#this is SO MUCH MORE SAPPY than the shit i usually do i feel a bit weird haha

[egginround]

Winter Sun

Achilles and Patroclus go on a long-awaited day out.

Achilles x Patroclus, wordcount: 3.3k, CW: None - Written as a gift for @vityamins as part of @thehadeslounge's 2023 Holiday Gift Exchange!

If Patroclus had known Achilles would suggest such outlandish ideas, he would’ve reconsidered following him in such devotion. Though, of course, it is both a blessing and a curse that he can be so utterly persuasive.

Together, they travelled through a dim corridor of the Temple of Styx, far too narrow and winding for any sane shade to wander across. A hand in his lover’s hand, Patroclus let himself get dragged along by Achilles. The blonde warrior himself somehow seemed beside himself in excitement. It was quite a change from his usual wise and mature demeanour.

For Patroclus at least, It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to trusting Achilles. There were many times in their mortal lives where Achilles’ judgement kept them safe from danger, his skill kept him in awe, and his love kept a lightness in Patroclus’ heart, a flutter reserved for only him, that has attached itself irreversibly to his sorry soul. It’s just that, after countless years together, it was unlike his beloved to abandon such care.

Finally, they reached their destination. Dodging the fragile stalactites that grazed his hair, Patroclus took in the damp, dark surroundings. Usually such close quarters with his love wouldn’t be remiss - encouraged even - but the secrecy made a faint furrow appear on his brow.

A rickety old door stood before them. Perhaps an unfinished hallway during the construction of the Temple of Styx, Patroclus mused before his companion brought him out of his thoughts. He huddled in closer before spying Achilles reaching into a leather pouch.

His partner unfurled his fist and within it lay two silver rings. Even in the dark, Patroclus could see their almost ephemeral form, as if they could phase out of existence at any one time. He peered at them, watching the way his beloved thumbed the enchantment etched onto their inner face.

“Hades forgive me for not turning these in as soon as I saw them,” Achilles breathed out. There is no tremble in voice, no doubt that clouds his words, but Patroclus knew him inside out. He knew that he would not risk his master’s anger without due cause.

“My love, do I spy a hint of rebellion?” With a twinkle in his dark eyes, Patroclus rested his hand on the small of his love’s back, encouraging him to go on. “It is unlike you to be this secretive.”

He smiled at the blond man, but a tinge of unease pulled it wider than usual. Intimate years together and unbearable ones apart, their bond was strong and transcended even mortal life. Still, a quiet Achilles was not one he was used to - especially when together (and when his lips were not otherwise occupied). Gently, he nudged him to continue. For all his efforts, Achilles just bumped his forehead against his.

“These two rings from a shade sentenced to Asphodel. One that used to be at the height of fame in Elysium before they were punished for contraband,” Achilles said, rolling them deftly between his fingers. The sleek silver might have seemed at odds with the warrior’s calloused hands, but when it were those same hands had held Patroclus so gently, had soothed the worry from his skin countless times - it only felt right. “Thanatos held onto these prior to me.”

“Ah, the spirit of death?”

“The very same,” Achilles said, fondness colouring his voice. “It was actually by his grace that I came by these. ‘A favour’, he said to me. I think he may have been satisfied to finally see the lad happy, and somehow thought that I was the one to help.”

The gleam in his eyes spoke of memories of fonder times and younger love that squeezed Patroclus’ heart.

“If he is feeling the way that I suspect, then he can only be half as blessed as me.”

“Hush, love.” A silly smile crept onto Achilles face as Patroclus fiddled with the pale hair that peeked out his hair band.

“These relics are powerful. They -”, Achilles cleared his throat. “They could bring us to the surface for but a day.”

Patroclus stilled.

Fear is for the weak, Patroclus knew this. But, a well-advised avoidance to further danger could always be appreciated. A shade stepping out to mortal soil would have been banned thrice over if Hades knew of it, and with the short time that had passed since their reunion, Patroclus could think of nothing worse than to be ripped from Achilles’ arms again.

Ever attendant, Achilles noticed the shock in his beloved’s eyes.

“I know.” He soothed his partner’s panic with a touch, fingers shaking slightly as he laced their hands together. “But please, let me do this for you. Just this once.”

The tension in Patroclus’ throat persisted, but ultimately it was hard for him to resist. Not when the red brushing over his lover’s cheeks seemed to rival the blood of titans themselves. Not for the man he loved.

Patroclus in turn tugged Achilles’ fingers in, curling them further into his palm. The hitched breath his beloved took could have been stolen from his own lungs. Patroclus thinks he’d gladly give him every last one. He gave him an affectionate look before the idea of walking together in the sun sent his heart fluttering.

“Then, my Achilles, let’s go.”

Beaming, Achilles slipped the ring onto the myrmidon’s middle finger and swiftly donned his own. The metal hissed and stretched as it became accustomed to its new home, with its flickering form calming down into a regular thin ring. A day’s use only - it was possible that they were never meant to be enchanted for long. Patroclus flexed his fingers as he examined the curious thing. Satisfied, he looks up to Achilles for the next steps. The smile he sees on his face makes him think the sun is here already.

The bright light dazzled.

Achilles threw up a hand over his eyes as he side-stepped out of the hidden exit of the Underworld into the snowy landscape. A chill that had nothing to do with the weather dripped down his spine as the fear of Hades’ wrath tinged his mind. His other hand coaxed Patroclus along, hearing a slight chuckle behind him, and he suddenly found it quite hard to care. At least, not for now.

It was definitely a stark difference to the warm darkness they were both accustomed to. The pop and sizzles of lava far away, the slick gushing of blood from the River Styx long gone. The cold of the mortal realm was so biting compared to the fires of the Underworld. As he pressed on, bitterly regretting a lack of proper clothing, Achilles could not help but feel the heat from Patroclus’ hand in his. Maybe he would not feel so cold after all.

Snow crunching under his feet, he led them onwards. He was sure that Patroclus was feeling the sting of the cold as much as he did. In his haste to sneak the two of them out, Achilles had forgotten to warn Patroclus of the icy weather. He turned to apologise, but the wonder on his beloved’s face had the words catching in his throat.

Of course, how could Achilles forget? As a servant of Hades, he had known of the surface world and kept up with their changes from the trickles of gossip that flowed through the House. A resident of Elysium would not.

“Pat, I must apologise. I should have prepared you better-”

“My love,” Patroclus whispered, the reverence in his tone bringing Achilles to a stop. “Was the world always so bright?”

A strange melancholy twists itself in Achilles’ chest.

In their mortal life, their work as soldiers never lent itself well to seeing the beauty of the natural world. He cast his eyes over the snowy mountain caps glittering in the distance, the crisp ice gleaming off the branches flanking their path. He didn’t even know what to say. Instead, he chose to rest his palm on his dearest’s shoulder. Patroclus wrapped his fingers around it absent-mindedly in return as he continued to take in a shocking new world.

“I loved our mortal lives together, but I was callous,” Achilles began. “I made mistakes that cost us our happiness, our future.”

The words welled up in Achilles’ throat, but he pressed on, gasping. “I think that I wanted to relive a moment of that, but without the pointless haste that gripped me before.”

Patroclus knows all too well the regret that wound itself around his love.

“I thought of this the whole while,” Achilles dryly chuckled, laying against his shoulder. “Of what I would do had I another day with you in the mortal realm.”

Raising his other hand to stop before Achilles could continue, Patroclus held Achilles’ hand tighter, feeling the cool metal of the ring clink between the two of them.

“Do not torment yourself, my love. I could think of no realm I would ever want to be in without you - mortal or otherwise.” Softening, Patroclus stroked the hand in his with his thumb. “I mean it. I would trade eternal paradise, a thousand more years walking in the sun, if it meant I could spend even a day more with you.”

The shy grin that he felt pressed into his skin makes one of his own creep onto his face. The two of them swayed there, hands slipping off Patroclus shoulder to stay clasped between their chests, before Achilles jolted.

“How could I forget? We still have to press on, Pat, there’s so much we must not miss!”

Snorting, Patroclus resigned again to Achilles’ lead, fingers tangled a tad tighter in his hold.

The winter sun was high in the sky when the two of them reached their destination. Standing on a hilltop, Patroclus looked down at a village below. It was not what he remembered. The houses looked the same, yet different - a change in the style of the walls, an adjustment in the slope of the roofs. It’s a weird feeling in the back of his head, he thought, to see the world move on without him. Thankfully though, the afterlife had eroded his ego, his shameless pride, that plagued him in mortal life. There was a comfort in seeing the people live their lives without the fear of war like he did before. It was peace like this that marked humanity, he thought again, not senseless violence or pointless conquest.

The breeze brushed some of Achilles’ hair onto him as they stood together, taking in the sight. Patroclus began to ask where his love was so excited to take him but he spied the same introspection in his eyes. Something in him softened at the look. Instead, Patroclus elected to leave a small kiss on his companion’s forehead, bringing him out his thoughts gently. It seemed that after so long, the need for words had dissolved between them. Achilles finally looks to him too, and he knows they think the same.

“It makes the wars we waged seem so pointless,” Achilles said in a quiet hush, as if the breeze might carry the words away.

“It does,” he replied. “But our time has passed. The fates can be so cruel, and yet these people continue to live on.”

“They do, don’t they?”

“Yes, my love,” Patroclus brought Achilles into an embrace. “And so must we. Elysium gives too many heroes the same glory and fame they chased in life, but I found myself no longer wanting that. I wanted to see the future, with you.”

Achilles hummed. “Shall we see for ourselves what that future might be?”

A tiny sigh of relief escaped Patroclus at the lift of his partner’s mood. They both had their demons to bear, but it was always much easier when they were together. Smiling, Patroclus let Achilles lead him on once more.

The two of them walked round to the borders of the village. After their solemn moment atop the hill, the tension in Patroclus’ chest had now eased. A silly, almost giddy, grin stretched over his face. One he had neither the control or the will to push down. It had been so long since the two of them had snuck around, just as they did in youth.

Before them stretched a long cobblestone path. Tufts of grass sprouted between the dusting of snow that adorned the grey stones, worn down from years of use. It looked like a busy day to visit. The din of the village centre could be heard even from the outskirts where the two of them stood as clusters of people filled the streets.

Achilles and Patroclus must have stood out like a sore thumb.

Still - one does not become a living legend just by sitting on the sidelines. As such, Achilles charged right into the crowds with his lover in tow. All kinds of people bustled past. People of various styles, tall heights and short, and even several families tugging along petulant children, lined the streets of the village. It seemed there was a festival in town, as there was no way a village so small could sustain the traffic that poured through the stone streets. The people haggled and traded, sang and danced. They ate, laughed and were merry. The same fondness for humanity that Achilles felt on the hilltop stirred in his chest. What a wonderful gift - to be human.

Patroclus was caught in similar musings when the shrill ringing of a child’s voice piped up closeby.

“Sirs! Sirs!” the voice squeaked.

Patroclus furrowed his brows, clearly confused and perhaps a bit dismayed at the interruption of his trip with his dearest. Achilles himself, however, seemed more than amused.

“I believe a little lad is asking for us,” he whispered underneath his breath. The faint smile on his partner’s face has Patroclus relenting yet again. It seemed Achilles could never escape his soft spot for the young.

Again, the voice rang out - “Sirs! The tall sirs in the funny clothes!”

Patroclus’ eyebrow twitched. Whatever attention the child wanted, he certainly had it now. Patroclus pushed through the crowd to find the source of this clearly fashion-forward child, and found him by a stand at the corner of the street.

The stand itself was not a great source of interest. The chipped wood signalled years of reuse, and the faded cloth lining it must have been passed down for generations. What was most interesting about the counter were the piles of golden pastries, freshly-baked bread and iced cakes, almost sparkling in the winter light, that adorned the space. A rumble resonated in Patroclus’ stomach - one he wasn’t sure shades could even do. Achilles thought it was hilarious, before a withering look had him stifling his grin.

The child in question had escaped to the folds of what seemed to be his grandmother’s skirt. The woman herself was tending to the stall and seemed quite busy appeasing the customers eyeing her produce. A shuffle of fabric, and a quick swipe of a chubby hand is all Patroclus spied before the child reappeared again.

“Hello lad,” Achilles began, evidently finding the situation all too amusing. “What could you be calling us for?”

“Your funny clothes look too cold!” the child shouts. This seemed to grab the attention of his guardian, who was wide-eyed in shock and all too ready to apologise for her grandson’s behaviour.

“Aleta!” she reprimanded. “What did we say about bothering nice gentlemen?!”

“They look too cold and skinny, g’ma! You said we should feed the cold skinny ones!” The child waved a golden-brown bun in front of their faces, still steaming in the winter chill.

The woman simply looked aghast.

Achilles chuckled. “Your boy has done nothing of the sort, not at all. If anything, he has done us a favour by bringing us to such a lovely array.”

“Oh,” the old lady breathed a sigh of relief. “You are simply too sweet. These old bones may creek, but I’ll be damned if they don’t whip up something good!”

Huffing, Patroclus ended up finding it hard to stay annoyed at the child. The ex-warrior stood by his love, allowing him to chat with the baker who was charmed at his admiration. It wasn’t long before she shooed the two of them away with a warm smile, thrusting a pair of fresh bread rolls into their arms. Only mildly miffed at Achilles flirting his way into free food (to which he denied), Patroclus found he could not deny his cravings any longer. He thanked the woman and her grandson wholeheartedly, before walking on and tearing into the roll. He savoured the sweet milky filling that spilled forth. It had been so long since he could appreciate the warmth of baked goods on a cold day, and share the delight with his beloved.

The two of them continued to amble down the streets. Their stomachs were pleasantly full, bringing an ease to their pace. The winter sun no longer seemed so harsh when Patroclus could enjoy himself with Achilles. There was a lightheartedness to him that he wished he saw more in his partner. Too often had guilt and penance chained themselves tight to his lover, and Patroclus was more than glad to see Achilles free of his shackles - if only for a day.

“Achilles, this might have been your best idea yet,” he hummed as the two of them walked side by side. The crowds of people seemed to have died down by then, with most stalls packing up for the day.

“Even better than when I tried to outlaw onions in our barracks, hm?”

“Well … that is hard to beat,” Patroclus said with a sly smile. “But no, I really cannot thank you enough. I do not know how long it has been since we have walked these lands, but I know that whenever I dreamt of it, it was always by your side.”

“You are such a sap sometime, Pat,” Achilles responds, eyes softening in the way reserved for only him, before admitting, “I cannot tell you how happy that makes me.”

A lifetime together and an afterlife more, yet still Patroclus had to look away from his companion, lest the adoration he would see in his eyes cause a falter in his heartbeat, and a stumble in his step.

The sun had dipped low in the sky before the pair had the good sense to return to the Underworld. Thankfully, Achilles and Patroclus were able to slip back into the Underworld without a hitch. The most reaction they received was from a raised eyebrow from Hypnos - who, if he knew what was good for him, would not dare mention Achilles’ absence if he didn’t want his trysts with a certain ferryman to be made public. It seemed that the House of Hades was incredibly busy yet again, and for once, Achilles was grateful for it.

The journey back to Elysium did not take long. The warmth of the day had nestled itself deeply into Achilles’ heart, and it made their travels seem far too short. Unfortunately however, it soon became time for them to depart.

“My love, I’d wager that this day was worth the years I spent without you,” Patroclus said with a soft smile. “I’d wager again that it will stay with me for years to come.”

A giddy laugh bubbled out of Achilles in response. He held his dear Patroclus’ cheek in his hand, hoping that his touch could convey all that his heart finds so hard to say. The small peck he received on his palm let him know he understood this and more. Achilles could not help but draw him in, lips teasing the edge of Patroclus’ mouth, as he sealed the promise of eternal love with a kiss.

Between their clapsed hands, the silver of their rings glinted in the light.

[laiiaaa]

CINNAMON SUGAR — CARMEN BERZATTO

summary Carmen comes home to you late at night. Luckily, you manage to stay awake.

length 2k

contents absolutely zero plot, literally just a sweet n cute n sappy moment existing in a vacuum, holy shit so much fluff i might die (got the idea for this while listening to margaret & let the light in by lana del rey n it's realllll obvious), too many kisses to count, this is what he'd be like after intensive therapy i reckon, not proofread so be nice

Carmen opens the door to the bedroom carefully, minding the creaky hinge in the middle of the night. Moonlight peeks through the window, caught at the right time when the city doesn’t block its path into the apartment, giving just enough glow to the room to see you fast asleep in bed. It’s late, he realizes, even later than usual. He needs to work on that.

He makes his way to the bed, stopping at your side to kneel beside you and simply adore you: the curve of your nose, the plush of your lips in that pout you wear only when you’re asleep, the eyelashes laid against your cheeks.

You stir when he presses his lips to your temple, a soft groan pulled from your lips. “…Bear?”

“Yeah, ‘s me, baby.” Even at a whisper, he thinks he’s too loud, and with his rough and tired hand he brushes over the top of your head just light enough to keep you sleepy.

A drowsy hand reaches out from under the covers to smooth over the contours of his face, tracing along shadows made hazy by a few hours’ rest. “You coming to bed soon?”

“Almost,” he murmurs, smoothing a palm up your exposed arm to hold your hand steady. He pulls ever so slightly away from your palm, only to turn to land gentle kisses against its soft skin, worshiping the pieces of you that treat him with more care than he thinks he’s worthy of. “Needa take a shower first, alright? But I’ll be right back.” 

He could’ve done that much by now—could’ve cleaned himself, rid himself of a day's work before seeing you—but truthfully, waiting any longer would’ve driven him mad. He would’ve been itchy in the shower, skin aflame knowing he could’ve felt your touch by then, arms and hands jittering to have your curves beneath them. His lips trail down to your wrist before he turns over your hand to kiss the backs of your fingers.

“Okay,” you answer, muffled by the blankets and pillow and the squeak of the floorboard as Carmen stands back up.

He makes his trip quick and quiet. He brushes his teeth and swipes up a towel while the water heats up, leaving just enough time to hang it on the hook and strip before hopping in. There’s a beat where he closes his eyes and just breathes, clears his mind of the day’s stress, lets warm water saturate his hair and cascade down his back. He lathers his hair with shampoo—the one you bought for him once to free him from the chains of 3-in-1 and that he’s been purchasing ever since to keep you happy—before cleaning the rest of his body, all while thinking about how much better it’d feel, how much more relief he’d get if it were you beside him under the stream instead of just his thoughts. But with the shampoo and soap down the drain goes that idea, much like the fleeting thought of using conditioner. You’ve yet to get to him on that one, especially at a moment like this, when time is of the essence and you’re waiting on him. Maybe another night, when you take your own product and swirl it around his curls; if it gives him an excuse to stay with you just a few minutes more, he’ll do it.

He hops out of the water like it’s acid and wraps the towel around his waist after drying himself to avoid trouble in the morning (you hate when the floor gets wet, and even if it wastes time, he’ll be sure to prevent that). Out goes the light again as he walks into the hall, sneaking back into the bedroom to get dressed into briefs and nothing more—you’ll keep him warm enough under the blankets.

It’s only then—when he peels back those final layers—that he realizes he’s been smiling the whole time.

Once he’s settled into the grooves of the mattress, chest to your back, you’re turning around to curl into his torso, like a magnetic field brought you there. 

“Hey,” he coos, “Y’don’t have to move f’me, yeah? Just sleep, baby.” Moved by your eagerness, his arms curl around you, one along your waist as the other nicely fits comfortably into the space between your neck and shoulder. 

And yet you shift a little more to cast an arm against his chest, his heart beating beneath your palm, head on his shoulder with a leg hooked onto his hip, split halfway between mattress and his body. “ ‘S more comfy this way, Carm.” You sigh and breathe deep into his skin. “You smell good, too.”

He can’t even lie well enough to convince himself his heart doesn’t run a million miles faster when you cozy up to him like this, caught in a space part fatigue and part love, with your hums ringing in his ear. “ ‘S that shampoo you got me a while ago…Sometime this week—” he yawns, and if he weren’t dying to hear your voice a few more times, he’d be a little more thankful for sleep coming so easily— “Sometime this week we can go t’the store, you can pick out another body wash f’me to try, too.”

“Mm, I’d like that.” You smooth your hand from his chest to his neck and shoulder, massaging there gently where he gets sore as a barely-there kiss lands to the skin beneath you. “How was it today?” The restaurant. His headaches. Richie’s mood lately. The flow of the kitchen. The strain in his back.

“Was alright,” he answers, as honestly as he can, soothing himself by brushing a hand up along your spine. “Real busy, so I didn’t get to leave ‘till late, ‘m sorry.”

“ ‘S alright, I stayed in and just relaxed for the night.” You snuggle into him a little deeper, and he thinks he could melt. “I was gonna ask you to bring something home, but it’s a weekend, so I didn’t wanna bother you in a rush.”

“What’d you want?”

From your lips comes a light and airy giggle, milliseconds of the best sounds he’s ever heard. “I just wanted some fries, honestly…didn’t feel like going out.”

“Heh,” he laughs, smiling while his eyes stay glued to the ceiling—as if looking at you would make the moment disappear. “I would’ve picked ‘em up for you, ‘r at least had Fak get ‘em to you.”

You yawn in tandem with the tailend of his thought, so your answer’s a bit softer. “Uh-uh, I like them better when you make ‘em.”

“Yeah? ‘ve I been pampering you too much?” He teases you, adds on a kiss to the top of your head as he squeezes you a bit tighter, but it’s all a ruse to cover up how much faster his pulse is when you say those words, like all the work he’s put in—all the love he has for you—makes its way to the table for not just anyone, but for you, the one person he’s sure matters more than the rest. More than those fucking stars, more than Chef of the Year, more than any critic’s review, more than he can wrap his head around; he feels it in his chest and that’s enough.

“Of course you have,” you agree, peeking up at him and craning your neck to plant your lips to his jaw, savoring it long enough to leave a smirk against his skin. “You’re always so sweet to me, Bear—” one more quick peck just beneath his ear— “love when you cook for me.”

He thinks he could pass out like this, with the last thing he hears being those words, but his fatigue seems to serve as an anesthetic that lets him soak it in for a bit longer, running his free hand through damp curls while a heavy, giddy sigh leaving his lips that lets you know he hears you, that he loves telling you he loves you through his art, that he lives for the smile on your face when he stays home for a few hours longer to make you breakfast. Yet with all the time spent having his shell soften for you, he can’t always find the right words, so he settles for the next best thing: “Y’know, uh…Marcus’s been playing around with recipes…”

He feels you smile against his chest, knowing what’s to come. “Yeah?”

“Mhm, an’ I’d never let ‘im serve ‘em, ‘cause, y’know…” He loses himself for a moment in the lull of your fingertips tracing mindless shapes into his chest. “They don’t fit the menu…but uh, he made these…these rolls today…”

“Mhm? ‘M listening…”

Carmen knew that, of course, from the faint kisses you peppered between breaths. He lets the fan whir through the gaps in his thoughts. “I think you’d like ‘em, he had some classic cinnamon, ‘n…a blueberry lemon goin’…”

“That sounds really good,” you whisper, the syllables lengthened from a shared lack of sleep.

“I know,” he drawls, and he’s a little too proud of himself for once when he adds, “Which is why I said I’d let ‘im fix up the lemon recipe a few more times if he made a batch for you.”

