#which is true but not in the way he thinks

[yandere-romanticaa]

ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔈𝔠𝔥𝔬. - 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓.

❝ your soul is haunting me and telling me that everything is fine, but i wish I was dead. ❞ - dark paradise, lana del rey.

yandere! honkai star rail men. (ana's faves edition.)

❦ Just a little post of my faves on why they love you! I've always been a fan of Valentine's Day because I always have, and always will be a proud Lover Girl™!

❧ 𝔧𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔶𝔲𝔞𝔫.

The tender eyed general can name a plethora of things that he loves about you... As a matter of fact, he could spend centuries just sitting in his ravishing garden, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of divine blossoms as he lists the qualities that he finds oh so endearing and appealing.

Frankly, that level of lovesick is a smidge maddening to some people. Others find the general's devotion incredibly charming. It's really a matter of perspective when you think about it.

However, all of his endless praise can be summed up to one thing in particular. You give him a sense of peace.

Pray tell, how many centuries of suffering has Jing Yuan endured? Well, it's difficult to pinpoint because the man is beyond adept at keeping his feelings in check, let alone actually revealing what makes him lose sleep at night. Jing Yuan has lost so much. He has endured far, far too much than one man ought to.

He may be a general, a warrior, a leader - but even he had his own dreams. His own ambitions. All of which became lost to time, strife and duty.

And all of his pain, all of the ache he feels in his shoulders simply melts away whenever you sit by his side. He is no better than a massive, spoiled house cat who just wishes to eat fine treats and be spoiled by your endless love and devotion.

If he could pick how he could die, all Jing Yuan would ever want is to be in your arms. His heart would be still, calm... The tranquility is just so heavenly, however could he give up on such a feeling?

❧ 𝔧𝔦𝔞𝔬𝔮𝔦𝔲.

Life is a strange road to trek on. You never really know what sort of perils you could come across. That was what made things so fun, Jiaoqiu would reckon.

Even if he no longer had the ability to actually see that road anymore...

The foxian was at least happy to know that his other senses had not been dulled thanks to his unfortunate predicament. He may be blind but he was not weak. He was too stubborn for that. Jiaoqiu still wished to fulfill his duty until the bitter end, no matter what the cost.

Stubbornness and an iron clad will can only get you so far though, especially if your body fails to cooperate. His spirit may be strong but his body simply is not.

And you would be there to hold his hand to tell him that it was all going to be alright.

As Jiaoqiu would break into massive coughs, his body giving into the horrible pain, he was still so happy to see that even after everything, you were still there for him.

Your loyalty had remained unshaken.

However could he thank you for this?

He was going to do everything he can to protect you, to love you in the way you deserve to be loved. Just thinking about you made his weak heart feel stronger again...

❧ 𝔰𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔞𝔶.

To be loved is to be heard. And to be heard is simply the greatest gift in the universe.

For as long as he could remember, that was all Sunday did. He would sit patiently as the person on the other side would tell him their biggest secrets, reveal their darkest sins. He had lost count of how many deplorable and depressing things he has heard throughout the years.

It had never even occurred to him that perhaps, he too needed to unveil his own darkness to another.

Without meaning to, he caved into that weakness. He did not even know that he had such a weakness. It was his job to listen, his job to guide, his job to be true. Even after joining the Astral Express, the least he could do was to hear the crew out on their many woes.

And yet, without any real effort, you had managed to break down his walls. You had shattered him for an evening, allowing him to speak his mind.

For the first time in forever, Sunday had been heard. He choked back the sobs, tried to bite down his despair but it was all pointless. All he had to do was to just look into your eyes and he was just so done. You held him like no one ever had, made him feel so vulnerable and weak but oh so happy.

Can you blame the poor little soul for becoming so attached to you after such an incident?

❧ 𝔭𝔥𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔬𝔫.

Everyone wants to be a hero.

In one way or the other, most - if not all - people wish to be acknowledged. They wish to hear the praise of their peers, they wish to know that they're doing good. Besides, being a hero has so many perks. People love you, they trust you.

And that same love is a shackle which you can't break out of.

That was how Phainon felt. He had no right to feel scared, he did not have the luxury of bowing out of a battle. If someone even suggested such an idea to him, Phainon would just let out a hearty laugh, his Adam's apple going up and down as his blue eyes shined bright with determination, the grip on his sword steady and more than ready to strike down his foes.

You knew better than to fall for that trick. Even with all that bravado, you could still sense the tiny quiver in his voice. You could see from the corner of your eye how his thighs shake ever so slightly.

Phainon was afraid. And once you had him cornered, you confronted him. Underneath the bright Okhema sky, you told him that it was alright to be terrified. That it was alright to have second doubts. That it was alright to be angry.

He may be a hero but he was still just a man.

And it was in that moment that Phainon realized that there was no need to keep up his hero facade with you. That he could just... be himself. Naturally, he was still cheerful, goofy and silly - teasing you was just too much fun.

But there was just a certain level of trust he felt. He knew that you would never judge him no matter what he did. Phainon was so happy to know that he had a sanctuary in your arms.

A dark corner of his heart trembled at the thought of losing that sanctuary. May the Titans bless him because he did not know what he would do if he lost you...

[beatlblog]

#i'm crying this is so funny#we love terry (via @sour-milk-sea)

#harrisong: the sun is so beautiful. has anyone ever noticed this (via @tweeterwilbury)

#men are so strange and delusional.....#just tweet im sad that i wasn't able to suck john lennon's dick and log out#it's quicker (via @mylonghairedladyy)

#there's a reason that their post-beatles work is like... imagine for john and freaking... magneto and titanium man for paul... (via @skyriderwednesday)

#arnie pipe is a normal type with an average job but his prospects never will be great#(lyrics say arnie pupe but you cannot tell me that's true. it's pipe) (via @leapinarmadillo)

#hey Ringo just makes cute songs okay (via @milesaerach)

#idk how to admit this but i really like McCartney's solo work because its exactly like this all the time forever#except sometimes there's something so good it could be in the sounstrack of tarzan out of nowhere#and then we go back to insanity (via @dubiousdisco)

#George song: messing around on a sitar#Ringo song: bad (via @baking-bisexual-bitch)

#transition from happiness is a warm gun to martha my dear (via @guttermeat)

#lennon's song ends with a declaration of wanting to kill his wife#mccartney's song ends with terry the plumber killing his wife (via @lumeninfusco)

#george song: n/a (not allowed on the album) (via @thisisdefinitelyausername)

#weed vs coke (via @barryallenisbisexual)

#but that was pre-psychedelic Beatles (via @elglin)

#john if he wrote fixing a hole#paul if he wrote working class hero (via @the-bluebird-you-need)

#(they're both saying the same thing) (via @ensign-babey)

#george: i get one song per album#ringo: ringo (via @hebrideanmoon)

#I see them both as two little guys hitting pots and pans#but in different ways (via @tenitchyfingers)

#lol welcome to 1971 (via @cirumlocutoryconlanger)

#also the difference between alex kapranos and nick mccarthy#alex = john#nick = paul#more at ten. (via @dandy-lad)

#stop I saw this as I was literally listening to the beatles and texting my sister about how insane their range was#the range in question lmaooo (via @fortressofbooks)

#and both songs are about being gay#so yeah (via @aint-that-kind-of-blog-bruv)

#WHERE'S GEORGE (via @local-vamp)

#both could be a springsteen song (via @melody1971)

written while gazing t the photos of john + elvis on his dressing room wall

#almost accurate#add *pipe clanking sounds* (via @gojisaurus)

#i thought it said 'helovespipesshelovespipes' at first and i was like#wow so true...he would change up the pronounce like that. which could mean nothing (via @igixri)

#monkberry moon delight my BELOVED#his three songs are: 1) the Pipe Man. 2) i love my wife. 3) i miss my soulmate john (via @rubyrubyrubytuesday)

The way the lyrics talk to eachother somehow is so more funny to me (via @starfayy)

#and both songs would be mclennon coded (via @flowersintheram)

#why philosophize when you can narrate (via @alienoriana)

#but it's not homoerotic he swears (via @unchaineddaisychain)

#mccartney's song has a key signature change but lennon's song has a time signature change (via @britneyshakespeare)

#theylovepipedream#音楽 (via @radio-4-is-static)

#is this a fixing a hole reference or a pipes of peace reference#only real ones know pipes of peace (via @whoscruffylooking)

#ok but they’d be in the same song A Day in the Life style#and it’d slap!!!!! (via @tesho-travels)

hate hate hate it

#and theyre both the same song (via @onlylivingboything)

#average beatles on shuffle experience (via @veryhopefulromantic)

#im choosing to understand this (via @hell-nurse)

#I can hear this#he loves pipe she loves pipe#can it be one song tho#I think it’d fuck (via @bugsinnmybrain)

#McCartney said shut up and go to therapy Johnny (via @imoldbutimstillintothat)

#need one of those tumblr musicians to make audio for this post (via @mousefluff)

#the best Beatles text posts are the ones you can hear by reading them (via @thatdogjokes)

#the realest shit#my mom always says John & Paul needed each other for balance bc paul is too whimsical & John is too angsty lol (via @theinconstantmoon)

#pauls whimsey he loves to write songs that would work in a childrens tv show (via @lostcryptids)

#a day in the life verses (via @thefoolsprocession)

and that's why i hate it

#uh oh the pipe is leaking#terry is gonna be weak (via @masterboa)

fifth beatle song: its ok to leave a dog in a hot car (hot car) its ok to leave a dog in a hot car (ooh oooh oh) (via @trashfartofficial)

#this is not accurate at all#lennon lyrics aren't like that there is nothing beatlesque about it#his lyrics are cryptic in a completely different way that's more cartoonish and sarcastic#or if he is serious its not black sabbath shit like this its more just preachy and kinda annoying#mccartney on the other hand... yeah that's about right (via @possessesnightshift)

#and the source of the leak is an issue with the pipes that terry the plumber can fix and it all comes full circle#or something. idk i’m not a beatles fan (via @driftwooddestiel)

no this is accurate

#where would prog be without those “helovespipeshelovespipeshelovespipes” changes (via @despairdoodlesreal)

#PRECISO (via @affogonellamarmellata)#its the same song#they worked on it together (via @airlocksandaviaries)

john was just a huge edgelord but paul knew how to be whimsical and fun (via @herecomesthemod)

#get you a man who can piss off all his band mates with 'faggy bullshit' (quote a la Harrison) AND write Blackbird (via @transwolvie)

#ay no puedo (via @longlivetai)

#meanwhile ringo singing about ocean life (via @penthesileas)

[draconym]

Thank you for the post about your parrot combining words to refer to specific foods! I always love reading stories about things they say, so so fascinating. Do you have any other examples of combined words or maybe just an interesting anecdote about bird language for someone who’s never looked at your blog before?

Oh, sure. I first read about Lexical Elision in The Alex Studies, and later Alex and Me, about Dr. Pepperberg's "Avian Language EXperiment." Alex famously described apples as "banerry" (banana + cherry) when he first encountered them, possibly because they were pale inside like a banana, but round and red like a cherry--both of which words he already knew.

I guess the thing that's hard about this question is that I have normalized so many things about living with a talking parrot that I think are, for the average person, deeply abnormal. Every morning when I come downstairs he requests various foods from me (most days it's carrot, peanut, berry) and then lobbies for me to let him out by saying "Ripley wanna come out" in various different intonations. When he sees me linger by the door or put on a jacket, he says "bye," often adding, "see you later."

A lot of people think that parrots memorize phrases atomically, as in, if you teach a parrot to say "Polly wanna cracker," it may understand that making those sounds in that order results in a cracker, but it will not mean that a bird understands that its name is "Polly," that it "wanna" something, and that "cracker" is the desired food.

To an extent, this is true. If you teach a parrot a phrase in a vacuum it will never be able to deconstruct it. But most captive parrots capable of language and mimicry are exposed to the daily conversation of the humans around them, and are also inherently prone to making word salad out of whatever they hear. This is fun for them. So Polly will probably eventually learn that Polly is their name, that "wanna" can precede many different desirable things, and that "cracker" is the most important part of that sentence and the most efficient way to demand it.

Ripley loves making new sentences. He says silly sounding things all the time like "Ripley wanna chair" or "gonna watch kitchen" because he enjoys playing with words like Legos. But my favorite Ripleyism is when he says "you're so (random word)." Originally this was "you're so silly" or "you're so nice," which we do say to him pretty often. His favorite compliment is "you're so bird."

I recommend my Ripley Parrot tag if you're interested in Ripley Stories. I also highly recommend reading stories about parrots over living with a parrot.

[littelovelunette]

sevika x reader, and some sleazy guy tries to hit on reader and sevika sees. chaos ensues, sevika knocks him out and then takes reader home and shows them who they belong to

Sevika's Wife

contains smut, mirror sex, stabbing, violence, fingering, biting, degradation, pussy spanking, cunnilingus, squirting, praising

"you like the idea hm?" sevika played with the hem of your dress, the lace edges giving you a sexy look. you both were discussing honeymoon ideas now that you both were engaged

"yeah, it's nice and soft," you said and took a sip of your whiskey smiling at the woman before you, you both were gonna be spending your lives together it was something you couldn't even bring yourself to imagine it just sounded way too good to be true but here you were.

"i was just thinking of you while I thought of them," sevika said as she went back to screwing some fixings into her mechanical arm flexing the in-built blade before retracting the blade and continuing her work in comfortable silence.

you propped your head against your hand as you wondered what being married to sevika would be like, it was already similar to heaven just dating the woman imagine being labelled her wife...

"yo mami nice plump ass," a guy slurred drunkenly from across the bar and you didn't realise it was meant to you at first but then you turned your head once you felt his gaze raking your body

"oh no," you whispered under your breath this was bad. not the fact that he was hitting on you but the fact that sevika was watching it all along, sevika didn't step in and continued fixing her metal arm

"let me buy ya' a drink," the man got up walking towards the both of you, you were remarkably short so the man seemed somewhat taller than you by a few inches towering over where you were seated as if in an attempt to intimidate you

in normal scenarios you'd scoff and say you've seen better but for once it was in front of sevika so you decided to play along with the silence

slowly sevika rose from her chair easily towering over the man from where she stood a bit more than six feet tall and by the way things seemed you were certain this unfortunate soul (the drunk man) would be six feet under.

"that's my wife, junkie. fuck off." sevika growled but the man didn't seem to budge as he reached for a gun in his holster but sevika was faster instantly stabbing the retractable blade inside the man's forearm earning screams all around the bar but she didn't care.

some were running away, some drunken people watching, some recoiling in fear as you stifled a laugh, blood was dripping down from where sevika had stabbed the man

sevika retracted the blade like it was a daily thing for her (which it was) and walked over to you draping one of her muscular arms over your shoulder and leading you out of the bar.

you could see her chest was heaving up and down fast and she was likely fuming with rage inside she didn't want to kill the man there where people would bear witness and all

she didn't wanna fuck up the marriage

but she was still furious at the drunken man for talking to you like that it made you wonder what would've went down had he dared to touch you

once you both got home she didn't say a word and cleaned the blood off her mechanical arm and changed into comfortable clothes. you were in your sheer nightwear as usual, and gasped when sevika grabbed you from behind

her hands were encircled around your waist the sheer material of your dress building a barrier in skin-to-skin contact, her face was in the crook of your neck taking in the scent of milk-based soap you had used in the bath a bit ago

"you're mine okay?" she hummed as she bit your shoulder and then your neck

"a-ah, sev, that hurts," you whispered and gasped but sevika didn't stop, her flesh hand held your mouth shut

bloody teeth imprints littering places which were usually exposed to the public's eye but it seemed like sevika didn't care about any of that anymore.

you whined a little and giggled feeling her hands palming your breasts before she stuck two fingers in your pussy, pushing your panties to the side hastily and started pumping them at a painfully slow pace, "you're so wet for me darling." she whispered in your ear making you gasp and whimper in her strong arms, mechanical arm holding you firmly in place.

"oh daddy that feels good only you can make me feel good fuck fuck..." you whined out as her fingers scissored inside your pussy stretching you out and letting the arousal drip onto the fabric of your panties soiling them

"so wet so needy huh?" sevika bit your earlobe as you shuddered and turned you towards a mirror so you could clearly see as she fingered your pussy under your panties, thick fingers slipping inside your obscenely wet hole

"d-d-daddy," you gasped and writhed in her arms the need to cum increasing with every little movement of her dangerously expert hands

just as she rubbed your sweet spot you gasped and grabbed onto the edges of the mirror cumming on her fingers and completely ruining your panties

"mm, look at you filthy slut, sevika tutted and pulled your head back so you could kiss her deeply tongue swirling together and you just knew it you were stuck with this woman for eternity

sevika pushed you down onto the bed, pulling your panties off and folding your legs against your chest so she could get a good view of your pussy and ass

the wetness from your pussy trickling down onto your plump ass cheeks and asshole giving her a very obscene view to get off to

"you're my woman," sevika said biting down on your inner thigh making you gasp and grit your teeth sevika didn't stop and left marks all over your knees thighs and then she started lapping up your juices

her tongue worked perfectly over your heart engulfing your clitoris in her mouth between long, bold licks taking her time with you

"oh daddy I'm all yours," you could only moan and throw your head back in pleasure drooling all over the place as sevika lovingly ate your pussy

she spat on your pussy and suckled on your sensitive bud making your body shiver a little, "yes all mine," she whispered between her ministrations

sevika pushed two fingers inside your pussy the tight passage stretching around her thick finger again as she fingered you

her fingers rubbed against the inner walls of your pussy making you see stars and in this position she was getting deeper in your little tight cunt

"g-goodness... daddy..."

sevika brought her hand back to slap your pussy before she continued fingering it again, mouth working diligently on your clitoris she loved doing this to you and watching you fall apart in her hands

"are you gonna cum for me?" sevika asked her voice uncharacteristically soft, "cum on my fingers like the dirty little whore that you are?"

"yes daddy, yes!" you whimpered and whined before you felt your pussy convulse squirting on her fingers

sevika pulled her fingers back a gentle smile playing on her lips which was a rare sight to behold as she helped you get off the bed to clean up

"my pantiesss..." you whined a little seeing the soaked cotton panties next to the bed covered in cum and arousal

"i'll get you more," sevika kissed your head before helping you clean up and put on fresh clothes to bed, "you did so good I'm proud of you."

[lostinlovingrevery]

Loveuary Challenge! - I Think I Love You

Worst! Logan X F! Reader

A/N: Here's my entry for @yxtkiwiyxt and @lubdubology's Loveuary Challenge! I picked Worst Logan cause he's my boo rn <3, also I sorta but not really based it off the song "I Think I love You" by the Partridge Family! It just been stuck in my head!

Plot: Logan has a crush on the florist in the neighborhood...

Warnings: SMUT, and fluff :), MDNI, PiV sex, Logan being an anxious baby girl, Wade being a nuisance, a lil angst cause of Logan self-loathing

Word Count: 5650

Logan stared at the door of the apartment building, his hands felt shaky, and his stomach turned. He felt like all the adamantium that had merged into his bones had melted and pooled into his feet, keeping him from stepping outside. 

The Wolverine, the toughest son of a bitch out there

Frozen in place because he’s nervous to talk to a woman.

Pathetic.

He swears he could hear Wade right now, taunting him, calling him names. 

“Whiskey dick, whiskey dick, whiskey dick-OW!”

He turned his head, annoyance clear on his face, shoving his hand in Wade's face which had become annoyingly close to his, and pushed him away. Apparently, he zoned out in his anxiety-ridden panic so much he didn’t notice Wade stalking him. “Shut the hell up.” He growled, shaking his head, turning back to the door. He took a deep breath, pushed the handle of the door and stepped outside in the cold February air. 

He didn’t like the cold, but at least the fresh air seemed to help clear his head, as he shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way down the street, to you. He knew where you would be, as you are almost every day. He has your routine remembered down to the second - though hopefully you haven’t noticed that. 

