely one person cannot provide it all. right? it is merely a custom; i am no one to judge.

“i am happy for you.” never jealous. only slightly envious, perhaps. “your relationship with the general looks… real.” memories surround me, and i recall all those times he has come back from his victorious missions with her as his only concern. not the emperors, or the people. not even the following conquests. her alone. meeting his wife after so long. spending time together. “genuine.” the way his eyes sparkle when she is around -as if she were the only woman in the world-, the warmth that envelopes their conversations, and his chivalrous behavior only those who love someone so tenderly have mastered.

“i’m happy there’s at least someone in this damned palace that gets to know true love.”

[pure-smut]

iron wall.

featuring: Takanobu Aone x f!reader

contains: some angst to fluff to smut, happy ending!!, tattoo artist!Aone, social anxiety!reader, thigh riding, fingering(ish), missionary, NOT an accurate representation of getting a tattoo (call it creative liberties)

word count: 3.7k

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

MDNI | 18+ content

Masterlist

a/n: I'm sorry, I love Aone so much, he's so babygirl!! I'm a sucker for a gentle giant so I needed to get this story down I love him

You’re so excited for your first tattoo. So excited you could throw up, in fact. Oh wait, no, you’re terrified.

The tattoo studio does nothing to soothe your nerves. It’s a small space, seeming all the more cramped for artwork covering every inch of wall and shelf space. You try your hardest not to shrink into yourself.

And then your tattoo artist steps out and a year of social aversion therapy dwindles into nothing.

Takanobu Aone is one of the best artists in the country and you’ve been so, so lucky to get a spot with him. You researched hard, not trusting your first tattoo in the hands of anyone less than perfect. When you saw Aone’s portfolio online, you knew he was the one. Beautiful linework and sweeping designs that seemed to mould to the person’s body. You fell in love with his art.

But his portfolio didn’t have any pictures of him. So when he steps out and greets you with a silent nod, you nearly shrivel up on the spot.

Aone is scary. He’s tall, broad, and – unsurprisingly – coated in tattoos. A seemingly permanent frown is etched on his face, his ice blonde hair cut short. But it’s his eyes – it’s like he’s glaring at you.

“Sorry,” you squeak out before internally scolding yourself.

Sorry?? What are you apologising for? No one’s said anything yet!

If Aone’s confused, he doesn’t show it. He only gestures to an intimidating-looking chair, fitted with an overhead lamp.

Your hands shake so you clench them into fists. You can do this, you tell yourself. This was the whole point of your tattoo. On wobbly legs, you make your way over to the chair and sit down.

Aone looks down at you. You look back up at him. When neither of you says anything, he twirls his finger in the air.

“Oh!”

Idiot, you think to yourself. It’s a back tattoo – he needs to see my back.

You turn around, your chest pressed against the back of the chair, as Aone sits behind you. Even without seeing him, his presence is so large that you feel it. You take a shuddering breath as you hear the buzz of the needle and squeeze your eyes shut.

The tattoo hurts, like a relentless, stinging scratch against your skin. But honestly? You thought it would be worse. Still, the nerves haven’t dissipated yet, and nausea swirls in your stomach. Especially when you feel Aone’s hands on your skin, resting against your back as he works.

“You’re doing well.”

Aone’s voice is so sudden and unexpected that you nearly jump. It takes a second for you to register what he’s said but when you do, warmth rushes to your cheeks.

“Th-thanks,” you stammer out.

“Will music help you to relax?”

His voice is deep and smooth. You’re glad you’re facing away from him because you don’t want him to see the blush in your cheeks just from listening to him speak.

You tell him your favourite songs and he sets up a playlist. By the time he starts up the tattoo again, you are feeling more relaxed. It helps that you don’t need to look him in the face, that you don’t need to mould your reactions to what you think is right. Every so often, Aone will let you know how well you’re sitting for him and each time, it makes your body feel like it’s on fire.

By the time he’s finished, you’re nearly dizzy.

Aone must notice because he offers his hand to help you stand. You take it, gratefully, but keep your eyes averted, too embarrassed to look him in the face.

“First tattoos are hard,” he says solemnly and you’re glad he thinks it’s the tattoo that’s had an effect on you and not him.

Aone hands you his card as you pay up. It has a list of tattoo care instructions as well as his phone number and socials.

“Any problems, contact me,” he says.

You finally look up at him. What you had thought had been a glare before now looks completely different. Aone’s eyes are sharp but they’re kind, his face serious but concerned. Under the intensity of his gaze, you find it suddenly hard to breathe.

You want to thank him, to tell him you’ll be happy to contact him if anything comes up. To say anything normal at all.

But an iron wall wraps around your chest. You don’t want to say anything stupid or embarrassing. So you give a short nod and leave without saying anything at all.

*

It’s only a few days before your tattoo starts to itch. You diligently cream it as Aone’s card instructed you but the position of the tattoo means you can’t reach all of it. There’s a patch in the middle that’s neglected and so, so goddamn itchy.

After all the research, effort and money spent, you desperately don’t want your new tattoo to heal badly. But you have no one to ask for help. It’s your own fault, you know. You’ve spent the years since you left home for college isolating yourself from everyone. Too worried about saying the wrong thing or doing something embarrassing. Too concerned over whether people are laughing at you instead of with you.

And now you’re stuck with an itchy tattoo that you can’t fully reach.

Aone’s card sits innocently on your desk, almost taunting you. It takes another two days before you gather up the courage to tap out a message to Aone.

He responds within minutes with instructions to come to the studio.

That’s how you end up back in the chair, your favourite songs playing again, too embarrassed to look behind you at Aone.

“The itch is worse than the pain,” he says, rubbing cool, soothing cream gently over your tattoo.

Despite yourself, you smile. Maybe it’s your favourite music in the background, maybe it’s the fact you don’t need to look at him. Maybe it’s the feel of his gloved fingers being so gentle on your skin. For once, you don’t overthink before you speak.

“The pain wasn’t so bad after a while,” you say quietly. “But the itching goes on forever.”

Aone chuckles. It catches you off guard – you wonder what he looks like when he’s smiling.

You sit in comfortable silence for a while.

“This is so embarrassing…” you mumble to yourself.

“What is?”

You startle, not realising he heard you. Your cheeks burn.

“O-oh… just… y’know, all of this,” you say clumsily.

“All of what?”

“I-” A lump appears in your throat. You realise how stupid you sound. “I can’t reach my tattoo.”

A puff of air escapes Aone’s nose.

“Not embarrassing,” he says. “I fainted during my first tattoo. That is embarrassing.”

The image of Aone – broad, muscled, serious-faced Aone – fainting during a tattoo is so unexpected you snort with laughter.

“You didn’t!”

“I did,” he says gravely. “I was too nervous to eat breakfast so my blood sugar was low.”

Aone withdraws his hands to lean in close. You can feel the warmth radiating off him on the back of your neck and shoulder. When he speaks, his breath tickles your cheek.

“They had to give me a lollipop.”

You burst out laughing, clapping a hand over your mouth. Aone chuckles and stands, snapping his gloves off. You rise with him, still giggling, and get a glimpse of his smile for the first time.

It’s small, just an uptick at the corner of his mouth, but you can’t stop looking.

“Next time you feel embarrassed, remember the lollipop,” Aone says with a firm nod.

You grin, meeting his eyes. Inside you, a small chip skitters down the iron wall.

A crack.

*

Aone tells you to come back every day at the same time for a week, until your tattoo heals. You find yourself looking forward to it and you end up chatting long after he’s finishing creaming your back. You wonder if this is it – you’ve beaten the insecure demon inside your head.

Until one day you don’t.

It’s the last day you’re scheduled to visit Aone’s studio. Maybe that’s the reason why a stab of icy fear lodges itself in your heart every time you try and open the door to leave.

You stand at your front door, key in the lock, but your hand is frozen. Your breathing turns ragged and your vision swims. You can’t turn the key. You can’t leave your home. Your sanctuary. The only safe space you know.

Except Aone’s studio.

Except Aone.

You know you’re going to be late but still, you can’t bring yourself to leave. With shaking hands, you message Aone, apologising and saying you won’t make it. He messages back instantly.

Are you okay?

You don’t know what prompts you to respond honestly. Maybe it’s the exhaustion from fighting the anxiety in your head. Maybe it’s because Aone has always been sincere with you. Maybe it’s because you don’t have to look at him when you respond.

