#you have to tell him like. its okay to want intimacy and its okay that you want me and that you want me to want you. oh.

[titanrogue]

freak

pairing: bucky barnes x fem! reader

summary: you match with bucky online and quickly fall into a passionate relationship, where desire, trust, and control intertwine in an intense night of intimacy.

words: 0.6k

note: saw a couple of posts talking about bucky's online dating and his freakiness, here's my take on it. totally could do a second part on this. feel free to send requests and leave comments.

he had found your profile and matched with you on the same day. you started the conversation, asked the same mundane questions you had to ask to at least be more confident in that you won't meet a fucking psycho that'll try to abuse you.

the short haired asked you on a coffee date. simple, calm, coffee date. almost like a recon mission. you made him feel good through the date, that much that in the spam of two weeks he had already taken you out on five more dates.

things lead to other things and now he's beautifully tied down on your queen bed. ocean eyes looking at you while you stare at him, like you can eat him whole in one bite. you chuckled at that thought and slowly made your way up to him.

you sat on your knees, one hand tracing the rope which he could easily rip apart if he wanted to. dancing hand across his vibranium arm, his pecs, his jaw and god, you were so close he could feel your breath on his lips.

"i'll start, baby bucks." you announce, soft lips brushing against his.

you kiss his cheeks, his jaw, his clavicle, shoulders, pecs. on his nipples you suck, he moans as his hips roll over you. you chuckled and put your hand over his naked dick, slow movements all over his phallus, thumb on the tip, making pressure.

"uhm, you're a good boy." you mumble, mouth tracing a path of saliva ending directly on his lips. "such a good boy for me."

you engage in a wet, nasty and desperate kiss. his hands longing for touching your body. but he knew he couldn't, not until you allowed him. hips rolling above his naked, leaking cock. panties wet due to the arousal of your movements.

"please..." needy, raspy tone.

"please what? baby?" your hands on his shoulders making your upper body steady as you danced on his dick. "be good and tell me what you want."

"fuck me now, please." big smile on your face after his sweet words. louder smooches on his lips and cheeks as your fingers brushed against his short haired nape.

blue eyes followed you. hand pushing aside the fabric of your black underwear, holding his dick and lining it with your entrance. got down a little, making him whimper. it had been so long since he last felt that warm.

you sat down completely, his eyes closed as you took of your bra.

"look at me, bucks." you ordered, lust in your voice and eyes as he opened his. his chest falling and rising with heavy breaths. "are you enjoying this?"

"wanna touch you. feel you." needy pussy drunk face and pout. "please."

"maybe later, sugar."

as your sweet words came spilled out your mouth your legs started with his torture. quick and short jumps that made him moan, then rolls that made him groan.

your hands placed on top of his knees and even deeper movements begin to form. breasts bouncing with each jump. his eyes running all over your body, the little scars and marks, the modification you had and those you didn't have.

he appreciated you whole as you came undone all over his dick. the last of your bounces made him finish as you milked the last of him. you remained seated on top of him. gravity doing its work in making his cum leak outside your inside walls.

you bent over him, undoing the knots that restrain his hands. he holds you as you sunk on his chest. light touches on your back and soft kisses in your hair.

"you okay?" he asks feeling your deep breaths against his skin.

you nod, "i can do this all day." he chuckled, "what? do you think i can't?"

"no, it isn't that. you cute."

you laugh and bite his chin.

"next time i'm fucking you from behind."

[cbeargyu]

what you want

summary: you and taeyong have been best friends since college, sharing your adult lives side by side—your flower shop, his branding firm, countless shared memories. but as you near your 30s, the yearning to become a mother grows unbearable. during a reunion trip to jeju island, a tipsy conversation turns into something tender, raw, and irreversible. what begins as comfort and shared vulnerability becomes something deeper—intimate confessions, unspoken love, and the beginning of a quiet forever.

pairing: bestfriend taeyong x fem!reader

genre: slow-burn, friends to lovers, emotional smut, soft romance, hurt/comfort, domestic fluff, eventual pregnancy.

warnings: breeding kink, unprotected sex (consensual, emotional context), impregnatio, pregnancy mention, emotional vulnerability, suggestive adult themes (18+), heavy romantic tension with soft resolution.

wc: 4,5K

notes: hi hiiii, okay so i've been dying to read smutty taeyong fics lately and it's been ALMOST impossible to find 😭 like 90% are mxm and there's barely any tae x reader content out there... if anyone has recs pls drop them in the comments ily. alsooo it's probably painfully obvious by now that i'm obsessed with the whole breeding kink + domestic fluff combo BYE that's literally my favorite thing ever 😩🫠💗

you’ve always been close to taeyong.

since college, really—when you met in that ridiculously stuffy marketing class during your second year. he was late that day, hair still damp from a rushed shower, a printed branding portfolio tucked under one arm, and somehow, he still managed to slide into the seat beside you with an easy smile and that soft voice.

you became inseparable after that. group projects, late-night convenience store runs, silent study sessions that turned into hours of talking about everything and nothing. you built a quiet rhythm with him, one that never required a label or explanation.

you opened your flower shop right after graduation. taeyong built his own creative agency, specializing in branding and design—sleek, intentional, always poetic in its aesthetic. you sent him flowers for his launch day; he designed the logo for your storefront for free. "it’s a gift," he said when you tried to pay him, his voice warm over the phone. "besides, i owe you for all the coffee you bought me during thesis week."

now in your late twenties, things feel stable. solid. your dreams are real. you run a blooming business. taeyong’s agency is doing well. life, on the surface, is soft and good. but there’s one thing that sits heavily in your chest.

you want a baby.

you’ve wanted one for years. even when you were young, you imagined yourself as a mother before anything else—before being a florist, a business owner, a woman navigating city streets with earbuds in and a tote bag full of errands. you crave that connection, the physicality of pregnancy, the quiet intimacy of raising someone who came from you.

but dating? nonexistent. your schedule is tight, your circle small, and the men you do meet are more interested in weekend flings than parenting plans. you’ve been obsessively reading about IVF, sperm donors, even traditional remedies your grandmother used to whisper about. you bring it up to taeyong one night, half-laughing as you scroll through forums.

“i don’t know what to do,” you admit, looking over the rim of your mug at him. “i’m not seeing anyone. i don’t want to wait until i’m forty. and i want to carry them. i want to feel them growing inside me.”

taeyong goes quiet.

he doesn’t have the answers, but he listens. tells you that you’d make an amazing mother. suggests maybe you could consider adoption, but you shake your head gently.

“i want to be pregnant,” you whisper. “i want them to be mine from the start.”

he nods.

he doesn’t push.

a few days later, he messages you.

taeyonggie👺 [11:13am]: remember our old classmates? they’re planning a reunion trip to jeju. want to go? they said you’re welcome too.

you hesitate, then say yes. maybe a change of scenery is what you need. something about the sea and the quiet and the way jeju always smells like citrus and wind.

you don’t expect to feel so at ease.

you arrive together, him beside you on the plane, headphones shared between you as you both doze off mid-flight. you’re staying at a cozy hotel not far from the beach—modern but warm, all wood accents and soft lighting.

there’s a mix-up at check-in.