The colorful florist shop came into view quickly, seeing it was only right down the street from the apartment Logan was hopefully temporarily residing in. He caught sight of you, wonderful, lovely, gorgeous you, and his heart started beating faster. 

He met you pretty quickly after he regrettably agreed to live with Wade until he could get on his feet. He’d been walking the block, the streets of the neighborhood every day to get familiar with them, and hopefully find a job. He bumped into you- well actually, he caught you. 

You were up on a ladder, fixing the marquee sign of your shop, changing out the words of the previous promotion you were offering for your flowers, and putting up the new sale. Logan was watching you- you immediately caught his eye from the way the sunlight glowed around you. One misstep down the ladder and you nearly took a tumble to the concrete- but he stepped in and caught you in his arms, bridal-like in how he held you- like a true hero. 

God, you were so sweet, so flustered. You thanked him a million times, and gave him some flowers as appreciation. A bouquet of Hyacinths. He felt silly as man to be taking flowers from someone…But he couldn’t say no to you, not with how you made over him, how your hand touched his arm, how you fixed the collar of his flannel and pressed your hand to his chest. That pretty smile, those gorgeous eyes….

He was smitten from then on. 

Something drew him to you, every day. An urge to see your smile, to hear your voice. A strange comfort in a world that was similar to his but not-quite-his and it had put him on edge. 

He came home that day he met you and Wade immediately knew what was up. 

“Oh, I see you ran into a flower girl.” He grins, eyeing the bouquet in Logan's hand. Logan frowned, quaking a brow. “The lovely lady at the florist shop down the street, yes? She’s a good friend of mine. You recognize her in the picture?” Wade nods to the polaroid that was sitting in a frame, burnt and torn from the incident with the TVA, now carefully preserved. Logan glanced at it and recognized your smiling face. 

“I just helped her out. “ Logan mutters, a shake of his head as he glances down at the pretty flowers you gave him. 

“And she appreciated it so much that she gave you flowers?” Wade stood up. “So…I’m only going to ask this once and whatever you say, I’ll believe you! But…”

Logan waited in confusion, his irritation growing as silence went on. 

“Whose ass do you prefer? Me or hers?” 

That was about 6 months ago. Since then, he’s gotten to know you on his walks, running into you nearly every day- purely by coincidence of course - not because he had the pull to see you ever since he met you. Wade invites you to his parties, occasional dinners, and movie nights- sometimes you stop by with a homemade meal to drop off for them. He’s learned your favorite drink, your favorite snack, your favorite song, your favorite flower. Your favorite things. Ever since he’s been on these walks, your shop being on the path that he takes to his job, the dining room table of Wade and Althea’s apartment always has a vase of fresh flowers.  

Logan felt for you a feeling he thought he didn’t have the capability to feel anymore.

Today was Valentine's day, and Logan was working the nerve up to finally ask you out. Wade had been pushing him to for months, always getting hit with a “shut the fuck up” from Logan, pretending as if he wasn’t interested, even though it was far from the truth. 

Logan was terrified. Not just of asking you out, but of you saying yes.

Logan didn’t think highly of himself. He was dragged into this universe, forced to start over, in some ways a blessing but also a curse. While the Wolverine in this universe is regarded as a hero, he still remembers his old life, where he was regarded as a killer, a monster, a disgusting mutant. He knows of the blood on his hand, the mistakes he’s made, the people- people he loved- that he turned his back on. 

You didn’t know this. 

You were just such a lovely creature. You had a figure that made Logan want to drool like a dog, fisting himself nearly every night in the shower to the image of you. You were smart, open and welcoming, and extremely compassionate - and likely the only person truly patient enough to put up with Wades antics. 

Logan didn’t feel like he deserved to have someone like you in his arms, in his life. Yet, with the constant nagging from Wade, and the flutters he gets from your smiles - he found himself giving in. He was going to attempt to ask you out today, Valentine's day, and hope that this doesn’t end in hellfire, like most things in his life.

He spotted you, outside your shop, preparing bouquets of roses, lilies, and other flowers he hadn’t really learned the name of yet. The sight of you took his breath away. You had on a pink t-shirt, tied in the front that hugged your waist, and high-waisted jeans- they fit around your tummy and thighs snuggly. When you turned around he had to gulp. Two large heart prints on the fabric of your jeans, over your butt.  

He couldn’t help but hold a small smirk as he admired your ass from afar. It wasn’t till he got glared at by an old lady walking past that he realized he probably looked like a pervert. He cleared his throat, giving the lady a courteous yet awkward nod as he made his way over to you. 

He reached you, and could barely make a word to you, you turned around, looking up in surprise at Logan. 

“Oh! Hey Lo!” You smiled, eyes bright. “Happy Valentine’s day!”

He thought his heart was going to jump out of his chest. “Hey doll,” He greeted back. “Sell a lot of flowers already?”

“Yes, actually.” You smiled bigger. “It’s so cute, these people coming in here, buying flowers. I had this teenage boy come in a little bit ago, he was SO nervous, he was buying flowers for his first girlfriend.” You clasped your hands together, shaking your head, your hair bouncing with your movements. “So cute, young love. You remember your first crush?” 

Not really, it was almost 150 years ago.

“Sure do.” Logan lies. 

“Do you have any Valentine's plans? I heard Wade and Ness’ are going on a date!” 

“Yeah,” Logan nodded. “I mean, no- no I don’t have any plans.” He stammers, “I just know about them going on a date. Wades all nervous about it.”

“He’s so cute.” You laugh, turning back to the bouquets and fixing them up a little bit. “So, you don’t have any plans?”

“No, not at the moment.” He says. Your eyes lingered on him for a moment, your expression looked like you wanted to say something, but then you bit your lip, and nodded, turning back to the roses. 

Flowers, you need to give her flowers before you ask her out.

“I actually wanted to buy some flowers, bub.” He says finally, almost monotone- lacking any excitement in his voice.

“Really? What are you looking for?” 

“Uh…” He glanced at the bouquets in the front. “I’ll look around.” He nodded to the shop, and you smiled a nod. He turned to go inside, but you called his name.

“You okay Lo?” 

“Fine.” He forced a thin-lipped smile, before heading inside your shop, and you watched him with a suspicious squint. This was not the usual Logan you knew. He looked nervous as hell, he’s never acted like that before. An anxious thought hit you. He’s never bought flowers before- you gave him bouquets for free, it was your discreet way of flirting. What if he’s buying them for some other girl? 

You tried to shake the thought out of your head, as you ended up going inside- the cold was biting your skin, and now you were nervous at the thought that some girl out there had caught Logan's attention before you could muster the courage to say something to him. 

The inside of your shop was an absolute wonderland of plants. Not only did you sell flowers, but you sold houseplants, gardening tools, gardening decorations, and more. Seeing that it was Valentines, you had the place decorated with red and pink hearts, and bouquets were scattered all over- alongside decorative cards someone could pick up and hand write to their loved one. 

He was staring at the cooler of flowers, that you could create individual bouquets with. He had several flowers picked out already, as he stared at them with concentration, completely focused on the task at hand. 

You tried to busy yourself with your usual tasks as you leaned against the counter, but your eyes kept wandering to where he stood. You glanced up to his face and felt yourself swoon for a moment. He’s just so handsome.

When Wade first told you about the new roommate, whom he described as “Hugh Jackman is he was an alcoholic and had emotional constipation”, you just rolled your eyes and laughed- figuring he was up to his shenanigans. Then you met said roommate- the man literally caught you when you fell off a ladder the first time you met. How could you not form a crush on him? 

He did strangely look like Hugh Jackman too...

Then you got to know him. You got to know of his temper, his smart mouth, and you saw how hard he tries every day, despite his past. He doesn’t know that you know about it, and that you know he’s a mutant. Wade spilt the beans accidentally over a few drinks where he ended up crying in your lap about Vanessa, and somehow ended up talking about Logan's problems too.  

It didn’t change your view of him at all. Of course not. Sure it sounds a bit...violent. Logan wasn’t a perfect man, but neither were you. You were the kind of person who believed that everyone deserves second chances, and you fully believed this was Logan's second chance…

Logan huffed, staring at the flowers he picked out. Hyacinths, roses, something leafy that he doesn’t know the name of but smells incredibly good. He walked over to your register, catching sight of the bare skin of your midsection as your shirt rode up your body from leaning over. 

“Pick something out?”

“Yeah..This looks alright?” 

“It looks great.” You smiled, you took the bouquet, and began preparing them. “You want them wrapped, or in a vase?”

“Wrapping is fine.”

“Color?” 

“Um…Pink.” 

You nodded, and moved to start wrapping the bouquet, snipping the stems, and pulling some leaves off so the flowers would remain fresh. You hummed along to a song that played over the speakers in your shop - something Logan knew was your own personally crafted playlist. He faintly recognized the song, something he likely heard years and years ago. 

This morning I woke up with this feeling

   I didn't know how to deal with and so I just decided to myself

    I'd hide it to myself and never talk about it

          And did not go and shout it when you walked into the room

I think I love you (I think I love you)

      I think I love you so what am I so afraid of

          I'm afraid that I'm not sure of a love there is no cure for

                     I think I love you isn't that what life is made of

                              Though it worries me to say that I never felt this way

His eyes trailed over the curve of your face, as he thought about what it might feel like to press his lips along your jaw, leaving behind soft kisses and purple bruises as he showed you how he felt about you. 

You finished wrapping the bouquet, and presented it to him proudly. 

“There you go! Looks good?”

“Looks perfect.” He nods, flashing you a genuine smile that makes you blush. You moved to type the price into the registers. You informed him of the price and he pulled his wallet out, pulling out some cash and handed it to you. 

“Thanks Lo…” You put the cash away, completing the sale. “So…Who’s the lucky one getting that bouquet? Or are you getting it for yourself?” You tease as you lean forward against the counter towards him. He looked at you blankly, then looked at the flowers.

You fucking idiot.

“Well,” He glanced at the bouquet, “It’s actually for you.” He says, handing it back to you over the counter. You stood up, surprise on your face. He felt himself flush, you have to think he was the biggest dumbass on Earth. Walking in here and buying flowers from you just to hand them back over? He wasn’t even thinking. That’s what you do to him, his brain goes fuzzy when you’re around. It’s not as if he wasn’t over 200 years old, and has done flirting and relationships more times than he can remember.  

You slowly took the flowers, and he waited, but a huge grin grew on your face. You looked up at him through your lashes. “Logan?”

“Yeah bub?”

“You want to have dinner with me tonight?”  

His mouth hung open, and he closed it, a thin-lipped smile, and he nodded. “Yeah..That’d be nice.” 

You bit your lip, as you resisted the urge to wiggle your hips and dance from excitement. “Okay, how about 7 pm?” 

“That’s good for me.”

“Okay, just buzz in when you’re here.” You smiled. Your apartment was upstairs, a very convenient location for you when you were looking for a place to open your shop a few years ago. He nodded, turning to leave, “And Lo? Thank you.” You add, cradling the flowers to your chest. 

He smiled at you, before leaving the shop. You took a deep breath. 

God he is so cute…

The next few hours were hell for Logan. He sat on the couch panicking over every possible situation that could happen tonight. Ranging everything from you laughing him out of your apartment to him somehow accidentally maiming you with his claws. 

He reached out for the bottle of whiskey he pulled out the second he came back into the apartment, and then another horrifying thought came to his head. 

Whiskey dick

He set the whiskey bottle down. It’s not like he was expecting anything to happen tonight, it was just dinner. It’s not the first time you had dinner together, but..If something were to happen, he couldn’t risk the idea that he wouldn’t be able to perform. Fuck, nothing would be more embarrassing then the idea of being able to get into your pants and he couldn’t even do anything. In fact, he hasn’t done anything in years and he really rather not think about that. 

You were not much better. After you closed the shop at 4 o'clock- it had been an extremely busy day. Customers rushing in and out, men, women, mothers with children, a father with a newborn, an old man, a man in a business suit who had no idea what he was looking for, a group of teenagers, people who tugged you left and right for a custom bouquet, advice for flowers, even asking you to write love notes to their loved ones. Some of them are cute, others baffling you at how they managed to get a lover if this is the effort they only put in towards it.

Despite the chaos of the day, Logan lingered in your mind. Nerves shot through you as you realized that you had nothing planned when you asked Logan to come over for dinner. 

You rushed upstairs to your apartment, rushing to shower, shave, moisturize- and figure out what the hell you were going to make Logan. Oh- and clean your apartment. Put on makeup. Figure out an outfit. 

Didn’t think this through.

You check the time, 5:45. It’s okay. You have time.

You looked at the bouquet Logan had gotten you, and you smiled softly, carefully taking one of the flowers in your hand as you felt the petals. How adorable was he, the way he scrutinized every flower he picked out, and you were so worried that he was picking them out for someone else, and it was meant for you the entire time. The way he looked like a deer caught in headlights when he handed them back to you. 

You've never seen him act like this before. Logan was always so…calm, if that’s the way to put it. He acted with a certain nonchalant grumpiness that didn’t make him an asshole but more like someone you could be comfortable with because he didn’t mind the silence and didn’t force the awkwardness. He’d get pissed at Wade- that was the worst you saw of his temper, albeit you’ve heard a few amusing stories from Wade over it. The Logan you saw today seemed like a schoolboy approaching his crush to ask to dance. Did you really make him that nervous?

You took forever picking out the dress, the perfect makeup, deciding how to style your hair, and you started cooking a tad late, and before you knew it you heard the familiar buzzing at your front door. 

You walked up to your door, pressing the intercom button, 

“Hello?”

“It’s Logan.”

“Come on in, apart 4-”

You hit the unlock button, hearing a clicking across the intercom, as you let go and go back to the kitchen to check on your food for the moment. A knock at your door and you quickly ran over to open it. 

Logan stood there, adorning a nice t-shirt, flannel, and jeans. He held a bottle of wine in one hand, a hand in his pockets. He blinked as his eyes raked over your figure. 

“Wow.” He breathed out, a small smirk appeared on his face. “All this for me?”

You blushed, biting your lips, “Come in.” You moved out of the doorway to allow him space. He stepped in, brushed past you, not taking his eyes off you. 

“I brought some wine- It’s the kind you like, right?” He held up the bottle and you smiled, taking it and nodded for confirmation.

“It is! Thank you.” You say, “Dinners running a little late by the way…Hope you’re not too hungry yet.” 

“Need help?” 

You eyed him cautiously, “Didn’t Wade say you almost set the apartment on fire trying to cook?”

“No. That was him, asshole just blamed it on me.” Logan scoffed, shaking his head. You chuckled, leading him to the kitchen. He was greeted by the fresh aroma of seasoned veggies, and steak simmering in a pan. “Smells great.” He says warmly, his eyes taking over your back. 

God you looked good.

He had been so nervous, but then you opened the door. Standing there, all gussied up and it felt like he could breathe. A stroke of confidence ran through him, and suddenly he didn’t know why he had been so…Nervous.

It was you. Sweet, wonderful you. Who always knew how to calm him down with a simple touch of your hand, how you always asked how he was doing but never pushed him to talk about anything he didn’t want to. You, who greeted him happily every single day as if you didn’t know he was going to show up, with that sparkle in your eyes that made him think you saw something in him he didn’t know existed. 

How’d that song go again? 

   I think I love you, so what am I so afraid of

          I'm afraid that I'm not sure of a love there is no cure for

                     I think I love you isn't that what life is made of

                              Though it worries me to say that I never felt this way

His eyes landed on your thighs, where the hem of your dress ended just above your mid-thigh. Your skin just looked plush and soft and fuck he wanted to bite you. 

“Thanks! Could you wash those potatoes and cut them up for me?” You asked, turning your head to glance at him. You saw his eyes snap up to yours at the last second. 

“Sure bub.” He nods, moving to the counter next to you, he grabs the sack of potatoes already lying out, pulling a few out and bringing them to the second where he washed them under the faucet, before placing them on the cutting board already set out. He reached out and grabbed a knife from the placeholder and set to dice them. You watched him for a moment and it slipped out.

“Do you ever use the claws to do that?”

He stopped, completely frozen, before his eyes turned to look at you and you realize you messed up. 

“Cause..I…Figured that…Would be…more…convenient…” Your voice got quieter under his stare. “Wade…Told me. A while ago. To be honest though I assumed, even if you guys didn’t say anything, you both acted weird about how you came here and stuff.” 

He sighs, his nostrils flaring as he shakes his head turning back to start dicing the potatoes again, anger evident in the way the knife slammed into the cutting board.

“It doesn’t bother me.” You say softly. His face relaxed, and he looked at you again. You brought a hand up to his bicep. “I think you’re great Logan.” 

You saw his shoulders relax. He put down the knife, and he turned to face you. “You sure?” He asked, and you could see the vulnerability in his eyes. “There’s still things you don’t know about me.”

“I actually think I do.” You squeezed his shoulder, stepping closer. “I’m sorry, for everything that happened to you.” 

He pursed his lips together. “I’m not a good guy bub.” 

“You’re trying though.” You say. “That’s the only thing that matters.” 

He let out a small breath, as he leaned forward and quickly captured your lips in a kiss. He was soft, gentle about the way he kissed you- trying to give you space to pull away, but your hands slid into his hair, and pulled him closer. He placed his hands on your hips, pulling you against him. 

Parting with a harsh gasp, slowly opening your eyes, to still him in a similar state as you. Flushed, panting, with swollen lips. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” He says. 

You shook your head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I found out.” 

“How long?”

You bit your lip, “Few months.”

He let out a sigh. “You really knew all that time…And didn’t think less of me?” 

“Of course not.” You reassure, your eyes glancing down at his lips. You looked back up at him. “I like you…A lot Logan.” 

He smiled, tugging your closer, lowering his head against yours. “Yeah bub? Think I like you a lot too.” 

Your hands moved down to the collar of his shirt. “Why don’t you show me?” You whisper. 

“Really?” He chuckled. “What about dinner?”

“That can wait. Show me.” 

He wasted no time in capturing your lips in a searing kiss, your arms rested on his shoulders, as his hands gripped your hips and tugged you closer, leaning into you. Your lips moved together with a fervent passion, and he licked across your bottom lip, as you allowed him inside, moaning the moment you felt his tongue lick into your mouth. 

His hands moved down your hips, over the curve of your ass, and he squeezed- letting out a soft breath at the feeling of you and the way his hands covered you. He leaned down, encouraging you to jump as his hands went to your thighs and he picked you up, carrying you into the living room. 

He placed you gently over the couch, one hand braced by your head, the other still resting on your hip, as he kept himself located between your thighs. He pecked your lips a few times before moving down to kiss your neck, his lips brushing over your pulse point, you sighed contently at his touch. 

He brought his hand down, realizing that he’d become a tad shaky as he pushed it underneath the skirt of your dress, and began moving up your thigh. 

“This okay?” He mutters as he kisses along your collarbone. 

“Mhm.” He felt you nod, and his fingertips made contact with your panties- they were lacey, he could feel as he brushed over them and he let out a shaky breath. “You’re so beautiful darling-” He mutters, nuzzling into your neck and sucking at your pulse point. 

You let out a soft moan, which spurred him on as his fingers flit under the hem of your panties, reaching your soaking wet core. Your hands came to his shoulders, gripping his flannel tightly. 

“You alright?”

“Mhm.” You nodded again, squeezing your eyes shut and biting your lip. He lifted his head up, watching your reaction as he delved his fingers into your warm wet folds. “Oh-” You breathed. He had to swallow back his moan at the feeling of you- so wet for him already. Have you been needy for him for a long? He’d have to make it up to you. 

His fingers stroked back and forth in your folds, before he found your clit, softly pressing against it, making your hips jump. He nuzzled against your face, hearing the sound of your heart pounding. He understood, his heart was pounding too. He began running circles over your bud, listening and watching for your reaction that showed him what you liked. 

“Logan-” You whined. 

“Yeah bub?” 

“I need you.” 

Oh fuck.

“Please?”

He let out a shaky breath as he lifted his head to look down at you. “You sure?”

