#they don't even need to speak just share a look and it's enough to fill me with joy

[mononijikayu]

wife — nanami kento.

“I don’t like the way they’re looking at you.” You whisper to him. “Let them, honey.” he said, his deep voice rich with certainty. “That’s all they can do.” He took your hand, calloused but gentle, and squeezed it just enough to send a rush of comfort through you. His thumb traced the side of your hand in a subtle, soothing gesture. The cool metal of his ring finger brushes against your skin with intent.  “They should know that I am exactly where I choose to be. I’m a married man, after all.”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: romance, marriage, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, rough sex, p to v sex, toilet sex, orgasm, humor, profanity, pet names (baby, honey), possesiveness, jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, if your partner isn't nanami kento then don't have him ladies, gents and non-binary friends;

WORD COUNT: 6.6k words.

NOTE: nanami kento won the poll, so here we are!!! its relatively shorter than the current style i have, but i hope you still like it. and yes, i added a spoiler for shoko and geto's younger sister (since shoko won #2 in the poll, she also gets a fic!!!). they are still together cause god knows they need love and care after all they have been through. anyway, i hope you all enjoy this!!! i love you all and see you in the next one <3

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if you want to, tip! <3

THIS WAS A RARE OPPORTUNITY.  You don’t like going to these high social events at all, not even outside Jujutsu society. You were a homebody, you adored having time to yourself. But you can’t ignore Gojo Satoru’s invitation. Even if you want to.

He’s been so good to your Kento and he’s always making sure that none of the old farts are making his life miserable. So you felt inclined to go. You felt inclined to play a little bit with this world. 

The grand hall of Gojo manor was resplendent, a wash of gold and white with shimmering drapes that caught the light of the crystal chandeliers overhead. Gojo Satoru was not thrilled to host the gathering. But since it was his duty as the Gojo clan head and he had to play nice with all these people — he gave in and threw the party.

Of course, he refused to make it exclusively a sorcerer only gathering. He wanted to ensure that it was open to everyone, even yourself. That in itself breaks tradition. More often than not, it was only sorcerers, especially those in the higher echelons of Jujutsu society, who were allowed to come and enjoy such liberties. 

But of course, Gojo Satoru was not such a man of tradition. He hated it, as much as your Kento. So, of course, to enjoy you and Kento’s company and to spite all these snobs, he made sure to invite you and everyone else.

You find that you’re at least enjoying the building’s architecture. You were a fan of architecture, in all forms and culture. You and your husband Kento shared that passion, more so when you both were in Denmark or when you both were in the countryside. 

Still, Gojo manor was not too bad. You marvel at the intricate carvings on the walls depicting centuries of legendary battles and heroics of history gone by. Each one was a reminder that this was not just a gathering but a showcase of the Jujutsu world's most powerful and influential. 

Sorcerers mingled, their robes embroidered with clan symbols and sigils that spoke of generations of power and prestige. Conversations buzzed with a mix of guarded politeness and subtle rivalry.

The room alive with an undercurrent of competition disguised as small talk. The sound of polite laughter mixed with the clink of glasses filled with aged sake, its delicate aroma weaving through the air like a ghost.

You stood near the buffet table, the scent of delicacies. Gojo Satoru did well with getting everything together for this, especially the food, all high quality — only the best of the Gojo clan head’s tastes. You both think the same in that exquisite taste. 

That certainly is why you were excited to taste everything. From the perfectly grilled yakitori, dainty bowls of ikura don, to the plates piled with fresh sashimi and brilliantly wrapped hamachi. They were all wafting around you. They were all perfect for you.

“I regret wearing this dress.” You tell yourself in a small mumble. “It’s too tight and I forgot Gojo likes good food like me. I thought he would have left it to his goons to decide the food menu…”

You were dressed in an elegant but simple gown, a deep navy blue that skimmed your figure without the drama of glittering embellishments or the boldness of vibrant silks. Compared to the ostentatious displays around you, it felt almost understated, but it was you.

You could hardly care about the fashions of Jujutsu society. You liked your fashion. And your husband did too. That was all that mattered. You adjusted the silver cuff on your wrist, a small but meaningful gift from Nanami, its cool weight reassuring against your skin.

You glanced around, eyes catching a few familiar faces. There was Nitta Akari from administration and management, gesturing animatedly as she spoke with her colleagues, her face flushed with excitement. Mei Mei stood nearby, her icy beauty undiminished by the cool smirk she wore. 

She held court as always, eyes sharp as a hawk’s as she listened, spoke, and effortlessly commanded the attention of everyone within earshot. Hell, there was Usami too — but he was surrounded by those vultures from the conservative factions. 

But most of the women were like the wives of powerful clan leaders. They represented their husbands, who thought it too boring to join the gathering or rather were abandoned by their husbands to do other things. 

Yet they were powerful women in their own right and they wanted you to know it. They wanted for you to see it, so badly. Their outfits elaborate displays of status, from the gold-threaded kimonos to the jewels woven into their hair.  Their makeup was meticulous, brows arched and lips painted in deep shades of crimson or plum. 

Most of them were interesting to gawk at. But you were certain they thought the same about you. Especially those specific women. It was those more haughty women, clan women under the big three who glanced your way with subtle, evaluating eyes.

You could feel their scrutiny as tangibly as the satin ribbons brushing your wrists. A fan fluttered as a woman whispered behind it, her gaze cutting sideways toward you. She looked as haughty and dry as her entire face.

“Do you think she really fits in here?” one murmured, just loud enough for the question to reach your ears.

“I heard she’s not even a sorcerer.” came the response, this time with a touch of incredulity. “Yet they let her come near our children, to teach them about a world they don’t dwell in. Pathetic waste of time!” 

You pretended not to hear, reaching for a skewer of yakitori to busy your hands. But your pulse quickened, not with embarrassment, but with the awareness of the reason behind their thinly veiled curiosity. They must have been Zenin women, perhaps married to the higher ranked men in Zenin Naobito’s circle. You felt bad for them, yet you also hated them. 

But you knew that wasn’t the case for their hatred of you. Not exactly. It wasn’t the fact that you were an outsider, a non-sorcerer working as a window at Jujutsu High, who taught mundane subjects like history and literature to the students. 

Nor was it that the students often liked you better, seeking your lessons as a respite from their harsher training. It was the reason these women whispered behind jeweled fans and exchanged glances tinged with envy: you were the much beloved wife of Nanami Kento, the stalwart, handsome, and sought-after grade one sorcerer.

From across the room, you caught sight of him. He stood among a small circle of colleagues, the sharp lines of his tailored suit a contrast to the flowing robes around him. His expression was as stoic as ever, but there was a small shift when he saw you, a softening in his gaze that no one else would notice. 

To everyone else, he was the unapproachable, severe sorcerer who never let his guard down. But you knew the way his bright eyes would close just slightly when he was tired, the low chuckle he reserved for evenings spent at home, the way his voice lowered when he told you stories of his youth.

“Good evening.” came a familiar voice that broke through your wandering thoughts. You turned to find Ieiri Shoko standing beside you, her expression one of relaxed amusement. 

She was dressed in an elegant black ensemble that perfectly complemented her laid-back demeanor, a glass of sake dangling effortlessly from her fingers. Her sharp eyes glimmered with mischief as she surveyed the room.

“Evening.” You greeted back at her, your lips sharply echoing into a smile. “Why are you alone? Where’s your darling at?”

“Oh, surrounded by those pathetic vultures.” She pointed at the table where she was talking with the Kyoto women, smiling brightly. “Ugh, I hate those freaks. I can’t believe she’s around them. They’re not even worth an ounce of her giggles.”

“Geto–san has to make good with people somehow.” You pointed out to her, humming. “Connections are just connections. But you’re her lover. It’s been some years. Breathe, Sho.”

She rolls her eyes, before smiling. “Yeah, yeah.”

“How have you been?”

“Good, as always.” Shoko retorts back, humming at you. “I just wish I had cigarettes. But she said if I tried to smoke tonight, she wouldn’t let me hit.”

You laugh at her bluntness. “I do the same to Kento too, but with his alcohol. You both have to be kept on a leash.”

 “Oh the things we do for love.” She sighed heavily before looking at the ones glaring at you both. It wasn’t hard to notice those clusters of sorcerer wives eyeing you with thinly veiled intentions. “You’re doing well against their scrutiny, I see.”

“Barely. But I do find myself enjoying it.” you admitted, a small laugh escaping despite the tension. Shoko’s company was always welcome; her nonchalance had a way of making everything seem less dire.

Shoko took a slow sip from her glass, savoring it like she savored every moment. She shifted her gaze to one of the wives, a woman with a crimson kimono embroidered so elaborately it looked more like a tapestry than a garment. The woman was whispering behind her fan, eyes darting toward you and Shoko with a practiced side glance.

“Ah, her again. I thought she wouldn’t be here after she got exposed for her affair.” Shoko said, rolling her eyes with exaggerated flair. She leaned closer, voice low but biting. “Careful, she’s liable to sprain her neck with how much she’s been glaring. I heard last time she tried something that intense, she nearly fainted from holding her breath.”

You stifled a laugh, your shoulders shaking with barely contained mirth. Shoko’s dry humor was like a breath of fresh air, slicing through the tension with an effortless charm. The woman in the crimson kimono noticed your reaction and stiffened, her cheeks blooming with indignation.

“Let them look, let them whisper. Let them be jealous of you.” Shoko said, turning her eyes back to you. Her voice shifted to something more genuine, the mocking edge softening. “They’ll keep wondering because they can’t figure it out. You’re different, and they hate not understanding something. It’s their worst fear.”

You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding, the knots in your chest loosening. Shoko’s words were more than just comfort; they were a reminder that your place here wasn’t defined by others’ perceptions but by your own truth and by the fact that Nanami stood beside you, unwavering.

“Thanks, Sho. I appreciate it a lot.” you said, voice steadying.

She gave a small shrug, the kind that said don’t make it a big deal. With another sip of sake, she nodded toward the buffet. “Now, let’s hope they restock the good tempura. If not, someone’s getting cursed tonight, and it won’t be me.”

She winked, then sauntered away, leaving you with a smile and the indelible impression that you weren’t as alone as you sometimes felt. Once she moved to the corner to see about the temperature, you could feel from the corner of your eye.

You saw the clan wives exchanging glances again. Their perfectly painted lips tightened just slightly as Nanami Kento, breaking from his group, made his way toward you, every step a quiet declaration.

“Is it true? She’s the one married to him?” another ignorant one whispered, leaning into a group of women whose gazes darted in your direction.

“Yes, the one with Nanami Kento, the number two of the first grade sorcerers.” another foolish one confirmed, unable to keep the hint of envy out of her voice. 

You turned slightly, pretending not to hear as you picked up a small plate of delicacies. You did not care for what they wanted to say about you. You were more focused on your desire to taste the dishes. The laughter and clinking glasses around you felt muted under the weight of the tension gathering nearby.

The whispers turned to sharp murmurs, punctuated by gasps and scandalized looks. But perhaps that bothered them even more, because they started making more comments.

“Who does she think she is, that no name wanna be?” The foolish one whispered, loud enough for people to hear her. But perhaps she does not realize she was not being discreet. 

The ignorant one scoffs in disbelief, shaking her head. “What a snob! How can Nanami-san be married to her?”

Shoko heard enough of it and turned around almost immediately from the dishes to the ladies. They jumped out of their seats. She rolls her eyes at them. It was as though she was just as annoyed as she was bored with them. 

“Honestly, get over yourselves. You all look like desperate idiots.” she said, a lazy smirk tugging at her lips as she leaned casually against a marble pillar. Everyone was now looking at them. Aren’t you at least going to have the gall to say it to our face, lady Kawami?”

The woman in the crimson kimono, lady Kawami, known for her sharp tongue and her greedy  ambition gasped, her painted lips parting in shock. Beside her, another woman with intricately styled hair and a pinched expression scowled deeply. 

“How dare you—”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Shoko’s laughter was light and mocking, yet the glint in her eyes held no softness. She tilted her head, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at Lady Kawami’s reddening face. “You think Nanami Kento would like an ugly face and a bad attitude like yours? Ha! You wish!”

The crowd that had gathered to eavesdrop was stunned into silence, eyes flicking between the women like spectators at a duel. The foolish one’s face turned a deep shade of red, while the ignorant one sputtered, looking moments away from summoning her husband and causing an uproar. 

“You cannot talk to us like that!” she shrieked, voice pitched high with indignation. “My husband will hear of this!”

“Now, now, lady Kawami, you shouldn’t treat my guests like that.” The familiar, light-hearted voice of Gojo Satoru interrupted the escalating tension. The two women felt their eyes widen. They quickly bow before him. “It’s so disrespectful, don’t you think?”

Heads turned as he approached, dressed in an exquisite black and silver kimono decorated with the Gojo clan crest. Even in traditional wear, he managed to exude a casual, almost irreverent charm. His dark, round glasses perched on his nose added to the effect as he lowered them just slightly, revealing eyes that shimmered with barely concealed amusement.

“Ah, Gojo-sama.” Lady Kawami said, trying to mask her fluster with a demure nod, but the tension in her posture betrayed her. “I didn’t mean any disrespect towards her, but surely you can understand that—”

“Oh, I understand completely, lady Kawami.” Gojo interrupted, a playful grin spreading across his face. He pushed his glasses back up, letting them catch the light so that the rest of the room was reflected in them. “I understand that you’re boring my dear friend Shoko, and frankly, I can’t have that. Her girlfriend wouldn't be so happy, either. And of course, I love my friend’s happiness.”

The subtle ripple of suppressed laughter ran through the more observant bystanders. Lady Kawami’s mouth snapped shut, her eyes narrowing dangerously. It was rare for someone to speak to her like that and get away with it, but this was Gojo Satoru. A man whose reputation as the most powerful sorcerer in the room and quite possibly the world would mean his words carried weight that no amount of social maneuvering could deflect.

Shoko’s smirk widened as she raised her glass in mock toast to Gojo, her eyes gleaming. “Well, look who decided to save the day. Dashing, really, Gojo.”

He winked at her. “Anything to make sure tonight stays interesting.”

The ignorant one, still seething but now cautious, looked between Gojo and Shoko before settling on silence. The power dynamics had shifted too sharply, and she knew better than to push further. No one can go against Gojo Satoru and not face repercussions. No one. And it would have ended up badly for their husbands and their families if they did. 

You exhaled, tension releasing from your shoulders as the spectacle unraveled. A small, knowing smile touched your lips as Kento's eyes found yours from across the room, his expression softening just a fraction, and you knew that you weren’t alone in facing these moments. You were surrounded by friends who would always have your back, in their own unique, if slightly chaotic, ways.

The room’s atmosphere gradually loosened, tension shifting back to its usual simmering undercurrent. Gojo’s playful banter had disarmed the scene, leaving only the embarrassed scowls of lady Kawami and her cohort. Shoko took another sip of her sake, the glint of satisfaction in her eyes clear as she watched the women bristle and disperse.

“Good job not throwing that plate, masterful control.” Shoko said to you, her voice carrying a hint of approval. She nodded at the untouched delicacies in your hand. “Would’ve been a waste of good food.”

You chuckled softly, appreciating her humor. “Shouldn’t you be saying that to yourself, Sho?”

“Well, I mean, that’s true.” 

Gojo laughs. “Shoko would have done worse than that and we both know it.”

“Hm, but I would have you carry my food to my table.”

“Oh? Then people would be surprised, how anyone can force the Gojo clan leader to do anything on a whim.”

Before you could respond, a presence behind you made the small hairs on your neck stand up in recognition. You turned, and there he was—Nanami Kento, striding toward you with the kind of quiet confidence that set him apart from the rest.

He looked ever so handsome, your husband. But when you get him even more up close? It’s a different story. He looked even more like a god when he stood before you this close.  

He took in the scene, eyes flicking over the lingering crowd, Gojo’s smirk, and Shoko’s knowing look. Then his attention settled on you, warm and steady. “I see I missed the entertainment.” he said, his voice deep and even, but with a trace of curiosity.

Gojo lifted a hand in a lazy wave. “Ah, Nanami, you missed Shoko here defending your lovely lady’s honor with an admirable lack of diplomacy.”

Kento’s brows lifted slightly, his gaze darting to Shoko, who shrugged, unbothered. “They deserved it.” she said, as if that were the most obvious fact in the world.

With a quiet exhale, Kento nodded, accepting the unspoken truth that you were protected by bonds deeper than mere duty. He reached out, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. The small gesture spoke volumes, his touch grounding and reassuring. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, eyes searching yours for any trace of discomfort.

You smiled up at him, your earlier tension melting away entirely under his gaze. “I am now.”

The corners of his mouth twitched in what might have been a smile, subdued as always but unmistakably there. The few remaining onlookers, who had hoped to catch a new drama unfolding, exchanged glances before deciding they had better places to be.

Gojo clapped his hands, shattering the delicate silence that had settled. “Well, now that we’ve cleared the air, what do you say we toast to another evening of society’s finest theatrics?” His grin was as wide as ever, his glasses reflecting the chandelier’s light like a pair of miniature suns.

Nanami shook his head, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes as he glanced at you, then back at Gojo. “You never change, Gojo.” he muttered, the ghost of a smile touching his lips.

“And wouldn’t it be boring if I did?” Gojo countered, raising a brow.

Shoko raised her glass, smirking at Gojo before tipping it toward you and Nanami. “Unwavering loyalty and keeping things interesting!” she said.

You lifted your plate with a grin, and Kento, never one for dramatics, simply inclined his head. But the unspoken promise in his gaze, the silent support he offered, said more than any toast or witty comment ever could. In a hall filled with power, it was that quiet moment, surrounded by friends and the one who held your heart, that resonated most.

Soon enough, Shoko returned to her girlfriend with her plate stacked with food on one hand and the other holding a glass of wine. Her girlfriend, Geto Suguru’s younger sister, was waiting for her at one of the tables by the back.

Of course, Gojo Satoru returned to moving about and greeting everyone, but he seemed to have been halted by lord Kawami, probably trying to get things straight and settled. No one likes losing his favor after all. It was better that everything was smoothed out with him.

The incident however did not stop the women from continuing to look at your husband wantingly. One of the clan leader’s wives, her jeweled fan hiding half her face, whispered something to the woman beside her. They glanced over, eyes narrowing as if they could decipher what spell had ensnared someone like Nanami Kento.

“They’re watching again.” you murmured, feeling a twinge of jealousy and self-consciousness.

You immediately caught the glance of a woman adorned with a striking emerald necklace that glittered every time she turned. Her expression was polished and unreadable, but the pointed way she looked at you sent an old, familiar discomfort crawling up your spine.

Kento’s presence next to you was a calm in the storm, an anchor against the waves of whispers and stares. He tilted his head slightly, just enough that the room’s golden glow cast warm highlights across his sharp features. His eyes, serious and unwavering, met yours.

“I don’t like the way they’re looking at you.” You whisper to him.

“Let them, honey.” he said, his deep voice rich with certainty. “That’s all they can do.”

He took your hand, calloused but gentle, and squeezed it just enough to send a rush of comfort through you. His thumb traced the side of your hand in a subtle, soothing gesture. The cool metal of his ring finger brushes against your skin with intent. 

“They should know that I am exactly where I choose to be. I’m a married man, after all.”

A silence swept over the nearby crowd, as if Nanami Kento’s words, though spoken softly, carried through the hall like a sudden change in the wind. The clan leaders’ wives, women who could command a room with a flick of their eyes or a whisper laced with intent, shifted uncomfortably. For all their power, their meticulously curated reputations, and the alliances they upheld like prized heirlooms, they had never been the center of such unwavering devotion.