“Did you really?” The dazed smile comes through in your voice, a bubbliness to it that tells him he made the right call. 

He figures that’s why he’s so drawn to you—all the right calls come easy to him, the effort feels natural and unpracticed, unlike the tar that builds in his throat when it comes to so many other people. With you, being good is anything but demanding. “ ‘F course, baby…” 

It turns him to a puddle, the sweetness that drips from your fingertips, so he cradles your wrist carefully in his hand and lifts it to his lips to show it the love it deserves before urging the hand to busy itself with the tufts of hair behind his hear, to which you happily oblige. You twirl a lock around your finger, performing a methodical spiral, and even though he knows by the time it dries it’ll stick out from the mess like a sore thumb, he’d stop breathing before pulling your hand away. It’s soothing, that pattern. It stokes the fire in his gut that makes him feel a little less lonely when you’re not around.

“I brought…” He yawns again, his eyelids growing heavy. “I brought you some of the cinnamon rolls…Sugar liked ‘em…they’re on the counter for you tomorrow mornin'…” He’s not sure whether it’s your doing or the hours of stress endured throughout the day, but he knows this is the most relaxed he’s ever been, laying with you and doing little else other than indulging in your tender touches and shy kisses.

“Thank you, my love,” slips away with breath, sotto voce, as Carmen leaves brief kisses to your hairline. 

And he thanks God for being able to do it even with such an intense fatigue washing over him—at least part of him does, the part that’s still awake—because the movement lets you tilt your head and graze your fingertips by his jaw, bringing his lips kindly to yours for the first and last time tonight. Somewhere in that beautiful tangle there’s a mutual agreement: an unspoken Goodnight, I love you, in the mix, a finality in his offering and your gracious thanks that doesn’t warrant anything more than your head tucked neatly into his neck, left to bask in the comfort of his arms wrapped around you.

Just like any other night with you, he can sleep peacefully with the unconscious push and pull of your bodies intertwined. He knows that by morning, you’ll still be in his arms, in the bed you share, waiting on your good morning kiss from under the covers.

And he’ll still be beneath your warmth, his mind fuzzy and full of tenderness, every part of him dying to marry you.

[theemporium]

baby smut request incoming for a driver of your choice. Reassuring soft sex, with lots of kisses, touched and giggles and just being in that moment

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

Your alarm was going to go off soon. 

Or at least, you assumed it was. You weren’t quite sure of the time and you had no urge to reach over and see, simply happy to bask in the knowledge that the sun was rising and the rest of the world was going to wake up soon. 

But for now, it was just you and him.

“I want to stay here forever,” Charles murmured, his voice was low and a little gruff. His accent was heavier than usual, the sleep still clearly having a hold on the boy but it didn’t stop the way he gripped your hips, pulling you back until you were flush against him. “You feel like heaven, cherie.” 

“You’re so sappy in the mornings,” you teased, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt him slowly ease his cock inside you. It was far too early for either of you to even be awake, but that didn’t stop the deep want you had for your boyfriend. The desire to have him this close whenever you could. “Such a sweet mouth.”

“I can show you some other sweet things this mouth can do,” Charles retorted, his face buried against your shoulder as he placed soft kisses along the expanse of your exposed skin. 

Your clothes were still probably buried somewhere on the bed, under the duvet. In all honesty, neither of you had put much effort into it compared to usual. Somewhere in the ungodly hours of the morning, you had both found yourselves awake. One kiss turned into two, which turned into more. 

And then, with whatever energy he had in him, Charles had flipped you over and settled behind you, his hands on every inch of your skin until you were a soaking mess between your thighs.

“No,” you whined when you felt his fingers graze along your sides, making you squirm back into his hold. “Stay. Like this. Please.” 

“Always,” he whispered against your skin, his thrusts slow and lazy but neither of you were in any rush. Sometimes, you just needed this. The overwhelming feeling of Charles and his touch and his words with no time limit hovering over your heads.

Even if your alarm was bound to ruin the moment at some point.

“Oh shit,” you breathed out, turning your face into your pillow and burying yourself against it as you felt his fingers dance across your stomach before dipping down between your thighs. “Shit, Charlie, baby.”

“I love you,” he mumbled as he pressed random kisses along your skin, as he buried himself deep inside you. “I love you so much, cherie. You’re so beautiful. So perfect.” 

“Charles,” you whined, your cheeks flushing in response but he didn’t stop. 

“My girl,” he sighed happily, his nose brushing against your cheek as he held you close. “Most perfect girl in the world, so fucking lucky you chose me.”

“I’m the lucky one,” you managed to choke out between soft moans as his fingers circled your swollen clit.

And you could only see a hint of his cheeky smile as your walls clenched around him, your first of many orgasms washing over you as you basked in the morning light.

.

[b3ach-bunn7]

DONT SMILE

Dabi is your unfairly attractive bandmate, and the two of you stay late in the studio to finish a song (and each other)

NSFW, BandAU, head on both ends if u get my drift

(Guys this is my first time writing smut plz be nice 🙏)

(Also song used in the fic + title is don’t smile by Sabrina c plz listen)

—————————————————————————

The sound of Dabi absentmindedly plucking his bass fills the studio. He’s lounging across the couch, legs holding up the dark blue instrument as his fingers drag over the frets lazily. He’s wearing a vest, the white fabric stretched tight over his skin. The jeans he’s wearing are slung low on his hips, and you avert your eyes as he adjusts them, hips lifting from their place on the couch to drag them down.

You’re on the other end of the room, swinging back and forth on a desk chair. The room is hot. The studio was small, the same one your band, LOV, had started out in. Despite being more than popular enough to rent something bigger, there’s a weird obligation you all feel, too attached to where you started to ever leave. You and Dabi are supposed to be writing new songs,  working on stuff for the upcoming album, but you’re not bothered. You can’t think. As the lead singer, lyrics are usually your forte but you’ve got no energy for it. The others aren’t even here, and that only makes you want to work even less. That, and the fact that Dabi is an ample distraction.

He groans from the couch. You glance at him over your shoulder. He’s looking at you impatiently.

“Let’s go home. I’m sick of this shit.”

You sigh, leaning your head back on the chair. “No, we have to stay. We haven’t written anything in ages.”

“Uhm, speak for yourself. I have some things. Riffs.” He plays something small to demonstrate and you roll your eyes.

“And how is that any help without everyone else here? We need all instruments present to actually make a song.” 

Dabi huffs. He places the bass to the side, stretching. His arms reach above his head, shirt lifting up to reveal his happy trail and you sigh.

Of course Dabi is attractive. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. And yes, you also find his personality attractive. He was funny, that calm confidence he always spoke in, his flirty nature, it was all alluring. You’d see him dragging enough girls out the tour bus in the mornings to know you aren’t the only one who feels this way. Unfortunately though, the amount of women he’d been with, plus the fact it’s never a good idea to date a bandmate, means you keep your distance.

This doesn’t stop him from flirting with you at every available second. You’d like to say that you’re immune to it, but that unfaltering attention from Dabi isn’t something you think you could ever get used to.

“What about you? You got any lyrics down?” He asks. 

You frown. You walk over to him, nudging his legs over. You sit next to him and he leans over your shoulder to read the scribbled notes you’d been writing the past couple hours. You huff, pushing his leg further away from yours. It’s currently pressed flush against yours, and his thigh is warm. He’s always so warm.

“Can you stop manspreading?” You mumble, pushing his leg away.

“Aw, you know you love it.” He grins, leaning even closer, eyes never leaving your notes. 

You roll your eyes, but you don’t do much to fight the close proximity. His hand reaches up to stabilise the paper and his fingertips brush the back of your hand. 

“Mediocre.” 

You gape. “Mediocre? I’d like to see you write any better.” You snatch the paper from him and he shrugs.

“It's not bad. It’s just too sappy. Nobody believes that romantic shit is actually real.” He says. 

You bite your lip, thinking. Dabi’s criticism is enough to have you doubting the whole song, and you groan. “Why did you have to say that? Now I hate it.”

“Good.”

You knock his side with your elbow and he tuts. 

“You asked.”

“I didn’t.” You go to elbow him again but he grabs it before you can. You think you can feel the callouses on the tips of his fingers as his hand touches your bare skin. You shrug him off. 

“You asked to see, but I didn’t ask for any feedback.” You say.

Dabi sits up slightly. He tilts his head, strands of black hair dipping to the side. His eyes flit over you quickly.

“Well. We’re a team, no? Don’t you want my feedback?”

You lean your head against the back of the couch. “I guess.”

He reaches over to grab the paper again. “Good girl.”

You flush slightly. “Don’t call me that.”

“You love it.”

You decide it’s better for the both of you if you don’t answer that. You look at the vinyl hung up on the walls, the pictures of you guys at award shows. Anything to distract you from the man sitting next to you.

“I think you should flip it.”

You turn to him now, and he’s already looking up at you. “What?”

“You see like this line? ‘Don’t cry because it’s over baby smile because it happened?’ Swap it so it’s like, ‘Don’t smile because it happened baby, cry because it’s over’.” 

You furrow your brows. “That’s depressing as hell, though. It’s meant to be a love song.” 

“That’s love, though.” He slides the paper back into your hands. “Depressing as shit.”

You scoff. “What do you know about love?”

He grins then, so boyish and teasing. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Yeah, that’s why I asked.”

He huffs a laugh. “Love is overrated. That’s what I know.”

You roll your eyes. “You sound stupid. This isn’t some Disney channel movie, love isn’t overrated.” 

“Hm. Agree to disagree.”

You quickly get up to grab a pen. You could sit further away, but you plant yourself right where you were before, and you ignore the knowing look Dabi gives you. “Okay, help me change the other lyrics then. Since this is now a hate song.”

Dabi laughs. “Not hate. Just not love either. A nice in between.”

“Hush. Okay, so this song is about. Well it’s about being okay with a breakup.”

“Is that the case for most people though? I mean, go the other way. Write a song about the pining, the feelings you can’t get over. Not being okay with a breakup.”

You always see Dabi at his most passionate when he’s talking about music. He spends most of his days lazy and indifferent, but now, his eyes shine brightly as he speaks, as animated as you see him get. You smile slightly, nodding.

“Okay. That sounds good. You have to help me though.” 

“God, if I have to.” 

The two of you sit for the next few minutes, squabbling and disagreeing half the time. You think the songs too negative and Dabi assures you it’s not.

“I mean, it’s all about the singer being in love with someone she doesn’t have. This line, ‘I want you to miss me’ or this one, about ‘thinking about me when you hold her’. It’s depressing, no?”

“But that’s what relationships are like.”

You slump back. You’re now cross legged on the couch, Dabi the same, the two of you conferring over the sheets of paper in front of you. There’s ink on your fingertips from writing and you tap the pen on your chin.

“Not necessarily. Not always.”

Dabi shrugs. “Definitely not always. But we can write about when it is. We’ve got plenty of love songs, but. We don’t have many focusing on this.”

“What’s this?”

Dabi paused for a second. It’s silent for a second too long, and you look up at him to see he’s already looking at you. There’s an expression on his face you don’t recognise. You smile slightly, confused, and it seems to jog him out of his silence.

“That longing. Wanting something, someone, so badly and not being able to have them. The pain of it.” 

He speaks softly, his voice nearly a whisper just between the two of you. You notice suddenly, the proximity between the two of you. If you just lean forward a few inches, you’d be touching. 

“You really think a relationship should be that hard? That painful?”

“No one writes good songs about the ones that come easy.”

You laugh softly. You scratch your chin. “Okay. That’s good, then. Let’s finish the rest.”

The two of you sit there, working away. You’ve never really been this alone with Dabi, not this late at night. There’s no windows in the studio, but you know from time and the fact sleep aches under your skin that it’s late. Somehow, you end up  closer. Dabi reaches over to write something and your hands brush, you stretch and your arms touch. Both of you are desperately trying to get in contact just once, just for a second. After what feel like forever you throw your pen to the floor.

“God. I’m done. I’m tired.” You suddenly say.

“Yeah, I think we’re done here.” Dabi speaks through a yawn, dropping the papers on the coffee table in front of him. 

You curl up on the couch, propping your head against Dabi’s shoulder. “You know when the next rehearsal is?” He asks.

Dabi scratches at the scruff on his chin and you think for a second. “Two days, I’m pretty sure” 

Dabi curses softly under his breath. “I don’t think I can make it.”

“Uh, why not?”

“I’m busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Doing who, more like.”

You sit up. “Who?”

Dabi grins. He brings his arms up to rest on the back of the couch. “You jealous, baby?”

“I’m not jealous of your little groupies.” You scoff. 

Dabi barks out a laugh. “Groupies? The fuck are you talking about?”

It’s your turn to laugh. “Oh, come on! Last tour you brought one back like, every night.”

“They wanted autographs!”

“Fuck off!” You laugh. “Those were very vocal autographs. You do realise the tour bus walls are very thin?” There’d been nights when you’d felt like you were in the room with them. 

“Aw, if you wanted to get involved all you had to do was ask.” Dabi pouts, his voice teasing.

“Shut up, you pervert. You wish.”

“I do wish.” 

“Degenerate.”

He reaches a hand up to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear. You freeze slightly and when he moves his hand away you turn, knowing the bright lights won’t hide the red on your face.

“Didn’t mean to be so loud. They can’t help it, you know. Not when I’m there.”

You scoff. “Right. Is that where you learnt all about love?”

“You could say. I know they loved it.”

It was no secret that Dabi slept around. You’d all been victim to the girls he took to bed, screaming his name late into the night when you’d all be trying to sleep after a show. Yeah, you’d had sex before, but it had never been like that. Didn’t have you yelling the way they did. It did make you wonder, some nights.

But you’re not going to let him know that. Your face twists in disgust. “Gross. I don’t need to know that.”

“Really?”

“Yes really.”

Dabi sighs. He sits up slightly. “Shame. I’d show you such a good time if you’d let me.”

And that has you thinking.

Because there he goes again, flirting and saying such suggestive things. You never play along because you always argue that he’s just joking. He doesn’t mean it. And you could shut it down right now. Really. One shove of his shoulder, one excuse that you’re tired and he’s being gross would have him backing off.

But Dabi is looking at you under impossibly long lashes, impossibly blue eyes trailing over your body, before they land back on your face.  He’s looking at you like he’s not joking anymore, and the part of you that wants to scream like those girls did has you meeting his gaze with competition. 

“Really?”

If he looks shocked at your reply, he doesn’t show it. He just inches closer. “Of course. You know I’d treat you right. If you’d let me.” 

You're a breath away from each other. You’re not sure how, but you’re both sitting up again, face to face. You can smell the cigarette smoke that always seems to linger around him, the too strong cologne that never manages to hide it. This close you can see freckles on his face, so light you don’t think you ever would’ve noticed them otherwise. You want to reach out and touch them but you’re frozen. Waiting.

The both of you are silent. You let it linger, wait for him to make the next move. 

“You’re gorgeous. Do you know that? I’m always watching you on stage. When you’re singing. Can’t get enough of you.”

He reaches a hand up. A hand rests on your shoulder, right against your pulse. His fingers curl up against your face, trailing down your cheek.

“And those groupies you were talking about? Fuck, I wish it was you. Wish it was you I was making scream on my tongue, do you know that?” 

You don’t say anything. You don’t think you could if you tried. Dabi smiles.

“You know you do this thing. When we’re working. You always bite on the end of the pen.” 

His fingers trail over your lips. His thumb rubs at your chin. 

“Drives me fucking crazy.”

Your breath hitches as his hand curls around your neck with more purpose.

“I’m gonna kiss you now. That okay?”

You nod.

“I need to hear you say it, baby.”

“Yes, yes it’s okay-“

Your words are breathless and desperate but no more desperate than Dabi is when he pulls you forward, crashes his lips against yours. He makes a sound, almost whining as he curls a hand in your hair. And it’s like everything you always thought it would be, as fast and as hot as you’d imagined. The hand on your neck reaches down, dipping under your shirt and pulling it over your head. You’re only in your bra, and you feel shy suddenly. Because you’re not the prettiest girl he’s ever met, you know that. Your arms curl around your body and he pulls away for just one second to shake his head, breathing heavily. His hands pull your arms away, grabbing both your wrists in one.

“Don’t do that, baby. I wanna see you.” He murmurs.

He kisses down your neck. His lips suck marks into your skin, and you should tell him to stop because people will see it all tomorrow but you want him to mark you up. You want him to see them tomorrow, see them at rehearsals and remember it was him who put them there.

He licks at your pulse and he pulls back. He reaches behind and with one hand, unclips your bra. The ease in which he does it should alarm you slightly, but then he continues down, and his hands on your breasts is enough to render any thoughts in your head useless. He grabs them both and he groans.

“These tits. So soft, so beautiful.” He whispers the words into your skin like they’re not even meant for you.

He pinches your left nipple before sucking it into your mouth. You whine, hands reaching up into his hair, tugging at his shirt. Because you suddenly feel horribly underdressed compared to him, shirtless as he moves to give attention to your other nipple. He tugs his shirt up quickly, and you let your hands travel up his torso. You feel the lean muscle under his arms, trace the scars across his body. He lets go suddenly. 

“Come on, baby. Take these off.” He tugs at your jeans and you quickly slips them off. His hands slips your underwear away as well, throwing them to the side. 

Dabi moves quickly into the floor until he’s kneeling in front of you, arms resting on your legs as he spreads your thighs apart.

“Dabi? What- What are you doing?”

“You call me Touya when I make you come on my tongue, you hear me?”

You curse, breath hitching as he kisses the soft skin of your thighs, fingers rubbing up and down the side of your hip. “It’s okay. You don’t- You don’t have to.”

Dabi, or Touya now, looks confused. He tilts his head slightly, lips red and kissed out, hair mussed from where you had been grabbing it. “Have to? I’ve been dreaming about this pussy for so long, baby, you don’t even know.” 

He looks at you with so much want in his eyes. He bites softly into your thigh and you squeal, and he grins. 

“If it was up to me, I’d sit you on my face and eat you out until you can’t speak, but. We’re on a time crunch here.” 

He presses a chaste kiss to your clit and you shudder. Two fingers reach and part your folds and Dabi makes a low sound in the back of his throat.

“So wet. Is this all for me?”

“Touya, stop teasing.” You huff, squirming in your place.

Touya drags his fingers down, face so close you can feel his breaths. “Ask me nicely.”

“Please, Touya.” You grit out, sitting up in your elbows to glare down at him.

“Please what?”

“Please-“ Your cheeks flush red because he’s not even looking at you. His eyes are focused between your legs like he’s seen heaven between them.

“Please, make me cum, you prick.” You say with a shiver.

And it’s that tiny shiver that seems to set him off because he’s suddenly kissing and sucking at your lips, tongue digging inside your pussy and tracing circles around your clit. Your hips rock forward as you moan, and he holds you down easily so he can continue.

You have been eaten out a few times before. It never felt like something to enjoy, the boyfriend or hookup always doing it to get something over with, to tick a box. But what makes your toes curl, what makes you inch that much closer to cumming, is the fact that Dabi is eating you like a man starved. He’s groaning, eyes fluttering shut as he takes slow, purposeful mouthfuls of your pussy like he’s doing it for him and not you. 

“Taste so good. You been hiding this from me?”

“Touya- fuck.” You grab his hair and tug, and he moans.

“Yeah, good girl. Do that again.” 

You comply, his name a ramble on your lips as your hips buck again. Your core aches and you voice reaches an embarrassingly high pitch as he kisses your clit again. It takes an embarrassingly short time for you to reach the edge. “Da-Touya, I’m, I’m close,” you breathe, hands clutching at the couch beneath you.

Touya detaches himself from you, eyes glancing up at you. “Yeah? You’re close?”

You nod, whine caught in your throat. Your hips jolt forward as he begins trailing slow circles over your clit with his finger. You whine at the slow contact.

“You wanna cum?”

“Yes. Yes, Touya, please.” You breathe.

“You wanna cum on my tongue, baby?” He whispers and you keen, hand reaching down to tug at his hair again, trying to drag him closer.

“Fucking- Touya, I’ll do it myself if I have to.” 

He laughs at that, quickly returning his attention back between your legs. It’s embarrassingly loud as he sucks at your clit, two fingers reaching inside you to press against that spot that has you moaning his name once more. 

“Good girl, so fucking pretty cumming all over my face.” He groans.

And then you cum, and Touya easily holds your hips down as they shake, his own grinding into the floor beneath him, and he takes you through an orgasm that racks through your body. You think you might pass out from the pleasure that crashes over you so suddenly. His hands grab at your chest, your neck, and when he kisses you again you can taste yourself on his tongue.

He smiles at you again, this time more elated, a wild look in his eyes. 

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” It takes you a minute before you can reply. You do so but gesturing him up in his feet.

“Here. Come, get up.” You speak suddenly, still breathing heavily.  

Touya looks confused for a second. You drag him up onto the couch, and your eyes trail down, to the obvious bluge in his trousers. And he looks big judging by it, and you think you’re already ready to get off again.

“Your turn. Come on, take these off.” You tap your fingers on his jeans and take his place on the floor.

“God, you know just what to say to a man.”

“Shut up.” 

He uses one hand to unbuckle his belt and he’s just showing off now, you know, but it’s hot and he knows it is. He pulls his jeans down his legs and you let them pool at his feet. And when you pull his cock out it’s long and thick, you find the source of all his arrogance. He catches you looking and he huffs a laugh. His breath hitches as you slide your fingers up the side, tongue reaching out to lick at the tip, hard and leaking precum.

“You know, you always, fuck, you always deny it, sweetheart, but look at you.” He groans as you lick a stripe up his cock. “On your knees for me.” 

“I always imagined taking you right here, in the studio, bending you over this couch and fucking you until you’re screaming nothing but my name, squirming and begging on my dick.” Your thighs clench and he sees it, a nasty smirk on his face as you take him into your mouth.

“You want that too, angel? Want me to make you scream so loudly everyone comes in and, shit, sees you cumming on my cock? You want that?” 

You don’t say anything, can’t, because he fills your mouth so full that you couldn’t speak if you wanted to. His hand reaches into you hair, guiding your head up and down his dick, low moans and grunts leaving his mouth. He’s so vocal, you realise, an endlesss stream of barely coherent praise leaving his mouth as you use yours.

“Fuck, yeah sweetheart, fuck.” His hips buck into your mouth and you nearly choke.

“Come on, I know you can take it. Good girl, good fucking girl.” He groans, pulling your head down further.

Your eyes flutter shut and Touya reaches down with his free hand to brush the tears that fall down your cheeks. You grab into his thighs, nails digging into his skin.

“Taking me so well, baby. Always so fucking mouthy. So pretty when you use it right.” He breathed heavily, jerking into your mouth again.

He starts fucking into your mouth, and you swipe your tongue underneath his dick, the vein that runs down it and he stutters, breathy curses leaving his lips.

“Gonna cum, fuck.” 

Your name slips past his lips in tandem as he bucks into your mouth one last time. Your mouth fills and you swallow, and he pats your cheek as you look back up at him, gasping for breath you pull back. His chest heaves and his eyes are shining brightly again but for a very different reason. You trace the scratches you left on his thighs and he in turns rubs a finger on the hickeys that leave a telling trail down your body.