You opened your eyes and nodded. Biting your lip and you look up at him pleadingly. 

Normally, he’d like to take his time. Open you up, get a taste, and hear those sweet moans escape your lips. He’s not sure if he’s going to last long- the way you’re looking at him right now made him want to cum right then and there. 

He captured you in another heated kiss, adjusting himself, his hands came to your panties and pulled them off you. The sweet smell of your arousal haunting his senses and making his mind go blank. His hands came up and quickly undid his belt and pants, pushing his jeans down, his hard cock popping out- thick and swollen, pre cum oozing at the tip and making your mouth water. He was huge, bigger than any man you’ve seen. You’re wondering if maybe you should have let him finger your- but then again, the idea of him fucking you open created a fresh gush of wetness between your legs. 

He started to adjust himself, then stopped.

“I don’t have a condom.” He says blinking up at you. 

“That’s okay. I’m on the pill.” You say shyly with a shrug. 

He groaned. “I think I love you, bub.”

You giggled at that, not realizing how much honesty was behind his words. 

He leaned down and pecked your lips again, before leaning his forehead against yours and angling himself against your wet pussy, finding your hole and circling his tip around it, lubing you with his pre-cum.

You gasped the moment you felt his tip push inside, and your legs shook from the pressure of him stretching you open. He waited a moment, before moving deeper inside you, inching slowly and carefully, watching for any sign of your discomfort. 

You on the other hand? Was on cloud 9. You tipped your head back, mouth hanging open, eyes rolled back. You would often use your fingers to fuck yourself, imagining it was him- but your fingers were nothing compared to him. 

He bottomed out inside you, resting there, as he felt your walls constrict around him.

Don’tcumdon’tcumdon’tcumdon’tcum

He begged his mind as he went into a haze over how good you felt with you spread on his cock. He should have made a move sooner, fuck he should have asked you out the second he caught you off that ladder. He knows one thing for sure, that he wasn’t letting you go at all. You’ll be lucky if he even lets you out of his sight at this point- much less this apartment. Already making plans in all the ways he’s going to fuck you.

“Logan-” You whined. “I- I need you to move.”

He took a deep breath, and he slowly pulled out, before thrusting back inside. A small hiccup escaped you, and he did it again. He pressed his hands onto the cushions of the couch. One leg braced against the floor, the other bent and resting against the cushion. He thrusted his hips again, as he felt you begin to open up, and moved his pace to go faster. 

He fucked into you at a steady pace, his lips finding purchase on your neck again as he sucked bruises onto your skin, giving him something to focus on because he thought he was going to blow any second, your whines and cries filling his ears. 

He sat up, looking down over you, his mouth hung open and eyes heavy-lidded as he panted, maintaining his pace. He moved to grab the hem of your dress and pushed it up your belly. 

Fuck fuck fuck!

He watched himself fuck into your, the way you pussy sucked him in greedily with each thrust, your arousal coating his cock and your thighs. 

“You feel so fucking good doll-” He moaned, he started getting faster, his fingers finding your clit again, and began rubbing. “I’m gonna need you to cum baby.” 

“Logan-” You whined, grabbing his arms, your nails digging into the skin of his forearms as you stared up at him with wide, pleading eyes and parted lips. 

“C’mon, I know you can do it sweetheart. Cum for me.”

Your body trembled, as his fingers moved faster against your clit, he angled himself to thrust upwards into you, and that thin thread finally snapped. You stared into his eyes as your cunt clenched and tightened over him. Relief washed over you as wave after wave of your orgasm passed, Logan fucking you through it and finally cumming himself.

He slammed into you, his body falling over yours, with a shout of your name, as he filled you up with ropes of his cum. He was panting harshly, and your arms wrapped around him, as you turned your head to seek out his lips. He pressed an eager kiss back to you, bringing his arms to carefully hold onto you while you both laid there in post-orgasmic haze. His head resting next to yours, your hand softly scratching his back. 

“Lo?”

“Hm?”

“Can I see the claws?” 

There was a moment of silence, and he brought his fist up, safely away from your face as he let his claws out.

Snikt!

You gasped, eyes wide in delight as you observed the metal appendages that came out of his fist, the way they shined against the light of your living room. “Wow!” You exclaimed. “You know that would be nice for pruning.” 

Logan chuckled, “Really? You think?”

“Yeah!” You grinned looking at him, admiring his smile, and the flush of his cheeks. 

“Are you hiring?” 

You giggled, moving to kiss him again, you moved to wrap your arms around him and you heard the claws retract as his arms wrapped back around you, his arms pulling you into a warm embrace that felt nothing but safe in his arms. 

Logan thought back to that song again, as he felt your lips against his, your hands tugging him closer. 

I think I love you isn't that what life is made of

    Though it worries me to say I never felt this way

              Believe me you really don't have to worry

        I only wanna make you happy and if you say "hey go away" I will

                 But I think better still I'd better stay around and love you

                         Do you think I have a case let me ask you to your face

 Do you think you love me?

[batdust]

Assigning the Batboys: Cologne

Bruce -

Deep, mature, and a bit mysterious. Elegant and floral with a timeless element to it. A blend of masculine and feminine scents in a classy and almost gothic way, fairly vampire-esque. Or like a man in a classic noir film.

Bruce would realistically have his own scent that was commissioned by a perfumer who takes like 2 clients a year HOWEVER I think it would be something like this

The floral and powdery elements that allow the scent to be more unisex would lend to the more Brucie side of his persona

This scent is also pretty divisive, some hate it, some love it, which feels very Bruce

Understands that he should smell good, but wouldn't give it too much thought past liking the scent I think.

Dick -

Smells fresh and blue. It's oldschool but can last as timeless. Has both an energy and sportiness mixed with a more elegant and mature drydown. Clean yet deep like Dick.

This is a pretty old scent so it has an element of nostalgia, particularly tied to the 80s which feels like a Dick era (discowing moment)

Smells a bit clean like shaving cream which is something he would like.

Bruce probably tried this at some point during his childhood and he just latched on and didn't let go.

There is a sense of familiarity attached to it for Dick and also a bit of drama that feels appropriate for the undercurrent of darkness he has

Jason -

Unwavering and distinct smell of leather. A highly aggressive scent that settles into something much smoother and softer with florals and a hint of spice. It makes a statement with a leather scent that is somehow earthy, animalic, and dark at once.

Incredibly divisive, it's just not a scent one feels moderately about, which perfectly describes Jason.

The way the scent settles and softens after coming off incredibly harsh and leathery also feels befitting of Jason.

I like to think that he started with Tom Ford Noir when he was much younger to be like Bruce; and then once he was older and everything was different he picked out something vaguely familiar.

Just feels very distinct and black sheep-ish to me, like a scent that could blend in with his lifestyle while making him smell good too.

Tim -

Sophisticated but aromatic. Citrusy and woody with a bit of depth to it, like a sunny day in a strange way. Has elements of smoke and spice but is harmonious enough to be versatile. Complex and deep underneath the clean citrus providing a more classy and dark feeling to an otherwise fresh and youthful scent.

The brighter, fresher, and cleaner opening feels like a representation of Tim's outward rich boy everyman presentation, youthful and fairly unassuming but pleasant

As it transitions into the deeper, much more musky, woody, and even spicy drydown, we get more of Tim's true personality, deep, thoughtful, and sharp

Tim is a rich boy at heart so he would also likely have some sort of custom commissioned cologne that he wears to everything but it would have some level of depth like this

I don't think Tim, much like Bruce, would worry much about this, but would still smell good everywhere he goes and this scent is safe enough to wear in most settings.

Duke -

A well rounded gourmand fragrance that manages to stay fresh and pleasant. With fruity top notes that blend with the prominent smell of hazelnut, it's warm, playful, and youthful. Sweet and unique but not cloying as it is balance out by a crisp and bright touch. The initial spray of fruit and ozonic notes drydown into sweets and earth in a way that is both bold and comforting.

This is genuinely just a really good smelling scent, and I just know that Duke would smell so good all the time. There is just an element of general likeability that I associate with Duke.

There is something distinct and different about this scent in a fun and carefree-ish way, feels impulsive and fresh like Duke.

Duke is someone who pretends to not be very concerned with this kind of stuff but if questioned will admit to doing a bit of research before purchasing, he probably honestly had fun too.

The sweetness of the initial scent seems to reflect Dukes polite outward behavior while the deeper and smoother drydown that still manages to remain playful fits Duke well the closer you get to him.

Damian -

The scent of Oud blended with rose and hinds of gormound elements like chocolate and vanilla. A powerful smell that remains very unisex and has a level of class to it. Beside it, a perfume with layers of flowers, leather, and spice. With undercurrents of wood and musk, the scent is more masculine yet still heavily features rose. Very distinct and lush, these scents are both deep, dark, and sweet.

Clearly there are two bottles here, but that's for the specific reasons that I think Damian would be more accustomed to using Oud over cologne, but would try both, and that I think he would genuinely enjoy picking scents.

I know in canon that Talia tends to have a floral scent (Jasmine and Rose of Taif) so I wanted Damian to follow in her footsteps in that way, though not exactly, so I figured maybe standard rose

Damian, much like Bruce and Tim, would probably have his own signature custom scent but it would be sort of like these

As Damian transitions further into adulthood I feel like his scent would shift a lot in comparison to the others who would stay more or less the same; A more mature Damian would lose some of the sweetness in the scent in embrace something dark, sharper, and more polarizing like Bruce and Jason I think, but until his like early/mid twenties I think it would be more like this

a/n; Happy (late) Valentines day! I kind of want to think about what they naturally smell like next.are Also this isn't edited so please excuse any grammar mistakes.

[wendichester]

₊˚⊹♡ swipe right,

summary. dean winchester doesn’t really do dating apps. but then, he matches with you.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 928

You almost didn’t swipe right.

His profile was suspiciously vague—just a single, grainy picture of him leaning against a sleek black Impala, wearing a worn leather jacket, a confident smirk playing on his lips. No bio. No interests. No cheesy pickup line.

Just Dean, 35 and a damn good smirk.

You stared at it for a moment, finger hovering over the screen. This guy could be anyone. A serial killer. A scam artist. A catfish. But something about that stupid smirk made your stomach flip.

So, against your better judgment, you swiped right.

And to your surprise, you matched instantly.

Now, you’re sitting across from him in a dimly lit bar, a little buzzed from your second drink, trying to process that yes, this is real, and yes, he is even hotter in person.

Dean Winchester is a flirt. A charmer. He’s warm whiskey and cocky grins, all easy confidence and smooth one-liners. But there’s something else, too—something genuine beneath all that bravado.

“So, tell me,” you tease, swirling your drink, “do you always meet women off Tinder, or am I special?”

Dean huffs, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, I don’t even know how I ended up on that damn app. My brother set it up.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He takes a sip of his beer, lips curling around the bottle in a way that makes your stomach flip. “Said I needed to ‘get out there’ more. Thought I’d just get a bunch of bots, but then—” He gestures at you with his bottle. “Lucky me.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I prefer charming.”

“Debatable.”

His grin widens, and God, he’s got a nice smile. It’s not just his looks—it’s the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing in the room worth paying attention to.

And maybe it’s the drinks, or maybe it’s the way he keeps looking at your lips, but there’s a charge in the air, crackling, electric.

Dean leans in, forearms resting on the table, voice dropping just a little. “You’re a lot cuter than I expected.”

You arch a brow. “Expected?”

He shrugs, smirk playing on his lips. “Well, you never know with these apps. Thought I’d get catfished.”

You scoff, pretending to be offended. “You thought I was the catfish? That’s rich, coming from a guy with one blurry picture and no bio.”

Dean chuckles, eyes twinkling. “Okay, fair.” He takes another sip of his drink, gaze flicking over your face, warm and amused. “But if I’m being honest, I almost didn’t swipe on you either.”

Your heart dips slightly. “Oh?”

“Yeah. You seemed…” He searches for the right word. “Too good to be true.”

The words catch you off guard. Your lips part slightly, and Dean holds your gaze for a moment longer before glancing down at his drink, almost like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

The air between you shifts—less playful, more charged.

You tilt your head, giving him a soft, teasing smile. “So, is this the part where you ask me back to your place?”

Dean hums, tapping his fingers against his glass. “Tempting. But I’m a gentleman.”

You snort. “Oh, really?”

He leans in a fraction closer, voice dropping lower. “Yeah. Which means I’ll at least walk you to your door before I start thinking about how bad I wanna kiss you.”

Your breath catches. His tone, his expression—it’s all heat, all smoldering intent.

And suddenly, you’re not so interested in finishing your drink.

It’s a blur after that. The way he keeps his word, walking you to your door like some old-school gentleman—until you pull him inside, pressing your lips to his the second it closes behind you.

Dean groans, hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him. His mouth is warm, insistent, and when his fingers slide into your hair, tilting your head back, you let out the softest sigh.

His body is solid beneath your hands, strong, radiating heat. And when he backs you against the wall, pressing his hips into yours, you feel just how much he wants this.

“Jesus,” he pants against your lips, forehead pressing against yours. “Tell me if I need to slow down.”

You shake your head, fingers curling into his jacket. “Don’t you dare.”

His chuckle is dark, rough, as his hands skim down your sides, settling on your hips. “Bossy.”

You grin, dragging your nails lightly down his chest. “You like it.”

He makes a sound low in his throat, then lifts you easily, guiding your legs around his waist. You let out a surprised laugh, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Show-off,” you murmur.

Dean smirks. “Told you, sweetheart. I’m charming.”

And then he’s carrying you toward your bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

Later, when you’re tangled together in your sheets, breathless and warm, Dean lets out a satisfied sigh, fingertips tracing lazy circles on your hip.

“Gotta say,” he murmurs, “best damn Tinder date I’ve ever been on.”

You laugh, stretching against him. “Oh, so you’ve had others?”

Dean pauses, then smirks. “Nope. Just wanted to mess with you.”

You swat his arm, and he catches your wrist, bringing it to his lips. The playfulness fades slightly as he looks at you, something softer in his gaze.

“Glad I swiped right,” he admits quietly.

Your heart does a stupid little flip. “Me too.”

Dean’s smirk returns, but it’s warmer now, fonder. He pulls you closer, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Told you,” he murmurs against your skin. “Lucky me.”

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @img14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @globetrotter28 ⋆ @aerinu

[thevibraniumveterans]

Bucky did have a point though. Let’s revisit what he said to Sam.

“He gave you that shield not because you’re the strongest, but because you’re you.”

Sam is a good man. We know this. We’ve seen this. There’s more than enough evidence to prove this. Here’s the thing — way back when, in The First Avenger, Erskine told Steve: “Whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are, not a perfect soldier, but a good man.” Steve stayed a good man, and after meeting Sam, knew that Sam was a good man too. Steve recognized the great qualities that made Sam, Sam, and decided that those qualities were worth handing the shield to Sam for.

“You think if you had that serum, you’d be able to protect all the people you care about. Steve had it, and he couldn’t.”

Steve couldn’t even save Bucky when he fell off that train, couldn’t even save Peggy, couldn’t even save Natasha, couldn’t even save Tony. Couldn’t save half his friends that he lost when Thanos snapped his fingers. Again, Steve is not perfect. He did have the serum and couldn’t even save the people he truly cared about. Steve doesn’t have godlike qualities, he’s only human, but a super-powered human at that. That still didn’t help him, did it, other than making him stronger? Steve’s morals didn’t once change, but again, his morals didn’t save his friends.

“You’re a human being and you’re doing your best.”

True, Sam is doing his best in everything that he does, but sometimes in the eyes of certain other people, best isn’t good enough. There’s so much about Sam being a Black man wearing the Stars and Stripes (as he pointed out in TFATWS), that everything he does has to be twice as good, only to get half as far, so to even be as good, he has to do four times better than anyone else. Someone has said elsewhere that Sam was struggling to fill Steve’s shoes, to live up to the legacy he left behind, but — and spoiler (what isn’t spoiled by now anyway) — Joaquin is struggling to fill Sam’s shoes.

“Steve gave people something to believe in, but you… you give them something to aspire to.”

And speaking of Joaquin. First, Steve. Steve represented and symbolized the ideals upon which the USA was founded, but never once really symbolized the USA itself (evident in the comics, the MCU, and what Chris Evans and Anthony Mackie have said). Steve’s morals were something that people could look up to, being pure of heart, having your best interests in mind, and all that. Sam, in doing all that he can do, as an Avenger and now Captain America, really gave people something to aspire to. Which brings Joaquin into the equation. Throughout TFATWS (admittedly during which Joaquin doesn’t make that many appearances) and CA:BNW, Joaquin is excited to be working alongside his hero Sam Wilson. Joaquin is a little goofy at times but only because he’s Sam’s #1 fan. He’s trying to do his best to meet or even exceed Sam’s nigh-impossible standards, because he looked up to Sam for years. Joaquin even told Sam he wanted to be (like) him, be the Falcon that Sam once was. What must’ve been like for Sam to get told by his protégé, no less, that he’d set a very good example of the type of person to be? What Joaquin told Sam was basically that he hadn’t failed, that Sam was just being himself, doing his best, and inadvertently instilling hope in the younger generation. That is the highest compliment Sam ever needs.

earlier:

now:

Captain America: Brave New World

[killerplink]

🌃NIGHT RIDE🌃

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Words: 8,4k

Plot: You can't sleep, so Dick takes you out for a late ride ✨ (a little makeup for yesterday's angst, besties 🙂‍↕️)

CW: established relationship, 18+, smut, oral sex, overstimulation, creampie, public sex, praise, aftercare, rough sex, fluff

You can't sleep.

It's too hot under the sheets, too cold without them, and no matter how much you shift, you can't seem to find a position that doesn't leave you feeling restless. Your body is wired, thoughts buzzing, keeping you stuck in that awful in-between state—too awake to drift off, too exhausted to do anything else.

And of course, Dick notices. He always does. Even half-asleep, he picks up on the way you toss and turn, the little huffs of frustration you let out when you can't get comfortable, the way your body shifts just a little too much, disturbing the stillness of the night. For a while, he lets you try, gives you space to settle, but when you roll over again with another sigh, he finally moves.

A warm hand slides over your waist, his voice low and heavy with sleep as he murmurs, "Baby, what's wrong?"

You exhale sharply, staring up at the ceiling. "I just... I can't sleep."

His nose nudges against your shoulder, lips brushing over your bare skin. "Mmm. Want me to help?"

And it's sweet, the way he asks, the way his fingers trace slow, absentminded circles against your stomach like he's already trying to soothe you, but you shake your head.

"I don't know. I don't think I can stay still."

Dick hums, his thumb sweeping over your skin. "Then let's go for a ride."

It takes you a second to process what he means, and when you do, you blink, surprised. "Right now?"

"Yeah," he breathes, propping himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with a soft little grin, his blue eyes glinting in the dim light. "Come on, pretty girl. You always like it."

And... yeah. He's right. There's something about riding with him that clears your head, that settles something deep inside you. The cool night air, the hum of the city passing by, the steady, solid warmth of him right in front of you—it always helps.

So you don't argue. You just nod, and in the next few minutes, you're slipping into clothes, following him down to the garage, watching as he swings one leg over his bike and settles onto the seat like he was born for it. Which, honestly, he kind of was.

Dick Grayson and motorcycles just make sense. The way his body moves with them, the way he handles them like they're an extension of himself. It's effortless. Fluid. And when he turns to look at you, offering his hand so you can climb on behind him, you don't hesitate.

You slide into place, pressing against his back, your arms wrapping around his waist, and the second he feels you holding onto him, he glances back again.

"You ready?"

You nod, and with that, he kicks up the stand, rolls out of the garage, and then, you're flying. The wind rushes past you as he speeds through the quiet, empty streets, the city still and half-asleep at this hour, Gotham's usual chaos simmered down to a rare kind of peace. Streetlights flicker past, casting long, golden streaks over the road, and the further he takes you from the towering skyline, the calmer you feel.