Akari from administration glanced over and offered a subtle nod of approval, a small smile playing on her lips as she resumed her conversation. Mei Mei, sharp-eyed and ever perceptive, caught the moment as well. She raised her glass, her smirk deepening as though to say, well played.

The subtle tension that once swirled around the room, woven through glances and whispers, began to dissipate. Some turned their attention back to their conversations, laughter resuming, but not without the occasional glance in your direction, this time tinged more with begrudging respect than judgment.

“Kento, baby.” you said softly, a small smile breaking through as your heart settled back into its natural rhythm. The weight of self-consciousness fell away, replaced by a warm sense of belonging that his presence always seemed to ignite.

“Hmm?” he replied, his gaze still watching you with an intensity that was rare for him, except when you were alone.

“Thank you, baby.” you whispered, squeezing his hand back.

His eyes softened, the smallest, barely-there curve of his lips showing just the hint of a smile meant only for you. “There’s nothing to thank me for, honey.” he replied, tilting his head as if to read your thoughts. “It’s simply the truth.”

══════════════════

IT HAPPENED AS QUICKLY AS ONE COULD BLINK. But you suppose you can’t help it. Your desire for pleasure was fast when it came to Nanami Kento. Much more so when you’re jealous. BUt you knew your husband liked that. More than he likes to admit to you.

You felt a delicious rush of power as you yanked him closer by his tie, leading him out of the crowded hall. Away from the watchful eyes and mingling strangers, it was just the two of you in the quiet, dim hallway, with only your quickened breaths filling the silence.

The door closed behind you, and before you could say another word, his hands were on you, strong and possessive, pressing you back against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall. His fingers traced over your hips and along your waist, leaving a tingling heat in their wake.

It was as if he was memorizing every inch of you all over again. You looked up at him, catching his gaze; his eyes were heavy with desire, and the way he looked at you made your knees feel weak. He was entirely yours in that moment, and you were entirely his.

Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the warmth beneath his shirt, his heartbeat echoing your own. His mouth was on yours again, the kiss deep and ravenous, filling the space with the sounds of quickened breath and desperate touches. The world beyond the bathroom faded, leaving only the two of you, tangled in each other.

When he pulled back to look at you, you could barely catch your breath. His hand found the curve of your neck, fingers tracing gently along your jawline, and your own hands gripped his shoulders, grounding you as your pulse raced.

“You’re so good….” you managed to whisper breathlessly, your voice trembling as you tried to form words. "Kento….." you murmured, the words spilling out between gasps, each syllable almost a sigh as you clung to him. 

The intensity of his gaze made you shiver, your own desire reflected in his eyes. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and you felt a thrill ripple through you as he whispered your name. His breath felt hot, so tenderly warm against your skin. And even more so when he said your name in that breathy way. That made you feel even more excitement.

For a moment, you both paused, catching your breath as the heat of the moment washed over you. His fingers brushed along your cheek, his thumb tracing the corner of your mouth, as though savoring this quiet, charged moment before pulling you back in with the same raw, electric passion.

And in that hidden space, the two of you lost yourselves, caught in the perfect, unbreakable intimacy that felt like a world away from the bustling party. If you both had your way, both of you would have been locked away from the world. All you needed was each other.

His hands explored with a possessive tenderness, each touch leaving trails of fire across your skin. You let out a shaky breath, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he pressed his lips along your jaw, down to the sensitive spot just below your ear. You shivered, feeling him smile against your skin, clearly pleased at the effect he was having on you.

You pulled him even closer, fingers moving from his shirt to his tie, loosening it slightly, just enough to slide it off his neck. Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his eyes fixed on you with a focused intensity that made you feel as though you were the only person in the world.

"Can’t believe you dragged me out here, honey." he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his words sending a thrill through you. "But I’d follow you anywhere. I’ll make love to you anywhere you want me to."

His words made your heart race, and you felt the butterflies from earlier stirring again as he leaned in, his mouth meeting yours with a new urgency. It was as if all the tension from the night poured into that kiss, building into something raw and unstoppable.

As he pulled you closer, his fingers gently brushed your hair back from your face, and you caught his gaze, breathless. You couldn’t help the small, breathless laugh that escaped as you looked at him, both of you a little dizzy, a little wild.

“This is dangerous, you know, baby.” you whispered, a playful smirk dancing on your lips as you tightened your hold on him. But he only raised an eyebrow, his own grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Good.” he replied, his voice a low murmur. "Wouldn’t have it any other way."

Soon enough, you were under his thumb. His movements grew rougher, each thrust deep and unrelenting, sending a surge of sensation through you that bordered on overwhelming. Every press of his body against yours was a heady mixture of strength and passion. 

And it was all you could do to cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders as the intensity built. His pace quickened, and you felt your back arch instinctively, unable to control the way your body responded to him.

Your breaths came in sharp, shallow gasps, each one catching in your throat as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge, his touch both possessive and tender. Your senses blurred; the world narrowed down to the feel of him, the heat between you, the way he whispered your name against your skin in a voice that was both rough and reverent.

Every movement, every thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, each one pushing you further until you were lost in the sheer intensity of it all. You gripped him tightly, almost desperately, as though grounding yourself against the delicious onslaught. 

His name left your lips in broken gasps, and as you met his gaze, the shared passion and vulnerability in his eyes were enough to undo you completely. Everything about your husband makes you feel alive. Especially at this moment. He was good at making you cry for life.

In that moment, you felt yourself surrender, giving in fully to the dizzying rush, to him, and to the warmth and bliss that consumed you both. You shifted slightly beneath him, the heat of your body still trapped in the shared intimacy of the moment. The words escaped you before you could stop them, your jealousy bubbling to the surface. 

"I saw the way they were looking at you tonight, baby." you whispered, your voice a blend of frustration and desire, your fingers gripping his shoulders tightly. "All those women... They were ogling you, making eyes at you, and I couldn’t—"

His breath hitched at the raw honesty in your voice. His eyes darkened, a flicker of something primal flashing across his face. Without breaking his rhythm, he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, "Don’t you dare think about them. You're the only one I want. I only want my wife. My little precious wife."

His words were a balm, but the way his body moved, the deep, relentless thrusts, were what truly silenced your insecurities. The force of each movement was almost punishing, his hips driving into you harder, making your head spin with pleasure. His hands gripped your hips, steadying you as he picked up speed, his breath ragged against your skin.

"You think I want them?" he asked, his voice a dark, velvety rasp. "No. It's you, only you. Always been you." His words came out in desperate gasps, the intensity of his thrusts growing, pushing you both to the edge. "You’re mine. No one else matters."

You moaned, feeling a thrill surge through your chest, his raw claim igniting something deeper within you. His pace never faltered, and as he rams into you harder.

Each movement seems to strip away the last remnants of your doubts. Your body responded, the tension in you winding tighter, tighter, until you were sure you'd break. You could barely speak, your voice hitching as you met his powerful thrusts with a soft whimper, your body rocking with the force of him.

"I’m jealous, baby. I always am." you admitted, your hands tracing down his chest, grasping at him desperately, the words slipping between gasps. "But you're mine too. Only mine."

"Always have been, honey. Only yours." he replied, his hands pressing you harder into the cold tile as he moved faster, pushing you further toward the edge with each heated thrust. 

His voice was a low growl, his rhythm unrelenting, and you could feel him losing himself as much as you were, both of you consumed by the need, the overwhelming desire to claim and be claimed.

The moment his lips crashed into yours, everything else seemed to melt away. The overwhelming intensity of the kiss mirrored the urgency of his movements, his body pressing deeper into yours, each thrust sending waves of heat through you. The kiss was possessive, his tongue claiming yours with the same hunger that burned between you both.

As he pushed deeper, his rhythm becoming relentless, you felt a broken cry escape from you, a mixture of pleasure and raw emotion that you couldn’t hold back. His eyes, dark with desire, caught yours, and for a moment, you saw something deeper than just lust—something primal and protective, something that made your heart race in a way you couldn’t explain.

"You’re so fucking beautiful, honey." he whispered against your lips, his voice rough with the same need he’d been building in both of you. “My wife is so fucking beautiful.” 

His hands moved to your hips, pulling you impossibly closer as he thrust deeper, pushing you to the brink, your cries turning into soft whimpers as your body was caught in the storm of sensation. It felt so good, it always has been.

The deeper he is, the deeper the pleasure fills you. The more you cry out and moan. The more he tries to defy the possibilities, thrusting deeper to fill you more and more.

The tears that pricked the corners of your eyes weren't from pain—no, it was something more complex, something that left you breathless. It was the weight of the connection, the force of his touch, and the emotional release that you hadn’t expected.

All combined into something that made your chest tighten with overwhelming feeling. You cried because he was inside you in every way, not just physically but emotionally, each thrust deeper, each kiss harder.

Kento pulled away slightly, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your cheek, his breath hot against your face. His eyes softened for a moment, but the hunger in them never dulled. 

"You’re mine, only mine, wife." he breathed, his voice low but full of meaning, before kissing you again, harder this time, as though proving to you what he’d just spoken.

The kiss deepened as he pulled you even closer, his body pressing against yours with a fervor that made your entire being hum with raw need. You could feel every inch of him, every movement of his muscles, and it was as if the world had disappeared entirely, leaving just the two of you tangled in this electric, consuming moment.

His thrusts became more forceful, each one driving deeper, pushing you to the edge of something wild and uncontrollable. Your nails dug into his back, clinging to him for support as his mouth moved from yours, trailing down your neck, biting and sucking as he marked you, claiming you completely.

"Don't hold back, honey." he murmured against your skin, his breath ragged. "Let go for me. I need you to feel this... all of it."

You couldn't hold back, not anymore. Not even if anyone was to hear outside. You didn’t feel bad about being this loud because it was your pleasure. About the pleasure he was giving you. He was making you feel good and you wanted him to know it. 

“Good baby, my good little wife. Take me. Take me whole.”

His words hit something deep inside, and you cried out, your voice a broken whisper as your body surrendered fully to him, to the pleasure, to the overwhelming emotions that swirled inside you. His name escaped your lips in a desperate, breathless moan, and the sound seemed to spur him on, his pace quickening as he met you with relentless urgency.

Each thrust pushed you further into a frenzy of sensation, and the pleasure that had once been distant now consumed you completely. The tears that had been building in your eyes spilled over, not from pain, but from the intensity, from the way his body moved with yours in perfect rhythm, from the way he made you feel so utterly seen, so completely his.

Kento’s hand moved to your face, his thumb gently swiping at the tears on your cheek, a tender touch amidst the feverish passion. His eyes softened for just a moment, but then they hardened with desire as he kissed you again, his tongue tasting your lips, your moans swallowed by the deep kiss.

"You're everything to me, honey." he growled, his voice barely audible between breaths. "And I’ll make sure you never forget that."

His words, the way his body pressed into yours, the way his hands held you so firmly. It all built up to something so deep, so visceral that you couldn’t tell where your body ended and his began. Everything inside you snapped, the waves of pleasure crashing over you in a rush, leaving you breathless and shaking in his arms. 

Your cries were mingled with his own as he lost himself in the moment, the sound of skin against skin filling the small space as you both gave in to the release, the powerful culmination of everything that had been building between you.

As the waves of pleasure slowly subsided, leaving both of you breathless and spent, the quiet hum of the room returned, only now it felt like a distant memory compared to the electric tension between you. You both lingered in the aftermath, bodies still pressed together, hearts racing in sync. 

Your breath was ragged, your fingers tracing the sweat-slick skin of his back, grounding yourself in the sensation of him still so close. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustling of your clothes and the echo of your breaths.

But just as you began to collect yourself, a sound broke the stillness—a soft thud of footsteps, followed by the faint murmur of voices. Your heart skipped a beat as the realization hit. Your boldness had gotten inflated by sanity. 

You both hadn’t noticed the soft creak of the door, hadn’t heard the hushed conversations approaching. And then, before either of you could react, the door was pushed open, revealing the clan wives, standing in the doorway, eyes wide with shock, mouths agape.

Kento’s gaze flickered to the doorway, but when he saw the surprised looks on their faces, he didn’t flinch, didn’t move away. He stayed right where he was, his hands still possessively on you, his lips curled into a confident, unbothered smirk. He looks at you, mesmerized by you. By his want for you. Nothing else mattered. Decency, rules, proportionality — they’re done when he makes love to you.

Yet when you looked at him. Nothing else mattered. You too also didn’t care now. A sense of defiance rose within you, the fire from before still burning strong. Without a second thought, you pulled Kento closer, your hands grasping his face as you tilted your head up to meet his lips. The kiss was fierce and unapologetic, claiming him fully in front of everyone who dared to look.

You pulled away slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes, your voice low but steady, a possessive edge coloring your words. "You're only mine, hm? Forever, baby." you whispered, your fingers gently tracing his jawline as you met his smirk.

His gaze softened for a moment, his lips curling into a grin that sent a shiver down your spine. "Always, honey." he replied, his voice a low rumble that held all the certainty in the world. “Forever.”

The clan wives stood frozen once again, caught between disbelief and curiosity, but neither of you acknowledged them again. You didn’t need to. Kento's words, and the way he held you, told them everything they needed to know.

You were his, and he was yours.

Forever.

[liswee]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY — ft. nanami ♡

𝜗𝜚 sum. after your birthday celebration, you share a quiet moment with nanami kento, your best friend.

note. pure fluff, gn ! reader, both in their 20’s, kinda (best) friends to lovers; english isn’t my first language, sorry for any possible mistakes.

The house is quiet as the door clicks shut behind you both, the remnants of the lively celebration—filled with laughter and friends—fading into the background. Outside, the night stretches velvet-dark, cold and endless, while inside, light comes from the soft glow of the candles flickering on the cake you’ve shared for as long as you can remember. Their flames cast soft, uneven shadows, painting the room with a golden color that feels like it belongs to another time.

What began as little cupcakes in your childhood, messy and imperfect with uneven sprinkles, turned into full cakes that only grew bigger over the years, just like the two of you. The tradition is sacred now, one of those things that seems both comforting and oddly surreal, like time itself pauses for just a moment when it’s only you and Nanami.

You sink into your seat, a tired but contented expression spreading across your face. Your fingers brush lightly against the cool frosting—chocolate, because it’s always been your favorite. The way it melts on your tongue feels like the taste of nostalgia, sweet and soothing, familiar in the way it connects the past with the present. It reminds you how you’d race to grab the biggest slice of cake when you were younger—even though Kento would always, somehow, let you win, no matter how convincing his protests seemed—, the shared look of knowing when life got too loud, and the small, subtle ways he made you feel seen.

“You know the drill,” you say with a small smile, though your heart is a little fuller this year. You can’t seem to explain exactly why. Nanami doesn’t speak, not needing to. After all these years, the understanding between you both is effortless, as if you had always been a part of the same story, written in the margins of each other’s lives. Still, you notice the way his gaze softens, the ever-so-slight shift in his demeanor as he stands beside you.

With a breath, you lean forward, hands flat on the table. Your lips part just enough, and the small puff of air makes your cheeks round out, a moment of childish innocence that Nanami had witnessed countless times before over the last fifteen years, but one that he traditionally watches as though it’s the first time. Without a word, your best friend moves closer, and you almost don't notice the movement. He follows you with the same quiet attention he always had, his brow furrowing in amusement, a crease that doesn’t quite give way to a smile.

As you prepare to blow out the candles, your cheeks still puffed out, you feel Kento’s hand gently settle beneath your chin and under your jawline, guiding you to look up at him, just enough for his face to come into view from above. His eyes, always so calm, are filled with a look that speaks volumes in the silence between you—something comforting, something safe, like a promise made long ago and never broken, as if he’s memorizing the way the golden light catches on your face.

You pause, blinking up at him, unsure whether you’re imagining the quiet affection in his gaze or if it’s always been there, waiting for you to notice. But you don’t speak. You can’t. And before you react any further, Nanami leans in—naturally, like the air between you drew him closer—, his lips brushing against the crown of your head, the touch as light as the whisper of a breeze. It’s such a small thing, the press of his mouth, and yet it carries so much. The gesture is so quiet, so sincere, you feel a warmth bloom in your chest that’s different from any other year before, unraveling something you hadn’t even realized you were holding onto.

“Happy Birthday,” he murmurs, voice low, his hand lingering under your chin, grounding you in the moment, and you let yourself lean into it, just for a moment. You feel the weight of it, the significance that hangs between you, as his touch retreats slowly, allowing you to close your eyes once more and finally blow out the candles.

For a fleeting second, the world holds its breath and everything feels right. The room seems fuller somehow, though neither of you speak, thoughts clouded with things neither of you are ready to say—but maybe someday soon, you think, glancing up to meet his eyes again.

In this quiet, timeless space, it’s just the two of you—and it all feels like it’s meant to be this way.

divider by @adornedwithlight

this is a super simple little thing that i wrote in one night, and it’s the first cutesy and shortest thing i’ve posted here, so i hope you liked it <3 it was based in a lovely tiktok video ): click here to watch it. (i love Nanami so much, aaaaa)

[intcritus]

[ SHAVE ]: sender sits in the receiver's lap so they can carefully shave the last of the receiver's stubble from their face. //Clav @ Sujin

Shaving was a task that gave Su-Jin impossible levels of impatience. If it was up to him, he’d drag the razor down his face and probably cut the upper level of dermis off because he hated how it felt against him. Was he sure that he would look good with a beard ? No, which is why he’d rather avoid it, besides, even if his mind was irrational about the most mundane things like shaving. Idly, it makes him think of Toshio and Itachi, who would probably rock awesome beards, not him, he wasn’t the wise old man who’d stroke his beard, nope he was the one that if it was grabbed, he’d go straight tearing their head off their shoulders. Those two would simply go for the nerves. 

Meeting his husband’s exasperated gaze in the bathroom mirror, Su-jin let himself be sat atop the toilet, shaving cream still covering the lower half of his face and the shaving razor in his husband’s grasp. Some insidious part of his brain is murmuring about the possibility of Vaclav using it to slit his throat and every part of him thinks that hot, especially while the lynx is in his lap. Kami, he’d surely thank his husband for the opportunity. And something about that must show on his face if the roll of the lynx’s eyes says anything. ❝ ━ I like having you in my lap, ❞ He murmurs, hands sliding along his husband’s thighs, up and down as he tilts his head a little, lashes sliding close at he repetitive slide of the blade across his skin.

Careful slides that almost lure him into a slumberous state. A warm cloth washes away the rest, a kiss to his clean-shaven jaw has him blinking at his husband, a slow grin curling across his features. ❝ ━ I gotta meet with some of my student’s parents today. They wanna talk about the kid’s progress.❞ The thought of conversing with adults that aren’t family or friends especially when he wasn’t that social to begin with was hell. Nonetheless, it would make his students happy, especially for the ones that were worried that they’d be pulled out if the parents didn’t approve of him. Which means, he’d have to be polite, ugh.