Maybe the iron wall is breaking.

No, you type back.

He asks for your address, saying he’ll come to you. After chewing your thumbnail down to the quick, you give it and throw your phone onto the other side of the bed.

You barely have the energy to drag yourself from your bed when the doorbell rings. You know you should feel embarrassed opening the door in your pyjamas, hair unbrushed and eyes puffy with no sleep. But when Aone steps in, face serious, and pulls out a lollipop, the only thing you feel is relief.

You burst into tears as Aone pulls you into his arms, pressing you against his chest. He’s firm and warm and holds you tight. He doesn’t say anything. He lets you soak the front of his shirt with your tears.

When you’ve cried yourself dry, your sobs dwindling into sniffles, Aone pulls back to peer down at you.

“Food?”

You spend the day with takeout, watching movies together on your laptop in bed. You sneak glances at him every so often, admiring his profile, and have to quickly look away every time he notices. It should be embarrassing… but you know he’s looking at you too. You can feel his intense gaze when you’re watching the movie, can feel him watching you when you get up to go to the bathroom.

When you return, instead of lying side-by-side, you turn your back to him, pulling the laptop in front of you. Aone turns to spoon you, wrapping one large arm around your stomach. You melt into him, immediately relaxed.

It reminds you of being in his chair, faced away from him but knowing he’s there.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, your voice nearly drowned out by the movie. “I know I get too nervous and say weird stuff.”

“What weird stuff?” You can’t see him but you can hear the frown in his voice.

“Like…” You swallow past the lump in your throat. “Like when I first met you, I didn’t even say hi. I said sorry, for some weird reason.”

Your mouth goes dry as you recall your first embarrassing memory with Aone. The one that still keeps you up at night as you replay it, thinking about how awkward you looked and how weird he must think you are.

“That wasn’t weird,” Aone says, breaking you out of your thoughts. “People think I’m scary. They don’t sit next to me on the train and they apologise when they meet me.”

You blink at the laptop, twisting slightly so you can look at Aone. He looks back at you.

“They do?”

He nods.

“You’re not weird. You’re normal.”

Aone says it with absolute sincerity. You think on this for a moment before fully turning, facing him. Aone settles his hand on your waist, his sharp eyes locked on yours.

You’re normal.

A rush of relief floods through you and your eyes water, nearly bursting into tears again. Aone notices because he tightens his grip on you, his hand on standby to brush away any tears.

“I’m okay,” you reassure him. “I’m okay.”

And it’s true. It’s the most okay you’ve felt in a long time. A flood of affection clouds your mind and you look up at him to smile.

“Thank you for rescuing me today,” you tell him.

“Always,” Aone says seriously.

It’s only one word but it steals your breath. You feel like you’re falling. You grip onto the front of his shirt, anchoring yourself.

One word and your iron wall crumbles.

You tilt your head up until Aone’s face is only inches from yours. You’re offering yourself up, offering your heart on a platter, open and vulnerable. You close your eyes and wait, blood rushing in your ears.

Aone moves his hand up from your waist to cup your face. His skin is hot against yours and you can feel his heart beating through his chest.

“Always,” he whispers once more before he closes the gap between you.

Aone presses his lips softly against yours. Your hands snake around his torso, feeling the hard muscle of his back. His lips part yours gently, cautiously, wary not to pressure you too much. You let him, meeting his tongue with your own and melting into him.

Aone uses one arm to wrap around your back, pulling your body flush to him as his other hand grips your thigh. He tugs your leg over his, nestling his thick thigh between your legs, and pressing against your mound. You gasp lightly into his mouth.

Aone pulls back, eyes opening.

“Is this okay?” he asks, searching your face for any sign you’re uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “It’s… it feels good.”

You try hard not to grind against his thigh but when he leans down to kiss you again, you find your hips moving on their own. His firm muscle pressed against your clothed pussy makes your clit throb with need. You haven’t felt this turned on by anyone in a long time, your sex drive long since evaporated. But Aone is awakening something inside you, a heat in your stomach unfurling.

You hold onto his shoulder, solid as a rock, and grind against his thigh.

Aone trails his hand down to your hip, his grip gentle but firm.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs against your lips, reluctant to break the kiss.

“Mhmm.” You catch his bottom lip lightly between your teeth. “I’m sure.”

Aone hardens his grip on your hip, guiding you as you rub your clothed pussy against his thigh. The friction is delicious, sending little sparks up through your body and soaking the crotch of your panties and pyjama shorts. You’re forced to break the kiss to bury your face in his chest, whimpering.

He’s bringing you close to the edge, so, so close. But it’s not enough.

“More,” you practically beg him. “I need more. Please.”

Aone grunts and rolls you onto your back, slotting himself between your legs. He’s large enough that you’re spread lewdly beneath him, thighs open. It would normally make you flustered – embarrassed – but it doesn’t.

Because it’s okay. It’s Aone.

He looks at your with stars in his eyes as his hand reaches down, sliding under the waistband of your shorts and panties. Your hips buck as his fingers find your swollen clit, slippery with your arousal. He traces small, featherlight touches around your sensitive bud. Aone knows his own strength and he’s always cautious of being too rough. He watches your face carefully to see your reaction, applying slightly more pressure until your nails sink into his biceps.

“There!” you gasp. “Fuck, right there. I’m so close.”

Aone listens, his cock straining against his jeans. You would normally feel your cheeks burn under the intensity of anyone’s gaze, let alone Aone’s, but you’re too caught up in the pleasure he’s giving you to care. His fingers are relentless, keeping up a steady pace, no faster or slower than exactly what you need.

When your back arches and your mouth falls open, Aone dips his head to swallow your moan, kissing you deeply through your orgasm, his fingers never stopping. It’s only when you pull away, too sensitive to continue, that he withdraws his hand.

But he can’t stop kissing you. Your soft lips and the taste of the lollipop he brought you still on your tongue. Aone knows you’ve opened yourself to him, he knows you’ve summoned every ounce of courage you have. He feels like he has a baby bird in his hands and he’s scared to hold you too tight. To crush the precious thing you’ve given him.

So when you come down from your high, he makes to roll off you, not thinking of himself or his throbbing cock.

You stop him, hands on his biceps and wrapping your legs around his hips.

“I want you,” you whisper, voice hoarse from moaning. “All of you.”

Aone searches your face for any uncertainty. He only sees your eyes alight, holding his gaze firmly. He thinks back to your first arrival in his studio, when he couldn’t even tell what your face really looked like, you kept your eyes so averted. The corner of his mouth upticks with pride.

You reach up to wrap one hand around the nape of his neck, carding your fingers through his short, white-blonde hair as your other hand reaches down to his jeans. He helps you unbutton them, tugging them down along with his boxers and throwing them both off the side of the bed. Aone straightens to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him. Tattoos decorate his thick torso, artwork following the curves and dips of his body. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, not even hiding how absolutely, completely attracted to him you are.

Aone’s expression doesn’t change much but his eyes glint and you know he’s pleased by your reaction. He reaches down, hooking his thumbs under the hem of your pyjama top and tugging it off. He gazes down at you, face soft, his eyes tracing over your body.

You’d normally be fighting the urge to cover yourself but you don’t feel the need to do that with Aone. You want him to look at you.

Aone leans down to pepper soft kisses down your neck, to your breasts. One large hand massages your tit, tweaking the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. It’s like your nipple is directly connected to your clit, making it throb with every touch. Aone sucks your other nipple, mouth hot against your skin as his teeth lightly graze you. It’s electrifying. You can feel yourself getting wetter, a scorching heat between your legs.

You need him inside you.

You tug on the roots of his hair gently, pulling his face back up to yours. Aone kisses you deep and slow, one hand reaching down to line his cock up with your entrance. You can feel the fat mushroom tip nudging between your folds. You pull your knees up, wrapping your legs around his hips to give him better access.

Aone pulls back from the kiss. You chase his lips with your own but he cups your cheek, holding you away.

“I want to see your face,” he says.

 He locks eyes with you and pushes himself inside.

Your mouth falls open and your brows scrunch in the middle as Aone slides his cock into your tight hole. You’re more than wet enough for him but his cock is as thick as the rest of him, stretching you with a burn that’s half pleasure, half pain. You whimper, eyes squeezing shut as Aone shallowly pumps himself inside you, going a little deeper each time. Each stroke of his cock sets your nerves on fire, sparks running through your whole body to the tips of your fingers and toes.