You press your cheek against his back, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment, and when he feels it, he squeezes your thigh gently, his voice warm, teasing.

"You fall asleep on me, baby?"

You smile, shaking your head. "No."

"Good." He speeds up a little, the deep purr of the engine vibrating beneath you, and it makes you hold onto him a little tighter, makes your fingers press a little firmer against his stomach. "Almost there."

You don't ask where—he always finds the best places. The hidden little spots tucked away from the city's noise, where the sky stretches wide and the night feels softer, quieter. And true to form, after a few more turns, he pulls onto a secluded overlook, the kind of place that feels secret, like it belongs only to the two of you.

When the bike rumbles to a stop, he kills the engine, kicking the stand down, and as the quiet settles, you take a slow breath, letting it fill your lungs. The air is cooler here, cleaner, untouched by Gotham's usual smog, and in the distance, the lights of the city twinkle faintly against the horizon. It's beautiful.

Dick shifts, glancing back at you with a small smile. "Better?"

You nod. "Yeah."

He watches you for a second, his gaze flicking over your face like he's making sure, like he's double-checking that the tension that had been keeping you up is really gone. And then—he turns fully, swinging his leg off the bike, reaching for you.

"C'mere, love."

You let him help you off, let him pull you close, his hands finding your waist as he leans back against the bike, guiding you between his legs. And for a moment, neither of you say anything. You just stand there, his warmth against you, your arms resting over his shoulders as the night stretches around you.

Then—softly, like it's instinct—he leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You hum, tilting your head just slightly, teasing. "That's all?"

His hands tighten at your waist, just a little. "That depends."

"On?"

"If you want more."

And oh, you do. So you kiss him, deep and unhurried, sinking into the press of his lips, the slow drag of his mouth over yours. His hands move, one sliding up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, while the other settles lower, gripping your hip, keeping you close.

You melt against him, letting your fingers scrape up into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your lips, his body tensing under your touch. And fuck—you don't miss the way his grip tightens on you, the way his fingers flex like he's trying to keep himself in check, trying not to pull you in even closer, trying not to let himself get too lost in you.

But you want him lost. So you shift, pressing yourself against him fully, pressing your thighs between his, pressing your chest to his, pressing your mouth harder against his until his restraint starts to slip, until that soft, teasing kiss turns into something else, something heavier.

And then—

Oh, then he's kissing you like he means it. Like he needs it. It's hungrier now, deeper, his tongue sliding past your lips, his hands tightening at your waist, his body shifting, pushing up against you like he can't help himself. And God, you feel it—the heat rolling off him, the way his breath comes a little faster, the way his hips shift ever so slightly against yours, slow, testing, like he's gauging your reaction.

And when you sigh against his lips, letting your nails drag down the back of his neck, he makes a low, rough sound in response, his grip on you tightening, his mouth pressing harder, deeper, hungrier. It's not enough. You need more.

And from the way his hands start to roam, the way his hips press forward just a little more insistently, the way he kisses you like he's about to devour you whole—

So does he. You feel him.

The thick press of him, hard and throbbing against you, even through the layers of clothes between you. The heat of his body, the way his hands slide lower, fingers gripping at your ass, pulling you closer, pressing you tighter against him. And fuck—he groans when you grind against him, when your hips roll just slightly, when you suck on his tongue, pulling him deeper into the kiss.

It's messy, hot and wet, your mouth moving over his, his fingers flexing against you, like he's barely holding on, like he's losing himself in the way you kiss him, in the way you push against him, in the way you sigh into his mouth like you need this just as much as he does.

And then—he pulls back, just barely, just enough to catch his breath, his lips slick, his pupils blown wide, his voice a little hoarse as he murmurs, "Do you wanna turn back?"

You shake your head immediately. And really—he should've known.

Because you're his wild girl, his reckless girl, the one who never holds back when you want something, the one who doesn't care who might see when you're desperate for him, the one who looks at him like you could eat him whole and wouldn't even mind if someone caught you in the act.

And right now, looking at you, seeing the hunger in your eyes, the heat in your flushed cheeks, the way your lips are still parted, still slick from kissing him—

Who the fuck is he to say no to you?

So he doesn't. He just slides one hand down, slow and deliberate, slipping behind you, fingers brushing over the curve of your ass, then lower, between your legs.

A sharp, shallow breath leaves you when he finds your pussy, rubbing you through your leggings, pressing his fingers against the damp fabric, feeling just how fucking wet you already are.

"Shit," he exhales, low and rough, his forehead dropping against yours, his lips brushing against your mouth as he groans. "You're soaked, baby."

And you are. Just from kissing him.

Just from the way he touches you, the way he sounds, the way he looks at you like he's barely holding himself back. It should be embarrassing, how easy it is for him, how it doesn't matter that it's been years since you've been together—he still turns you on like crazy, still gets you dripping before he even really touches you, still makes your body react like it's the first time, every fucking time.

And when he presses his fingers a little firmer, rubbing you through the damp cotton, you can't help it—you moan softly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, your hands clutching at his shirt, your breath coming a little faster, a little heavier. Dick groans, his hips shifting, his cock pressing harder against your stomach, and fuck—you want him. You need him.

So you slip a hand between your bodies, pressing your palm against his dick through his sweatpants, rubbing him, feeling how thick and hard he is, how he twitches under your touch, how his breath shudders just slightly when you wrap your fingers around him, squeezing just a little.

A heavy sigh leaves him, low and throaty, his hips pushing into your hand, his fingers pressing harder against your pussy, rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clothed clit.

Your breath shudders as he slides his hand into your leggings, slipping past the waistband, past the thin lace of your panties, straight to your dripping cunt. His fingers brush through the slick mess between your legs, slow and teasing, just barely grazing your entrance, just enough to have you gasping, to have your hips twitching forward, desperate for more.

"Fuck," he breathes, voice low and rough against your ear, fingers spreading through your wetness, gathering it up, smearing it over your clit in slow, lazy circles. "You're so fucking wet for me, baby."

You whimper, clutching at his arms, your legs going a little weak as he finally presses one thick finger inside you, sinking deep, curling just slightly.

"Jesus," he groans, his lips dragging over your cheek, over your jaw, his breath heavy, his cock twitching against your stomach. "You're fucking dripping."

And you are.

You're soaked, so wet he slides in easily, so turned on you can feel yourself squeezing around him already, so desperate you barely think before you murmur, "I need you inside me, baby."

That does it.

His breath hitches, his grip on you tightening for a split second before he snaps, voice rough as he growls, "Bend over the bike."

And you don't even hesitate. You turn, your body moving before your mind catches up, hands pressing against the seat as you arch your back, offering yourself up to him.

His breath shudders out, rough and uneven, and his hands are on you immediately—gripping your hips, smoothing up your sides.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, his voice low and coaxing. "Bend over a little more for me... yeah, just like that. Spread your legs, let me see you."

You do as he says without hesitation, shifting, arching deeper, pressing your palms against the seat as you widen your stance. His hands guide you, thumbs stroking over your skin, voice warm and approving.

"Perfect," he breathes, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh, pressing your legs open a little more. "Knew you'd listen so good for me, baby. Always so good."

But then—

Dick steps behind you, his fingers curling into the waistband of your leggings and panties, yanking them down to your knees in one smooth motion, exposing you to the cool night air. His hands slide up the back of your thighs, spreading your legs a little wider, guiding you, making sure you're exactly how he wants you.

And you expect him to fuck you. You expect him to grab your hips, line himself up, push inside you, give you exactly what you're aching for. But instead, he pauses, and you hear his breath hitch. And then—

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, voice strained, like he's just seen the most tempting thing in the world.

You shift slightly, glancing over your shoulder, lips parting to ask what's wrong, but—

"Dick..." you murmur.

"I wanna taste you, baby," he rasps.

And then, he's on his knees. Before you can say anything, before you can even process it, his hands are gripping your ass, spreading you open, and then his tongue is on you, hot and wet, licking straight through your folds.

"Oh—fuck," you gasp, your fingers clenching around the seat, your thighs trembling as he buries his face between your legs, licking deep, slow, dragging his tongue over your cunt like he's starving for it.

And he is. He's losing his fucking mind.

Because you're soaked, so warm, so fucking sweet on his tongue, and the way you moan, the way you arch into it, the way you give yourself to him so easily—

It drives him insane.

His grip on you tightens, his fingers digging into your ass, pulling you open even wider as he licks deeper, his tongue flicking against your clit, then dipping back up, fucking into your pussy, tasting everything you have to give him.

You're moaning, gasping, pushing back against his mouth, and fuck—he loves this.

Loves how desperate you sound, loves how your thighs tremble, loves how messy and filthy and fucking perfect you are like this.

And he's so good. Better than anyone you've ever had. Because he knows exactly how to eat pussy, knows exactly how to make you fall apart, knows exactly when to press his tongue against your clit, when to push it inside you, when to suck, when to go slow, when to speed up—

And right now? Right now, he's making you fucking lose it.

You can feel it, the heat coiling in your stomach, the tension winding tight, your body tensing up as his tongue moves over you, pushing deeper, licking faster, his hands gripping your hips, holding you still so you take it, so you let him ruin you.

And fuck, does he ruin you.

His tongue drags through your slick folds, savoring the taste of you, groaning like he's the one getting off on this. His grip tightens, fingers digging into your skin, keeping you exactly where he wants you—right here, bent over for him, spread and dripping, his to devour.

"God, baby," he murmurs, lips brushing against your cunt, the heat of his breath making you shudder. "You taste so fucking good."

Then he's back on you, mouth hot, tongue relentless, flicking over your clit in quick, teasing strokes before dipping back down, fucking into you, pushing as deep as he can, like he's trying to pull your orgasm out with nothing but his mouth. And shit, it's working.

You moan, high and needy, your thighs trembling as he eats you out like he has all the time in the world. He hums against your cunt, the vibration sending another sharp wave of pleasure through you, and you jerk forward, almost losing your balance, but his hands are there, strong and steady, keeping you still, keeping you right where he wants you.

His hands slide up your thighs, spreading you wider, and then he's burying his face even deeper, tongue working you open, licking into you like he's starving. Your body jerks again, a desperate whimper spilling from your lips, and he groans, loving it, loving how wrecked you are for him.

"That's it, baby," he mutters, voice rough, breathless. "Give me everything."

And you do. You can't help it. The pleasure is too much, winding tighter, burning hotter, your body teetering on the edge, your moans turning into frantic little gasps. He feels it, the way you're shaking, the way your body clenches, and he knows—he fucking knows.

"Cum for me," he rasps, sucking your clit into his mouth again, tongue flicking over it in tight, fast strokes, relentless. "Cum all over my tongue, baby, let me taste it."

And then, it snaps. Your orgasm crashes over you, sudden and sharp and so fucking good, your body shaking, your moans breaking, your fingers clawing at the bike seat as he fucks you through it with his tongue, licking you like he needs it, like he lives for this, groaning against your pussy, his lips wet, his face buried between your legs as he drinks you down.

And all you can think, all you can fucking feel, is how much you love this, how much you love him, how no one has ever, ever made you cum like this, like they know your body inside and out, like they own it.

Like Dick does. And fuck—he's not even done yet.

He knows he should stop. He should give you a break, should let you catch your breath, should let the aftershocks of your orgasm fade before he touches you again.

But he can't.

Because you're so fucking pretty like this—your body still trembling, your pussy swollen and soaked, your thighs quivering as you try to come down. And he loves you so much, but he also loves the way you fall apart when he overstimulates you, loves the way you whimper when he keeps licking you, loves how you try to squirm away but don't really mean it.

So he doesn't let you.

His hands tighten around your thighs, his grip firm, holding you there, keeping you spread, keeping you open, keeping you exactly where he wants you. And then he licks you again. Slowly, softly—just a teasing flick of his tongue against your swollen little clit.

Then another, just as light, just as lazy. His breath is hot against your drenched cunt, and he hums like he's savoring the taste, like he's enjoying the way your hips twitch, the way your body reacts even before your mind can catch up. He drags his tongue lower, tracing the mess he's made of you, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your slit, catching the slick, the warmth, the leftover pulse of your orgasm.

And then he moans against you, low and deep, the vibration sinking into your skin, making your legs jolt in his grip. He's drowning in it, in you, in the way your pussy is still fluttering, still so puffy and needy even after everything.

His mouth is hot and wet as he kisses your clit again, this time with more pressure, and when he flicks his tongue just right, he groans like he can't help himself, like he's the one getting wrecked from how fucking good you feel.

And you sob out his name. "Dick—fuck, please—"

But he doesn't stop. He flattens his tongue against your clit, licking slow, lazy circles, making sure you feel everything, making sure you take it, dragging his tongue through the mess he's made of you, humming as he laps at you, flicking his tongue just right.

Until you're whimpering. Until your thighs are shaking. Until you're trying to pull away, trying to lift yourself off the bike, trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure—but his hands hold you firm, keeping you there, making you feel all of it, until you're gasping, until you're pleading—

"Dick, please, I can't—I need you to fuck me, baby, please—"

That snaps him out of it.

His mouth leaves you with a final, wet kiss to your clit, his chest heaving as he presses one last, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh. Then another. Then he's nipping at your ass, kneading it, squeezing it, letting himself feel you, letting himself worship you. And then, he gets up. And fuck, he's so hard.

His dick aches, straining against his sweatpants, desperate to be inside you, to feel your tight little pussy squeezing around him, to fuck you the way he knows you need. He pulls himself out, his dick heavy in his hand, the head flushed, leaking precum. He groans softly as he slides it between your legs, pressing it against your soaked folds, sliding it through the slick mess, coating himself in your arousal.

"Fuck, baby," he mutters, watching the way his dick glides so easily through your wetness, watching how your slick clings to him in strings as he drags the tip through your folds, bumping against your swollen clit. "Look at you. So fucking wet for me."

And then, he pushes in. The head of his cock stretches you open, slow and deep, sinking inside your tight, drenched cunt, pressing in inch by inch, splitting you open around him. And fuck—you still struggle to take him, still stretch tight around his thick cock, still feel yourself pulse, struggling to accommodate him even after all this time.

But you love it.

You love how big he is, how good he feels, how he always makes you feel so fucking full, like you're made for him, like you need this, need him. And fuck—he loves it too.

Loves how tight you are, how needy, how your pussy clenches around him as he pushes deeper, struggling to take all of him, struggling to handle it—but trying anyway, because you always do, because you always take him so fucking well.

"Jesus, baby," he groans, his head falling forward, his hands gripping your hips, his breath ragged as he bottoms out with a slick little squelch, his dick buried all the way inside you.

You shudder, your whole body trembling, your fingers gripping the seat, a broken whimper spilling from your lips. And he leans over you, pressing his chest to your back, pressing his lips to your ear, his voice low, sweet, warm.

"You okay, pretty girl?"

You nod frantically. "Yes—yes, baby, please, move—"

And with a moan, he does. Slow, long thrusts, dragging his cock out almost all the way before pressing back inside, giving you everything, filling you completely, making sure you feel all of him with every deep, slow stroke.

And fuck—how can he not?

You're so good for him, so wet, so hot, squeezing his dick like you never want him to leave, and he needs to give you everything, has to make you feel good, has to let you feel how much he fucking loves you.

His hands slip under your shirt, sliding up your stomach, finding your tits, teasing your nipples as his cock thrusts into you, slow and deep, groaning into your ear, lost in the way your pussy grips him, lost in the way you moan for him, lost in the way you let him ruin you.

Dick groans against your ear, voice thick with arousal, breath hot against your skin as he keeps you right where he wants you—pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped tight around you, his cock buried deep inside your soaked little cunt.

And fuck, he can feel you.

The way your pussy clenches around him with every slow, deep thrust. The way your walls flutter when he angles his hips just right, hitting that spot that makes you gasp. The way your slick coats his cock, dripping down his length, soaking him in your arousal.

"God, baby," he mutters, dragging his lips along your neck, licking, sucking, nipping, loving the way you shudder against him. "You feel so fucking good. Always so fucking tight for me."

His fingers slide over your tits, teasing your nipples, rolling them between his fingers as he fucks you—slow, deep, shallow thrusts, grinding into you, making sure you feel it, making sure you take it all, making sure you know how much he loves this, how much he loves you.

And your little moans—fuck, they drive him crazy. So sweet. So needy. So fucking perfect.

"Love your pussy, baby," he breathes, dragging his tongue along your throat, nipping at your jaw, rolling his hips into you just right to make you whimper. "So wet for me. So fucking soft. Always take my dick so well, don't you?"

You moan, your hands gripping his forearms, your nails digging into his skin as he grinds deeper, making your breath hitch, making your body tremble. And then, his hand slides lower. Fingers dipping between your thighs, finding your swollen little clit, circling it in time with his thrusts.

And God, your whole body shakes.

Your moan breaks into a whimper, your cunt clenching so tightly around his cock that he groans against your throat, his hips stuttering, his fingers pressing firmer against your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles that make your thighs quiver.

"Yeah, that's it," he breathes, kissing the corner of your jaw, murmuring soft little praises into your ear, words meant just for you. "Feels good, baby? Love when I fuck you like this? Love when I take my time with you?"

You nod frantically, gasping when his fingers press just right, rubbing you so perfectly in sync with his thrusts, fucking you so deep, so slow, like he's savoring every second. And he is.

Because you drive him crazy. Because he loves you more than anything. Because he loves the way you fall apart in his arms, the way your little gasps turn to soft, needy moans, the way you tremble when he whispers in your ear, the way you whimper when he tells you—

"So fucking pretty, baby." His lips brush your ear, voice sweet, voice filthy. "So good for me. Love you so much. Love this perfect little pussy, all wet and warm for me, squeezing me so tight. Made for me, huh?"

And you sob out a moan, thighs shaking, pussy clenching around his dick, making him groan, making his fingers work your clit just a little faster, making you whimper as he thrusts slow and deep, keeping you right on the edge, keeping you panting, trembling, desperate—

"C'mon, pretty girl," Dick murmurs, voice thick with want, slow and sweet and hot against your ear. "Wanna feel you cum on my dick, baby."

His fingers press down on your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles that make you whimper, that make your whole body tremble against him. And he knows—he knows you're close, knows exactly how to keep you there, hovering on that edge, making it last, making you feel everything.

And God, the way your pussy clenches around him, the way you squeeze all the precum from his dick, making every slow thrust sloppier, slicker—fuck, it drives him crazy.

"Feel that?" he breathes, rolling his hips slow and deep, making sure you feel every inch, making sure you feel how his dick drags inside you, stretching you open, making you shiver. "Feel how wet you are? Fuck, baby, you're dripping for me."

And you are. You can feel it—feel how your pussy grips him with every slow, deep thrust, feel how his dick slides against your walls, so slick, so fucking good, feel how his fingers rub your clit just right, how his body is solid and hot against yours, how he fucks you so good your thoughts scramble.

It's too much, it's not enough, you need more, you need him to ruin you—

"Dick," you gasp, clutching at his arms, nails digging into his skin, body shaking against his.

And he knows.

"Yeah, baby," he breathes, his voice soothing, his fingers pressing a little firmer, rubbing a little faster, his dick grinding deep, grinding right against that spot that makes you sob. "You gonna cum for me?"

And fuck, you can't stop it. The thick stretch of him, the way he splits you open, the way you still struggle to take him, even after all this time—like your pussy was made for him, like it's still adjusting, still molding around his dick every time he fucks you.

And God, the curve of him—it drives you crazy. The way it presses against every sensitive spot inside you, the way it drags so deep, so perfect, the way he angles his hips just right, making you shudder, making your breath hitch, making you feel everything.

He knows exactly what he's doing, knows exactly how to fuck you, knows exactly how to make you fall apart—and he loves it.

Loves feeling your pussy squeeze around him, loves how wet you are, how slick and messy and slippery, loves how your little whimpers turn into breathless moans, how your whole body trembles against him, how you fucking lose yourself on his dick.

And God, he loves his girl. Loves how you take him, loves how you want him, loves the way you beg, the way you moan, the way you don't care where you are, don't care if anyone sees, don't care about anything except how good he makes you feel.