He’s exhausted just thinking about it. The mess with his Clan already has his mind heavy, but this was a reprieve nonetheless, ❝ ━ Let me hand feed you later? ❞ Brushing his nose along Vaclav’s, he then steals a kiss, a purr rumbling in his chest, ❝ ━ Wash you from head to toe ?  ❞ A kiss follows every inquiry, ❝ ━ Let you bury your hands in my hair while I go down on you ? The possibilities, my love. ❞ A tiring day ahead, sure, but oh, he would come home to his husband and spoil him in attention. 

domestic bliss. | @nvrcmplt

[bi-writes]

thinking about being a new lieutenant working with laswell and getting to meet her a-team, tf141, and immediately clashing with your equivalent. that other lieutenant that wears a fucking costume and glares whenever he sees you, simon fucking riley. (kinda dark, 18+)

you hate him. you hate how good he does in the field. it sickens you when you see how every knife he throws hits its target with disgustingly perfect accuracy. you sneer when he aims his rifle, each bullet going exactly where he wants it to go because he's that fucking good, look at him, big man with a big fucking head and a big--

god, it's so frustrating to be out here for so long. on a cot, so far away from everything, reporting back to laswell and then spending time with a task force who is so intelligent on the field but shares one fucking brain cell off of it.

and it's so lonely. it's so lonely, and you feel so far away, and when you show up in front of ghost's room that evening, you don't even exchange words as he steps aside, letting you slink into the dark of it. you don't speak as he crowds you against the door, as he pushes you up against it, when he reveals the lower half of his face so he can kiss you and taste you in every way he's wanted to since he met you. you're so fucking annoying, you crawl under his skin, and when he tastes you, he sucks, his tongue tracing the inside of your mouth as he tugs his cargo pants just under his cock and hoists you up around his waist.

it's just stress relief, you tell yourself as he fucks you against the rattling door. i just need a little relief, is what you say to yourself as he mumbles against yours lips, gripping the fat of your hips in his big hands and putting his cock to good use. he's not gentle, but you don't want him to be. he's too good at what he does, you were hoping he would have fault in one fucking area of his life, but even like this, he shows you just how well he fucks and just how big he really is, everywhere.

please, please, please--! you beg. he snickers, and it's mean, and he's sucking a warm bruise into your neck when he mutters, "tha'sit, swee'eart. we both know who's really in charge, eh? yeah--yeah, good girl--y'r such a good girl--"

and you are. cum soaked thighs, your mouth still on his when he finally comes, grunting as he fills you so full, it's dripping onto your thighs, onto his, dampening the clothes neither of you bothered to take off. and when you leave, you tell yourself this will never happen again, that ghost will keep this a secret because he hates you just as much, that ghost is discreet and quiet and values his privacy, and if you don't speak of this again, neither will he. it suddenly comforts you how closed off he is.

so it does surprise you when the next morning comes, and you go to sit with your team to eat, that ghost snarls when you try and take a seat beside him. you expect this to be a rude gesture, but you squeak when he grips you around the waist and forces you into his lap. you stiffen, but his sergeants barely bat an eye. the braid of your hair is yanked backwards, and you gasp when you feel his breath against your ear, even through the mask.

"the casual shaggin' sort of deal? not m'thing, luvvie. now eat y'r breckie, swee'eart, 'm fuckin' hungry, and 'm not very patient."

he used to think having one of his sergeant's underneath him was the kind of power-play that got him right off.

wrong.

nothing like fucking a pretty little lieutenant good enough she can't fucking remember how to speak.

[ja3yun]

"cat got your tongue?" | L.HS

bf!heeseung x gf!reader warnings: smut (mdni) unprotected sex, cream pie, dom!heeseung, gagging on fingers, slight breath play, pwp, just pure filth from the start, hee is loving but a menace, not proof read, anything else lmk! wc: 2.1k synopsis: heeseung's fingers might be your favourite gag a/n: hi! it's me finally with a small wordcount drabble!! who would have guessed it? anyway this was heavily inspired by a conversation i had with my twin flame ruby @dollyyun , so yes babe i hope you love it!! just something filthy and fun. have a great weekend everyone

“Oh God, Heeseung, don’t fucking stop,” you gasp, voice trembling with a mix of desperation and ecstasy. 

Your words seem to spur him on, his hips driving forward with a rhythm that’s sharp and deliberate, each thrust more intense than the last. His 7-inch cock plunges deep inside you, the set pace teetering on the edge between pleasure and torment. Every time he pulls back, you feel the delicious drag of his shaft slipping against your walls, only for him to slam back in, battering you deep inside. You can’t decide if you want to savour this maddening tempo or beg for more - something harder, rougher, like a man who’s lost in his own lust.

The room is thick with the scent of sex, love, and a passion that feels almost primal. You hadn’t imagined the night turning out this way; there was a different kind of intimacy in mind with cuddles and romantic movies. But it’s your own fault, really. You knew exactly what you were doing when you slipped into his favourite pyjamas - the ones dotted with cute little hearts, the matching crop top clinging to your skin, barely covering your tits. His reaction was inevitable; you had provoked the beast, and now he was giving you everything you silently asked for and more.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, each thrust driving the air from your lungs. His name tumbles from your lips like a mantra, broken and pleading. "Heeseung...please..." You don't even know what you're begging for anymore - a faster pace, a deeper thrust, anything to push you over the edge that you're balancing on. His gaze is dark and focused, a predatory glint in his eyes as he watches your every reaction, drinking in the sight of you falling apart beneath him. His lips curl into a wicked smile, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice a mix of amusement and lust. “So desperate for me, aren’t you?”

A shiver runs through you, his words sinking into your skin, your core tightening around him in response. Heeseung's hands slide down to grip your waist, fingers pressing into your flesh hard enough to leave marks, and with a grunt, he changes the angle. The new position has him hitting that spot deep inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyes, and your moan echoes through the room.

"Fuck, yes, right there!" you cry out, arching your back as your nails rake down his shoulders. Each thrust grows more relentless, his hips driving into you with a punishing, unyielding rhythm that leaves you gasping for breath, lost in the delicious agony of it all. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, blending with the symphony of your moans, gasps, and his ragged grunts.

Your hands trail down his arms, feeling the taut muscles flex beneath your touch as your fingers glide over the sheen of sweat on his skin. They move lower, seeking the hand that’s gripping your waist with such force that you’re sure his fingertips will leave bruises blooming across your skin by morning. You pry his right hand away and entwine your fingers with his, grounding yourself in that moment of intimacy amidst the ferocity.

The wicked grin on his lips softens into something more tender, his gaze never leaving yours. He brings your joined hands up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, his eyes speaking the love that words don’t need to convey. For a moment, there’s a gentleness, a shared breath of vulnerability.

But when you guide his hand to your lips, his expression shifts back to that familiar, dark smirk, eyes narrowing with understanding. He knows what you’re asking for without you needing to say a word. His lips curl up, that sadistic amusement returning as he watches you with a mix of pride and desire.

“You want to suck on my fingers, baby?” he asks, his voice low and teasing, but there’s an edge to it that sends a shiver down your spine. You nod, lips parting slightly in anticipation, but Heeseung doesn’t give in so easily.

Instead, he brings your joined hands back to his mouth, and with deliberate slowness, he slips his own fingers past his lips. His eyes stay locked on yours as he sucks them into his mouth, his tongue swirling around each digit, wetting them thoroughly. The sight makes your breath hitch, a new wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You’re so jealous of his tongue that you might grow green with envy, wishing it was you instead.

With a soft pop, he pulls his fingers free, and that smug, dark grin stretches wider across his face. “Open up,” he commands softly, his tone brooking no argument. You don’t even think to disobey. Your lips part further, and he wastes no time, pressing his slick fingers against them and pushing them past your teeth.

The taste of him coats your tongue, and you moan softly around his fingers. He watches intently, his gaze dark with lust as he slides his fingers deeper, teasing the back of your throat. He forces your mouth open, her stare never leaving yours

“You like that, don’t you?” he whispers, voice rough with desire. “Being so good for me. So fucking perfect.” He presses down more firmly, the tips of his fingers brushing against your tongue, and he grins when he feels you gag slightly. His hips never falter and your legs that are wrapped around his waist anchor you both together while he focuses on your pleasure.

Your eyes flutter shut, and you moan around him, sucking on his fingers as he guides you, your tongue swirling around them just like he’d done moments ago. “Nu-uh, baby. Eyes open or else I’ll stop,” he warns, causing you to string your eyes open in a desperate plea. “You wouldn’t want that, would you?” His tone is teasing and degrading but fuck does it turn you on even more. 

The way he watches you makes you feel exposed, cherished, and utterly controlled all at once. Three of his digits press on your tongue as he uses his strength to widen your mouth, pushing his fingers deeper until your eyes water, and he can feel your breath coming in sharp gasps, rendering you unable even to answer his question. 

The thing about your boyfriend is that he likes you vocal and demands that his questions are answered. Even simple ones like ‘Do you feel that?’ have to be replied with a yes, otherwise he takes the pleasure away from you. But how can you answer when his fingers are imprisoning you to silence?

Heeseung laughs mockingly as he plummets into you at a slightly slower pace. “Aw, baby, what’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” With each question, he bucks his hip forcefully, the tip of his cock meeting your cervix and desperately willing your eyes to close. The intense pressure has your eyes threatening to close, a tear slipping free, but you don’t look away. You meet his gaze, eyes glassy and lips stretched around his fingers, desperately trying to answer him with a look, a plea for mercy.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. “Look at you,” he murmurs with a breathy chuckle. “So desperate to speak. Go on, then, try.”

You attempt to form a word, but his fingers are still lodged deep in your mouth, muffling any sound. All that comes out is a garbled moan, saliva dripping down your chin as you try to articulate anything that might satisfy him. Your tongue moves helplessly against his digits, eyes begging him for some semblance of relief.

Heeseung’s grin widens, and with a sudden withdrawal, he pulls his fingers from your mouth, a slick trail of spit connecting them to your lips. You gasp for air, trying to find your voice, but before you can utter a single word, he crashes his lips against yours, swallowing whatever sound was about to escape. The kiss is hungry, consuming - tongues meeting in a frenzied dance. His hand, still wet from your mouth, grips your jaw, keeping you firmly in place as he devours you.

Heeseung’s hips drive into you with a brutal, unrelenting pace, his thrusts hitting so deep and fast that you feel like you’re coming apart beneath him. His lips move against yours in a heated frenzy, devouring your every whimper, every plea. Your tongue tangles with his, wet and hot, the taste of him mixing with the desperate sounds spilling from both of you. He pulls back just enough to let you gasp for air, but his lips are back on yours a second later, almost as if he can’t stand to be apart for even a moment.

The hand cupping the back of your head tightens its grip, fingers tangling in your hair as he forces your head to tilt back further, deepening the kiss to an almost punishing degree. The intensity of it sends sparks shooting through your veins, your body trembling with need. His hips snap forward faster, the wet sounds of your bodies colliding filling the room, his cock driving into you with a perfect, punishing rhythm that makes your toes curl and your vision blur.

“Hee…I need to cum…please,” you beg into his mouth, your words coming out in broken, breathless fragments between the feverish kisses. Your tongue explores his mouth, whimpering between each word, and he moans against you, clearly loving the way you’re falling apart beneath him. His hips don’t slow; if anything, he picks up speed, fucking into you with a new fervour, as if your begging has ignited something even more primal in him.

“Cum for me, baby,” he growls against your lips, his voice rough and dripping with dominance. “I want to feel you lose it around me. Come on - give it to me.”

His words are like gasoline on a fire, and your entire body seizes up, muscles tensing as you feel the coil inside you winding tighter and tighter. His thrusts are relentless, his cock driving into that perfect spot over and over again, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. The pleasure is so intense it’s almost painful, your mind going blank with nothing but the feeling of him inside you, around you, consuming you.

The combination of his filthy words, his relentless pace, and the raw need in his voice shoves you over the edge. Your climax crashes into you like a tidal wave, overwhelming and all-consuming. Your walls clamp down around him, squeezing his cock as your entire body convulses with the force of your orgasm. A choked scream rips from your throat, your back arching off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure pulses through you.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it,” Heeseung groans through a tremble and gritted teeth, his rhythm faltering as he feels you tighten around him. He doesn’t stop, thrusting through your orgasm, drawing it out until you’re quivering and whimpering beneath him, barely able to catch your breath.

His hips stutter, and you feel him swell inside you, his cock pulsing as he chases his own release. His hand on your head pulls you back into another bruising kiss, his tongue claiming yours in a messy, desperate dance. His breaths are ragged against your lips, his body tense and trembling. With a deep, guttural groan, he thrusts into you one last time, burying himself as deep as he can go. You feel the hot rush of his release spill into you, his body jerking with each spurt as he fills you completely.

Breaking the kiss, Heeseug presses his forehead against yours as he pants heavily, his breath warm against your face. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your laboured breathing and the feel of your heartbeats pounding against each other’s chests. His hand loosens its grip in your hair, fingers stroking through the damp strands gently now, his touch a stark contrast to the roughness from moments before.

“God, I love you,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft and raw, full of emotion. He leans in and kisses you again, slower this time, his lips lingering against yours in a sweet, lingering caress that has you melting all over again.

“Love you too, Heeseung,” you whisper back, your voice shaky but full of sincerity. You’re still coming down from the high, your body exhausted, jaw sore, but thoroughly satisfied, and you know he feels the same, his lips curling into a lazy, contented smile against yours.

And as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a protective, possessive hold, you know this isn’t the end but just the beginning of another night lost in each other.

perm taglist: @immortalvessel @sunpov @heeseungspookie @strawberrysavi @monstanctiny21 @diorsyun @heexzbae @yzzyhee @baekhyunstruly @zeeloveshee @haechonly @berryblog @no-mannerism @jaehoonii @notevenheretbh1 @shawnyle @addictedtohobi @jiminie-08 @emberuby @nctislifue @lilyuwon @skzenhalove @heeshlove @idkdykilr @chocminteu @y4wnjunz @rikibun @ivesti @parksunghoonsgf @branchrkive @brownsugarbaybee @xxbluestrifexx @bambangan @dollyyun @iluvikeu @deobitifull @yawnazzz @st1llm0nster @woorcve @heeseungsbm @star-hoon @heelee-01

[ellecdc]

girl girl hear me out YAPPER GF X REGULUS!! Pls pls pls like u could do anything u wanted with them!!! I have a few ideas (take any or none)

May be she just walks up to him one day like clearly wanting to befriend him cuz she has a lil crush and just starts yapping about how the great hall had her fave pastry for breakfast today and he's so confused but also intrigued and then she starts sitting next to him in classes and asking him to hang out at hogsmead and she just yaps and sometimes she thinks may be he zones out but then he'll bring up this super niche detail she mentioned last time like "hey what happened to that quill you forgot in the potions lecture?"

they r already dating and she worries she's too much energy and talk for him and tries to be quiet and he's just like r u sick? R u mad at me? What's wrong u haven't gone on a 30 min description/rant about ur day

3. May be someone else brings up she talks a lot and Reggie defends her?

you guys really love your bubbly/talkative readers with Regulus, don't you? (so do i); thanks for your request!

Regulus Black x yapper!reader who didn't think he was actually listening

CW: fem!reader, rolling thoughts, brief mention of difficulty making friends, people talking about reader behind her back, swear words (on ellecdc? nooo [sarcasm])

Your family said that you had an incessant need to fill silence from the moment you could talk. 

“If there’s a room with our daughter in it, you can be certain that it won’t be quiet.” Your mum had proclaimed as she beamed at you lovingly one day.

While it was certainly a trait that your family had always found rather endearing, you felt that it made it particularly difficult making friends once you began attending Hogwarts. 

But the friends you managed to make loved you for it, and they had often stated “you can call her what you want but you can’t call her boring.” 

That didn’t mean your other classmates appreciated your stories or tangents, though. 

Which is how you ended up serving numerous detentions for speaking during class or lectures and disturbing the students around you, and how you’d been cycled through numerous seat partners in potions class. 

And that is how poor Regulus Black ended up stuck sharing a worktable with the likes of you.

He didn’t seem to mind, though. And if he did, well, he certainly never said anything about it.

You were quite sure he tuned you out during your rambles, hardly ever sparing you a glance and keeping his eyes trained on his parchment in front of him as he took dutiful notes during lectures.

Couldn’t be you, however.

No.

You were too busy lamenting about the fact that you couldn’t get more than twenty feet to the mooncalf herd up the hill behind the quidditch pitch before they would all run off. They only came out at night, you see, and you wanted to take some photos of them. Some photos turned into midnight picnics, and picnics turned into sharing apple slices by means of throwing them towards the bug-eyed beasts and watching them argue over the slice until you threw another. But even after feeding them forty seven apples and counting at this point (Winky the house elf from the kitchen was not pleased with you), they still wouldn’t let you get any closer to them.

Your next course of action was to try a smellier and higher value treat; you wondered then if mooncalves could have tuna? Tuna was certainly smelly enough. Well, if you couldn’t entice the mooncalves, you’d certainly entice a cat or two. 

You wondered then if mooncalves and cats got along? Kneazles were nearly the same size as the poor beasts, but cats were much smaller. You figured cats would look at a mooncalf the same way they’d look at a goat. 

You’d seen a cat ride a goat once, not many people believed you, though. You’d have to learn how to make a pensieve one day just to prove it to everyone. You didn’t much care for goats, though; something about their square pupils seemed alien to you. 

Which seemed odd considering there were numerous beasts in the magical world that really were quite alien, yet it was  goats that did it for you.

And why were they always associated with the devil? Was it because of the square pupils? Do you think there’d be a book that explained that?

But you didn’t even realise that the period had ended until Regulus stood and collected his books, offering you a curt nod before leaving the classroom. 

Fuck….do you think he’d let you copy his notes? 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Merlin’s tits, she never stops talking! I feel bad for the poor sod stuck next to her; Black probably wants to avada himself every class. You heard a classmate mutter as you walked to your workbench, movements slowed as you lowered yourself into your chair and tried not to let their words hurt you. 

You were used to the comments, you were used to the sentiment honestly; did they think it was easy being you? Did they think you didn’t get tired of listening to yourself too? 

Of course you did, it was exhausting; your brain never stopped moving, and apparently, neither did your mouth.

But it did hurt a little, perhaps because Regulus had been quite gracious about it thus far. He had listened to you carry on about the astrological significance of space waste and how that was affecting the magic of the stars. He had listened to you bemoan about the positive impact that centaur migration had on local flora and fauna and how the fencing of fields and forests was going to cause unimaginable damage to the life cycles of such. He also had listened to your morose mooncalf story and the update the next day that you were able to order cans of tuna via owl to the castle.

And he’d not so much as bat an eye at you.

Certainly he’d have said something to you if you bothered him? 

Although, perhaps this was why Slughorn put him beside you, because he knew Regulus wouldn’t say anything; had Regulus done something to anger Slughorn? Was placing you beside Regulus less about you driving your seat mates crazy, but more about being a punishment for Regulus?

Well, you couldn’t imagine Regulus had done anything bad enough to deserve a full term with you as a potions partner.

No, you decided, you would not be his punishment.

So when Regulus entered class that day, and Slughorn read out the instructions for today’s potion brew, you resisted the urge to speak.

You were quiet when retrieving your potion ingredients, you were quiet as you checked and double checked the brewing instructions, and you were quiet as you waited for the potion to reach its boiling point. 

You actually thought you’d done quite well; you sort of wished you had started a timer, this may very well have been a record for you. 

Well, unless sleeping counted. Would sleeping count as being quiet? Oh gods, what if you talked in your sleep too!? You’d have to ask your roommates.

“L/N.” Regulus called as if it hadn’t been the first time he’d done so. “You alright?” He asked, ducking down in an attempt to meet your gaze as you watched a divot appear between his brows.

“Yeah? Why?” You asked, finding yourself furrowing your brows in solidarity; you found Regulus to be too pretty to look so worried. 

He shrugged his shoulders and straightened up, though the space between his brows remained divoted. “You’ve been awfully quiet, s’all.” He murmured quietly, and you were surprised to see a dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” You muttered perhaps pointedly; his eyes narrowing to match the furrowed brows. 

“Says who?”

Your eyes traitorously darted to the students who had been discussing your habits, and Regulus followed your gaze.

He rolled his eyes and muttered something in French under his breath as he turned his attention back towards your shared potion. “Those tossers are just mad that they have nothing of value to say.”

