#with good fluff i swear

[fxllfaiiry]

OMG I LOVE THE you're the sunflower !!

this is not a request this just me ranting and more ideas for the MORE ANGST OMFG !!

wat if reader quits like hobie style in the movie.... OR READER BECAME DISTANT TO HIM AND STUFF but i would deff luv if reader calls it quits !! like after reader calls it quits... miguel was kinda off, noticing how he liked reader's presence AND AFTER THAT AN ANOMALY IS IN READERS WORLD AND he kinda go to readers world just finding her beating the anomaly infront of him..... them talking was .... awkward and short cause reader is diff now she not so bubbly like the last time they talked...... she's mature kinda like that BUT ANYWAYS ITS JUST MY RAMBLE <33 NOT FORCING U TO WRITE THE PART 2 ASAP </3 BUT TAKE UR TIME I WOULD BE DEFF READING THAT OMFG <33

TAKE CARE <33

wow I love this idea sm!! It's kinda similar to what I was thinking but in my head it's a little more angsty...

and tysm for ur support I really appreciate it omg 🥹🫶

[libraryofgage]

Good Vibrations Part One

Hello, it's me, back at it again with another Steddie AU.

Anyway, if I were tagging this AU, these would be the most important ones: Deaf Steve Harrington; Tooth-rotting Fluff; Getting Together

If you wanna be tagged in future parts, just let me know!

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

----

Steve has blown through three pairs of hearing aids in the past year. The first pair had lasted a few years and needed replacement because of normal wear and tear. The second pair was sacrificed during that fight with Jonathan. He hadn't been wearing them, but they'd been in Steve's pocket, and he'd landed at just the right angle to feel them shatter. The third pair was taken by the Russians because, despite Robin's shouting and cursing at them for being dumbasses (and this was before she actually knew what they were for), they accused him of recording their kidnapping and torture.

Honestly, he wouldn't recommend fighting Russians and Billy and Mind Flayers and driving while nearly totally deaf.

The funniest part of it all, though, is that Steve doesn't even use hearing aids regularly. He normally only wears them at home. The pair lost to Jonathan were present because, well, that whole day had been a lot for Steve, and he needed the comfort of knowing he could stop reading lips the moment it became too exhausting for him. The pair lost to the Russians was because he'd been getting ready to tell Robin about being deaf. She'd already clocked the weird things he does (well, weird to her, normal to Steve), and he figured letting her in on the big secret would bring them a little closer.

Of course, that didn't go the way he expected. Robin thought he was confessing love and decided to beat him to the punch. That's how he learned Robin is a lesbian, and Steve couldn't let her be the only one admitting to something like that, so he told her about being bi and his long-standing, hopeless crush. And being deaf. But the bi with a crush thing seemed more important in the moment. She took it in stride, it brought them closer, and then Robin asked if Steve could teach her sign language.

Which meant that Steve had to learn sign language because he never had. Between not wanting to feel even more different than he already did and trying to convince his parents that, really, everything was fine and he didn't need to go to a special school for deaf and hard-of-hearing kids, he'd never learned. Learning it had somehow felt like an admission of weakness, and that was the last thing he wanted. But he learned for Robin, and they stumbled through sign language together, creating new signs only they knew.

But that's all in the past now, and Steve is working his ass off at Family Video to afford a new pair because he refuses to ask his parents for money. If he asks them, they'll come back, and that's the last thing he wants. They don't need to have all their worries confirmed that Steve is helpless, and he doesn't want them anywhere near Hawkins "Hellscape" Indiana.

So. Working his ass off, taking extra shifts, and babysitting the kids as much as he can to make up for the whole Friends and Family Discount he gives their parents. He's exhausted, but he gets to recharge somewhat during his lunch break.

About a ten-minute walk from the Family Video is a record store, which Steve has started visiting daily to just breathe. The lone worker in the store is usually too busy listening to her own music to pay Steve any attention, letting him wander and try to determine which records will best serve him.

Steve drifts over to the rock and heavy metal section, hoping to find a new album but unsurprised when he doesn't. He browses through them anyway, moving past Metallica and Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden. He already has all of these albums on his shelf at home. He has the cassette tapes for them, too.

But he really wants something new. He likes the novelty of experiencing unfamiliar vibrations through the speaker, letting them thrum through his fingertips and into his bones. It's fun and relaxing, and after all the bullshit he's been through lately, he probably deserves something relaxing.

After glancing over a few more familiar albums, Steve sighs and glances at the counter by the door. The lone worker is standing there, headphones over her ears, and idly flipping through a magazine. She's chewing gum, and Steve braces himself for the sheer hell of trying to read her lips without making it obvious he's reading her lips while she's got something in her mouth to disrupt the normal shape of words and sounds.

But he has to try. Steve takes one more deep breath before walking over, shoving his hands into his pockets when he comes to a stop at the counter. The girl raises a hand, motioning for him to wait, so he stays quiet as she finishes reading her page. She flips to the next one before looking up, not making any move to pull her headphones off.

"Hi. Do you have any new rock or metal albums coming in soon," Steve asks, feeling the vibrations of speech in his throat and hoping his words aren't too loud.

They don't seem to be. The girl doesn't flinch or pull back. She just looks him up and down, taking in the polo shirt and the nice khakis and the Family Video vest he forgot to take off before leaving. Finally, her neck and shoulders jerk slightly, and Steve knows she's huffed in annoyance. "No," she says, the word clear enough in the shape of her lips for Steve to know it immediately.

He frowns slightly, his fingernails digging into his palms. Steve wouldn't mind just leaving now, but something keeps him there. He just...he really wants new music. He needs something new. "Are there gonna be any shows nearby?" he asks.

The girl rolls her eyes and says something, her mouth distorted by gum-chewing. Steve can barely make out the words "you" and "check" from her response. Thankfully, it's accompanied by a vague gesture at something behind him. Steve looks over his shoulder to see a bulletin board with flyers plastered across it.

"Right. Thanks," he says, nodding to her before walking over. The flyers are all different colors with various fonts that scream for Steve's attention. Some of them are for bands, some are advertisements of garage sales or instruments in need of a new home, and others are just business flyers from stores nearby.

He's seen the bulletin board before, but he's never actually paid attention to it. Steve has always been laser-focused on browsing the records. But now, Steve carefully reviews each flyer advertising shows. Some are for comedy shows, which he immediately dismisses. One seems promising, but then he sees how far it is, and Steve definitely can't do an overnight trip like that.

Finally, Steve sees a flyer advertising a show at the Hideout later that week. It's close enough that he won't be out overnight. The place is kind of seedy, but Steve figures he can find some corner near the stage to hide. Or he can bring Robin and let her help him navigate any potential social situations. He tugs the flyer off the board, gaze lingering on the "Corroded Coffin" emblazoned across the top.

He knows the band. Of course, he knows the band. He's extremely familiar with their singer. From a distance. Honestly, Eddie Munson probably doesn't have the best impression of him, but Steve's heart never really cared about that. Because Eddie is like everything Steve wants to be: he's loud and unafraid of being so, he doesn't care about his image and how others perceive him, and he looks like his laugh sounds beautiful. Steve wouldn't know if he's actually right about that last point, but Eddie throws his head back when he laughs, eyes crinkled and hand over his stomach like his muscles ache.

His mouth suddenly feels dry, but he's also filled with unprecedented courage. Steve has graduated (barely), and that means a significantly lower chance of running into Eddie during the day if watching the show somehow goes wrong.

Steve folds the flyer into quarters and stuffs it into his back pocket. He'll be overly aware of it being there until Robin starts her shift and he can show it to her, but that's okay. He throws a quick thanks over his shoulder as he leaves the shop, glancing up at the bell he can't hear that signals the door's opening. He vaguely remembers what bells are supposed to sound like (he'd heard a few before losing the ability to hear them), but he doesn't let himself dwell on it.

Instead, he focuses on the trip back to Family Video, keeping an eye on the road to watch for any cars he wouldn't notice otherwise.

----

When the final bell rings, Eddie Munson can't get out of class fast enough. He'd been packed for the last five minutes, and he slid out of his seat the moment that first peal rang out. He has a gig to prepare for, and every second counts. At least, each second counts until he notices something (or someone) that could prove entertaining for a while.

He spots Dustin alone near one of the exits, and Eddie decides to relieve the kid of his isolation. He waits until he's behind Dustin to shout, "Henderson!" and throw his arm over the kid's shoulders, ignoring the way he jumps like he'd been expecting an attack.

"Holy shit!" Dustin shrieks, jerking back to look up at Eddie. "Don't do that, man, you're gonna give me a heart attack."

Eddie snorts, waving away Dustin's concern as he continues toward the exit. The general flow of students trying to get out helps him along, and Dustin doesn't seem to realize they're actually moving until they've gotten into direct sunlight. "You're fine," Eddie says, "Anyway, whatcha doing all alone, Henderson? Lose your way?"

"No, I have...stuff to do today," Dustin says, shrugging as he blinks to acclimate to the sunlight.

Oh, yeah, way too cryptic for Eddie to not dig for more. "Stuff? What kinda stuff? Got a hot date? Going shopping with your mom?" he asks, and then he gasps dramatically and moves to stand in Dustin's way. He puts both hands on his shoulders and very seriously says, "Be honest, Henderson, you're seeing another DM, aren't you?"

Dustin stares at him for a few seconds before rolling his eyes and shrugging his hands off. "Who else in this town DMs?" he asks, "Other than Will, I guess, but he's still working on a campaign."

"Fair," Eddie concedes, "so, whatcha really doing?"

After a few seconds of getting nudged by the students around them, Dustin sighs and says, "I have chores, okay? But that doesn't sound cool to say, does it?"

Fair. Eddie nods in agreement and moves out of Dustin's way, continuing to follow him. "So, what, your mom picking you up today?" he asks.

"No, Steve."

"Oh, the famous Steve."

Dustin nods, looking over the parking lot before pointing to one end. "Yeah, he's awesome," Dustin says as Eddie follows the direction of his finger.

And standing there, leaning against the hood of his car and looking to the side where a group of trees is swaying in the breeze, is Steve Harrington. Steve "The Hair" Harrington. King Steve. The worst thing, Eddie thinks, is that Steve looks good. His hair is still perfect, of course, and his stupid little striped shirt is pulling against his biceps and riding up just enough for Eddie to see a tiny sliver of tanned skin above his jeans. He looks a little tense, but Eddie chalks that up to him being back on the campus after already graduating.

"Harrington? You've been talking about Steve Harrington this whole time?" Eddie asks, his voice a little strained, "How the fuck do you know Steve Harrington?"

"He's my babysitter," Dustin says, his voice implying that much should have been obvious, but Eddie wants to grab his shoulders and shake until his head rolls off.

Steve Harrington doesn't babysit. He doesn't know nerds that talk about D&D. He doesn't drive nerds around. At least, he never did in high school. Granted, Eddie never actually talked to Steve, but everybody knew that Steve Harrington was too cool for, well, anything that wasn't the typical jock and popular guy shit.

As he's thinking about the last time he saw Steve Harrington (in the halls, while the guy had bruises and looked worse for wear), they get within shouting distance. And Eddie has zero impulse control when Wayne isn't around, so he doesn't think before shouting, "Hey, Harrington!"

Next to him, Dustin whips his head to glare at Eddie. And Steve Harrington doesn't fucking react. He just keeps staring at that group of trees like it's the most fascinating thing in the world. "Dude," Dustin says, grabbing Eddie's arm and yanking harshly, "don't shout like that."

Eddie frowns, anger beginning to simmer in his stomach at the complete lack of acknowledgment. "Why are you upset with me?" he asks, gesturing at Steve as he continues, "I'm not the one being a douchebag here."

Dustin opens his mouth, about to say something, only to snap it shut once more. He frowns like he's just realized he can't say something, and huffs with frustration. "Just...just don't do that," he finally says, keeping a hand on Eddie's arm and dragging him across the parking lot. And, yeah, something is definitely weird here.

Instead of just walking up to Steve, they make a large arch until they're within Steve's line of sight.

Eddie watches as Steve notices them, seeing Dustin first and pushing off the car. He relaxes for a split second until he sees Eddie and his shoulders tense again.

Great.

Once they're close enough for Eddie to count the moles above the collar of Steve's shirt, Dustin grins and says, "Hey, Steve." But it's odd, because Eddie has never heard Dustin talk this slow or this carefully, like he's doing his best to enunciate his words.

Steve flashes a grin and ruffles Dustin's hair. "Hey, twerp, you're late," he says. He then glances at Eddie, his grin becoming a little smaller, and says, "Hey, Munson."

Wait. Steve Harrington knows Eddie's name? And he called him by it? He said Munson, not Freak. Eddie stares at Steve for a few seconds before nodding. "Harrington," he says, "how the fuck did you become a babysitter?"

Is he just imagining things, or is Steve looking at his mouth? Like, really intensely. He's definitely not, because Steve looks up after a few seconds with a raised eyebrow. "I needed some extra cash. Also, don't swear around Dustin. I'm the one who gets in trouble when he curses in front of his mom."