“two rooms for y/n and taeyong?” the clerk asks.

“no, just one,” taeyong corrects, glancing at you. “two beds, please.”

you nod. it’s nothing new. you’ve stayed over at each other’s apartments before. this is the same. right?

your room has two full-size beds, a window view of the ocean, and barely enough space for both your suitcases. you joke about how you’ll end up tripping over each other, and taeyong just grins, tossing his duffel onto the bed by the wall.

the first two days are calm.

nakamoto yuta—now a travel content creator, all sun-kissed skin and open laughter—is the life of the group. seulgi, working as a creative director for a fashion label, is effortlessly elegant, always with a camera around her neck. also in the group: kwon eunbi, a vocal coach; hwang minhyun, managing a production company; kim seolhyun, running a podcast on pop culture; and kim hanbin, now a choreographer.

you spend your days exploring the island.

taeyong helps you pick tangerines from the orchard. you braid small wildflowers into your hair, and he snaps a photo when you’re not looking. he buys you honey ice cream and insists on carrying your bag when your shoulder starts to ache.

it feels like nothing’s changed.

but there’s a moment.

you’re inside the hotel lounge, grabbing drinks. yuta and taeyong sit near the back, shoulders low, conversation soft between them.

“you still in love with her?” yuta asks, voice easy but not teasing.

taeyong chokes on his drink. coughs. blushes.

“no,” he says, eyes flickering. “i mean, not anymore. that was...college. i’m over it.”

yuta raises a brow. “you sure?”

taeyong doesn’t answer right away. his fingers tap against the glass, slow. thoughtful.

“she wants a baby,” he says eventually. “that’s all she talks about now.”

“so give her one,” yuta shrugs.

taeyong laughs quietly. like it’s ridiculous. like it’s tempting.

he doesn’t bring it up again.

but something shifts.

you notice him watching you a little longer than usual when you laugh. his gaze lingers on the curve of your jaw, the line of your collarbone, the way you absentmindedly rest a hand over your stomach when you’re lost in thought.

you don’t say anything either.

you’re still just friends.

sharing a room.

sharing a life.

almost.

dinner that night is golden.

the kind that stretches out with laughter, grilled seafood, tangerine wine, and flickering lanterns strung up between pine trees. the restaurant is open-air, tucked near the cliffside with a view of the ocean glowing beneath the full moon.

everyone's a little tipsy by the time dessert comes around. yuta’s telling stories about backpacking in morocco and the time he accidentally ended up at a wedding. seulgi keeps taking pictures of everyone's reactions, cheeks flushed from wine. hanbin and seolhyun are arguing about the best era of k-pop choreography. eunbi sings a soft verse of something nostalgic, and minhyun smiles so softly you wonder if he's thinking of someone he left behind.

taeyong is beside you. always beside you. refilling your glass with something citrusy. resting his arm along the back of your chair. letting his knee bump into yours and not pulling away. the heat from him is steady. familiar. almost too much.

later, the drinks keep flowing back at the hotel. minhyun brings out a bottle of plum soju he brought from seoul, and that’s when it really starts. shots. dares. flushed cheeks and slurred memories.

you’re warm. glowing. a little too honest.

“i mean it,” you say, your voice low, shoulders loose as you sit with taeyong on the floor by the balcony door, away from the noise. “i think about it every night. sometimes i dream about it.”

he looks at you, gentle. “dream about what?”

you lean your head against the windowpane, watching the wind rustle the curtain.

“having a baby,” you murmur. “being pregnant. the little kicks. the soft cries. the weight of them on my chest. it’s so clear in my mind. like… i can almost feel it already.”

taeyong swallows.

you’re drunk. not sloppy, just vulnerable in a way you rarely let yourself be.

“i’ve tried not to obsess over it,” you continue, voice quieter now. “but it’s hard. i want it so much. and i know it’s selfish to want the whole experience—the belly, the pain, the birth. i just… i don’t want to feel like i missed it, like i missed the chance to be the kind of mother i’ve always seen myself becoming.”

taeyong doesn’t know what to say. you can feel it in the silence. his fingers curl slightly, brushing the edge of your sweater.

“you’d be such a good dad, you know,” you say suddenly, eyes half-lidded, smiling gently now as the alcohol softens your words. “like… annoyingly good.”

taeyong blinks.

“you’d be the kind that warms up the milk just right. that kisses tiny foreheads. that always carries extra snacks. that reads the bedtime story even when he’s tired. you'd probably cry when they take their first step.”

he laughs under his breath, a little shaky. your words are melting something in him.

“and your baby would have your eyes,” you add, like it’s nothing. “those pretty lashes. and maybe your laugh. and you’d panic the first time they got sick. and hold them all night until they stopped crying.”

he’s staring at you now. full-on. wide-eyed, a little undone.

“you’d be so gentle,” you whisper. “you already are.”

taeyong shifts. swallows again. his voice is rough when he finally speaks. “don’t say that.”

you tilt your head, confused. “why not? it’s true.”

“because,” he breathes, gaze flicking down to your lips for half a second before pulling back to the ceiling. “you’re drunk. and i’m trying really hard not to do something i’ll regret.”

you blink slowly, the alcohol making everything feel suspended.

you’re suddenly aware of how close you are. how intimate this has always been. not the words. not the night. just you and him.

taeyong stands. runs a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“i’m gonna get some water,” he mumbles, stepping away from the room.

you stay behind, heartbeat thudding, his warmth still lingering beside you.

you meant every word.

but you don’t know if he’ll ever believe that.

taeyong returns to the table with your glass of water clutched between his fingers like it’s something to hold himself together. his pulse is still uneven, the weight of your words clinging to him like sea salt in the air—soft but undeniable.

you’re laughing at something when he returns. yuta’s grinning, telling a story about a disastrous photoshoot in cambodia that involved a monkey, a drone, and his own foolish confidence. your cheeks are still flushed, but your expression dims a little when your eyes catch his, like you can feel the shift. like you remember what you said.

taeyong sets the glass in front of you gently, and you whisper a quiet “thanks” without looking up.

he doesn’t sit down again. instead, he hovers, letting the chatter of the group wash over him, standing on the edge of it all. seulgi pulls hanbin into a debate about concept staging in idol tours, seolhyun’s already half-asleep on the couch, and minhyun is texting someone with a small smile. the night has thinned out. the fire outside has died, leaving only the dim golden lights strung overhead and the soft hum of a playlist playing someone’s nostalgic mix of late 2010s ballads.

by the time the clock hits nearly two in the morning, someone mumbles about calling it a night.

you blink blearily, your words slurring just a bit now, your weight leaning more and more toward the backrest of the couch. taeyong’s already there before anyone else moves, slipping a hand beneath your elbow and helping you to your feet like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“come on,” he says quietly, warm breath by your temple. “let’s get you to bed.”

you nod sleepily, your body soft, trusting. your fingers find the edge of his jacket sleeve as he steadies you, and he doesn’t pull away. the walk to the room is silent, the hallways dim and muffled. your steps are clumsy, and he catches you more than once, his hand curling around your waist like second nature.

inside the room, it’s dim and warm. the faint scent of saltwater and clean cotton lingers in the air from earlier. you collapse on the edge of the bed you claimed the night before, one of two queen mattresses sitting side by side with a single nightstand in between. the tension returns with the silence, thick and cloying. he walks to the dresser and grabs a bottle of water, offering it to you.

you drink half of it. then sit there. watching him.

he avoids your gaze at first. fiddles with the hem of his shirt. looks out the window like he might say something—then stops himself.

but you’re still drunk. and honest. and maybe a little bold in the way you never let yourself be.