“Holy shit,” you grit out. “You’re – ah! – You’re so b-big.”

“Are you okay?” Aone stops still. “Are you in pain?”

You shake your head, wrapping your legs tighter around him.

“Don’t stop,” you beg him.

He gives a short nod and keeps going, slowly working himself deeper until he’s bottomed out. Aone waits there for a while, letting you adjust to the size of him. You’re desperate for more friction, your pussy clenching him tight.

“You…” He collapses onto his forearms, burying his face in your neck.

His hand tangles in your hair at the back of your head, holding you to him.

“You feel so fucking good,” he breathes. “You’re doing so well.”

Aone’s praise sends a thrill up your spine, so reminiscent of the first time you met. He presses his mouth against the shell of your ear.

“I’m going to move, okay?” His voice is hoarse.

You nod and he starts to pull back, keeping his body pressed against yours. It should feel smothering, his large body covering yours, but instead it feels safe. Secure.

Aone keeps a steady pace, not pulling out all the way before thrusting back into you. Your greedy pussy pulling him back in every time, your plush walls squeezing him, not wanting to let him go. His cock rubs against the sensitive spot inside you, the trimmed hair at the base stroking delicious friction against your clit. The combination is indescribable. It doesn’t take long for your eyes to roll back again, your orgasm building faster than you can register.

Aone can feel it. The way your tight pussy gets even tighter, the whimpers you make from the back of your throat, the way your thighs squeeze his hips. He can’t get enough of it. He wants to last as long as possible so he can stay here forever. Stay with you, like this, forever. But the way you’re gripping him, milking his cock, makes it impossible.

“I’m gonna cum, angel,” he groans. “Cum with me.”

His words are enough to tip you over the edge. Stars burst behind your eyes. You cry out his name as your thighs tremble and your toes curl, creaming on his cock. Aone grunts, half-moaning, as buries his cock inside you, thick ropes of cum coating your walls.

You hold him close, not wanting him to leave even as his cock softens inside you. Aone stays where he is, wanting to prolong this moment as long as he can. He presses gentle kisses against your neck, hugging you close to him.

“You’re perfect,” he mumbles in between kisses. “Thank you.”

You smile and catch his lips with your own.

“Always,” you whisper back.

masterlist

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[boorines]

what pet names (if any) do you think the svt members would use? ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

this is such a cute ask ahh!! sorry it took literal ages to get to, i’ve had the worst case of writer’s block and i’m slowly working through my reqs!

-

Pet names seventeen would call you

—

SEUNGCHEOL

doll. you’re his world and he’d spoil you to no end. every thing you’d want would become yours and you’d never have to lift a finger. he’d dote on you so much and all he’d expect in return is your love, you’d be his lovely doll.

“look at what i got, doll. you like it? do you think it’s pretty? it’s for you”

JEONGHAN

angel. of course, the angel needs his twin flame. you’d be his angel and his partner in crime. you both have your mischievous, devilish streaks too, so the nickname would be perfect. to him you’re angelic and could do no wrong, even when you’ve baked a cake but won’t let him touch it yet.

“angel, you’re being so mean. just one look? i promise i won’t take a bite”

JOSHUA

love. simple and sweet. he prefers to use ‘love’ because it’s exactly what he feels for you and he wants you to know it, remember it all the time. you’re his love and he wants to shower you in it as much as he can.

“mm, i’ll be there in 10. of course, love, i’ll pick it up for you, i love you, too”

JUN

beautiful. jun is in awe of you. you’re breathtaking to him and he’s going to make sure you know it. he’d call you beautiful so often it becomes a nickname for you. neither of you realise when it happens until you’re being called beautiful for the 5th time in the day.

“there’s a fresh towel on the bed for you, beautiful. you don’t need to find a new one”

SOONYOUNG

babe. simple but sweet. he also uses your name often, he says it softly and gently, like it’s his favorite word. he’ll still follow up with a ‘babe’, though. and if he’s within arm’s distance of you he’s definitely punctuating his sentence with a squeeze of your hand or waist.

“babe, we can do the laundry later, it’s so warm in bed, stay just 5 more minutes? please…”

WONWOO

pretty. to wonwoo, you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen. it comes so naturally to him, especially when you are the embodiment of the word in his eyes. you could be sat on the couch flicking through apps mindlessly when you’ll hear him call for you. whether it’s to ask for help or just for the sake of having your attention on him.

“want to play a couple of games later, pretty? or watch a movie? what are you feeling?”

JIHOON

your name. jihoon has a way with words, he pours meaning into every single one he speaks. so to him nothing comes close to the love and meaning he puts into saying your name. it would be tender and loving and it would be yours.

“do they fit well, does it pinch at your ankle? they’re very pretty, ____. i’ll get them for you”

MINGHAO

gorgeous. an almost sensual nickname that rolls off his tongue so easily. it shows just how lucky he feels to have you and it makes your cheeks heat up every time you hear it. he particularly loves seeing you flustered when he springs it on you when you least expect it.

“you’re at lunch with your friends today, right? need me to drop you and pick you up after, gorgeous?”

MINGYU

baby. a classic name for a hopeless romantic. something about you being his baby makes him melt and he just can’t get enough of saying it. you feel so cherished when he uses it and he loves the rush of warmth and pride he gets calling you it. often comes with a sudden back hug, maybe even a pout if he’s wanting your attention.

“please, baby, can we watch just one more episode. it’s only 2am… baby…”

SEOKMIN

buttercup. this is SO seokmin. you’re delicate and pretty like a flower to him. and combined with the fact that he’d love being called sunshine or honey? you both are so sunny and bright together.

“i found them! i found the keys, oh my god they were under the cabinet, buttercup. can you believe that?”

SEUNGKWAN

my sweetheart. seungkwan would use ‘my’ a lot, he would love the intimacy as well as the slight possessiveness that comes with the word. my love, my darling, etc. he’d be a sucker for calling you his and showing you off to everyone that way.

“you’re always the most beautiful in the room. let me introduce you to everyone, my sweetheart, hm?”

VERNON

babe. also keeps it simple. he’s more about subtle affection and wants his actions to speak louder than his words. a soft ‘babe’ accompanied by a gentle tap on your knee to wake you up when you doze off on the sofa, another call while he wordlessly points out something on his phone. he’s all about showing, not telling.

“babe, how many eggs should i put in for two ramen packs?”

CHAN

darling. he’s so affectionate with you it’s unbelievable. while he isn’t one for over the top romance, his affection comes through in so many other ways. when he wordlessly refills glasses of water for you throughout the day or throws a towel in the dryer so it’s nice and warm for you after your shower.

“i’ll tidy up, darling. you get ready for bed, yeah?”

[azullumi]

“i wanna be yours” ; aventurine

premise — but this is what friends do, right? they slow dance together in the living room while saying sweet nothings ; inspired by this ask (though i never really followed the entire idea, my hands has minds of its own)

pairing — aventurine (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff (with a little bit of angst at the end), friends but wanting more type of relationship, all written in reader’s pov, not proofread, 1.2k words ; one-shot

tagging — @toorurs (hi boo)

note — i keep on comparing aventurine to the sun i dont even know why i do it. 9 DAYS LEFT UNTIL HIS BANNER

“care to dance?” the languid, lazy silence draws itself away as the honey-haired man spoke, offering you his hand as he did. the light humming of the music in the background keeps the night awake and alive, the softness of the notes intertwined in the air that settles in your home.

you stare at his hand for a moment, admiring the glistening bracelet on his wrist before you answer, tone meek and hesitant: “i don’t know how to dance.” you expected him to laugh at you for not knowing a simple and common concept; dancing was a form of art known to many and yet, you are unfamiliar with it.

but aventurine simply smiles at you and takes your hand to hold on his own, gently pulling you up from your seat and making you stumble on your feet—however, he catches you and doesn’t let you fall to the ground. you are only met with the warmth of his body and the feeling of his unoccupied hand resting on the small of your back.

“you could have warned me before you did that.” you huffed, although you weren’t exactly reprimanding him.