Something about the words makes Eddie grin. Never in a million years would he have guessed that he'd be talking to Steve Harrington. And he would have laughed you into Mordor itself if you suggested their conversation would be about Dustin Henderson swearing in front of his mother. "What's his mom do when he swears?" he asks.

Because he can feel the conversation veering into something potentially embarrassing for him, Dustin lets go of Eddie and starts pushing Steve toward the driver's side of his car. "Okay, we gotta go. So many chores, so little time," he says, his voice back to that normal speed and enunciation.

Steve frowns slightly, looking down at Dustin and tilting his head just slightly. "What?" he asks. Instead of actually answering, Dustin just makes some vague gesture with his hand and looks at the car. "Oh, right. Go ahead and get in the car. And, uh, see you later, Munson."

"Is that a promise?" Eddie asks before he can think better of it.

Steve pauses, looking at Eddie's mouth with a slight scrunch to his nose. He seems to be considering something as Dustin scrambles into the passenger seat, watching them with narrowed eyes. Honestly, Eddie is surprised he's not blasting the horn to hurry Steve up. Finally, Steve comes to a decision and meets Eddie's eyes again. "Your band has a show tonight, right? At the Hideout? I was planning to go. So, yeah, I'll see you then, I guess."

And with that, like he hasn't just fucking rocked Eddie's world, Steve Harrington gets into his car. He makes sure Dustin is buckled before waving at Eddie and pulling out of the parking spot.

Eddie finds himself waving back, staring dumbly at the car as it pulls onto the street. It only hits him a few seconds later that Steve Harrington is coming to his show. At the Hideout. His metal show. A Corroded Coffin gig at the Hideout.

Holy. Shit.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I’VE ALWAYS LOVED THE WAY YOU EAT ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; suguru is a morning person. he likes the serenity of it all; the quiet of the early hours, the expensive feel of his coffee pot. more than anything, he likes bringing you breakfast in bed.

word count; 4.9k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, just comfy morning vibes, fluff fluff fluff!!, suguru being a good soon-to-be husband, lots of petnames, reader is whipped (and so am i) but suguru is even worse, i need him biblically.

a/n; this is my personal essay on why suguru geto is the perfect man and wife. bon appetit !!

something smells good.

as your eyelids flutter open, and you gradually slip out of sleep’s fuzzy embrace, you are engulfed by that one thought. that one sensation.

there’s a sweet fragrance in the air, an unnamed something you can’t place. a force of love.

soft sunrays flit in through the haphazardly closed window blinds of your bedroom, cascading across the floorboards and bouncing off the walls. splotches of sunshine envelop you in a hazy kind of glow; gentle and coaxing, stirring you awake. it feels good on your skin.

indulging in a few more slow blinks, you shift to lie on your back, halfheartedly attempting to chase the sleepiness away. tangled up in silken sheets and fluffy blankets, you stare at the ceiling — but even such a mundane task feels so nice. just wallowing in the tantalizing scent drifting through the bedroom, the flurry of little kisses that the sun smothers you with. 

it’s still early, and you’re still sleepy. outside the walls of your apartment, the sun is rising to its feet, dyeing the world in warm colours; violets and blues melting into pinks and oranges, like an egg cracked open on the canvas of the sky. everything is quiet, not a sound to be heard except for the very distant chirping of cicadas from the trees outside your window. utter peace. like time isn’t even passing.

in the midst of such a precious moment, all you want is to laze around. it’s just that kind of pleasant, mellow morning; the kind that makes you wish the sun would never fully rise.

a satisfied little sigh slips from your lips. content to soak in the heavenly feeling until it passes, your eyes flutter shut — you’re just so sleepy, and the sun just feels so warm. soothing you, making it even harder to stay awake, cradling you in its hazy embrace. sunlit and saccharine.

with the morning fatigue clouding your senses, you don’t even notice the other presence in the room. 

suguru smiles, from his spot by the door — leaning against the wall and gazing at your relaxed expression, an immense fondness reflected in his eyes. taking a moment to silently admire you.

you look so content. tangled up in blankets and pillows, with your limbs outstretched and starfished across the mattress. your hair is a little messy, and you’re drooling just a smidge, wearing his shirt; it’s a couple sizes too big for you, slipping off your shoulder and exposing your sunkissed skin. as suguru’s eyes trail over your features, the fond smile on his face only grows, shifting into something honeyed and giddy. 

you’re perfect, he thinks. absolutely perfect.

a moment passes. then another. suguru continues to stare, as if trying to etch the image of you into his memory. trying to prolong the moment for as long as he can. 

until, finally, he’s had his fill. simply admiring you from afar isn’t enough — he needs to see you up close, needs to hear the sleepy little tilt of your voice. so he opts to make his presence known, voice gravelly and sweet, echoing softly throughout the room.

“good morning, sweetheart.”

softly, your eyes flicker open. the familiar voice sends a tremor of something running through your chest — and suddenly, it feels as if some of the sleep clinging to your skin has been washed away. it’s a little easier to make yourself move, shifting to your side to get a better look at the source of the sound.

and the warmth that blossoms in your chest when your eyes meet suguru’s is almost overwhelming.

(god, he’s pretty.)

suguru looks perfect, in the morning. he looks like the rest of your life. hair a little messy, tied up into a lazy half-done bun, silky black strands cascading down his neck. and wearing a pair of comfy sweatpants that hang a little low on his hips, but no shirt — showing off the curve of his tiny waist, the slight twitch of his arms when he indulges in an idle stretch. 

you try to restrain yourself from ogling his bare chest and arms too much, but it’s tough. frighteningly so. with the sunlight embracing his skin, muscles on full display, he looks a bit like a sculpture. a little too good to be real.

but he is. and he’s yours. and he’s smirking at you, lazily, affectionately — eyes half-lidded as he balances the tray that’s making the room smell so sweet. just standing there, looking so unfairly gorgeous. waiting for you to muster up the energy to respond to his greeting, more than happy to watch the way your eyes soften as they trail across his features in the meantime.

“morning,” is all you can rasp, eyes closing as your cheek sinks deeper into the mattress. a bit too tired to talk to him properly, and a bit too unguarded to look at him without feeling as if your heart is about to leap out of your throat. 

he’s a little too pretty, like this. framed by the hazy sunshine, like something out of a dream. all soft clouds and gentle caresses, the scent of dried lavender, the pitter patter of rain against a windowsill. all things kind and comforting. 

you’re afraid that your heart might give out, if you look at him for too long.

suguru doesn’t seem to mind. he only chuckles, voice deep and husky, sending shivers down your spine. his lips quirk up into a smooth kind of smile, and he’s quick to make his way to your side; crouching down to meet you at eye level after placing the tray on the nightstand.

a hand comes to caress your cheek. the rough pads of his fingers smooth down your jaw, gentle and doting, as if coaxing you out of hiding. as if you’re made of porcelain. suguru always treats you like you’re fragile, like you’re the most precious thing he has.

(because you are, he thinks. more precious than the expensive vanilla extract he used to make the waffles on the tray, more precious than the diamond-clad ring he’s hidden away in a drawer of the guest room. more precious than anything this world has to offer.)

a blissful little sigh slips from your lips, as you nuzzle into his palm. suguru leans forward to smear a kiss against your forehead, overcome with fondness; warm lips lingering on your skin.

the sensation strikes you as just a little heavenly. his touch is so tender, every caress so full of love. instinctual, the way his love bleeds into his touch, trickles down his veins to the tips of his fingers — smoothing along your skin. such a heavy thing, but he just makes it feel so light. 

“still sleepy?” he hums, a little teasing. eyes crinkling, voice bordering on a coo.

and it’s infuriating. the amusement that flickers through his eyes, the way you can tell he’s itching to tease you for being so groggy and tired.

between the two of you, suguru’s always been the one to get out of bed first, to your grave annoyance. and he’s so smug about it. you want to tell him that waking up so early on a saturday isn’t normal, that he’s the weird one for not being sleepy — 

but when he’s cupping your cheek so gently, all you manage is a meek little murmur of mm. one that has suguru stifling a coo, lips curling up into an adoring smile. 

look at you. his sleepy little baby, dyed in sunrays and tiny specks of dust. so effortlessly pretty, tangled up in fluffy blankets, an image so precious he almost feels like he shouldn’t be looking at it. yet he continues to do so, mesmerized.

(suguru doesn’t mind being a little greedy, when it comes to you.)

“i made you breakfast,” he continues, as you melt into his touch. an absentminded action, but almost brimming with trust; the trust you have in him to treat you well. one he’ll always, always affirm. “your favorite. wanna eat with me?”

breakfast.

something in your brain visibly reacts to the sound of the word, shooing away a little of the morning fatigue still clouding your senses. before you know it, you’ve forced yourself into a sitting position, with groggy movements and a soft groan. rubbing the skin beneath your eyes and kicking the blanket off your legs, a little clumsily.

suguru breathes out a soft bout of laughter, low and amused, as you lazily stretch and indulge in slow blinks. his hand goes to ruffle your hair, and all you do is lean into it.

“i’ll take that as a yes,” he teases, eyes full of fondness. you crack a sleepy smile at his amused tone of voice.

suguru’s hands are big, and a little rough, but still so very soft. you could spend hours tracing them — from the tips of his fingers down to the veins of his wrist, across his knuckles littered with small scratches and barely visible scars. stories of his childhood, that he loves telling you about, almost as much as you love hearing them.

you love his hands. they’re so pretty. so warm and grounding, as they smooth down your hair, unmistakably caring. the weight of them is a comfort, as his fingers card through your bedhead, scratching softly at your scalp. a sensation that makes you feel all fuzzy inside.

suguru is just so good to you.

and you’re only further reminded of that fact when your gaze trails over to the assortment of breakfast foods he’s prepared, neatly stacked on the nightstand. all your favorites, made with so much love; and it’s so evident, even just in the presentation. the freshness of the strawberry slices, the perfect amount of syrup spread over the waffles. the cup of coffee made just the way you like it.

maybe it’s the morning fatigue, or just the softness of the moment. the intimacy, so palpable you can almost reach out and touch it. or maybe it’s something else entirely — whatever the cause, you feel your eyes get somewhat glassy. 

a meek little sniffle leaves your lips, and it catches even you off guard.

suguru blinks. suddenly alert, his morning-fatigued brain trying to comprehend the sight of your teary eyes. brain spinning in circles, not sure if it should be telling him to panic just yet. something in him constricts, twists and turns, a desperate kind of yearning to protect you.

but before he can even reach out to wipe away the wetness with his thumb, you’ve latched yourself onto him.

arms snug around his waist, face tucked under his chin. fitting into him like a puzzle piece. breathing in the remnants of the cologne on his neck; a nice bergamot mix that you like, so he sprays on a little extra just for you. so close to him that you can feel the patter of his heart against you, as you soak in his body warmth. 

and his arms find their way around your form just as naturally, without him even having to think. like every bone in his body was born with a desire to cradle you close. like he was crafted in the image of someone made to soothe you. 

being in suguru’s arms is pure bliss. the most grounding sensation you know, one that never fails to calm you down, no matter how stressed or anxious you’re feeling. with his broad chest and strong arms, his bergamot-scented skin. so doting, pressing little kisses to your shoulder, trying to console you. his hair tickles your cheek a little, but it’s comforting.

”what’s wrong, honey?” he questions, voice set on a low, particularly soothing lilt. coaxing, almost cooing — a tone that buzzes with safety. his big hands go to rest on your head and back, smoothing down your spine.

”nothing,” you sniffle. feeling a little silly. ”you’re just too perfect. ‘s not fair.”

a pause. 

then, a chuckle bubbles up from suguru’s throat. something fond and delightful unfurls in his chest, a kind of relief; a feather-light amusement.

(you’re so ridiculous, he thinks.)

but you only nuzzle further into his neck, all sleepy and affectionate — and it stirs his heartstrings in a way that makes him feel rather helpless. crumbling beneath your touch. gazing at you with soft eyes, a happy little hum buzzing in his throat.

he takes you in, in all your clingy glory; so impossibly sweet. maybe he should have sprinkled some sugar on the strawberry slices, just to see if the taste could ever measure up.

”ah, is that so?” he drawls, a lazy amusement flickering through his eyes. playful. ”i’m sorry, baby. i should be the one saying that to you, though.”

but you just shake your head, arms tightening around his midriff. as if offended that he’d have the audacity to brush off your objectively correct statement, to even think to deny how perfect he is. 

and suguru raises a brow at you, in tandem, a mild protest resting on the tip of his tongue — offended at your blatant disrespect, shaking your head at his factually correct words, as if disagreeing with your own evident perfection. 

but before he can even begin to fight you on the topic, you part your lips to speak.

”thanks for breakfast, sugu,” you sleepily murmur, biting back a yawn. still a little meek, but oh so loving. ”i would die for you.”

he stills, once more. then another soft bout of laughter escapes his lungs, rumbling through his chest like a soothing thunderstorm. it makes you feel so terribly safe.