“you know,” you start, voice quiet, “i wasn’t drunk when i said you’d make a good dad.”

taeyong turns slowly. you meet his eyes.

you swallow thickly, fingers wringing the edge of your pajama top. “i’ve thought about it before.”

he blinks, lips parting like he wants to ask but isn’t sure if he should.

you continue.

"not just in the abstract. not just... you as someone’s dad. but you as my—" you stop, heat blooming up your neck. you exhale. “sometimes, i think about what it’d be like if you were the one.”

he says nothing, but his expression crumbles—something tender and wounded flickering behind his eyes.

“i mean, we’ve been in each other’s lives forever,” you say, softer now. “we grew up together in every way that matters. you’ve seen me fail and get back up and fall apart again. you’ve never walked away. not once. not even when i was unbearable. i trust you with everything. i always have.”

taeyong doesn’t breathe.

you keep going.

“so yeah. i think about it sometimes. about what it’d be like to have your kid. to raise them with you. to wake up to you and a messy little human with sleepy eyes and your stupid laugh. and maybe i’m insane, maybe it’s just my hormones or my loneliness or whatever—but the thought doesn’t scare me. it grounds me.”

you laugh, a little bitterly, wiping at the corner of your eye. “and that’s the worst part. because i know you don’t see me that way. or if you did once, it’s long gone. and i shouldn’t be saying this—i know that. but there’s something about tonight that makes me feel like i’ll burst if i don’t.”

taeyong moves before you can finish.

quiet. careful.

he kneels in front of you. not touching you. not yet. just there, looking up at you like he’s memorizing every curve of your face.

his voice is raw.

“don’t say i don’t see you.”

you meet his eyes.

“i’ve always seen you.”

your breath hitches.

taeyong lets out a quiet, shaky laugh. “you talk about me being a dad like i wouldn’t spend every second wondering how the hell i got so lucky to build a life with you. like i haven’t already imagined it too. maybe not with words. maybe not out loud. but… i have.”

you whisper, “you have?”

he nods.

“every time you smile like that. every time you bring me coffee with your name scribbled next to mine. every time you hug me like home. yes. i have.”

you don’t move.

he reaches for your hand—slow, reverent, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“but i never let myself say it,” he murmurs. “because i didn’t want to mess this up. not with us. not with you. and definitely not like this. but if i’m being honest… the thought of you carrying my child?” he swallows. “that doesn’t scare me either.”

the room is silent.

you stare at him, your fingers trembling in his grip.

you whisper, “then kiss me.”

he does.

not rushed. not heated.

just true.

the kind of kiss that feels like coming home after years of wandering.

like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t crazy after all.

the kiss deepens slowly.

taeyong’s hands are warm on your cheeks, cradling you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held. you melt under his touch, your fingers sliding up his neck, into his hair, pulling him closer, closer still—like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you let go.

he’s the one who gasps first when your lips part just enough to whisper his name. it falls from your mouth like a secret you’ve kept buried for too long, and he swallows it whole.

he pulls back slightly, forehead resting against yours, his thumbs brushing over your flushed skin. you can feel his heart racing beneath his shirt.

“y/n…” his voice is hoarse. “are you sure?”

you nod, soft and breathless. “i’ve never been more sure.”

and there’s something in your voice—something so certain, so full of quiet longing—that makes taeyong inhale like he’s taking you in for the first time.

his lips find yours again, slower now, more deliberate. his touch trails from your face to your waist, pulling you gently into his lap, like he needs you close enough to feel everything—the way your body trembles against his, the way your thighs tighten around his hips, the way your breath stutters when his mouth moves down your neck.

he tastes your skin like a prayer, like something he’s dreamt about in the quiet hours of the night when your voice was the only thing that could calm him down.

you whisper into the space between kisses, into the curve of his jaw, “i want it to be you.”

his breath hitches.

“i want your baby,” you murmur, your hand pressing over his chest, right where his heart is pounding. “i want to carry your child. someone small and perfect and warm, someone who has your eyes… your smile.”

taeyong lets out the softest sound, almost like a whimper, and you feel his fingers tighten on your hips, his body tensing like he’s trying to hold himself back.

you lean into his ear and say it again—this time slower, your voice shaking. “i want your baby inside me, tae.”

his hands slide up your sides, under your shirt, reverent and gentle. “god,” he breathes. “you have no idea what that does to me.”

“tell me.”

he leans back just enough to look at you—really look at you. his pupils are blown wide, his cheeks flushed, lips swollen and parted.

“i think about it all the time,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “what you’d look like with my baby growing inside you. your belly round and soft, your body glowing. coming home to you with your shirt stretched over the bump, your hands cradling it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”

he presses a kiss to your collarbone, then another, lower. “i want to see you like that. i want to wake up and run my hands over your belly, feel it kick. talk to it. kiss it.”

you whimper, your fingers knotting in his hair. “tae…”

his hands slip beneath the waistband of your shorts, thumbs brushing over your hipbones like they belong there. “i want to fill you up,” he murmurs, voice thick and trembling. “not just for tonight. not just for the fantasy. i want this to meansomething. it does mean something.”

you nod, cupping his face. “i know. it does to me too.”

he kisses you again, deeper now, one hand at the small of your back, guiding you down onto the mattress. the room is quiet, lit only by the moonlight spilling through the window, and everything feels soft. intimate. warm.

he undresses you slowly, carefully, as if every piece of clothing he removes reveals another piece of your heart. your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer until there’s no space between you, nothing but breath and bare skin and whispered names.

when he enters you, it’s slow and deep, like he’s savoring every inch, like he’s trying to memorize the way you feel wrapped around him. your back arches, and he moans into your neck, your name a broken sound on his lips.

you’re both trembling—emotion thick in your chests, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. because it’s not just sex. not just lust. it’s home. it’s years of friendship and quiet yearning finally coming undone in the safest way possible.

taeyong presses a kiss to your temple and whispers, “you’re perfect. you’re mine.”

you cradle his face in your hands, smiling through the tears. “give me everything, tae. i want to feel you. all of you. i want to feel you stay.”

his rhythm falters, just for a second, overcome by the weight of it all. “i’ll give you everything. i’ll give you a family.”

you tighten around him at the words, gasping.