Your whole body shudders, your pussy pulses, squeezing his dick, making a mess, your slick coating him, soaking his thighs, your legs shaking as the pleasure crashes over you, deep and wet and sloppy, and Dick groans, because fuck, you feel so fucking good.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck, groaning against your skin as he fucks you through it, slow and deep, letting you feel it, letting you ride it out, letting your cunt milk his dick, squeezing him tight, making him throb. "There we go, pretty girl. Just like that. Just like that, baby."

And you sob, your body wracked with pleasure, your pussy clenching around his dick, dragging out every slow, sweet second of your orgasm. But it's not enough.

Your whole body is still buzzing, your nerves lit up, your thighs shaking, your breath coming in gasps, your heart hammering, and you want more, you need more, you need him.

"More," you whimper, voice needy, breathless, head falling back against his shoulder as you beg, "I want more, please—"

And he gives it to you, no hesitation. Because he loves fucking you. Loves fucking you however you want, however you need—but like this, slow and lazy, rolling his hips into you, feeling every little shiver, every little whimper, making sure you feel it, making sure you take it—

Yeah, this is his favorite.

Because God, you're so good for him. And he's gonna make sure you know it. And fuck, it's sloppy—messy and wet, the sounds of it obscene, your slick coating him, making every thrust loud, making his dick glisten every time he pulls back, only to sink back into you, thick and hot and deep.

And it's so good. Your body trembling, your legs weak, his arms strong around you, keeping you in place, keeping you right where he wants you, right where you need to be. And his voice—low and rough and wrecked against your ear, telling you how good you feel, how tight you are, how fucking perfect.

"God, baby," he groans, sucking a mark into your throat, hand slipping down between your legs again, fingers teasing your clit, circling it slow, firm, right in time with the slow drag of his dick. "You're so wet, fuck—dripping all over me, you hear that?"

And God, you do. You hear everything.

The slick, obscene sounds of your pussy, the wet slap of his hips against your ass, the breathless little moans spilling from your lips, the low, deep groans of his own, rumbling through his chest, against your back, sending a shiver down your spine.

And he knows you're close again, knows your body too well, knows the way you tense, the way your walls flutter around his dick, knows the way your little gasps turn breathless, shaky—knows exactly how to push you over the edge.

"Cum for me, baby," he breathes, rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clit, just enough, just right, pressing harder, thrusting deeper, fucking you slow and deep and so, so good.

With a sharp, broken gasp, your whole body locks up, pussy tightening, squeezing down hard around him, and he groans, breath shuddering, arms tightening around you as he fucks you through it, lets you ride it out, lets you lose yourself on his dick, lets you drown in it. And God, you do.

The pleasure hitting you in waves, crashing over you, rolling through you, heat rushing down your spine, leaving you wrecked, leaving you gasping, shaking, still grinding back against him, because you need more, need him, need everything.

And he gives it to you. Because of course he does. He's a giver, always has been, always will be—and he's still so fucking hard inside you.

Still throbbing, still fucking you slow, dragging every last bit of pleasure out of you, making sure you feel everything.

Every inch of his dick, every curve, every ridge and vein, every pulse, every slow, deep thrust—

And you're still so needy.

Still desperate, still trembling, still aching for more, still chasing it, rolling your hips back against him, moaning softly, pleading without words. And fuck, he loves it. Loves how much you want him, how much you need him, loves how good you are for him, how perfect.

And God, he wants to cum inside you. Even though he always does, even though he always pumps you full, he still fucking wants it, still needs to hear you say it—and he knows you will. Because you love it.

So when he whispers, "You want my cum?"

You fucking whimper. Nod frantically, grinding back against him, breathless, desperate, murmuring, "Yes, baby, please, I need it."

And fuck, that's all he needs. All he ever fucking needs. And then he gives it to you.

A little harder, a little faster, hips snapping against your ass, dick fucking into you, long and deep, chasing his release, groaning against your neck, panting against your skin, moaning your name.

And it wrecks you.

The way he moans for you, the way he fucks you so deep, the way his body tenses, muscles flexing, his arms strong around you, the way his hand stays between your legs, the way he presses his fingers against your clit, rubbing slow, firm, so fucking good.

And you cum again. Sharp and sudden and overwhelming, moaning so loud, your whole body locking up, pussy pulsing, squeezing tight around his dick. And fuck, he loses it. Groaning loud, moaning into your neck, his hips stutter, slamming deep one last time as his body shudders against yours.

His dick throbs, pulsing, pumping thick, hot ropes of cum into your cunt, filling you up just the way you love. It's so much, so hot, spilling deep, coating your walls, and you whimper, arching against him, squeezing him tighter like you can't get enough.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, voice wrecked, his breath ragged against your skin. "You feel that?"

You do. You feel every hot pulse, every slick, messy drip of his cum inside you. Your pussy flutters, clenching down on him, milking every last drop from his still-twitching dick, greedily keeping him inside.

His hands flex on your hips, keeping you steady, keeping you in place, and he swears under his breath as he feels you squeezing him like that, like you never want to let him go. His cum seeps out in slow, sticky dribbles, slicking your thighs, but he doesn't pull out, not yet.

He presses his body flush against yours, murmuring, "Fuck, I love filling you up, baby. Love keeping you full of me."

And God, you love it too. Love the heat of it, love the way it fills you up, love the way it spills out, love the way he gasps, the way his whole body shudders. Love how fucking wrecked he is, how fucking gone he is, how fucking perfect he makes you feel.

His grip tightens on your hips as he pulls you back against him, his dick slipping deeper, pushing his cum further inside your pussy. His breath is hot against your skin as he groans, the sound rough and needy, matching the way his hands spread you open, watching the way your slick, mixed with his release, coats his length as he slides in and out.

"Fuck, baby, look at that," he murmurs, voice thick with lust, his thumbs digging into your hips as he pulls you back onto his cock, each thrust just a little rougher, just a little filthier.

His eyes are locked on the way your cunt clenches around him, sucking him back in every time he pulls out. "You love this, don't you?" he murmurs, dragging his fingers up your spine, making you arch for him. "Love when I fuck you full, keep you dripping, keep you messy for me."

Your moans are desperate now, hands gripping onto the cool metal of his bike as he pounds into you, every thrust sending shockwaves through your body.

The way he stretches you open, the thick curve of his dick hitting deep, brushing against that sweet, sensitive spot inside you over and over, has your mind spinning. Every time he moves, you feel him pressing against your walls, filling you so completely, so perfectly, you can barely breathe. His hands slide up your waist, one reaching between your legs to rub slow, teasing circles against your swollen clit.

"Gotta make you cum again, baby," he groans, his thrusts getting rougher, his fingers pressing just right, his name tumbling from your lips in breathless moans.

Your pussy tightens around him, your walls fluttering, the pleasure building so fast it makes you dizzy. You whimper his name, your legs shaking, pleasure curling deep in your belly as he fucks you through it, his voice coaxing you over the edge.

"That's it, pretty girl. Give it to me. Show me how good it feels."

Your orgasm crashes over you, and he doesn't stop, doesn't slow, just keeps fucking you through it, his fingers still rubbing, his dick still stretching you, filling you, making it last until you can't take it. Your body trembles, your voice breaking as you gasp for air, the pleasure so intense you can barely hold yourself up.

Your pussy clenches tight around him, throbbing, squeezing, so slick and swollen, overstimulated, every nerve sparking like a live wire. Your whole body quivers, and you let out a desperate, broken whimper, feeling the wet, messy squelch of his dick sliding in and out, pushing his own cum even deeper. It's too much, too good, your thighs shaking, your breath catching, your skin hot and damp.

And he still isn't done.

He grips your hips, fucking into you deeper, his pace relentless, chasing another release. "Gonna fill you up again, baby," he groans, his voice thick with lust, his body tense against yours. "Gonna pump you so full you feel me dripping down your thighs. You want that, don't you?"

You nod frantically, moaning, begging, "Yes, baby, please, I need it."

That's all it takes.

He groans, deep and raw, his pace getting erratic, desperate. His hands grip you tighter, pulling you onto his cock, thrusting deep, fast, his breath ragged, moans spilling into your ear as he finally snaps, spilling inside you with a low, filthy groan.

You shudder as the heat of it spreads through you, the way he throbs inside making you whimper, your walls fluttering around him, milking every last drop. He stays buried deep, breathing hard against your skin, his hands smoothing over your waist, your stomach, possessive and tender.

"Fuck," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the back of your shoulder, his hands still gripping you tight. "You take it so good, baby. So fucking good for me."

And even as he catches his breath, he rocks into you just a little more, just to feel how perfectly you fit around him, how fucking good you feel when you're full of his cum.

Your whole body shudders, wrecked from the pleasure, from the way he's fucked you so good and so deep, left you trembling, sobbing, barely able to keep yourself standing. Your knees threaten to buckle, but you don't fall—because he's there.

Strong and steady behind you, his chest warm against your back, his hands firm as they hold you up, keeping you in place while his dick still pulses faintly inside you. He's still so deep, still stretching you out, his cum thick and leaking from where he’s buried, seeping out slow, messy, coating your inner thighs in sticky warmth.

"Shhh, I've got you, baby," he murmurs, lips brushing against the back of your neck as he presses soft kisses there, slow and sweet, shushing you gently while his hands smooth over your waist. His thumbs rub comforting circles into your overheated skin, grounding you, letting you come back to yourself. "Breathe for me, love. You okay?"

You sniffle, body still shaking as you nod, and he lets out a quiet little chuckle, kissing the shell of your ear, your temple, the damp curve of your cheek.

"So good for me," he praises, his voice all soft and warm, wrapping around you like something safe.

He stays like that, just holding you, keeping you steady while your heart slows, while your body catches up to itself, while your mind drifts back from the haze of pleasure. His chin comes to rest on your shoulder, and he sighs, deep and content, letting his hands settle at your hips, thumbs stroking lazy, soothing lines over your skin.

After a while, he murmurs, "Ready to head back home and let me clean you up, baby?"

You hum, nodding sluggishly, all soft and spent, and the sound you make when he finally—finally—pulls out is a wrecked little whimper, a shuddering gasp as you feel the way he leaves you empty.

He kisses your cheek, murmuring, "I'm sorry, my love," because he knows how sensitive you are, how raw and used you feel, even as his cum spills out of you, dripping down the inside of your thighs in thick, messy trails.

And fuck, the sight of it nearly ruins him.

His hands flex at your hips, and he has to force himself not to do it—not to spread you open and push it back inside, because that's exactly where it belongs, inside your pretty little pussy, keeping you full, making sure it stays. He bites his lip, exhaling hard, but then you shiver, and he blinks out of it, groaning softly as he tucks himself back into his sweatpants before sliding your panties and leggings back up.

You turn in his arms, sluggish, needy, clinging to him with tired limbs, and he lets you. He wraps you up tight, tucks you against his chest, his chin resting against the top of your head as he whispers, "I've got you, baby. It's okay. We'll be home soon, yeah?"

You nod, nuzzling against him, eyes heavy, body still trembling faintly in the aftermath, and he smiles, cupping the back of your head, stroking his fingers through your hair before he helps you back onto his bike. He makes sure you're settled, hands firm at your waist as you swing your leg over, and fuck—he knows.

He knows exactly what you feel when your panties, full of his cum, press up against your still-sensitive cunt, the slick warmth rubbing against you, making you suck in a sharp little breath as you shift against the seat.

His fingers squeeze at your hips, and his voice is low, teasing as he murmurs, "Feel that, baby?"

You bite your lip, nodding, and his grin turns wicked, but he doesn't push, doesn't tease you any more than that. He just pulls your arms around his waist, making sure you're snug against him, and then he starts the bike, the low rumble vibrating through you as he takes off, heading home.

And the whole way back, he's thinking about the mess between your legs, about the way you feel pressed up against him, warm and soft and still twitching slightly with aftershocks. His grip tightens on the handlebars, and he exhales hard through his nose, resisting the urge to push the speed higher, to get home faster, to lay you out and do it all over again.

But tonight—tonight he just wants to clean you up, wrap you in one of his t-shirts, and kiss your pretty face. By the time you make it home, you're already half-asleep against his back, your arms slack around his waist, your cheek resting between his shoulder blades.

He smiles as he parks, turning the engine off before squeezing your thigh, murmuring, "Baby, we're home."

You make a soft, sleepy sound, nuzzling against him, and his heart clenches at how sweet you are. He doesn't even make you move, just swings off the bike before helping you down, steadying you when your legs wobble. You blink up at him, dazed and adorable, and he can't help himself—he cups your face in both hands and kisses you, soft and lingering, his thumbs stroking along your cheekbones.

"Let's get you inside, love," he murmurs against your lips.

But as soon as you take a step, your legs nearly give out, and he's got you before you can even think about falling. A small chuckle rumbles from his chest, warm and fond.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Without another word, he bends slightly and scoops you up into his arms, holding you close as he carries you inside. You don't protest—just tuck your face against his neck, breathing him in, the heat of his skin, the lingering scent of leather and the night air. He walks up the stairs effortlessly, like you weigh nothing, like holding you is the most natural thing in the world.

In the bathroom, he sets you down gently, keeping his hands on your waist until he’s sure you're steady. "Let's get you cleaned up, baby," he says, voice soft as he reaches in to turn on the shower, letting the water warm up.

Then he's undressing you, peeling away your clothes with slow, careful hands, pressing kisses to each inch of skin he reveals. You're already blinking sleepily at him, and that little pout he loves so much starts to form on your lips—unconscious, drowsy, so sweet it makes his chest ache. He smiles, running his thumb over your bottom lip before leaning in to kiss it.

"My sweet, pouty girl," he murmurs against your mouth, teasing but impossibly fond.

He undresses too before stepping into the shower with you, guiding you under the warm spray. You sigh at the heat, your body melting against his as you press close, clinging to him with sleepy hands. He chuckles, smoothing his hands down your back, keeping you steady against him.

"You're so cute like this," he says, pressing a kiss to your damp hair.

He washes you both with slow, careful hands, massaging the shampoo into your scalp, rubbing gentle circles along your body, making sure to clean every inch of you. You hum softly as his fingers trace along your skin, your arms still wrapped around him, like you don't want to let go even for a second. Not that he minds—he loves when you get clingy like this, all warm and soft in his arms.

Once you're both clean, he turns the water off and grabs a towel, wrapping you up before lifting you into his arms again. You make a tiny noise of protest, burying your face in his chest, and he laughs, rubbing a hand up and down your back.

"I know, baby. I've got you."

He dries you off gently, warm towel brushing over your skin as he murmurs quiet, loving words—praises, reassurances, things he knows will soothe you further. Once you're warm and dry, he tugs one of his t-shirts over your head, letting it swallow you up, before guiding a clean pair of panties up your legs.

He loves you in his clothes—loves how small you look in them, how the fabric drapes over you, hanging loose on your frame. There's something about it, about you wrapped up in something that's his, that makes his chest ache, that makes him want to pull you close and never let go.

"There we go," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "All set, my love."

Then he's picking you up again, carrying you into the bedroom, and laying you down in bed before sliding in beside you. You immediately curl into him, nuzzling into his chest, your legs tangling with his, your body molding against him like you were made to fit right there. His arms come around you, holding you close, one hand smoothing over your back, the other rubbing gentle circles into your hip.

He kisses your face—your forehead, your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, the soft curve of your jaw—until he feels your body fully relax against him, your breathing slowing, your fingers stilling where they'd been tracing over his skin.

"Sleep, pretty girl," he whispers, pressing one last kiss to your temple.

You sigh softly, nuzzling closer, your body warm and pliant in his arms. Your voice is barely more than a whisper, drowsy and sweet, as you murmur, "Love you so much, baby."

His chest tightens at how soft you sound, how utterly at peace you are in his arms. He tucks the blankets around you, making sure you're wrapped up and comfortable, then presses another kiss to your temple, lingering there for a moment.

"I love you too," he whispers against your skin, his voice low, full of warmth, full of everything he feels for you.

You hum in response, already slipping deeper into sleep, your breath warm against his chest. He watches you for a few moments longer, running his fingers gently through your hair, before closing his eyes and letting himself relax too, holding you close through the night.

[itertarot]

Tarot | Future Spouse

What fantasies will your Future Spouse have about you when they lay their head on the pillow before falling asleep? +18

Close your eyes and take a deep breathe, if you don't feel drawn to any image it's okay, I'll be doing more piles soon. This ain't supposed to be an +18 reading so i won't dive deeper in their sexual thoughts now.

Pile One:

If they are a man:

Your future spouse will think of you every night as the moon rises in the sky. In the most intimate moments, before falling asleep, they will feel deeply emotional and connected to you. It's as if the silence of the night intensifies the emotional and spiritual bond you share. It wouldn't be surprising if they have an intuitive and sensitive Moon in their birth chart, under the moonlight their heart will allow itself to feel the love that overflows between the two of you. You are, without exaggeration, the biggest love of his life. The feelings they have for you are tender, fluid, calm, but also passionate, affectionate and intense. Your future spouse will think not only of you, but of the family you will build together. They will fantasise about simple details like making you coffee just to see you smile (and they love your smile), or tucking you in with a blanket on cold nights and watching you sleep with a deep sense of gratitude. They will take care of you, making sure you are warm, fed and happy. Every gesture, big or small, will be filled with meaning and etched in their minds and hearts. But this relationship is not all about affection and tenderness. Your future husband will be skilled (especially in their hands if you get me) and attentive, both emotionally and physically. He will have a touch that will make you discover pleasures you never knew were possible. He will be curious and devoted, always looking for new ways to bring you to your climax, like an explorer in search of hidden treasures. They will want to be the best for you, the only one who can fully satisfy you, like a magician who knows all the secrets of your body and soul, imagining they put their hands all over you especially you clitoris and vulva.

If they are a woman:

Your future wife will be a deeply romantic and family-orientated woman, possibly fitting the profile of a tradwife. She is highly intuitive and gifted with spiritual qualities, probably brought up in a religious environment which has made her deeply attached to values such as chastity. It's possible she's a virgin, saving herself for the person she considers chosen to share her life with and explore the mysteries of pleasure together. But being so reserved and modest made her fantasies revolve around finding someone to take her on this journey of discovery, someone to show her how far the body and soul can go in terms of intimacy and connection. She wants someone to "corrupt" her in a loving way, to guide her like a puppet, but with care and respect, transforming her into a freer, more submissive version of herself. In her fantasies she imagines a partner who has complete control over her, someone who holds her firmly but with skilful and gentle hands. In this scenario, you are the person she has chosen to be her guide, the one who will teach her what true pleasure and deep intimacy feel like.

But don't be mistaken: although there is a strong element of submission in her fantasies, this is mainly due to her inexperience and her desire to break free from the chastity that has always protected her. Your future wife is above all a romantic. She is sensitive, both emotionally and physically, and may be vulnerable to pain. It is therefore essential that you are gentle, patient and attentive to her needs. She will fantasise about how great amd skilful you're in bed.

Pile Two:

If they are a man:

Your future spouse has an intense and exhausting routine, with days filled with tasks and responsibilities. When they finally come home and lay their head on the pillow, their greatest desire is to rest and soothe their aching body after a long day. They are not the type to live in a world of imagination but rather someone practical who prefers action over dreaming. However, when they allow themselves to dive into thoughts about you, even if rarely, their reflections revolve around when things will change, when your lives will finally find peace and stability. They long for the day when you can live together as a family, in harmony and tranquility. Your future spouse works to the point of exhaustion, not just out of obligation but because they want to feel worthy of you. They want to offer you a stable and comfortable life, proving that they are capable of providing and taking care of you. Their fantasies, as simple as they may be, are centered around proving themselves deserving of your love and earning your recognition. They imagine the moment when they will finally have the courage to approach you, especially because, in their thoughts, you are always surrounded by people, as if you were someone admirable and unattainable. They find you incredibly beautiful and feel inspired by your presence.