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i get so cringed out when i write smut but i wanted to do it so i powered through!!! plz give me any tips if u think its bad i greatly appreciate it. i also had noooo idea how to end this oneshot so i lowkey just stopped writing LMAO

anyway.... bass player dabi u live on in my heart kisses forever

[lunarduty]

𝙋𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙍𝙏 𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙊 𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝘽𝙀𝘿

☾ sfw & nsfw headcanons for dating soap JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH X F!READER TAGS | nsfw. smut. oral (female receiving). female reader. WC | 2,063 x

SFW

☾ in his mind, he was already your boyfriend before even becoming official. soap is fiercely LOYAL and dedicated - just as soon as he realized the depths of his feelings, he was yours before you even knew it. stopped so much as looking at other people, much less thinking or fantasizing about them. for soap, you were it. he just had to convince you to go out with a guy like him, which is very soap. not always looking before he jumps.

☾ he loves calling himself your boyfriend, or calling you his girl. soap isn’t one to try and make it lowkey or anything. he wouldn’t be unprofessional - disrespecting or making you look bad is the last thing he wants. but soap will insert the fact into mundane little conversations whenever he can. the team quickly gets tired of it long before he does.

“soap, you joining us for drinks after the debrief?” “don’t know,” he says, sounding awfully CHIPPER for someone who might miss out on a night at the pub. “gotta check in with my girl, see if she wants to do anything tonight. missed out on lunch with her, y’know.” he was still beating himself up over that. you kept insisting it was fine - you both have crazy schedules sometimes. but soap didn’t want to make it a habit of blowing you off. gaz nodded like he agreed - soap didn’t think he really got what it meant to be your boyfriend.

☾ his favorite thing in the world is making you laugh, and he does it so easily. and a lot of the time, he doesn’t even mean to. soap can be blunt and cheeky sometimes, and his smart mouth has gotten him in hot water more often than not - but he’s always very happy to make you laugh, even accidentally. always acts kinda proud when his jokes land perfectly. or if he’s not in a great mood, but ends up saying something that makes you laugh, it always brightens his mood.

☾ while he usually finds one petname and sticks with it, soap is known to call you different ones - each worse and more SAPPY than the last. they’re never spoken seriously, he just enjoys seeing your nose wrinkle and look at him as if he just tracked dog shit into the house. it’s one of his favorite ways to tease you without feeling like he’s going too far, like he does with some of his mates.

with his nose buried against your neck, and the slowly thump of your heart vibrating on his chest, soap was damn near close to following you into unconsciousness. it had been a chaotic last few days - the mere chance to cuddle up with you in bed had him relaxed beyond the point of needing a quick fuck to tire him out. at least until you shifted your legs, and your icy toes pressed against his legs. “fuck, lass. toes are fuckin’ freezing,” he hisses against your shoulder. you just hum, not bothering to reply, more interested in finally falling asleep. he hums in return, and condemns himself to the icy torture. “lucky i love ya, my l’il popsicle.” “jesus, johnny.”

☾ generally enjoys going out on dates than staying home. of course, if you’re more of a homebody or he just doesn’t feel up to going out, a home date is perfectly fine with him. but soap likes going out and experiencing things - most of all, he wants to show you off. absolutely loves walking down the street with you on his arm, or you pulled against his side. tries to get some leave every few months so you two can travel somewhere, but usually, soap’s idea of a good date is simply going somewhere and having fun.

☾ gets super soft when you start getting comfortable around him. before the relationship began, you two were good friends - there was already a layer of comfort and familiarity before, but it’s different when you start dating. so one night, when you both are just chilling on the couch, and you start cackling at a joke on the TV or ugly-crying during a sad scene, soap just REVELS in it. he’s heard how far some people go not to show certain sides of themselves to their partners, and he’s super pleased that you don’t feel like you need to do that with him. on the flip side, soap immediately gets super goofy with you right off the bat, so it’s not like you’re alone in your silliness.

☾ don’t think you can outkiss this man. don’t even try to challenge him. soap mactavish is a man made for kissing and he will do it all day if you let him. your eyes in the morning to wake you up, on your cheek before he leaves, your hand after meeting up for lunch, your lips when he gets home at the end of the day, your neck while doing the dishes, your forehead after a good fuck before falling asleep. soap loves being able to kiss you whenever he wants and he takes full advantage of that privilege.

☾ arguments aren’t super common, but they do happen. soap can be stubborn and sometimes doesn’t see the wider picture. he forgets to take your feelings into account. arguments are usually resolved pretty painlessly, since soap knows he can be dumb sometimes and he doesn’t let his pride get in the way of apologizing. even still, he likes to go out of his way when it comes to make ups. he doesn’t like feeling guilty and can go a little overboard in comparison to the argument.

“so, you forgive me yet, bonnie?” “hmm,” you draw out the hum, even if the smile on your face negates the tension, “i haven’t decided yet.” suppressing his own grin, johnny throws his hands up in defeat. reclines back in his chair with a sigh and a shake of his head - always with the theatrics. “yeah, i figured ya say that. but i’ve learned to never enter a battle without a secret weapon.” “making up for a fight is a battle for you, is it?” your question, though a joke, made him pause. “well, no, i didn’t- fuck’s sake, lass. take it easy on me.” johnny stands, his hands clapping together. “i was listenin’, though. i know you feel all alone when i’m gone so much, and i’m sorry. wish i could change it.” of course, you knew he couldn’t just uproot his whole life. some of the things you said during the argument weren’t even exactly how you felt - just something said in the moment. “johnny, hold on, i didn’t mean-” “hey, hey, i’m not done.” he backs away from you toward the bedroom. “last thing i want is you to be here feelin’ all LONELY again. so i got something to fix all that.” he finally turns and makes for the bedroom door. when you stand and follow to watch, you notice how carefully he opened and slid right past. like he didn’t want you coming in. but you realized right away it was because he didn’t want something getting out. “a puppy? john, this is-” “great, right? can cuddle up to him when i’m not here!”

☾ definitely thinks about marriage super early on, but doesn’t really bring it up because he doesn’t wanna come off as weird or creepy. but honestly, soap knew you were the one right away. he’s not out looking at rings or wedding venues - he just kinda ACCEPTS that he’s gonna marry you. might make little jokes or comments here and there. jokingly calls you his wife or “the missus.” so when he eventually does pop the question, he’s a little taken aback when you’re caught off guard. and then he remembers that, oh yeah, he’s always been mentally married to you since basically forever.

NSFW

☾ it’s not hard at all to tell when soap is in the mood. he’s going to get very touchy if you let him - from soft grazes of his fingers along your skin to straight up groping your ass when you walk by. he is an absolute menace when he’s horny. loves coming up behind you when you’re doing something and just squeezing your hips and kissing your neck. grinds his cock against your ass, as if it isn’t painfully obvious how wound up he is.

☾ foreplay with soap is more fun than anything. there are rare moments when he’s silent and serious and focused, but mostly, he likes to keep it light. makes you laugh before sucking on your tits to take your breath away. says some dumb comment when you’re grinding against his thigh to distract you, only to suddenly change pace and laugh when you whimper. he sees sex with you as something to 100% ENJOY and making sure the both of you have fun with it…

☾ …that is until soap gets completely pussy-drunk off you and just shuts the fuck up and enters this kind of tunnel vision when he’s eating you out. it happens a good 60% of the time - he starts out his usual light and teasing self, kissing your thighs, asking you if you want to fuck his mouth. but just as soon as he gets his tongue on your clit and his fingers buried knuckle-deep, it’s so easy for him to just get lost in it. will make you cum twice before he realizes it, and is almost confused when you’re begging him to stop, or at least give you a break. 

“fu- fuck, johnny! i can’t- shit, you need to stop.” those words seem to finally break him of his little trance. your little moans and whimpers of his name are always MELODIC in a way that makes him want to hear more and more. but hearing you ask him to stop makes soap blink and pull his face away - lips parted in his panting, chin glistening. “okay, bonnie?” he asks, a hand squeezing your hip. you’re breathing hard. skin flushed. chin tilted upward with your eyes closed and he wonders just how hard you came. or how many times. “i’m okay,” you answer quickly. “just…need a break. or just fuck me - that works too.” a wide grin spreads over his face, and when he pulls his fingers free, the soft squelching sound almost makes him shiver. “just said the fuckin’ magic words, beautiful.”

☾ not at all picky with positions, so he usually just tries a bunch of different ones or follows your lead. there’s something to enjoy with all of them, so how can he have a favorite? fucking you in missionary gets him on top, where he feels so big and strong and loves feeling you hold onto him like your life depends on it. when you ride him, he gets to watch your face the entire time, or play with your tits, or do anything he wants. getting you in doggy is great when soap is feeling especially FERAL and just wants to drive into you, grabbing your ass, tugging on your hair when he feels like he can’t hear you well enough. gun to his head, he can’t pick just one.

☾ soap does have a preference when he cums. as fucking fantastic as it feels to cum inside you, there’s something otherwordly about pulling out and painting your skin. he saves creampies for slow and sleepy sex (or when you beg for it), but every other time? soap is cumming on your back, your belly, your thighs, your face, your tits. anywhere and everywhere is fair game for him. he’s definitely taken a picture when the sight is too good to leave to memory. eventually deletes them because he doesn’t want them to somehow get out, but not before using it as wank material while he’s away.

☾ very gentle and attentive with aftercare. sex with soap isn’t especially rough or intense most of the time, but he still doesn’t slack on it. kissing you good and proper after you both cum, letting you know just how much he loves you. always gets something to clean you up and talking while he does so - soap is a chatterbox anyway, but more so after sex because he doesn’t want you to start feeling awkward. lots of cuddles and touches when he climbs into bed - but be warned, he does tend to nod off pretty soon.

[girlboypersonthingy]

Would it be ok to request Vox with an affectionate s/o?

More than okay, nonnie! I’ve been getting so many requests bro, literally every time I post one, I get like 2 more in its place. IM LIVING FOR IT, KEEP IT COMING YALL! But also plz be patient with me 🥺 been waiting for a request for my flat-faced prince. Tbh the first time I watched Hazbin, my immediate reaction to Vox was ‘OH NO HES HOT!!!’ So, enjoy these headcanons 😘

Notes: gn!reader, maybe a little ooc Vox?

Vox x reader- Affection 💋

Also oh my fucking godddddd the vest, him in a vest. I need more Vox in a vest PRONTO…🥵

Okay so like…bro is more dirty minded.

He’s genuinely confused when you kiss his cheek or hold his hand like ???

Oh….you’re not just trying to fuck him and get famous?

Cuteee~

Sure, he’s fucked and made out with ppl and probably done some other crazy shit but his experience with sappy romance and affection like you show him is very limited.

He’s pretty dense, he’s got a tough shell and doesn’t really understand love languages and stuff like that.

His love language is most definitely gift giving and I just know he’s terrible at actually showing his feeling through words or romantic gestures or physical affection.

It’s usually just like “Hey! I love ya! I got you this.” *insert item you’d flip your lid over*

At least he’s a good gift giver! He really does try to give you cool stuff he knows you’ll like but he’s still learning how to actually speak about his feelings and show it physically.

He tries to match your energy the best he can

Get him gifts!!! Plz he loves homemade gifts too- gift him art, sing him an original song, sew him something, whatever your skills or talents may be, use them and he’ll adore it and also praise tf out of you

You took time to make this just for him? ‘Marry me’

Besides fucking around with Val, Vox doesn’t get much affection so he very quickly falls in love with all the sweet affectionate touches you frequently show him.

It’s all so different than Val, so sensitive and genuine. It really makes him swoon~

Melts when you kiss the corners of his screen- there’s something about non mouth kisses that really gets to him

He gets a huge dorky love stuck grin when you sit in his lap and hug him close, also hugs you back super tight

Absolutely loves kissing you and then noticing the lingering smudges/lipstick marks on his screen later

Fix his bow tie while giving him a sneaky wink in front of his crew and he’ll huff and look away while trying to hold back a smile

Invites you on his nightly broadcast as a guest one time and quickly learned how embarrassed he becomes when you flirt and call him pet names on live TV in front of tons of viewers

After only 10 minutes of talking, giggling and giving him bedroom eyes, Vox was struggling to maintain his composure- you’re so fucking cute.

All you had to do was laugh loudly at one of his crude jokes about Alastor and call him your “honey bunny” and suddenly the entire V tower lost power.

Poor man literally short circuits over your darling voice calling him such soft names- he’s so down bad for you he can’t even hide it

Val and Velvette have that specific episode downloaded and saved to every device they own bc there’s no way they are letting this go, he’s never living this down

If you pause the video right before it cuts out, just before the power goes out, Vox has literal hearts for eyes and his entire screen briefly becomes this bright blushy pink color- that’s a color no one has ever seen on him

Just keep doing your thing, you little hopeless romantic, and you’ll see that color more often.

But Vox might have to leave you at home when filming bc he can’t control himself around you sometimes and you obviously can’t either 🖤

[pumpkin-bats]

Falling For You - Portgas D. Ace Headcanons

Request by @ijustloveshingekinokyojin

How it was for Ace to fall for you, and when he finally realized what was happening.

-

You start off as friends and he misinterprets his feelings for you as just that at first. This doesn't last very long.

'I get excited when I see them, and my heart beats fast, and I smile a lot... that's because they're my best friend!"

He finds himself talking about you almost as much as he talks about Luffy and his friends point it out to him, which makes him become a bit more aware about what's going on with his feelings.

Still enjoys doing what you usually do as friends, except he quickly realizes that he prefers to do most of those things with just you.

It takes two specific things to happen to make him go from "this is friendship!" to "this is not friendship."

The first thing that happened was when you both went out for lunch to hang out and you were talking about something that happened that you were really excited about. He was watching you normally for a while but started looking into your eyes and he suddenly couldn't hear a single thing you were saying. He was picking out the flecks of color in them that he never noticed before, until you snapped your fingers at him and he realized he wasn't paying attention that entire time. He didn't really understand what happened in the moment but he couldn't forget how your eyes looked a little bit like they had stardust in them when you spoke.

The second incident was when you were going for a walk at a park. You were talking and laughing with each other as usual and halfway through one particular joke you started bumping shoulders to be silly. In that moment he got the urge to hold your hand and intertwine your fingers. This hit him so hard it made him stop walking and verbally go "shit." He did not explain why he did this when you asked.

From then on it was a lot of glances your way. Every time you looked at him, he made eye contact. Even when you weren't looking at him, he couldn't help but look at you but a bit softer and more sappy than before.

Not holding your hand was the greatest struggle and you noticed that he tried to physically keep his distance from you. He doesn't explain why until you start dating a few months later.

A lot of offhanded compliments that he quickly tries to brush off. Sometimes he'd say something really sweet unintentionally that would make him so embarrassed with himself that he just walks away for a second before coming back and trying to move on from what he said.

Tries to hide his feelings from you for as long as possible.

[nu1lst4rs]

doodled human designs for nightmares gang!

click for better quality

ggrahhb. i love them. will draw individual refs soon. promise. cross has jumped between nightmares gang and star sanses, and therefore is considered a neutral outcode in our au. so ill draw him later.

horror fws the trans community

Star sanses, neutral aus (p1), neutral aus (p2), extras

some headcanons under cut 3_^

warning there is alot of text

> nightmare (they/it)

DESI NIGHTMARE!!!! (this is blatant self projection.)

short. but they always manipulate their height when they're outside of their gang because they hate being short.

chubby because its ass is not used to actual food, and they have a really slow metabolism when it isnt negativity. and now that horrors "forcing" it to eat, they gain weight. fast.

intersex. not sure why i think this but they don't really have a sex, so. erm.

^ adding onto that their fluid in their expression. sometimes masc, sometimes fem, sometimes andro.

has those stupid ass hair curlers and uses leftovers for their tentacles

MATCHING NECKLACES WITH MY OTP AT THE CURRENT MOMENT. usually errormare or bsp. sometimes fluffynight. killermare if nihira is fronting.

also sugar daddy nightmare. its either rich as fuck or have no money at all. (this is kindve a crack hc)

> Dust (he/they)

leaning korean and thai mix for him. because i need to see more mixed characters.

wears pjs whenever he can. gets the most fucking stupid pj pants too. like hello kitty. comfort > style.

always dusty. mostly because he doesn't shower and smells like ASS, but also because they gotta live up to their name somehow.

TRANS MASC. dont care if you say its wrong. EVERYONE IS TRANS. (excluding horror and blue. allies!)

aroace spec 100%. most sanses are, but him in particular. would rather die than do any of the sappy bs. but wouldd love to have a partner. or maybe 3. wink wink.

"2 shorter than killer but gaslights killer into thinking he's taller

doesn't wear papyrus' scarf, but keeps it in his sleeve.

> Horror (he/him)

wanna hc him as native american. but i haven't exactly thought much about what in particular.

tall and bulky. after a lonnggg famine, horror developed an ED. where they stress eat until he's physically ill, or feeling less stressed.

doesn't need the bandages on his face, bur keeps them there because he hates the scar

little big bottom teeth. its something he developed due to the food conditions in HT snowdin.

as much as it happens, horror HATES having blood on him, so he wears an apron underneath his clothes and does the laundry often.

PROSTHETIC LEG!!!! it got stuck in a bear trap when he was in his old au, and alphys didnt really know what else to do. its not the best thing, but its reliable. killer likes to put stickers on it.

has a cleaver named maxine, and an axe called rex.

ace because i dont really think. yeah. gross. ew. intimacy.

> killer (he/they/it)

arabic. its almost canon at this point.

has a selection of knifes in his thigh thing if his magic backfires on them. favourite is its butterfly knife.

is legally blind. his ass CANNOT see. refuses to admit this.

acespec because like look at me. he can barely feel. i just think he'd love the idea of being in a relationship, and desperately want one. but know he cant be in one.

scars galore holy shit. is always somehow simultaneously sloppy and precise with his knifework. him and nightmare have a small rivalry to see who can get the most.

needs to have textures on his clothes. something to ground themself. like "oh shit we're dissociating." rubs pants aggressively. works for us.

transb... transverse...

also DID but this is hinted at in canon

HUh. okay wow that was alot. cres shut up about utmv for 5 seconds (IMPOSSIBLE) (I DIED AFTER 1 SECOND). anyways THANK YOU!!! i will post and draw stars and neutrals tomorrow maybe. just after some sleep because it is 2am. bye everyone 3.<

[preeningpisces]

Geto NSFW Headcanons

Im gonna try not to be biased because this is my main bitch right here 🖤

Lemme know if you want me to elaborate or write about any of these headcanons

(literally any ask about Geto will make me do somersaults—backflips, even)

18+ content below the cut, mdni, implied chubby f!reader

Pre-Incident

꩜ Geto is interesting because before he snaps and after he snaps feel like two different vibes in regards to sex

꩜ Doting, almost like a service-dom. He likes taking care of you, but he also prefers to have control. Though not so controlling that he can’t ever be submissive

꩜ Major smooth-talker, like Gojo said, he has a silver tongue. Likes a mixture of praise and degradation. The degradation is usually teasing, and doesn’t extend past the usual slut, whore, etc. range…usually

꩜ Sometimes it comes out corny tho lmfao pls roast him when it does

꩜ Good at making you feel sexy. The type that will kiss you all over, giving extra affection to areas you aren’t as fond of. It’s difficult at first, but with time you become more comfortable

꩜ Very sensual, and intimate. He has good self-control, & is very patient so he can draw things out & drive you crazy. Like he can spend all-too-long just toying with your mouth, denying you the kiss you so desperately want. Barely brushing your lips and teeth with his thumb, before pinching your tongue between fingers. Wowee

꩜ Refuses to kiss you after absorbing curses. Even though no one else can taste them, the thought of tasting like that is enough for for him to refuse; he doesn’t want you to go through it too. Also, tasting shit-vomit in your mouth doesn’t exactly get the schlong schlinging, yknow

꩜ I suspect absorbing curses gives him an immediate surge of negative emotions, so he usually needs space. Sometimes he just wants to hold you, or be held, in silence

꩜ Can be surprisingly playful in bed

꩜ Really likes fucking you from below. Smooshing your soft breasts and stomach against him, and feeling your weight on top of him. Holding you still so he can rail you while whispering sappy, dirty shit in your ear. I’m passing out someone help

꩜ I’ve been poisoned by the perv!geto fics on here, and can’t see him as not being a secret pervert. Just slightly. It takes a while for him to reveal that side to you, since he tries to appear refined and respectable

꩜ Definitely the type that likes music in the background; I see him as someone who cares about music a lot in general. You know he likes you if he’s sharing song recs

꩜ Lots of playlists, and even has a few sex playlists with different moods. Usually prefers things that are chill, but has a few harder-hitting songs—this is why he needs the playlists, lol. He doesn’t like when the vibe changes too much

꩜ One time you sneak Cbat onto his playlist & make him laugh so much he loses his boner. At that point did you really win? Hmm?

꩜ Tbh he’s got game & is aware of it. You gotta humble him occasionally or else he becomes insufferable

Post-Incident

꩜ This Geto is a lot more self-centered, aggressive, and sadistic in bed. I wouldn’t say he’s a tyrant tho

꩜ Will legit punish you when you disobey, no funishments here. Big into humiliation

꩜ My heart is telling me shibari, especially the kind that can be hidden beneath clothes. Particular about the color, and will pick ones that flatter your skin tone. Obsessed with the way the ropes pinch and dig into your soft body. He’ll bite and squeeze the parts that spill over the ropes

꩜ One punishment would be walking around secretly tied up, but the style where one of the ropes rubs against your pussy as you walk. It sounds nice at first, but that bitch is gonna chafe for sure

꩜ He’s more selfish than before, yes, but he still maintains a proclivity for doting—we all see how he spoils his daughters! It’s like, he gets his turn first, and when it’s your turn, it's your turn. Multiple orgasm king. He’ll do it until you’re sobbing tho, so pray for your pussy

꩜ Loves making you choke on his cock—gets kind of intense with the bjs. Mfer needs to chill (and buy you some throat lozenges)

꩜ Doggystyle is his favorite without a doubt, he just wants to pin your face to the bed and watch your ass bounce

꩜ A lot of the previous stuff is still applicable to some degree, but I think he has a lot less patience at this point, and is waaaay more into degradation & domination

꩜ He gets legitimately mean sometimes lmfao it’s like you gotta have 2 safewords: one for physical intensity level, and the other for bullying level 😭

꩜ Would he sleep with a non-sorcerer? Honestly, I can’t decide. If he did tho, he would be SO FUCKING MEAN I don’t even want to think about it !!!

꩜ Does he use monkey in bed unironically?? Chat pls advise

[hamm3rhead-shark]

"Just shut up and kiss me already"

Ellie Williams x fem reader

The first date

A/N-Thank you too @aliceellieswife for this request it's kinda rushed but I hope you like it😰

"This is stupid" is all Ellie could think as she stood outside your door waiting for you, dressed in her usual Jackson attire of black jeans, her decomposing converse and a normal hoodie, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers, she always made sure to get the ones you liked, shes just thrilled that she can finally take you on a date! She nearly threw up her nerves when asking you so shes determined not too mess this up.

Shes so thrilled her stomach is doing hoola hoops and her palms are sweaty and is she standing weird? Are the chocolates waiting in the car melting? Is she-

Her thoughts are abruptly interrupted as she sees you open the door and Lord do you look amazing, her eyes trail up to your face as she breaks out into a grin.

"You look beautiful" she speaks in awe, she sounds shocked, relieved and nervous all at once as she fiddles with the bouquet nervously, shes trying to play it cool but you can see how much shes sweating.