“i still caught you, didn’t i?” the man answers in a gentle tone as he begins to sway you to the rhythm of the song (the melody wraps itself around your form like the cradle of a warm blanket), a familiar tune that plays in your living room and now you are listening to it as you—no, as he dances and guides your movements. you try to follow him albeit like a clumsy child and silence trailed behind your steps as none of you spoke, only wallowing in this moment between you and him.

(his hand is warm against yours, fingers lacing with each other like two puzzle pieces meant to fit together. you have never known how gentle he can be, have never known the warmth of his hands and the softness of his palms up until this moment. maybe it’s the feeling of his touch that’s making you drunk and aeons, you’ve never thought of yourself as a selfish person but something in the way he’s holding you makes you crave for more.)

“focus,” he whispers to your ear, catching you completely off-guard when his breath tickles your skin, “you’re supposed to look at me, not at the ground.”

you compose yourself, bringing your gaze to his face instead of the marble floors that seem to spin as you move, “i was watching my feet so i won’t accidentally step on you.”

“i don’t mind if you do, all i wish is for you to look at me and me only.” he speaks so gently, so delicately as if something akin to despair hangs on the tangled threads of his words. you study his face, looking at the lines on his features and trying to look for the gap of his expression—you could never tell what he was thinking, could never decipher the meaning he skillfully weaves to the words that he utters (you wish you had the ability to look into minds, perhaps you would have known him).

he notices your silence and smiles, “can’t a poor man have their own wishes?”

you take a moment once more to answer, “i didn’t say that.” well, in fact, you weren’t saying anything. the sound of laughter slips past his lips and perhaps, if you didn’t see the way his eyes formed into a crescent and his expression contorts one into amusement, you would have mistook the sound as part of the song.

“you should see the way you look right now.” 

you raised your eyebrow at him, confusion evident in your face, “what do you mean? is there dirt on my face?”

aventurine pulled you closer to him, movements coming to a stop as you two stood still. his face is leaning down to yours, lips merely inches away from each other, and your thoughts are in a jumble as if your mind was a library of cluttered and disorganized bookshelves.

“no, i’m saying you look lovely tonight.” he whispers—and you swear, you see his eyes look down to your lips for a moment—, his voice low as if you’re the only one who’s supposed to hear and not the moon that casts its curious glow on his skin, not the stars that watched your every move, but you and just you.

(you’re left with nothing but silence and warmth in your cheeks, not knowing where to focus or even think about—the strong scent of his perfume or his words that repeatedly echoed inside your head.)

the golden-haired man doesn’t speak any further, continuing his slow dance with you in the comfort of your living room as he hums along to the melody. the night is heavy against your shoulders as the silver moonlight laid on the ground like spilled milk.

“it is quite simple, isn’t it? look, you’re able to follow.”

“aven, you’re doing all of the work.”

he slowly spins you around—the world looks slow and messy for you for a moment—before he answers, “barely.” he comes face to face with you and you don’t fail to notice the affection in his eyes when he meets your gaze.

“don’t look at me like that.” you wished he wouldn’t look at you in that way; something tugs at your heart and suffocates you.

“like what?”

“i don’t know.” hesitation follows your tone, broken and unsure, seemingly lost in an empty field full of directions. “like…” like you wanted me like a lover, you keep the words at your throat knowing you’ll choke on it one day. you don’t know how to say it, you don’t even know if you can say it. it was as if the ability to speak has been taken away from you.

the song came to its end and so was the dance.

“you should go to sleep, don’t stay up too much.” aventurine says, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek and pressing a kiss on your forehead. he lets you go as soon as he parts his lips, stepping back to the distance the both of you once had before all of this happened, as if nothing occurred between you two, as if the words whispered against each other, the closeness, the intimacy were all just some silly imagination.

“are you leaving already?” you ask, your hand reaching out to tug at his sleeve as if you didn’t want him to go. you don’t even know what made you hold on to him, what made you want him to not want to leave.

the man who had the universe in his wake answers with warmth in his tone, “i can’t stay any longer.” he holds your hand and ushers you to remove your grasp on his sleeve. everything felt so different now, your thoughts were all so loud but you couldn’t dare to speak nor say something as you watched him turn away and leave—the sound of the door closing echoed throughout the corners of your home and you were left alone, in silence and in the cold.

but the comfort and warmth of his touch lingered on your skin—and you’ll remember it all; it will haunt you, follow your shadow everywhere you go, pulling on the hem of your shirt with the desperation of a dying man and you don’t know how to live knowing the way he held you on this night. how are you supposed to deal with the fact that his hands were as soft and warm as summer?

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[iidilio]

Hey there! How about having the madara, hashirama and itachi's way of celebrating an anniversary with his wife as headcanons? Thank you!

[ 🌸 ] oh...! If I were married I would like to go to a beach to do you know what thing… that's right, I'm talking about drinking pineapple with my partner while I tell him the gossip that my grandmother told me the other day-

characters: itachi uchiha, madara uchiha, hashirama senju

genre: fluff with a touch of comedy

warnings: none, spicy parts, reader being pampered by three adult men, happy married couple

...

...

..

.

Itachi Uchiha

—My sweet boy.

—He sleeps a little longer than usual to enjoy the warmth of the morning by your side, even though he has a whole list of plans of what he wants to do with you. —When he feels he's had enough rest, he gets up quietly and heads to the kitchen.

—When you wake up, he brings you breakfast in bed with a smile so beautiful and bright that it makes you fall in love with him for the thousandth time.

—He gives you a shy smile if you decide to share something from your plate with him (he'll eat it, but, don't expect him not share from his own plate with you too).

—In the end, the two of you end up feeding each other while laughing like lovestruck teenagers.

—After that, he takes you to the bathroom for both of you to take a shower before starting your day.

—He is gentle as he scrubs your shoulders, back, and chest while you just sigh relaxed with his soft touches.

—Of course, he'll let you help soap up his back.

—In the end, he wraps both of you in towels before carrying you in a princess style to the bed.

—Things… happen when you get there.

—Let's just say your legs wouldn't stop trembling for a good few minutes.

—Anyway!

—You both go out to eat at a nice place.

—While eating, Itachi's free hand plays with yours under the table.

—When your stomach is satisfied along with his, you go out holding hands and walk through the park (which was surprisingly empty) before sitting on the grass under a tree. —And now it feels like a dream to Itachi. You by his side as he feels the fresh breeze. —Your head fits like a puzzle piece on Itachi's shoulder while he wraps his arm around you, resting his head on top of yours. —You stay like that for a while until Itachi tells you he has a little surprise for you. —You’re a little surprised when he takes you to a spa. —And Shisui suddenly appears, telling him that the Hokage is calling him for an emergency. —He kisses you on the forehead before telling you he'll come back for you and to relax at the spa in the meantime, giving you some money before disappearing. —You stay there, trying not to feel too disappointed but thinking it will be quick. —When you're relaxed and your hair is styled and shiny, you're surprised to see Itachi outside the place. —Waiting for you with one of his lovely smiles along with a bouquet of flowers, as if he hadn’t left you there for two hours. —"Shall we go?" he asks, giving you his hand and the bouquet to take. —On the way home, you wonder what has him so smiley until you enter the house and find out why. —He made you dinner. —Well, it looks more like a buffet with your favorite foods combined with his. —He guides you to the table and pulls out the chair for you to sit before sitting next to you. —That's when you realize it's impossible that Itachi could have done all this by himself in such a short time. —"The Hokage didn’t call you, right?" "No, but I made you dinner." —Enjoy his food, please. —He had a great time enduring Shisui’s cheesy jokes on the way home. —When you’re both satisfied, he gives you something he’s been working on for several months as a gift. —As a gift, Itachi gave you a small book in which he wrote some poems that perfectly describe the love and affection he feels for you. —Every feeling that your words, touches, and voice evoke in him is written in its pages. —It’s a very personal and special gift for him, one that he made exclusively for you and only you, and no one else. —Please! Don't cry or he might get alarmed. —Anyway!

—At night, when you enter the hallway leading to the bedroom, you’ll see a path of petals.

You let out a soft laugh when you saw the petals on the wooden floor. Your heart was pounding hard against your chest, making you feel excited.

A small blush crept up your face as you imagined what Itachi had prepared for you. "Itachi! What is all this?"

"Another gift for the most special woman in the world," he replied with his own quiet laugh while leaving several kisses on your shoulders, as far as his position behind you allowed him to reach.