“there’s no need for that,” he assures you. ”don’t you wanna eat instead?”

to his surprise, he’s met with another soft shake of your head. so snug in his embrace that you could practically live there, only clinging to him a little tighter with a huff.

”just wanna hug you first…” you yawn, arms squeezing at his waist affectionately. shifting in his hold until your lips find their way to his neck.

”i love you,” you mumble, kissing down his jaw and collarbone. sleepy, open mouthed pecks, trailing over the expanse of his pretty skin. ”so much.”

it tickles, a little. suguru digs his teeth into his cheek, ever so slightly, just to hold back the giggle that threatens to break out from his throat.

and it’s maybe just a little too sweet, the sensation that blossoms in his chest, something honeyed and flowery; fluttering deep within his ribcage, like a dragonfly buzzing and trying to break free. it gets him a little weak in the knees.

to distract himself from the voice in his head urging him to go get the ring in the guest room drawer right this instant, suguru scoops you up. cradling you close, as he plops down on the mattress, legs crossed to give you space on his lap.

you don’t protest, only snuggling a little closer — as if yearning to tuck yourself away within his ribcage. 

and suguru chuckles, the deep tremor of his voice reverberating through his chest, echoing in your head as you listen to the rhythmic beating of his heart. rubbing your back with a teasing smile, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head.

“i should make breakfast more often if it’ll get you like this,” he grins, basking in the warmth of your body against his. 

a little whine falls from your lips. muffled into the curve of his shoulder, against his bare skin. “it’s not about the breakfast,” you pout, looping your arms around his neck. “it’s everything you do…”

a heat rises to your cheeks, a little embarrassed at the sappiness you’re exuding. but the sun feels so nice on your skin, and the bedroom smells so good, and the whole world feels so kind. 

inhaling the fragrance of bergamot and coffee, you can only fall apart at the intimacy of the moment. 

“i’m really grateful…” you murmur, resting your lips against his skin. buzzing with a warmth that has him shuddering. “‘m just bad at expressing it.”

suguru’s eyes soften. melting into a tender hue, like that of a creamsicle sunrise sky. a dreamy look smoothes over his features, and a fond hum buzzes in his throat.

“nah, you’re fine,” he drawls, squeezing at your hips affectionately. pulling away ever so slightly, just to plant a kiss on your forehead, brushing your bangs away with a certain bleeding tenderness. “you don’t need to say it out loud. i know, anyway.”

and he does. suguru understands you better than anyone; a point of immense pride, for him. knowing you so deeply that he can practically hear your thoughts before you speak them, knowing what you need at a single glance. just from a certain furrow of your brows, or the slight tilt of a smile you’re trying to hide. 

always one step ahead, folding your laundry on days you’re feeling particularly stressed out, or giving your hand a comforting squeeze when he notices that you’re nervous. always so attentive. it’s a little overwhelming, but also so comforting — to be so thoroughly understood.

his eyes are warm. full of pure affection, a devotion so heavy it makes your heart stutter in your chest. all you can do is glance down, shyly, slumping your forehead against his bare chest. 

your voice comes out a little strangled, still raspy. a little wobbly in the wake of your adoration.

“i wanna appreciate you…” is muffled against his skin, your lips curled down into a soft pout. and suguru breathes out a flustered little breath, amused — somewhat delighted.

“you can appreciate me by eating a hearty breakfast,” he suggests, a teasing tilt to his husky voice. cradling you just a little closer, as if even the miniscule distance between you is unbearable. as if he needs your hearts pressed together to keep himself intact. “how about that, hm? or would you rather give me a kiss?”

a moment passes, and a sleepy hum slips from your tongue. he feels your lips touch the soft skin of his neck, once more; then you muster up the strength to pull back from his embrace, slumping against his shoulder with your back against the headboard. it takes concentrated effort.

and suguru chuckles, again. odd, how a man who’s normally so put-together can’t seem to ever hide his joy whenever you’re around. but suguru is just a little too weak for you — he can’t help but let you strum his heartstrings along, however you want. any kind of melody you desire.

(it just so happens that no melody sounds prettier than a joyous one, when it’s falling from his lips.)

a lovesick smile painted on his face, suguru watches as you finally dig in. and he thinks it’s precious, the strawberry juice smearing your lips, the contentment in your features as your eyelids flutter shut. a mellow kind of pride swells in his chest with every satisfied hum that you grace him with, every giddy declaration of how delicious it all is. 

there’s something about it he can’t quite explain, can’t put his finger on. something almost otherworldly, in how fulfilled it makes him feel, like he’s lived his entire life just for this moment. just for the sake of making you breakfast and watching you wolf it all down.

suguru doesn’t think there's a single better way to show his love for you than this; cooking for you, putting every last drop of his love into everything he makes. from beverages to pastries, each of them carefully chosen to suit your tastes.

there’s an intensity to the labour, something that brings him great joy. the care and excitement in something as small as the flick of his wrist when he pours sugar into your coffee, or the weight he puts on the kitchen knife while cutting the fresh strawberries he spent four minutes picking out at the market.

there’s something about it that’s just so, so tender. that earnest wish to see you happy and healthy, to make sure you never go hungry. taking care of you. it's pure, domestic, love incarnate. he’s so weak for it, so sappy, but he just can’t help it — suguru loves watching you eat his cooking more than anything.

that, and your blissful little expression is a sight to behold. sunkissed by the morning rays flitting in through the window blinds, suguru thinks you look something like an angel, soft and fleeting and so beautiful it makes his heart squeeze painfully inside his chest. heavy thumps of blood; warmth trickling from his heart to his wrists to the pads of his fingers, as he rubs absentminded circles into the skin of your thighs.

and he thinks to himself that all the happiness he needs is right here in front of him. in this moment, with you tiredly munching on the breakfast he made, sipping slowly from your cup of coffee and savouring every last drop. smiling at him so sweetly, so positively precious that he simply can't resist leaning down to taste the caffeine off your lips. 

everything feels so wonderful, so completely and utterly right. the world feels so kind, like this. a world where all that exists is you, and him, and the sun. heaven on earth.

all of it sends a tremor running through his heart, every slight change of the scene reflected in his eyes. the soft smile on your lips, the way you lean your head against his shoulder and bite back a yawn, the expectant look in your eyes as you feed him pieces of your food with a giddy grin —

suguru thinks to himself that he’d sooner die than give it up. 

as much as he loves sleeping in, loves indulging in your warmth until the sun sits comfortably on the blue canvas of the sky, he loves this even more. loves dragging himself out of bed before the sun even has a chance to peek out beneath the horizon painted pink and purple, tired and groggy, and so disgruntled at the warmth that leaves him when he pulls away from your skin. loves making his way to the kitchen almost in a daze, moving around the open space so very naturally; fingers curling around the lid of the espresso machine, and the crinkled paper bag of pastries, and the carton of orange juice he bought just for you.

just watching the world wake up, basking in the peace and domesticity of it all. basking in the thought of you — you, with your messy bedhead and droopy eyes, always blinking up at him so sleepily when he returns to you in the morning. he loves it all.

the soft little frown that sometimes tugs at your lips when you’re still lost in dreamland, blindly and subconsciously reaching for the empty side of the bed when he gets up to stretch. the weight of your arms around his waist, hugging his back on the somewhat rare occasion that you make your way to him before he makes his way to you. the grumbles against his skin about how he always abandons you on your days off, even if he only does it so he can make you both coffee.

you, in all your glory — now resting against his shoulder as you plop the last strawberry into your mouth, closing your eyes with a blissful little sigh.

and suguru feels so lucky. so very honoured, to be the one you chose. the one and only person who gets to see you like this, when your voice is still raspy and your hair is still messy, and you have crumbs sticking to your soft lips that you're too sleepy to wipe away.

he does so, himself, with an amused little huff that’s really more of a sigh laced with adoration. thumb smoothing over your skin gently, a silent i love you hanging on the tip of his tongue. his fingers find their way to your skin so effortlessly. like they belong there, like they exist solely to trace the softness of your jaw and to cradle your cheek.

”thank you,” you beam up at him, grinning sweetly. 

and suguru knows that you mean it. he knows that you’re grateful, knows not a moment goes by when you don’t notice his affections, no matter how subtle. he thinks you're a little bit silly for worrying that he doesn't. but he thinks you're even sillier for not realizing that you deserve all of it and more, that just that sweet smile of yours alone is more than enough to make up for it.

more than anything, he hopes from the bottom of his heart that you know the opposite is true as well. that he appreciates every single thing you do, notices everything you do for him, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem to you.

you're so good to him. always have been. how could he ever bear to not repay you in tenfold?

”you’re welcome,” he smiles, soft and saccharine and genuine. his lips brush against your forehead with a soft peck, one that has your body melting into his just a little more.

breakfast passes you both by in a flurry of warmth, splotches of sunlight and content hums, until you’re lying side by side beneath the blankets once again. curled up close to each other, with you resting on suguru’s chest, cheek smooshed right over his heart. his arm rests on your back, cradling you closer.

”that was delicious,” you chirp, something soft buzzing in your voice as you bite back a yawn. stretching your limbs out lazily, a honeyed smile on your face. ”as always.”

suguru’s a little too tired to fully hide the soft grin that crawls up to rest on his lips, almost smug. awfully happy with himself, and your words of earnest praise.

“yeah? ’m glad,” he hums, looking at you with affection swimming in his eyes. ”i haven’t lost my touch yet, then.”

”of course not,” you exhale, somewhere in between a huff and a chirp. “you could start a whole breakfast diner with your skills!”

the words are teasing, a little much, but laced with a syrupy sweet sincerity that has suguru’s heart doing laps in his chest. thump, thump, thump — strumming his heartstrings along as you please, conducting the orchestra inside his ribcage. but he’d much prefer to think of you as his muse.

a low chuckle rumbles through his body, akin to a purr. buzzing right by your ear, as his fingers curl around yours, his thumb rubbing soft circles into the skin of your hand. ”you think so?” 

an eager nod, as you gaze up at him happily. the sight makes his lips twitch upward, and he can only hope you don’t catch the way his heart skips a beat.

smoothing a large palm over your head, he tousles your hair fondly. ”yeah?” he chuckles, again. “you'll be my first customer, then.”

the smile on your face widens. ”will i get a discount?” you ask, a fuzzy contentment in the way your eyes glimmer. ”since i’m your favorite.”

suguru grins. a husky puff of laughter seeps out of his throat, filling the air with a palpable fondness. it’s almost overwhelming, the affection that simmers in his chest, a cup overflowing. he wants to reach over and smother you in kisses, wants to coo at you. wants to tell you how irresistable you are, like this; so cute and sleepy that he thinks you could probably coax him into giving you every star in the sky.

but that can all wait for another time. he doesn’t want to break the peace of the mellow moment, the subtle intimacy that lingers in the air. the playfulness in your words.

”of course,” he simply says, indulging you with a sweet smile. ”you’ll get all the discounts you want, baby. nothing less for my favorite customer.”

suguru’s eyes crinkle, brimming with love when he hears the happy little giggle that tumbles from your pretty lips. so pretty that he can’t resist pulling you a little closer, to give you another kiss — relishing in the way you soften against him. like you could fall asleep just like this, so safe and comfortable. breathing him in.

sunlight shines in through the window blinds, engulfing you in that familiar heavenly hue. your bedroom almost seems to glow, like a hazy polaroid, a moment that feels too precious to put into words. 

you look stunning, he thinks, with your droopy eyes and sleepy yawns. absolutely breathtaking. soaked in a brightness rivaling that of the sun herself, the most precious thing this world has to offer.

and suguru thinks to himself that this might just be it. that this might be all that he needs, all that he’ll ever need — but he already knew that.

he thinks of sunrises. of soft embraces and fluffy blankets, of expensive coffee pots and diamond rings, of the way your lips curl up every time he kisses you. he thinks of the light of morning, how it always seems to devour everything else. how it makes every sliver of darkness seem so inconsequential.

he thinks of how your presence always seems to do the same. 

when suguru looks down, pulled out of his lovesick stupor by the sound of a little snore, you’ve fallen back asleep. cheek squished against his bare chest, drooling a smidge as you dream so prettily, your chest rising up and down in a rhythmic serenity.

his heart flutters. fleeting and giddy, a little dove trapped in his chest. with a sweet coo, he reaches over to caress your skin with the back of his hand, careful not to wake you — so gentle that he holds his breath, as if afraid that even a single exhale could disrupt your well-deserved rest. 

butterflies dance in his stomach, when he sees the way that makes you smile. a whirlwind of them, wings fluttering eagerly, as if attempting to fly out of his throat. he gulps them down again, but he can still feel them. just like he could when you first met.

butterflies that still haven't gone away, despite how long you’ve been together. butterflies that never will go away, as long as there are plates to fill and breakfasts to be made.

in other words, they're there to stay — forever and ever.

(suguru’s gaze falls on your ring finger. he thinks of the secret in the bottom of the drawer, and wonders what kind of breakfast he should make for you when it’s time to bring it out.)