She nearly trips over her own damn feet as she steps forward "I got you flowers, your favourites"

'god Ellie!' She can't help but think 'pull yourself together!'

She's reassured at least something is going right when you pull her towards you into a brief hug as you take the flowers, handling them with care "their beautiful" you gush heading inside to put them in a vase quickly. She takes your hand as she walks you to her car,nearly tripping, again! "calm down Els" you giggle watching her get all flustered over even the littlest of things and you can't help but gaze at her in the hazy afternoon glow, the way her green eyes squint slightly in the bright light, revealing a sappy green color,one of which you've recently grown to love, the way her skin glows, her freckles prominent,shes like a perfect puzzle pieces together all for you, her aubern air tied up in that gorgeous half-up half-down bun that she knows you love so much.

★

A dreamy car ride (though let's admit, anything with THE Ellie Williams next to you is dreamy) and walk along the beach later and you and Ellie found a well lit area and a gorgeous view of the horizon. Luckily Ellie had brought a blanket for you both too lay on as you eat ice cream and watch the sun slowly set out over the sea.

"I'm telling you (fav flavour) is horrible" she laughs and scrunches up her nose, you giggle but cant help getting distracted by the way her eyes squint slightly and she grins brightly with enough warmth in them to make even the chilliest evenings seem way too warm.

"It's literally the best flavor what are you talking about? At least I didn't order bubblegum like a child" you joke pushing her arm slightly as she licks her bubblegum flavoured ice cream glating at you mischievously like your missing out on something big, you can't help but giggle as she goes slightly red and pushes you back, accidentally smothering her own cheek in ice cream as you push her arm back up against her. "Oh shit I'm sorry!"

"don't hate my superior tastebuds! Bubblegum is not for children" she argues feigning seriousness with it smeared on her cheek, you can't help but burst out cackling and pull down your jacket sleeve to gently wipe it from her face

"evidently" you joke focusing your eyes on caressing her cheek rather than her eyes, truly taking in just how cute her freckles are. Ellie notices this and gently places her hand over your wrist that's cupping her cheek and leans into your touch, there isn't even a mark anymore it's just an excuse to be closer to her, to feel her, both of you know it but neither of you will say it.

Your eyes lock with hers, your own ice cream discarded long ago, you come to the realisation your craving something a bit more sweet. Said craving still hasn't let go of your wrist yet, neither of you wanting to break the moment just yet, but none of you wanting to make a move. She looks at you like you hung the stars and you love it.

You simply exist for a moment until she holds her ice cream in front of your face h

Yauntingly "you won't regret it" she teases but you just scrunch up your nose and hum softly, enjoying listening to her speak as she goes on, and on, and on, you zone out, focusing more on the way her lips move and her eyes flutter under the intensifying light of the sunset unfolding in front of you, how her well kept hair flows slightly in the breeze, all you can focus on is how badly you want to touch her, to feel her, shes talking away and your nodding along, gosh shes such a need, dropping statistics you don't understand yet nod to anyway, studying her facial features and how she takes pride in this. But then again Ellie takes pride in most things.

"-it's not even just to do with biology it's more hereditary I think-" you snap back to reality and lean back, you have absolutely no idea what she's yapping about anymore or how the topic changed from I've cream to this but your not about to complain about hearing her soothing voice a little longer. She's oblivious to your thoughts process and keeps on talking. Honestly it's a little funny, with the way your oogling at her it's hard not to be able to tell your 100% into her.

"Ellie-" you interupt her, leaning closer putting your arms on her chest softly, just grazing her skin, you don't know what your doing but you can't take this anymore.

"just shut up and kiss me already" she goes beet red and stammers in her sentence, trying to form a decent response she silences almost immediately as you lean in, her hands find your waist instinctively and hums as she pulls you closer.

Your own hands wrap around her neck as you kiss, it's sweet and long and passionate and everything a kiss should be, she tastes smooth like caramel with a tiny hint of bubblegum ice cream and you wouldn't have it any other way, her arm wraps around you more firmly now as she pulls back to look at you through half lidded, slightly shocked eyes.

"I love you Y/N" she whispers softly, the words are foreign in her mouth but feel right to say if it's to you.

"I love you too Ellie" you whisper back peppering another quick kiss on her lips.

"Girlfriends?" Ellie asks and you can't help but roll your eyes dramatically and bring a hand up to play with her hair as if the kiss didn't clarify.

"Girlfriend's." You say factually and kiss her again. As far as Ellie's concerned this date was a win.

A/N-(again) sorry if this is ass I haven't wrote anything like this in ages (or wrote in general) also sorry it took so long I hope you enjoyed!! 😋- I just re read it 2 bours later nd this shit make no sense bro😭I wrote it when I was high, come back and I did it dirty icl.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 8)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 7, Part 9

summary: You visit your ex. Miguel tags along.

warnings: mentions and description of depression. heavy angst, depictions of a toxic relationship. some suggestive language.

a/n: me when idk shit abt the american school system:

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 5.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you had forgotten; they were good.

Blank walls. Quiet corridors. The buzz of monitors and dull chatter sandwiched between blue vinyl and exit signs. You're not usually one to wander during your breaks; but you're going crazy looking at the same four walls. 

That hair net itches and the strap of a blue mask digs into skin as you make your way to a little courtyard. You sit out on a paltry bench overlooking concrete. The spindly remnants of a tree provides little cover from harsh elements. Wind whips through its branches, whistling and cool, as you rip off the mask and crumple it up in your pocket. A heavy sigh, and you feel some semblance of peace. Some quiet, before the morning comes. Before a rush of orders and shunting plastic trays up and down the wards. 

You screw your eyes shut to still the pounding at your temples. God. You're grateful for the job, really. And all things considered, it's not particularly taxing: coffee orders until the little cafe closes, meal prep for the morning rush, and sometimes you'd volunteer to take orders to bed bound patients. A whole lot of reheating and chopping and pressing buttons on the little machines. You don't quite get it, of course, but your lone coworker picks up the slack well enough. 

The older woman doesn't do much for company, anyways. Riveting conversation comes in the form of grunts and sharp elbows when you get in the way or round the corner of the kitchen. It has you counting down the seconds until your shift ends. 

And so you are grateful, well and truly. Jamie's not so sappy, anymore; doesn't partake in 'I love you's or grand gestures; but he is dependable. Safe. Willing to stick his neck out for you, at least. He'd gotten you a job at the hospital he has his placement at; with decent pay, and it slots in well with your other ones. He's taking you seriously – taking the news better than your parents. After telling him you wanted to go back to school, you're not met with thinly veiled disbelief, or lips pressed together with pity. He'd nodded, rather simply. Didn't make a fuss. No deep sighs, or heavy frowns. Okay , he had said. How can I help? 

It was the simplicity of his reaction that had bowled you over, almost bringing you to tears. To have someone believe in you, for once – wholeheartedly and without an onslaught of questions – felt like a deep breath of air after almost drowning. It felt like love ; and after desperate breaths, gasping and gulping and clawing at something to hold on to, you think you've found dry land. Something solid, something stable; a rough palm to pull you out of swirling depths. Because, unlike your family, and unlike half-hearted friends: Jamie was there. 

After heading back in to catch the morning rush, you're wiping down surfaces and sorting plastic trays onto a cart. Rote, repetitive, boring; you've settled into a routine that feels familiar. A couple more months, you reckon, and you'll be able to cover the costs for a second go at undergrad. You can shed the skin that seems to follow you at every family gathering, and the job interviews in between. Dropout – and when your Mom says it, it feels like a vile curse. Jamie calls it spiteful, and you opt for the democratic alternative; she's being dramatic - rather than cruel, rather than hurtful, rather than crass. You've heard enough, from all sorts: ‘too much pressure’, and ‘didn't think she had it in her, anyways’, are common phrases whispered in the background of phone calls home. 

Your chest aches with the weight of it – the kind of ache that seeps into skin, and lines a casket. Grief; mourning a person you could've been, and a person you never would be. For a while, it left you paralysed by the what ifs and the maybes; rotting in a quiet corner. Sinking into sofa cushions or caked onto the bed sheets like the mystery mould bloomed onto the plates in your room. But Jamie was there, more than anyone else. 

You'll wait for him in the corridor near the back of the service elevator, like you always do after a shift. You finish when he starts, early in the morning and rubbing away sleep from his eyes for ward rounds. You'll give him a kiss, and he'll give you a soft little smile to send you on your way. It almost makes the whole thing worth it. Almost. 

You give and you give and you give. Your boyfriend isn't quite the same; doesn't pour into you the way you'd like him to. But it works. It works because it has to; a thousand miles away from anything resembling home. You can't ask for more – the right words die in your throat. 

~~~

You've spent the past couple of hours in the library. Procrastinating for at least half of it, but you've managed to draft out a couple of essays and more or less reorganise your life. It's something you've been dreading for the past week or so; letting yourself get swept up in the monsoon that is your roommate. Miguel – sarcastic, saccharine-sweet Miguel – and his stupidly pretty lips, his pretty hands, and the pretty way he scrunches up his face like he's smelt something rotten. 

You're staring at a computer with a slew of books spread out on the adjacent desk. Your half-finished report seems to jumble together on the screen; a tangle of citations and filler words and shitty diagrams. It's not quite clicking , and it's making you want to tear out chunks of your hair in search of relief. A tale as old as time, one you can merely wallow in and fold yourself between its pages. Struggling at school; and this time it's a stats module you thought would be an easy couple of credits, that you definitely can’t afford to fail if you want to graduate early. 

You’ve picked a quiet spot on the third floor; a computer bay tucked into the corner. It overlooks a little window, cramped and claustrophobic and mystery mould in the corners of its grout. You've resorted to scanning the cracks with sharp eyes, light fingers on your neck to trace the leftovers of the morning. You can see it in the slightly mirrored surface of cloudy glass; you look like shit, you feel like shit, but you can still feel him. Lips on your neck, sucking soft hickies into the skin; and you can't help but like the way it looks on you. It's the same under your jeans, blooming like mauve and purple heather on a sprawling field.

You cross your legs, wincing at the dull ache that spreads. Sore, in that way that feels good; sending flashes of a morning with Miguel. Fingers knuckle deep in your cunt and the heat of him – cut and lean-lined – on top of you; it's impossible to ignore. Condensation drips from the panes, pooling in its corner and you swipe a finger in it, lazily. Again, you're reminded of him, for the thousandth time in the past hour: shaking legs, fisting his cock, spraying fat globs of his cum onto your face and chest. 

With another glimpse of your reflection, you sigh. Deep and heavy, with the weight of half a decade of frustration, sexual or otherwise. You've never felt this good or had your needs satiated so wholly, so exorbitantly. It feels odd. You don't know where to put your hands, how to place your feet on the floor. Do you shout, do you scream? How do you tell all the poor bystanders that scatter the third floor: I'm sleeping with Miguel O'Hara! A walking red flag with cheekbones that could cut glass! He wants me, and I want–

Your phone rings. The noise catches you off guard, and has you stumbling to press accept. 

"Hey," Miguel's voice sounds tinny in the speakers, and so you press it to your ears. 

"Y-Yeah?" You steel yourself, batting away daydreams of your legs wrapped around his middle – too horny for your own good, clearly. 

"I'm outside, chula. " He stops talking. The quiet ticking of an indicator becomes the only sign of life, before he says, "In that parking bay by the–" 

"I know, I know. Give me 5 minutes." You rush to pack up, clicking off the monitor and haphazardly shoving your notes into your bag. Not everything fits, and you give up trying to cram that textbook in. 

A beat passes before you realise he's still on the phone. Quiet, but still there. 

"…I brought food, by the way." 

You only just manage to catch it, slotting the phone between your ear and shoulder. That makes you perk up. 

" Seriously? " You give him a small laugh. You think you can hear him smile through the phone. "Thank fucking God, I'm starving. But you weren't rushing, or anything, right? I mean, it's so soon after your session with… Sally, or–" 

You're bounding down two steps at a time, so eager to see him – to get food , actually – that you're careless going down the stairs.

"Sarah . " He breathes, and you make your way downstairs. 

It stops you in your tracks, for some reason. 

"Okay. Sarah ." You say it with finality, voice tight. "What did you end up doing anyways? At her place, you said?" 

"Pressure differentials. Modelling viscosity. It's not very interesting." He hums, shifting in his seat. "What about you? Did you get something done?" 

You take a beat too long to respond, and it comes out half-baked. 

"Loads, Mig."

He snorts. " Sure. "

" Fuck you. " You say it under your breath, ducking past the entrance, and into a side road.

And there Miguel is, car heaped onto part of the sidewalk. He's leaning back, lazy arm sticking out the car window, showing off muscle and pretty tan skin. It's getting cold, but he's cracked the car door ajar; donned in a well-fitting t-shirt and slack trousers. 

You're trying not to drool; and he makes it a little easier by flashing a shit-eating grin. 

Childishly, you stick your tongue out; wrenching the door open and slumping into the passenger side. You tuck your things by your feet, and it lands on the floor with a thump. 

"You can put your stuff in the back.. . " Miguel frowns.

" Can't. We need the space, remember?" 

To pick up the rest of your things left in your ex's apartment. You hope he can parse out the rest of that from a raised eyebrow. 

He sighs, tossing a brown bag of takeout onto your lap. He starts the car. "...I didn't think we were still doing that, to be honest."

He seems disappointed, eyes flitting this way and that as he reverses and pulls out. You must've hit your head at some point, because you're in heat – pressing sore legs together at the way he does it. One arm on the back of your headrest, sharp jaw jutting out as he looks back, and bottom lip hooked under his teeth; he's just concentrating, trying not to hit one of the cat-sized rodents that roam the streets this late at night, and he's still hot . 

"You promised ."

"I had my face between your thighs. Would've said anything if it meant I could have more."

You draw your lips in faux disgust – your heart's not in it, but it's enough to make him chuckle. 

"Fuck you."

He doesn't miss a beat, deadpanning, "...you'd like that."

Lips pursed, you ignore the way it twists your stomach into knots. Steadfast, you stare out at the window, watching the yellow lights of a bustling city pass you by. 

Miguel takes a different turning, one that'll take you across the city and away from your place. To Jamie's, most likely. You soften, taking a moment to look across at him. 

His eyes flit over, intense and almost a deep red in the neon and lights. It's barely a couple of seconds, but he knows, just like that. 

"Are you nervous?" He tests the waters, voice steady and non-committal. It's not an accusation; even though everything feels like one, lately. Not from him, though. Never from him. 

" No ." Your tone is betraying, and you both know it. He seems to pretend not to hear that tremor in your voice. 

"You'll be okay, sweetheart." He says it soft and low, not quite looking at you. 

"It's just… it's the first time I'm going to see him after–" Your voice crackles. "After everything."

"You'll be okay," He starts. It doesn't feel like an empty platitude when he says it: it feels genuine and full-bodied and sonorous, clanging around your head like the chime of church bells. "Probably not right away – it's going to hit you like a semi, first. And you'll feel like shit afterwards. But it won't last. You'll move on, and you'll be okay; because you have to be."

He drifts off somewhere far away when he says that last bit; and you're not too sure what he's talking about anymore. Regardless, you wrap his words around you, holding it to your chest like a little songbird in the cradle of a tree. 

You'll be okay. You have to be. 

It feels less solid when it's not Miguel saying it, you think. You don't tell him that, though, sinking into the seat instead. 

He doesn't let that silence sit for too long. Traffic creates a natural lull, and he reaches over to tap at the book in your lap – one of many different textbooks, the rest of which is lodged in your bag.

"You're taking a stats module, I assume."

You nod. 

"With Dr. Karev?" 

You sit up slightly. "...yeah, actually."

He hums. "You thought it would be an easy A, then." 

He's right, but it doesn't make it sting any less. You were hoping for simple math and data processing, and here you were: drowning in matrices and linear algorithms.

 "I thought it would be."

"Let me help you, then. I took one of his classes and he barely changes the syllabus. I could dig up my old notes, and–" 

"You want to tutor me ?" You splutter – but you don't mean to sound as shocked as you do. " Why? " 

"Why not?" He shrugs. 

"I… I don't have any money, or anything."

"M'not offering because I want money." He's nonchalant, inching towards the car up front. 

You squint. It's not adding up. "What's the catch?" 

"No catch, I swear. Is it so hard to believe I'm being nice?" 

Now, you feel guilty. "Sorry, Mig. I appreciate it, I really do–" 

"Sit on my face and we'll call it even."

He turns to you now, face flat but with a twinkle in his eye. The corners of his mouth are slightly upturned - amused. He thinks this is funny? 

You give him a light shove as the traffic starts to break up. He's riled you up, now, and you're much too annoyed to be nervous. 

"Eyes on the road, asshole." 

It's more bark than bite, and you settle into the seat, finally cracking open the paper bag. You munch on fries and it makes him laugh. Miguel swears he can see it: the hint of a gentle smile on your face. 

~~~

He pulls up to the apartment complex. Modest, close to the hospital; and you probably couldn't have afforded to live there without your ex. Jamie was lucky; his parents could foot the bill of moving out, and he had family that lived in the city. 

It feels odd to be on the outside looking in. The building's windows become snapshots into other people's lives. For some, it meant an early night, blinds drawn and lights off. From the parking lot, you can see the dim yellow of lights streaming through other apartments. Silhouettes flit past every now and then; the only sign of life. 

Jamie's apartment is on the top floor, the two windows on the far right. You crane your head out of the car window, to get a better look. The lights are on, with one window left slightly ajar. 

Miguel moves to get out, with shuffling that breaks the silence. You stop him with a hand on his arm. 

"No, no. I'm going up by myself."

He cocks his head to the side, ever so slightly. 

"...you sure? If you need help shifting boxes, I can–" 

"I'm good, Mig. I just needed the car."

It comes out snappier than you meant it to, already irritable. With that, you pop the door open with a thunk . You can't see it, but he frowns, watching you swish and sway towards the entrance. 

You trace familiar steps to Jamie's apartment. The door code hasn't changed, and so you buzz yourself in. This is something you can do quickly and efficiently, you've decided. In and out, and you don't have the energy for much else. Bracing at the door, you get ready to knock, hand curled into a fist. 

The door swings open before you get the chance. He's there; still in light blue scrubs and a name badge pinned to his chest. It's the first thing you see, trying not to look at his face. But it's like pulling teeth, you decide: less painful when it's quick and sharp. 

" Where's my –" 

" Your stuff's in the –" 

In a great clash of words, you finally look up at him. Where you're expecting some form of emotion – a flash of something, even for just a moment – Jamie is steadfast. Blank; blinking back sleep, if anything. You clamp down what feels like bile rising in your throat and push past him into the front room. 

"Is this how it's going to be?"

Head down, you grit a quiet, "Don't . "

It's just as you left it, to the point it's almost comical. The same pillows you'd bury yourself in after work, the patterned tea towel you'd bought on a whim. The bar stools in lieu of a proper dining table, and that great big desk he had insisted on carting to the living room for years . Bits and pieces of you, of your relationship, and he barely bats an eye. He'll use your mugs and sleep on your patterned sheets. 

It makes you sick .

You head to the second room. There's a stack of boxes, hastily stashed in the corner. There's still permanent marker on them from when you first moved in. Now, it houses the things you couldn't take with you the first time – everything you left behind. 

Sick, sick, sick . 

You take a moment to dig through the top box, that's clearly been moved. Knick-knacks, books, clothes and all the clutter you've acquired; and it reminds you of family, it reminds you of friends. 

Jamie leans by the doorway, looking on in silence. 

When you pick up a box, straining to lift it, he doesn't offer to help. He watches as you flounder, dragging it towards the door. 

You're huffing when he finally says something; something that's clearly been on his mind for a while, with the way he says it. 

"Are you seeing someone?" He's looking out of the window, gaze fixed on the car parked outside. Miguel's car. 

Your eyes widen. You don't quite trust yourself to speak.

You leave the box by the door. "Are you?“

He shrugs. "Don't have the time."

It's noncommittal and frustratingly blasé. He's not giving you much, and it's fucking with your head. This whole thing feels like a big joke – he wants to talk, and all he's doing is asking bullshit questions. Once upon a time, you would've stewed in it; sat with that question on your tongue and let it rot. 

"I don't understand." You croak. It hurts to say out loud, but you say it. That's the important part. "I don't know why you're doing this… why are you still doing this?"

"I don't like how we left things." He says it slow, like he's choosing his words carefully. 

You want to scream.

" So? " 

" So , I need some kind of closure. We've got unfinished business."

" Unfinished business? " You roll it around on your tongue, reeling at its bitter taste. It feels clinical and lifeless, yet again. 

And then… oh. It clicks. Looking at him, arms folded and leaning on a wall, he looks antsy and uncomfortable. Now, when forced to face you. 

" Closure. " Another word that tastes like shit. You give a watery laugh. "You feel guilty."

He doesn't say anything but his body language says enough. He shifts his weight side to side, unable to make eye contact. 

You don't bother to stick around for an answer, snatching up the box as best you can. Through the doors, and down the corridor. You stagger down the flight of stairs, gritting your teeth. It's heavy – you've packed as much as you can inside, trying to get this over quickly – and you make it to the first floor before it clatters onto the steps. 

You fold ; knees drawn to your chest and hands tight in your hair. Heart racing, chest pumping: you're trying not to get swept away by heavy emotions. The tide rises. You pump your legs around the swirling mass - barely staying afloat in deep, deep water. 

You'll be okay. 

You remember Miguel's words, gentle and sweet and kind. You remember the way he said it; firmly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. The kind of grace that you don't have to work for and doesn't need a performance. He believes in you, at least; thinks you're stronger than you have any right to be. And you think of him in the car: eager to help and reassure. You brushed him off. You were mean. 

Deep breath. 

Miguel's waiting for you, just outside those doors. Diligent and patient, saccharine-sweet Miguel. Getting up, you make your way down the stairs with that box. 

When he spots you, a pretty little thing in a hoodie and jeans, he leaps out of the car. 

"Hey, hey, easy… " 

"I'm good, Mig – " 

You're struggling with the box, and he eases it out of your hands without breaking a sweat. One hand on the boot of the car, the other holding up the heavy box effortlessly, and he gives you a quick once over. 

"...he didn't offer to help?" His face is scrunched up - disgusted by the looks of it - and all you can manage is a limp shrug. 

It doesn't take him long to figure it out. You're dejected; nervous, down-trodden, blue in every meaning of the word; losing a little bit of that shine you had started the day with. If he had to guess, and he knows you well enough he'd bet money on it, it was that ex of yours – stealing away that light in a burlap sack, a thief in the brilliance of bright sun. 

It makes him grind his teeth, eyes flicking up at the fourth floor window. 

"I could help." He offers, a hand on your shoulder. It's your favourite hoodie, he thinks, as he circles the soft fabric with his thumb. 

You purse your lips, thinking it over. 

"It'll be quicker, chula. "

That pushes you over the edge, and you finally nod. 

It must be a sight, knocking at the door with Miguel hot on your heels. After living with him for so long, you've forgotten how intimidating he can be when you first meet him; taller than Jamie, and mean-mugging the blonde with a deadly look. If you weren't so on edge it would make you laugh: you know your roommate is mostly harmless. 

Jamie doesn't, of course. He visibly bristles, looking you both up and down. 

"I just need some help with the boxes. This is my roommate, Miguel."

You turn to the man beside you.