The walk to the bedroom felt relatively much shorter than it had all the previous times.

You let Itachi guide you, feeling so in love while feeling his hands over yours, caressing them with his long, cold fingers as he accompanied you.

A gasp of awe escaped you when you saw the bed. There were several petals on the bed and the floor, the window curtain was open, letting the angelic moonlight into the room, making it look ethereal and so intimate.

Your heart skipped a beat when Itachi cupped your face with such tenderness. He kissed you so gently that it almost made your knees want to give out. You smiled when you felt his hands slowly and methodically undress you.

He was definitely the man of your dreams.

...

Madara Uchiha

—Many will say that Madara is already prepared to celebrate your anniversary four days in advance.

—Well, that is half true and half false.

—Don't look at me like that, the man has been preparing since the beginning of the month.

—Although…

—Don't get me started on your first anniversary (the poor guy was running around like a headless chicken since the beginning of the year. He was like that until you saw him nervous because he couldn't find a good gift for you… and there were still five months left).

—He will want to give you a special (and expensive) gift. —Although sometimes he runs out of ideas or has them but doesn't know if they are good and if you'll like them, the poor man is like: "😦, now what?"

—Sometimes he goes and asks Hashirama for suggestions (once the good man suggested for some reason that he bake a cake and bring it to you in bed as a nice surprise, he even offered to help him… it didn't go well).

—Sometimes he goes to the cemetery to talk to his brother's grave and ask for advice. He knows it's useless to ask a dead person for help, but somehow it makes him feel better and gives him more confidence with the ideas that come to his mind.

—And, in turn, it fills him with energy to continue. —Because your man may be stubborn and confident when he's on the battlefield or when he's face to face with a tailed beast, —but then you come along and weaken him, and he doesn't know what to do, aww! —Going back to before! —Girl, you hit the jackpot. —It's like it's your birthday. —He spoils you a lot, he just wants to pamper his beautiful woman (not that he doesn't do it every day, though). —He takes you to eat wherever you want and buys you whatever you want, because you know, in his words: "My wife's happiness is my happiness." —When you get back to your house, he'll ask you to stay in the room for a moment while he disappears into the bathroom. —And when he comes out with a big smile, you know he's up to something.

“What are you doing?” you asked, letting out a small breathless laugh as he held out a hand to you, which you took with amusement.

Madara smiled at the sound of your little laugh. “It’s a surprise,” he replied, looking into your eyes with love, his own body trembling with anticipation and longing at seeing the subtle playful glimmer in the rich color of your eyes.

He gently guided you towards the bathroom door while still holding your much smaller hand compared to his. Before entering, he turned to look at you, “close your eyes”

You made an ‘o’ with your mouth as you did what he had asked; to tell the truth, you were excited, very excited in fact. You heard the soft sound of the door opening and then felt the gentle warmth of the steam on your face and a smell that at first, you couldn't distinguish but had escaped when the door was opened.

A smile spread across your lips from the excitement, but you held back, not wanting to ruin the surprise your husband had prepared for you.

You quickly identified the smell, it was… lavender? A soft laugh wanted to escape you, it was your favorite and your husband’s too.

You felt his body press against yours from behind, giving you a different kind of warmth than the steam. His chest found its place pressed against your back while his strong arms wrapped around you. His chin rested perfectly on your left shoulder.

When it came to him, everything felt like a puzzle; every piece always fit in its place, your hands when you interlaced your fingers, when you both hugged or when your lips met, it felt as if the world had made you for each other.

“Open your eyes”

You did.

Your eyes opened to see several petals on the floor and on the water in the bathtub. The candles lit up the bathroom, the light was soft, giving the bathroom a special and romantic touch.

“Happy anniversary, dear,” your lover whispered before making a trail of kisses on your shoulders and back. You squeezed his arms as his hands moved over your beautiful body with the sole mission of pleasing you.

...

Hashirama Senju

—Fun guy.

—He has several gift ideas he wants to make (I feel like if Hashi-Hashi had Pinterest, he would have a board specifically for ideas to make for your anniversary).

—In fact, in modern times, I can see him making ice cream with milk and crushed cookies just because he saw it while browsing the internet looking for easy desserts to make 🥺 Hashi-Hashi solves.

—Okwy, okay, okay

—Let's get to it!

—My handsome guy will wake you up a bit early to make the most of the day (he managed to escape after signing all the papers the day before and somehow left his younger brother in charge of the Hokage Tower).

—Also, he is somewhat excited and nervous about what you will say when you see his wedding anniversary gift. I mean, he spent a few months making it with such care that he fears something might go wrong.

—He insists on making you breakfast as a reward for all the times you have kindly made and prepared food for him when he has to go to work.

—But it doesn't turn out so well, you know?

—Poor thing, my boy 😭.

—Please avoid the burnt part of the egg and the overly toasted side of the bread. He did what he could 😭✨.

—After eating, you both wash the dishes (you insist on helping him after the last time you let him wash the dishes alone, he managed to break a cup… and it didn't even fall to the floor to begin with, you are still trying to figure out how he managed to break it).

—After that, you both stayed on the porch enjoying each other's presence until lunchtime.

—He will take you to the forest for a picnic lunch in nature ✨ The guy has some ideas.

—He will lean on your shoulder while nibbling on his ham sandwich (he leaves some crumbs on you, although he removes them afterward).

—After eating, he will ask for permission to lie on your thighs, he simply loves the feeling of being with you.

—You both stay talking for a while as you gently run your hands through his hair, relieving all the accumulated stress he has from his job.

—Sometimes, the leaders of other villages drain all his energy, but he keeps going, for you and for all his people!

—After that, he takes you to another place.

—He looks nervous yet excited. When you reach a part of the forest, he is practically smiling from ear to ear.

“Close your eyes”

“Why?” you asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

“Just do it, I promise you won't regret it”

You smiled. Although you were nervous, you trusted your husband— whatever he was planning in that head of his.

You felt his rough hands gently taking yours to start guiding you. Some giggles escaped you when you heard him nervously trying to guide you and tell you not to trip over a rock.

Although, to be honest… you didn't feel as many leaves under your feet— could it be that Hashirama had cleaned the path you were now walking on?

Your heart bubbled at the thought of your husband trying to keep the path clean and perfect for you, and suddenly you understood why Tobirama was sometimes alone in the Hokage Tower and seemed a bit nervous when you asked about your husband's whereabouts.

A laugh threatened to escape your throat, but fortunately, you held it back. Both brothers were terrible liars, maybe it was in their genetics.

“We're here, darling,” Hashirama said excitedly. You could practically feel him bouncing a little with excitement, like an impatient child wanting to show something he was proud of.

“Alright… open your eyes”

You opened them only to marvel at the variety of vibrant colors dazzling your sight.

In front of you was a landscape with several flowers of different shades and colors. The soft scent that filled your lungs made you sigh with pleasure, freeing your mind. You vaguely wondered how you hadn't noticed the smell of the flowers before; maybe you were so focused in your mind that you didn't pay attention to it.

The gentle squeeze of Hashirama's hand softly brought you out of your thoughts. The sun was beginning to set, and the sky was tinted with various colors, which only added to the beauty of the landscape before you.

“Shall we?” your husband asked, excited to show you around.

Your eyes shone, “Yes...”

And if you both did something else that afternoon, well, that would stay between you two and the flowers surrounding you.