[hughjackmansbicep]

Delicate

a/n: hi friends!!!! im hoping to make this into a multi part series, got lots planned for this mini fic :))))) this is kind of the prolouge to the real deal, needed to get the setup for it started before we divulge. expect lots of twists n turns my friends!

Pairing: Logan Howlett X F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: uhhhhh none lol

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: The government has successfully began the eradication of all mutant species in the United States. Lucky for you your dad has taken careful precautions to protect you from the evil that lurks in the streets outside. Tucked away in a concealed basement you sat and rotted away clinging to your old life and dreams. What happens when one day you've got a severe hankering for some ice cream and he ran out of beer the same night? Both finding yourselves in the right place at the right time.

The world as you knew it was slowly coming to an end. Mutants everywhere were dropping like flies after the government slowly started poisoning everyone's food. Unless you were an off-grid loner living off the land, you succumbed to the same fate as everyone else, 6 feet under. Lucky enough for you, your father kept you pretty sheltered. Tucked away in your fully renovated basement, the world is ignorant of your existence. It was safer this way; I mean, sure, you missed going out to bars and seeing your friends; hell, you even missed those 8 a.m. bio classes you used to take. But this was safer; at least that's what your father always preached. “It’s safer down here, away from all those evil people.” He'd remind you every day, “You're to never leave my site, kiddo, and never step outside those doors.” Not like you could anyways, while your mutation allowed you to control the atoms around you and morph them into anything your heart desired, you had one weakness, adamantium. Your house was coated in it; every doorknob, lock, and even the goddamn windows were coated in the shit. 

It was 3:00am, no one was home, and you found yourself craving ice cream. It wasn't uncommon for your dad to leave you to your own vices. He still had a job he'd have to attend to, and that more often than not led you to solidarity on his trips. And here you were in the middle of the night, the light from the fridge illuminating the dimly lit kitchen, tearing your freezer apart hoping to magically find a pint of Ben and Jerry’s buried deep in the frost. You groan, sinking down to your knees, met with disappointment and an ever-growing craving for the sweet, delicious taste of The Tonight Dough. Sure, you could've totally put in an Uber Eats order, but where would the fun in that be? You stood in front of the adamantium-cladded door, using all your strength to melt it to the ground, but to no avail. The only thing between you and your Jimmy Fallon-adorned ice cream was some space metal, and to hell if your dad really thinks that's going to curve the urge.

For the next hour, you ran around the house like a lunatic looking for a weak point. Maybe your father missed just one spot—one tiny spot in this prison he calls a home. A small hole fit for the size of a mouse teased you. Sure, you control all the atoms around you but your own? You'd never even attempted to entertain that idea, although the worst that could happen is you turn your body into a permanent pile of slop. That didn't sound too terrible when compared to being a basement dweller for the last 7 years. And it turns out it wasn't as bad as you'd thought; you melted your body down into a pile of liquid, slithering your way through the walls of your house before you were spit out from a hole in the bricks. The air on your skin cascaded goosebumps along your body; you honestly couldn't remember the last time you felt wind grace your skin or the sun illuminating off your shoulders. 

You skipped happily toward the corner store, taking in every sound around you. The sound your feet made when they hit the pavement, the distant chatter of the locals crowding down the sidewalks, even the obnoxious sound of a car horn brought a smile to your face. You finally understood the saying, ‘the city that never sleeps.’ You reached the corner store, swinging the door open and prancing inside as if it were Disney World. Your happy fantasy faded as the man behind the register yelled at you to put some shoes on before walking into his store. You looked down, wiggling your free toes, with all the excitement of liquifying yourself to get a taste of the outside world, common societal rules had slipped your mind. “I um.. Just came to grab a pint of ice cream; I’ll be really quick, I promise.” You pleaded sheepishly, offering him a quick smile to butter him up a bit. He simply rolled his eyes in disgust and turned his back to you, mumbling something under his breath.

You made your way around the convenience store towards the dairy section when something, or rather someone, caught your attention. He looked tall, and even with a leather jacket on, you could tell he was huge. He had some silly-looking facial hair and even sillier-looking cat-ear-like hair, but man, he still looked good. Your eyes slowly traveled down his arms to his pants. Cute butt, you thought to yourself. He stifled a laugh before turning in your direction and saying, “Thank you.” He grumbled, turning back towards the beer cooler. “What?” You ask, heat rising to your cheeks once you realize you'd accidentally said that out loud. He didn't acknowledge you, just went back to scanning the cooler. You took that as a hint to keep moving, finally landing in front of the ice cream section and grabbing the last pint of your favorite ice cream. Carefully looking around to make sure nobody was watching you, you pulled the lid off and used your mutation to pull out all the atoms belonging to the anti-mutant poisons that were mixed in with the delicious sweet treat. Floating above the ice cream, you cautiously manipulated them into a different container of food and made your way back towards the front. What you didn't know was that the unfortunate corner store owner had been watching your freak act on the CCTV cameras the whole time.

Turning around one of the aisles, you had spotted two men in suits talking to the man upfront. You couldn't make out what was being said as they whispered, but watching him point to you using your mutation on the TV screen explained enough to you. You backed up slowly, trying to even your breaths out before you had a panic attack. You felt someone grab your shoulder, spinning you around into them. It was Mr. Cute Butt; he must be working with those suited men too. Your eyes go wide as you focus all your energy on him. You were attempting to melt him, freeing yourself from his grasp, but it wasn't working for some reason. He just stared at your brows laced together, trying to figure out what in the fuck were you doing. “You're going to shit yourself if you keep straining like that.” He whispered a low chuckle, following after.

You froze, looking up at the man with pleading eyes. “Please don't hurt me; I just wanted some ice cream. Please i'll leave right now, sir.” You rushed out searching his face for sympathy or remorse something in hopes he'd release his grasp on you. He looked confused at what you were saying to him as if you were speaking some foreign language, but that didn't last long once you two heard footsteps approaching you. “C’mon kid.” He grumbled out, dragging you by your arm, ducking in between the small isles towards the exit. “They're over here!” The man upfront yelled, and the mystery man beside you just groaned before scooping you up into his arms and rushing you out of the store. You both quickly fell into the crowd, blending into the sea of people that populated the streets of New York. As soon as you two were outside, he'd set you on your feet, his arm still gripping your wrist, dragging you through the city with him.

“I need to go home, sir; please don't hurt me. I'm so sorry.” You cried, tears adorning your cheeks as you pleaded with him; if your father knew what was transpiring at this very moment, you'd be toast. Absolutely never allowed outside your basement ever again; you could kiss the sun goodbye because you'll probably never see it again once he gets home. He ignored your pleas though as he pushed through the crowds to a parked motorcycle on the road. “Oh no, I am not getting on that thing.” You halted your movements, digging your heels into the ground. “Suit yourself, sweet cheeks.” He laughed at you dryly hopping onto the bike, “They'll find you eventually.” He kicked the stand up, revving the bike on. You looked through the crowd behind you, worry etching onto your face. Maybe he's right; maybe I should hop on that bike and ride it into the sunset with this beautiful specimen, or he's no better than those suited men and could ultimately be leading me to my death. “Just get on the fucking bike.” He growled at the sound of sirens roaring closer to you two.

Begrudgingly, you hopped onto the back of the bike, plopping the helmet latched behind you on your head. At this rate, your sure your dad is going to skin you alive and hang you up to dry. “Hang on tight, princess.” He turned around to smirk at you. You snaked your hands around his torso, and he took off, the force causing your face to smash into his back and your grip on him tightening. You were sure if you had been gifted some form of super strength, you would've popped his torso clean off his legs with how tight you were squeezing him. You attempted to give him directions back to your house, but he couldn't hear you and kept heading in the opposite direction. He totally could hear you too, but he was ignoring your requests to return you home.

The quick 15-minute drive felt like an eternity with how utterly petrified you were. Matter of fact, you were so scared, eyes clenched shut, arms squeezing all the oxygen out of his lungs, you hadn't even noticed that you'd arrived at your mystery destination. He pried your arms off him, causing you to open your eyes; you were in complete shock. A gorgeous castle-like building stood before you, surrounded by trees, and a long gravel driveway trailed in front of it. A voice broke you from your thoughts, but this sound didn't come from the man sitting in front of you; no, it appeared like it came straight from inside your head. 'Logan, would you please introduce me to your new friend? The voice sang through you, your head whipping around frantically to find the owner of these words. “C’mon, I got someone for you to meet.” The man in front of you finally spoke, helping you off the bike and placing the helmet back in its spot on the rear. He guided you through the mansion all the way to the back, stopping at two huge double wooden doors.

“Come in, please.” Rang the same voice you heard earlier, the double doors slowly opening before you to reveal a small, bald man sitting in a chair. “And who might this be, Logan?” He questioned, looking towards the big man next to you. Logan, huh, you thought to yourself, cute name and a cute butt. Logan awkwardly shifted beside you, the bald man sending a booming laugh throughout the room. “Oh my God.. Did I say that out loud?” You whispered heat rising to your cheeks once again. Ignoring you, Logan started explaining to the bald guy, whose name you quickly learned was Charles, what happened earlier. Logan had seen what you were doing in that small store—how you made some substance float out of the ice cream and back into another pint. He assumed you were attempting to do something similar to that when he had grabbed you, and you began shaking like a Chihuahua, yet all you could think about during their discussion of the previous events was how you never got to eat the ice cream you risked your whole life for. “So,” Charles spoke, directing his attention to you. “What can you do exactly? What were you doing with that ice cream?” He hummed his eyes, raking you up and down, studying all your features. hoping they might tell him about who you are.

You were fairly normal-looking; I mean, to the average human eye, they couldn't tell you apart from another human. You felt like a deer in headlights right now, though; you'd never been asked or questioned about your mutation. You never dared to speak about it aloud; hell, your dad wouldn't even let you use your powers ever; it's like he was ashamed of you. “I can... manipulate things, i guess.” You spoke quietly; it felt taboo to you to speak about this, like this was some intimate, inappropriate topic to discuss. “And what do you mean by that?” He mused, deeply interested in your mystery. “I’m not exactly sure, sir. I just know I can do this.” You focus your eyes on the pen sat upon his desk, watching it quickly fall into a liquid puddle. “Fascinating.” Charles smiled up at you, “Can you change it back?” You trained your eyes down on the mess you created, quickly blinking as it slowly morphed back into its original shape of a pen.

Charles laughed in amusement before clasping his hands together. “We have much to discuss, little one, but for now Logan will show you to a room you can rest in. We'll talk more tomorrow.” He nodded at you before Logan had turned around out the door. You took this as your sign to follow, doors shutting behind you both. He guided you up the stairs, stopping at a random white door and handing over a towel and toothbrush he'd picked up on the way to your room. “Just try and get some sleep.” He shoved his hands in his pockets as he spoke. “I’m just up the hall if you need anything, i guess.” He nodded his head in the direction of his door. You just smiled, turning around into your room and softly closing your door. 

You had no clue where the fuck you were or what these strange men were planning to do with you. You've heard the horror stories from your dad about how the government would poke and prod you if anyone knew what you could do. you'd be a test subject for rich white males to toy and play with. You'd set the towel and toothbrush down on a chair in the room you were assigned and slowly stalked your way to the bed. As you crawled into bed attempting to get some shut eye all that you could think to yourself was, "Man my dad is soo going to fucking kill me when he finds me."

[mm-lurking]

It's 11pm and I can't stop thinking of ballroom dancing with Blade. Thinking of how he's a man of few emotions. He doesn't smile much, he doesn't talk much and he looks so annoyed as he was held hostage to attend this ballroom dance but when he sees you in the distance, standing at the base of the wide staircase, you swear you see his face change. It's subtle. The change in his expression is subtle, like the faint breeze that seems to blow past your face when you walk closer to him. There are several hundred people in this large banquet hall but all you see is him. There are so many men wearing elegant suits but they all look dull compared to this handsome man who dons the most exquisite four-piece suit you have seen in your life.

It doesn't matter what he is to you. A stranger, an enemy, a friend or a lover, you're mesmerised. Perhaps it is the soft lights of the hall that cause everything to be coated in a heavenly glow or perhaps it is the enchanting live music that's playing in the background; you don't know what it is, all you know is you're spellbound by this man.

You're speechless as you watch his figure come closer to you, his aura both scaring you and captivating you. You know he is a dangerous man and the way he walks and keeps his head high is a clear indication of that but you never feared danger and you most certainly didn't fear him. If he was a glass of poison and you were a parched prisoner, you would most happily drink it down with a smile on your face. This man was the epitome of risks and you were willing to hand yourself over to him.

He stands before you with a blank face but god you can tell that underneath his icy exterior, he's pleased to see you. Amidst the hundreds of strangers he's drawn to you and you only, like a moth that finds its way to the light no matter the obstacles in the path. You mentally trace his figure and with each passing second your heart is beating louder and louder as if confirming your want for him.