“i want to make you a mom,” he whispers. “tonight.”

you nod frantically, lips parting, “do it. please. i want to feel it—i want to feel you—when you fill me.”

taeyong groans, hips stuttering, burying his face in your neck. “fuck. y/n…”

you whisper, “put a baby in me, tae.”

he thrusts deeper, harder now, the restraint beginning to crumble. your bodies are slick with sweat, moving together with a kind of desperation that feels like both a beginning and a promise.

when he finishes—inside, just like you wanted—it’s with a gasp, his arms locked around you tight, like he’s scared to let go. and for a long moment, neither of you move.

“i want you full of me,” he says against your mouth, already hardening again. “i want to make sure.”

you nod, dazed. open. warm.

“don’t stop,” you whisper. “please don’t stop.”

and he doesn’t.

he makes love to you over and over again, slow and focused, like each time is another chance to seal your wish into reality. sometimes he holds your hips, watching your face as you fall apart for him. other times he lays you on your side, kissing your shoulder while whispering how beautiful you are, how perfect you’d be with his child inside you.

when dawn breaks, you’re tangled together in silence. your body aches, sweet and sated. your thighs sticky, your heart full. his hand rests on your stomach again, like he’s already waiting.

he is groaning your name, whispering over and over, “mine. you’re mine. our baby. our future.”

you’re crying. he is too.

and when the trembling stops and the world is still again, he kisses your lips, then your cheeks, then your stomach.

“i can’t wait to see you grow,” he whispers, resting his head just below your ribs.

you run your fingers through his hair, heart pounding.

you whisper back, “i hope it has your eyes.”

the sunlight pours through the thin curtains like a slow, golden confession. the air smells like salt and lemon shampoo. taeyong wakes up first this time, his arm heavy over your waist, your back pressed flush against his chest. sunlight filters through the cream-colored curtains, warming the bare skin of your shoulder.

it kisses your bare shoulder first, then the soft curve of your waist, then the scattered marks taeyong left across your chest like constellations only he could read.

you’re the first to stir, eyelids fluttering open to the unfamiliar ceiling of the hotel room. for a second, you forget where you are. but then you shift slightly and feel the weight of an arm draped across your stomach, the steady rise and fall of a chest pressed into your back, and the unmistakable warmth of taeyong’s body, still wrapped around you like a second skin.

his breath ghosts against your nape, slow and deep, and you realize he hasn’t let go of you all night. not once.

you smile.

when you turn your head just enough to see his face, it nearly knocks the air out of your lungs. he’s peaceful like this—softer, younger somehow. his lashes rest against his cheeks, and his mouth is parted slightly, lips still swollen from all the kisses you gave him. his hand, large and warm, is splayed gently across your lower belly, protective and possessive in the same breath.

you reach down and lace your fingers with his.

as if he feels it, he stirs, humming sleepily against your skin. his nose nuzzles into your shoulder. “mmm… morning,” he mumbles, voice thick and low, still soaked in sleep.

you twist around slowly in his hold so you’re facing him. he blinks a few times, eyes still heavy, but when they focus on you, they soften in that way they always have—like you’re the center of his world and he’s been waiting all night just to see you again.

“you stayed,” you whisper, thumb brushing his cheekbone.

he smiles lazily, eyes fluttering shut again. “of course i did. where else would i go?”

you tuck yourself into his chest, your nose against his collarbone. “you feel so warm…”

his arms tighten around you instantly, drawing you closer until there’s no space between you. “you kept me warm first,” he murmurs, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “i didn’t want to let go.”

you stay like that for a while. breathing together. existing.

and then you feel him shift, one hand still resting over your belly, thumb drawing lazy, absent-minded circles over the skin there. he hums, low in his throat. “do you think… do you think it worked?”

your breath catches.

you look up at him, searching his face. he’s watching you carefully now, no longer groggy, eyes wide open and impossibly tender.

“i don’t know,” you whisper. “maybe.”

he leans in, kisses your forehead. then your temple. then the spot just below your eye. “i kind of hope it did.”

you feel your throat tighten with emotion.

“you do?”

“mmhm,” he nods, nudging his nose against yours. “i kept thinking about it last night… the way you’d look months from now. the way i’d get to take care of you. rub your back. cook for you. kiss your belly every morning.”

you let out a small laugh, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand.

“i’d be so annoying,” you murmur. “always crying. craving weird stuff. complaining about everything.”

he smiles, brushing your hair behind your ear. “you’d be perfect. i’d love you more every day. and our baby… our baby would be lucky.”

you bury your face in his chest, overwhelmed by the sweetness of it. the certainty.

he strokes your back gently. “and if it didn’t happen this time… we try again,” he says softly. “no rush. no pressure. just us. just love.”

you pull back, tearful and smiling all at once. “you want to try again already?”

he grins, lips brushing your cheek. “i want to make love to you every morning for the rest of my life. but yes… also for the baby.”

you laugh, breathless, and he kisses the sound right out of you.

his hands start to wander again—slow, exploring, remembering. he murmurs against your lips, “can i stay inside you today too? just like this… all day?”

you nod, whispering, “don’t leave me empty.”

and he doesn’t.

he makes love to you again—this time slow and languid, under the weight of sunlight and morning warmth. he kisses your face like you’re already glowing. like you’re already carrying a part of him.

when he comes again, deep inside you, he doesn’t look away. he holds you through it. kisses your tears. whispers your name like a promise.

afterward, he pulls the blanket over your bodies, still tangled. still joined. he keeps his hand on your belly, and you both stay quiet, smiling softly.

as if the future is already there.

[syluses]

BREADWINNER┃sylus

cw. smut, boxer! sylus, literally purely nsfw, sylus is down bad but just a teensy bit mean here, below 1k words, fem reader, 18+ characters

this isn’t the best idea, he knows.

fucking you, he means. it’s not wise, it’s certainly not conducive to his upcoming match’s success (set to commence in the next half hour)— hell, it’s not even sanitary, not really. there’s something distinctly filthy about this all when sylus crams you against the shower wall, the rather grimy one his dressing room has to offer, and hoists you up to rut into you deeper as you cry.

you don’t want anyone to hear. his team, or more notably his coach- waiting outside the door and pacing as he readies his number one fighter’s gloves and gear.

sylus does.

there’s a whole stadium full of people waiting with barely-contained excitement just down the hall where the back area opens up to the seemingly boundless ring. he knows it’s all for naught but fuck he hopes they hear as he pounds into your poor cunt senselessly and makes a vow in your ear, saying, i’ll win it for you.

you’d admire his dedication if you were a little more lucid, but right now, the better part of your rationale has faded.

he feels good. so good. you can’t even be mad at him for going against his coach’s advice, being warned off intimacy before a match because it’ll sap him of his strength- his physical vigor- completely. there’s no room for frustration when you’re damn near certain his cockhead is rearranging your guts as you hold onto him for dear life, when he bites into your neck- not to a painful degree, but just to leave a pretty mark, proof you’re his- and moans.

he tuts when you whimper. bastard. but to his credit, and sometimes to your displeasure, his cocksure attitude is grounded: he wins all his battles. he has every right to brag, but that doesn’t mean that sometimes you won’t get fed up with his bravado and try to knock him down a peg… you think it’s good for him; you’re like his tether to planet earth as he makes a small empire off the boxing industry.