You more felt than heard a disbelieving breath escape your lips as you looked at Regulus in bemusement. 

He didn’t seem to notice though, as he continued to the next step in your potion and carried on. “Did the tuna work?”

You stared at him dumbly before your brain kicked back into gear. “I beg your pardon?”

“The tuna.” He repeated. “For the mooncalves?”

Oh.

“Oh.” You started, giving your head a shake as you tried to find your balance you had long lost during this conversation. “Erm, no, but I did indeed attract a few cats.”

“Ah.” Regulus offered, smiling at you (or at the expected poof from the potion signifying that the two of you had brewed it correctly thus far). 

“Also, I found out why goats are often associated with the devil, but the book you’d be looking for is Biblical in nature.”

You stared at him with your mouth agape as he continued. “There’s a quote where that Christ bloke mentions something about separating people from one another just as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. They’re used as a metaphor for the ‘bad’ or ‘inferior’ member of any group; it could also be understood as the divide between the pure and the wicked. I say goats got a bad rap, though.”

The next step in your potion brewing process was to allow the potion to simmer until it turned a milky white colour, so Regulus lowered the heat before appearing to remember something.

“I almost forgot…” He started as he began rooting through his book bag. “I asked the shopkeep at Brood & Peck, and she said this is a favourite of mooncalves; maybe you’ll have more luck tonight?” He asked as he held out a parchment of beast treats to you. 

“You’ve been listening? This whole time?” You whispered in awe as you took the bag delicately as if  he had just handed you a delicate china dish. 

His brows furrowed again as he searched your eyes. “Well…yeah? I’m rather invested now.” He explained just as your potion turned its intended colour. 

“Very good Mr. Black, Miss. L/N.” Professor Slughorn commented as he walked past your workbench. 

You were alerted to the fact that class was over when everyone’s potions were vanished with a pop and students started to pack up their belongings.

“You’ll keep me posted, yeah? About the mooncalves?” Regulus asked as he started walking backwards towards the door. 

“Sure.” You murmured, earning you a wide smile from the notoriously quiet boy. 

Yes… You’d be more than happy to keep Regulus Black posted.

[queer-n-here]

Omg imagine Chuuya using his ability to ride you harder

Oh my fucking god, what writer's block?

This just blew me away for no reason at all, bro what?

Contents: Chuuya using his ability while riding you.

Warnings: Smut, top male reader, biting, marking, riding, daddy kink.

Chuuya was far from satiated.

He had been riding you for a while now, back dripping sweat as he grinded down on your cock for the nth time, breath uneven and sped up, eyes filled with tears that had not yet fallen.

His naked body was moving in a way so slutty you had to grip his waist and leave marks on his skin to remind yourself that he was real, here, and not a dream.

His dishevelled hair stuck to his sweat-covered forehead, his lips chapped and bloody from your rough kisses and his own teeth. There were bite marks all over his neck, chest, torso; you hadn't left a single inch of his pale skin untouched.

You were sitting back against the headboard of your shared bed, Chuuya in your lap as he bounced wildly on your cock, loud ah-ah-ahs echoing around the room as sounds of skin slapping skin almost drowned them out. His fingers were gripping onto your shoulders for balance, gripping so hard you knew he'd drawn blood with his blunt nails without needing to look.

But it wasn't enough, wasn't enough, just WASN'T.

Chuuya suddenly glowed black, his trembling thighs outlined by the glow that seemed to come from every inch of his skin. You felt the weight on your thighs increase suddenly, and he sunk down so low on your dick that even your balls were embedded into him.

"Fuck, Chuuya," You gasped, fingers digging even deeper into his skin as he grinded down on your cock again, using his ability to take you even further.

"Ngh!" Finally, your tip hit that spot that you could find so easily in him.

Ecstatic, he did it again, hips eager and wanting, eyes finally dripping tears. He cried out as he sped up, his movements somehow even wilder, the only thoughts in his head ways on how to chase that pleasure.

"F-fuck yeah," Chuuya gasped, jaw loose. "Ah, feels so good, [Name]!"

You hardly had the breath in you to speak, what with him going to town on your cock like it was his last day on earth, clenching so hard around your cock you saw stars.

"Such a little slut, Chuuya," You managed to say somehow. "Using your ability like this, heh, who would have thought? You like it that much?"

And he nodded in response, eyes glazed over. "Daddy's little slut. Only yours."

Your eyes widened, and then you chuckled, pulling Chuuya close and letting him bury his head into the crook of your neck as he continued assaulting your cock. You knew full well he would rather admit to being short than repeat his words once he could think again, but the moment was raw, and so you decided to push him a little more.

"Daddy's slut, huh?" You murmured into his ears, your hips rising to meet his half-way through. "Such a good slut, taking all of my cock so well. You sure know how to please daddy, don't you, Chuuya?"

He nodded, arms wrapped around you so tight it was as if he was afraid you'd leave without cumming in him.

He was trembling all over now, and even with the assistance of his ability, his movements had gotten sloppier. You knew he was close, so you reached forwards, grabbed the hair at the back of his head and pulled him into a kiss.

When he came, ropes of come shooting out of his dick, he collapsed almost immediately against your chest, panting. You kept going, thrusting up into him for your own orgasm, and he let you.

Once you'd painted his walls white, you slowed down to a stop.

Chuuya refused to get off of you, so you let him lay on you, cock still buried deep into him, even though his ability had withdrawn.

A moment passed, and you let him catch his breath.

You planted chaste kisses all over his face, making him smile softly, eyes closed. There was a big mess where you two met that you knew you had to take care of, so you carried him to the bathtub. Even when you sat down in the water, holding Chuuya in your lap, he hadn't let you pull out of him.

For a while, there was a comfortable silence.

Then, "So... Daddy, huh?"

As you burst into laughter, Chuuya smacked your shoulder weakly, ears red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

"Fuck off," He mumbled, burying his head deeper into your shoulder.

"On a more serious note, though," Your smirk faded into a soft smile, and you peeled him off of you just enough to look him in the face. "If you're into that just tell me, hmm? I don't mind."

Your voice was so quiet, and your expression so gentle that even Chuuya couldn't bring himself to deny it. Yes, he was into it. And yes, he was very, very embarrassed about it.

So he said nothing, choosing to return to the crook of your neck instead, and you let him. It was a silent conformation, the best you could get out of him.

[katsukikitten]

It starts with him pulling you closer, of hiding his face in your throat and yours his. But all it does is makes him breathe in yesterday's perfume, the notes always change the longer it's on your skin and no matter what stage its in, it makes him insane.

Makes him huff at your throat, slot his bare thigh between yours to press up into your sex. He swears to himself he won't do anything, that he wants to sleep in with you some more. But the warm florals, the spice, and that god damn sweet undertone only he's ever close enough to smell mixing with your natural scent has his dick rock solid.

Has him feeling dizzy as if he can't keep his thoughts straight, pulling away to look down at you listening to you whine in protest when his warm skin leaves yours. Long enough that the cold air makes you fix a glare up at him, a silent scolding of him leaving and all it does is make him that much more crazy for you.

Moving your legs roughly, placing himself between you and shoving his dick in so hard, so fast you bite his collar bone in retaliation.

But you still moaned.

And so did he, sighing as he moves you to your back to literally plaster himself against your skin, both of you already sticky from shared body heat. Barely moving his hips as it lessened the contact between your torsos but Katsuki was skilled when it came to you. Felt those claws in his shoulders saw how you silently moan, always so quiet and moody in the morning. Sharing slow kisses, lazy swipes of his tongue, quietier and more gentle than usual but no less intense. Eyes flickering to yours when he grinds into you just so he can watch your lashes flutter. So he can watch that pretty face you make while you cream on his cock with such little effort on his part.

Loved how well he could take care of you just as well as you could him. Pulling just one more from you before he allows himself to cum, normally when he fucked you in missionary he wanted his sweaty forehead to yours so you can see what you do to him.

But today he's a little greedy, hiding his face in your throat, broken groan as he inhales that damn perfume of yours. Huffing so deeply he can taste it on his tongue before he finally fills that pretty cunt of yours, panting out broken parts of your name.

Collapsing his full weight on to you as you huff but don't protest. Pulling him closer even if you struggle to breath beneath him, pressing gentle kisses to his racing pulse before he turns his head to return the favor. The two of you falling back asleep shortly after that.

The two of you won't speak until hours later, standing in the shower after finally deciding to rise. Katsuki with his arms crossed over his broad chest, spent dick sticky, and a pout on his handsome face as he watches you rub golden body wash over gorgeous skin. Let's the peach and sakura catch on the steam as you thoroughly wash. You catch him staring and giggle.

"Why are ya pouting? Cause we got up past noon again? It's our day off maybe we needed it." There's no hope that any perfume is in left in your hair, not now as it's shiny with conditioner you're letting sit.

"We didn't have to sleep in so late if someone didn't get so caught up in his morning wood." You give him your back as you lather your legs down to your painted toes.

"Tsk. Ain't that." He scoffs, fingers twitching as he resists the urge to touch you as you bend over.

"Hmm? Then what is it that's got you pouting." Your voice reminds him a lot of your scent. Rich, bold, sweetness usually held for him.

He can't resist now, bringing his hand to cup your throat to have you pressing your back against his chest, sliding his now hard cock against your soapy wet cunt.

"Yer washing off your perfume." He growls, pressing his nose behind your ear before he grabs at the base of his dick, shoving it all the way in, relishing how you start to go limp in his hold.

"But I guess yer body wash will have to do."

[sturniqlo]

hii can u do smth about dad!matt obsessing over baby clothes in the store like u found out u were pregnant and he’s at the store the next day 😭 or js at any point in ur pregnancy and he sees baby aisle full of clothes and toys he cant contain himself

Tiny Shopping- M.S

summary: five times when matt was overly excited to shop for his baby.

cw: slight cursing, FLUFF

an: thank you anon for the idea! | lowercase intended

masterlist | mia masterlist | join my taglist

-----------------------------------------------

ONE

"babe?" matt enters his home he shares with his girlfriend. "in the kitchen." she speaks loud enough so he can hear her. "look what i got at the store." matt enters the kitchen excitedly, holding something behind his back. yesterday y/n had gave him the best news ever, they were expecting a baby.

"what'd you get?" she puts the down half eaten bagel. "well, me, nick and chris went to the store, and i saw this so i bought it." matt places the plastic bag on the counter in front of her bagel. "open it, go ahead." he pushes the bag closer to her. "okay." she says, grabbing the bag and pulls out a eeyore plushie.

"matt! it's so cute, oh my gosh." she holds it up. "i know it might the a bit early since we just found out. but, i just had to." he rounds the island and hugs her from behind. "it's never to early, babe." she turns her head and kisses him. "i love it, we can put it inside of the crib once we get one."

TWO

"how's this shirt- matt?" y/n had picked up a shirt for an even they had to go to in a couple of weeks, however when she turned around matt was nowhere to be found. "matt?" she walks around the women's section. as she steps out to the main aisle, she sees matt's curls across the women's section in the baby clothing.

"babe, i was looking for you." she smiles when she sees matt's arm is full of baby clothes. "sorry, i just saw this tiny dress and got carried away." he nods down to the pile in his arm. "a dress? we don't know what the baby is yet." she says. "i know, i know. but, i have a feeling it's a girl, plus, look at it. so so tiny." he holds it up. "oh, we definitely need to buy it." y/n nods.

"as much as i want to buy all of these. we need to bring it down a bit. we have eight more months to buy them more clothes." they had gotten a bit carried away and ended up almost filling a cart up with baby clothes. "you're right." matt bites the inside of his cheek deciding what items to put back.

THREE

"oh matt! look at this one!" nick coos holding up a fluffy bear onesie. "put it in the cart." matt rolls it over to nick. "matt," chris comes up next to matt holding up some bibs. "look at these, they all have 'my first holidays'." matt grabs the bibs and flips through them. "y/n bought these the other day but in onesie form. let's get the matching bibs." he drops them into the cart.

"we're back!" chris announces. "hey guys, what'd you guys end up getti-" y/n stops herself mid sentence when she sees each of them holding two bags from carters. "wait- before you say anything, just look at what we bought." matt says.

FOUR

both matt and y/n were laying on the couch watching harry potter, mostly matt because y/n was on her laptop scrolling through baby websites adding items into her online shopping cart. "this is cute." she says to herself, pressing the add to cart button, "can i see?" matt lifts his head up from her thighs. "it's a pair of shoes, what do you think?" she flips the screen so he can see.

"adorable. did you add them?" she nods. "you read my mind." he leans up and pecks her lips. matt goes back to watching the movie and y/n keeps on scrolling. "oh my gosh, baby look at this one." she gasps, and turns the laptop to him.

"oh, i bought that one yesterday."

FIVE

"alright, do you like this one?" matt holds up a sweater and shows the baby on his hip. the small girl only sticks her tongue out of habit. "you're right, looks like it'd be too hot." he puts it back on the rack. "let's look over here. hey, look, how about this hat." he grabs it off of the shelf and puts it on her tiny head. "awe, look at you." he coos.

"let's go look for your mommy." he heads to the cleaning supply aisle where he knows she'd be at. "baby, look at mia. we need to buy it." y/n grabs a new sponge and turns her head at matt's voice. "oh, look at my baby. you look so cute, mia." she gasps and walks over to the smiling baby on matt's hip. mia giggles at her moms coos. "i'm guessing you like it?"

[murdrdocs]

thinking abt peacekeeper!snow needing asking you to sit on his face bc he heard abt it in the barracks but he never heard abt it in the capitol and now he cant stop thinking abt it and then he gets real messy and desperate w it🫠

he fiddles with his thumbs before asking you. his head ducked, a shyness he hasn't felt in a while clouding over his being. he picks at his hangnails, and instead picks at the loose threads of his uniform whenever you slap his hands away from their assault.

"your hands are pretty as they are, don't mess with them," you chastise easily, a teasing smirk woven in your words as you turn your head away from him. with your back facing him, you don't see him take a step towards you.

you jump when his hands press against your waist, then you melt back against his chest when he implants a kiss to your head. coriolanus opens his mouth to ask you, then he closes it and doubts himself, and then he remembers the stories from the other peacekeepers in the barracks.

the way they described it all. the girl above them using their mouth like that, in a way they didn't even know they would like. how she writhed and cried out as she ground her hips along their faces. usually, such crass talk would make coriolanus uncomfortable. but then, with the picture of you in mind, he couldn't stop listening. he filled in the images of you with their words, grateful that the other men would begin their recounts of their lewd endeavors when coriolanus was already tucked in bed with a blanket covering his crotch.

just the thought of bringing his imagination to reality makes him voice the idea to you. and it should be embarrassing how delighted he gets when you agree.

and it's better than coriolanus could imagine. never would he think he would enjoy intimate activities to be so messy, but he figures that he simply enjoys stripping away your own pristine and civilized nature and instead turning you into this: a pretty thing sat above him, cunt flushed against his mouth as you work yourself back and forth. your hands flail around helplessly with nothing to grab onto, coriolanus' curly locks that you hadn't even known to ever exist gone. instead, you dig your nails into his shoulders, the newly toned and newly tanned expanses of them providing enough stability for you to ground yourself. for your previously guttural groans of frustration to melt into pretty moans of pleasure.

your clit brushes against his nose with your movements and eventually, coriolanus realizes what the slight probe does for you. he grips your ass cheeks with his nails, both hands cupping as much of the flesh between his palms as he can, and he takes over. he brings you as tight against his mouth as he can, and works his tongue as well as he can against you. he moves his head, too, just enough to provide the friction from the pointy tip of his nose against the searching sensitive bud. all the while, his bright blue eyes never part from your frame. he refuses to look away for even a second. he refuses to blink, and when you look down, he has tears of desperation leaking down his face, only adding to the mess.

he wants to speak to you, to encourage you and praise you like you deserve. but his mouth is occupied, and he likes it like this, with you spewing out disjointed words that often don't make any sense.

"coryo, it's s'good. i – ah – you're so good at this, coryo. 'm so close. please, make me cum, coryo. i'll do whatever you want me to, just please don't stop."

and when you do cum around his tongue, wet and messy and oh so sweet, coriolanus commits the entire ordeal to memory, storing it somewhere deep where he'll never share the details with anyone else.

you're his to keep. only his.

[dixonsbrat]

𖥔 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𖥔

summary ; you make coriolanus feel like he's losing control.

pairing ; peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x district!reader

notes ; nothing just a whole bunch of fluff honestly. and i'm not even going to lie... i loved writing this one. i don't think i've written anything as fast as i wrote this bc it truly just flew out of me. this man really has me acting up and i am so here for it.

do not transfer, translate or share my work to any other sites.

coriolanus snow was never one to let himself be vulnerable in the eyes of another, and for as long as you had known him there was one thing you were always certain of, he had to be in control. he depended on it. craved it. the thought alone, of everything slipping from his grasp and not going to plan, made his head swirl and his skin crawl. 

so when he met you, he began to question himself. question everything he had been working for, everything he had been fighting for, as you slowly wiggled your way into his heart. he was taken by you, and that scared him. 

you were a breath of fresh air in his carefully curated world, a burst of colour amidst the struggles of his life. your spontaneity and liveliness enchanted him, capturing his attention and leaving him craving more. he had never felt this way about anything before. 

as you sat there in the beauty of the meadow, a gentle breeze brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of the wildflowers. the sunlight streamed through the canopy of leaves above, painting a warm hue across everything it touched. the tranquillity of it all enveloped you, filling your heart with a sense of contentment.

you and coriolanus were close together on an old picnic blanket you had found, not needing any words to communicate as you took in the peacefulness. his presence alone was enough to make you feel safe and at ease.

you watch on as his fingers trail through the grass, stopping when he comes across a dandelion, and plucks it from its root, “it certainly doesn’t compare to the roses grandma’am grows.”

“some people think of them as weeds, but not me. i think they’re beautiful all the same,” you add, bringing a smile to each of your faces, and take the flower from his hands. “in some ways, i feel just like them; a weed in a world where i should be seen as more.”

coriolanus observes you as you take a closer look at the small flower, appreciating its simple beauty. the yellow, though not as vibrant as a rose, held its own charm. you don’t hold it for long before he takes it back, twirling it with his thumb and forefinger. 

he stares at the flower for a moment before reaching to brush the stem behind your ear, his fingers then lingering as he trails them along the line of your jaw, sending a surge of emotions down your spine. you smile at him, it’s all you could do. if you spoke you weren’t sure what jumbled mess was sure to spew out. 

you bring your hand up to meet his, intertwining your fingers as you lean into his touch. his eyes bore into you, taking you in, appreciating your features under the sunlight. 

“look what you’ve done to me,” he whispers, as if it were some unspoken secret. which, in your case, it was. 

intrigued by his statement, you perk up, “and what exactly is it that i’ve done to you, coriolanus snow?” 

you watch him intently as he opens his mouth to speak, a thought lingering in his mind before he stops and lets his head fall between his shoulders instead. his silence is heavy, lingering in the air between you. you can almost feel the weight of the unspoken words pressing against your skin. 

you reach out tentatively, your hand hovering just inches from his, wanting desperately to bridge the distance but afraid of intruding. the two of you have always shared a deep connection, but something feels different today. something is weighing him down, and you yearn to understand. 

as he continues to fiddle absentmindedly with a blade of grass, you can see that his mind is working overtime. thoughts and feelings swirl like a whirlwind, causing his brow to furrow and his grip on the grass to tighten. 

eventually, he looks up, his eyes filled with a mixture of vulnerability and uncertainty. two things coriolanus liked to keep to himself. 

it’s then that you decide to break the silence. “what’s wrong, my love?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “whatever it is, you don’t have to face it alone, you know.”

he looks at you, gratitude mingling with a wisp of fear in his eyes. whatever it was bothering him, you could see that it was taking its toll, and you simply wanted to take him in your arms and kiss it all away, but you knew that that wouldn’t help. 