[starfishstark]

frank with someone who's very independent but actually pretty anxious inside? a person who can talk and appear pretty confident but really is super shy and quiet if you got to know her really. I just feel like he's pick up in that so early, doing chores for you he knows you don't like to do. AND when he finally gets you in bed and sees how shy you are he's shocked at the difference

OH. EM. GEEEEEEEE.

girl the way i could talk about this for hours im literally on my phone and im about to spit out all my headcanons on this (probably 700+ words on this, eyeballing)

if ur here for smut i have it bolded where it starts from

we all know, no shit, frank has UNHEALTHY habits. like man will rely on the fucking force and will power to get through his day, but the second it’s anyone else? it’s all of a sudden “nah, you knew you were hurting urself and you let it slide? nah you don’t hurt someone i love.” dhhdjeuxhdj man just fuck me on the wall don’t you

and i’m assuming like this is a reader who knows how to cope with that anxiety, just getting through her day and pulling through till she can curl up next to him at the end of the night, wanting sleep so she can just shut everything out for a second till the next day

NOW ME PERSONALLY. THIS FITS ME SO WELL. everyone assumes im an extrovert bc of how much i like to talk to people and openly try new things, BUTTTT if you were really close to me, you’d know how much i’d like to step back and let someone else take the wheel, how much i’d CRAVE it.

i’d be friending all night and day for a chance to just let someone control me (frank castle, baby, WHERE YOU ATTTT)

i think frank would clock you out so GODDAMN QUICK. in his life? false walls, fake personalities, they don’t work out. he’s gotta know who’s who at the very instant he meets them.

see you may think you’re masking your anxiety pretty well, or that you’re hiding this shyness great with conversation and such, but he notices. maybe it’s the way you tug on your sleeve, play with your rings, sway back and forth in a comforting rhythm just waiting to get by yourself again.

and here is our conundrum- frank castle knows you.

he all of a sudden knows the big ol secret that you’ve been covering for a while, because what the fuck? being vulnerable? huh? what’s that?

and it just shoots up from there, everytime you’re around him before you start dating, he starts doing little things to ease your anxiety.

maybe you’re getting food with your friends, he guides you in with the rest of the group, gets a table and gets everyone situated, and all of a sudden he’s telling you about this amazing dish on the menu that you’ll like, so you don’t have to worry about ordering. your fav drink? already memorized for last time. what? you need to book a ride back home? tf he just standing there for, “c’mon little lady, i gotchu covered.”

it’s so fucking pleasing to be around, relieving to experience, and just so perfect that you don’t notice he’s doing it on purpose, for you.

by the time you start dating, there’s so much trust built upon that foundation— yes, you can get bold and sassy time to time, but he knows at the end of the day, you want to be held. you want to just be held so tight like the rest of the world would fall apart if you didn’t, you want to feel like every seam is about to start floating apart if he doesn’t get those huge arms around you right there and then, squeezing like a weighted blanket, like a safe haven in the midst of everything

(i’m so fucking single someone hold me)

any time he’d notice your anxiety tics, like your hands kneading themselves in your lap, all of a sudden observing the lights in the middle of a conversation, oh he’s step right in, getting close to your ear so you could feel his presence around, so you could correlate the moment you felt safe and maybe trick your brain into giving into the warmth js for a second if he could help

“smthn the matter? talk to me hun”

right, but you being you, you get all people pleasing, lighting up your face with that years-of-practice smile and answering brightly enough that it tricks most people

frank being the only exception, taking your answer if your in public and reapproaching alone, or if it’s in public and it’s someone else bothering you, oh he’s be so quick to pluck you out of that place like a daisy.

already planning getting your favorite drink and someone to sit and talk so you don’t feel like you wasted a day, tf was that supposed to mean anyways, wasting a day? with a face like that? ain’t a day wasted when he woke up next to that face resting next to him.

if you’re the person to feel anxiety from just a messy house, he wouldn’t even complain. by the time you got home, the dishes are already out of the sink and arranged

the counters decluttered, and at least the bed is made. it puts your mind to ease when you don’t have to do it after your day, able to just toe your shoes off and run for a hot warm shower and then get started on dinner

if you didn’t want to make dinner, he’s already tying his apron or calling up take out (where tf does he get his money from? ion kno)

if ur like me, you like to make dinner in a clean kitchen bc u can play music, dance around and get stuff chopped up, cooked up, smelling good and tasting even better and it’s a control that seems small, but it just lets you…quiet. it’s a process but it’s not tedious, it’s healing, yknow.

he’s come up behind you, those large hands on your hips (fucking veiny, large, calloused hands on your hips, fingers splayed with and across the skin, the balm to your jittery energy, the still you need to stop moving so much, the need for your desires, god, i could write headcanons about those hands itself)

anyways. he’s deeply inhaling with his head crooked down to rest on your shoulder while he peers into whatever you were making, listening attentively, letting you get into the whole works of it.

you babble mindlessly while you cook, here and there breaking into dance from the music playing, and frank all but indulges you, letting you have your little bubble in this home, if not here then where?

ok, shut up starry, she came here for the fun stuff, stop projecting ur domestics canons onto them

(cri)

ladies and gentlemen of the jury, i plead guilty. pls have frank castle fuck me. matt is my lawyer he’s a very good one, tell em matt tell em how much i need frankie to bend me over

(matt sighs from the table: this is a parking ticket.)

now before yall got intimate for the first time, he knows you’re a tease, it’s an easy joke that spills out, oh yeah you’ve observed it people love to gaffaw at those kinda jokes, and you love to please some people.

and even with him, the stupidest things, and you’re a tease about it.

you’re kissing maybe, or maybe you just feel the energy, and you’re already yapping off going on and diffusing tension building inside you, it’s not anxiety but you can’t quite pinprick it yet. he makes you feel alive, but it’s new and you try to rid of it

oh but he gets your quiet real quick doesn’t he. all it takes is a “look at me, don’t hide. let me see your eyes.”

FUCK. GODDAMMIT. HOLY MAMA HAVE MY BABIES.

eye contact is SO HARD when you’re strung up, the thought of someone looking into you seeing you when you’re not your perfect self, it’s horrifying. yet he loves you so; maybe even more when that smug smile rests at his lips, pulling you by the chin back in for a smile.

yall haven’t even taken your clothes off yet, oh he’s gonna get a kick outta this

and we all know we’d already be wet as a slip n slide at this point, but he’s a gentlemen so he takes his sweet ol time with foreplay, lips on your skin while he unhooks your bra with one hand (my favorite party trick you geezer, js for me?) and all of a sudden you’re huffing and soft pants when his hands grasp at your chest, squeezing, with those hands, rough and yet measured delicately, oh he knows how to string you apart like that, you’re not moaning yet, but it takes you by surprise, your breaths are ticking up at the end, you like this so damn much

but frank is nothing if not a clever bastard, he makes you say it. “u like that? cmon, say it, hun. tell me to keep going, tell me you like that.”

yessir yessir yessir. god you can’t even look him in the eyes, mesmerized by the way everything feels that you trying to tuck yourself into him, wanting everything, wanting closeness, wanting him.

you’d end up murmuring something out, and he’d respond that he could hear you actually, insist on the fact (except he could hear the change in your breath from at ease to anxious? sure.)

he wouldn’t stop pressing against you, a soft roll of his hips before you could even start your second attempt at the sentence, effectively shutting you up and going “m cmon, lemme hear you.”

he’s not talking about you talking anymore

franks not stopping till you’re practically whimpering that it feels good, that he should keep going, shaking like a leaf, so he shushes you up, making quick work of the clothes, and kissing you brainless

“mm so quiet hunny? where’d my big-talking girl go, huh?”

MY GIRL 😫

(i have issues i know pls move along)

now he’s got you on your back, or pressed against the headboard, anywhere where he pries your legs apart, a kiss to your soft inner thighs as a thanks, one hand splayed across your hip and the other trying to work you open and loosen you up.

your eyes are skirting around, going here and there and trying to find a place to rest, practically blaring in your head DO NOT look down there; do NOT look up at him; Do NOT look at those damn muscle chiseled shoulders; the LAMP. yes. the lamp, very sexy, just focus on the lamp.

aw he’s having none of that, two fingers deep inside of you, not yet touching your sensitive soft clit, the sounds lewd and slick. knuckles deep, hitting places u physically couldn’t with his thicker longer fingers, grinning softly at your hesitance of where to look. that damn smile is what got you into this mess in the first place

“hun, look, look at me, ok? nah nunna that thinking nonsense, just look at me…n feel—yeah, you like that? right there? good girl, lemme hear you.”

you’re trembling, you’re gone coming after all that, eyes catching his and struggling still, but it’s his girls first time with a man good as him, he’s gotta let it slide. (oh he’s just a sucker for you)

once he’s successfully got you coming the first time, he’s gone. driven mad. you got this sheer coat of sweat painting your skin like a painting, eyes twinkling while they look up at him with expectations that he’s going to more than fulfill, hands propping herself up while he slides a pillow under her hips, so damn vulnerable and soft and fucking willing for him, willing to put up with his bullshit and his paranoia, trusting him and letting him control the moment, letting him soothe you, your need, it’s all driving him mad.