The way his large calloused hand extend outward to silently invite you to a dance, the way your small fragile hand perfectly fits into his like a missing puzzle piece; perhaps that's exactly what you were to him, the missing shard of his shattered heart. A silly little smile spreads on your face and you cannot stop yourself from doing so as you look into his crimson eyes. His eyes speak a thousand words to your soul and you just know he's going to be your Achilles heel. You forget how to breathe as your lungs collapse and the oxygen leaves your body when he gently wraps an arm around your waist. The grip he has on you surprises you, it is not a request but a statement of how he wants you. You swear you feel his fingers through the layers of your dress and by god do you feel weak under his touch.

He gently sways you at the first beat of the song, intertwining his free hand into yours as his gaze remains fixated on you. The candles in the room so beautifully mirror that crimson blaze of his eyes and you find yourself lost in his eyes, completely enthralled by how wonderful they look. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul and you could finally attest to this, for his eyes swirled with peril and terror. You knew what you were getting yourself into and you had no objections.

He continues to lead the dance, spinning you around as you both make your way through the ballroom in each other's arms. Neither of you says a word; the way you're holding each other with so much conviction and the silent long gazes in each other's eyes speak more than any word that comes out of your mouth will. Yet he finally says something.

"Stunning."

You tilt your head in confusion, wondering what he's talking about.

"You are stunning."

"Oh."

A blush spreads on your face and you look away from him, suddenly embarrassed by his compliment. He softly chuckles which makes you burn up even more.

"T-thank you."

You manage to say and continue to avert your gaze away from him. The ballroom music fills the silence between you both before he speaks again.

"Keep your eyes on me."

He brings your joint hand to your chin and gently lifts it to face him better. Chills run down your spine from his touch and you gulp. You feel bare under his sharp gaze as you watch his eyes trace your facial features before making eye contact. Subconsciously, you hold onto his hand letting the warmth of his skin diffuse into yours.

In the heat of the moment, you fail to realise that both of you are away from the public eyes, hidden away in the dark corners of the banquet hall where no man will see. It is only when you take notice of the quietness surrounding you does it dawn upon you. You look back at him and hurriedly speak, afraid someone might catch you both in such a position.

"We should head back."

"Not so fast."

"Blade-"

He tugs on your waist causing you to stumble forward and grip his suit coat. The proximity of you both makes your heart beat furiously and you know he can hear the pounding. The arm on your waist only tightens as he leans into your ear.

"When will I see you again?"

He whispers and that deep rumbling of his voice drives you crazy, causing your brain to short-circuit. You inhale his strong masculine scent and grip his coat harder.

"Ask for me at the gates of the estate."

"Asking for you is not enough, I desire you."

His words are shutting down every sensible nerve in you, like a poison taking over its victim, sweetly and slowly.

"You know better than anyone else I cannot hand myself over to you. Not like this."

"My mortal vessel desires you more than I need air for my lungs."

You say nothing more and inch closer to his face, planting a kiss near his lips. You know you are too deep in the water but at this point, you would rather drown in your desire than drag yourself out of his currents.

"I will see you when dusk approaches tomorrow. Ask for me."

You whisper back and smile, slowly pulling yourself away from his arms. The loss of contact already gives you severe withdrawals and you know you have signed up for trouble. He lets you go, watching you disappear from his line of sight as he clenches and unclenches his fist. Want was not a strong enough word to explain what he felt for you.

No, this was the very need of his existence. You being his, by his side was the sole reason his heart had to continue beating. His eyes never leave your body as he finally loses you from his vision and sighs. When will he see you, the one whose name he has etched into his heart, again?

On the other end of the banquet hall, you find yourself clasping the hand he held, breathing heavily as you replay everything in your head again.

If wanting him was going to destroy you, you would gladly be torn into pieces and put back together by him. If loving him was going to hurt, you were willing to let every fibre of your body beg for mercy. ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ©mm-lurking 2024 do not copy, steal or reuse my work.

[popponn]

warm hands. [itoshi rin x reader]

note: hc rin as that tsundere guy trope but honestly expresses more from his action and gestures. also his hands are definitely warm. warm hand warm heart..

For someone with an attitude most people would describe as ‘cold’, Itoshi Rin’s hands are really warm.

Such thought was a truth you were not scared to speak of. “I love holding your hand,” you said, standing beside him with you head leaning against his shoulder. With both of your fingers intertwined, it felt like home despite the two of you being away in the cold snow of a foreign country. “It’s really warm. Like a heater.”

Rin didn’t reply you for a moment, unsurprisingly. But in his silence, he tightened his hold around your hands. “Sure.”

You chuckled for a moment before nuzzling your face against his shoulder, “I love you, Rin.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rin replied with a tone mixing between dismissal and embarrassment. Yet, he still pressed himself closer to you.

“Say it back,” you nudged him slightly.

Rin stayed silent for another minute. Then, a soft whisper landed along with a pair of lips on the crown of your head, “You are noisy.”

You let out another happy laugh and even if Rin didn’t smile, you knew his heart is warm too at that moment.

A few steps away in the back, Chigiri Hyoma made a face whilst Karasu Tabito recorded everything in his phone. “They are disgusting,” the redhead muttered under his breath.

“I know right,” his companion replied with a smirk, fully intending to spread the video to the group chat later.

[kindofatheatrekid]

Soft Yandere! Veteran being pegged! (No. You're not on top.)

How long has it been since I promised a male reader pegging this old dude? Uhhhhh... 😢

How about we not think about that and like- uh- focus that it got done? I have absolutely wonderful pookies that motivated me to finish this so let's all thank my lovely alphas for this! I wanted this to be on kinktober but writer's block and all dat- 😄

This has pegging. Which is in the title. It's clearly NSFW. So like-

MINORS DNI. MINORS DNI. MINORS DNI.

Alright! Now that that's all said and done! Enjoy fucking this old man!

TWs: overstimulation, condescending behavior towards reader, cum play, nipple play, I think that's it- comment if I forgot something pls-

WORD COUNT: 1.6K

KINKTOBER DAY ONE: TEMPERATURE PLAY

Pleasure. That’s the only thing you could possibly be thinking of right now. With your dick shoved into his ass, yet he was the one in full control of this situation. It didn’t matter that it was your hands on his hips— no. Your hands were just finding a place to grab onto while he rides you like he’s trying to drain you dry of both cum and life. This had to be why he looked like a silver fox, right? Stealing the vitality of the poor youth that got caught in his seductive ways. Which, in this case, was unfortunately and fortunately you. It was so warm inside him, the slowly cooling water only accentuating just how much more warmer he was— both from the soft walls that were clenching onto your dick like a vice, and from his skin. The wrinkled, aged skin that only made him even hotter in your eyes. White mixed with black hair on his arms just like his head.

Your eyes tear up from the sheer euphoria he was giving you, tongue almost shamelessly lolling as your mouth stayed open. If it wasn’t for that familiar, irritatingly enchanting glint in the old man’s eyes— moan after loud moan would have been falling off your kiss-bitten lips by now.

Speaking of lips, the reason for your current dilemma was now sliding his thumb over your bruised lower lip. His other hand goes to caress your cheek, the warmth forcing a groan to slip from you without warning. He notices the drool that threatened to leak, using it to coat your dry lips— dry from the heavy breaths you forced yourself to take as he rode you.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? Cat got your tongue?” He chuckles out as you try to focus a glare on him, pathetically failing due to your vision blurring from the incoming tears. His hips suddenly slam down onto you; a brash, animalistic noise leaving you as you’re buried down to the hilt.

Heaven. This must be what heaven felt like.

Your hands scramble to grab onto his hips, grip almost bruising as if he was the only thing grounding you to reality right now. The almost hypnotic grinding of his groin towards yours not helping with the way your mind wanted to shut down immediately. The cool water, the heat from your combined breaths, the way his hands left trails of fire with every inch they grope your skin— there was just so much for your poor brain to handle.

It honestly felt like you were being used as a dildo with how little work you were doing for maximum pleasure. To be honest, you would happily live your days out as his dildo if that was a choice. His raging hard-on kept on rubbing against your stomach, pre-cum and bath water slick on your skin.

Water droplets dripped down from your hair as you chewed on your lower lip— eyes laser-focused on his cock. His cock that you wanted to touch and feel in your hands. Your left hand lets go of his hip just for it to tentatively stroke his neglected dick; the heat in your palm making you shiver in the water. Thumb slowly tracing circles along the slit of its head, pre-cum continuously dripping down to your wrist and into the already cloudy cold water.

You didn’t want to be the only one losing their head, determined to make him fall into this mindless pleasure you were presently in too. You wanted him to bear himself out like you were doing, to show you the raw, primal instincts that you also had. To the point where manners would be shoved aside, and the two of you would just take and take from each other.

His pace noticeably slows down at the growing pressure of your strokes— hand slowly, yet purposefully, running down his entire length. Fingers smearing the thin fluids along the veined skin, feeling it throbbing in your hands. You could hear the way his heart quickens to the same -if not faster- pace of yours, could see the lust-induced haze in the corners of his eyes.

You use this chance to buck your hips up without warning, relishing in the way his throat hitched. Hand reaching down to squeeze his aching balls that were full of cum ready to be released. Your own cock twitched inside him, not faring better than him— overstimulated, needy, desperate: those were the words that could perfectly describe your deafening thoughts at the moment.

Right when you think that you’ve managed to win this unspoken game between the two of you, his lips curve up into a grin. His eyes held a knowing glint, as if he could read what was exactly on your mind right now— it felt like he was stripping you with his gaze despite your nudity. Crow’s feet deepened while his eyes held an obvious twinkle of mischief.

You should’ve remembered that unspoken games have unspoken rules.

He brings his roughened hands up from the water, skin ice-cold from being in the water for too long. His hands sensually slide up your body -your warm skin prickling from the cold- until they stay on your chest. He could probably feel how hard your heart was pumping right now, wrinkled palm right on top of it. Your eyes meet: calm meeting with panicked, smug meeting with wary.

Rule #1: He’ll always be in charge.

Your back arches when his weathered fingers pinch your nipples— senses confused as warmth floods inside your body, yet everything outside is cold. A gasp-like moan involuntarily leaves your lips, lips formed into an o-shape as your grip on his cock tightens reflexively. A deep groan escaping him as well from the squeeze, cool fingers still refusing to stop as he twisted your nipples almost painfully.

Another, louder, moan is forced out from your vocal cords when his head dips down— lips clamped onto one of your nipples, rough stubble grazing against your wet skin. You couldn’t help but come when his hot tongue swirls around the sensitive nub, teeth grazing against the already tortured skin. Eyes rolled back once again for what felt like the hundredth time. Your other nipple, receiving the same cruel treatment with his icy fingers. He definitely felt when you came; the water significantly more opaque as your cum dripped down his thighs and into the tub you were both in. Your cock still painfully hard in him despite coming just a few seconds ago.

Rule #2: You’re the bitch. Not him.

His eyelashes flutter when he finally releases your nipple from his soft lips, fingers already tweaking it before you could even sigh in relief. Your hand quickly lets go of his cock to grab onto his steel reinforced hips for bearing again— forehead pressed against his chest as you whine for him to stop.

“Why are you moaning, лапочка? I’m the one with your dick in my ass so why are you acting like our positions are reversed, little one?” Fuck. His dirty talk only made you want to beg him for more.

Your moans only get louder as he pulls on your nipples, drool pouring out from your lips like you were a brainless zombie— lips unable to remain closed. Shivers ran across your entire body, body trembling from both the cold and your overused cock. You were sure that you were only shooting blanks by now, every pathetic squirt easily seeping into the cloudy bathwater. You’d need to take a shower afterwards to clean all the come off you.

Rule #3: Don’t ever expect to walk after he’s done.

A choked whimper leaves you when he finally pulls himself off you agonizingly slow, your limbs feeling like jelly by now. You didn’t resist when he brought you into his arms, mind a slurry of contradicting sensations and abused instincts. Your eyelids drooping when he captures your lips in his, the kiss a slow, but careful one— everything he did had a reason and was meticulously planned out. A likely habit from his youth.

“You did so well, Солнце. Such a good boy for me. I’m so proud of you~” He croons out in a heavy voice, peppering kisses all along your face as his scarred hands snake up to your neck— his touch tender as he strokes your warming face. His own, ignored, cock still stiff and raised while he pampered you with the kisses you desperately needed right now. Your voice just whines for more of his attention, arms wrapping around his cold body to pull you closer to him.

The two of you just stay in the chilled bathwater for a moment, clinging onto each other for warmth as your labored breaths become background white noise. His lips trail down to your neck, pressing kisses onto your frigid skin— your breath hitching as his tongue slips out to run a fiery trail of saliva up to your jawline. An almost hissed out groan leaving his lips when he tastes the cold salt on your skin.

His eyes looked practically feral at this point, licking his lips clean of your taste before he crashed his lips onto yours to share what he thought was his own heaven. Swallowing down all your moans and whimpers like a starving man who finally got a feast laid out in front of him.

He reluctantly breaks from the kiss for the both of you to breathe. His hot breaths harsh on your skin as he leans his lips closer to your ear— whispering at a volume where you could only hear even if there was no one else around you two. A little secret that only you would know with him.

“As sweet as ever, Милый.”