“i don’t know what i’m doing anymore,” he finally answers. “i feel like i’m losing track of who i am and what i want, what i’ve always wanted, the longer i’m out here.”

“things can change, coriolanus, and you don’t always have to live up to others' expectations of you. especially, your own. so long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters.” his gaze falls from yours once again, but you refuse to let him suffer in silence anymore. so you reach for him, gathering his face between your fingers and pull him back towards you. “is it really such a bad thing? you get to be here with me.”

“that’s exactly the problem,” he admits, and your breath hitches momentarily as you wait for him to elaborate. “you make me feel like i’m losing control.”

for so long coriolanus had been bound by societal expectations and concerned with maintaining a pristine reputation. he had become so accustomed to a life ruled by rigid schedules and strict rules, never allowing himself to deviate from the norm. 

but with you, everything changed. 

you were afraid to ask, but you knew you had to, for your own piece of mind. “is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”

he reaches to touch your face this time, your hands falling from his, and he pulls you closer towards him until your faces were merely a couple inches apart. “i have never felt so free, and yet, so scared in my life.”

“is that a good thing, or a bad thing?” you ask the question a second time, this time with more hesitancy as your voice shakes slightly. 

“it’s the best thing.” tears well up in your eyes as his words sink in. you never imagined that you could have such a profound impact on someone’s life, let alone someone as lost and conflicted as he was. “you’re my wildflower, and while i might not have been looking for you, i certainly found you where i least expected it.”

he smiles, his hands caressing your cheeks, as your heart thrums loudly in your chest, overjoyed and so full of love. leaning forward, you close the space between you, pressing a tender kiss to his lips, so full of passion that it almost envelopes you completely. 

you had brought coriolanus a sense of newfound freedom, showing him the beauty of embracing life’s uncertainties and every unpredictable moment. your spirit was infectious, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to your untamed soul. 

as he fell deeper in love with you, he realised that his heart yearned for the wildness and unpredictability you offered. he saw the vibrant world through your eyes, letting go of his inhibitions and stepping out of his comfort zone. 

you became his wildflower, a symbol of untamed beauty and unapologetic love. 

as you hold each other close, only pulling away to catch your breath, but not daring to pull away too far, coriolanus runs his thumb across your bottom lip. then, with his voice filled with tenderness and newfound appreciation, he whispers, “my wildflower.”

[chosos-mascara]

all my love, suguru

chapter 1

summary: after an unexpected night spent with your close friend, you find yourself pregnant, and unable to tell him so. will you be able to come to terms with this news, or will it destroy the delicate relationship you'd had left?

chapter warnings: pregnancy, mentions of declining mental health (suguru), mentions of unprotected relations...

masterlist

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"She's acting strange, I'm telling you." 

Satoru speaks through the gritted teeth of his smile, waving widely toward you while Shoko sees you out. What had been another work week filled with training and teaching had ended with drinks; this week's rotation leading the four of you to Shoko's apartment. Though of course, much like last week's invitation, you declined, instead choosing to return to your own home with promises of an early night.

Only once you're safely down the corridor, the door firmly closed behind you does Suguru turn his head to reply to his friend. A weight lifts from his shoulders, and he stands a little straighter once he's sure you're not coming back.

"Seems fine to me." He attempts to throw Satoru from the painfully strong scent, forcing a nonchalant demeanour as he takes a sip from his newly opened bottle. There's been an obvious awkwardness and distance wedged between the pair of you and the group, though Suguru couldn't fault you alone - he's equally to blame for this uncomfortable situation.

"For once, I agree." Shoko steps away from the door, shoes kicked to one side to join the other pairs in a messy pile. Although she'd grown comfortable with taking them off on the carpet while seated on the couch, Suguru's constant remarks of her apartment's disorder had gotten to her. Not because she'd cared all too much, but because it was beginning to grate at her; though this new habit did mean she'd had to clean the floors less. But, she wouldn't tell him that. "Something's up with her." Her eyes move from the heap shoes to her friends.

Suguru stalls his reply, taking an unwanted swig of beer while his heart picks up it's pace. He tries to reassure himself that there's no way they could know, that they're just too curious for his liking. It would've been unlikely you would indulge in sharing that sort of information with the others, you'd always been closed off unless it had come to him, and even then, he'd had to push. He's sure he could end this conversation now... he just needed to think of a good enough excuse. 

"Probably just work, right Sugu?" Satoru pats his back a little too hard, turning to follow Shoko into the front room while Suguru lags behind. He's grateful this is coming to a close with little work from himself, and allows himself a moments reprieve.

"I don't think it is." Shoko places the keys on the scuffed coffee table, throwing herself onto the couch. Her own drink sloshes in the bottle with her thoughtless movements, but thankfully not enough to spill over. Her eyes move upward in thought, attempting to make sense of Satoru's initial concerns, linking the possibility of your recent absences to a conversation she'd shared with you a few days prior. 

Shoko considers letting the others know, and although she does stop to consider the effects of sharing what should probably be kept between the pair of you, she decides this is better said than left secret. 

"She asked if we had pregnancy tests in my office the other day." 

Suguru tenses. He can't tell if the others notice every muscle in his body hardening, or his skin growing cold. There's a stagnant air left in place of their reactions and Shoko doesn't look to either party, trying to suppress the simmering guilt she feels for sharing what was probably personal to you.  

"It's probably nothing, though." Shoko affirms herself more than her friends, brown eyes finally flickering up from the coffee table to gauge the damage she'd incurred. She winces at both of her friends' expressions, each of them displaying some depiction of shock with slack jaws and wide eyes. "I mean, she'd have told me if it was positive." 

Satoru moves first, taking a seat beside Shoko on the couch, arm outstretched to rest over the back cushions. Suguru doesn't feel ready to take a seat, his emotional state wavering, but he knows he needs to avoid suspicions from the other two. They'd moved on, he needs to too.

"Yeah." He speaks, an attempt to convince himself that Shoko's statement is true while he sits down in the loveseat in the corner of the room. His eyes scan over various bits of clutter that seem to decorate it; Shoko was rarely home, and rarely cleaned at that. Books are stacked in various piles, a few pieces of stationary here and there, a mess of clothes pushed to one side. 

He tries to focus on his surroundings, but his gaze turns hollow as he's distracted with imaginary scenarios, consequences of an unplanned pregnancy riddled with fear. He couldn't share his inner battle with them, because half of your quartet is blissfully unaware of an evening he'd willed himself to forget. 

But it feel useless when no matter how hard he tries, he can still remember everything.

"Just crash here, it's fine."

Sleeping at Suguru's hadn't been part of your plan, though neither had staying beyond the bounds of Saturday. You look down at your phone, and with the time glaring back to reflect the early hours of Sunday morning, you agree to stay over with some reluctance. Although you'd stayed at Suguru's plenty before, there's still an uncomfortable twist in your stomach when you're sleeping beneath a blanket that smells like his washing, on a couch that smells like him. You're sure this will end as the others always had - with a bad neck and a hangover.

"See you later." Shoko raises a hand while Satoru wraps an arm around her, his much larger frame bending forward to bear his weight onto her smaller one. He smiles wryly, attempting to imitate her good-bye, though voicing only incoherent nonsense. She rolls her eyes, forcing him to take steps toward the door.

Suguru brings through a few blankets, throwing them over the arm of the couch. His hair is free over his shoulders, gentle waves flowing freely instead of tied in their usual bun.  "Need anything else?" Now the others have left his voice feels weaker, and for the first time this evening you focus on his eyes. They look tired, almost downturned, hanging lower than usual with purple blotches under the skin. 

"Could I get some water?" There's some guilt in your heart as you watch him slowly moving toward his kitchen. You're sure he's likely stressed about work, there'd been an influx of curses as of late, and he worried about his student's wellbeing much over his own. 

The TV is on - flickers of light and quiet chatter as some old movie was on, and you take a seat in front of it. It looked to be something to do with war, as uniformed soldiers carrying guns run amok. Suguru returns with your water, placing the glass on a side table next to you. You lift it up, bringing the cool liquid to mouth and taking a few gulps before placing it back over the wet ring that had been left without the use of a coaster. 

He stands beside the couch, eyes locked to the screen, lips rested into a frown. "Suguru." You pat the couch to your right, legs moving to accommodate him beside yourself. At first, you think he isn't going to move, though he eventually begins to plod toward the spot, and the cushions move beneath his weight. 

"Are you okay?" The question leaves your mouth in a hushed tone, a small waver in your voice as you watch his stoic face turn to face yours.  "Hm?" His aloofness concerned you, and with an arm outstretched you place a worried hand over his forehead. It feels warm beneath your fingers, but not enough for him to have a fever. He looks to you in his confusion; you aren't usually so maternal with him, and touch wasn't something you often choose to give. At least, not as of recent. 

He has distanced himself from you, from everyone, as of recent. The sudden closeness between the pair of you felt much more intense given that context, and he realises his breath has caught in his throat. Being a sorcerer was difficult at the best of times, but as of recent it had felt like wading through water each time he would grow closer to the school. He thought he'd kept it under control, but as you inch closer to him, he realises he hasn't. 

Perhaps leaning toward him wasn't the right thing to do, but with your hand on his cheek, you're not able to hold back any longer. 

Smooth lips lock with yours, and your once concerned hand fell mellow against him, slipping back to lace beneath the dark waves of his hair, a gentle tug. There's a subtle taste of whiskey on his lips as you continue to kiss him delicately. The subdued motions are returned, palms finding your hips to move you toward him. You set on your knees, though he tugs more, and you find yourself seated within his lap.

Suddenly, the lull of the television is drowned out by the sound of your own heart racing within your ears, the quiet smacking of lips, the slow breaths from your chest. Everything feels heightened, leaving you with a sense of both belonging and urgency - you want so much more of him. Want overpowers any other logic in your mind, and although you suspect you will come to regret this in the near future, you can't help but entertain the thought of spending more time like this, within his arms. 

Suguru's tongue finds your own in a ploy to deepen this kiss, and you shyly accept. To begin with, the motions are a little sloppy, though you're soon dancing against one another in a languid pace. He raises his tongue and glides against you, and you gracefully repeat the action, growing closer, chest to chest, hands locking one to the other as desperation grows with every drag of his lips over yours. 

When your mouth is left bare, his finds itself at the nape of your neck, open mouthed kisses and nips igniting spark under skin. His fingers tilt your head backward to allow himself more room, and a soft bite at your flesh gives rise to a groan in your throat. His fists tighten over your shirt. 

He tugs at the fabric, palm kneading bare skin before deciding to discard of the garment altogether. Soon enough, there's a trail leading just shy of his bedroom door, and he finds himself asking the question; "Are you sure?" 

You don't allow yourself to think twice, to consider the consequences that may arise from sleeping with a close friend, and ignore the bubbling in your stomach. There's a voice telling you to take it slow, though it is overpowered by want. Years had been spent beside him yearning to be more than just friends - this would prove his loyalty to him, wouldn't it?

"I want you." You feel sure of it, even if there could've been a date first, a confession of longing. If this is the opportune time, then so be it. 

When you wake the next morning, there's an empty space beside you. It makes sense, you're just friends after all, but it still stings all the same. Your skin is bare beneath the blanket, and when you sit up to glance around the room, you notice your clothes folded into a neat pile at the foot of the bed. 

When you're dressed and up Suguru isn't in the apartment, and you realise what this is. He's unhappy, and you were just caught up in his sheets after he'd needed stress relief. 

You don't wait up too long for him because you're sure he doesn't want to see you. In your last moments you look naively for a note he may have left for you, hoping for the promises of breakfast - though of course, there wasn't any. There's no text either, and you're back at work soon enough, trying to ignore the fact he won't even look at you anymore.  

Weeks later, you're teary eyed and looking down at the result you didn't want to see. Of course, you're pregnant.

It's difficult to come to terms with the positive before you. Out of many imagined scenarios you played within your mind since childhood, finding out you were pregnant within the staff toilets of Jujutsu High had been the last of your predictions for what should be a magical moment within your life. 

There were suspicions that led you to this moment, and perhaps you could've done this at home, maybe taken some time to discuss with someone other than your rapidly racing mind, but you simply couldn't take it anymore. Your period was a week late, you felt tired, your stomach weak - it was evident without the test that something was up. The two pink lines had simply confirmed your fears. 

Your fingers shake, eyes welling with tears that you wish wouldn't fall. It wasn't supposed to happen this way, you'd planned on speaking to him about that night, to admit those feelings you ignored for far too long. Before then, there'd been little progression on the budding crush you harboured throughout your adolescence, though now you felt stupid for ever growing close to him.  

There's a few options that cross your mind among picturing yourself telling Suguru the news. You hadn't even built the confidence to tell him your feelings, how would you tell him you were carrying his child?

This was something you were hoping to reserve for a lover, for someone who'd adored every fibre of your being, who would love and support you through the difficulties of carrying and raising a child. As much as it pained you, you weren't that person to Suguru.

Your heart pulses in your chest, and you try to picture a life with him, one the pair of you would make along with a third, though you can't help but remember his lack of passion for you following those moments entwined with him. Because since that night, he'd done nothing to display any form of fondness toward you. 

You would have to deal with this on your own. 

You put the test in your pocket, pulling yourself together and placing your hand on the stall's lock before stepping out into the hall. It's a near silent journey back to your classroom, the sound of your beating heart and uneven breaths your only soundtrack, a whirring in your head that you don't seem to notice until you're at your desk, putting the test into the opening of your bag.

"You're still here?" Satoru's voice causes your body to jolt, eyes wide as you glance to your classroom door. His arm rests at the frame, head cocked to one side. You wonder if he'd seen anything, though you're sure he would've reacted by now, so you stay quiet. "Are you drinking with us tonight?" There's a smile on his face, one that hasn't changed through the years you'd known him and it takes you back to the innocence of your junior years, before any of you had really harnessed the power of the cursed energy that resides inside you.

You think of the child you hold, of their energy. Would they take after you, or their father?

"No," You clear your throat. "I've got a bunch of paperwork to fill out." It's a lie, but you sell it well with an open gesture to a pile of paper next to you. It's mostly student reports and letters, but you rely on the fact he won't notice. "Eesh." He sighs exuberantly, exaggerating his expression with bared teeth. "Sucks to be you!" His exclaim is followed by a creek of wood as pushes himself from the frame, turning. "See you tomorrow."

You sigh with relief, though it's only temporary - you have a lot to think about. 

tags - @animeisforkings @emikisses @boredwithwrath @karazorel7 @tomiokasecretlover

please let me know if you would like to join the taglist. please note, i will not add blank blogs. please show your support through reblogging.

[ginnsbaker]

Bulletproof

Summary: You're the only Avenger who sleeps in a cell. | Series Masterlist

Word count: 2.9k+ | Tags: Mild Angst, Fluff, Sharing A Bed, Enemies to Lovers

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Gender Neutral Reader

Requested by anon:

could i maybe request wanda x r where the whole team kinda mistreats them and wanda is especially bad. & r saving wanda on a mission, with this: wanda: “How'd you know you were bulletproof?" r: "I didn't. I just knew that you weren't."

Author's note: Thank you to the anon who requested this :) Not sure if this is exactly how you wanted it, but I had fun writing the battle (my first time!) Hope you don't mind I took some liberties ;) Takes place before Civil War.

--

“You don’t have to be so mean to them,” Natasha tells her. 

Wanda's eyes narrow as she continues to fixate on you, her glare seemingly willing the daggers to find their mark. You can sense the energy of her powers tingling in the air, but she maintains control, stopping the daggers just short of their target.

“They need to know what they’re up against,” Wanda retorts, her accent slipping through in a rare moment. “If they’re going to be one of us, they have to prove themselves.”

Natasha moves to stand between you and Wanda, her body language calm but assertive. “They will, in time. But not like this.”

You can feel your heart pounding, but you refuse to let Wanda see any fear in your eyes. Your choice to leave your former life and join this team wasn't made lightly, and you won't be intimidated.

“I'm right here,” you say, stepping forward. “And I'm not going anywhere. If you want to test me, do it properly.”

Wanda smirks, and the daggers drop to the floor, clattering loudly in the silence. “Impressive,” she says, almost as an afterthought.

Steve Rogers, observing from the sidelines, steps in to defuse the situation. His authoritative presence commands respect, and his voice is steady and even. “That's enough for today. We're a team, and we need to start acting like one.”

He looks at you, his eyes filled with understanding but also a hint of caution. “However,” he continues, his tone shifting, “You'll still be sleeping in the cells.”

Your heart plummets, each word from Steve feeling like a blade to your chest. Being sent back to that room, devoid of windows, with only a tiny bed and a comforter too thin to ward off the chill, feels like a betrayal every time. You've spent nights there, shivering and reflecting on your decision to join this team, yet still, you find yourself confined.

“After several months of captivity, even cooking your dinner, you still don't trust me?” you ask, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice.

Steve's expression softens, but his resolve remains firm. “It's not about trust,” he says quietly, his voice carrying a weight of experience and pain. “We've been crossed so many times before, mostly by former HYDRA agents.”

Like you, he doesn’t need to say.

You understand the logic, but it doesn't make the reality any easier to swallow. The sense of being an outsider, the cold isolation of the cells—it wears on you.

Wanda, who had been silent up to this point, suddenly speaks up. “Maybe you should just leave then. If it's so unbearable, why stay?”

The room goes quiet. 

A thousand retorts spring to your mind, but you swallow them down, unwilling to escalate the situation further. The temptation to throw back that it's rich coming from her, considering she's also a former footsoldier of HYDRA, is strong, but you bite your tongue. 

You look at her, stunned by the bluntness of her suggestion, but also recognizing the challenge in her eyes. 

Her words strike deeper than she may realize. Leaving isn't an option you've entertained, mainly because there's nowhere for you to go. No one left in your life to turn to. This makeshift “family” despite their reservation and distance, is all you have.

-

The days that follow are marked by a subtle but relentless isolation. 

In the training room, Wanda's partnership becomes more aggressive than usual. Her powers lash out without warning, her critiques sharp and cutting. You hold your own, but the lack of camaraderie is palpable. Each comment she makes stings, and with every barb, you feel more and more alone.

At meal times, the rest of the Avengers seem to be in their own world, deep in conversation, sharing stories, laughing. You sit at the end of the table, your presence barely acknowledged, a shadow among them. Your attempts to join in are met with curt replies or indifference. You try to brush it off, believing that you should be used to rejection by now. But no matter how much you tell yourself that you're accustomed to it, that you've developed a thick skin, the pain is still there, raw and fresh.

Mission briefings are no better. Your opinions and insights are consistently overlooked. You contribute where you can, but your ideas are dismissed without consideration. You are a tool, a means to an end, not a part of the team. The realization gnaws at you, festering in the pit of your stomach.

Casual encounters with the team become equally disheartening. Tony passes you in the hallway without so much as a glance. Natasha avoids eye contact. Bruce mumbles something noncommittal when you try to engage him in conversation. Steve's assignments are devoid of the warmth or encouragement he shows to everyone else.

Your cell becomes a constant reminder of your status, metaphor for how the entire team treats you. 

You’re both just a weapon and a first-aid kit at their disposal.

Wanda is relentless, her words sharp and her gaze cold. You have no idea why she treats you worse than any of them, why her manner towards you has turned so hostile. You don't understand why you get under her skin without even trying, why she seems to target you with a venom that feels deeply personal.

You were expecting that Wanda would be the one to understand what it feels like to be an outsider, given that you both share a common history as former HYDRA agents. 