When it comes to intimacy, your future spouse may have an attraction to spontaneous and passionate moments. They fantasize, for example, about taking you home and, after a goodbye kiss, things heating up so much that you end up giving in to desire in the car. The idea of having your body so close to theirs in such a tight and private space excites them, creating a feeling of unique and intense connection. They also have a fantasy of having sex in the beach, something about the sand on your body, the sound of the sea and open landscape is very exciting for your future spouse, they also love the smell of your body after spending the day on the beach.

If they are a woman:

The fantasy of your future wife revolves around you being the person who will rescue her from the exhausting and draining life she currently leads. She dreams of the moment when you will take the initiative, stepping in to take control of the situation and approaching her with sincere and captivating charm. In her thoughts, she imagines the family you will build together, the cozy home you will share, and the financial stability you will achieve as a team. To her, you are the right person, the one she wants to marry and share a full, happy life with. However, her current reality is quite harsh. She is exhausted, working tirelessly and feeling like the "Cinderella" of her own story, a modern version of Cinderella, trapped in a routine that brings her no fulfillment. The constant fatigue prevents her from diving deeply into romantic thoughts or sexual fantasies, as she barely has time to rest. Despite this, she can’t help but look at you during the day, seeking your presence as a refuge, even from afar. Your proximity makes her nervous but also excited, as if you were a beacon of hope amidst her draining routine. She wants to feel special, cared for, and, above all, safe by your side. And when you finally come closer to her, she will be ready to give you not only her heart but her efforts and dreams.

Pile three:

If they are a man:

You, my dear, are the "damsel" your future spouse dreams of rescuing, but with an important detail: you are no helpless princess. He fantasizes about being the knight in shining armor, the one who enters the tower to save the beautiful, seemingly vulnerable damsel. This is, without exaggeration, the image he creates in his mind. However, he knows very well that you don’t need saving. In fact, he sees you as an extremely independent, self-assured woman, completely capable of handling everything on your own. In a way, you even intimidate him. Your future husband sees you as the "queen bee," the most beautiful, the most admirable, always surrounded by friends and admirers. There's even a song that fits perfectly called Miss Independent by Ne-Yo. You are so confident, radiant, and self-sufficient that he creates scenarios in his head where he can prove himself useful, just to earn a bit of your attention. He wants to be your Prince Charming, the one who shows you that, with him, you can relax and let your guard down. He wants to prove that, if needed, he’ll be there to take care of you. But deep down, he deeply admires the strong, independent woman you are, and that’s one of the reasons he feels so drawn to you.

When it comes to sexual fantasies, he imagines you giving yourself to him as a reward for being your hero. However, he doesn’t delve too deeply into these thoughts because there’s a great deal of respect and admiration involved. He spends more time imagining what it would be like to feel your body even before removing your clothes, or what your kiss might taste like. Kisses, by the way, are a recurring theme in his fantasies, he catches himself thinking about how it would feel to touch your lips, to feel your breath close to his. But because he sees you as a princess, he struggles to take these thoughts to a "dirtier" or more obscene place. To him, you are someone to be adored, not just desired.

If they are a woman:

In the fantasy of your future wife, she sees herself as a powerful queen, the ruler of her own kingdom. She is independent, confident, and has everything she desires in life, except for one thing: a bold and charming knight, and that knight is you. She sees you as someone full of energy, sociable, courageous, and with an irresistible sense of humor. Your daring and boldness deeply attract her, and she admires the way you naturally charm everyone around you. In her fantasies, you win her over with your smooth lines and magnetic presence. She imagines what your scent must be like, how your body feels after a day of activities, and what you look like beneath your clothes. And yes, she will notice that you’re in great shape ( it doesn't matter if you don't see yourself as hot, she will for sure), it will only fascinate her even more. She fantasizes about the two of you going out together, attending a party, starting to drink and dance until the chemistry between you becomes irresistible. At the peak of sexual tension, she imagines that you won’t be able to control yourselves anymore and will need to find a quick, secluded place to finally give in to the desire that burns between you.

She has a very high sex drive, and her fantasies involve many passionate scenes in risky or unusual places, where the thrill of being caught only heightens the excitement. She also fantasizes about the size of your penis (if you have one), imagining what it would feel like to have you inside her. Moaning in your ear is something she would love to do, using her voice to make you even more aroused and connected to her. She wants you to be the knight who challenges and conquers her, but also the one who makes her feel safe and desired. Deep down, she knows that by your side, she can be both the powerful queen and the woman who surrenders completely to the pleasure and passion you share, but don't be fooled she don't like to give up her control.

[cherrycheolkat]

• random slutty thoughts, feat. mingyu •

the valentine’s day / co-worker crush one

mingyu has sat in the cubicle next to yours long enough to know exactly how shitty your ex made valentine’s day last year, plus he knows you definitely haven’t even thought about a valentine’s date since you just accepted a stack of last minute work, because to quote you, “fuck this pretend holiday”

but he really hopes to change your mind

mingyu’s had a crush on you since you started working in his group, maybe before that even when he would just see you in the break room sometimes

at first he thought you were a bit unapproachable, but the longer he sat next to you, the more he realized you were a really good co-worker and friend - you always have great ideas for projects and you don’t make him feel like shit for not knowing every single thing like most people in the group, plus you’re always happy to grab coffee when he wants to complain about how something personal

he was glad when you had offered to exchange phone numbers so he could message you “just whenever” - it took him a week to finally decide what to send - a photo proving that he really uses the name ‘james’ as his ‘coffee order name’ because he was tired of the misspellings and you would not believe him - you had practically cackled at ‘james’

he was surprised when you asked if he had a date that night, “no, i haven’t really been talking to anyone” besides you, he thought

“at least you won’t be stuck here all night, though,” you smiled, leaning towards your computer to read something

he nodded, “yeah, true,” even as he spoke, he started to poke around seeing if there were any assignments he needed to complete (he knew there weren’t)

“wait, actually, sorry - there’s this part i kind of need help with,” you mumbled from your slouched over position

he blushed and scooched his chair over to your side of the barrier, you had already moved so he could see your screen - he was glad that you seemed to always have problems with excel functions

he started tinkering with the spreadsheet while you read some documents next to him - before he realized it, he was ready for dinner

he leaned back, “want to take a break?” it was a totally normal question

you nodded, “yes, please, I’m so tired of looking at this,” you whispered and then stood up to look around the office, “wow, it’s like a horror movie in here - absolutely everyone is gone but us”

he smiled knowing you mean zombie movies, which you proclaim to hate but still seem to know a lot about

“so what were you thinking?” you asked as you sit back down next to him - he notices when your knee bumps his leg

“hm, how bad do you think the waits are across the street?”

“oh fuck, i forgot, couples out in droves, right?”

he nods, watching you scrunch your face as you start checking for reservations close by - it takes a few minutes but you’re suddenly grabbing his sleeve, “oh my god, if we leave right now, we can just make it to a decent place,” you practically drag him along

the ‘decent’ place is actually really nice, way more than he was expecting, but he was glad for once that he was in dress clothes - he actually looked like he was your date

they seated you in one of the open booths, another couple were right next to you - he had started to look at the menu when you nudged him with your foot, he glanced up to see you covertly glance at the other couple - mingyu almost laughed when he saw the girl’s foot was practically buried in the guy’s crotch and moving at a concerning pace

he blushed slightly at the scene and glanced back to you, seeing the dangerous smirk on your face, he suddenly felt the toe of your shoe press gently to his calf - he was quick to slip a warning hand onto your thigh, squeezing gently

“i think we can do better darling,” he whispered

you looked too game, “oh, can we, sweetheart?”

he wasn’t sure what to make of your sugary voice, but he knew you were horribly competitive (both of you, if he were honest, could be a bit scary at company retreats)

he didn’t hesitate to nod, “of course we can,” he answered in a low tone, his thumb tracing circles against your thigh

when the waiter came back, you both ordered drinks, but he noticed quickly when the other couple conspicuously got up at the same time and wandered towards the bathroom

he sipped his wine, “did they really just go to the bathroom?”

you giggle, “they definitely did”

he swirled his glass gently, “okay, so if we go into the men’s room after them, do we just need to be louder?” he was genuinely asking

you laughed behind your hand, “seriously?” you grinned, “it’s not like we get a peleton this time,” you shoot back, voice soft in a way that makes his stomach flutter

“yeah, but,” he wasn’t sure where he was going with this, “they were annoying, why not be, you know,” he shrugged

“be more annoying, my darling, dearest,” you smiled and covered his hand with yours

he flushed but had a sudden thought, “look if we freak them out, i will literally pay for a full weekend at that glamping place you keep ogling,” he was very serious

“oh, okay, no wait, it has to be the one with the hot tub that overlooks the trees,” you were getting serious

he nodded, “i’ll give you my card, book whatever you want,” he was too sincere

he noticed the slight blush blooming across your cheeks, “you know it’s like a couples thing, right?”

“so, you can book for two and go alone, whatever,” in his mind this was completely reasonable to offer a co-worker who he clearly had just a crush on, especially when he hadn’t confessed

he watched you bite your lip lightly, “okay, but shouldn’t we both go? it’s like a group activity,” he flushed, knowing you’re looking at him much too clearly

“just come on or we’ll miss our chance,” he stood, glancing around and walking towards the bathroom

he pushed the door open and was immediately assaulted with sounds, really wet sounds

he caught you as you walked through the door, knowing you would laugh at the sounds, he pressed his hand across your lips and guided you to the stall next to the occupied one, locking the door

you glance at the stall wall, rolling your eyes at the sudden feminine cry of “oh, baby - yeah, just like that”

you lean close to him, “make it good, okay,” you whisper, your hands suddenly ghosting down his chest and stomach

he’s shocked when you ran your hands down the front of his trousers, “fuck, daddy, show me how hard you are,” you say in a breathy voice as your hands press roughly to his hips

he bit his lip hard to avoid laughing in total shock, “that what you want baby girl, my hard cock filling that tight pussy?” he asked, his voice lower than he expected, even though he was leaning down close, whispering against your throat, obviously in character

“mhmm, yes, i want you so badly - i’ve thought about it all day, daddy - i’ve just been sitting, waiting for you, all wet and ready for your cock”

he paused hearing this, his mouth immediately dry, he could feel your hand working him through his pants

he kissed your throat gently, “daddy’s good little girl, just waiting at her desk, hoping to get fucked,” he nipped your earlobe gently, “my naughty little girl,” he whispered as he bit your throat

he was momentarily stunned when you pulled your shirt down enough to expose your tits and your perfect nipples, but he didn’t even think before he dipped down, latching onto one and then the other, hearing your moans, as he licked and sucked “yes, daddy” - “yeah, just like that” - “fuck, i bet you could empty me”

he leaned up, catching your mouth in a soft kiss, he licked into you, tasting you as he pushed up your skirt, his cock was way too hard at the idea of your full tits

he slid his fingers under the hem of your panties, immediately feeling the slick waiting for him, “oh, baby, so wet for me,” he barely broke the kiss to murmur

he watched your face as he plunged his first two fingers inside your hot, wet pussy - you gasped softly, pulling his hair roughly as you did, “yes, daddy, play with me, you’ve kept me waiting so long,” you whimper as he crooked his fingers to hit the soft spongy spot he knew your ex had never been able to find

he had completely forgotten the other couple - all he cared about was the way you were writhing in pleasure in front of him - that and the way your cunt was clenching around him, it was so fucking tight and already dripping

he pressed close, “come for me baby girl, i can feel you holding back, just let go, make a mess for daddy to clean up,” he whispered

you pressed close, “give me one more finger first,” you breathed heavily against his skin

he was happy to slip his third finger in, stretching you and then scissoring you open too, pressing against your tight walls

you moaned loudly, “oh, fuck, yes - daddy, don’t stop, make me feel good”

he wasn’t worried about how loud you were - it was part of the point, but when your pussy suddenly gushed, “fuck,” he breathed, feeling your juices wet his thigh

he held you close as he he still worked his fingers inside your pussy, you yelped as a second orgasm tore through you, a new splash of hot pussy juices running down his thigh as you shivered with pleasure in his arms, grasping blindly for him, needing him to hold you as your orgasm worked through you

“mhmm, daddy, oh, fuck, did i do good?”

he was quick, “yeah, baby, you’re so perfect, so messy and wet for me,” he pressed soft kisses to your cheek, nuzzling close to you

it was obvious that you were more fucked out than either of you expected - he definitely didn’t hear anything from the couple in the other stall, but he wasn’t especially concerned either

he suddenly turned you around, pulling your back to his chest, as he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants, “still want daddy’s cock, baby girl?”

you nod, “yes, please, use me like a toy, make me yours”

he breathed slowly, lining his cock up with your cunt, he needed to control himself or he would come too fast

he plunged in, pausing to breathe, to feel your slick cunt stretching so wide to take all of him - he listened to your whimpers and soft pleas as you adjusted to being full

but he waited to move - and when he did, he was slow at first, feeling every bit of you squeezing him, wanting him

and when you leaned back, “fuck me daddy, fuck me like you want”

the way you gazed up at him told him everything - that you knew - you already knew exactly how he felt

and so he plunged in, setting a quick pace, not being afraid to snap his hips - he wanted to fuck you raw

and when he felt you clenching and fluttering around him, he pulled you close, holding you tight, and reaching down to work your clit, he gasped at the feeling of your third orgasm, the feeling of your slick against the head of his cock was too much

he came, he clenched his teeth together tightly, moaning low against your skin, his cum filling you, he kept moving, slowly fucking his cum deeper into you

“keep it inside baby,” he demanded, breathless, finally letting you go

you nod with a little smile, “what do i get if i do?”

he laughed softly, shaking his head, and fixed his pants

he helped you fix your clothes, glancing to see how massive your pupils were

he stopped and nuzzled close, feeling nothing but tenderness for you, “want to leave?”

you nodded, holding tight to his lapels, “can we still fuck though?”

he smiled, “mmmh, of course we can baby - we can fuck all you want,” he kissed you softly - he meant every word

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨

a/n: happy v day - if you’re not getting fucked tonight, just think of mingyu ^^ we all know he would do it right …every time

♡ kat

tags: @syluslittlecrows

if you want to be tagged, go [here] my [master list] if you want to read more

[aetherstorms]

"Hm." Themis sat back, and after a moment, he smiled slightly. "Yes, I remember them somewhat. My father was a rather serious man from a city that had once upon an age been at war with Amaurot, which brought unique insights considered valued by the Convocation and me thereafter. My mother...." He trailed off and frowned before he smiled again more ruefully. "She was an adventurous spirit who had a strong moral code and sense of justice, believing that the ends justified the means, even if it was a painful choice. I learned much from them both, though I could not accurately judge how much I've taken after either."

He arched a brow then. "Different from the rest...." The other two unsundered, he assumed. If so, then he would have to agree that he had certainly been quite different from his colleagues, who had both lost their minds in their own ways, while he....had lost his very self. He shook his head slightly to discourage himself from thinking about that any harder. "I see. A factual enough statement. I will be sure to ask him if I feel I need clarification."

He smiled and inclined his head at the mention of their first face to face encounter. "I remember you threatened me, though I was an Emissary. Though of course we both know that was merely sophistry. Though true on the surface, I had long ago betrayed the truth of that title." Perhaps he should have felt ashamed of that, but it was hard to dredge up any emotion for something he had done only in the most technical sense. Hydaelyn could hold Herself no higher given her own sins, so why should he feel bad for his own actions in defiance? A matter he would likely ponder until he once more returned to the Aetherial Sea.

He liked how she leaned into him when he stroked her arm, and so he did it again, tracing lightly over her skin. "I look forward to seeing what the future holds for us all. For the first time in a very very long time, the mystery of it entices rather than anticipates."

Themis blinked, then huffed a soft laugh and let his head drop back. “Ahh, I see the problem.” He murmured. “I seem to have done the opposite….you are nothing like either of my parents. That seems like quite the combination of personalities for a marriage, though perhaps it’s a hopeful note in this case for Amon and I getting along well enough not to have too much discourse.”

He lifted his head again and smiled crookedly. “Ah, well I suppose I know about some of that. Emet-Selch was ever keeping an eye out for the soul with your particular hue, and before he took a several year nap when he allowed his mortal vessel to die, he alerted us to you. Still….watching was all we did, since the Echo sometimes skipped a lifetime or two and I….” He trailed off and for a moment his expression blanked out before he blinked and shook his head slightly. “Ah….despite not having many memories, I had insisted that you be left alone unless Hydaelyn called upon you.”

He inclined his head then with a wry smile as she explained the problem of her parents. “Ah yes, I do suppose those do add certain complications.” He murmured, seeming a bit amused by it before he smiled more and lifted a hand to trail lightly along her arm with a couple of fingers. “It isn’t how we start, but where we end up. You didn’t intend to become a hero, let alone one to this degree, but that is where your destiny led….and the lives you have touched will not forget you as long as they live, and perhaps even beyond.”

[s4kura-tr3]

Happy Valentine’s Day!

(A little angst in Sugurus part..)

Gojo - The city was dusted with snow, the streets lined with pink and red decorations that shimmered beneath the streetlights. Valentine’s Day in Tokyo was always a little extra — heart-shaped balloons tied to storefronts, couples walking hand in hand, and cafes boasting limited-edition desserts.

You weren’t sure why you expected today to feel like just another Wednesday. Not with Gojo Satoru as your boyfriend.

Your phone buzzed right as you stepped into your apartment.

Satoru: Come to the rooftop. Now. No questions.

You raised an eyebrow but couldn’t fight the small smile that tugged at your lips. With Gojo, surprises were inevitable. You grabbed your coat and made your way up the stairs, pushing open the door to the rooftop.

The sight took your breath away.

Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed overhead, casting a soft golden glow over a small table set with desserts and a thermos of what you assumed was hot chocolate. A thick blanket was spread out beside the table, lined with cushions. The city skyline glittered in the distance like scattered diamonds.

And there, standing with his back to you, was Satoru. He turned when he heard you step forward, that trademark grin appearing as soon as his eyes met yours. His blindfold was gone tonight, leaving his vibrant blue eyes on full display.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” he said, spreading his arms dramatically. “Aren’t I the most romantic boyfriend ever?”

You chuckled and walked over to him. “I mean…you did set the bar high last year with the impromptu trip to Okinawa.”

“True,” he mused. “But this year, I thought — why travel when we can just…stay cozy here?”

He pulled you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You sank into him, warmth spreading through you despite the chilly February air.

“You really did all this?” you asked, glancing around the rooftop setup.

“Of course! Who else would go this over-the-top for you?” His voice was teasing, but there was a softness in his eyes that gave him away. “I wanted tonight to be about us. No curses, no missions, no interruptions.”

Your heart gave a little flutter. Gojo wasn’t always the best with words when it came to feelings — but when he showed it, it hit like a freight train.

“Come on,” he said, tugging you toward the blanket. “I brought your favorite pastries from that place you love.”

“You went all the way across town for those?”

“For you? Always.”

You sat together, sharing bites of pastries and sipping hot chocolate as the night unfolded. Gojo kept making ridiculous jokes, most of which made you groan but left you laughing anyway. His hand never left yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly.

As the night wore on, he grew quieter. You turned to find him gazing at you with an expression you didn’t see often — vulnerable, unguarded.

“Hey,” you whispered. “What’s that look for?”

He hesitated, then gave you a crooked smile. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

Your chest tightened. You squeezed his hand. “Me too, Satoru.”

Geto - The February air was crisp, the scent of snow lingering despite the clear sky. Tokyo streets were alive with Valentine’s Day cheer — couples strolling beneath pink banners, flower shops bustling with last-minute customers, and cafés offering heart-shaped treats in every window.

But the warmth of the city didn’t quite reach you tonight.

You sat by the window of your apartment, absently tracing patterns on the frosty glass. Your phone sat on the table beside you, the screen dark except for the faint reflection of your own face.

You shouldn’t have expected a message.

Not today. Not from him.