Translation:

Солнце = sunshine

лапочка = sweetie pie / cutie

Милый = dear / darling

A/N:

Damn. I honestly didn't think this pegging would win. It was honestly included as both a joke and the consequence of staying up too late for too many consecutive nights... (Y'ALL TORTURED ME. THIS WAS SO HARD TO KEEP THIS OLD MAN'S HOLIER THAN THOU ATTITUDE WHILE BEING RAMMED!!) 😟

There. Y'all got to fuck the old dude. Happy now?? But anyways please comment anything you want me to do. (It'll take time, though. I'm not chat GTP okay?) 😩

Just no vomit, scat, and the works okay? Golden showers are a hell no too. Look. I'm not going to kink shame here, but I cannot write anything like that due to my BOUNDARIES. Non-con, baby trapping, and other dark matters are fine. I love that shit. But yeah. Maybe I'll make another OC, maybe not. It really depends on my mood. 😘

AUTHOR OUT! 😌

[notiddygothgf]

12. three months

★ pairings: plug!wakasa imaushi x f!reader

★ synopsis: the one where you have the hots for your dealer, and Wakasa is always eager to please a customer. (don't let your bf stop you from finding ur hubby)

★ content warning: smut, angst, lotta porn w a lotta plot, car sex, dealer wakasa, cheating, oral sex, sneaky link, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, sex while high, consensual drug use, mentions of abuse, unprotected sex, so much more...

★ a/n: so.... I have definitely been on hiatus. So so so sorry about that my little pookie bookies. life has been so cray cray lately. ur fave premed student has been struggling ngl. but I'm back up on my grind and I'm cranking out these chapters again! This one took a while to write because its definitely not a writing style I'm used to, but I needed to get this out to get to the good good. waka girlies, u will enjoy this chapter... I'm not spoiling but, stay tuned!!! love u allllll

★ w.c.; who even knows bru

previous part | next part

BLACK STILETTO HEELS CLICKED AGAINST linoleum, one after the other – the sounds rhythmic and soothing. You could faintly hear the fabric of your pencil skirt rustling as your thighs rubbed together, strutting down the aisle of the office with confident ease. You ran these streets. Least, that’s what it felt like when you came down that aisle every morning after you clocked in.

Right. Let’s run it back.

Three months had passed since your last meeting with Wakasa. You had taken some time to mull the whole thing over, and while a part of you wanted to hate him, you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

Three months of thinking, eight months of loneliness, three months spent repeating the same day over and over again. Three months at a job you didn’t really like, trying to make ends meet after Takeomi had cut you off.

Three months without him .

The unopened message sat in your phone the way it had been since you’d sent it. It seemed like years, now, that you had been running your tired gaze over the small field of text below the drunken mash of letters you had sent.

Read 12:01 AM

Swishing the burgundy booze around the bottom of your glass, you rested your head against the cold, unforgiving surface of the bar table. 

You swiped your ID through the reader, punching out for the day. Pocketing the little card and lanyard, you continued onward. You came up to an elevator, same one you used every day. You pressed the same buttons to get down to the same door you left through every day.

Every day.

With a quick nod of your head, you greeted your coworker – who was on her way in just as you were making your way out. You weren’t too big of a fan of her, in all honesty. You felt she was too superficial. Then again, who wasn’t in a place like this?

You were making good money, though. That’s all that mattered.

The rush of cool air that greeted you as you pushed past the gold-rimmed office doors provided a brief respite from the stuffy office. The city streets stretched before you, bustling with activity as people hurried by.

You took a deep breath.

Heels clicking against the pavement with every step, you walked with a purpose. The air of confidence you strived to exude seemed to mask your internal turmoil – feelings you felt were much better left unsaid, feelings that had been bottled away in the cellar of your mind for the past three months.

Three months of repetition.

Three months of regret.

Three months spent trying to remember the intricate valleys and curves of his body, the small features you had come to adore.

Three months spent trying to forget him.

Though you had struggled initially with your feelings toward Wakasa, you couldn’t really bring yourself to hate him. You had spent a good quarter of a year mulling it over in your head, breaking your last interaction with him into microscopic bits and pieces.

You had concluded that he had done it to protect you.

You knew he had been right to an extent but, shit… a man of his standing should have been able to find a way to make it happen…

…right?

You hadn’t heard much about Takeomi since the fight with him and Waka. Not even a peep. You didn’t know whether to feel alarmed about that or not.

You felt like you were being watched from a distance. Always. It felt like you were trapped in a never-ending cycle.

With your phone in hand, you dialed the number for a cab. The familiar anticipation began to build again while you waited for the vehicle to arrive. 

On the streets below, the city lights flickered to life, casting an amber glow on the sidewalk. You looked around for a moment, and then something piqued your attention.

Vrrrr.

There was a deep, rumbling sound in the distance, one that seized your heart in its grasp. For a moment, you were right back where you had been eight months ago. Your eyes searched the street until they fell upon a motorcyclist who had slowed to a stop in front of your building. Well, not in front of it, across the street. 

The sight of the rider stirred a pang of nostalgia deep within you.

In that split second, memories flickered through your mind. Memories of stolen laughter, hidden kisses… Memories of hushed promises against soft lips, some broken and some kept. His silhouette triggered an unexpected surge of hope.

You strained to see the rider’s face, heart racing. You yearned for that familiar, lazy gaze – the warmth it once held. 

But as he popped the helmet off of his head, it wasn’t blond hair that fell over his shoulders. No, just regular old brown hair and a stubbly face. 

It’s not him.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut.

Your gaze fell. 

The cab’s arrival disrupted the moment, its tires screeching against the pavement until it came to a stop by the curb. With a weighted sigh, you climbed into the cab.

Your heart throbbed with a bittersweet ache. As the cab pulled away, you couldn’t help but wonder about the chances you wished you had taken with Wakasa, the what-ifs that lingered in the recesses of your mind. 

The cab carried you away from the scene, leaving behind the phantom of a love that had become a haunting memory.

-

The cold, yellow liquid felt refreshing as it burned its way down the back of his throat, that familiar acidic texture eating away at his stress. He sighed, setting the glass down on the counter.

As the bittersweet elixir numbed his senses, the pulsing beats of the club melted away, merging with the cacophony of laughter and chatter all around him.

Lost in a haze of intoxication, Wakasa let out a heavy sigh, setting the glass down on the counter with a thud. His friends eyed him up warily, faces etched with that familiar look of concern. He heard voices, people telling him to slow down, to regain control.

Of course, he paid them no heed. Glazed eyes reflecting a distant detachment, senses dulled from the liquor… worries numbed, just the way he liked it. In that numbing embrace, he found solace. Time and time again.

“I think you need a therapist, man,” Benkei whistled, nursing his own strawberry margarita. “If you’re still hung up over a hook-up this long after the fact, there’s something wrong with you.”

He pushed his friend’s concerns aside with an air of indifference and a quiet hum, too caught up in the muffled chaos of his own mind to truly acknowledge his worries.

“I think you need ‘ta hop off my dick,” He retorted, pursing his lips. “I know what I’m doin’, Kei. ‘M 27 years old.”

Benkei knitted his brows, muttering something into his margarita along the lines of, “Sure don’t act like it.”

“‘M fine, guys. Promise,” He smiled, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He knew he hadn’t been himself in a while, of course, but he would be damned if he admitted that. “What, a man can’t drink in peace?”

“No, Waka, the problem isn’t you drinking in peace,” Shin added matter-of-factly. “‘S the fact that that’syour eighth beer of the night.”

Waka glanced down at the half-empty drink in his hand – or half full, depending on how you looked at it – as if he, too were surprised at the number. “‘S Friday night, anyway. Go hard or go home.”

Waka thought he had put on a good show. He thought that, if Shin squinted hard enough, he could mistake him for a sober man. 

He thought wrong.

Shin shook his head, “It’s fuckin’ Thursday, man.”

Although he refused to acknowledge it verbally, he knew Shinichiro had brought up a good point.

Who was he kidding, anyway? It didn’t help. None of it did. The booze, the clubs every weekend, the faceless hookups and lap dances – none of it distracted him from the mess you had made in his heart.

Three months.

“It’s okay to admit you need help, Waka, y’know we love ‘ya,” Shin tilted his head. “Seriously.”

“Honest to God,” Benkei hummed.

The whole world knew he was a mess. Why couldn’t he just admit that something was wrong?

Waka ran his tongue over his teeth like the sharpened edge of a blade. He almost hoped it would draw blood. Anything to make him feel something.

“I…” He hummed, trailing off for a moment. “I think I need one more shot, then I’ll go home.”

Benkei shook his head.

Shin looked disappointed. Still, Waka couldn’t quite bring himself to care. 

Not even when his two friends had to carry him home.

-

[ 2:00 AM ]

Outgoing Message - 2:00 AM

You get home safe? 

.

Incoming Message - 2:00 AM

Yeah man. Thx 4 askin.

He holdin’ up ok?

.

Outgoing Message - 2:00 AM

He’s alr now, im staying w him tn

Gotta make sure he don’t puke in his sleep

Lol

.

Incoming Message - 2:00 AM

This ain’t healthy for him…

.

Outgoing Message - 2:00 AM

Ik… we gotta do smth man

.

Incoming Message - 2:00 AM

Ik, h8 2 see him like this

.

Outgoing Message - 2:01 AM

Idk i mean my lil sis is friends w her i think?

It may be time for ummm

.

Incoming Message - 2:02 AM

An intervention lol?

You know how Waka feels ab us gettin involved w his antics

.

Outgoing Message - 2:02 AM.

Not us.

I know a way

.

Incoming Message - 2:02 AM

It don’t involve Take’s ex girl, do it?

.

Outgoing Message - 2:03 AM

Jus follow my lead, alr?

.

Incoming Message - 2:03 AM

… I don’t like where this is headin, shin.

But I trust u.

Delivered.

-

[ USER CALL LOG ]

Best Bud (Waka)....... (Incoming) 5:00 PM (30 sec)

Lil sis (Emma) ………. (Outgoing ; declined)  2:10 AM 

Lil sis (Emma) ………. (Outgoing ; received) 2:11 AM (26 mins)

Benkei …………………. (Outgoing ; received) 2:12 AM (1 min)

Shibuya Pizzeria ……. (Outgoing ; received) 2:30 AM (1 min).

[ END OF USER “Papi Sano”S CALL LOG]

.

-

.

[2:05 AM]

[Automated]: you have 3 new messages. Play back?

[USER] Selected:

[NO] …

… [View Inbox]

…

[ Last 3 Months ].

[REPLAY>>] Message from ‘Pretty Thing’.

Transcription:

“ Hi Waka, It’s me… I know ‘s… [hiccup] been a while. I’m- Just. Wanted to let you know that I’m in the area. And, first of all… fuck you, for what you did to, to me, you– ugh. You bastar- [hiccup] -d. I’m calling to let you know that I’m much better off without you. Me and my girls are havin’ a ball… a… a ball here tonight. Without you…….. Ugh, who am I kidding. I don’t even know why I called you. You probably haven’t even thought about me in months. I know I’m g’nna [hiccup] wake up tomorrow and forget I even sent this message so– [hiccup] just do me a favor, okay? You owe me that, after breaking my heart the way you did. Just forget you never saw this message, okay? Delete it. It’ll be better for both ‘f us if we just pretended this never happened. Fuck. How do I delete a voice message? I–

[???]: Girl, who are you talking to?

I gotta go, Waka, but… [sigh] I miss you. Okay? Fuck, I really miss you. I would never admit that sober. Thankfully I’m gonna delete this message before you ever see it, so it’ll be like it never happened. Not like I would have remembered anyway. Okay. Which button is it again? Ah, wait, shi –”

[ End of Message. ]

[Automated]: Would you like to play the next message?

[ No. ]

[ Play ]

[Automated]: Replaying message from ‘Pretty thing’.

-

The harsh neon lights buzzed against the night sky tonight at the Eclipse. Even from where you were standing on the curb, you could hear the bass throbbing through the pavement, the vibrations in the air, the smell of sweaty bodies grinding a few yards away. 

YOU  |  I’m here babe wya

Hitting send, you pocketed your phone. You took a deep breath, tightened your grip around the strap of your purse, and then stepped forward. The moment you entered the club, a wave of sound and sensation enveloped you. The air was thick with perfumes and colognes, the faint aroma of liquor lingering somewhere – probably the ground. 

Disco lights painted the crowd in fleeting bursts of colors, highlighting dancing bodies, dazzling outfits, and sin. 

In all honesty, you had no idea why Emma had even thought to invite you out here tonight. It had been eons since your last trip to the club. But, still, she said some event was happening and she didn’t want to go alone, and who were you if not the world’s best friend?

You searched the crowd for her familiar face and, sure enough, there she was, standing by the bar on the far end of the room. Blonde hair down to her back and a sweetheart dress that revealed just enough cleavage for you to know she was scouting out free drinks tonight, she was hard to miss.

You couldn’t help but smile as she waved you down wildly, gold bangles glinting beneath the club’s kaleidoscopic lights. There was an old song playing, one you couldn’t quite remember.