As the days turn into weeks, the isolation wears you down. The walls of your cell seem to close in, and a growing determination to prove yourself begins to take hold. 

You'll show them all that you're more than just a disposable weapon.

But underlying that determination is a gnawing doubt, a fear that no matter what you do, it will never be enough to earn their respect, their trust, or their friendship. It's a lonely road, and for the first time, you begin to wonder if Wanda's earlier suggestion might hold some truth.

Perhaps it would be easier to leave.

-

It’s not like you know the extent of your abilities, but they bring you along the most dangerous missions for one thing:

Your healing ability.

On top of your martial arts training, you provide a sense of security to your teammates, knowing that you'll be there to heal them if they get hurt.

Now, you find yourself on one such mission, infiltrating a den of underground supers. These aren't ordinary criminals; they're mercenaries hired to carry out the dirty work of high-ranking government officials. It's a treacherous job, one filled with unknown risks, and you've been paired with Wanda for the operation.

As you and Wanda are attempting to escape, things take a turn for the worse. You find yourselves cornered in an alley, your escape route cut off by a group of armed thugs and a few individuals displaying unnerving superpowers.

Wanda takes on those with special abilities, her eyes glowing red as she unleashes her powers in a flurry of attacks. You, on the other hand, focus on the armed assailants, wielding two-handed pistols with expert precision. Bullets fly, and bodies fall as you both fight for your lives.

But in the midst of the chaos, you notice something that sends a chill down your spine. Snipers, perched on a nearby rooftop, taking aim at Wanda. Even with your healing abilities, you know that a precise shot to the head would be fatal.

“Wanda, get down!” you shout, but she's too engrossed in her battle to hear you. Your mind races, knowing that you have only seconds to act. 

Without a second thought, you turn and run towards Wanda, your body moving on pure instinct. Bullets whiz by your ear, but you keep going, your focus solely on reaching her before it's too late.

You leap into the air, positioning yourself between Wanda and the snipers just as they pull the trigger. 

You hear the distant release of the bullet, muted but deadly.

The world seems to slow down as you brace for the impact, only to feel the bullets bounce off your skin.

You land, unscathed, your mind reeling from the realization that you're bulletproof. But there's no time to dwell on it.

Wanda looks at you, her eyes wide with shock but also gratitude. “How did you–”

“No time!” you cut her off, urging her to keep fighting. “We have to get out of here!”

Wanda's eyes flare with a vivid scarlet as she zeroes in on the snipers in the vicinity. With a flourish of her hands, she uses her powers to locate each of their positions. A pulse of energy emanates from her fingertips, reaching out to the snipers' weapons, and within moments, the firearms disintegrate into dust, leaving the men defenseless.

Seeing an opening, you reach for Wanda's arm, your grip firm but not rough. There's no time to waste, and you start pulling her towards the exit, half running, half dragging her to safety. Her breath is warm on your neck, her body close to yours, as you weave through the maze of alleyways, your heart pounding in your chest.

Once you're at a safe distance, Wanda turns to you. “How'd you know you were bulletproof?”

“I didn't,” you admit, still in disbelief, and much to Wanda’s horror that you almost got yourself killed for her sake. “I just knew you weren't. And if those bullets got to you, I wouldn't be able to heal someone who's already dead.”

Wanda stares at you, her eyes searching your face as if she's trying to see something… deeper. Her lips part, like she wants to say something more, something that's just on the tip of her tongue but won't come out.

That's when you realize that you're still holding her arm, your bodies so close that you can feel her heartbeat. A flush of embarrassment washes over you as you become aware of the intimate proximity. Wanda clears her throat, a delicate, almost shy sound, and you immediately let go of her arm.

The silence that follows your sudden step back is heavy and awkward. You can't help but glance at the spot where your hand had been moments ago, still feeling the ghostly sensation of her arm beneath your fingers.

You look at Wanda, and she's looking back at you, her eyes wide and filled with something you can't quite name. 

And then, without warning, Wanda starts to laugh.

It's a soft, bubbling sound at first, almost as if she's surprised by it herself. Her laughter grows, becoming louder and more contagious, and you can't help but stare at her, your mouth agape, wondering if she's lost her mind.

“What's so funny?” you finally manage to ask.

Wanda wipes a tear from her eye, still chuckling. “I was just thinking,” she says, her nose scrunching, something you haven’t seen on her and you find it quite… adorable. “You're like a shield now. As effective as Steve's vibranium one, maybe even more so.”

The absurdity of the statement causes you to finally join in her laugh, and your heart seems to flutter at the sound of Wanda's glee.

“I don't know about that,” you say, trying to sound modest but unable to keep the smile off your face. “Steve's shield has a bit more style.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Wanda teases, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “There's something quite stylish about being bulletproof. And practical too.”

Was that a compliment?

You shake your head, still smiling, your previous awkwardness forgotten. You're not only pleased at the first light banter you've shared with a teammate but also smiling at something else, something that stirs deep inside you and that you're not quite ready to confront.

Your crush on Wanda Maximoff.

-

The toll of the day's event is weighing down on you and Wanda, but like every mission, you're required to report the details of the mission–successful or not. Your muscles are sore, your mind is weary, but the mission was a success, and you can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment.

Arriving back at the Avengers compound, you follow Wanda into the debriefing room where Steve is waiting. Wanda explains what happened, how you discovered your newfound ability, and saved her life. Her voice is filled with respect and something more, something warmer, as she recounts your bravery.

Steve's face lights up with pride. “You both did well today. I'm proud of how you handled yourselves out there.”

You exchange a glance with Wanda, waiting for something more, perhaps some acknowledgment of your change in status within the team, or even an upgrade to your sleeping quarters. But instead, Steve simply nods, his face turning serious. “Dismissed.”

Wanda's face falls, and you feel a sharp pang of disappointment. You start to retreat towards your cell, the cold, windowless room that's been your home for months, but Wanda's voice stops you in your tracks.

“Wait a minute, Steve,” she protests. “After all that's happened, after all Y/N has done for us, don't you think it's time for a change? A real room, perhaps?”

Steve looks between you and Wanda. You hold your breath, hoping for a reprieve from the isolation you've been feeling.

Finally, Steve sighs, his face softening. “Wanda, if it were up to me, Y/N would have their own room already. But it's not that simple,” he explains, his voice strained. “I still need to place an official request with Tony. He's the one who approves these things.”

You can hear the frustration in Steve's voice, and you realize that he's fighting for you, in his own way.

“Fine,” Wanda says, crossing her arms. “But this needs to be done quickly, Steve. It's not right.”

“I agree. I'll talk to Tony first thing tomorrow.”

As you turn to leave and retreat back to your cell, Wanda's hand on your arm stops you, and you look back at her, surprised by the action.

“Come with me,” she says. Without another word, she leads you towards her quarters. 

Your heart quickens at her words, and you follow her, trying to process what's happening. 

Is she really inviting you to stay in her room?

Once inside her quarters, the reality of the situation sinks in, and a nervous tension takes hold. Her room is filled with personal touches–little trinkets, photographs, her clothes all over the place–that provide glimpses into a life you've only seen from a distance. You feel like an intruder, momentarily paralyzed as you take in the intimacy of her space.

Wanda seems to pick up on your hesitation, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. A smirk plays on her lips as she teases, “Don't look so terrified. I won't bite.”

You chuckle at her remark. “Well, that's a relief.”

Wanda's eyes sparkle with amusement, and she moves further into the room, gesturing for you to follow. “Make yourself at home,” she says. She then goes to the closet and begins to pull out a spare pillow and blanket. “You'll be staying here with me until we sort out a room for you,” she says.

“Thanks, Wanda,” you say softly.

Without further comment, you move to make your bed on the floor, your movements deliberate and slow as you try to give her space and respect her privacy.

“What are you doing?” Wanda asks, her eyes widening as she realizes your intention.

“I'm just getting ready to sleep,” you explain, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I'm quite tired.”

“No, what are you doing on the floor?” she clarifies, a hint of disbelief in her voice. “You're sharing the bed with me.”

“I wouldn't want to impose,” you say, though the offer is tempting.

“You're not imposing,” Wanda assures you, her eyes sincere. “You've earned a proper bed, and I trust you.”

The word 'trust' hits you like a wave, and you feel tears pricking at the back of your eyes. 

Blinking them back, your voice cracks a little as you reply, “Thank you, Wanda. That means more to me than you know.”

“Good night, Y/N,” Wanda whispers, turning on her side to face you.

“Good night, Wanda,” you say, just as softly.

You both settle on the bed, and with a flick of her wrist, Wanda uses her powers to switch off the light.

The softness of Wanda's bed is worlds away from the harsh, unforgiving mattress in your cell. You find yourself sinking into the plush comfort, every muscle in your body releasing the tension from the dangerous mission earlier. The scent of Wanda on the pillows only adds to the incomparable comfort they provide. The difference is staggering, and it contributes to you falling asleep much more quickly than you have in a long time.

In the middle of the night, you're stirred awake by the feeling of Wanda rolling closer to you. Her arm finds its way over your stomach, and her soft snores fill the room. Being ever alert, the small action wakes you, but as soon as you realize it's just Wanda, a smile forms on your face.

You lie there for a moment, taking in the warmth and the gentle pressure of her hand. A soft blush creeps up your cheeks as you place your hand over hers to keep it there.

You've become more than just teammates.

You've become friends.

And maybe, just maybe, something more.

[sheepispink]

The Perfect Pair

WC: 7.6k Tags: fluff, marriage of convenience, leon kennedy/ reader

Summary: Leon can barely hold himself upright most days and you've finally decided to ditch the DSO life in pursuit of happiness. However, that'd mean leaving all those beautiful tax benefits and medical insurance behind. Turns out Leon and Chris are pretty persuasive, landing you as Leon's 'wife' but you cant help but start to feel something more, unaware that Leon's already set his eyes on you for life.

It’d been a long day at work, the usual really— Chris had roped him into dealing with another bioweapon appearance, thus leading him to take a helicopter to some trashy place, locating the bioweapon, and promptly knocking its freaky nature out of action. Now he lugged his weary feet home to the apartment you shared, his stomach craving a taste of something only your skilled hands would prepare for him. After a short elevator trip that thankfully alleviated the ache of his feet for a moment, he reached the front door and, with a quick fumble with the keys he had inserted the right one inside, opening the door.

“I’m home.” He calls out, his raspy voice filling the silent yet serene space before him. He somehow grew used to this; the sight of two sets of keys on the hook, the vast difference in style as he places his shoes on the rack, and the two coats on the bannister, one far smaller than the other. “Smells good..” He mumbles beneath his breath, making his way towards the kitchen where you stand, back facing him as you work your hands through a ball of minced meat.

“Welcome home.” You turn to meet his hungry gaze with your typical warm smile, heart warming at the exhausted look on his face and even more so that he’d soon find relief in the food you had made.

“You’re lucky, we had just enough mince meat in the freezer for your favourite beef burgers.” That was a lie. You had woken up early this morning and decided he had looked far too tired recently, and it’d been far too long since he’d had his favourite meal. So, as any good wife does, you wanted to make him feel better and took to the nearest supermarket, picking up all the ingredients you needed and some for a tasty dessert too. He always denied that he enjoyed sweet treats, but he would always be the first to finish them, whether it was a sweet chocolate mousse or a tasty doughnut you picked up on the way home.

He chuckles, his hand disappearing into his work jacket as he slips off the leather and lays it on the back of a wooden chair. It then migrates to his collar, tugging on it to alleviate the heat through his body, which is proven by the thin layer of sweat covering his limbs.

“Oh? Thanks, I was sure you finished it last week when you gave Kitty a gourmet meal for once.”

This home wouldn’t be complete without its resident cat, a Siamese fur ball that Leon graciously named ‘Kitty’ though he has no doubt referred to it with a million different names anyway.

“I guess I must've missed a bit. I really treated her for nothing.” While he was smirking, your mind was far from the lightheartedness of this conversation, currently panicking over his words. He had seriously caught you out there; of course you finished the mince, last week but was he actually accusing you of lying or worse—did he know? As you let out an awkward chuckle, he speaks up again, undoing his belt with one hand as his other grabs a glass from the shelf to fill with water. “I’m not complaining though; they really are my favourites for a reason.” He drinks down the glass of water in one swig, letting out a satisfied breath before rolling his shoulders back. “I’m gonna take a quick shower—I don't want to drown your nose with my sweat.” He chuckles again, finally leaving you alone in the kitchen again as he takes his path up the stairs to your shared bedroom.

To say your relationship with him was complicated was a massive understatement; it was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, feelings that felt illicit, and signals that were impossible to decipher. Well, for you it felt like this—you’re not so sure about him. In fact, for someone who sleeps beside him nearly everyday, cooks him meals, eats dinner with him, and even drops off his lunch, you barely knew anything about the man.

This all began when you decided to quit the DSO, finally having enough money to move to a more peaceful job with flexible hours and still end up supporting yourself. You had only worked in communications at the DSO, but that was still a pain in itself. Before you left, they had an informal work dinner. A bunch of agents and other workers came along to a diner for some food before heading to mess around at a karaoke place before the weekend hit. With so many people around, it grew far too hot too quickly, and you soon wandered the halls seeking a breath of fresh air before you heard your name called by an agent. The voice belonged to Chris Redfield–your superior—who was beckoning you to come over, cigarette in hand, to where he stood with Leon right beside him. They were both your superiors in the work field but were perceived as far more important due to the missions they accomplished and lives they saved.

“Yes..?”

You were more confused than scared or anything of the like—why did they even want to talk to you? It’s not like you often saw them. Even so, you walked over to them, trying to reduce the awkwardness when you slipped your hands into the pockets of your jacket, tilting your head slightly.

“You’re gonna leave soon, right?” Leon asks, taking a swig of the golden whisky in his glass whilst Chris blows another puff of smoke off to the side.

“Yeah, I wanted to move onto a different job, a quieter one that isn't so taxing.” You shrug, having only thought out a bit of it so far.

Chris and Leon shared a glance at each other before Leon spoke once more, rolling back his shoulders a little. “You see, I have a bit of a predicament, and Chris thought you could help.”

Before you know it, he’s explaining how busy his work is and that he barely gets home in time for a sip of water before he knocks out, and you’re not really sure how this is your problem until Chris butts in.

“So basically, he needs a wife. You, on the other hand, won't have any of the perks of the DSO since you’re leaving, which includes medical insurance, tax benefits..” He trailed off as you started to ponder it, you really would lose a lot of the things you had grown to exist around. It would be very difficult to manage, and you can't say you’d miss a lot of those perks greatly. The two men give each other a glance as you speak up, nodding along. “You’re right, I will miss out a lot, but I really don't want to stay here longer..” Before Leon can even try and slide it in, Chris has already blurted it out.

“Well, you won't lose anything if you marry him.”

So, after a bunch of awkward talks and surviving interrogations from your coworkers, you ended up with a small wedding, which was mainly done to please your own parents rather than yourselves. Now you’re here, almost a year into this non formal contractual marriage, and your feelings are muddled. Very muddled. It’s hard to not catch feelings when you’re somewhat of a hopeless romantic yourself, or maybe the teenage girl mentality came back full force now you have a lot more free time. You owed him a fair amount to be fair—he didn’t realise how stress-free your life was these days. Wake up, eat a healthy breakfast, maybe watch some television too, head down to the small little bakery you own and teach the part time teenager there before wrapping up at four o'clock and heading home again. Your skin had cleared up, you were actually able to sleep in on the weekends and actually do whatever you want— pick up new hobbies, eat proper meals, and read books to your heart's content.

What you’ve concluded is that your life has drastically improved and you are more relaxed than you’ve ever been. The problem with that is that with the new addition of all this free time and air to breathe in, you’re able to actually think about the man you’ve married. In simpler terms that you tried to deny for a year now, you’ve caught feelings—a lot of feelings for him. That’s why you’re currently stuck in a conundrum; you’re technically allowed to pursue said feelings, as you’re married and no longer ‘colleagues’ needing to act professionally, but does he want the same?

The pan starts to sizzle, snapping you out of your daydreaming as you place the flattened patty into the oil, lightly frying each side. Being his wife meant looking after him as much as he did to you, so cooking was often your chore to handle. Even though you were more than happy to do most of the chores, he’d still help with the dishes after dinner and often cooked when he could—when he was exhausted from another mission. Plus, he did his own laundry. He would’ve done yours too, though after the first time he tried, your cheeks had flushed immediately when he handed you a pile of your freshly washed underwear and t-shirts, and you quickly told him you’d do your own.

The staircase groans as he steps down the stairs, his movements a lot slower now that he had let the tension ease from his muscles in the shower. So far, you’ve managed to cook four patties, which was more than enough to satisfy his stomach and yours. But you had an extra two for his lunch tomorrow and because he tended to have a third burger “just because it’d be a shame to let it go to waste.That’s when you hear him curse softly under his breath, turning back to glance at him in confusion. “What’s wrong?” His hair is damp, still dripping with water onto the white tee he wears. It’s loose and the one you bought him last month when you went on a shopping spree. You try to ignore the way your eyes naturally drift towards his chest; a small sliver of his pale skin peeks out where his hand disappears under his shirt, rubbing his abdomen in a strange way. “Did you get hurt?” You continue, turning down the heat on the hob so you can turn to face him better.

“Oh? This?”

He lifts the shirt a little, revealing the bruise on his right side of his stomach, and also gives you a perfect view of his toned abs. Damn. “It’s not as bad as it looks..” He mumbles, but his eyebrows are still knitted in a frowning gesture. “I’m annoyed because I missed an opportunity..”

That makes you blink, wondering what he could’ve missed in the time he went for his shower and came back here. Did he get a phone call? Or perhaps something happened this week you hadn't picked up on?

“An opportunity?”

“Yeah. I completely missed the chance to ask you, ‘What's cookin, Good Lookin?’. Damnit..”

Did the corniest line to ever exist really just make your chest tighten for a second?

You can’t deny the fact that the line itself had made your lips part as you stood there dumbfounded. Leon had a history with corny one-liners; in fact, whenever his colleagues happened to see you, they’d always mention whatever stupid thing he said during a mission. He’d say it to you occasionally too, usually random puns that he’d quietly snicker about, but he’d never quite openly flirt with you like that. Was it supposed to be a joke? Was it real? You couldn't tell, and so you quickly turned back around before your patties ended up burnt.

“O-of course only you would worry more about that than your own injuries.” His snickering is obvious behind you as you place the cooked patties onto a small plate. “Stop pestering me and go sit down at the table.” You feign annoyance, grumbling as you hide the furious flush of pink upon your cheeks. Unfortunately for you, he didn’t intend to give up that easily, walking up behind you and peering over your shoulder with his hands planted on the counter on either side of your waist.

“That was a good one, c’mon.” He argues, the most exaggerated pout on his face quickly disappearing when he watches the burgers sizzle in the pan. He loves your food so damn much.

“That was not a good one, shoo.”

Thankfully, he ends up leaving you alone in favour of Kitty, who had just woken up from her nap— eager to play with him even if it just means chasing after a wrapper he had thrown across the room. You place down two plates at the table, as per usual, along with a plate full of salad, a bowl of fresh chips you fried, and the small plate of patties— six to be exact. Then, you place down the two fancy glasses you bought last week and grab your usual favourite canned drink while grabbing a Coke Zero for him. Finally, you place Kitty’s dinner on the floor which she runs over for, immediately gobbling up the food. “She’s just like you.” You giggle, watching as she hungrily wolfs down the food, thus making him groan in return. “I do not eat like that.”