" Miguel ," You say it softer. "This is Jamie."

Wordlessly, he stretches out a palm,

rough and broad and tan. Hesitant, the man in front of you takes it. 

"Hey, man." Jamie flashes you a strange look when he says it. 

Miguel doesn't answer. 

You lead him to the second room, divvying up the boxes as Jamie hovers at the doorway. It's surprisingly efficient: Miguel insists on taking the heaviest boxes, hauling them up onto his shoulders, before stacking them up at the door. You'll take the smaller stuff, and it seems everything will be done in far fewer trips than before. It's hard to say out loud, but you're grateful for his help – Miguel was right , for once. 

After the first trip, he's bounding back up the stairs for more. You've both made it into a game, with neither one of you having to explain the rules. He pinches your arm whilst you sift through boxes, and you stick your tongue out in response. Elbow deep in crap, and he manages to make it feel a little better. 

Jamie stews. Jamie festers. In a corner of what used to be your shared apartment, he pretends to tap at his phone, uninterested. You know him too well for that facade to stick. 

Miguel takes the last of the boxes down, and you're straggling behind, picking up the last few bits and pieces. You're left alone with your ex, for a brief moment. 

"You're fucking him." He says it quiet, in a whisper that sounds oh-so loud in that little room. Fucking. He spits it out, and makes the word feel cheap and dirty. 

You look up from across the room. Slowly, he traverses its width, gaze pinning you down like a bug under a microscope. 

He brings a hand to your chin, cupping the flesh tenderly. It's intimate and familiar, reminding you of better days. Something bubbles up in your stomach, sweet and innocent. That feeling doesn't last long. 

"You're fucking him." 

It's accusatory, spat out with a rueful smile pulling at his lips. His fingers brush over your throat and you squirm, pulling up the mouth of your hoodie. 

Those hickies, blossoming like flowers in the spring. They crackle across your skin like fallen leaves in autumn. 

"It's none of your fucking business."

"Of course you are. I can't believe you." He rolls his eyes, half-laughing. "I was going to apologise! I was planning to say sorry for the way I handled things and you had to rub it in my face."

" What ?" You croak. 

"You brought the guy you're fucking to our apartment!" He explodes. 

His lips flatten into a tight line.

" ...now it's our apartment? You kicked me out. You dumped me ." 

"Don't…. fuck , don't do that. Don't make me the bad guy, here. I gave you plenty of time to find a new place."

"Two. Weeks." You grit. "You gave me two weeks, asshole. You left me alone, and told me to fend for myself whilst you fucked off to your sister's." 

That fire dies down as he hesitates. "I… I would've let you stay longer. You know that, baby."

" No. No I don't know, 'cuz you don't tell me shit , anymore." You blink back hot tears. "I don't make as much money as you do, and my family can't support me like yours can."

"I would've–" 

"You didn't. " You swallow roughly. "You didn't. I don't even know what I did wrong ."

"No, no." He cradles your face with his hands, swiping at stray tears. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Now, you look up at him. With glistening eyes, and a heavily furrowed brown, it barely comes out as a whisper; red-raw and strained. 

"Then why don't you love me?"

He doesn't deny it. There isn't a scramble to reassure you; to pat your head and kiss away tears to show you how much he cares. Instead, he steps away guiltily. 

"I care about you, of course I do. Remember when you changed your major?" 

You nod. 

"I was there, wasn't I? I stayed up for hours talking you through it. And when you dropped out, I came over on the weekends and brought you groceries."

"I was there. I helped you through that funk , and helped you get that job for school. Every stupid little question, every depressive episode, all those moments where no-one else would help: I did. Even though I had other things going on in my life, I showed up. For you. It was enough, for a while."

Until it wasn't. He sighs. 

"I'm starting my residency next year… and you're still in school, right?”

“Yes, I am.” You say it simply, not able to say much more without breaking down.

“I'm happy for you, really - proud that you actually got that far. But we're going in different directions, and at different paces. It's easier now that we're not together.”

You bristle at his tone: still in school, actually got that far . It oozes pomp and a quiet kind of superiority. Easier now, like it was difficult before. 

“I didn't make that decision because I hate you, or because I don't care about you. I know you're angry.” He places his hands on your shoulders, and doesn't break eye contact. For the first time since you got here, you think he's finally showing emotion; quiet melancholy just below the surface. Up this close, you can see it: deepening bags under his eyes, sallow skin, and fine lines. Jaime looks tired. In fact, he seems exhausted .  

“I'm sorry that I made you feel that way. But that doesn't excuse the fact that you brought your fuck buddy here, when I just wanted to talk.”

It feels cruel. The way he looks at you, and the way his demeanour switches from the Jamie you knew before, to this .  

"I wanted to talk." You strain. " Months ago. After you broke up with me, and disappeared off the face of the planet. Every time I called, crying and panicking, it went straight to voicemail." 

You shake his hands off of you, stepping back. 

"Miguel's a friend… did you ever think of that? Maybe I just needed some help moving my things, Jamie. Maybe I don't have that many friends since they stopped talking to me because of you, Jamie. Maybe, there's not some devious plot to spite you."

You pick up the rest of your stuff, a little basket of trinkets and books. The very same books that he had told you to pack up; to make some space for his textbooks. 

"Get your head out of your ass. Don't call me. Don't text me. I'm done. "

You're already halfway out of the door. With that, you start to storm off; clattering into Miguel by the stairs. When your things spill out of your hands, you both drop to your knees in a scramble to pick them up. You're chewing the inside of your cheek so hard it draws blood, fumbling around. Miguel is more efficient, scooping up your belongings back into its box. 