Emma’s grin only widened after you approached the bar and took a seat next to her. You scooted a little closer, cupping your hands over your mouth and shouting, “You weren’t kidding about this place!”

She laughed, a sound that you could almost hear in your head despite not being able to catch it over the music. “It’ll be fun! You brought ‘ya dancin’ shoes, right?”

Your eyes darted over to the dancefloor, where bodies writhed beneath the bass of the music. The sensation you felt was somewhere between excitement and hesitation. “I ‘dunno if I’m there yet, Emma– It’s been a while!”

“What?” Emma shouted. She rolled her eyes, glancing down at the other end of the bar. “I didn’t bring you here to mope, babe, we’re getting plastered!”

On cue, the bartender returned with two green drinks in hand, furnished with tiny little umbrellas. He set them down in front of the two of you, reached behind the bar, and then set two more red cocktails down before you.

“Let’s get this party started!” Emma squealed, sliding one of the green drinks your way. She held her drink in your direction, “To girls’ night!”

You clinked your glasses together in a toast.

Taking a cautious sip, you allowed the sweet concoction to flood your parched mouth. It was coconutty, with a hint of lime and –

The liquor hit you like a punch to the face. You scrunched your nose up, coughing a bit. 

“Shit, that’s strong,” You remarked.

“It’s a Coco Loco!” She answered the question you had yet to ask. “With two extra shots of rum! I knew you’d like it!”

You weren’t really a fan honestly, but you didn’t want to tell her that. Not after she had just spent money on drinks for the both of you.

“It’s good,” You said anyway. 

Emma clapped a hand on your shoulder, “That’s the spirit!” She exclaimed happily. Her makeup was creased a bit around the corners of her lips, where you knew she had been smiling all night. “Melt the pain away, girl.”

-

Wakasa stumbled out of the car, pulling his arm out of Shinichiro’s tight grasp. His annoyance was palpable in the way he kicked the car door shut behind him, paying no mind to the driver as he pulled away. He stood now on the edge of a bustling sidewalk in the middle of what might have been the shadiest-looking corner in Shibuya. He took a long drag from his cigarette, tendrils of smoke melting into the midnight blue around them.

“The hell are we doing at a seedy joint like this?” Waka grumbled, voice a low growl of discontent. With a scowl, he readjusted the collar of his deep purple dress shirt. 

Shinichiro bounced on the balls of his feet, stuffing his hands into his pockets with a sigh. His breath materialized into the air in front of him, a cloud of white amidst the darkness. 

“Figured we’d let loose a ‘lil tonight,” He spoke with such casualty that it almost came off as a little dismissive. He nudged Wakasa playfully, a humorous glint playing in his dark eyes. “Find some loose local girls for a quickie, yeah?”

Under any other circumstances, he would have been jumping at the opportunity. Seeing as he had spent the last few months attempting to drink his regrets away, however, he was anything but chipper at the prospect.

Waka’s annoyance only deepened, brows furrowing. He took another puff of his cig, blowing out the smoke with a quiet scoff. “I’m over fuckin’, man,” he groaned. “I’m goin’ celibate… startin’ today, no more bitches f’me.” 

“Like I’d ever believe that from you,” Shinichiro snorted, a subtle grin playing at the corner of his thin lips. He slung an arm over Wakasa’s shoulders. The height difference between the two of them was emphasized as they walked side by side. “Jus’ give it an hour, Waka,” he urged, tone oddly persuasive. “If you hate it, we can leave. If you don’t have a chick’s legs wrapped around your neck by the end of the night, I owe you fifty.”

Waka sucked his teeth, irritation melting away with newfound curiosity. “Might do it ‘jus to spite ‘ya,” He retorted.

“Right. Wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Shinichiro replied, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. There was something in his tone that raised Wakasa’s suspicion, the slightest feeling that Shinichiro might be up to something. “And don’t be bitchy with me ‘jus because I won’t let you pregame a fuckin’ liquor bar.”

Waka shot Shinichiro a fiery glare, cigarette ember glowing bright, before flicking the thing onto the ground in one deliberate motion. “Blow me,” he muttered beneath his breath. 

The two men stood in front of the club’s entrance. Wakasa slowed, locking his gaze onto the club’s exterior. Then, with a reluctant sigh, Waka entered the building.

-

As the night wore on, you found yourself lost in the spell of the music, lost in the endless sea of dancing, grinding bodies. The colored lights were hot against your sweaty skin. You knew the makeup would be melting off of your face by the end of the night if you kept going on at this rate. Hell, your mascara had started migrating already.

Emma’s Just-dance-inspired moves were contagious. The two of you were dancing on one another, performing a routine you seemed to remember all too well for someone who hated playing Just Dance so much.

The club seemed to ebb and flow like a living organism tonight.

You had lost track of time a long time ago. The songs had begun to bleed together seamlessly. Somewhere along the way, you lost your sweater. The dress you had decided to wear was stuck to your waist, plastered down with sweat. 

Yet, in spite of this, you were having more fun than you had anticipated.

Your flow was broken only when Emma grabbed you by the arm and led you to an empty corner. The both of you caught your breath.

Cheeks hot and flushed, you sighed contentedly, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, Emma, but you were right.”

“You havin’ fun, girly?” She giggled, giving you a playful sock in the arm. “Told you you’d feel better if you got out of the house.”

You nodded, feeling slightly liberated. She was right. You were actually kind of glad that you came out of your shell for tonight. 

Emma raised a playful brow. “You want to get a refresher?”

With a nod and a thin-lipped smile, you let Emma lead you over to the bar.

The two of you took a seat for the second time that evening, taking a moment to cool down and catch your breath. 

Emma turned her attention to the bartender – the same one she had just tried to hit on 30 minutes ago, “Two waters, please,” She ordered.

You tuned the bar out after that. Feeling a little melancholic, your eyes scanned the scene. The lights, the bodies, the music, the drinks. It was all so… messy. Yet, still, there was that unmistakable electricity in the air tonight.

Just as you were about to turn back to Emma, your gaze locked onto a figure against the wall. Immediately the recognition set in, and your heart skipped more than a few beats. It seemed to stop altogether.

There, standing in the dim corner, the lights danced over his familiar features – pretty button nose, downturned eyes, arched brows. His hair was back in a messy bun tonight. Even now, he had that passive, unamused look on his face.

He looked exactly the same as he had the day he closed the door on you.

Well, if you want to be technical, you closed the door on him, but you meant that in the metaphorical sense.

His piercing eyes scanned the crowd with a touch of his signature indifference. He exuded an air of mystique, momentarily entrancing you all over again.

And even now, three months later, his effect on you had not wavered.

Emma’s touch on your arm brought you back to the present, breaking the spell he had cast. “Hey,” She asked, concern evident in her voice. “You good?”

Your eyes were drawn back to the entrance, and your heart sank when you spotted your blond, ex-situationship once again. Panic surged through your veins immediately, seizing your lungs. It felt as if the walls of the club had gotten much smaller, all of a sudden.

Waka was standing there by the entrance, only a few yards away, with Shinichiro by his side. He looked every bit as breathtaking as you remembered him to be.

And he was looking right at you.

He can’t see me.

I need to hide.

He can’t see me.

You whipped your head back around towards your friend, flashing her a faux smile. “I’m gonna,” You swallowed, voice unsteady. “I’m gonna go back to the floor.”

Without even waiting for a response, you turned abruptly and slid off of the barstool. Your pulse was racing as you pushed through the wall of bodies behind the bar and made a beeline for the dance floor.

Emma was calling after you. You didn’t care.

The urgency to put distance between you and your past had consumed you whole. The bass pounded in your ears, matching the rapid thrum of your heartbeat. The music drowned out her voice as you merged with the sea of people once again.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried your best to lose yourself in the rhythm. Your movements were a frenzied, frantic mess of anxious movements. This time, when the lights flickered over you, the shadows they cast brought back memories of your history, your mistakes. 

I will not let him ruin my night, you told yourself.

Yet, still, you dared one last glance around. 

It was to scout the area for a suitor. That’s what you told yourself. 

Subconsciously, however, you searched for Waka amidst the colorful, blurred throng. Your heart began to race again when you spotted him by the bar, head turning slowly, eyes flitting over the club scene. It looked like he was searching for something.

The realization hit you like a train.

He’s looking for me.  

a/n: aaaand we are back with another cliffhanger! I'm so sorry. i have been, so bad to u all lately. life has been crazy! I think I may be shadowbanned, idk, I still dk how tumbly works. anyway! I did not like writing this chapter but it was a totally necessary segway into the next one, which will be very very very very very... jus trust me yall will love it. you know the drill, leave comments, suggestions, anything in down below and I will like, cry reading ur messages as always. Next chap is gonna be my fave like everrrr omg...

I obviously do not own tokyo revengers or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

taglist: @tokyorevengersslut69, @mikeys-bike-slut, @midtwenties-angst, @sleepysnk, @enneadec, @noaabean, @galactict3a, @em1e, @drakensdarling, @wakashawty, @satanlovesusall666, @sin-and-punishment, @mztoman, @sanzuicide, @bontensbabygirl, @strawberrychrome, @scaraphobia, @bertholdts--butt, @xiedoll, @missgab, @keiskyutie

wanna join the taglist for wakasa imaushi? | or click here to read more

[ghostradiodylan]

I really love that I've now been called misogynist AND racist for shipping Rylan, in subtweets (subtumbls?) from people I've never even interacted with. I genuinely do find it hilarious because, to paraphrase the immortal words of Fall Out Boy, I typically don't care what you think as long as it's about me. :3

But this is getting kinda weird and personal and if you think I won't hear what you say about me just because you've blocked me specifically then you must be new.

I'm sorry, who was unnecessarily nasty? Because I haven't seen anyone be nasty in this very oblique conversation until now.

For what it's worth, in case anyone with two braincells to rub together was confused (not that they would be), I don't 'have a fetish for gay men' (which is something I feel like only a homophobe would say, but I tend to try not to call names until someone does it to me). I just feel the chemistry between those two characters that's very clearly intended in the script and performances. The arc of their relationship is deeply wholesome and sweet, and that kiss at the campfire is one of the cutest things I've ever seen in a video game. Also Dylan and Ryan sparked something in me that I honestly thought was dead, reminded me that I was full of stories when I was in a very, very dark place in my life and I will love them for that forever. And I've already promised another 100k of fic about them so anyone who has a problem with that can die mad I guess stay tuned for that.

This is a silly thing to fight about and I should be above getting heated over internet shipping wars and responding to insults from unserious people. But when they turn into personal attacks for no good reason? I guess I'm not. I don't want anyone to change what they ship or what they write, I only want them to stop being so smug and superior while willfully misinterpreting the canon and accusing others of the same and so much worse.

[underaverageheight]

baby

LMH x gn!reader fluff

A/N: i’ve been studying for finals and just had the last of them. now i’m back! i caught up on the mvs and the practices but omg the suit dance practice?? minho and the untied tie- reblogs, likes, & shares are appreciated &lt;3

[jeongin's vers.]

“baby me. take care of me, please.”

you’ve been dating minho long enough to know he doesn't like to be touched when he’s mad, stressed or frustrated. you found this out the hard way when you tried comforting him with a gentle hand that he shrugged off roughly, hurting your feelings a bit. but you know not to be too touchy since now he welcomes your touch. he truly is like a cat.

there was an unspoken rule the two of you shared. whoever gets off work first, cooks dinner. today, you got off work early but you were eager since you had found a new meal you wanted to try.

you were almost about to start plating the food when you heard the door open and shut. grumbling and the soft thud of a bag being tossed were heard as minho made a beeline straight for the kitchen, stopping only to hug you from behind and rest his head on your shoulder. “rough day? is it your boss again?” you turned around to face him. he had a softening scowl on his face, his long hair disheveled as if he had been running his hand through it all day. his tie was pulled loose, and held by the collar of his shirt.

pulling your hands up to cup his face, he whispered, “can…can you lay down with me?” his eyes searched yours, the little bit of stars you claimed to see in his eyes faded, barely shining.

“but dinner, let’s eat first while it’s warm” you stroked his soft cheek lovingly before gesturing to the half-made plates.

“forget about dinner. baby me. take care of me, please,” you nodded and he grabbed your hand softly, leading you to the bed before flopping onto the comforter. you lay down next to him as he shuffled himself closer to use your arm as his pillow while he koala-hugged you, closing his eyes. you stared at the ceiling, your fingers fiddling with the soft strands of his hair, while the other gently removed his glasses and set them on the bedside table.

looks like dinner will have to wait.

Masterlist

[foxett]

Swingset finished designs (these apply from chapter 14 onward)

[the-broken-pen]

a villain who has cat based powers and a henchman who really like cats . do as you will -🐏

The villain came in through the window, paws pattering onto the floor, and the henchman jerked their head up.

A moment later, they shifted, lounging against the desk as if they hadn’t just gone from cat to human.

The henchman had to look away, fighting a squeal as they flushed furiously.