(albeit, he seems less interested in that and more so in impressing you with its wages.)

“nawh. what’s wrong, sweetie?” he asks, honey-sweet, tone deceptively cloying for the wicked, self-satisfied glint in his eye. and you make a silent swear right then and there that you’ll get him back for this later. (but not now. he feels delicious inside you and you can hardly swat his hands away as they grasp your hips to anchor you as he bullies his way in.)

“if i’m not mistaken, you were telling me just moments ago how we shouldn’t do this, how bad of an idea it is that i… touch you.” he breathes, playful.

maybe he’s being a little meaner now, okay, he’ll grant that much, but he hopes you know that adrenaline’s already coursing through him, that he can’t help the testosterone that spikes in his veins preceding a fight. it’s hard to not act on it. coach’s words be damned- sylus feels more hyped up, thrilled, than anything when he’s fucking you within an inch of your life in his temporary room’s bathroom. certainly not tired, or drained, or any other thing he sagely warned him about, painting sex before a match like it was anathema in itself, a ticket to a sure loss.

oh, okay, that’s great and all, but sylus doesn’t lose.

you manage a pout between gasping, delighted breaths. “you-! i- i hope you lose!”

pearly teeth flash at you, spotting your lie easily. his broad, muscled chest rumbles with a deep chuckle, the bass of it making your legs all the more weak where they wrap around his hips. “ouch, kitten, you’re hurting my feelings now. if i don’t have your support during the match,… then what’s the point in it?” he quips back, lighthearted, though you can tell he means what he’s saying.

that bold grin of his falters when he hits particularly deep and you clench around him, nails digging into his traps. he slants into you more, if that’s possible, bowing his head in the sweaty juncture of your neck and collar.

“y-you’re lucky i even go to your stupid matches,” you mewl back, brows furrowed with all the indignity you can possibly muster.

he gives a low hum, voice strained, words meaningful beneath all the layers of want and hunger. “i am lucky,” he pants. “and you’ll watch me again tonight, hm?” he plants a doting kiss to your clavicle, oddly tender for the moment, peering up at you with ruby eyes aflame.

“when i bring that belt home for you?”

[always-just-red]

Oh I forgot to add 😭😭😭 be it fluff like jelly sylus but fluff maybe he trying to make the mc jelly too ? I’m going wild with ideas, I will be quiet

(Part 1 of ask) FINALLY finished this fic oh my goshhh I've loved it so much but writer's block was my constant companion for this one 🫠 Thanks for your patience!! Sy is jealous but I'm still pushing my 'Sylus is the softest man alive and would die before hurting MC' agenda, so I had to get a lil creative! Hope I've pulled it off idk 😭😭

Be Mine

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus is getting a little tired of sharing you with the other men in your life (and he doesn't mean Luke and Kieran 🙃)

Genre: lil bit of angst, comfort and fluff

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, jealousy, other LIs mentioned, brief allusion to Raf's self-harm tendencies, cheating mentioned, some intimacy & kisses-- more soft than spicy!

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sylus has spent centuries waiting for you, so he’s going to give you another minute.

Patience is not a virtue; it’s an old acquaintance he greets with a false smile whenever he’s forced to pass it on the street. Sometimes outside your building, whilst you’re chatting with a neighbour from the apartment above yours. Sometimes when you’re running late from a doctor’s appointment.

Patience has been cropping up a lot these days and gods, he’s sick of its face. Even now, it sits with him at this table for two as he sips at a glass that’s almost empty. There’s poetry in stalling, in savouring what’s left, especially as a waiter hovers anxiously nearby, anticipating the need for yet another refill (it would be the third).

Dregs of blood-red wine swirl with solemnity. Sylus is a patient man, a man who waits, but he doesn’t want to be. He wants the reward of it: the pot of gold at the end of that insipid rainbow. Hasn’t he waited enough?

He lifts his drink to his lips again.

“Sylus!”

They curve as he swallows the final drop.

“I’m so sorry,” you stammer, flinging yourself into the seat across from him so quickly that he’s cheated of the chance to rise and help you with your chair. “Sit back down,” you usher, because he had made a start on it, “really, Sy, I’m so, so sorry. Things at work just got crazy, and I—”

“You don’t have to explain, sweetie,” he smiles as he signals the waiter. He’ll have that refill, now, and he orders your favourite drink as you shrug off your coat and fumble with your bag, looking for something. “I’m more than familiar with the Association’s… dedication to a cause.”

You glance up with an amused smile. “We’re keeping you on your toes, huh?”

“Mmm. There is one hunter who’s proving to be a real thorn in my side.”

“You on top of that?”

“Most evenings, yes. Some mornings, too.”

You poke your tongue out at him. You’ve retrieved a compact mirror and you use it to study your dishevelled reflection. “Is everything all right at work?” he asks as you fuss over your hair.

“Yeah,” you puff. “Long story.”

“We have time.”

With a warmer smile, you stash your mirror away and sequester your bag by your feet. “You sure?” He gives you a look. “Fine,” you chuckle. “Basically, Xavier forgot to write up some reports. He’s been away on an ultra-secret, special mission or whatever—” you tap your nose conspiratorially— “which I didn’t just tell you, okay? But yeah, the reports weren’t done, and they were due tonight, so…”

Sylus raises an apathetic eyebrow. “He asked you to help?”

“Begged me, more like.”

Of course he did. The waiter arrives with your drinks and Sylus has never been gladder for a distraction. His mouth is full of pettiness, bitterness, so he drowns it with wine. You could have called. Texted. “So kitten’s been playing secretary, hmm?” he goads instead.

“That would imply kitten could keep track of time,” you pout, “so no. And speaking of playing a part—” you poke his nose— “you’re allowed to be mad at me. I should have called you. Texted. So let me have it, yeah? I feel bad enough already without you being all… perfect.”

You’re only teasing, but Sylus doesn’t feel perfect. He’s thinking about you working late with your partner, laughing at his jokes, poking him with your pen to keep him from falling asleep on his paperwork. He smirks, regardless. “What if I want you to feel bad?”

“Oh, gods,” you slump forwards, face-down on the table. “How long were you waiting?”

“Years.”

You fake cry into the tablecloth. “Don’t, Sy. Just tell me the truth. How bad was it?”

“Really, years,” he insists again, folding his arms on the table and sliding forwards, too. His chin is resting on his hands, and he blows at the top of your head. “Look.” Your face lifts so you can peer at him. He pinches his hair. “I’ve even gone grey, see?”

You sit up the tiniest bit more and your noses are almost brushing. “It looks nice,” you whisper.

“You think so?”

“Mmm. Suits you.”

Your eyes are every gem— every jewel in an illicit auction Sylus has to steal away from the rest of the world, because something that pretty just has to be his; it will find no worthier home than his hands. His devotion fills vaults. Aren’t they spilling with emeralds, rubies, sapphires, diamonds— those reckless imitations of your gaze? No-one else could deserve them, adore them like he does.