You're drooping, only able to mutter a quiet thanks. On the way to his car, you're dejected. Miguel watches carefully, trailing behind. 

~~~

He doesn't know what to say. 

You've left him speechless before. Many times, in the span of your couple months together. Miguel recalls it in exasperated messages to Lyla; you're something else entirely. Frustrating, sometimes. Quick-witted. Perceptive. Thoughtful. A million and one words to describe you, and yet, it still doesn't paint the full picture. You are multi-faceted and brilliant in a way he's not sure he completely understands. 

[Sent: 22:33]

Can't explain it, Ly. 

[Sent: 22:33]

I'm going fucking crazy. 

[Received: 22:34]

ur being dramatic :p

[Received: 22:34]

think u just need to get laid 

[Sent: 22:34]

Fuck off. 

[Sent: 22:35]

I said I'm taking a break. Meant it. 

[Received: 22:37]

(image attached) 

[Received: 22:37]

got this at the party

[Received: 22:37]

ur staring, mig

[Sent: 22:38]

… 

[Received: 22:38]

that's my dress! told u I have great taste :)) 

[Received: 23:06]

miggyyy

[Received: 23:06]

stop ignoring me! its not fun anymore >:(

That was a while ago. Before anything serious happened between you both. And he's had the privilege of seeing you in many different ways; stressed, angry, beaming with joy. Bouncing off the walls after too much coffee, or crawling out of bed following a late night. He's seen your lips curve to form a delicious O as you writhe underneath him; he's seen you smile. He'd tattoo it onto his skin, if he could. 

Fuck . He's overthinking it. 

You've retired to your spot on the couch, and yes, he's staring. Tracing the slope of your jaw and the tilt of nose outlined by the glow of the TV. After getting back home late, he brushed off limp protests and took most of the boxes up himself. It sits in a pile by the dining table. You'll deal with it tomorrow, he supposes. 

Retreating behind your ratty blanket, you stare blankly at the screen. Glassy eyes, you've curled up to watch reruns late into the night. Can't sleep, you told him, as he hovered by the doorway. 

He should go to bed. It's nothing to do with him, really, and he shouldn't have overheard as much as he did. Miguel is curious but not nosy, and well-versed on the art of minding your business . So he shouldn't feel his heart splintering; creaking like the trunk of a felled tree; hacked into two by the way he sees you drowning. 

He sits by your side. Not too close, of course, he's wary of all the shit you've been through today; not wanting to make you feel more uncomfortable. 

He's reminded of a childhood holiday. Half a summer spent at a campsite, bounding through woodland and creeks somewhere up north. Gabi and him would disappear, forgoing the beaten paths for their own adventure. Miguel couldn't make friends the way his brother could, so he'd straggle behind; watching from afar as the other kids would climb trees or swim in quiet lakes. Reading by the banks, and he remembers a time someone had slipped under the water. Drowning, and it wasn't anything like the movies. It was quick, silent and deadly. Thrashing under choppy water, and then…

…nothing. Just quiet. 

He feels that panic rising now, watching you stay so eerily still. You've slipped under the waves, and he doesn't know what to say to pull you back out. 

Miguel isn't too good with words. He's not known for his warmth, or comforting presence. Sometimes, he thinks he wasn't built with that switch turned on in his head – and he certainly didn't learn the right words from his parents. And so, he gives you comfort the only way he knows how. He shows you. He takes care of you. 

You come to him. Like two parts of a whole, you slot together perfectly: your head on his shoulder, at first. You end up on his chest, curled up like a housecat; matching shaky breaths to his steady ones. He brings a hand to your shoulder, drawing lazy circles in the fabric to soothe you. 

With the dull chatter and gloom of the TV, you fall asleep. It takes Miguel a little longer, but he wraps his arms around you. He listens out for it: the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Steady, like a metronome, and it grounds him – drowning out the creak of gears. 

_

_

_

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[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

merrily we fall out of line

(over-)protective!bestfriend!könig x reader (gn!pronouns) sfw MDNI slight age gap (reader mid to end 20s, könig early to mid 30s), grumpy x sunshine, (best) friends, mutual pining, (thus a bit) angsty; mentions of cheating (not between them), non-descriptive violence (dito) a/n: my first 'you'-reader fic (instead of the usual POVs i do), be gentle :')

You like König, he’s an old friend of yours, gone for months at a time, but when he is back home, you meet up, talking – well, you are talking more than him, the giant listening to you stoically – just spending time together. As friends, and that’s fine. It’s fine, really.

He has never shown the same interest in you, you’re always friendly with each other, but it is toned-down. Platonic.

So you get together with someone else. You tell König all about it – your new partner and how you met them – when he returns from his latest mission and his reaction tells you that you were right. He doesn’t really say anything, stoic and calm like always. Asking you some more questions. If you are happy in the relationship. Nothing less, but also nothing more.

König even meets the s/o and he’s trying to keep it together, because – obviously you would have never gone for him, he's too intimidating, too old, too closed off for you. At least that’s what he’s telling himself.

But still. The hot raging jealousy he feels as he watches you being touched by your new partner makes him almost see red. It's his own goddamn fault, he should have said something, anything, in all those years, all those moments you spent together, but he never did. Now he only has himself to blame.

He excuses himself from the situation, not able to stay any long, not able to watch the two of you any longer. Leaving, not without whispering a threat to the partner ("be good to them or else") while shaking their hand, and not without squeezing your arm softly one last time, because to get over you he has to stay away.

But König isn’t really able to stay away, still obsessed with you, still keeping an eye out for you, like he did so far. You on the other hand see much less of him, even when he's on leave, as he tries to respect your boundaries.

Can't say the same for your new partner, who rubbed him the wrong way when they first met. And when he follows them one day and catches them cheating on you... on you! The nerve.

He barely can hold himself back as he confronts them, but he remembers you, and he wouldn't want you to see him as a monster, so he stops himself from beating the shit out of them. He seethes: “Leave them or I will take them from you.”

And your partner ruefully breaks up with you, telling you everything except that they were caught by König. It hasn’t been a long relationship, but still, this feels shitty, obviously, tears streaming down your cheeks and sobs shaking you as you call the one person you trust most.

And of course, König comes over, he’s there to pick up the pieces, still convinced that you don't see him the same way he sees you.

He spends the whole evening with you, watching sappy romance movies and eating ice cream, the grumpy big man on the edge of the couch, trying to hide his bruised knuckles. Trying not to come too close and give you your space, but the furniture isn’t big enough for the two of you. Well, for him anyways.

He’s staying because you said you didn't wanna be alone. Honestly, he is a little unsure what to do because you just can't seem to stop crying and he hates to see you like that.

And then he makes an off-hand comment about one of the protagonists of the romance movie you're currently watching, and a sobbing laugh breaks through your sad grimace.

After that all he tries is to make you laugh until you shake with laughter, begging him to stop, your hands holding your tummy, because your stomach hurts.

“Please, I can’t.”, you roar, hiding your face on his shoulder, your tears staining the shirt he's wearing. Wiping the ones away that still wet your cheeks, looking up at him and giving him the first real smile this whole evening.

And he smiles back, a rare occasion.

But then he tells you that he has to go. You ignore the pit in your stomach, the corners of your mouth turning down, before he quips: "If you ever need a shoulder to laugh on, just call me." which makes you laugh again.

"Thank you.", you tell him and before you can think too hard about it, you stretch up and press a small, chaste peck to his cheek.

Only in this moment he turns to you, so it doesn't land on his cheek, but rather on his lips.

His whole world topples upside down when you kiss him, your mouths touching for just a moment, and he rears back, in total shock and awe, not sure what to do now. The one part of him is screaming at him to kiss you back, to grab you, to finally make you his, all the reasons why he shouldn't forgotten about. The other part is trying to be reasonable, especially now after your break-up, just needing a friend, and not.... him.

"I- I'm sorry.", you say when he just sits there, looking at you all dumbfounded. He would have been less surprised if you smacked him across the face.

He shakes his head. "No, don't apologize. I-", he stammers, his words breaking off, and your hand landing on his thigh pulls him from his thoughts.

“König-“

He shoots up, standing up straight, his tall stature towering over you. "I have to go.”, he says, heading to the door and you can feel disappointment seep into you.

"You don't have to go.", you say, following him. It almost seems like he’s running away from this.

He shakes his head again, and when he looks at you, you can't decipher the emotions in his eyes. "I do.", he says, and then he's out the door.

You just stand there in your shitty oversized shirt that you only ever wear at home when nobody else is here, your face swollen from all the crying. All alone again, the apartment silent except for the soft noises and the romantic music from the tv.

Stupid, stupid thinking that he might like you, stupid wasting the first kiss between you two like that, but... it also wasn't intentional. It was an accident. You didn’t mean to kiss him like that. But his lips felt so soft… Their softness and the softness of his gaze in contrast to his tall, muscled stature, his stern features and stoic nature.

You sigh, traipsing back to the couch, letting yourself fall into the cushions, feeling tears prick in the corners of your eyes, burying yourself in the plush. Being left is hard, and being rejected by the man you just can't stop thinking about.... the same day. Fuck.

You groan, hiding your face in a cushion, when there is a knock on your door. Heavy and impatient. You raise your head, your hands wiping away the wetness on your cheeks.

Knock-knock.

The knocking again. You get up from the couch, taking a few hesitant steps towards the door. It must be him. Opening it, and König’s figure fills the whole frame. Looking down at you while you look up at him.

He sees your teary eyes and curses. Something in Austrian German that you don’t understand. The words sound funny, not matching the expression on his face. The frown pulling the sides of his mouth down, the brows furrowed.

“Wanna come in again?”, you ask him, your voice steadier than you feel right now, gesturing into the flat. He does, and you take a step back to let him pass, closing the door behind him.

He makes one full circle across your carpet before he just stands there, swaying from one foot to the other. Seeming anxious, something that happens to him, albeit not so often with you, so you just give him a moment.

“I’m just…” He sighs, deeply. His gaze panning up from the floor to you, and suddenly you irrationally wish you put on some other clothes, before he speaks again.

“That was my first kiss, okay?”, he admits, and your jaw drops. His… first… kiss? But… That can’t be! Not at his age. I mean, you never saw him with anybody, but surely, he must’ve – must have – had his share of partners. At least one?

“Don’t look at me like that.”, he says, a heavy blush colouring his cheeks.

You avert your eyes for just a moment, but they find their way back to his. “I’m sorry, I just can’t believe that you never, uh…”, you try to find the right words.

The muscle in his jaw jumps, a sign that he’s tense. “I did stuff with people before, I’m not a-” He hesitates for a second. “Not a virgin or anything. I just never kissed anybody.”, he swallows. “Before.”

“Oh, I see.”, you say, unsure what else to say. Completely floored by this information.

“I just…”, he starts again. “Most other people only see me with the mask, I… almost never take it off, also during… that, and kissing through the mask would be weird, so yeah.” He rushes through the last sentence like he just had to get the words out.

Moments of silence passing by as you try to collect your thoughts. “I didn’t mean to, you know. Kiss you, on the lips.”, you finally say, your voice sounding a little hoarse. “Didn’t want to take that moment from you. That first time.” You clear your throat, tangling your fingers with each other, fidgeting. “Sorry.”

His eyes widen, slight shock spreading on his face. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like-“

Fuck, this isn’t going how he wanted it to. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back, just let you be. But the look on your face, your gentle plead as he basically ran away, the need to explain this situation, made him turn around again as soon as he stood outside your apartment building.

He takes a step in your direction, his hands shooting out in your direction, almost touching you, before they drop to his sides again. His body is so close to yours, you can feel the warmth radiating off him, just like before when you were sitting on the couch.

You look up at him, tilting your head back. Meeting his eyes, the familiarity of them calming you. And there it is again. That look on your face that makes him wanna grab you, hold you and never let go.

“I imagined for so long what it would be like to kiss somebody.”, he says, quietly. “I imagined what it would be like to kiss you. I just wasn’t… prepared.”

He… what? Tingles erupt in your stomach, making you feel lighter, your mouth dropping open, soundlessly gasping for air, at his confession.

“I didn’t wanna make you cry or anything, but I didn’t wanna, you know, with the whole… break-up and…” He looks down to his feet, sighing. Not saying the thing about ‘Him being him’.

“I thought it’d just be better.” He sighs again. “Better if I go.”

The stupid, stupid feeling of hope fills you at his words which makes you put it all on one card.

“You wanna try it again? The kissing?”, you whisper, taking a step forward, coming a bit closer.

His eyes jump to yours, the brows pulled up in surprise. After a moment, he nods. “Yes.” But he is not moving an inch. The tall man, frozen in place. Looking at you, hesitating, wanting to kiss you so badly, just the tiniest bit afraid to do it wrong.

You lean in, craning your neck. Your hand landing on his chest, firm and warm underneath your fingertips, steadying yourself and getting on your tiptoes.

His breath hits your face a moment before your lips press against his. Pulling him from his frozen state. He leans down, meeting your touch, his arms are closing around you, holding you closer to his body. A soft hum rising up his throat as he answers the kiss.

The gentle brush of his mouth against yours getting a little needier with every passing second, exploring you. So much softer than he had expected. The short peck you accidentally gave him before not coming close to this feeling now.

You stretch up, your arms coming around the nape of his neck. Needing him closer, pulling him down to you. Sighing into the kiss, your mouth dropping open a little bit.

His tongue brushes against yours, his hand gently holding the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. You’re leaning into his palm, tilting your head, opening up to deepen the kiss until the two of you are making out.

Bittersweet, warm. Tasting just like you imagined him to. And a hint of the icecream you shared.

If he didn’t just tell you that he never kissed anyone before, you would have never guessed. Taking his time, slowly, oh so slowly. Maybe a little bit hesitant, but the way his lips brush against yours, the way his tongue is stroking against yours...

A pang of need is spreading down your body, the tingle remaining low in your belly, and he swallows up the sounds you make, not stopping to explore you, and you answer every single one of his touches. Both of you not coming up for air, breathing each other in.

He lifts you up, and you don’t still break the kiss as he carries you over to the couch. Lying down on the furniture, your front against his as you prop yourself up, not willing to leave the kiss. Pressing your lips against his, over and over again, wondering how you could ever stop doing that. Wondering how you never did that before.

“I’m glad we accidentally kissed.”, you say, mumbling the words against his lips.

He laughs a little, a light sound. “Me too.”, he simply says, cradling your face, deepening the kiss again. Something that makes you feel restless in the best way possible.

It feels so new and yet familiar, the way your smaller frame fits against his. He always thought that you are so tiny compared to him, when in reality you are not tiny at all, he is just that big, filling up the whole couch, so the only space for you is on top of him. He doesn't mind at all and you don't either.

Quite the contrary as you lay your head on his chest. Hearing his heartbeat, feeling it against your cheek, still a little faster than it should be. Because kissing you did that to him.

You’re melting into his body, the warmth of his embrace as his big arms hug you. Yawning a little bit, which makes him chuckle.

“Tired?”, he asks.

“Just a little.” Another yawn.

“That’s okay.”, he says, stroking over your hair. Kissing you on the forehead, a small, sweet peck. “Just sleep, Schatz.”

His cheek against the top of your head, his proximity, his familiar scent and the knowledge that you had been wrong – he did indeed like you just the way you like him – makes you forget about all the other shit that happened today as you drift off to sleep, his steady and calm breathing and the soft voices on the tv lulling you to sleep.

Masterlist for all my könig fics <3

[lalunanymph]

𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑 - itoshi r, itoshi s

✧˚ · . a tornado meeting a hurricane, a wild flame catching onto dry straw—that was how it felt like to love the both of them: disastrous.

✧˚ · . love triangles, heavy tones of ch[e]ating, mentions of alc[o]hol, mentions of food, s[m]ut, injuries, ph[o]ne seggs (w. sae), all characters are aged up, 10k+ words because im sick like that

✧˚ · . she’s finally back and ready to make everyone sob again

masterlist | playlist

#3 — HABITS OF OUR HEART

Sae frowned at his phone, unsure of what to make of your radio silence. 

It was unlike you to ever leave him high and dry. Usually, he could count on your sweet messages to sustain him throughout the day with the promise of hearing your voice at night to top off another hectic training session. The picture of you smiling on his wallpaper teased him with the yearning for home, and he thought it wouldn't hurt to give you a call to see how you were doing. 

The prolonged dial tone upped his worries, and he was close to caving in and asking Rin to check up on you (again) when you answered the call in a scratchy voice. 

“Baby?” 

Sae felt like all the air in his lungs had returned to him. “Y/N?” Unused to being this vulnerable in front of someone, his tone took a defensive turn. “Why haven’t you been texting me back lately? Is something the matter? Did I…” He hesitated, a sudden lump in his throat obstructing his next accusation. Instead, it made him whisper the next part, suddenly afraid that he had done something to push you away. “Did I make you angry?” 

Your reassurance was immediate. “Wh—no! No, Sae. We’re fine, promise. I’m just super busy at work now and putting in more hours so I can take a long leave and spend it with you.”

The steel band constricting his thoughts and breath into one tight, tense knot, eased. “Oh. Then why didn’t you tell me?” 

He hated how whiny he sounded; this wasn’t like him at all. But, you had some strange hold over him to make a self-assured famous footballer lose his footing and grovel for your attention. 

How strange. 

Sae hated this new development with every fibre of his being, but he couldn’t stay away. Your soft laugh was the sweetest balm to his bruised ego, and your avoidance did not hurt as much anymore when you cooed and asked him if he was eating well.

“I miss you s’much, Sae,” you mumbled, and he could hear minute rustling in the background, like you were laying back on your bed. The mental image of you spread out for him, pussy wet and waiting, a hazy smile playing on the corners of your lips like it always did when he was about to claim you as his again, made his cock throb. 

“Miss you, too, baby.” He padded towards the hotel room window, staring out at the traffic below. The man staring back from his reflection was more worn out than he expected, the circles under his eyes almost carved into his skin. He scrubbed one hand down his face, feeling homesick and world-weary at the same time. “Can I video-call you? Haven’t seen you in a bit.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Sure.” 

Ending the call, he swiped at the vibrating notification which pulled up a soothing image of your smile from a thousand miles away, your eyes filling with concern when they raked up and down his weathered face. “Baby, have you been sleeping well?” 

He could barely focus on your words. His guess was right; you were laying in bed, wearing one of his old jerseys. The well-worn cotton settled perfectly on your curves and he could plainly imagine his name embossed across your back. It made all his blood and rationale run down south. Without another second of hesitation, he sat down on one of the plush hotel sofa chairs, tugging down the band of his sweatpants and grasped the pulsing base of his cock. His usually apathetic gaze was alight with an unnamed emotion, and he sensed you were waiting for a reply. 

“I will be when you’re here with me.” Fuck—what sappy, corny shit. But, Sae was starting to realise that a man at the mercy of pleasure would say anything and everything in the heat of the moment. Your half-lidded, sleepy eyes sparked with life when you heard a wet squelch. 

“Sae… baby, are you touching yourself?” 

Might as well show you since the cat was out of the bag. 

Switching from the front camera to the back one, the dual screens showed your parted lips and slowly warming cheeks while the bigger display showcased his leaking cock firmly in his fist. 

“Oh.” 

He noticed you biting your lip, and your camera switched to a front view of his jersey inching up the expanse of your bare thighs. Sae’s breath hitched when your naked pussy came into view, the teasing dark triangle between your legs hinting of your warm walls which he missed with every beat of his homesick heart. 

“Fuck, Y/N.” He started stroking himself the same moment you parted your thighs, skimming your shaky fingers down the rise of your hip bone to sweep through your seam and gather the unmistakable wetness there. Sae choked back on a moan when you focused the camera on those same fingers playing with your viscous, honey-like arousal, before plunging them back into your gaping hole and slowly fucking yourself with them.

“Sae…” 

Both your calls were silent enough to pick up on each other’s heavy breathing. It felt like months since he had your sweet pussy, and he halfway wished he was closer to home; closer to you. He missed the achingly intoxicating scent of vanilla which always seemed to emanate from the beloved crook of your neck. He yearned for your touch, your kisses, your smiles—they always managed to brighten up his day no matter how shitty it was. 

“Look at you,” he groaned. Luckily, the camera was not focused on his face—Sae was self-conscious like that. He rarely made love to you during the day time, preferring to keep his vulnerability and heart bare for you when night fell. He was determined to never let the world see this side of him where such sensitivity was reserved for your viewing pleasure only. “So fuckin’ sexy… you drive me crazy.” 

His half-mast gaze was caught on how shiny and slippery your fingers were; how you rubbed your clit and fucked yourself with three fingers until your hips started to buck.

“Nghh—Sae!” 

“That’s right,” his voice was rougher, edged with lust. “Say my name, baby. Who does that pussy belong to?” 

“Y-you,” the sharp gasp coming from his headphones almost had him spilling into his fist. “B-belongs to you, Sae.” 

He grunted, head tossed back and face shining with sweat. “Damn right—f-fuck… m’gonna cum, baby… cum with me.” 

It was not a request but an order. You had no choice but to comply if you wanted to show him the true depth of your devotion. 

An almost cruel smirk overtook his usual placid features, and he wished he was there with you to pace you through your release. Even through the small display, he could savour the visual of your back arching, your hips circling in a desperate plea to be consumed by this twinflame of burning desire you both held for one another. Sae felt his balls tightening and he bit on his lower lip to stifle a moan, streaks of white painting his palm.

“Oh, god… Sae… m’wanna lick you all up, baby.” 

In the haze of his orgasm, the impact of your words managed to strike him hard, and he halfway wished the same; that you were here, on your knees, mouth open and ready to clean up his mess. He would give you the sloppiest kiss once you did, and maybe he might even run you a bath afterwards to soothe your tense muscles.

“Mmm, tryna make me come home earlier, baby?” 

His teasing was met with silence on your end, and Sae shook off some of the lingering fugue to check if his phone had accidentally froze. 

“I don’t wanna come in between you and work, Sae.” Your mumble of discontent made him frown, and he switched his camera back to his flushed cheeks and thinned mouth. You did the same, and he could tell something was wrong because your eyes were filled with a glossy sheen of tears, and you couldn’t look at him through the screen. 

“What do you mean by that?” He didn’t intend his words to come out harshly, but Sae has always been a blunt man. He couldn’t trade a lifetime of caustic tendencies to suddenly be thoughtful and nice, though he wished in this instance, he damn well could. 

If anything, it would lighten the stormy clouds settling in your usually clear eyes; soothe the ache in your soul which missed him as much as he missed you. 

“I just… come back home when you want, Sae, and not when you think I need you.” 

A flash of hurt struck his chest, though his expression remained impassive. Despite how you had the best of intentions, he couldn’t help but be numb to your kindness and focused instead on the glaring insinuation. 

“You don’t want me to come back?” 

You blinked and your expression turned horrified. “N-no! Sae, that’s not what I meant, I—” you broke off with a tired sigh, and rubbed your temples with your clean fingers. “I just… I do miss you. But, please, focus on your work first. I’ll always be here, yeah? Come back when you need to, okay? I’m here waiting.”

Though your words made him feel marginally better, it soured some of the tenderness he wished he could savour during this afterglow. 

“Right,” he said curtly, and it wasn’t fair to you, but he started to shut down. “I’ll let you know when that is.” 

A beat of silence passed when the both of you said nothing at all. Sae suddenly felt like a neon sign was hovering over him, pulsing the words lukewarm loser lukewarm loser in his direction. A coil of anger curled heavily in his belly, making him feel slightly sick. 

“Look, if you’re not gonna—”

“I love you, Sae,” you cut through whatever harsh bullshit he was poised to spill. Your declaration took him off guard, and he clamped his mouth shut. It was a wise decision, because your smile was touched by the heavens themselves, a gentle glow about you that he did not deserve when you beamed at him through the screen. “Go make us proud. Make your country proud, baby. We’re rooting for you.”

Sae wished he hadn’t spoken too soon and acted out. He felt like the world’s biggest fool, especially when you harboured no ill-will and was just reminding him to put his goals first during this career-defining season. In this sense, he had to thank you for setting his course straight again. 

“I’ll score all my goals for you, angel,” he promised. “Each and everyone of ‘em will be in your name. I hope you know that.” 

Your smile widened. “I do, baby. I’m so proud of you. Go get them, baby.” 

He chuckled, the gesture foreign but welcomed. After all, you were one of the only few people in the world he was comfortable enough to let his guard down and laugh in front of. 

“I will. Sleep tight, Y/N. I… love you, baby.”

Another first in this relationship. 

Sae was infamous for whispering his love confessions into your skin after a bout of sex, but never in broad daylight. This sudden shift would’ve scared him shitless if your gentle beam did not turn into a bright grin. 

“I love you, too, baby.”

He let you end the call first, feeling happy for the first time in days. 

Buoyed by this gentle emotion, he searched through some local florist shops, buying the biggest, flashiest bouquet to be delivered to your apartment the first thing tomorrow evening, in the hopes that this tiny gesture would at least show the magnitude of his love for you. 

Rin couldn’t help but find himself back in front of your door. 

Like siren-song, the call of your presence beckoned him to the deepest edge of the sea where an unmistakable drop loomed, marking his impending demise. But, everytime he raised his fist to knock, he chickened out, rushing back to his car with his hoodie pulled over his head and teal eyes downcast. 

He knew he was growing obsessed with the thought of you; felt it deep in his bones like the icky, hot humiliation of staring at Sae’s trophy collection while his bruised ego festered inside, a raging monster waiting to be unleashed. He supposed this is what defeat tasted like—not like he hadn’t experienced a healthy dose of it already in his short lifetime. The mounting frustration felt familiar in the back of his throat, like a scream building and building until it was unleashed in a loud cry.

This same feeling reminded him of using his brother’s achievements to push himself beyond his limits. 

And you… 

You fit in like a missing puzzle; the crucial piece he needed as enough proof that he was better than Sae. A stronger player, man and lover than he ever would be. 

Rin wiped the sweat from his brow, channelling his inner frustrations into dribbling, training on his own away from prying eyes. He was caught up in his misery that he didn’t sense a figure making her way towards him. 

You took in how exhausted Rin looked, the bento box in your hands tightening. 

It was a peace offering; the first initiative on your end to smoothe over the rough patch of how you both began and hopefully be able to salvage what was left of his respect for you. The smell of roses lingered on your body, in your hair, the reminder of Sae’s bouquet leaving a stab of regret lodging deep underneath your rib cage where your heartbeat thumped erratically. 

Through his keen senses, Rin noticed someone approaching, and when his eyes landed on you, you swore they softened before regaining lucidity and becoming detached once more.

“What are you doing here?” 

Gesturing to the tiny, yellow container in your hand, you smiled sheepishly. “I… wanted to apologise for what happened a few days ago.” 

The field was empty save for the both of you, most of the players having gone home after hitting the showers. Rin was often one of the last to leave, and Ego had grown tired enough of his unparalleled dedication (read: obsession) and given him the keys to lock up the space in his own time. 

“How did you know I was here?” 

Shifting your weight from one foot to another, you were acutely aware of his deep frown. Suddenly, you felt too hot under the collar, embarrassment scrawled across your features when you lowered your eyes and your shoulders dropped. “I asked around for you. Said your mom passed me your dinner and they let me in.” 

Rin scrutinised you from head to toe, not saying a word. The silence stretched on, and you were halfway cajoling yourself to leave when he stepped forward. 

Yes, you were pretty sure Rin’s towering physique registered in your mind, but you never gave yourself time to really absorb how tall he was. A good head and half above you, Rin bore down easily on you, the heat emanating from his broader frame making you dizzy. The smell of freshly cut grass and musk radiated through his sweaty pores, and you felt the irrational need to take one step closer and bury your face into his chest. 

Instead, you reeled in the disastrous thought and pushed the bento box into his hand, ignoring his confused stare. 

“I should get going… you need to rest and recharge so I won’t disturb,” you mumbled hastily, unable to take another second of this aching tension. Your mind swirled with a thousand and one thoughts at the same time, and they all came crashing down when he reached for you, his touch gentle around your wrist. 

“Rin—”

There were no words to elucidate how comforting his embrace was around you, or how it felt like falling into the softest mattress after a hard day at work. Your squeak was muffled by his lips on yours, rough fingers tilting your head back to kiss you while his other arm was around your waist. You were growing dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the feel of his soft, slightly chapped lips on yours. 

Before you could dissolve into a puddle on these artificial fields, he released you, holding you close to his chest, every rise and fall of his breathing melting warmth into your back. 

Twining your fingers with his above your waist, you rubbed your thumb across his knuckles, memorising the smooth skin which was a stunning contrast from his calloused fingers and scarred palms. Rin let you hold his hand, quietly marvelling at how much bigger the flat of his palm was in comparison to yours. Long, slender fingers like a pianist encased your own smaller ones in a loose hold, and you both let the tender silence fall wherever it may. 

“I can’t choose,” you whispered after a moment of words unsaid. 

Rin stared at the curve of your shoulder, hidden by the loose cotton blouse you wore. He ached to push it aside, to press his lips right onto the warm skin which held the power to make him lose his mind. This close, he could smell the intoxicating vanilla coming from the crook of your neck, breathing in the smell of baby powder wafting from your hair. 