They had loved cats as a kid—cultivated a hoard of them that amassed in their house no matter how much their parents complained. When they had moved to the city, into a tiny shoebox of an apartment, they had left them all behind. And no matter how many photos their parents sent them, it was never truly enough.

So when the henchman had taken this job, on the tiny scrap of information they were allowed to have “heightened senses, shifting, good pay” they hadn’t known what to expect.

They had not expected a cat.

Thus, the furious fight to not lose their mind.

Out of the corner of their eye, they caught the edge of the villain’s smirk and raised eyebrow.

“Every time I come in here as a cat, your heart rate sky rockets,” the villain observed, and though the henchman hadn’t thought it was possible, they flushed further.

“Umm.” They tried to articulate a response that wasn’t along the lines of senseless mumbling, and amusement settled onto the villain’s face.

The villain pushed themself onto the top of their desk, settling their head into their hands as they sat cross legged.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who loves cats as much as you do,” the villain said. They sounded mildly fascinated.

The henchman was going to die, right there.

“I grew up with um. A lot of cats,” the henchman managed. “I think they’re great.”

The villain looked like they were fighting a smile.

“Always good to find a fan.”

The henchman’s face was on fire.

“That’s not—“

“Mhm.”

“Oh god.” The henchman covered their face with their hands.

The villain laughed.

“You’re fun to mess with, you know that?”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

The villain grinned, all Cheshire Cat, and the henchman could imagine a tail swishing. If they looked closely, they could just barely see the diamond shape to the villain’s pupils.

“Whoever hired you is getting a pay raise.”

“I’m-I’m sorry?”

The villain shrugged. “You’re fun. I hate boring people, especially when I have to pay them. How awful is that? Paying for your own boredom. Should be illegal, really.”

“Oh,” the henchman didn’t have a response for that. “And I’m not boring?”

“No, you’re adorable,” the villain waived them off. “Hence the pay raise.”

They searched for something to say, before blurting out, “You really have nine lives?”

“Gathering intel on me, huh?”

The henchman had to sit on their hand to stop themself from slapping it over their own mouth.

“I don’t know why I said that.”

The villain laughed again.

“Enhanced hearing and vision,” they pointed to their own face. “And, of course, the shifting.”

The villain shrugged one shoulder. “As for the nine lives, I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

“Hopefully not.”

“Awww, you don’t want me to die?”

“I don’t want anyone to die,” the henchman agreed. The villains smile sharpened, all canine teeth.

“So I’m not special, then?”

“No—”the henchman stopped. “You’re messing with me.”

The villain slid off the desk in one fluid movement. “You catch on quick. Come on,” they jerked their head to the door.

The henchman stood eyeing the villain.

“What are we doing?”

“Bank robbery,” the villain said easily. They tilted their head slightly. “Or maybe knocking some construction equipment over. Crane or two, you know?”

The henchman had known about the shifting, but they hadn’t realized just how cat-like the villain was in behavior.

“….Because you’re a cat?”

“No,” the villain blinked. “Because it’s fun.”

Overall, it was the best job the henchman had ever had.

[giggly-squiggily]

Never Bore A Mischievous Demon (Blue Lock)

Heyo! Welcome to "Squiggily's self indulgent hour"- the post in which I write something out of pure desire and put my whole Ryusae loving self into it! I can't tell you why I had the sudden urge to write these two; I just did- and here we are :D

CW: Swearing, Suggestive humor (It's Shidou ya'll), possible Blue Lock spoilers! (I didn't have a setting in mind when I wrote this but gonna put that there and in the tags just in case)

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@myreygn, @cupcake-spice13 @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @riisada @ticklish-n-stuff

Summary: Shidou loves Sae's laugh. Sae hates when Shidou tickles him. One of them is lying.

He was bored. It was never a good sign when Shidou was bored.

Swinging himself on the balls of his feet, he dared a peek into the locker room to find Sae getting dressed. Practice ran late, the sky around them a warm orange color and the locker room mostly empty.

He smelled like expensive body wash and lotion, skin smooth against defined muscles. His hair mused from the shirt he pulled overhead, still damp from his shower. He looked a bit tired, pausing his dressing to yawn.

Shidou saw an opportunity and took it.

Faster than the speed of light, he darted behind Sae and grabbed his waist, pressing his fingers into the bare skin of his stomach.

“AH!” The shorter boy yelped and spasmed, an elbow lodging itself into Shidou’s own gut. It did nothing to deter the other boy. “Damn it, demon- get the hell off!”

Shidou laughed heartily, grinning at Sae’s death glare. “What, Sae-Sae? You know what happens if you take forever to get dressed!” He leaned in real close, just inches from his ear. “I get eager.”

“Go take care of it with your left hand.” Sae elbowed him again, jerking once more when Shidou let his fingers trail across his skin. Free from his clutches, he hastily pulled his shirt all the way down and grabbed his bag, eager to get away. “Do that again and I’ll-”

“You’ll what, Sae?” Shidou was before him once more, blocking him in with a teasing smile. “I wanna know- tell me what you’re gonna do to me~”

The other man’s eyes narrowed into slits, going for unfazed. So stoic yet so expressive; Shidou loved these little quirks only he seemed to find within the picture-perfect player. Right now, his expression seemed annoyed, but he could tell by the tightness of his jaw and flush creeping above his collar he was getting nervous.

Oh, how Shidou loved it when Sae got nervous.

“Go die.” Sae walked past him, making a point to shoulder check him on the way out. Shidou laughed as he followed along, relishing in his speedy pace.

Oh what fun they would have when they returned home.

~~~

Sae felt his pulse racing in his ears as they walked the steps up to their hotel room. He tried to tell himself it was just the exhaustion, but he knew better.

Shidou was behind him, keeping a bit of distance and whistling a tune. Their relationship wasn’t a secret- there’d been many times they’ve come in with Shidou’s arm around his waist or his lips against his own. If anyone had an issue, they didn’t dare voice it. The perks of being who he was.

No- this distance was intentional. A false state of security the demon knew would make him antsy. He knew for now he was safe, but once that door opened…

Pausing before it, Sae took his time searching for the key- digging through his gym bag while Shidou carried on whistling. He could feel his eyes on him, watching his every move. It sent goosebumps across his skin; something Sae rarely felt with anybody.

Bastard. He hated how something as trivial as a look affected him.

No point stalling- Shidou would get impatient soon. Past mistakes taught him there was a time limit to how long he could keep the demon at bay. He swiped his card and unlocked the door.

The whistling came to an end. Sae tried not to look as he walked in.

The second the door closed- he ran.

“Sae-Sae~” Shidou laughed as the striker took off, sprinting for- what exactly? Their room? The bath? The balcony??? He didn’t think this through; another effect Shidou had on him. The demon was hot on his heels, fingers swiping at him and just barely making contact with his shirt. He needed to get away, now.

He found himself in a standstill with the demon, glaring into those sharp pink eyes. Shidou was grinning, flinching left and right to throw off Sae’s escape. Each fake out made him laugh, the sound ringing in Sae’s ears like a windchime. “Where you gonna go? Whatcha gonna do? You know you can’t hide from me!”

Bedroom it was. Sae sprinted, the thump of Shidou vaulting over the couch following him. He was so close-

“GOTCHA!” Shidou yelled as Sae swore, fingers just brushing the door. So close!

“Put me down, demon!” Sae grunted as he was swung around, half-carried into the room by the giggly man. He was soon tossed into the bed, sending the neatly lined up pillows flying. Before Sae had a chance to react, Shidou was on him, tugging at his shirt.

“Don’t you even think about it- Shidou!” Sae growled, fighting with all his might. Unfortunately for him, it was at this time the demon decided to enact his masterplan, pinching at his sides. “Knock it ohohff!”

“Hehehe, I told you, Sae-Sae; if you keep me waiting, I get eager.” Shidou beamed as he managed to shove a hand up Sae’s shirt, pressing his hand against warm skin. “And I want to be fed.”

“Fuck of-Ohoohhoff!” Sae wished he could have held out longer. Maybe if Shidou went somewhere less ticklish like his ribs he could. If he’d gone for his neck this entire scenario might have played out very differently.

Alas, he went right for the one spot he knew could break Sae down immediately. Well- near immediately anyway. “Ghoohohoh bahhahck to heheheell, yoohohohu dammahhahan behhhahahast!”

“Aww, why would I wanna go back when I’m in heaven?” Shidou cooed sweetly, his hands scratching at Sae’s stomach rapidly, making the smaller striker thrash about. “You can’t give a man a taste of your golden laugh and expect him never to come back, now can you?”

Sae wanted to punch him. He might have, if he wasn’t too busy fighting off the talons tracing random patterns into his skin. Each flick and press of Shidou’s fingers zapped his strength, the touch poisonous to his resistance. “Aheahahhaha, shhuuhhuuht uhuhuhp! Gehahahahaha, yohoohohohu’re just beheehheing duuhu-Gahhahahaha!”

“I’m being what? Dashing? Demonically attractive? Whatcha gonna say, Sae-Sae?” Shidou cooed, drilling both thumbs into the sides of his stomach as the rest of his fingers tapped along his waist. He leaned in closer to Sae’s flushed cheeks, pressing their foreheads together. This time, he was wise to move in only after Sae jerked. “Are you gonna tell me how you really feel? That you’re actually enjoying this? Hmm?”

He didn’t need words to know the truth. Sae’s actions made it clear he was. The lack of resistance, the hands on Shidou’s shoulders barely pushing him back- if anything they seemed to cling to him- how despite trying to glare, he couldn’t hold eye contact while giggling up a storm. 

God, why was he so freaking cute?

“Geahhahaha! Fuhuuhuhck! Fuhuhuhck, ohohohoaky! Ohoohohkay gehhehet the heheheell ohohohoff!” Alas- all good things must come to an end. Shidou didn’t fight when Sae put real strength in his shove, sending the other tumbling into the sheets. He didn’t fight back when Sae wrestled him on his back, glaring down at him through flushed cheeks and small pants. If anything- he stretched out beneath him with a lazy smile, drinking in the sight. “Thehehere…ahahahss.”

“Hmm.” Shidou smiled bigger, earning an eye roll from the other boy. He reached up, gently pinching Sae’s cheek. “Cutie.”

“Ugh, you’re insufferable.” Sae shoved his chest before starting to get up, making exactly one centimeter before Shidou pulled him down into him. “Lemme go.”

“Never!” Shidou laughed, further entangling their limbs as he pressed a fat kiss into Sae’s cheek. “You’re mine!”

“So annoying.” Sae groaned, but his squirms for freedom stopped. He let himself relax into Shidou’s embrace- pretending the heat in his cheeks was from the previous tickle fight. “You shouldn’t be allowed to tickle me since you’re not ticklish yourself.”

“Who said I wasn’t?” The taller boy asked, grinning when Sae leaned back to stare. “What? Just because you haven’t found it yet doesn’t mean I’m not.”

Sae narrowed his eyes, suspicious. Shidou resisted the urge to laugh. “I don’t believe you.”

“Tell you what- since you’re so cute; I’ll tell you.” Sae’s eyes narrowed further, but he let Shidou lean in. His breath tickled his ear as he whispered.

“Gross.” Sae rolled his eyes to the back of his head, smacking Shidou’s bicep as the other laughed into his neck. “Be serious, demon!”

“I am! Wanna try it out?” Shidou winked, laughing harder when Sae pinched his bicep. “Really though- I am ticklish somewhere. I’m sure you’ll find it eventually.”

“Of course I will.”

“So confident.” Shidou snickered as he pulled Sae back into his chest. “That’s what I love about you though- or I should say, one of the many things I love about you.”

So much for blaming his blush on something else. Sae let out a small noise of defeat as he pressed closer into Shidou’s chest, the day catching up on him. Shidou’s long fingers ran down his spine at such a soothing pace, he couldn’t bring himself to fight anymore. “I take it tickling me is one of the things you love as well?”

“Tickling, telling bad jokes- whatever makes you laugh really.” Shidou smiled in his crown, breathing in his scent. “I just love seeing you smile and hearing you happy. It makes me happier than anything.”

Sae didn’t have words; he suddenly didn’t trust his voice. Instead, he curled his fingers into Shidou’s shirt, pretending he was falling asleep and not fighting off the strange lump forming in his throat. Above him, Shidou carried on stroking his back, murmuring into his crown more sickly sweet things until he was properly out; dreaming of demons with pink eyes and funny smiles that made his heart do stupid little flips.

Thanks for reading!

[quinn-pop]

you guys should grow old together or something

they’re so :| and :3 to me

[prettysquishygirl]

The second chapter of All the small things, an ineffable husbands fanfic post season two of Good Omens which seems to be entirely about two idiots talking about and clearly wanting kisses and agreeing to feed the ducks.

But they do snog in the trees this time. And there is talk of the flat.

Favourite two lines below:

"We appear to have tripped."

"You appear to have pushed me up against a tree," said Crowley. "I am not complaining."

[lineffability]

I am once again promoting my fic in which Aziraphale tries to spur-of-the-moment hire cosmetics saleswoman crowley as his nanny