The familiar ache stirred in your chest. It was easier most days, the distance between you and Suguru Geto a wound you learned to live with. But today? When the world seemed to revolve around love and companionship? It hurt.

You squeezed your eyes shut and leaned your forehead against the window.

Stop waiting, you told yourself. He’s not coming back.

But then your phone buzzed. Once. Twice.

Your heart lurched as you snatched it up.

Unknown Number: Look outside.

Your breath caught. The number wasn’t saved, but you knew who it was. Even after all this time, you’d never forgotten the pattern of his messages — the deliberate wording, the weight behind so few words.

You stood slowly, heart racing as you stepped to the window. Outside, beneath the streetlamp across from your building, stood a figure dressed in black. His long, dark hair was half-pulled back, the rest cascading over his shoulders. Even from here, you could feel the weight of his gaze.

Suguru Geto.

Your knees went weak, and your breath hitched.

You shouldn’t go to him. You knew better. But your body moved on instinct — grabbing your coat and rushing out the door, heart beating louder than the sound of your footsteps down the stairs.

The cold night air hit your face as you pushed through the entrance and crossed the street. He didn’t move until you were standing in front of him.

“You’re really here,” you whispered.

“I shouldn’t be,” he said softly. His voice was deeper than you remembered, but it still held that same calm, steady rhythm. “But…I couldn’t stay away today.”

His eyes softened as they met yours, the faintest crack in the mask he wore now. You searched his face, noting the faint scars, the exhaustion in his features. He looked older. Colder. But beneath that? The man you once loved was still there.

“Why now?” you asked, voice trembling.

He hesitated. “Because it’s Valentine’s Day. And no matter how far I go…you’re still the one I think of today.”

Tears burned in your eyes, and you clenched your jaw to hold them back. “Suguru…you left. You chose—”

“I know.” His expression tightened with guilt. “And I still believe in what I chose. But that doesn’t mean I stopped—” He cut himself off, exhaling shakily. “It doesn’t mean I stopped missing you.”

The cold wind swirled between you.

You should walk away. You should tell him that missing you wasn’t enough to erase everything he’d done.

But your heart betrayed you.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. For a moment, he stood still, as though unsure if he was allowed this. Then his arms came around you, holding you tightly, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered against his chest.

“I know,” he murmured, voice cracking.

“And I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I know that too.”

Neither of you moved. The world faded — the lights, the decorations, the laughter from passing couples. For one night, time stood still.

“Just tonight?” you asked.

His hand cradled the back of your head. “Just tonight.”

Valentine’s Day was supposed to be sweet, but with Suguru, it was always bittersweet.

Because tomorrow, he’d be gone again.

And you’d be left waiting for a ghost.

Nanami - February 14th had always felt like a manufactured holiday to Nanami Kento — an excuse for companies to push chocolates, flowers, and overpriced dinners. He wasn’t a cynic about love; he simply didn’t believe in grand gestures dictated by a calendar, he believed it should be an everyday thing.

But then he met you.

And now he found himself standing in the kitchen of your shared apartment, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, meticulously arranging a plate of homemade chocolate-covered strawberries. Each one was dipped perfectly — because, of course, Nanami wouldn’t settle for uneven coatings — and sprinkled with just the right amount of crushed hazelnuts.

He glanced at the clock. 6:58 p.m. You’d be home any minute.

The apartment was quiet except for the faint jazz music playing from the speaker. A bottle of wine was already breathing on the counter, and dinner was simmering on the stove. Simple. Elegant. Thoughtful. Just like he knew you preferred.

The lock clicked, and he turned just as the door opened.

“Smells amazing in here,” you called as you stepped inside, cheeks pink from the cold. When your eyes landed on him — standing there in his crisp white shirt, apron still tied around his waist — your smile softened. “Did you…cook?”

“Of course,” he said, walking over to help you with your coat. His hands brushed against yours, warm and grounding. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“You hate Valentine’s Day.”

“I dislike the commercial aspect,” he corrected. “I never said I dislike making you happy.”

Your heart melted a little. Nanami wasn’t a man of grand speeches or showy declarations. His love lived in the details — the way he remembered how you liked your tea, the gentle hand on your back when you crossed the street, the soft “be careful” every time you left for work.

You stepped up on your toes and kissed him. His hands found your waist instinctively, pulling you closer. His lips, warm and deliberate, moved against yours with that same steady devotion he brought to everything he did.

When you pulled back, your heart was racing. “So…what’s for dinner, Mr. Romance?”

He arched a brow. “Homemade pasta with a cream sauce and seared salmon.”

Your mouth watered. “You made homemade pasta?”

Nanami gave a modest shrug. “It’s not difficult with the right tools.”

You laughed, slipping your hand into his and letting him lead you to the dining table, where candles flickered gently.

The meal was perfect, of course. Nanami didn’t know how to do anything halfway. As you finished the last bites, you leaned back in your chair with a content sigh.

“You really went all out,” you said softly.

Nanami reached across the table, taking your hand in his. His thumb traced absent circles on your skin. “I know I don’t always say it the way others might…but I need you to know how much you mean to me.”

Your throat tightened. “I do know.”

“I don’t need Valentine’s Day to remind me to appreciate you,” he continued, voice low and sure. “But I’ll use any excuse to make you smile like this.”

Tears prickled in your eyes. You squeezed his hand, heart full.

“Well,” you said, blinking them away with a teasing grin, “if this is what happens when you don’t care about Valentine’s Day…maybe I’ll have to start pushing for more holidays.”

Nanami chuckled — a soft, genuine sound that always made you feel like the luckiest person alive.

And when he kissed you again, slow and deliberate, with Nanami, every day felt like Valentine’s Day.

Toji - Valentine’s Day was just another day to Toji Fushiguro. Overpriced chocolates, corny decorations, couples trying too hard — none of it made sense to him. Love? Romance? He’d seen how easily both could crack and fall apart.

But then came you. And somehow, against all odds, you stuck around.

Which was probably why you were sitting on the couch that night, wearing your favorite hoodie, scrolling through your phone, while the clock ticked past 10 p.m. Your gaze flicked to the door every few minutes, even if you tried to pretend otherwise.

You weren’t one to make a big deal out of holidays, but…you’d hoped, just a little, that Toji might remember.

When the lock clicked and the door opened, you sat up. He stepped in with his usual swagger — black coat slung over his shoulders, hair damp from the light snowfall outside. His eyes landed on you immediately.

“Waitin’ for me?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

“No,” you said, maybe a little too quickly. “Just…watching TV.”

He hummed in response and kicked off his shoes. “That so?”

You turned back to the screen, determined not to let disappointment show. But then Toji’s hand appeared in your line of vision, holding a small, slightly crumpled brown paper bag.

“What’s this?” you asked, taking it cautiously.

“Open it.”

Inside the bag was a simple plastic container, the kind convenience stores use for pastries. Through the clear lid, you saw a strawberry shortcake — two layers of sponge cake with cream and fresh strawberries sandwiched in between. It was slightly smushed on one side, like he’d carried it under his arm for a while.

Your chest tightened. “You…got me cake?”

He shrugged, avoiding your gaze. “Figured you’d like it.”

You tried to bite back the grin tugging at your lips. “From that bakery I told you about?”

“Tch. What do I look like, a guy who stands in line for fancy desserts?” He flopped onto the couch beside you, throwing an arm over the backrest. “Nah, just grabbed it on the way here.”

But you noticed the faint red sticker on the container — the bakery logo you’d gushed about weeks ago. The one that was always packed.

You turned toward him, warmth blooming in your chest. “Toji…did you actually go out of your way to get me a Valentine’s Day cake?”

He groaned. “Don’t make it weird, sweetheart.”

“Too late.” You bit your lip, eyes glimmering. “This is…really sweet.”

He grunted, clearly uncomfortable with the compliment. “Yeah, yeah. Just eat the damn cake.”

You didn’t push him further. Instead, you stood, grabbed two forks, and plopped back down beside him. You handed him one and opened the container.

The first bite was soft, sweet, and just a little crooked from the journey here. “Mmm,” you said, closing your eyes. “Perfect.”

Toji watched you, his fork twirling idly between his fingers. “Good?”

“Very.” You held out a forkful for him. He leaned forward, taking it without hesitation. His lips closed around the fork, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he chewed.

“Eh,” he said with a shrug. “Too sweet.”

You laughed. “You’re too grumpy.”

“Yeah? But you still like me.”

“Somehow.”

He set his fork down, watching you for a moment. Then, without warning, he tugged you into his lap. You squeaked as you landed against his chest, but his arms locked around you before you could move.

“Toji!”

“Hush.” He kissed your neck, the rough scrape of his stubble sending a shiver down your spine. “Only did this stupid Valentine’s thing for you, y’know.”

“I know,” you whispered, heart racing.

“Don’t expect this every year.”

“Of course not,” you teased. “Just every other year.”

He nipped at your ear in response, making you squeal. The cake sat forgotten on the table as Toji buried his face in your neck, holding you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Valentine’s Day might not have been his thing, but for you? He’d put up with the sweetness — cake, cuddles, and all.

Sukuna - Valentine’s Day was laughable to Sukuna.

Love? Affection? Gifts wrapped in pretty ribbons and declarations whispered in the dark? Disgusting. Humans were so easily swayed by fleeting emotions, so eager to bend to each other’s will for the sake of something as trivial as romance.

Yet here he was. Sitting on the edge of your bed. Waiting for you.

The box of chocolates on the nightstand mocked him — heart-shaped, adorned with a delicate satin bow. He didn’t even know if you liked chocolates. He just knew that the cashier had smiled a little too sweetly at him when he bought them, and he’d had to resist the urge to rip her tongue out.

The things he did for you.

The door creaked open. “Sukuna?”

You stepped inside, cheeks pink from the cold, hair slightly mussed from the wind. Your eyes found his immediately — sharp and glowing even in the dim light.

“You’re here,” you said softly.

“Obviously.” He tilted his head, gaze raking over you. “Who else would be stupid enough to sit around waiting for you?”

You snorted, shrugging off your coat. “Nice to see you too, Your Highness.”

Sukuna watched you with a predator’s patience as you moved around the room, kicking off your shoes and tossing your bag onto the chair. You always did this — acted casual, like the King of Curses lounging in your bedroom was perfectly normal. Maybe it was, by now.

But tonight, he was restless. And he hated it.

“What’s with the face?” you asked, eyeing him.

His jaw tightened. “Tch. Nothing.”

Your eyes flicked to the nightstand. “Wait…what’s this?”

Sukuna didn’t respond as you picked up the box. The bow slipped between your fingers, and you looked at him with wide eyes.

“You bought me chocolates?”

“Don’t read into it.”

“On Valentine’s Day?”

“Coincidence,” he muttered.

You bit your lip to contain your smile. “Uh-huh. Sure. The King of Curses went out and bought chocolates for a mortal on Valentine’s Day…by accident.”

His eye twitched. “Careful, little one.”

But your delight was contagious. You sat beside him, holding the box close like it was some priceless artifact. “Seriously, Sukuna…thank you. I didn’t think you’d—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted. “Don’t get sappy.”

Too late. You were already leaning into him, resting your head on his shoulder. His muscles went rigid at first — softness wasn’t something he welcomed — but then his arm settled around you, palm splaying over your hip possessively.

“You know,” you said after a moment, voice playful, “if you wanted to spend Valentine’s Day with me, you could’ve just said so.”

He scoffed. “I don’t want to spend it with you.”

“Oh?”

“You just…happen to be the only person I tolerate.” His fingers slid up your side, brushing the hem of your shirt. “And I had the night free.”

“Of course.” You tilted your head to look at him. “No other humans to torment?”

“Not tonight.” His gaze dropped to your lips. “But if you keep running your mouth, I might make an exception.”

“Mm. Terrifying.” You leaned up, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of his mouth. His breath caught — just for a second — before his hand tangled in your hair, pulling you in for a rougher, deeper kiss.

When you finally pulled apart, your lips tingling, you whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Sukuna.”

He smirked, thumb running over your lower lip. “You should be terrified that you’re mine.”

“Maybe,” you said, voice soft. “But I’m not.”

The chocolates sat forgotten as Sukuna kissed you again, harder this time — desperate to remind you, on this silly mortal holiday, that you belonged to him.

And maybe, just maybe, he belonged to you too.

Yuji - Yuji Itadori had never been great with romantic stuff. Sure, he could crack jokes, be a goofball, and brighten any room with his smile, but Valentine’s Day? That was a whole new level of pressure.

But this year was different. This year, he had you.

And Yuji Itadori was determined to make it special. “Okay, okay, wait,” Yuji muttered to himself, pacing his tiny apartment. “Flowers. Check. Chocolates. Check. Dinner reservations—” He glanced at the takeout containers on the counter. “Uh…sort of check.”

He ran a hand through his hair, the nerves starting to eat away at his confidence. He just wanted tonight to be perfect.

You deserved that.

The knock on his door made him jump. “Okay,” he whispered, straightening his sweater and taking a deep breath. “Cool. Calm. Romantic. Yeah, I got this.”

He opened the door, and there you stood — cheeks flushed from the cold, bundled in your favorite coat, smiling at him like he hung the stars.

“Hey,” you greeted, voice soft.

“Hey,” he said, a little breathless. “Wow. You…you look amazing.”

Your lips quirked up. “I’m literally wearing jeans and a sweater.”

“Yeah, but you make it look good.”

He stepped aside to let you in. The warm scent of takeout curry drifted through the room, along with the faint aroma of the candles he’d lit — all mismatched shapes and sizes, creating a cozy, slightly chaotic glow.

“Yuji,” you said, turning to him. “This is…so cute.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks pink. “Yeah? Not too much?”

“It’s perfect.”

He visibly relaxed. “Good. ’Cause, uh, I kinda went all out.”

He motioned toward the table, where a small bouquet of daisies sat in a glass jar. Next to it, a heart-shaped box of chocolates and two plates of steaming curry rice waited.

“Yuji,” you whispered. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”

“Yeah, but…I wanted to.” He shifted on his feet. “I mean, it’s Valentine’s Day. And you’re, like, the coolest person I know. And I…” His voice faltered. “I really like you.”

Your heart melted. “I really like you too.”

The tension in his shoulders eased, replaced by that signature grin. “Okay, cool. Awesome. Let’s eat before the rice gets all weird.”

Dinner was filled with laughter, teasing, and Yuji’s endless supply of goofy jokes. The curry was delicious, and the chocolates turned out to be your favorite kind — something he claimed was a lucky guess but had secretly researched for weeks.

Later, as the candles burned lower, you sat on the couch, leaning against him while he scrolled through movie options. His arm draped around your shoulders, his thumb absentmindedly tracing circles on your arm.

“So,” he said, voice soft, “was this, like…an okay Valentine’s Day?”

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “More than okay. It was perfect.”

His smile turned shy. “Good. ’Cause, uh…I kinda wanna make it a tradition. You know…if you want.”

You reached up, cupped his face, and kissed him — soft, sweet, and lingering. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide, lips parted in surprise.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’d like that.”

Yuji’s grin stretched wide as he pulled you into another kiss, this one filled with pure, unfiltered happiness.

Valentine’s Day might not have been his forte, but with you? He was pretty sure he’d nailed it.

Megumi - Megumi Fushiguro didn’t care about Valentine’s Day.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself. Every year, he watched people get swept up in the holiday — chocolates, flowers, declarations of love — and he thought it was all pointless. Why dedicate one day to something that should be shown every day?

But then he met you.

And suddenly, Valentine’s Day didn’t seem so ridiculous. The afternoon sun cast a pale, cold glow through the windows of Megumi’s apartment. He stood at the kitchen counter, scowling down at the small box in his hands. It was a simple gift — dark chocolates you liked and a handwritten note tucked beneath the lid.

Nothing fancy. Nothing loud. Just…something to show you that he cared.

He set the box down and rubbed the back of his neck. “This is stupid,” he muttered.

But when his phone buzzed with your On my way! text, his heart kicked into an anxious rhythm. Too late to back out now.

When you arrived, you were all smiles, cheeks pink from the cold. “Hey, Megumi.”

“Hey,” he said, stepping aside to let you in.

The warmth of his apartment was a welcome relief, and you sighed as you slipped off your coat. “Smells nice in here.”

“I…made tea,” he said, clearing his throat. “Thought it might help warm you up.”

“Aw,” you teased lightly. “Thoughtful as always.”

His ears burned at the compliment. “Yeah, well…it’s cold out.”

You followed him into the living room, where two mugs of tea waited on the table. You sat beside him on the couch and curled your legs underneath you, taking the warm cup with a grateful hum.

“So,” you said after a sip, “any big plans today?”

He shrugged. “Not really.”

“Right. Because you don’t care about Valentine’s Day.”

“I don’t,” he said quickly.

You gave him a knowing look but didn’t push. Megumi had always been a little awkward when it came to expressing emotions — but you’d learned to read the small gestures. The way he made you tea when it was cold. The way he always stood closest to you in crowds. The way he remembered your favorite foods without you ever having to remind him.

After a moment, his gaze flicked toward the table beside him. “Uh…I got you something,” he said, voice low.

Your eyebrows shot up. “Wait — seriously?”

He grabbed the box, hesitated, then handed it over without meeting your eyes. “It’s not a big deal. Just…open it.”

You carefully undid the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside were neatly arranged chocolates and a small, folded note. Your chest tightened at the sight.

“Chocolates and a card?” you teased, though your voice was soft. “Megumi, you’re going all out.”

He groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Don’t make this weird.”

You unfolded the note and read his handwriting:

“I know Valentine’s Day is supposed to be about big, romantic gestures, but I think the little things matter more. Like how you make everything feel lighter, even when things are hard. I might not say it much, but…I’m really glad you’re here. Happy Valentine’s Day — Megumi.”

Your vision blurred for a moment, and you set the note down with a wobbly smile. “Megumi, this is…perfect.”

He shifted uncomfortably, face flushed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You reached over and squeezed his hand. “I’m really glad I’m here too.”

He squeezed back, his thumb brushing yours. His eyes softened, tension melting from his shoulders.

“Good,” he said quietly.

The chocolates sat untouched for a while as you leaned into his side, your hand still held firmly in his.

Megumi Fushiguro didn’t need grand gestures or fancy gifts to show he cared. For him, love was quiet, steady, and honest.

And for you, that was more than enough.

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

MAY THIS KIND OF LOVE NEVER FIND ME. ( HOTD! MODERN AU! X READER )

AUTHOR NOTE! Back to posting for a short time cuz I go back to full time college in a week. <3 pairing: Modern AU! Aegon Targaryen x Reader prompt : based on the trend of 'may this love / kind of love never find me' trend on tiktok, where Aegon is determined to make your relationship the opposite of the trend. word count: 1, 000+ words

Aegon had never been the best of boyfriend’s, he was well aware of that. He would often forget important dates, anniversaries⎯being the worst. Or the names of the women he dated, earning him a hefty amount of slaps and curses. He could be brash, too much to the point where it was no longer charming. He could be temperamental, jealous, and admittedly a spoiled brat. 

He’d like to think the concoction that was his childhood, with sprinkles of generational trauma added for ‘spice’, made him that way. But, he at least attempted with you, which was more than he could say about previous relationships. Key word on attempted to be the best boyfriend that he could be. 

He had once brought you flowers, though they were crushed from stupidly sitting on them. Or the time that he took care of you after your wisdom teeth removal, where he had smacked you in the face with the apartment door. Or the other time where he had tried to be romantic and carry you bridal style, only to smash his toe in the corner of the couch and drop you on the floor. The attempt was there, really, he just sucked at his execution of it.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Aegon scrolled through the photos of some random couple on social media, reading the caption. ‘Yeah, he doesn’t help me with the kids. But, it’s not that big of a deal.’, along with cheesy hashtags for ‘true love’ and ‘true marriage’. Wrinkling his nose up at it, he clicks on the comments, seeing a flood of ‘red flag alert’ and ‘leave him, girl’. Seeing another post linked to it, he clicks on it, unable to resist the urge to look into some else's relationship. After all, they were the ones airing it all out, it wasn’t his fault if he looked. 