MADLY IN LOVE MWAHHAHAHAHAH (i am so sorry everyone i am not a serious person)

he knows you’re more sensitive cause you just came, and every stretch, every touch, feels like bliss exploding across your skin. it makes you so damn beautiful in his eyes

your hands are so small on him, anchoring onto his bicep or his shoulders, finding some place to hold onto while he fucking rails you into that bed

you know what getting hit by a freight train is like? me neither, but franks hotter than one anyways so who tf cares.

he’s got you gasping. hes got you there.

and all that sass, the attitude, teasing you gave him? worth every damn second of this. of this nervous shy girl that he knows js what to do with

make a (consensual) mess outta her

if you thought you’re getting away with only cumming once, well. it’s a good think he doesn’t want you to think in the first place, so you just lay back and let him take of it, why don’t ya?

ok back to my wholesome thoughts. we going aftercare with this one

ok anyways else a little sassy after sex like they’re making up for how dumb they were during it

(everyone boos at me. matt murdock in the back raises his hand and nods. “she’s right” he says. thank you matt)

so he’s cleaning you up and teasing you about what a mess it is down there and ur like “well who’s fault is that?”

and he grins, pressing just a little harder into that mound and rendering you useless for a minute, till you’re back again and going at him and he’s just smiling bc his girl is back. sassy, attitude, he loves it all. (especially when you’re as nervous as a mouse under him, but two sides to every coin type shi, yknow?)

warm bath depending on how boneless you are, still talking some crap against him while he picks you up from the bed like a bag of grapes, carrying you to the bath, (you’re still going on by the way)

it’s so heartwarming, just the way you got back up, he loves it. he loves you.

yeah, he loves you, alright.

and he gets u sushi. lotta sushi required for aftercare. or whatever the fuck you prefer. fufu? shi there’s gotta be a place in all of new york still open, and there’s gotta be some poor door dasher still ready to drive it over. italian? why didn’t u say so, the aprons coming out again.

anyways. cuddles. u get it i don’t gotta say more i’ve said enough.

i feel like deadpool with the amount of talking i just did. if i yap this much again, someone PLS say “starry, stfu” and get me outta my funk PLS

[ode2rin]

Was it because he sometimes fail to call you due to opposite time zones? Or was it the frequent periods when he wasn't at home? Had the distance finally played its game in your relationship?

Out of all people, you were the last person Sae would have expected to betray him like this.

Yet, it happened. You blindsided him.

“I’m just three episodes ahead! Stop being so dramatic!” you protested from the other end of the couch.

Yes, that's the grave betrayal you've committed. Was it worth fighting over? Maybe. Was he being petty? Of course not. The act itself could be the equivalent of your partner lying to you. A literal crime, if he can say so himself. 

“We were supposed to watch it together,” he frowned, his eyes fixed on the Netflix series playing on the TV with its soft glow highlighting the contours of Sae's face as he continued to express his mock indignation. “Together.” He stressed every syllable, dragging out the pettiness, much to your annoyance.

And there you both were, caught in the crossfire of a relationship dispute sparked by the unspoken rules of synchronized streaming. 

Were there any rules in the first place? Well, according to Sae's book, there certainly were. Because, much to his denial, Sae loves your relationship’s traditions. One of them being this – the two of you wrapped in thick blankets with you curling up to his side and his hands fiddling with yours while you both spend the night away watching a show you mentioned in your call with him when he was away. 

Now, however, the two of you (mainly him) are faced with the big question of how to enjoy said tradition when you're already three episodes ahead.

“I apologized already,” you point out.

“You said sorry after saying oh yeah, I kind of watched it and shrugged. Talk about sincerity.” 

You bite back your laughter at his words. You knew your boyfriend had a great tendency to be dramatic, but he surprises you every time he pulls out a fit like this one. 

“And look, you’re even laughing.” he glares at you. “You find it so funny that you broke your promise to watch it with me, is that it?”

“Oh, come on! How did you even know that I already watched it?! I was acting pretty well!” you exclaimed at him while inching closer, trying to get close to where he’s seated. 

Five minutes before this whole theatrics, Sae was sitting close to you. However, after realizing your betrayal, the sheer spite in him compelled him to retreat to the opposite end of the couch, far from your lying ass.

“Your acting skills are shit,” he tells you before rolling his eyes again.

It was a lie. He almost couldn’t tell except after one passing comical scene of the show.

Sae has developed a habit of looking at you whenever there’s a scene he thinks you would find remotely funny, no matter how ridiculous the said scene might be for him. At every joke and witty banter, he would turn to you for your own laugh.

You never caught on to this habit, and Sae would rather feed on those horrendous french fries than tell you how he seeks the way you throw your head back, and how your eyes momentarily shut from laughing because the sight spreads an indefinable warmth in his chest and how the sound fills every quiet corner of his once empty space. 

So imagine his surprise when you weren’t laughing. You were smiling – yes, but it wasn’t a laugh he seeks.

Sae was on the verge of turning his head again after hearing a sigh escape your lips. You’re sighing? And it was deep too, like it was telling him you’re getting sick of it. The absolute nerve.

“Did you just sigh–”

But before Sae could finish his sentence, your arms gracefully snaked around his torso, enveloping him in that comforting back hug you always bestowed upon him.

“I said I’m sorry,” you whispered against his shoulder blades, your right cheek caressing his back as you planted a feather-light kiss in that spot. You saw him momentarily close his eyes at your touch, making you smile secretly in triumph. 

You’ve loved this man long enough to memorize how to soften his rough edges.

“I was bored to my wits’ end last week, I couldn’t help it but check it out,” you added, your voice carrying a persuasive tone.

Last week. He was supposed to be home by that time. If he was, the two of you would be comfortably cuddling on this very same couch. But some lukewarm fool managing the team decided to extend his misery in Spain for another week.

“I don’t like that look.” 

His thoughts were cut off by the sound of your stern voice. Unbeknownst to Sae’s preoccupied self, you’ve been staring at his face far longer than a minute to notice his miniscule change of expression when you mentioned last week. Turning to his right shoulder where you were, he raised an eyebrow in question.

“I know you. Spit it out,” you demanded, a knowing glint in your eyes.

And truth be told, you do know him. You were right. For a moment, his thoughts lingered on how much easier it would be to have more nights of just you and him if he wasn't away all the time.

But he couldn’t tell you that, not just yet. Maybe when the timing finally called for his proposition. “I’m sorry my stay got extended,” is what he said instead, hoping to convey what he couldn’t put into words.

“You know I don’t mind, besides, I understand.”

“I know.”

Sensing an unspoken ‘but...’ in his words, you looked up to him, meeting his perceptive teal eyes. He didn’t need to say anything more. You knew him, after all.

To lighten the mood, you decided to test your luck by teasing him. “Oh, my big dramatic baby,” you cooed.

“I’m not a damn baby,” he snorted, beginning to squirm out of your embrace as if to prove a point without letting his ears betray him by turning red.

“Shh, you are. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone else. I wouldn’t dare sabotage the Japan prodigy’s aloof badass rep to shit.”

You saw his mouth twitched, holding back his own amusement. God, even after all of those tender affections from you, this guy is still trying to be petty as hell.

“I don’t have an aloof badass reputation.”

“Yeah, because what you are is a dramatic spiteful boyfriend who thrives on being petty.”

“You’re really making it hard to forgive you, y/n.”

“Forgive me already!” You gaped at him, “And you say I’m the dramatic one in this relationship!”

Sae, like the rude person he is, ignored your whines, reaching for the remote to turn the show to the fourth episode. He then carefully placed you in his lap, turning you to face the TV, your back now pressing against his chest. As you watched everything he did in bewilderment, you turned to him, “but you won’t enjoy the story if we start on the fourth episode.”

True, but he preferred it when you were the one enjoying. “I’ll ask you questions along the way, and you can tell me about it,” he reassured you before pressing a kiss to your hair.

Exactly as he anticipated, your excitement to catch him up on the last three episodes was palpable. 

The living room transformed into a sanctuary of your laughter as you animatedly narrated each event that happened. He could barely understand the fourth one with all of your extra comments and snarky remarks on the characters that he doubts is even a part of the actual plot. The night danced away in the soothing rhythm of your voice and the murmur of a TV show, until your breaths finally eased into the cadence of sleep.