Dinner is the same. You’ll ask about his day in which he usually retorts in grunts and moans about the government, incompetent workers, and that woman.. Ada. Just the mention of her name used to make him go quiet back when you worked at the DSO, and even in the first few months of your “marriage”, he would shrug off the subject quickly. Now he talks about it here and there, mentioning how she suddenly appears and always seems to know his location. For some reason, it puts a sick feeling in your stomach, like someone is dragging their nails across the flesh of your insides.

“Ada.. was there. Ever since I saved the president’s daughter, it’s like she’s followed me everywhere. She helps me.. but then she claims to not care..?”

His words stopped registering in your mind after a while as your teeth grit against each other and you absentmindedly dipped your chip into ketchup over and over again. You can’t believe he could be so naive. She had played him once in Raccoon City, faking her identity and using him to her advantage. The same played out in Spain even if she ‘saved’ him. You didn't care about her damn motives; she worked for the enemy, and it irked you—she just used whatever she could to gain her benefit, and it seemed like no one could stop her.

“Earth to my beautiful wife, hello?” He waved his hand in front of your furrowed eyebrows and the obvious scowl upon your face. “You look like you just ate something you find disgusting. I thought you liked this too.”

You immediately realise you had zoned out, your face shifting to something sheepish before you finally stick the ketchup-soaked chip into your mouth. You didn't even get a chance to process what he just called you.

“No, it’s not the food; I was just thinking. Sorry, it’s nothing.”

That only serves to make him all the more curious, though he doesn't push it, instead continuing his story. “Where was I? Oh, right, then Ada shot—” He cuts himself off as your eyes immediately narrow, and you lower your head, picking with your food again subconsciously. It doesn’t take much to piece the clues together, his lips twitching upwards as a smile threatens to spread. Though he wants to test his suspicions one more time.

“Wanna hear something crazy? Ada tried to kiss me again.”

“What?!” You immediately sit up straight, the scowl returning just as fast and teeth grit, but it quickly softens when you see the smirk on his face.

“I knew it. You hate her, don’t you?” Leon always saw right through you, thankfully not with your growing feelings yet, and it made it all the harder to keep his marriage… Well, just as a contract.

“Fine, maybe I don’t like her. So what? She’s not exactly the most moral person.” You say, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly as you take a bite out of your burger and chew it down. “She helps Umbrella, can you really blame me?” That only makes his lips twitch again, and he leans his elbows on the table, eyes trained on every feature of your face.

“Are you jealous of her?” That almost makes you choke on the burger, and you have to take a large gulp of your drink to swallow down the rest of the food, your face immediately pinkening. It can’t be possible—there’s no way you’re jealous of that cunning, manipulative, hot, extremely hot woman. How did she even look that good?

“Ha— she should be jealous of me.” You scoff boldly, finishing the last of your burger soon after.

“Oh, and why’s that? Because you’re the one wedded to me?

A moment earlier, your heart would’ve described his face as a perfectly carved sculpture, the ones that people bid thousands to place in their homes because not showing off such a perfect creation would be a crime. Right now, he wore a sly grin with his eyebrows raised as he eyed you suggestively.

And that look was very punchable.

“Because I'm living the dream. I’ve got a bakery, a ton of free time, and I guess you’re there too, I suppose.”

With a roll of your eyes, you dismiss his words quickly, even though the faintest blush on your cheeks betrays your true thoughts. What if you said yes? What happens then?

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t give me that satisfaction.” He feigns a pout before his grin returns as he takes a massive bite into his second burger of the night. Of course, he just has to make an exaggerated moan, one elbow leaning on the table as the other covers his face dramatically.

“This is heavenly, you know? One day I swear I'll start dreaming about these burgers.”

There he goes again, babbling on about Lord knows what and his corny lines again. You can't help but flash a small cheeky smile, winking as you pour yourself a glass of water from the pitcher.

“Another reason for her to be jealous of me.”

Once the dinner has been packed away by his speedy hands, he’s returned to make the couch his home again, stretching his whole body against the length of it like a cat would. You’re placing the dishes into your dishwasher before inserting a tablet and putting it on for three hours. As you walk over to wipe down the table, you notice his eyes have fluttered close as he groans and gets comfortable on the cushions. You can't say you didn't feel a tinge of affection—well, much more than that, like a heap almost—every time he crashed out like this, completely exhausted from a mission. “Weekend tomorrow..” You remind him with a gentle hum, swiftly removing any stray stains off the table. “Don’t you want to have a good sleep, y'know, in bed?”

He lets out a muffled grumble in response, burying his face into the cushions before he reluctantly sits up, making you smile a little more—you’d scold him regularly about lying down after eating. “What movie d’ya wanna watch?” He says even if he would usually wander his way to the bedroom after you said that. It’s been at least a month since you had been together like this to watch a movie. A lot had changed in that month, specifically your growing feelings for him. Perhaps distance really does bring fondness, you think.

“I don’t mind; you like action, no?” You finish wiping down the dirt from dinner to glance over whatever he’s doing on the television, only to find him flicking through your favourite genre of movies. Shoving down the warmth on your cheeks is near impossible as you speed walk back to the kitchen. Were these signs? Were you reading too much into it? Your teeth graze against each other nervously as you look up to see him waiting expectantly on the couch for you to join him. What the hell is happening right now? He had always gone to bed immediately or scrolled through his phone for a while— so what’s with the sudden change?

Moments later you’re sitting beside him on the couch, knees tucked to your chest as he presses play on the movie he picked—the one you had mentioned you wanted to watch when it first got announced that it was in production. Despite your excitement, you could hardly concentrate on the movie when he was practically centimetres from you. He was leaning back against the cushions, one arm resting around the back of the couch where you sat and the other comfortably against the armrest. If you had just moved your head back slightly, you would brush against his arm. If you did that, would he wrap it around your shoulders? Just the thought makes you shudder a little, your chin moving forward to sit comfortably on your knees. It was like you were a teenage girl again, sitting in the movies with your crush while you wondered if he thought of you as a friend or something more. You couldn't even believe you were acting like this—hell the two of you were married legally, not to mention you were both grown adults! Who cares if he had just stretched out his arms, his shirt riding up, and you could see the scars on his stomach? Your breath hitching when he had shuffled up to you was completely unnecessary; the warmth radiating off of him was irrelevant, no matter if the characters were kissing on the screen right now. You practically jump when he pokes your shoulder with his hand, your head snapping to him instantly, and you can barely even form a noise when you see how close his face is to yours. His eyes had to be one of your favourite things about him, or was it the messy mop of dirty blond hair on his head? It could even be the sharpness of his jawline, the lines of wear beneath his eyes, how perfectly his nose seemed to be carved, or perhaps, crazily enough, the way his voice rang out in your ears in the mornings.

“Do we have any dessert? I’m craving something sweet.”

Every step back into the kitchen is like torture from how hot your cheeks are, the cold fridge air doing nothing to soothe the embarrassment as you grab the microwave puddings you had bought today. You can't believe you had been so flustered by the proximity that all that had escaped you was a strangled noise before you just hurriedly nodded and escaped to the kitchen. Those five seconds between the poke and his words felt like a millennia— an incredibly romantically tense millennia— where for those whole five seconds, you stupidly thought he’d kiss you right then and there. You fan yourself as if that’ll soothe the metaphoric rush of warmth in your face right now, incredibly embarrassed by your own thoughts and desires. When you sit back down again, you quickly hand him the hot pudding and sit further away from him this time. If you even felt that again, you felt like you’d simply explode altogether.

Unbeknownst to you, he was now wondering if you were annoyed that he had interrupted, and he frowned as he glanced down at the plate with just a singular spoon. Weren’t you going to eat too? Not to mention, you were all stiff and sitting further from him than before—now you’re really twisting the knife in his heart. First he had agitated you by teasing you about Ada, then he laid on the couch right after dinner like you always told him not to do, and now you even refused to eat dessert! Maybe he isn't putting enough effort into all of this as he originally thought. After all, you did a lot to run a bakery in town and still cook, clean, and look after his cat. So, he decides to take a shot and scoops up a particularly chocolatey part of the pudding, the part he always eats first, and holds the spoon up to your lips.

“I know you’re mad, but you can't deny this.” He plasters his typical boyish grin, nudging your lips with the metal of the spoon. But he’s caught off guard when you pull back in surprise, waving your hands around frantically in denial. “H-huh? I ate a lot of sweet things today already—”

“Shut up. Don’t you dare even say you’re on a diet either; you’re perfect already.”

He pushes the spoon against your lips which you accidentally part in surprise at his words, the warm chocolate filling your mouth immediately like an instant boost of serotonin.

“See, it's good, told ya.” He says smugly as you swallow down the tasty pudding and sauce. That’s only for a moment before he notices the smudge of chocolate around your lips from his struggle, casually wiping away the crumbs with his thumb before licking it.

He had just wiped the crumbs.

He wiped it from your lips.

He wiped it and then licked it off his hand.

He didn't even think twice.

“I-its not bad-” That was all you could mutter out before he committed the crime, and now you were left dumbstruck as you watched him casually lick his thumb and then take another spoon of the dessert—the same spoon you just ate from. He leans back against the couch again, about to shove another in your mouth once he gets comfortable enough, though he quickly realises that you still haven’t spoken since. “You can’t still be mad; I’ll shove another one in your mouth, you know—” At that, you know you’re sure to blurt out the truth, and you scramble up, about to make an excuse about needing a glass of water, before your wrist is caught in his hand, and you’re promptly pulled back against the couch again.

“Hm? Where are you going, pink cheeks?”

He says it teasingly, instantly making you flush all the more. You couldn’t understand how anyone could even be so casual about these things, not that you had little experience in the area, but seriously— he had literally just licked the chocolate on your face. That was an indirect kiss!

“Do you do this with all your friends?” The frown on your face is suddenly a little harsher, accusing, and suddenly there's a hint of betrayal. That only serves to confuse him more, you’ve been acting off for a while now, had he cheated in his sleep or something? “What? You’re not my friend, though? That's not comparable.”

He doesn't even see you as a friend? You can't help the way your heart drops in a way you’ve never felt before in your life; it almost hurts the way he can just so easily dismiss you after all the time you’ve spent together—contractual or not. “I- I see how it is..”

“See how what is? You’re not making much sense.” His eyes narrow as you suddenly turn your head away from him, arms crossing firmly on your chest, but what doesn’t escape him is the sudden daze in your eyes. Gently, his hand grabs your chin, squashing your cheeks as he forces you to face him, and his mind instantly clicks all the pieces together.

“.. (Name).” He says firmly, making you let out a small hum in acknowledgement, unaware of the way your eyes are suddenly a lot wetter than they had been before.

“What did you drink earlier?”

“What? All I drank was water, mostly.”

“What about when I told you about Ada, was that water?” Your eyebrows furrow as you hear him repeat her name again, immediately growing more frustrated. “What about her now?”

He lets out a heavy sigh, wrapping a firm arm around your shoulders before he forces you to settle against the couch against him. “You drank some of my drink, didn't you? You were way too annoyed to even notice the whiskey I mixed in.”

The thought immediately clicks into your head; everything is suddenly a lot clearer now, even though you still weren't quite sober yet. Plus, you were pretty much a lightweight when it came to his strong stuff. It perfectly explained the warmth spreading through your chest, the uncoordinated actions, and the way nothing seemed to follow the way your head wanted it to. “S-still, you said I’m not even your friend.” Gently, his thumb rubs the tears that have formed in your eyes and tucks you close into him with his arm snugly around you. Just in case you decide to face plant off the couch as you seemed to want to do before. “You’re not my friend; you’re my wife. Who else would I treat like that?”

“I’m not your real wife though.” You slowly look up at him, turning your head, so your glossy eyes can stare up into his, searching for the right answer— the truth.

“Those papers seem pretty real to me. The way I feel is also pretty real to me.”

He grins at you like he hadn't doubted that fact for a second, and he hadn't, not since you both had signed and received the certificate, one he sometimes sneaks a small fond peek at whilst you’re sleeping. Not that he’d tell you, at least not yet.

“But— I’m not your wife; that’s my title, but I don't act like that.”

“So? I still love you as anyone would with their wife; do you really think I wouldn't fall for you? You’re even more perfect than I imagined.”

You’re momentarily stunned into silence, not quite expecting that but still not believing it quickly, your tipsy mind making you say things that you never would before.

“That's because I do everything for you— not that I mind b-but, I just act like a good partner. You don't feel romantically for me.” You huff, your teeth gritting together as you pettily narrow your eyes at him. What you hadn't considered is that he’d tuck your hair behind your ears, carefully pull you into his lap, and take one of your hands in his. He fondles your hand beneath his, his thumb rubbing gently over the skin before he brings it up to rest on his cheek, smiling fondly at you.

“I’ve been busy, I know. It’s quite hard having an agent as a partner, no? I already regret all the love I've lacked to give you.” This time, you’re positive that your cheeks are reacting to him, breath hiccuping when he turns his face in your grasp. His lips press a kiss to the palm of your hand before intertwining that hand with his and holding it against his heart.

“You just had to go get tipsy, didn't you?” The warmth of his hand on yours as he squeezes it gently is like a drug, one that squeezes your heart at the same rhythm whilst his teasing voice dances in the air around the two of you.

“Not my fault you always have to have a glass with dinner..” You grumble, not happy with how fast he had proven you wrong even if he had just confessed to his deepest feelings. He finds it quite endearing how stubborn a little bit of alcohol can make you. ”Alright, we can blame me for this one. How about you finish this pudding with me, and we can get you settled in bed, how does that sound?”

Before you know it, he’s wiping chocolate stains from your lips again as you sniffle in his lap, mumbling some nonsense about your so-called lack of lovelife while the movie plays in the background. He enjoys all your little comments about the movie, even when you subconsciously glance back at him when the couple starring do something romantic. Taking you up to bed is easy enough considering you’re only just bordering tipsy at the moment and you hardly weigh anything compared to the things he usually deals with. Your head just lolls lazily as he helps you upstairs, your eyes slowly blinking up at him when he sits you on the edge of the bed. “What pajamas do you want, pretty girl? How about your favourite?” The water he helped you drink before had sobered you up a little so you’re starting to feel better already. However, your mind is still a little hazy so you just nod along, not minding if this is the first time he undresses you.

Making sure to be gentle with you, he strips you down to your underwear before helping you pull on your warm sweatshirt and plaid pants. His lips twitched upwards when your own fingers tried to beat him with dressing yourself, finding it adorable how you still insisted on doing everything yourself. He could just put you to bed, but after watching for countless nights how you slave away at your skincare routine and keeping your teeth brushed well— he’d feel awful if he broke that. Before you know it, you’re sitting on the sink as he gently holds your jaw, his other hand using the electric toothbrush to clean your teeth. You’re a little uncooperative, swerving your head away at first until you just settle into a sleepy calm and he handles you with no problems. In no time he has you back on his lap, sitting at your small vanity as he carefully attempts to remember the order of your night time routine. What even is this? He thinks as he picks up a suspicious looking serum, labelled as snail mucin and gives it an experimental sniff. He thought it’d smell worse to be fair.

“No, you have to put the toner first and then the serum.” You mumble at him, gently tugging at his hands with your fingers and before he knows it, you have a toner pad all up in his face, wiping over his nose and cheeks before you cover the rest of his face.

“Hey- i’m meant to be doing your skincare. I don't need this stuff.”

He almost feels a pang of hurt in his chest as you raise an eyebrow at him, as if accusing him of having bad skin. With a huff, he removes the toner pad from your hands and throws it in the bin before gently pulling at your cheeks. “I have great skin, thank you. Dont give me that look.”

You immediately frown and attempt to puff your cheeks, causing him to have mercy and let go before he grabs a new toner pad and repeats your actions to yourself.

When you come back to your senses, your head is smushed against a pillow whilst he changes by the closet behind you. Your thoughts don't feel as hazy as they used to be, and you’re even starting to contemplate everything that happened earlier. Did he really mean what he meant? Did he actually like you.. romantically? You physically cringe at your own thoughts and hide your face behind your hands, groaning just quiet enough that he doesn't quite hear it. Sleeping next to him had always felt odd to you, but you always slept at different times so it never really felt romantic in any sort of way. You liked to stay up late and he liked to get a decent rest before the next morning. It was only recently that you started glancing at his sleeping face beside you, admiring the peace in his expression when he lost himself to his dreams and no other worries. Otherwise, it just felt like a roommate, nothing more nothing less.

But now his trousers were falling to the floor behind you, and you were laying in bed not quite falling asleep nor attempting to stay up. Suddenly, he wanted to sleep with you, not only beside you. It suddenly felt all too real that you two were actually married, actually partners and actually slept beside each other each night. What next, were the notes you left in his lunch romantic too? In truth, you were slightly freaking out but that might’ve been the alcohol making things a hundred times worse than they should’ve been, especially since you had started crying unannounced earlier. That’ll play in the back of your mind forever but for now you’re focused on his soft footsteps as he approaches the bed, dressed in a much looser shirt and pants. He always slept like this but this time he looks down at you, one finger gently poking your cheek as he sits on the other end of the bed.

“I actually prefer to sleep with my shirt off. But we always fell asleep at different times so I never got to ask your permission.”

He hums quietly, the finger now gently rubbing along the soft curve of your cheek instead.

“You can.. I don't mind.” You say quietly, eyes trailing over his form as he settles himself against the headboard right beside you. Touching you.

“Are you sure your cheeks won't get too red?”

He teases, hand moving towards the top of your head to gently card his fingers through your locks. You push yourself up to a sitting position, letting out a soft yawn as you do so before you blink at him hazily again. This time, you press forward and place your hand on his abdomen, absentmindedly rubbing your finger there back and forth. “I want to see your injuries.”

Not even he can stop the way his face softens at that and he tucks you into his side again, his other hand pulling the shirt up and over his head to discard onto the carpet beneath the bed. This view is only for you: his paled skin, the fresh scars, the old scars, fading bruises and fresh bruises, stitches that fall out and others that are pulled tight but most of all, his body. All for your eyes only, only for you. Your hand runs gently over the outline of his newest bruise, a deep purple that covers the entire expanse of his hip. It’s blooming into something worse and you’re sure it’ll hurt more tomorrow, not that he’d ever complain about that anyway. “You always come home with injuries, and you just play them off. Don't they hurt? Don't you want me to care for you?”

You say quietly, voice even softer now that you’ve sobered up, and he just lets out a breath, his face turning to watch the way your brows furrow and your lips press together. To have someone fuss over him like this is something he never thought about much, but it didn't mean he hadn’t craved the idea before. Yours was genuine worry, and you always held that genuine care for him. But it felt different now, more natural, more intimate. Like he was the only one you would worry about like this— he loved that feeling.

“I don't ever want you to worry about a thing, even if I do like the way your eyebrows crease when you do.” He chuckles softly, leaning down to press his lips affectionately against your hair before sitting back up properly again. “I suppose if you really want to.. I couldn't deny I'd be flattered to have you care for me.” The curve of your lips is what makes him smile as well, finding it all too endearing how easily a grin can form on your face.

“You’re such a flirt..” You mutter, trying to play it off and wiggle out of his hold on you, only serving for him to raise an amusing brow at you. “I’m only making up for what I can’t do to a tipsy girl.”

“I’m not tipsy..” You argue, sitting up a little straighter which makes his arm gently rest on your lower back instead.

“Oh? Really now? Let me test you then, since I used to be a policeman.”

“Fine, give me what you’ve got.”

“Sing the alphabet backwards if you’re sober.”

You instantly splutter, shaking your head quickly.

“Hey! Not even a normal person can do that. I knew you didn't actually like me.” He has to stop himself from rolling his eyes up at your grumbling, squashing your cheeks to make you shush.