Seeing another couple posing in cheesy photos, the caption once again airing out a little too much of their business, ‘He doesn’t help around the house, like ever. But, that’s what I like. It’s totally fine, so no hate comments about him, please.❤️’ Scrolling through each comment he could see, he pauses on the most liked, ‘May this kind of love never find me’. His gut churns in a way that he doesn’t like. Okay, that one kinda hit a little too close to home. He didn’t really help a lot around the apartment, but it’s because you liked things to be done a certain way. 

“No, Aegon, just let me do this⎯” You protest, visibly wincing at the way he dusted the bookshelf.

“Why? I wanna help. I’m not incompetent, babe.” He argues, wiping away specs of dust. 

“No, no, just stop.” You snatch the dust rag from his hand, “I just⎯I just like theses kind of things to be done a certain way. Just leave it alone.”

Clicking onto the audio attached to the pictures, he falls into a rabbit hole of posts, a hashtag attached. ‘#May this kind of love never find me’. Each post spouts out relationship dramas and ‘icks’, from leaving the toilet seat up at night to not doing anything for their partners on birthdays and anniversaries.

Then, there were the video’s. Some of them from couples, others from fanart of book series, and some from couples from TV Shows and Movies. His gut churns more and more as they point out faults that were a little too close to his own. The top comments are always the same in one way or another, ‘may this kind of love never find me’.

“Aegon?” You call, snapping him out of his daze.

“Oh, yeah, um, hey!” He forces a smile, turning off his phone. 

“Are you okay? You look like a kicked puppy.” You raise a brow, poking your head out from the hallway closet.

“Yeah, yeah, just my football team lost and now I gotta deal with some shit in my fantasy football league. Move some players around and try to trade others, you know?” He lies, trying to make you uninterested as possible to drop the subject.

“Um, not my expertise. But, um, hopefully, it all turns out well for your team.” You offer a soft smile, “I guess?” 

Faltering at your words, he stiffly nods his head in agreement, watching as you fill another cardboard box with clutter from the closet. He could see the specs of old warped pieces of newspaper and a broken vase peek out from the top. Licking his chapped lips, he shifts on the couch, turning his open on and off. The home screen pops up, showing a photo of you and him, posed in cheesy 80s inspired sweaters. Turning his phone off for good, he watches you pick up the box, softly closing the closet door shut with your hip. 

“So, um, what are you going to do with that stuff?” He 

“Oh, most of it is broken junk, so trash. But, I do wanna go to the basement storage and see what else is broken to throw out. We can use the empty space in the apartment, you know?” You explain, giving the cardboard box a soft shake to motion to the junk inside.

“Oh, cool.” He nods, not really paying too much attention to your words.

“Yeah, if you're not too busy with your fantasy football stuff, you can see what else is broken in the apartment and bring it downstairs with me.” You smile, offering him the chance to join. 

“Oh, yeah, um, sure.” He hums, not in the least bit interested in the idea of doing spring cleaning.

Looking down at his lap, he clicks the power button on his phone, the home screen popping back up again. He stares at your face, a hint of a pout curling at his lips. His mind kept wandering back to those posts, the captions and comments about how horrible the relationships sounded.

What if you felt the same way that those people in the comments felt about your relationship? Would you dump him? No, you should dump him. Just like those comments said in other posts. Watching as the screen goes black and his phone turns off, he knew that he should talk to you about it, after all, communication was something you wanted more of on his end.

“You don’t have to, Aegon.” You sigh, putting the box down on the coffee table.

“No, I’ll come down, just gonna take my time to look at my stuff.” He shakes his head, “I’m sure I’ve got some junk in there.”

‘He doesn’t help around the house. But, he can’t help it.’

‘He just forgets things a lot of the time, not stuff he likes, but stuff that I like or I consider kinda important.’

‘He doesn’t like when I wear revealing stuff. It’s not really his fault, it’s mine.’

‘He tends to get jealous really quickly, so I stopped hanging out with my friends.’

It kept on spiraling in his head, those captions that he swore he had heard you complain about at least once in your relationship. Or was he just being paranoid now? Were his thoughts just spiraling so much that he couldn’t tell what was real and what was just the influence of social media? Or had you truly said those things to him and he had ignored them?

Chewing on his bottom lip until he tasted blood, he turned on his phone one last time, just staring at the home screen. Seeing the time, he lets out a sigh, deciding now was the time to stop sulking and help you downstairs. Throwing his phone carelessly onto the coffee table, it smacks the lamp, sending it falling onto the rug. 

Bang.

“Aw, fuck!” He curses, scrambling to pick up the pieces of the now broken lamp.

The vase bottom was now cracked down the center, still held together miraculously, but cracked enough to ruin the aesthetic of it. Maybe he could fix it? Add some gold paint over the crack like in those art posts you liked on social media. Say it was a craft or something, right? Wincing softly at the damage, he turns the lamp on, the bulb letting out a loud crackling before popping. Nevermind.

“Fuck my life.” He grumbles, pissed he had ruined your lamp.

Running his hands through his hair, he looks for the cardboard box, hoping to hide the evidence of your massacred lamp under the other junk. Not seeing it, he grumbles as he realizes you took the box downstairs with you. Great, he was gonna have to explain what happened. Chewing on his bottom lip, he saunters into the kitchen, hoping to find some kind of sweets to sweeten you up with. Finding some slightly stale biscuits in the pantry, he puts them on a paper plate, snatching the old container to throw away along with it. 

Forcing himself to act casual, he walks down the stairs, heading to the basement. Seeing you throwing away some moth eaten christmas decoration, he tenses up, feeling like a guilty dog. You were gonna be mad. He just knew it, and it was gonna be like those comments on those couple posts. Stepping on the bottom step, it squeaks loudly under his weight, announcing his presence in the basement. 

“Babe?” You turn around, cracking a half surprised smile at the sight of him. 

“I got you something to eat, cause you were working up a sweat cleaning and all that.” He shoves the plate into your hand, hiding the lamp behind his back.

“Aw, thanks.” You smile, furrowing your brows slightly as he tucks his hands suspiciously behind his back.

“So, um, you’re really pretty, you know that right?” He blurts out, attempting to distract you. 

“Um, thanks, I guess?”

“Yeah, and you’re really funny. Like, the best kind of funny, you know?” He rambles on, attempting to smuggle the lamp in the cardboard box without you seeing. 

Leaning to the left, you furrow your brows at him, leaning to the left with him. Tilting your head to the side, he swore that you knew and were just torturing him. Or was he just being super paranoid now? Sweating slightly at your stare, he pulls you abruptly into a hug, tightly pulling you against his chest with his free hand. Forcing your head into the crook of his neck, he shoves the broken lamp into the box, it clanging with the other junk inside. Letting out a soft sigh, he lets you go, watching you stare at him like he had another head. 

“Aegon?” You ask, a hint of suspicion in your tone. 

“Yeah, sweetie?” He chuckles, trying to act as if he was not just having a mini heart attack just moments ago. 

“Is that my lamp?” You push him aside, pointing to the lamp in the box. 

“Um, no..?” 

“No, that is my lamp.” You argue, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“Pff! It’s like totally not your lamp, you're just seeing things!” He weakly chuckles, sweating. 

“Are you calling me crazy?” You scoff, unamused by his incriminating behavior. 

“Yes..?” He asks unsure, “No? Um, like in a sexy way?”

--

[sirhamburrger]

yoichi isagi is just a little younger than you. that’s what you find out, at least, when he and the other blue lock players are first introduced to bastard münchen.

this has held true, for obvious reasons, alongside the three undeniable truths that will hold true for as long as michael kaiser and alexis ness play for the team, and you keep managing it.

but you're think you might want to add another to this relatively short list, because -

yoichi isagi is persistent. good for getting the results that bastard münchen wants, but not so good for you.

see, it's been approximately three years since the blue lock project concluded, three years since yoichi and his friends have been signed to the team for the forseeable future. and three years in which he hasn't stopped trying to garner your attention. not even once.

he goes to fill up the team's water bottles with you, helps keep the team in line when the coaches are away, thanks you after every match won for your hard work and dedication.

the mutual attraction isn’t a question. the fleeting but also strangely lingering touches, and the murmured 'thank you's make sure of that. yet you can’t bring yourself to open up to him.

michael and alexis know. they know that deep down inside, you want something serious with somebody who can give you everything. and you’re just unsure - scared, even - if yoichi can do that for you.

but now it's nearing midnight on valentine's day, and you're holding on to someone as the whole team stumbles out of a local pub, completely inebriated. alexis is laughing and michael is laughing and you're laughing, drunk off your ass and feeling like you're on top of the world.

in a split second the pavement rushes up to meet your face, and you're pretty sure the person you're holding on to is being dragged down alongside you -

you fall to the ground, and it knocks the air out of your lungs. well, more accurately, you fall on top of someone, and the two of you are sprawled on the cold ground.

"m'sorry," you slur, trying to get to your feet. "lost my balance for a second there."

"no, it's fine, really!" yoichi squeaks, and you're nodding along, relieved.

wait - yoichi?

your vision is still spinning when you finally push yourself up onto your elbows, the heat of another body underneath you keeping you grounded. you blink down, disoriented, and there he is - yoichi isagi, wide-eyed and flushed, his hands hovering uncertainly over your waist like he's not sure whether to steady you or let you go.

"uh -" his voice cracks slightly before he clears his throat, his breath a little too warm in the cold night air. "are you okay?"

you let out a breathless half-laugh half-scoff, still trying to regain your balance. "yeah. more embarrassed than anything, honestly."

his lips quirk up into a crooked smile, soft and a little uncertain. "you, um… you really shouldn’t be embarrassed. i mean, considering the situation."

you tilt your head. "what situation?"

he hesitates for a moment, his hands finally settling at your waist, a firm but gentle presence. you hate yourself for liking it. then, as if spurred on by the alcohol or the moment or just sheer desperation, he blurts out, "you falling for me, obviously."

you stare.

then you groan, shoving at his chest. "that was genuinely so horrible."

"right?" he laughs, his grip tightening instinctively when you shift like you’re going to roll off him and onto the ground. "but, um -" his smile fades slightly, something nervous but determined taking its place. "since it’s still technically valentine’s day, and, you know, we’re already kind of on top of each other… would you want to go on a real date with me? sober. tomorrow."

your heart stutters.

it shouldn’t surprise you, not after three years of this - of him, of this unspoken thing lingering between you. and maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the way his hands feel warm even through the fabric of your clothes, but for once, you don’t think too hard about it.

you just nod.

"yeah," you murmur, allowing yourself to smile. "i’d like that."

yoichi exhales like he's been holding his breath this entire time. his grin is wide and a little stupid, and before you can call him out on it, alexis and michael are dragging you both up with raucous laughter, half the team still stumbling around in the background.

but even as the night carries on, you can still feel the ghost of yoichi’s hands at your waist, the warmth of his body under yours, and the undeniable certainty that maybe - just maybe - this is something real.

© sirhamburrger

bastard münchen’s manager is just a little older than yoichi. that’s what he finds out, at least, when he and the other blue lock players are first introduced to the german team.

there are three truths, noa tells them, that will hold true for as long as michael kaiser and alexis ness play for the team, and you keep managing it.

number one: michael kaiser is the core of the team. number two: wherever michael kaiser goes, alexis ness follows. and number three: the only person who kaiser and ness listen to is you.

you’re interesting, yoichi thinks. not exactly quiet, but not assuming either. the first time he speaks to you is at his first ever practice with the team. it’s not going well, not at all, because -

“micha and alex giving you a hard time?” you say bluntly. you’re speaking english now, not the german you speak with the coaches and regulars, but yoichi still finds himself depending on his translating earpiece to understand you.

“have they… have they always been like this?” he takes a sip from his bottle, immediately stepping to the side when he realises raichi and the others are waiting to receive their water bottles.

you eye him with what looks like mild interest, then look off to where kaiser and ness roughhouse on the field still.

“if you mean since they were fifteen, then yeah, they’ve always been like that.”

“you’ve known them a long time, then?”

“you could say that.”

you toss them each a towel, yelling something in german, and ness shouts something back. and isagi’s not really sure, but he thinks it sounds something like “love”.

“should i call you that too?” he jokes - or tries to, at least. his smile quickly fades as you shoot him a withering stare. “l-love, i mean-”

“not unless you wanna get trashed on the field later at practice.”

you turn on your heel and walk away, and yoichi isagi falls in love a little bit, just then.

© sirhamburrger

[youcouldmakealife]

Gabe/Stephen (Bryce/Jared); tell me about it, stud

Because I had to do ~something for Valentine's, and while there was plenty of romance in COTT if you looked (Holden Chase shutting up for twenty minutes is true romance), I figured it'd be a good day to feature the stars of the upcoming Kickstarter.

No Expectation of Returns doesn't really roll off the tongue, so I've dubbed them (and the Kickstarter project itself) The April Fools, because they were both born in April (April 25 and 27, 1991, for those curious). Stephen's lived two whole days without Gabe in his life. Gabe's happy with the tally of none.

Everybody knows Gabe's a sucker for Stephen. Very few realise just how mutual that is.

“Okay,” Gabe says, which is all Stephen needs to hear to give him his undivided attention.

Stephen had been rifling through the kitchen cupboards when Gabe called, trying to find himself a low-effort snack, though the food gathering operation gets abandoned as soon as Stephen’s finished asking Gabe how his day’s been.

It’s something about the way he says it, a thread of laughter in his voice, but incredulity too. It’s easy to make Gabe laugh, though Stephen acknowledges he’s saying that as someone with decades of practice, and also as the person who is, he thinks, the best at it. Dmitry probably spends more time with Gabe, with them on the road half the season, so he might win for volume, but frankly, his attempts are all crude, so Stephen thinks he still has the edge.

It’s easy, it turns out, to make someone laugh when you’ve known them their entire life. Extremely difficult to surprise them, however.

Though it’s hardly only Stephen who has a hard time surprising Gabe. He has this — vision, Stephen supposes, seems to see well past the horizon everyone else does, and everything he does see, he tends to take in stride. It is, frankly, one of his most infuriating qualities — possibly even the most infuriating, tied with that particular way he says ‘Steve’ that always makes Stephen want to bite him. But it’s also the reason Gabe’s so steady — not to mention the reason Gabe still puts up with him — so Stephen has grudging respect for it.

But Gabe sounds incredulous, so Stephen knows, without another word, that whatever it is Gabe has to say, it takes priority over balancing effort versus nutrition.

“One sec,” Stephen says, and goes straight to the nearest junk food stash — or, at least, the nearest one he recalls, sometimes Gabe finds hiding places Stephen had entirely forgotten about — and grabs a bag of Smart Food. He suspects it will be an appropriate snack.

“Okay,” Stephen says. “I’ve got the popcorn ready.”

“You mean that literally, don’t you,” Gabe says. It isn't a question.

“Yep,” Stephen says anyway, tucking the phone against his shoulder as he rips it open. "Lay it on me."

“Jared’s married to a Calgary Flame,” Gabe says, then, “Did you just drop the popcorn?”

“It’s literally everywhere now,” Stephen says. “And yes, I meant that literally too. Wait, which Flame?”

“Bryce Marcus,” Gabe says, and all Stephen will say is that it’s a damn good thing he’s holding his phone to his ear again, or he might have dropped it too.

*

Gabe only continues after Stephen’s substituted the popcorn with chips, opened a bottle of wine, and assured Gabe that he will not leave the popcorn all over the kitchen floor, but Gabe has to know he’s not allowed to just drop that bomb without following up by giving Stephen every single salacious detail he’s gathered.

Infuriating, like Stephen says. Do you know how difficult it is to outwait someone as patient as Gabriel Markson? Stephen doesn’t. He doesn’t think he’s ever succeeded, not once. And believe him, he he has tried.

Not tonight, though. Tonight he doesn’t bother. When Gabe’s asking how Stephen’s day was, sounding genuinely interested, because he’s always genuinely interested — that particular tendency of his is one Stephen likes more than he would ever admit out loud — Stephen says, “Jared. And Bryce Marcus. Are you sure you got the right Flame, Gabe, he’s kind of—“

“I mean, Jared introduced me to him,” Gabe says. “So I’m pretty sure.”

“Wait,” Stephen says. “You met him? When did you meet him?”

“At the dinner Jared had me come along for,” Gabe says, then, “Jared told me I could tell you all this, by the way. About Bryce, I mean. I wasn’t going to say anything if he wasn’t okay with it.”

“Gabe!” Stephen says.

Gabe’s — discretion, Stephen supposes the word would be, means there are likely plenty of things that Gabe doesn’t tell Stephen, simply because he thinks the other party would prefer he keep his mouth shut.

Meanwhile Stephen gives Gabe every single bit of gossip from wine nights — and there is a dizzying amount of gossip, a perpetual motion machine of gossip, most of the ones who aren’t working are bored as fuck —which he can trust never to reach anyone else’s ears because, again, Gabe would keep a secret to the grave. Which is probably the reason that Jared already trusts him enough to introduce him to his husband.

Obviously Stephen’s a little torn about this one.

Gabe doesn’t even say anything, just mutely waits Stephen out, like he always does when he knows he’s in the right, and he knows Stephen knows it too, or he will if he thinks about it for a minute. The worst part is he’s usually right. Like yes, obviously Stephen would prefer Gabe be reliable and trustworthy, but when someone's always that guy, every time you argue with him, it probably means you're being the unreasonable one.

“You don’t have to sound so smug about it,” Stephen says.

“I literally didn’t say a word,” Gabe says, and unfortunately the literality of that ‘literally’ doesn’t have to be confirmed, considering he didn’t.

“Dinner,” Stephen says. “Jared. Bryce Marcus.”

“And one of the other Flames,” Gabe says. “Jared’s buddy from Juniors. Bryce’s buddy too, I assume? I don’t know, we didn’t actually talk much, just kind of grimaced at each other as Jared and Bryce kept alternating between pretending they were just buddies and giving each other longing looks.”

“Wait, did they tell you or not?” Stephen asks. It wouldn’t surprise him at all if they hadn’t intended to let Gabe know, but he figured it out anyway. Even Stephen forgets sometimes just how quickly Gabe can take a few pieces of information and put together an entire essay.

“I think they were kind of testing me out?” Gabe asks. “Like, when I told Jared he should go home to his husband he got really embarrassed but he also seemed almost — relieved, maybe? Like he didn’t want to tell me but he wanted me to know. Or he wanted me to know, but only if I was okay with it, which I obviously was.”

“Wait,” Stephen says. “Was in front of Bryce, or—“

“Oh,” Gabe says. “Sorry, this was later, Bryce and Chaz left first and then I finished my beer while Jared stared at me like he was going to kill me if I took any longer, so I told him he should go home to his husband.”

This is all getting confused in Stephen’s head now, but he focuses on the most important part first. “You say there were longing looks?”

“I’d call them gazes,” Gabe says.

Never mind what Stephen said earlier: his favourite thing about Gabe is the way he plays along.

“There was also a little bit of eye fucking going on,” Gabe says, and Stephen chokes on his wine.

“Sorry,” Gabe says, as Stephen sputters.

“I got it up my nose, Gabriel,” Stephen says.

“Sorry,” Gabe says, but he sounds a little less repentant this time.

“Just tell me about the eye fucking,” Stephen says, then, “Wait, no, you’re skipping around too much, you need to establish the details. Where was dinner? A restaurant? Was this a planned dinner or was it more spontaneous? How exactly was this framed to you, did Jared say you were meeting his husband or that he was meeting some friends, or what? The buddy’s name is Chaz?”

“Do you want to know what I’m wearing too?” Gabe asks. "Help you set the scene better?"

“Right now I’m more curious about what everyone else was," Stephen says. "But we can have phone sex after if you want."

Stephen smiles into the sip of wine he takes then, safe in the knowledge Gabe can’t surprise him into a laugh when he’s the one laughing instead.