“I’m sorry, Rin. I can’t choose between you and him.” Closing your eyes, he felt more than heard you stifle a sob. “I love you, too. I hope you know that.” 

“But, you love him?” His voice was flat and emotionless. Thankfully, your back was turned so you couldn’t notice his brimming eyes. “Why is it so hard to choose?” 

“I don’t know,” you mumbled almost inaudibly. The wind picked up, its frigidity making goosebumps erupt on your arms. “I wish I could choose you, but it’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” he started to argue, releasing his grip on your hand and taking a step back. The inches between you both felt like an ocean separating you two, and no matter how much he wished for there to be nothing standing in the way, somehow his brother would always be the biggest obstacle to any goal he wished to attain in this life. 

Including your love. 

“S’not like you both are married,” his voice sounded hollow even to his own ears. “Don’t you love me?” 

Your breathing hitched, and you finally turned around to face him. He wished you didn’t. The tears glossing your eyes was enough to break his heart, and he wished with all his might that you would see reason; come to your senses and choose the better brother. 

But, all you did was shake your head, dislodging a single tear trickling down your cheek. He watched it make a silvery path from your jaw to your neck, his tongue itching to retrace its track. 

“I do, Rin. But, god… I don’t know you. I don’t know you but I’m so attracted to you and I can’t stop thinking about you. Sae… he called me the other day and we had phone sex, but after it was all done, all I could think about was you. You drive me crazy, and—” your voice started to break, lower lip wobbling. “I know you think I’m disgusting. A cheater. But, Sae needs me. We’ve always needed each other and I’m afraid that if I let him go, I’ll be throwing a part of me away.” 

Dropping your head, you exhaled a laugh that sounded on the verge of a sob. “Maybe it’s best if I never knew you. Or him. I think it would be easier on the three of us.” 

Rin listened as you unburdened those heavy emotions to him without a single word. When you finished, he turned his head to the side, jaw tight with fury and heartbreak.

“Fine,” he mumbled. “You’ll get your wish.” Pushing the bento box back into your hands and ignoring your small gasp of hurt, he strode away. “Let’s pretend like we never knew each other, if that makes it easier for you.”

“Rin—!” 

He quickened his pace and you tried to catch up to him. “Rin, wait!” But, he would always outrun you, and when he got to the doors, he heard your cry of his name turn into a shriek of pain. 

Turning around, his eyes widened at your hunched figure on the ground, holding onto your ankle. The bento box you carried had slipped from your grasp, grains of rice and meat scattered in a heap on the ground. 

“Ow,” you moaned, hissing in pain. “Ow. Shit… shit…”

He was back by your side immediately. Barely giving you time to think, he slid one arm underneath your knees, and another under your arms to lift you from the ground. The sudden position released the pressure off your ankle, and he didn’t need a certificate in sports medicine to know you had strained the muscle. 

“Lukewarm loser,” he muttered under his breath. “Such a huge, fucking pain.” 

You kissed your teeth and continued moaning softly, arms wound tightly around his neck. Rin sat you down on the bleachers and went into a backroom, returning a minute later with a first aid kit. Mimicking the movements you did a week ago when you first tended to his sprained oblique, he sprayed a cold mist over the injury, picking up a bandage to wrap around the torn muscle. 

“Stay still,” he warned, forming a tight tourniquet around the injury, straightening your foot to set the muscles right. Your gritted teeth and muffled wails would’ve made him mock you in return for breaking his heart, but Rin kept his lips tightly shut and focused on bandaging you up. 

You could barely walk when he was done, and in a fit of exasperation, he carried you to his car, setting you in the front seat. 

“Rin,” you mumbled pathetically, eyes shining and lower lip wobbling. “W-where are you taking me?” 

“My place,” he muttered curtly. “Unless you have someone to watch over you 24/7 while that stupid ankle of yours heals?”

Shamefully, you shook your head. Your family was in another prefecture, and your social circle was limited to clients and few fair-weather friends you saw once a month. There was no one to take care of you besides this brooding, dark-haired striker who looked like he would rather wade through molasses than do this. But, despite his disquietude, Rin took this newfound responsibility in stride. 

He brought you to his apartment, letting you lean against him as you took one mincing step after another. 

The fact that you could still walk, albeit hesitantly, was a good sign. Your injury would take a few days to heal, tops. 

Rin guided you to the sofa, and you sat with a huff. Taking off his jacket, he disappeared into the kitchen, and reemerged a second later with a bottle of isotonic drink. You took it with a nod of thanks and popped the cap off, drinking deeply. 

“What about your work? Can you move around with a busted ankle?” 

You slid your gaze to the tightly wrapped bandage and shook your head. “I don’t think I can. I’ll just let my assistant handle it for me while I take a few days off.” 

He exhaled, settling back on the end of the couch, putting some much needed distance between you two. 

“I don’t know if Sae would find out—”

“I don’t want him to find out—”

The both of you fell silent, each other’s trampling words on the same topic drawing a quiet consternation. Rin started again. 

“I think you should tell him you’re staying with a friend while your ankle heals.” 

“What if he insists on video calling me?” Your tense question was met with furrowed brows. Rin’s answer took you by surprise.

“And, what? Recognise my penthouse? Sae hasn’t visited me… not even once.” 

At the reminder of how starkly broken their relationship was, you fell mute. Rin salvaged the silence by sighing. “In any case, he wouldn’t know… or, care.” His lips were flattened into a tight line. “Sae’s a lot of things, but considerate and kind was never on his list.” 

“What happened between the both of you?” The question you had harboured for close to a week spilled over in a bursting bubble, detonating the tail end of his statement like a punch in the gut. You glanced at him and found a dark look settling over Rin’s face like a cloud, his already tight jaw ticking. 

When you first started dating Sae, it took him weeks to open up to you about his family and past life in Japan. The both of you met during one of your tours in Spain and you were called upon by the Madrid team to tend to one of their mid-fielder’s recurring injuries. Your impression of Sae when you met him for the first time was that he reminded you of a piece of paper.

His blank expression and dull eyes cracked a smile from you, and though you were the perfect picture of professional friendliness, you barely left a mark on the famed Japanese prodigy’s composure. 

At least, you thought you didn’t. 

A week later, he bumped into you at a nearby coffee shop and asked you out without a beat of hesitation. You were completely caught by surprise that you said ‘yes’ without thinking it through, and two days later, you were sat opposite a quiet, taciturn Itoshi Sae who mostly listened while you spoke and asked one liner questions to keep the conversation going.

One date turned to two, then three and soon, you were pressed flush to his bed, sweaty and sore from his rough handling. In the quiet afterglow, he started crumpling; the first crinkle appearing on his otherwise pristine surface. Behind this impassive man was a world of secrets written in indelible ink that you were slowly unwrapping day by day. 

Rin, however, reminded you of still waters that ran deeper than any ocean in the world. 

Collected on the outside, one wrong foot would leave anyone plunging to an icy death within his intense grip. He held an admirable composure which rippled occasionally when you disturbed his surface, but his state of detached calm would return a second later, barely fazed. 

It made you want to dip your toes deeper, try to find what made those murky waters eventually give way to a calm stream worthy of an oasis.  

Rin’s silence had no end, and you couldn’t tell if he had heard you in the first place. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he muttered churlishly and stood up. 

“Oh,” you quickly nodded. “I’m sorry for encroaching. I won’t do it again if it makes you feel uncomfortable.” 

He had a funny way of showing his appreciation for you respecting his boundaries. Rin blinked owlishly, his long lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. While Sae’s lashes had a hint of reddish brown to them, Rin’s was darker and lusher, framing his pretty teal eyes perfectly. 

It made you want to drown in those aquamarine pools; give yourself up to his seductive currents.

Would that be a better choice? 

You swallowed and glanced at the beads of condensation running down the plastic bottle in your tight grip. 

Would it make everyone happy if I chose him? 

He chased those heavy thoughts by scooting closer to you. The smell of sweat and vitality stung your nostrils, but you didn’t pay it any mind, tilting your head up towards him to drink in his unfairly pretty features. His dark green bangs flopped in his face, touching his cheeks as you gently pushed them aside. Rin closed his eyes tightly, releasing a tired sigh.

“Do you mean it? Do you love me?” 

Your whisper ignited his curiosity, and he fluttered his eyes open to find you gazing at him with uncertainty lining your features. You bit on your bottom lip when he took awhile to answer, riddled with fear at baring yourself with such vulnerability to a man who you didn’t even know you could trust. 

As you mulled over such a foolish impulse, Rin took this moment to rake his gaze right to your lips. Barely a few seconds into your spiralling dismay, you flicked your lids open to find him moving closer, his lips on yours silencing your sudden squeak of fear. 

This time, Rin’s kiss moulded an answer he could not give to you outright. It would be too traitorous to think of uttering it; to make himself form those words which would seal the deal. 

Catching your face in his large palm, his warmth bled into your cheek, aided by the plush balminess of his lips and the taste of him on your tongue. Tenderness could not begin to describe how Itoshi Rin was treating you—like you were made of glass and precious secrets he did not want to spill towards any undeserving ear. 

The capped isotonic bottle fell to the floor, making a ‘glug’ sound when it rolled underneath his expensive couch. Rin guided you onto your back, laying you flat on the plush surface and raking his heated stare down the dip of your bare collarbones and towards the hem of your pretty blouse riding up to expose your soft belly. 

His arousal and common sense flooded south, and he couldn’t wait to roam his hands down your sides, memorising the feel of your breath expanding through your entire body, reaching for your hips and squeezing—

“Ow—Rin!” 

He quickly jerked away like he was scalded with hot water, your teary eyes and tight grip on your wounded ankle slamming him back to reality. You curled onto yourself, riding out this wave of agony while his hands fluttered about uselessly, trying to decipher what he did wrong. 

“Knee,” you managed to wheeze out through your gritted teeth. “Your knee—oww—pressed onto my calf.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, easing you up into his lap to take pressure off your sore leg. “The muscle spasms must’ve reached that region.” Frowning to himself, he slid you back to the couch and lumbered into his kitchen, emerging with a packet of ice. 

Before you had a chance to protest, he lifted your injured foot and placed it on his lap, pressing the ice pack into your skin. The air filled with sounds of both your steady breathing, and you swore it chased the loneliness away and numbed you to the pain. His presence was a mark upon your soul, steadily growing deeper, and you feared to open yourself towards such reliance. 

His touch was growing familiar day by day, and you were growing susceptible to it. Even the barest brush of his thumb on your ankle bone could make you shiver. Everything about Rin drew you to a crashing stop, configuring your inner compass to point in his direction and away from the true destination you were meant to head towards. 

“You’re staring at me.” 

“You’re hard not to stare at.” 

His frown was back. “Stop that.” 

“Stop what?” 

You pressed your hand to his, feeling both the cold and unbearable warmth seep into your skin. 

Rin gave you a withering glare. “This. Stop this.” He grasped your hand and peeled it off his own, setting it down while he continued to ice your sprained muscle. 

“I thought you loved me.” 

A shadow of a smile curved on the edges of his lips. “I didn’t say it outright.” 

“Doesn’t have to be said,” you retorted, tongue-in-cheek, and he couldn’t help but smile. You found comfort in his expression, reaching out to brush the tips of your fingers across his chin. “Thank you. For this.” 

He shook his head, unable to meet your eyes. “It’s nothing.”

Rin was wrong. It meant everything to you.

Everything and more which you could never say out loud if you were to be honest with yourself for once. 

Days stretched on, and your injury started to heal. 

The pulled muscle grew stronger in tandem with your fondness for Rin, brokenness healing into whole vitality to birth something new and beautiful. 

He let you crash in his guest bedroom, made sure to stock up on ready-made food which you could easily heat up, and returned home everyday at 5 on the dot to help you stand shakily on your own two feet. It was a kindness you did not deserve, and you appreciated every drop of it. 

On the third day, Sae called you up, and you answered him with a meek voice, stating you had suffered an injury and was recovering at a friend’s place. He didn’t push you for more details, and you didn’t offer any. 

It was a perfunctory call at best, and an obligation at worst. 

Your days with Rin grew into a wonderful melange of understanding and kindness. He was a solid presence you could rely on for help when you needed a taller figure to reach for a spare bowl in the cupboard above. His wry sense of speaking evolved into a humour you appreciated, especially when he deadpanned an insult aimed at his unsuspecting teammates. His house started to feel more like a home, despite how you had to chastise yourself from going down that treacherous path.

After all, there was no better addiction than the insanity of falling in love with someone you could never have. 

Thoughts of him fueled you during the day when you stretched your muscles, used his expensive bath soap which lathered perfectly on your skin as you imagined it was his larger palms running the suds in between your breasts, down the valley of your soft belly and between the crevices of your legs. Perfumed with the scent of him, you were charmed like a maiden in love. 

When night came, you satiated yourself in his presence by watching him put on a horror movie for you both to enjoy, and sometimes, you found him nodding off to sleep at the opposite end of the couch, knocked out after a day of hard training. You would reach for a blanket and tuck it over his broader frame, peck his forehead and stumble back to your room. It amused you to no end how he could be out like a light while jump scares and screams reverberated in the background. 

His quirks were endearing as they were infuriating. 

One night, while watching a Junji Ito film, you felt Rin shift from behind you. 

Amidst gory screams and blood exploding, he touched your ankle, rubbing underneath the hard bone with mindful circles using his thumb. His breath fanned warmly across your neck, and he noticed how eclectically perfect the movie lights played out across your features. You were absorbed in this retelling, rapturous in your attention that he felt almost bad for shaking you out of it. 

His touch around your waist was hesitant, and he kept tabs on your reaction. You shifted slightly, an adorable scrunch between your brow. He wanted nothing more than to smooth the crinkle of consternation with the tip of his thumb, amused at how fully absorbed you were by one of his favourite horror movies. 

He trailed his nose across your jaw, using the corners of his mouth to kiss your chin. You batted him away with a low whine, “Rin, m’tryna watch.”

Laughing inwardly, his touch idled around your waist, spreading heat on your soft skin. Rin didn’t give himself time to think—to really gauge his true intentions when he tries to distract you. It’s a little game he wanted to play, to see how long you could hold up to his teasing. 

Lithe fingers dance down your belly, plucking at the waistband of your shorts while his other hand cautiously inched up your rib cage. There was a hitch in your breath when he slipped two fingers past the stretchy elastic of his old boxers clad around your waist, as if he were testing the waters of your consent.

But, your eyes never left the screen.

Emboldened, Rin stuck his lower lip between his teeth, growing heady on the thought of your submission on his tongue to taste. He lifted up the hem of your shirt, forgetting that you hadn’t worn a bra to sleep. You’re clad in one of his ancient jerseys which he passed to you in a fit of realisation that you had no clothes to spare when you both made the impromptu decision that you should bunk over at his place for the time being.

Such shortsightedness proved as a win when your nipples puckered from the cool air. 

His preoccupied hand down your shorts found the seam of your clit and he reeled in a curse when he felt the slipperiness of your arousal coating the roughened pads of his index and middle finger. Rin fought back a groan when you bucked your hips up, implicitly asking him for more. Both of your eyes were glued onto the screen, and Rin knew this entire sequence by heart.

He waited for the right moment when the music swelled and the heroine rounded the corner, the shadowy figure above head fully materialising behind her heaving back. You looked terrified, though you didn’t hide your face behind your palms like he expected you would do. Truly, you were braver than he gave you credit for. On screen, the actress sensed movement, and her expression melted into one of genuine terror.

Violin strings broke over in a gasping crescendo when she turned around, finally face to face with the demon who had inhabited her daughter’s body—a faceless entity with a gaping mouth. 

Rin slipped his fingers into your tight heat the same moment the big reveal happened and your reaction was instantaneous. A loud yelp ripped past your gasping mouth, and your back arched higher for him to do as he pleased. Which was a lot considering the filthy thoughts swirling in his mind—the positions he wanted to bend you in and take you till you were a sweaty, shaking mess.

He curled his fingers, languidly pumping them in and out of your slick cunt. Your breathing grew shallower, whinier, and you shifted to trap his hands between your thighs, doe-eyes flitting upwards to his own impassive ones.

“Rin—mhmp.”

Slender, callous fingers slotted past your mouth to pin your tongue down. His crisp command was clear. “Suck.” 

You did as he asked with docile perfection, looking far too precious and innocent for a woman who was gagging lightly around his fingers and undulating her hips in tight circles of pleasure. Rin’s expression remained impassive, but you could tell he was enjoying a taste of your submission from the stiffness poking your lower back. 

He pressed his fingers deeper down your soft gullet, and you gurgled, bubbles of drool forming in the corners of your mouth. You moaned pitchily when he slipped another finger inside of you to stretch you out, scissoring them to reach your innermost spots. With your eyes rolling back into your head and your mouth stuffed full with his thick digits, you felt the coil of heat in your lower belly tightening deliciously. 

Rin was starting to breathe heavier, his teal eyes melting into your wide gaze. The kiss he feathered onto your forehead was starkly different in comparison to the almost rough way he was finger-fucking you. His duality would never cease to leave you lightheaded from the joyous whiplash. One second, he could be the most puppy-like man who nipped at your feet and would follow you to the ends of the world, and in the next, he would be fucking up into you like a wild beast unleashed from years of repression. 

But, through it all, your heart never stopped singing his name. 

You never stopped loving him for even one second. 

“Rin,” you choked, tears clouding your eyes when the pleasure started reaching a point of agony. One hand was wrapped around his wrist to anchor your burgeoning dizziness, and the other curled up in a fist by your side, knuckles stretched thinly over your remaining grip on reality. 

The actress on screen had been killed off by the vengeful spirit and a seance was taking place, though neither of you noticed. All he did was click his tongue, and nodded towards the neglected movie rolling in the background. “Lower the volume—wanna hear your moans.” 

His both hands were preoccupied, so it fell onto you to stretch for the remote and bring the volume bar down. Screams, dramatic strings and outlandish humming were reduced to background noise, your scratchy moans and heavy breathing at the forefront of this auditory fest he wanted to indulge in. 

Rin dragged you closer to his chest, propping in between his two muscular thighs. Stuttering breaths caught and strained through his equally defined torso, and his entire body radiated enough heat to make you break a sweat. 

Prying his sodden fingers from your mouth, Rin resisted the urge to clasp his hand around your neck possessively when you whined and chased after them again, suckling on the calloused tips like how he imagined you would pleasure his cock. The flash of your pink tongue licking and running up and down his thick digits, peeking between the crevices where you deep-throated them with a hunger he never expected, made him realise heaven was real.

It was in the form of your warm mouth suckling him right to his knuckle while your tongue danced along the ridges of nimble fingertips and roughened skin. 

“Slut,” he rasped, fully removing his fingers and clamping them around your neck instead. 

You whined and jerked your hips up, begging him to give you something to put in your mouth as his movements below increased in their pacing. Rin was merciless when he fingered you, quickly memorising your weak spots and fully exploiting them to emerge as the ultimate puppeteer of your body. He knew the spongy spot just below your navel which made your hips twitch up like a nervous tick without fail. He knew you liked to have your clit played as he curled his fingers inside of you. His other free hand reached for your breasts, twisting and plucking your tight nipple till you keened and bowed your head back, enjoying both stimulation with a greedy desperation. 

Touch yourself for me, the memory of your spread legs atop his luxurious blue silk bed sheets and his heated teal eyes latched onto your gaping cunt nearly made you cum right there and then. Show me how you pleasure yourself so I can learn. 

And what a fast learner he was. 

“R-Rin, m’gonna—”

In a flash, his fingers squelched out of your cunt. 

Your cry was part indignation and disappointment. Placating you, Rin stuck his fingers back down your throat for you to clean up. Obediently, you lapped at the salty-sweet stickiness with half-mast eyes, your pussy sucking his other pair of fingers in deeper. Fuck, he almost groaned out loud. I need to have her. 

Rin could barely wait to pry his fingers out of your mouth and perfect cunt to position you on his lap. Perched prettily with hazy eyes and a swollen mouth, his cock ached to be buried in you. Soft pants fell from your parted lips, and you buried your fingers in his hair needily, rocking your core over his leaking bulge. 

“Need more,” your desperate whine made him almost feral with desire. “Need you, Rin-Rin.” 

That nickname falling like a sweet drop of dew from your honeyed lips snapped his patience. Pushing down his pants, his cock sprung out, slapping his lower belly and smearing a bit of pre on the toned muscle. He ripped the old jersey off from your frame, uncaring that you cried out in pain when the hem caught and tugged on your earring. All he did was pinch and lick your nipples into stiffness as you struggled to untangle the fabric from the caught hook. 

Once the knotted thread was free from the sterling hook, he urgently tossed his jersey aside, focused on your shorts now. He pitched his head forward to rub his burning cheeks in between your breasts, mouthing and licking the plush flesh while he kneaded your ass eagerly. You lifted his face from the refuge of your body to smash your mouth sloppily onto his, and in the background, the credits rolled, a slow, sombre tune which lended a touch of melancholy to this heated scene. 

Ripping the worn out shorts off your frame, he laid your bare body flush against his. The press of both your weights on his tailbone made it hurt, but it was worth the pinch of discomfort when you lifted your hips and gently grasped the base of his drooling dick. Giving it a few pumps, Rin’s loud gritted teeth and flushed cheeks spoke volumes of his tethering patience. 

He was close to snapping at you to push him inside of you when you grasped the leaking head and gently nudged it past the tight, maddening muscle. No matter how many times you let him in, it still felt like the first time. 

Despite the stretch, his girth and the sting it took for you to take him fully, you always did it like a champ without complaint. You would always, without fail, kiss him when he bottomed out inside of you—a soft peck of your lips on his that ignited his flame of obsession for you even more. 

The way how your warmth melted around him like a velvet popsicle could’ve filled his chest with all the happiness in the world. Your strained moan, like you were pushing your ample desire past a sieve, would fill him with burning pride at being yours.

Because as much as you belonged to him, he belonged to you, too. 

Those thoughts barely made a dent on his composure; what did was the sight of your pussy wrapped almost lovingly around his cock, the slick flesh sliding up and down his thick length, leaving rings of white from base to tip. 

“Fuck, baby,” he cussed, grabbing onto your hips, mesmerised by the sight unfolding before him. “S’fucking good slut… so wet f’me…”

You took his praise in stride, letting it fuel you to please him even more. Pressing your palms flush on his shoulders, you used the strength of your thighs to pump, swivel and buck your hips—riding his cock with a passion he had never seen a woman possess. It blew his mind, leaving him gaping, groaning and woozily locking eyes with you. 

Rin’s fleeting kiss on your forehead was done in an unsteady motion, and his grip tightened on your body till you swore he would leave bruises behind. His breath was hot on your chin, and his tongue was back in your mouth, desperately tangling with your own tongue. 

One large hand slid from your hip to between your legs, his thumb finding purchase on your slick clit, rubbing tight circles to stimulate you on both ends. You tightened your grip in his hair, and undulated your hips in quicker circles, breath coming out in laboured pants. 

Rin ducked his head to take one hard nipple in his mouth, suckling on the throbbing flesh and tonguing it until it went completely hard enough to cut diamonds. He pulled back slightly, strings of spit connecting his mouth to the heaving flesh, and he kissed around your areola, smearing saliva and his devotion across your skin. 

You squeezed down on him the same moment he took your tight bud back into his mouth, happily licking and sucking it like it was his favourite candy. 

Not many words were shared between you two, but it wasn’t necessary; the whispers of your body and heavenly sounds of ecstatic moans and grunts were enough to transcend the boundaries of speech. The sloppiness of your sexes connecting was loud in the quiet, filling his home with the stinging scent of sweat, musk and wild desire. 

The sight of your tits jiggling in his face, your hips stuttering and pussy dripping around his pulsing length nearly triggered Rin’s release. But, he held back by picturing gory murder and disembowelment scenes, breath growing heady and heavier. 

Your own breathing was becoming stuttered, and electrifying his ego to great heights. He was close to breaking his own rule to never mark up a woman that wasn’t his, when his control dissipated and his lips were latched around your pulse point. The hot seal of his mouth on such a delicate stretch of skin made you throb all over, and you didn’t push him away, tilting your head back to receive him even if it would leave a mark—letting him do whatever he wanted to you. 

“Fuck,” he moaned in between desperate suckles. Hot open-mouthed kisses fell intermittently like a summer drizzle on your collarbones and shoulders, but his lips would always return to that same spot which was starting to burn from his branding. 

You whined and arched your back, turning around to glimpse both of your figures on the darkened TV screen. The stretch of his cock prying you open was magnificent, nearly making you cry out with euphoria. His muscular, thick thighs on either side of you were trembling, and the sight of his big hands on the delicate curve of your spine made you think the unholiest thoughts when it came to staking your claim on Itoshi Rin.

Returning the favour of his mark on your neck, you pressed your lips to the spot underneath his right ear, sucking the sensitive skin there in between sloppy kisses up and down his throat. Rin’s hot breath fanned across your shoulder, leaving you intoxicated on his passion and desire. 

His hips bucked up into yours, and he pressed your lower body flushed to his hard enough for his pubic bone to grind against your clit. The action, combined with his mouth back on your nipples, was enough to tighten the string of desire deep in you towards its breaking point. 

“Rin… oh god… Rin…” 

He has never paid much attention to how his name sounded like coming from anyone, but when it was you, he found that the cadence of it was far more magical than he expected. 

“Y/N,” he reciprocated in his strained, low baritone. “Fuck… so well for me…”

Disjointed words, heavy breathing and grabby hands made a hazy mark in your dizzy mind. 

You were so far gone that all it took was a few precise circles on your clit with his thumb to get your release crashing down, triggering his own. 

The sensation of your pussy melting around him had Rin seeing stars behind his tightly closed lids. His stuttered growl of your name was buried in your neck, and with a few more thrusts, he spilled fully into you; white hot strings of pure fertile devotion pumped deeper into you with a few more sloppy thrusts. 

“Rin… oh… shit, baby.” You cursed the same moment you tiredly smushed your lips to the corner of his mouth. “Oh my god, baby…”

You had never came at the same time as a lover in your entire life, and the experience was enough to render you speechless with a cresting emotion you could not name. Hot tears slipped from your closed eyes and splashed onto his shoulder. Rin didn’t point them out, nuzzling your cheek tiredly to comfort you. 

Exhaustion fell over both of you like a warm blanket. Both your limbs were tangled, slotting naturally like pieces meant to fall upon the other. His breath stirred your hair and your lips were pressed to his neck, his arms a tight vine around your torso. 

You played with the dark locks at the nape of his neck, marvelling at how soft they were. 

“What’s on your mind?” Rin’s soft question knocked you out from your reverie, and you tried (and failed) to hide your growing smile. 

“Nothing,” you mustered, pressing a quick kiss to the developing mark under his ear. He wasn’t amused by your deflection, smacking your bottom lightly. 

“Tell me.”

Biting your lower lip, you pried your face from its sanctuary of his neck, fixing him with a tender smile—one that knocked the breath from his lungs.

“I was thinking about you… and us… and how I want this to never end.” 

Whatever that sparked between the two of you seemed to grow out of control like a wild flame; razing down the steep trees shading his consciousness as easily as if they were straw dolls. Instead of being terrified, Rin found such destruction beautiful, the glow of the flames drenching him with warmth, the thunderous falling wood filling his ears with brown noise. 

“Yeah?” he goaded the flames further, fanning them into a high arc through his slowly growing smile. “And why is that, baby?” 

“Because I’m in love with you, Itoshi Rin, and I want to be with you.” 

Your next words made an explosion ring in his ears, pushing him to discard every shred of rationality just to keep you by his side for as long as the world kept on spinning.

“I’m breaking up with Sae the first thing tomorrow morning.” 

TWO DAYS AGO

Sae had no idea how he found himself back in this club. 

The pulsing lights, neon strobes and loud music weren’t exactly up to his standards, but he gritted his teeth and bore it for the sake of his team. 

It was a joint birthday celebration—some young asshole together who had the same birthdate as Leonardo. The club was in full swing, and Sae just wanted to go home and sleep off another rough training session. But, it was as if his teammates had a radar to his burgeoning displeasure. They roped him in for a drinking competition with loud jeers; plied him with shots till the lights lost their edge and he was actually starting to enjoy the music. 

Of course, with word of the arrival of the Spanish football team, came the trail of money-hungry whores. They walked over, plastered on fake faces and bodies with their syrupy smiles and talons waiting to sink into the first available man. Those who didn’t have a woman waiting for them back home took the opportunity to flirt, dance and drink together with them while others like him stood by the sidelines, respectfully detached from the entire scene.

The alcohol was wearing off in his system, and he was starting to get sleepy. Sae signalled to Leo, catching the hulking man’s eye from across the dancefloor and gestured towards the exit sign. I’m leaving.

Leonardo Luna pursed his lips, an overgrown blond baby when he shook his head, making puppy dog eyes that would’ve had anyone caving in. Stay for a little bit, you loser—those eyes seemed to say. 