“Is it really a crime that I don't want you to forget our first kiss because of some stupid whiskey?”

“Your stupid whiskey.” He finally rolls his eyes at your retort, gently pushing you back into bed and pulling the covers up and over you. “Alright fine, my stupid whiskey. Now, be honest with me, are you sober?”

The little frown on your face has disappeared with the hope his question brings, and you nod quietly, wide eyes looking into his.

“Are you very sure?” You were definitely sober now, his voice immediately lowering to a rasp as his hands travel up to cup the soft curves of your cheeks as they begin to turn pink. Just like that, he’s the man you’ve fallen for all over again, soft strands of fair hair framing his chiselled face as if they’re perfectly placed to put you under his spell. His index tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, gently rubbing the skin of your cheek with his calloused thumbs. His skin is so rough and yet you can't help but feel he is so soft at this moment; his eyes are like gentle waves, looking at you so fondly that you finally remember to reply.

“I-i'm sure.”

He doesn't hesitate, leaning in closer until his nose just touches the tip of yours, eyes locked onto every small movement you can even think about doing. “Can I?” The nod you give is the green light he’s always dreamed of; this day is all he has ever thought about since you joined his life. You let your eyes flutter closed, feel the warmth of his breath that tickles your skin as he draws closer and closer until his lips meet yours so gently. You have to physically stop yourself from giggling, probably the alcohol still trying to make a fool of you, but you just can't believe he’s the one wrapping you in his touch. Likewise, you wrap your arms around his neck, and he lets out a small gasp when you suddenly gain the strength to meet him upright, almost as if you’re threatening to pin him instead. Of course, he couldn't just let that slide easily. So, as anyone would, he pushes you back down into the mound of pillows, causing you to squeal as he leaves his touch all over your face, fleeting kisses painting your skin a rosy red. “You better not forget this in the morning.” He scoffs playfully as your eyes squeeze shut, giggles that spill out your mouth while he gives the affection he’s craved to gift to someone for years.

His job is hard, his life has been hard, and even this marriage initially felt the same. It wasn't so much the fact that he had essentially tied himself down to someone he barely knew, it was the realisation that he would never find his one person. That's why he did this after all, it seemed like it’d benefit the both of you and the day where he’d actually have a woman by his side slipped away with each mission. You, you were different though. You may have been an agent before, but outside of work you were the sweetest thing. Always subconsciously fussing over him, delaying sleep to prepare his lunch no matter how much he insisted you didn't need to, taking a personal duty to look after his cat, and still not being afraid to ask him when he seemed low or uncomfortable. You were everything he never had, even the annoying nagging of trying to get him to not lay on the couch after he ate or the fact that's his third whiskey yet.

Corny lines, the occasional flirty remark, dragging you to watch a movie— he wanted to do all of that before so you’d become actually his, actually the one he could say he loves and loves him back. But things got in the way, life got in the way, and he was starting to see his opportunities dissolve with each tired return from the mission. Despite his grumpy attitudes some days, his exhausted look as he collapsed into bed at eight, you still managed to fuss over him all the same— never once did you treat him differently, if not for the fact you’d cook him a slightly nicer meal after missions.

He was still busy, yes of course, but somehow he had managed to win you over. Maybe it was his silly jokes, though he’d seen you stare at his hair many times before so maybe that caught your eye. In any case, he’s happy to give any part of him to you, if not all of him. So when he’s pressed the last kiss on your nose and pulls the covers high over you, he tucks you into his chest, a final kiss to your temple as he looks down at your angelic expression. The way your smile curves at literally nothing but his touch is enough to make him fold right there, but he doesn't right now, squeezing you against him.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.”

He whispers out, and you can't ignore it, eyes snapping up to look at him just from those three words. He sees the wonder in your eyes, the way they question the truth and if this really is real. Then you nod slowly, tuck your head into his chest, nestled against the beat of his heart.

“I love you too.”

[strangersteddierthings]

Shovel Talk(s) Part One

Part One 🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four

Steve and Eddie aren't even together when Steve gets the Shovel Talk from Eddie's uncle, but it is what tips Steve into talking to Eddie about his feelings, so he's not upset by it.

They aren't dating, not because he doesn't want Eddie, because he absolutely does. It's just that he wants to be sure Eddie wants him back. There are times when he's sure, when Eddie gets into his space a bit too close, or more often, than he does with anyone else. Eddie calls him a thousand and one nicknames, ranging from sweet to irritating but just when Steve thinks that's a perk left just for him, Eddie hands someone else a new nickname (just the one, a voice in Steve's head that sounds suspiciously like Robin says).

Not that any of that is the point. Wayne wouldn't bother to give Steve a shovel talk at all unless he knew how Eddie felt. Wayne is a man of action, and he's never done anything unless it mattered. Meant something. Steve and Wayne have sat in plenty of (what Steve considers to be) awkward silences because Wayne doesn't talk to fill the void of silence.

The point is, Steve drops Eddie off at the house the government so graciously bought for the Munsons, walks Eddie to the door and giving Eddie a hug goodbye. He stays on the porch until Eddie shuts the door and then nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears Wayne call out his name.

"Harrington," Wayne says from the shadows of the wrap around porch.

So, Steve jumps and it's only then he notices that Wayne is sitting at the table and chairs set up on the porch. "Mr. Munson, sir, hi. Hello."

Wayne lets out a chuckle, but it doesn't really sound amused. "I have come to accept that you are nothing like your father, boy, but I do want to make it clear to you, that Eddie means more to me than anything else on this Earth."

"I know, sir."

"I know you do. And while I will forever be grateful that you helped return him to me alive, know that I will not hesitate to make you disappear if you hurt my boy in a way he can't bounce back from."

Steve's not afraid of Wayne, not really, but that doesn't stop him from feeling the need to flee. He doesn't, though, because he'd gotten enough shovel talks from concerned parents in high school, and he knows they can sense weakness. "I can't promise I'd never hurt him, sir, but I can promise it'll never be intentional."

He can't actually see Wayne's face in the darkness but he feels sized up all the same.

"I believe that, Steve," Wayne says, and it's the first time Steve's ever heard his name leave the man's mouth, "now go home."

-

Wayne's shovel talk was expected. Robin's is not.

"You took Eddie on a date date?" She whispers it as though they aren't alone in Steve's living room. They're laying on the floor in a line, heads next to each other so if they turn slightly to the side they can make eye contact. Steve's not sure why they always end up on the floor for Serious Talk Time.

"Yeah," Steve says, looking away from Robin's face to stare up to the ceiling, "I mean, sorta? We can't like... be open that it was a date, but we went to dinner and a movie and it was nice. Shared a popcorn and played footsie under the diner table."

"Whoa," Robin says. "I never thought you'd- didn't think you'd be brave enough to ask him."

"Me either."

"Steve," Robin sounds serious, so Steve turns to look at her. She studies his face for a moment before she's the one to look away, speaks to the ceiling, "be careful with Eddie, yeah?"

"What? Careful how?"

"I just think you could really fuck him up," Robin says. "You're his first boyfriend, right? That's going to set a precedent for relationships that might happen if you two don't work out. And I hate to say this, because I know you've changed, but like, I saw how a lot of those girls you dated in high school ended up when you broke up with them."

Steve's a little hurt, because Robin's his best friend. She should be giving this talk to Eddie, not him. But, also, he understands. He knows that Robin knew about Eddie's sexuality before he did, knows they bonded over being queer while Steve was still figuring himself out.

Steve also knows that Eddie's never been in a relationship before, Eddie'd told him at much when Steve asked him out. Steve doesn't like that Robin implied that he and Eddie will eventually break up, but no matter how much that thought makes Steve's heart ache, he won't know if it'll happen unless it does.

He just doesn't understand why she seems to think he'll be the one breaking Eddie's heart. It could go the other way.

"Did you OD over there?" Robin asks, trying to lighten the mood.

"No," Steve answers, "I'll be careful."

-

They've been on four more dates before Nancy knocks on his door. She doesn't accept his invitation to come inside. Just starts speaking on his doorstep.

"As Eddie's Capital P Soulmate," is how she starts that sentence, and it makes something hurt deep inside Steve as he tries not to think about Robin, "I am obligated to remind you that I do own several guns now. And I don't miss."

"Jesus Christ," Steve says, because even Wayne was more subtle, "I got it."

"Good. I do know you'd never hurt him on purpose," Nancy says but Steve doesn't feel reassured.

He thinks that, if she really didn't think he's going to end up hurting Eddie she wouldn't have said anything at all. "Right."

"Well, good talk Steve," and then she's walking down the driveway and climbing into her car.

He closes the door and goes to the kitchen to get himself a beer, mostly so he has something to do besides stew in his emotions. He wonders if Eddie has been given the shovel talk, too? Maybe Robin did the same thing Nancy just did. Showed up unprompted, threatened Eddie with some sort of bodily harm, and then just left.

Steve grabs the phone and dials Eddie's number.

"Hello?" Eddie's voice greets him, albeit questioningly.

"Eddie, it's Steve."

"Oh, hello sweetheart," Eddie says, "are you calling for business or pleasure?"

Steve laughs, "business."

"Boo!"

"Listen, uh, I had a question. I just wanted to know if anyone's said anything to you. About us. Or, y'know, specifically about us and our relationship?"

"Uh, not really? A few congratulations, I guess. Why? Did someone say something?" Eddie's voice is level, almost too level, so Steve knows he's trying to keep cool.

"Oh, no! No! I mean, aside from the scary shovel talk from- Wayne, everyone's been surprisingly cool about it. Very supportive," Steve says and even though it's true, everyone they've told has been cool about it, it feels a little bit like a lie.

Eddie laughs, "I can't believe my uncle gave you a shovel talk! You know, I keep expecting to get one from Robin but so far nothing. She must think you're safe in my capable hands."

Steve is safe in Eddie's hand, he thinks, but that doesn't stop the sting that goes through him. "Of course, she does. You've been a perfect boyfriend."

There's a pause before Eddie's voice comes through the phone, soft and quiet, "I'm glad you said so. I want to be. For you."

"You're not allowed to say those kinds of things when you aren't within kissing distance, babe," Steve says, because if he doesn't add humor to this conversation, he's going to tell Eddie he loves him instead, and even Steve knows that saying that a month into dating is too soon, especially over the phone where he can't see Eddie's reaction.

Eddie laughs and makes kissing sounds at him before the conversation shifts to chatting about the day and making plans for the weekend.

-

Steve is trying really hard to not be the person he was in high school but every time he gets to the point where he's being a better person, someone brings up how he used to be. Shoves it back into his face that no matter what Steve does he can't outrun his past.

One such time is shortly after Steve and Eddie accidentally come out as a couple to all of Hellfire. Steve was just dropping off the boys and had stepped inside to chat a bit. Once game time had arrived it had and Steve made to leave, they'd (he and Eddie) had been on autopilot. Eddie'd whined 'where's my goodbye kiss?' and Steve had stepped over, kissed him goodbye, and was out the door before it had actually computed.

Steve had burst back through the door, rushing back to Eddie, because no way in Hell was he going to leave his boyfriend to deal with whatever the consequences would be alone.

It had been absolute chaos at the table with people shouting over each other.

"Of all the people you could be with, you picked Steve!? You could do better!" Mike had whined, and Steve had thought for sure he was the only one who had heard Mike until he saw Will punch his arm and hiss his own 'don't be a dick' at Mike.

It took almost half an hour to calm everyone down. It was a relief to know that Eddie had come out to his bandmates/the older Hellfire members already. The kids took it in stride, in the end, and Eddie had shoo'd Steve away.

Jeff had excused himself, too, and Steve thought he was just going to use the bathroom but instead he followed Steve outside.

Ah. Steve knows what's coming.

"Harrington," Jeff says, "can't say I'm excited that you're the secret boyfriend Eddie's constantly sighing wistfully about. I'm sure Wayne's already threatened you," And Robin, and Nancy, and Mike doesn't think he's good enough, "but if you hurt Eddie-"

"I get it! There will be dire consequences if I hurt Eddie," Steve snaps, not down for hearing it anymore. He stomps to his car and peels away from the curb without bothering to look back.

-

If he's being honest, Steve didn't even know he had a breaking point with shovel talks until he gets his fifth one from Dustin.

It's not even a shovel talk. It's just a single sentence, said almost a month after Dustin learned about their relationship. He's dropping Dustin off after their DnD game. Normally Claudia picks him up, but she's busy tonight and asked Steve to do it.

"Alright, Henderson, safely delivered."

"Thanks, Steve," Dustin says, unbuckles his seatbelt, and opens the door, before turning back to Steve. He just looks at him for a moment.

"What?"

"I'm happy for you and Eddie. Just, don't hurt him, ok?"

He nods his head but can't say anything. Dustin grabs his backpack, shoots him a smile, and climbs out. Steve does wait until Dustin closes the front door behind him before putting the car back in gear.

He manages to get home, somehow, because Steve doesn't fully remember the drive. It's not that his mind was so focused on something else that made him fail to take in his surroundings, but rather that his mind wasn't even a part of his body anymore.

One moment he was pulling away from the Henderson residence, and the next, he was home, just standing in his kitchen in the dark. And now that his thoughts are back, or easier to process, he finds himself wondering why everyone thinks that he's going to be the one to hurt Eddie.

How many people has he hurt that this is his reputation? Is it inevitable that he will hurt Eddie? Is it truly just a matter of time until he breaks Eddies heart? Why is everyone so convinced that he will?

Briefly the thought occurs to him that maybe he should call up Eddie and break up with him right now, before Eddie has a chance to get in deep enough that Steve could break his heart, but just the thought of it breaks Steve's heart, so he's not going to do that. Doesn't want to do that. That would just be punishing Eddie for something he didn't do.

None of this is Eddie's fault, and Steve's an asshole for even thinking of breaking up with him because of it. Which feeds him back into the loop of thinking that maybe everyone is right about him. He is an asshole and will someday hurt Eddie, perhaps even on purpose.

He loves Eddie. He's in love with Eddie. But does loving him mean proving his friends wrong? Or does it mean leaving him before they're proven right?

He wants to ask everyone why they think he'll hurt Eddie.

He wants to ask everyone why they don't care if he's the one that gets hurt.

[elllisaaa]

fjhkvdhfvd I LOVE YOUR BF THOUGHTS SO MUCH!!! you write them so well 😭😭😭 can we please get a vernon one!!! ahhh

thank youuu so much ! i'm really glad this concept gets attention because i really like doing this, hope you'll like it !

BF!VERNON who's maybe not the most expressive but who knows how to show you that he loves you through many other ways.

vernon says "i love you" without any words, and actually, you love it that way a lot. for example, whenever you recommend a song to him or when he sees you listening to something he doesn't know, he's gonna go listen to it too. you have a shared playlist and he also made you a playlist filled with songs that reminded him of you, and the lyrics or vibes sometimes hit so deep it makes you tear up how much he gets you. this is something recurring between you and vernon - the non-verbal communication. you can literally spend hours and hours with each other without even speaking because you don't need words to understand each other. that's something vernon loves a lot because sometimes he just wants to hold you in his arms, scroll on his phone and not talk at all. both of you often have stay at home dates rather than going out, but vernon always makes sure to plan a fun activity - like building legos, trying to learn how to paint or doing scrapbooking with pics of the two of you. it allows you to test some activities you wouldn't usually have and it's fun when it's with him.

"what are we doing tonight baby ?" - "it's a secret, but i know you're gonna love it."

he stares at you a lot whenever you're doing mundane things - washing the dishes, simply reading or when you're putting on makeup. it's so domestic, it makes his heart beat faster and think about marrying you soon. vernon also does this when you're talking with someone else, staring at you because he just loves to see you live and shine. he always has a faint smile on his lips when he's watching you, and generally, he smiles a lot around you. that's something his members quickly noticed, even before the two of you got together. and you never fail to tell him that you love his smile, and that flusters him every time. actually, every one of your compliments makes him shy. however, he often flusters you very easily with some random words or gestures and gifts that make you fall in love with him even more. vernon is the type to just look you in the eyes and bluntly tell you that you're gorgeous just because it crossed his mind suddenly how pretty you are.

"why are you looking at me like that ? is there something wrong with my makeup ?" - "you're so pretty, i don't understand how it's possible."

if sometimes vernon just wants to stay quiet and not say a word, there are other times where the two of you end up talking for hours, jumping from subject to subject because one of you always has something to tell, something to debate about. when you are talking together, it's like you're inside of a little bubble where only you and vernon exist and you love it. that leads to the both of you having so many inside jokes that nobody gets - you're laughing like maniacs when everyone else around you is just confused and doesn't understand anything. honestly, sometimes your couple looks a little awkward from the outside, but it all fits perfectly and the way you're just so right for him is something vernon still has trouble understanding. sometimes, when he thinks that he doesn't deserve you, that he thinks he doesn't do enough to make you happy, you need to remind him that he's been perfect from the start. you can count the times you saw vernon crying with your fingers, but he knows that every time he's down, he can just let go in your embrace and let himself be vulnerable.

"i feel so safe when you're here, i don't ever want you to leave."

BF!VERNON who's just going with the flow because as long as he's inside of you, it doesn't matter if he's in control or not.

he's much more talkative when it comes to sex because he just cannot shut up when you're doing so good for him. whether it's praises, just some random thoughts, babbling or degrading words, he needs to speak to you through it. when he wants to tease you, he whispers his dirty words directly in your ears, knowing how much it turns you on. when he's just so lost in how good you feel, he just says whatever is on his mind - mostly compliments and swear words. when he's in a more romantic mood, he's constantly praising you, telling you again and again that you're perfect and gorgeous. and vernon also likes it when you're talking to him too, loves to hear you say how good he's making you feel, that you're close or that you want more. generally, the noises you make are really appreciated, even going as far as stopping you from putting your hand over your mouth when you think you're too loud because vernon wants to hear it all.

"shit… you're taking me so well, baby, i don't think i'm going to last if you keep squeezing around my cock like that."

just like vernon loves doing new activities with you, he also loves to experiment in the bedroom. you want to test something ? he's down. you have an unusual fantasy that you want to try ? no problem. after all, there's no harm in doing something out of the ordinary - if you both like it, it's good, and if you don't in the end, then it's okay too, you just won't do it again. that's how he discovered some things he didn't think he would like but that slowly became his favorites, like hair pulling for example. you ask him to pull on your hair all the time when he's taking you from behind, and he loves to do it to punish you too, but he came to wonder how it would feel if you pulled on his instead. so he asked, you did it, and he never wanted you to stop. no matter if he's eating you out or fucking you, vernon wants your fingers tugging on his strands hard enough to make it hurt a little. sometimes, you're pulling at each other's hair, moaning together at the feeling.

"want me to pull on your cute ponytail ? then pull on my hair too, yeah ? fuck, just like that…"

as stated before, he loves to watch you do almost anything, but he loves to watch you get off even more. when you're fucking, he cannot detach his eyes from your glistening folds, from his cock thrusting inside of you or from your face contorting in pleasure. so sometimes, he just leans back and asks you to touch yourself for him. he knows you're frustrated because he's just one feet away and he won't touch you, but he can't help it, he loves to see you masturbate. the fact that you whine about how your fingers cannot reach as deep as his, and that it's not fair gets him so hard. if vernon is in a teasing mood, he will even jerk off in front of you, just to make it "even". the feeling of cumming together, eyes in eyes, while you're both touching yourselves is unmatched for him. also a lot of phone sex is involved, whenever he's away, he calls you at night and asks you to facetime him and show him your cunt, to touch yourself in front of the camera for him. sometimes, he's jerking off too, but sometimes he only watches you reach your orgasm while biting his lips.

"show me your pretty cunt, baby. you're needy ? then put one finger in for me."