And they’ve nothing on the real thing.

Someone clears their throat and Sylus tracks the noise begrudgingly. The anxious waiter is back, clutching menus this time. You sit up fully, laughing to break the tension, and sure enough, Sylus feels less like hurling the man through the nearest window.

He’s still thinking about it though. He tells the waiter as much with a smile, and the menus are passed over with shaking hands. When Sylus says, “thank you,” it sounds like a bomb, ticking.

“Play nice,” you tut, once the waiter’s cleared the blast radius.

“Sweetie, when do I ever not play nice?”

You blink back at him disbelievingly. This should be good. “How about the time that you—?”

A familiar ringtone interrupts you, and your eyes widen in apology as you grab at your bag, rifling around for your phone. You find it— check the call and decline it— but relief is hiding, refusing to set foot on stage. Not yet, it confers to Sylus darkly, because it knows what comes next.

“Do you need to…?” he asks anyway.

“Nah, it was just Rafayel. Thanks, though.” You set the phone down. “Where was I?”

“You were about to tell me what a terribly bad man I am, sweetie.”

“Right!” you giggle. No, not yet. “So how about the time that you…” The phone rings again. You check it. Decline it. “How about the time that you—ugh!” It’s ringing again.

Sylus taps a finger on the table, impatiently patient. You can’t mute the wretched thing: the next call you miss would be a Wanderer, tearing through an orphanage or the like. It’s the reason you check, even when there’re no orphans at stake— just a pest of an artist with too much time on his hands.

Except… “Oh,” you say, glancing downwards, “it’s Zayne. I should probably—” Sylus gives a half-smile of blessing, but you weren’t waiting around for it— “hey, Zayne! I can’t talk right now, unless— Raf? What the hell? How did you get Zayne’s phone?”

You pull yours away from your ear as a string of whines come through:

“— ignore my calls, don’t even text me to ask what’s up, and then pick up his call right away? You hate me, right? Just say that you hate me, cutie.”

“I don’t hate you, Raf.” The phone is back to your ear. “I’m busy. Now seriously, how did you get— oh, hi, Zayne. Why is Raf…?” Sylus can hear a deeper voice answering your questions. “He’s at the—? Shit, is he okay? Ugh, tell him I can hear him. Tell him I know he’s not dying.”

You meet Sylus’s eyes as conflict erupts on the other end of the call. Sorry, you mouth as static filters through, interspersed with broken words and curses. The doctor’s voice prevails. “Yeah, Zayne,” you speak back to it. “I’ll call Thomas, get him to pick him up. Mmhmm? Oh!” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I forgot, he’s at that stupid art thing. Look, maybe later, I can…”

The artist’s shrill tone is protesting.

“I know it’s my job, Raf!” you counter. “But gimme a break, please. If it was any other night, you know I’d be there. Of course I wanna be there! But I can’t—”

It’s just a slip of the tongue— words you don’t even realise you’re saying— but Sylus still feels his heart sink. He hates it. A heart is so difficult to argue with: it’s long gone before you can talk any sense into it. He stands from the table, those priceless eyes of yours pursuing him. When you tilt your head, he musters a smile, then a weak excuse: “I’m just stepping outside for a moment.”

You nod, a follow-up question on the tip of your tongue, but then there’s a voice in your ear again— two voices— and you’re you, so of course you listen.

…

Sylus waits on a bench outside the restaurant, closing his eyes as he waits for his heart to come back.

It’s only been a few minutes. He’s thinking about your eyes, your nose and lips— an inch from his— and how he should have closed that gap before it grew treacherous. Shouldn’t he be done with this? This… longing? You’re his. You’ve told him you’re his, over and over again, but he finds himself needing to hear it once more; the ghost of your voice is starting to lack persuasion.

He is yours without exception, but you? There’s always a caveat. I’m yours, Sylus. But only so long as the city is quiet. I’m yours, Sylus. Until someone else calls. The door to the restaurant opens— he can hear it— but he doesn’t open his eyes. He wants to pretend.

I’m yours, Sylus. No caveats. No exceptions.

“Sylus.”

He swallows the dread in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” you entreat softly. His eyes open, and you’re wearing your coat, holding your bag. “I have to run to the hospital— it’s this whole thing. Raf, like, passed out or something. He’s not been eating again. Zayne said when something like this keeps happening, it’s a sign that… yeah. He just… needs someone. And he hasn’t got anyone else, you know?”

“I understand.” You’re worried about your friend. That’s all it is.

Why can’t he believe that’s all it is?  

You come over and sink down on the bench beside him, looping your arm through his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Don’t you know that he’s afraid? That a selfish, spiteful part of him wants to hide you— with the rest of his treasures— away from the light, so he can love you in the dark?

There’s a sigh as you lean against him, savouring his touch like the wine one swirls in a glass when their thoughts are elsewhere. It’s gone in a mouthful; you check your watch, and he hopes it’s bitter.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

No, he would rather be sweet for you, but look at you— making him lie. “I’m okay,” he says, and it doesn’t have a drop of conviction. He’s tired of philanthropy.

…

“What are you gonna do? Come on, tell us. Tell us! What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know, Luke. Give me a second, okay? Jeez.”

You literally just got here. Your pace is brisk and the night air still clings to you— you shed a layer of it by peeling your arms out of your coat. Luke and Kieran are close behind, keeping to your heels like terriers hoping you’ll trip with a plateful of food. They’ll take even a crumb at this point.

“You gonna fight him?” Kieran nudges, but your lips stay tight.

“Oh, you’re so gonna fight him,” Luke takes away from the silence.

You don’t know what you’re going to do. You’ve reached a decadent lounge, lavished with black and gold, and you throw your coat over the arm of a chair before starting to wrestle off your combat boots. You’ve been off work for hours, but it doesn’t feel like it. One call-to-duty after another; first the hospital, now this.

Mephisto caws in greeting from a nearby perch. “I’m not gonna fight him,” you say as your second boot drops with a clunk. “I just need to—”

“Say no more,” Luke cuts you off. “We want in.”

With a tired sigh, you gaze up at the twins at last. Kieran is readying a fist: punching his hand softly, the beak of his mask low and threatening. Beside him, Luke swings a baseball bat over his shoulder. He didn’t have it a second ago. Where did he even—?

You put your hands on your hips. “You guys got a death wish or something?”

“Yes!” they enthuse together, nodding excitedly.

You haven’t got time to ask. Your focus drifts to Sylus’s bedroom door, where music is leaking with honeylike light. You can’t count the number of times you’ve fallen over that threshold, exhausted— always slightly broken. You want to crawl into cool silk sheets and a warmer embrace, but there’s one small problem.

The text that had brought you here, anxious and out of breath:

Boss is with someone.

“What’re you thinking?”

You’re closer to the door, now, and Luke’s whisper makes you jump. You spin, twisting the bat from his fingers and pushing him back until the tip is pressed to his throat. “Get back,” you hiss, before levelling the weapon at an encroaching Kieran, “both of you.”