Sae shook his head, a smirk worming on his lips. The other men wouldn’t get it. He had plans to make and a flight to book back home. 

Turning his back, he fished for his phone in his pocket, pulling up your chat. The text he sent you a few hours ago remained unread, and despite how much he wished he could fix this, there was nothing else he could do but return back to Japan and see you again. 

I hope you sleep well tonight, baby. 

He sighed, and pocketed his phone again. There must be a reason why you were acting so distant. 

Sae must’ve done something; said something that didn’t sit right with you. But, no matter how many times he wracked his brain for an inkling of what he did, he would come back empty-handed and slightly more frustrated than before.

Just as he was about to round the corner and walk out of the club, someone ran into him. He could tell it was a woman from the flurry of brown hair which jerked back, and her soft gasp followed with an embarrassed apology. 

Sae blinked, unperturbed and was about to walk away when she called for him back. “Excuse me, sir?” The lilt in her voice sounded vaguely familiar, tasting of home, and when he turned back to fully drink her in, he found her features to be the same ones he saw from the women back in Japan and he instantly relaxed. 

Switching straight into Japanese, he mumbled, “Yeah?” 

In her hands, she held his phone, the lighted screen showing a text message in the notification bar. He took it from her, and she bowed her head in apology once more. “I’m sorry for being so clumsy, I didn’t—wait—you can speak Japanese, too?” 

Sae nodded in confirmation. “I assume you’re from there?” 

Her expression broke into one of relief, a kindling comradeship every human had when they met someone from their home country in a foreign land. “I am. I’m from Kanagawa. And you?” 

Something electric ran down his spine at her words, and he bit back on a wistful smile, keeping his expression neutral to not scare her off. “Same here. What’re you doing in Madrid?” 

The more he spoke to her, the more he realised how her brown eyes which matched her hair seemed to spark back to life. She spoke freely of her job here as a reporter, how much she missed home and strangely, natto. He had to laugh at that, reminded of the fermented beans which were a great companion to rice—the ones which Rin, back when they were kids, would always pull a face at and pass it to him under the table when they’re mother wasn’t looking. 

He told her of his life as a football player and she made a sound of recognition when he told her his name. 

“Itoshi Sae.” Something about how she said his name, sent a shiver through him—a traitorous one which reminded him of you. 

(Fuck, he almost forgot he had a woman waiting for him back home). 

“I hope our paths will cross again someday, Sae.” 

He didn’t reply, nodding in acknowledgement. 

“Wait!” Before he left, she passed him her business card and cheekily said, “In case you want to help a lost Japanese woman find good food around here.”

She handed him a glossy card complete with her name and phone number on it. Noguchi Jina. A pretty name. Of course. She would be living in Madrid for two years and welcomed any help in navigating the big city. 

Despite the warning bells chiming in his head, Sae took the tiny, glossy rectangle with another nod. “We’ll see when I’m free.” 

He ducked his head and walked out of the club, the card he held in his hand burning warmly. Letting go of it, he removed his phone, and it was stupid, really, how his heart kicked up a notch when he saw your name on the screen, before it crashed down with a lingering sense of guilt. 

It was strange—he did nothing wrong, but why did the sight of your sweet message (‘Goodnight Sae, dreaming of you tonight ♡’) fill him with guilt? He didn’t sleep or flirt with anyone; he felt like his mind was playing a sick trick. Maybe he missed you a little too much—felt like he wasn’t giving you enough attention that the reminder of any woman who wasn’t you filled him with shame. 

I should go back to see her. Deciding that it was enough of a reason to take a few days off, Sae texted his manager to let him know he was off for a few weeks, and that he would be back in Japan to spend the holidays. His next course of action was to leave his mom a voicemail that he would take the entire family for a trip to the Hokkaido mountains—yes, including Rin.

Call it sentimental, but he missed those family holidays they used to go on before he moved to Spain, and he wanted to be reunited under the same roof with the people who missed him the most (yes, this included Rin). 

The idea of such a trip filled him with a quiet joy he did not know how to express beyond a small grin, and as he booked his ticket for home, he pictured the wide smile on your face the moment he showed up at your apartment, suitcase and heart open for you to give him a home during his entire stay.

His mother texted him back the same moment his manager gave him the okay. Since it was off-season for Rin, too, he had the time to spend together with his suddenly nostalgic nii-chan who wanted to start making amends for the shit he put his otouto through. 

They were both grown men now, and Sae was coming to find that the older he got, the more he found himself reluctant to hold onto grudges. 

Which was why when Hana told him it was a lovely idea, he couldn’t keep his excitement down when he texted her back: 

Don’t tell Y/N or Rin. I want it to be a surprise. 

Her response was warm and welcoming. 

Of course. Come back home safely, Sae.

Home. He would be going home.

(To you.) 

I’m breaking up with Sae the first thing tomorrow morning.

What a lie that turned out to be. 

It seemed as if the universe had it out for you when you woke up in Rin’s arms the next morning, heart full and head woozy. Your lover was also stirring awake next to you, running his fingers up and down your spine which stretched and arched open for him like a well-loved book. 

“G’morning,” he murmured huskily, sleep still heavy in those gorgeous teal eyes and a small smile etched on his swollen lips. You wished him back and snuggled closer to his side, one arm slung haphazardly across his chest, feeling his steady breathing lulling you back into a doze.

Absent-mindedly, you felt him press a soft kiss to your temple, taking a brief pause to inhale the sweet smell of baby powder from your locks. 

“Are you sniffing my hair?” you teased and he clicked his tongue. 

“Smells good. In fact—” Rin rolled you onto your back, his weight pressing you fully into his mattress. Your sprained ankle was about healed and it barely stung when it was tucked under his calf, calmed by his intoxicating warmth. “—I wanna eat you whole.” 

You hummed, “Why’re you so… big?” 

The thin white shirt he wore to sleep stretched over his broad pecs which were shaking with a small laugh. You couldn’t see his face, but you assumed he was wearing a smirk. “Big in what way?” 

Huffing, you smacked his shoulder. “Your height, dummy. What else would I be talking about?” 

Rin found himself growing more comfortable with you in more ways than he had ever felt around another human being. The defences he held onto tightly for his entire life seemed to fracture and crack around the edges, giving him a sliver of understanding that this was what it was like to connect with another person.

This was how he thought someone would start to fall in love with everything—stupid jokes, colours, new experiences, the sound of tinkling laughter… and something—someone else—entirely.

(This was how it felt like to fall in love with you). 

He was about to retort with a lewd comment which was starkly out of character from his usual detached and withdrawn personality, when your phone vibrated with an incoming call.

His brother’s name on the screen set fire to the lingering joke poised to roll off his tongue, withering his courage and conviction into ashes. The both of you didn’t know what to do; how to react.

The bed had turned from an oasis to an impending warzone.

You shook out from your reverie first to pick up your phone, knuckles starkly pale and a clench in your jaw which reminded him of how the muscle would tighten just when you were about to cry. 

But, you remained dry-eyed and brave, firm in your decision to end it with his nii-chan and choose him. 

“Sae?” 

Rin didn’t need you to put your phone on speaker to hear Sae’s impatient question which reverberated across the room like a distant echo; calling the both of you back to this grim reality—one where the afterglow of last night’s love-making could not protect. 

“Where are you? You’re not home?” 

“Hmm? What do you mean—?”

The colour drained from your cheeks and Rin’s breathing was lodged painfully in his throat when he heard the faint murmur of his brother’s next words—sounding both confused and irritated at your absence. 

“I’m standing outside your apartment,” A deathly pause where two guilty souls and one oblivious one engaged in this fatal romance, this dangerous dance which was waiting to explode up in flames across the screen like a car crash one can’t look away from. 

“I’m back home, baby. Where are you?” 

©️lalunanymph

[pdpenpals]

hihi! i was wondering if i could get a romantic letter from phoenix drop high gene? she/they pronouns please :)

and for the context of the letter, maybe Gene & Reader recently started dating but can’t text because Reader is away at an academic sleep away camp (preferably centered around literature/writing)? Reader is on the more academic/nerdy side and not officially part of the SK so them doing these kinds of programs is their usual summer thing but it’s the first time Gene and Reader have been away from eachother since they started dating

tysm <33

hihi!! thanks for sending this in, i think this prompt’s absolutely adorable!

unrelated but speaking of literature whenever i see gene now that i’m older i think of heathcliff (more of the name) or the phantom for some reason.

your entire being perks up at the mention that a letter’s arrived, and your heart races as you go through who could have possibly sent it in your head. the moment you have it in your hands, you can almost tell exactly who it’s from. the envelope’s a dark gray, close enough to be black. there are stickers all over its back next to your name and address, same goes for the front. opening it, you catch a whiff of someone familiar’s cologne. that cheeky bastard. 

you notice almost immediately that there’s not only a letter inside, but a bunch of printed photos and some unused stickers. after finding a spot to settle your new goodies upon, you get comfy and get to reading.

Hey cutie. Miss me yet? 

Heard a fair’s coming to town soon. I think it’ll still be there when you get back. There should even be fireworks on the last day. We can go there if you wanna.

Other than that, nothing much happened today. Dante was out, and I had the house to myself for a good portion of the afternoon. Without sugarcoating it, I was bored out of my mind.

It took me a while to figure out my texts or calls weren’t getting through to you. Mom must have seen how frustrated I was about it, so she shared some of her spare stationery with me as a last resort. She said something about wanting to hear about how your summer’s been doing so far.

That’s all the small talk I can handle for today. You might get too tired of staring at only words for too long over there, so you might want to check out the pics taken these past few days. The stickers are from Zenix and Sasha by the way, they also say hi.

Kidding aside, I know how much this whole camp thing means to you.  But I’ve been feeling weird ever since you left. It’s weirder knowing you’re not nearby. When you’re not a walk or a call away. Even though I know exactly how many days and many hours are left until you come back.

Sappy shit out the way, I decided to read that one book you lent me at random. I’m not sure you remember it much since you hurriedly gave it to me without a second thought, but it’s that really old one about the day before the world ends. All that apocalyptic and sad shit. Even though I didn’t get it, I guess it was nice that Vincent and Leticia got their happy ending. To be honest, the book overall didn’t stand out to me much, but the concept of having one day left to live sure did.

If I knew the world was going to end tomorrow I would

Y’know, maybe it’s for the best I save it for when we meet again in person, so you better come back home in one piece, yeah?

With an aching heart and hand, Your Gene, who misses you terribly

PS. I feel like you’ve been rubbing off on me recently, state-of-mind-wise. While it’s not that bad, it gives me the chills.

PPS. If not having you near me hasn't driven me insane yet, I definitely will go mad if this letter doesn't make it to you. Especially after all I've put my wrist through just for this. Maybe I should visit the post office a few more times?

[lanawinterscigarettes]

hi!! can i ask for some Jennifer check x reader who had a bad day with cuddling ?

absolutely you can! please enjoy 🥰

Cuddle Bug (Jennifer Check x gn reader)

Warnings: slight hurt/comfort, reader has a bad day but it's not specified what happened exactly, brief kissing, Jen is very affectionate with the reader and uses a ton of pet names

You'd had an awful day (the worst, in fact) and there was nothing more that you'd love to do than turn into a pillbug so you could curl up into a ball and escape everything for a little while. There was something that was stopping you from doing that, however. Or rather, someone.

"Come on, open up!" Your girlfriend called out as she pounded on the front door to your house. "Don't make me break the door down, I just got my nails done."

You groaned at the loud noise before rolling out of bed, knowing she wouldn't leave until she got what she wanted. Jennifer was standing with her arms crossed when you opened the door, though she quickly flung herself forward when she saw you.

"Baby," she greeted in a low purr as she wrapped her arms around your neck, giving your cheek a kiss. "I missed you so much."

"You saw me yesterday," you pointed out matter-of-factly, which caused her to let out an annoyed huff.

"Yes, I'm well aware I saw you yesterday, but that still doesn't mean I don't miss you when you're gone." She pulled away, frowning slightly when she saw just how gloomy you seemed. "What's with the long face?"

Letting out a sigh, you responded. "I've had an awful day, alright? Which means I'm probably not going to be any fun to be around right now."

"Aw, baby, don't say that. You're always fun to be around, even when you're feeling grumpy."

The tiniest of a smile formed on your face at her words. "You're too sweet, Jen. I don't deserve you."

"Yes, you do, cutie," she insisted while moving her hands to cup your face, playfully squishing your cheeks. "Since you're not feeling good, we can do whatever you want for once, okay?"

That showed that Jennifer really did care, as she was usually very persistent about doing what she wanted to do. "I love you, did you know that?"

"Of course I do," she replied as though it was obvious. "Now let's go to your room so I can love on you without having to worry about any of your family seeing it."

A few minutes later, the two of you were snuggled up together in your bed. Jennifer was watching some sort of trashy reality show on her phone while you were curled up beside her.

"You're such a cuddle bug whenever you get upset," she commented when you snuggled up closer to her, your face pressed into her side.

"Yeah, I know," you responded in a muffled voice, making it clear from the way you had your arms wrapped tightly around her that neither of you were going to be getting up anytime soon.

"My cute little cuddle bug," she sweetly cooed before leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. "As long as it makes you feel better, you can stay cuddled up as close as you'd like."

End notes: I intentionally made Jen really sappy and sweet in this so if she's somewhat out of character that's why

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[skatingbi]

When Zoro is shoved out of the gallery by Sanji, his first thought is "What the fuck" and his second is "I really said that out loud".

To be fair, Zoro isn't great with words. For one, he never thinks before he speaks 90 percent of the time. He also simply never saw a chance to compliment anyone, really. Zoro is the epitome of act first, talk later. Always has been, and probably always will be until the day he dies. Until a few seconds ago.

When Zoro noticed the cook's dual toned eyes, too many thoughts surfaced at once for him to decipher all of them. He definitely thought they were beautiful, but he didn't mean to say that sappy shit out loud. Sanji's blue eye was also nearly identical to a shade that some glaciers take on in the North Blue. He vaguely remembers other pirates talking about them here and there. He's never seen them, but if he had to guess what type of blue the ice was, he would think of the color of Sanji's eye.

Now, on the other side of the gallery, Zoro leans against the door. After the reaction he got from Sanji, he's not sure where to go from here. He didn't even mean to say that out loud either. It just... came out. Most of what Zoro says does that, but looking at Sanji in that moment made his brain short circuit, his heart stutter, and his lungs hitch. He felt something he's never put a name on before, and because of that, he didn't question it until after Sanji kicked him out.

Zoro's feelings about Sanji are complicated at best. He used to not think about it, but after this, maybe he should. He runs a hand down his face and sighs. He can feel how warm his cheeks are and knows for a fact that if anyone came in, they'd notice the embarrassingly bright blush he's sporting. So he pushes himself off the door and goes to the crow's nest to meditate, train, sleep, or something that will take his mind off of this.

Meditating doesn't work. Neither does training, or sleeping, or keeping a safe distance away from Sanji. In fact, Sanji is actively avoiding him. Has been for the past few days. That wouldn't be out of character for the blond on a normal day, but it's more frequent. Sanji actively kicks the swordsman out to do the dishes himself instead of letting him dry them like he usually does. It's fucking confusing. Zoro can understand insecurity if the main problem about this whole situation is that. He's no stranger to it. The issue, though, is that Sanji's eyes are gorgeous to him, and Sanji doesn't see it. He's just trying to understand why.

A few more days pass by like that. The crew, especially Nami and Usopp, notice. Only Nami makes it known that the crew is very much aware of the awkward shift in Zoro and Sanji's dynamic. It's made especially clear when Nami corners Zoro while he's about to fall asleep on the deck.

"Alright, spill the beans." Nami demands with her hands on her hips and an eyebrow raised. Zoro only opens one eye to acknowledge the redhead in front of him, who's blocking the sun, and it makes Zoro mildly agitated.

"What do you want now, witch, I'm trying to sleep."

Nami rolls her eyes, "I know you're dense, but you're not stupid." She huffs a sigh and bends at the waist over Zoro to glare at him. "You and Sanji have been weirder than usual. Fighting is one thing, but ignoring each other for days is unusual, even for you two." Nami explains.

Zoro rolls his eyes. Sure, him and the shit cook haven't talked, but that's none of anyones business. Let alone Nami's. For all he knows, she could just blackmail him with the embarrassing ordeal of being known. He'd honestly rather not, thank you very much.

"Fuck off, Sanji's the one ignoring me. Let me sleep in peace." Zoro argues back and closes his eyes, resting his arms behind his head to hopefully fall asleep while he still can.

Nami groans in frustration. Okay, fine. If those two idiots want to ignore each other, then she'll let them. It's not like it's any of her business anyway. She just has a bet to win against Usopp, and she's not above changing the stakes to be in her favor. She just has to wait a little longer.

Some part of Nami suspects that Sanji is avoiding Zoro because of something deeper, more personal than just their usual fights. She's willing to bet money that their weird little spat is based on this. She doesn't have evidence. She just has a feeling, and usually, it's right. What's that saying again? Always trust a woman's intuition? With this knowledge in mind and with an ulterior motive, she leaves Zoro alone to have a gay crisis in peace.

What Sanji and Zoro don't know, though, is that she already knows Sanji has heterochromia, and she also doesn't give a shit. She noticed when sanji was too drunk in skypiea while dancing with the wolves, and to be honest, she's surprised no one else even noticed. This knowledge has led her to believing that Zoro said some stupid shit about it. Go figure.

Zoro goes back to trying to sleep. Behind closed eyelids, he can still see a pretty icy blue eye hidden by long blond hair. He wants to see that again. Directly after that thought, though, Zoro suddenly has an epiphany. An almost life changing realization that will most likely fuck him over in the near future. It's laughable how he's never realized it given the past few days.

Zoro likes him.

Sanji and Zoro, for lack of a better word, dance around each other for the next few days. If someone asked Sanji why didnt they just go back to how they normally did things, he couldn't answer them. He can't answer them because he knows that the real issue isn't his eyes. It's what they mean to him.

Sanji is a sentimental man. All of the things people have given him are kept one way or another. He has a drawer in his kitchen for the small trinkets or rocks Luffy finds. He still has that dial Usopp let him keep. He keeps recipe books given to him by Robin on the counter away from the sink. He even kept Nami's hairtie despite nearly snapping it the other day.

There are other things he's kept, too. Franky's things aren't really trinkets, but that doesn't mean they aren't important to him. Franky once gave him a gag gift of matching sunglasses, and he refuses to wear them. They're still tucked into one of the drawers in the dresser next to his bunk. Chopper and him share spices since they're multi use, and it means a lot to him to have his safe space also be useful for others in the crew. He loves being given things, no matter how small they may be.

When his mother died, the first thing he wanted to do was gouge out his eye. When he thinks back on it, the only reason why he couldn't is because he was scared. What small 10 year old wouldn't be? Now, although he loves his eyes deep down, he still runs away by hiding them. It's a gift that he hates, but deep down cherishes like it'll get stolen from his grasp one day.

He's aware that he processes grief by running away until it catches him on a warm, sunny day. Lately, that's exactly what it's done. Grief is hunting him, and he's the deer being shot in the leg so he's unable to run. Refusing to look into a mirror does nothing to stop it.

So, yeah, Sanji is ignoring Zoro. He knows why he's ignoring the moss ball. That doesn't mean Zoro will let him, and he's pretty sure the swordsman is going to corner him eventually. Sanji just needs to stall for time.

But that's not the only reason why he's avoiding him.

"Marimo, I swear to god, if you don't get out of my kitchen, I'm gonna shove my foot up your ass!" Sanji is not in the mood for this. Zoro knows Sanji is not in the mood for this. Will this stop Zoro from getting in the cook's business? Absolutely not.

"I'd like to see you try, curly brow, now shut the hell up and let me dry the goddamn dishes." Zoro huffs as he pushes Sanji out of the way with his hip. Sanji delivers a swift kick to his leg as retaliation.

"Fuck you I can do it myself!"

"Well fuck you because I'm gonna do it anyways!"

"Gods, why are you so insufferable!?"

Now, here they are, with Sanji being forced to let Zoro dry the dishes while he washes them. Sanji keeps a reasonable distance away with a cigarette in his mouth, exhaling smoke through his nose occasionally. Zoro tries (and fails) to not let his eyes wander to Sanji. The cook's eyebrows are scrunched, and his mouth is downturned. The cigarette hangs loosely from his lips as he silently works.

Once Zoro actually realized a few weeks ago he liked Sanji in a (probably) romantic way in some form, it was hard for him to not stare. Zoro never felt attraction to someone like that. He's definitely thought some people were handsome, but that's about as far as it went. Looking back, Zoro thinks that maybe he always thought Sanji was good looking. The swordsman couldn't help but look at all the things that made Sanji his own unique person, handsome, and especially pretty. It's not like he would say that out loud, though. He'd rather attempt to fight Mihawk again than say all that shit out loud to anyone.

Zoro's prolonged silence makes Sanji fidget in place, leaning side to side on each foot, while he washes the last dish. After that his cigarette is nothing but the filter and he snubs it out on the ashtray nearby. To combat the nervous energy, Sanji washes his hands and uses his hip to shove Zoro so he can grab the towel he uses to dry his hands. He's earned a glare by the swordsman, "Oi, the fuck is that for, cook? You wanna fight?" Zoro challenges, and Sanji would be a fool to say no.

"Bring it on, shitty swordsman!"

On the deck of the sunny and in the middle of their routine fights, another tragic incident has occurred: Sanji's hair is in his way. Not only that, but Zoro decides to take advantage of it. The blond isn't sure what Zoro gets out of wanting to see something that Sanji would rather keep hidden, but he'll be damned if he lets Zoro win.

Zoro, the conniving bastard, keeps getting into his blind spot. Or at least trying to because Sanji knows better, and he's sailed with Zoro long enough to recognize the little hints when he fights. Zoro's right foot shifts to his left, but his arm holding wado twists minutely, and it's barely noticeable, except Sanji knows he can block this with a kick.

Zoro uses the blunt edge of his sword to strike, and it lands on Sanji's left shin, raised high enough for him to take advantage of his flexibility. Sanji looks into Zoro's eyes with a challenge, and Zoro grins. Not the scary one he reserves for their enemies, though. There's a subtle crinkle on the corners of his eyes and this smile feels genuine. Were those dimples? He never noticed those before.

Huh. Thats new.

Wait. Why is Zoro looking at him like that? Like he's exciting and interesting? That's the only time Zoro smiles like that: when something is worthy to devote his full attention to. It does something to Sanji. It's the same feeling he had when Zoro told him his eyes were beautiful. Sanji's footing falters, and he nearly stumbles gracelessly to land on two feet. Zoro huffs out a sound suspiciously like a laugh and takes a step closer, sheathing his sword in the process.

Sanji takes a step back, but Zoro is zeroed in on a mission he's determined to complete. He slowly walks forward until their faces are inches away, and he raises his hand slowly.

The blond holds his breath, not moving and looking right at Zoro. Like tunnel vision only on the hawklike golden eyes before him. That feeling is back, too, and it's stronger with how close they are suddenly. Sanji wonders if the rest of the crew are out on the deck as well, but the only thing he can hear is Zoro's labored breathing from their fight and the way the wind makes his earrings hit together. A soft melody of chimes and ocean waves.

He needs to get his shit together.

"Get the fuck out of my face, Moss." Sanji orders through gritted teeth. He could back away, kick the swordsman like he usually does, but his feet feel like theyre nailed to the floor. Zoro doesnt move. Neither does he.

Well, his legs dont move. His hand does. Zoro's scarred knuckles show a gentleness that almost makes Sanji shiver. A tall, muscular, scarred swordsman capable of displaying softness similar to somebody holding priceless art made of glass. That's how Zoro brushes his hair away from the cook's face oh so slowly, dragging it out and tempting Sanji to either kick the shit out of the man or do something he might regret. He almost wants to lean into the touch and relish in it. He's never felt gentleness like this before, and it terrifies him deep down where the subject of his trauma lies.

Zoro takes in Sanji. His skin is somehow still pale despite the days in the harsh sun, the only evidence being the freckles decorating his hooked nose, cheeks, and part of his forehead. What Zoro cares about the most, though, is his eyes. Finally, at the risk of displaying a side of him he never thought he had, he can take in the pretty brown and blue eyes that he's thought of for the past few weeks. He doesn't miss the uncertainty the cook displays through the confused arch in his dark curly brows and parted lips.

There's a lot of silence, which is uncharacteristic of them. They've never gone so long without talking before unless one of them was in a coma. Sanji's just about to escape via insults and physical violence until-

"Huh, your eye is kinda like those glaciers in the North Blue." Zoro mumbles, a quiet baritone that vibrates in Sanji's chest despite the only point of contact being the back of a calloused hand on his cheek. Suddenly he feels lightheaded and warmth on his face, spreading to his ears to make them uncomfortably hot.

Sanji's face is somehow ever prettier when he's blushing, and that shocks Zoro out of his thoughts enough to pull away and attempt to make a beeline for the crow's nest. Sanji stares for one, two, three seconds, and then delivers a swift kick to the back of Zoro's knees as soon as he turns around.

"You...you fucking dumbass swordsman! You fucking pervert! Shut the fuck up or I'm gonna kick your fucking ass into the ocean!"

"Hah?! What the hell, shit cook!?"

Now what the actual fuck. Thats twice, fucking twice now that something Zoro said or did made Sanji a fucking inconsolable mess in the weirdest most cliche teenage romcom novel kind of way. What the fuck. How was this happening? Why is he so flustered, and why is it because of that brute?

Sanji always thought he was straight. Women are pretty. They're gorgeous, empathetic (most of the time), graceful, with pretty skin and soft curves. He always appreciated that in women, and he most likely will until the day he dies. Zoro isn't any of those things. He's emotionally intelligent, sure, but you couldn't get the dumbass to take his own advice even if you held him at knife point. He's not soft, he's rough around the edges, with a stern expression even in his sleep. His smile is almost always weird as fuck (except for the one he gave him recently) too. The swordsman only cares about swords and alcohol, but you could probably add rice balls to that list too. Zoro is the epitome of sharp and rugged.

In conclusion, the only similarity between Zoro and women is that Zoro has big tits somehow. No, he is definitely not focusing on that now while making dinner.

The more Sanji thinks about Zoro, though, the more he thinks back to that fucking look. When Zoro brushed his hair away from his face and admired him. He fucking admired him for gods sake. Either Sanji is high as fuck or he's having a nightmare because nobody has ever looked at him with that kind of raw emotion before, not even women he flirted with.

Okay, so maybe there's more to him than meets the eye. That doesn't mean he likes the idiot. Maybe he just needs to learn to take a compliment.

As he thinks about this, he sets the kitchen table and portions out the penne alla vodka for all of the crew members. There's a bottle of sake for Zoro, and because he's feeling... a lot, Sanji allows himself a glass of wine today. As he's deciding between a red or white wine, Luffy barges into the kitchen.

"Sanji! Is food done?!" Luffy asks, practically bouncing towards Sanji excitedly. The captain's loud voice startles Sanji out of his thoughts and he jumps slightly. He quickly saves face to look at Luffy with exasperation.

"Yes, food's done. Go get the rest of the crew- hey, don't touch that!" Sanji says while swatting away Luffy's stretched arm from Nami's bread, "That's for Nami! I gave you enough already. Go get everyone else before you decide to terrorize the place." He demands to a laughing captain whos already out the door halfway through Sanji's reprimand.

Seconds later, the crew files in. Everyone sits and begins to eat. Chatter between them fills the room, and Sanji preens at the compliments for tonight's dinner.

Everything is normal for a while, and soon everyone finishes their food. Luffy only tried to steal Zoro's food a couple of times and only succeeded once, only because the moss ball let him.

Coming much too soon is dish washing. With Zoro. Sanji's conflicted feelings regarding the man have been making him avoid the target of his confusion the days following "The Incident", as Sanji refers to it, and he's not keen on experiencing whatever the fuck is going on between them again. Only because he doesn't know if he can hold himself together if Zoro looks at him like that once more.

It's silent for a few minutes. The repetitive motions soothe him, and Sanji lets his mind wander to mundane thoughts. As he chews on the filter of an unlit cigarette, he thinks of some tasks he needs to do this week. Inventory should be done tomorrow. Ask Nami how long until the next island, and maybe he should-

Zoro clears his throat, and for a moment, he thinks it was just Zoro being Zoro. He's probably trying to annoy him. Yeah, fat chance this time. Anyways, maybe-

"Cook," and Zoro looks at him, putting the plate he just dried down and placing his hands on the counter, "Why're you hiding?" He asks, and Sanji doesn't look at him. Zoro's eyebrows angle slightly in confusion.

Zoro left that question open ended on purpose. He knows Sanji well, or at least he likes to think he does, so asking directly would just make the cook confrontational. Hell, even a vague question would, too.

"What the hell are you talking about, marimo?" Sanji scoffs. Yeah, just as Zoro figured.

"You know what, and I ain't gonna spell it out for you," Zoro leans forward, looking at Sanji even though he tries tilting his head down and away from zoro's perceptive gaze, "Cmon, curls, I need to know if I overstepped. You may be a pain in my ass but I'd never hurt you." Zoro explains, and what the fuck.

Sanji has been asking himself that a lot lately. Yet he doesn't know how to reply to Zoro. All he knows is "You...Dumbass, you make me feel. You make me feel," He whispers like they're the only ones on the ship, "And I dont like it." He finishes.

He has no clue if it's the truth. Hell, earlier today, he was having a sexuality crisis over the man before him. Neither does Zoro. They both look at each other until Zoro looks away with resignation. "Okay." He whispers back.

Sanji learns quickly that he doesn't like that look on Zoro's face.