Silently, Sae turned off the TV, reveling in the tranquility of the room as he gathered you in his arms to head into your shared bedroom. Gently placing your slumbering form on your side of the bed, he settled beside you and draped the blanket over the two of you. Pulling you close, he nestled your head against his chest, one arm securing you at the waist.

But before sleep could fully claim his senses, he heard you mumbling.

“Sae?” 

Responding with a gentle hum, he felt your movements, your hands exploring the contours of his back as if tracing invisible lines and circles.

“About earlier,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper, “I’m not going anywhere. I'll be here, waiting for you to get home.”

His eyes opened, the drowsiness dissipating in the wake of your words, replaced by your warmth all over his body next to yours.

“So, it’s okay,” you continued, your words a tender caress against his collarbones, “We have plenty of time for movie nights and catching up on shows.”

Silence embraced you both, the room a canvas painted in the soft strokes of your steady breaths and the gentle thud of his heartbeat. Sae didn’t verbally respond to your assurance. Instead, you felt him pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head and his arm around your waist tightening its hold.

He didn’t say anything, but his silence and his embrace was loud enough for you to know everything he wanted to say.

Of course, you both had time— a wealth of moments to spend more nights like this. He’ll make sure of it. After all, he looks forward to spending his days off in the tranquility of your presence. No matter how mundane it could get — as long as it’s with you.

note. it's been a while since i wrote this man.. i still cannot stand him and his petty ass by the way.

[onyourowndaisymae]

when solomon falls in love

content + warnings: solomon x reader, angst with a happy ending, there is a deep sadness within solomon but i can fix him, minor discussions of s3 plot points // [masterlist]

word count: ~1.5k

the day solomon realizes he's in love with you is the worst day of his life, he thinks, in the first moment he realizes.

solomon's had a lot of terrible days. from simple ones-- caught in the rain, misplaced keys, harsh words spoken by people he cares about-- to life-altering, fate-changing hellish days. he's been around for centuries, and admittedly conjured himself up some pretty shitty karma. this day, however, tops the list.

because the moment solomon realizes he's in love with you is the moment he realizes he'll never have you.

it's a rare moment the both of you are sharing. the two of you are alone in a coffee shop in some quaint corner of the human realm. your trials with the sorcerer society have been wearing on you, so solomon saw it fitting to sweep his adorable little apprentice away for some well-deserved down time.

it's dawn here. sunlight peaks through the clouds, painting the gray skies a vibrant orange through the shop's large windows. the sunlight tickles your cheekbones, occasionally catching your eyes and making them flutter as you dodge the blinding sunbeams. how long has it been since solomon's seen you in the daylight? the devildom is beautiful, but it's dark and dim during all hours of the day. he's used to seeing you under city lights, shop signs and advertisements in neon colors dancing across your features. or under the warm-but-artificial house lights in all the buildings down there, cozy but not quite the same. no, you look best in daylight. golden, pure daylight, trickling through the cosmos just so he can see every detail on your face.

he wants to memorize you. he wants to etch your features into his brain so that he'll be able to remember you far into the future. the coming days are uncertain. licensure into the sorcerer's society is not exactly easy-- you'll have your work cut out for you if you continue down this path. maybe somewhere along the way you'll find yourself content instead with a simple life in the human realm, shedding the devildom like a winter coat in spring when your life begins a new chapter. he's always worried about you, about losing you, about a day when you'll bid him goodbye for good. obsessive? he likes to think of it as "sentimental". and he's never been this sentimental for anyone else but you.

you take a sip of your drink with a small smile. it's cold outside, the subtle chill of autumn beginning to fade into the biting cold of winter. the drink in your hands is warm, and you cup it between your between your palms for warmth. he smiles. his own drink is smooth and a little bitter. solomon he grabs the last sugar packet from the center of the table and dumps it in, swirling the mixture around the distribute the sweetness. then he folds the trash into a compact ball. there's a dink! as he flicks it at you, hitting your cheek gently before it falls onto the table. you laugh at his antics. it's the best sound he's ever heard.

"gotcha."

"what are you, seven?"

"you're just mad i have good aim."

"yeah, yeah, whatever, old man. do... do you mind if i ask you a question?"

"anything."

you proceed to ask him how he found this place. technically, it's not even in the country you're from... he laughs and explains how he found it. he likes when your attention is focused all in on him. your eyes get this certain glint to them as you listen, like he's the only person you care about in that moment. he'd kill to see that look anywhere else-- could you imagine the faces of the demon brothers should you look at him so attentively around them?

solomon swallows down the lump of jealousy rising in his throat. that's the thing. you don't look at him like that in front of anyone else.

his next sip of coffee tastes bitter, more so than before-- he can't blame the shop, nor the sugar packet for the taste, but instead the acid creeping up his throat from the mere displeasure of the idea. it's so very solomon to ruin his own good time with a nasty thought.

why?

why does he do this to himself? to cherish something so delicate even though he knows it will shatter under the weight of life's circumstances?

that's because solomon's in love with you. and love doesn't always listen to reason.

he has toyed around with the idea of loving you for awhile. he doesn't want to. he doesn't want to always be the petulant, lost child he once was, always reaching for things he was never destined to have. when he was young, he craved freedom. as an adult, power. and now, further along in his life, he wants you.

you seem to notice the sour look on his face. your eyebrows furrow as you ask him what's wrong. it's instinct that guides him to brush you off, to give you a big smile and feign attention into whatever you begin talking about next.

does he deserve you? probably not. his sins probably outweigh that of any lower demon. he's lied and cheated, fucked people over in ways unimaginable to someone like you. you're a blank slate, a clean ledger, yet to ruin your own life. or maybe you won't. you've always been better than him that way.

will he ever distance himself to heal from the wounds of unrequited love? probably not. he'll stick by your side as you inevitably choose one of the demon brothers or angels or royals over him-- he won't blame you. of all the fascinating people you've met, he understands the allure of a human like him is dim in comparison. no hard feelings. he can't ever seem to muster up anything sour towards you.

"are you listening?" you finally ask, loud enough to grab his attention. he shakes his head with a small chuckle.

"sorry. i'm... a bit scatterbrained today. what were you saying?"

you huff. "i was telling you a story, but i bent my straw too far and it broke."

you bend it again to show him the damage. sure enough, it's snapped under the weight of your fidgeting. solomon's lips curl into a sympathetic pout.

"i can grab you another."

"nah, it's okay. i've got it."

you rise from your seat and walk to the counter of the coffee place. solomon takes a deep breath and steals his resolve. all this self-loathing and pining is making him a bad friend, and you deserve much better than to talk to a brick wall. he sighs. so what if he's in love with you? so what if he's lost in the tumult of his own feelings? he needs to get it together and enjoy this time with you before you return to the devildom, and he has to share you aga--

"excuse me?"

"yes? how can i help you?"

"can i get another straw? oh, and can i get some more of those little sugar packets? my boyfriend used the last one on the table."

"of course! give me one moment--"

...

what?

his brain almost completely shuts down hearing those words leave your lips. he subtly looks around to see if anyone else is in the coffee shop-- there's a man in the corner reading his paper and two teenagers huddled over iced coffee. no, none of them are at your table, using the last sugar packet like he did, your boyfriend--

"close your mouth. you're attracting flies," you say quietly, sliding a few sugar packets over to him.

he's... flabbergasted, honestly. during the entirety of his downward spiral, never once did he anticipate this outcome. you... you wanted him?

his lips pull into a smirk-- it's more of a grin than he wanted, but he just can't help himself right now. he's damn near giddy at your indirect confession.

"boyfriend? you wouldn't happen to be referring to me, would you?"

"that's why you brought me here, right?"

that question catches him off-guard. honestly, no. he just wanted some time to breathe with you, without obligations or demons ready to pounce for your attention. but the way your lips curl around the straw between them makes his heart race.

"... and if i did?"

"then i would say this is a pretty good date spot. now, pay attention when i talk, old man."

as attentive as he aims to be, he just can't stop his mind from wandering. you're his. all of the fear and angst wash away as the sun shines brightly on your table, illuminating the delicate wood grain beneath his trembling fingers. and for once, solomon doesn't worry about what will happen if he lets himself love you.

maybe this day isn't so bad after all.

taglist for this series: @deepseafragments // @darkflowerav // @annoying-and-upset