Luke leaps behind his brother— swinging him between you for protection. The baseball bat stays hovering, and Luke peeks over Kieran’s shoulder, swatting at it like an indignant kitten.

“Stop it,” you scold, poking back at his hand and his masked face. “Begone!”

“Yes, boss!” Kieran goes to move, but Luke is holding him in place. He’s dragged backwards: a human shield until they can both scurry around the turn of a corridor.

You smile fondly. You forget, for just a moment, that you’re alone and full of uncertainty. The song in the next room lulls, at its inevitable end, and then you can’t forget. You’re stood in silence, staring at a door you’ve never had to knock before. Another song starts up.

Whatever this is, you can handle it.

You use the baseball bat to tap against the dark wood. “Sylus?” you call.

He makes you wait. You can hear him, moving around— unmistakably taking his time— but you don’t mind. You’re running scenarios through your head. Is he in on this, too? Or…?

He opens the door and oh, he definitely is. His silk robe hangs haphazardly over his figure, one side threatening to slip from his shoulder and the belt dangerously loose at the middle. A flush is tinting his face, spreading down through his neck, past his collarbone and lower, you think, but you’re trying not to look.

“Sweetie,” he purrs in the way that tells you he’s up to no good, “what a pleasant surprise.” His eyes flit downwards. “And you’re armed, too.”

There’s a breathlessness to the observation, and your ability to breathe briefly eludes you as well. His hair is damp and unkempt, his skin warm, his gaze hot. Is this a test? It feels like a test.

“Are you alone?” you snap, because he’s clearly put some thought into whatever it is, and you’re a good sport, so you’ll play along.

“No,” he says, but then: “You know you’re always with me in spirit, kitten. Even if not in—” another downwards glance— “body.”

“Sylus.”

“Mmm?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time.” You catch his chin with your free hand, forcing his gaze back to your face. “And I want a real answer.” He swallows thickly. “Are you alone?”

His submission is fragile. He lifts his hand, wraps his fingers around your wrist like a reminder of the fact. “Careful, sweetie.” His grip tightens as his voice drops. “Think about what you’re asking.”

“I know what I’m asking.” You snatch your hand free and step closer. “Get out of my way.”

Sylus narrows his eyes, but soon relaxes. He sweeps a hand through his hair, chuckling as he obeys— moving aside to let you past. You storm through, looking over every visible inch of his room. There’s nothing to see, of course. No clothes that aren’t yours pooled over the floor. No lover wrapped up in his bedsheets.

“Just what exactly are you looking for?” he asks smugly behind you.

“Save it, Sylus.” Your pretend patience is gone. “The twins told me everything.”

So you start searching more strenuously. You make your way over to his bed, baseball bat slung over your shoulder as you check behind the far side— even stooping to peek under it. You open the wardrobe. Nothing. Use the baseball bat to push back the curtains, letting in more blood-red moonlight. Nothing. You huff in frustration.

“You know, don’t you?” Sylus says quietly.

He’s leant against the doorway, arms crossed, and you spare him a glance. “Know what?”  

“That there’s no-one here.”

It sounds like defeat. “I’m taking this very seriously, actually,” you dismiss as you roll open the drawer of his bedside table, where no-one is hiding. You move on to even more absurd places: lifting flowers out of their vase to glance about inside it, peering into the horn of his vintage gramophone.

You’d hoped your antics would elicit at least a short laugh, or a scoff of amusement. There’s nothing, though, so you plonk onto the bed— defeated, yourself— and look to the man as you set your weapon down.

He looks back with an insincere smile. “How did you know?”

“That you weren’t really with someone? Because you’re you, Sylus. The key to a good prank?” Your fingers twinkle in the air beside your head. “Believability. Besides—” now a forefinger taps at your temple— “nothing gets past this.”

“Your ego?” he guesses with a smirk that is sincere, if nothing else.

“My brain, Sy.”

“Ah.”

Your ego— tsk. Your feet are dangling from the bed, playing with a slipper they’ve fished out from underneath it, and you have half a mind to launch it at him. This doesn’t feel like one of your usual games, though, and you’ve had a whole ride through the N109 Zone to figure out why.

“I really hurt you, didn’t I?” you speak like a confession, staring down at the floor so you don’t have to meet his eyes. “That’s what all this is about, right? You wanted to get back at me for dinner?”

“No, I—”

“I get it.” Your feet find the second slipper. “I do. I mean, it was a really shitty thing to do— walking out on you like that. Especially after you waited for me. You went to all that effort, and I— ah.” You’ve toed one of the slippers out of reach.

“Allow me,” comes a voice that’s suddenly close. Sylus’s figure looms over you before he’s crouching, kneeling by your feet. He still looks like a mess of sin, but he’s gentle as he retrieves the slipper for you. Removes your socks for you. Slides a slipper onto each of your cold feet. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he mutters.

You let out a sigh. “Sylus.” You’re scolding him, and he gazes up at you, his eyes garnets of adoration only you could afford. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“So why won’t you tell me how you feel?”

He sits back on his knees, his thumb drawing circles on the inside of your ankle. The ministrations are mindless, and so are his words: “How I feel is not important.”

“Of course it is!” You pull away from him. “Don’t say things like that.”

“But I thought I could tell you anything, kitten.”

It’s a nick from a blade that could do much worse; he wants you to feel how sharp it is. His smile is a warning and he’s waiting for the hunter in you to strike back, because violence is what you’re good at. What you’re both good at. It hurts, but it’s easy.

You shift forward on the bed. “Sylus… you don’t need to protect me. Not from you. Not from anything you feel. I want you to be happy, to tell me if you’re unhappy. I don’t need you to—” your fingers skirt over his chest and you falter inexplicably— “to sacrifice yourself for me.”

Sylus looks down to where you’re tracing the shape of his heart on his skin. He lets out a long, beleaguered breath, then leans closer to you, his head turning away as he settles it on your lap. Your hands find his hair instinctually, threading through it in slow, meandering motions.

“I want you to be mine,” he admits on another sigh.

He can’t see you smile, but he’ll hear it in your voice: “I am yours, Sy—”

“No— just mine.”

He won’t make it a demand. Even asking you nicely has him breathless and still, like the drawn-out pause of a finished symphony. Your hands stop moving, out of respect for the quiet. You’re remembering the times you’ve been late out of your building because you’d stumbled into Xavier in the lobby. The doctor’s appointments that always overrun, and Rafayel’s ‘emergency’ phone calls.

“Come and sit with me,” you mumble, patting the bed beside you.

When Sylus does, it’s with the same reluctance a cat surrenders a sliver of sun. Lazy and listless— still warm from the light. The bed sinks under his weight and you turn to face him. His robe’s collar has fallen further, so you hook a finger under it to draw it back up to his neck. Then you straighten the lapels, smoothing them over distractedly.

He’s watching your face, not the movements of your hands. Your cheeks feel warm. “I was speaking to Rafayel earlier, and we—”

A groan, and Sylus is no longer at your fingertips; he’s flopped down backwards on the bed, his hand over his face. You can’t help giggling— you’ve broken the big, bad boss of Onychinus, it seems. Is that all it takes? You grin as you lie down with him, settling on your side, propped up on an elbow. He doesn’t stir when you fix a few stray strands of his hair.

“We talked about boundaries,” you continue. “How I can’t be on call twenty-four seven, and how he’s going to take better care of himself, so I don’t have to be.”

Sylus has moved his hand, ever so slightly.

There’s more: “I’m gonna call in sick to work tomorrow. I made a deal with Xavier, that’s why I stayed late today. He’ll cover for me.” You shift closer. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I know I can’t always be with you, but I am always thinking of you, I promise. You’re always with me in spirit, Sy, even if not in—” you press a quick kiss to his chest— “body.”

He chuckles at the words, or maybe the touch tickled.

You grin down at him. “I’m yours. Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“No! Ugh, just—” Smart-ass! You flick his forehead as he laughs quietly. “Not the words ‘I’m yours’, say that I’m—”

His hand is at your face, pulling you in so he can kiss you. It’s slow and it’s patient; he’s taking his time, and you won’t slip away. You can feel his smile. “You’re mine,” he murmurs when he finally withdraws. One more kiss, lighter, on the tip of your nose. “Just mine.”

Always. You let him pull you into an embrace, snuggling into his warmth like you’ve been wanting to from the moment you last left it. You can hear his heartbeat beneath the lullaby of his breath. “Sy?” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

“You look really hot when you’re pretending to cheat on me.”

He scoffs, but a yawn comes before his response. “Don’t get any ideas, kitten.”

Your quiet is pensive. “I have this lunch with Zayne later this week. I really should text him to find out—”

The grip around you constricts, and a voice is in your ear, soft and possessive:

“What did I just say?”

[starshipsofstarlord]

daryl + his first blowjob

warnings. smut 18+ mdni, blowjob obviously, daryl sometimes getting mentally overstimulated, swearing, pet names, fluff, established relationship, brief mention of death and drugs (1.5k)

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

His breaths were laboured as he watched you descend to your knees in front of him, his leg anxiously twitching as he looked down at you. He was nervous as hell, his mind swimming in a pool of insecurity as you unbuckled his belt. Daryl wanted this, he really fucking did, but he was concerned of what you might think of him. You had experience in this department, whilst he did not, and even though you had assured him that you did not care for the lack of intimacy that he had experienced, he was still a little scared.

Years of his life had whisked by without having another touch him or see him this way, he had issues when it came to being able to trust someone, most people in fact, though he would die on the hill of holding all of his faith in you. The last thing he wished for you to do was to proceed with an act that held no servitude to you, as he had heard it on the grapevine of the society that had once been, not all women enjoyed to pleasure a man with their mouth.

He had no idea how it would feel either, he knew that it would feel good, but he was just not knowledgeable on how much it would scatter his brain; nobody had ever even attempted to heed him with pleasure, let alone use him as a casual bedding partner. Supposedly it was the juxtaposition in which he had always carried himself with; he had been cold to those that had wanted to befriend him, most being Merle’s friends or ‘clients’, none of whom appealed to him.

But you, you were practically an angel, which was ironic considering the filthy things you were about to do to him. His heard jerked as he felt you take his hand in your own, grounding his mind from its reel of overthinking. His eyes bore appreciatively into your own as you sent him a smile and he replied with a wavering one. “You sure you still want me to do this Dar? We can stop, I want to make sure that you want this.” His heart keened, he could swear in that moment, any many others that he did not bring mention to, that he loved you. It wasn’t the right moment to bring that up he considered, instead shaking his head, speaking so that you would know that he was not rejecting the physicality of your intentions.

He wanted this. So damn badly. “Nah, keep goin’.” He would confess his love for you sometime else, his blood was pulsing far too loudly in his ears, scouring every vain in his body with preempted suspense, and the last thing he wished was to overstimulate himself by forcing everything out all at once. If he did then he would most likely lash out at himself without meaning too, and push you far away, resulting in him to mend your relationship that had no breaks contorting it. His tongue swiped at his lip as his eyebrows rose; your hands remained holding either end of his belt. The button on his jeans was still closed, though you dared not open it until you had assurance that he knew that he was in control of the situation.

“Tell me to stop at any time, and I will.” There was a seriousness held within your gaze, and he nodded almost too enthusiastically. He would do as you said, though he was certain that once you got your mouth on his length, he would be powerless in denying the intimacy. “Okay, I’m going to start now. One word, that’s all it takes baby.” You reminded him, soothing his nerves into a light tide. He gulped inwardly as you undid his pants, slinking the denim down his legs, leaving him to be preserved in nothing more than his boxers. With just your fingertips to begin with, you felt him over his underwear, causing a hiss to spill out from his lips.

His cock was so sensitive, and that small gesture had already made his brain go all hazy. And then your mouth shadowed across his bulge, and his eyes rolled, noting how gentle your little kisses were. You were going slow, building him up to the pleasure that would soon send him into an abyss of mindlessness, and whilst he felt himself brewing with the lacquer of impatience, he refrained from encouraging you to speed up. The two of you had peace for a moment, and he wasn’t going to rush into it, simply to come out the other side to the reality that always awaited, threatening death at every turn.

Relief flooded his system as you finally pulled the cotton down, exposing him to the air and your own sights. Daryl was already hard, precum beading like a pearl at the forefront of his tip, showcasing his arousal. You gripped the length of his cock in your hand, a moan already slipping out of his lips before you had done anything that could be considered as ludicrous. That didn’t stop you though, it only gave you the knowledge that he was enjoying the graze of your fingertips, and so to amp up the pressure, you licked the evident moisture that balanced on his cock head away, causing Daryl to swear out your name along with a serious of curses.

It was all the motivation you needed to bring him into your mouth, soothing him past your lips as his width stretched the corners, sinking him onto your tongue with your own satisfied sounds. “Holy fuckin’ shit.” His accent was strained and rough, you had only heard it in that state at times when he was particularly riled, and this was no exception. He was poisoned by the feeling, intoxicated from the sparks that ran through his body. He reached his hand down, coiling it gently in his fingers; he had to hold onto something, and you were glad that he had chosen you.

You pulled back, only to force your head down again, your pace slow to ensure that you did not completely numb his mind and send him into a bliss where he would be unable to string out fully formed words. He needed to be able to speak, you loved hearing the rasp of his tone though it was necessary that if he wished for a break or to stop he would be prepared to let you know at any moment. But he wasn’t, instead he was transfixed in watching you - feeling you - as he fought to keep his eyes open, watching with heavy lids as you sucked on him. All this time he had been missing out on so much, he didn’t feel any regret though, he was grateful that he had waited for you to come into his life and disrupt everything that he had regarded as foolish. It wasn’t foolish it was lust.

Tears rolled down from your lash line as you drew him in deeper, causing yourself to gag slightly, it didn’t stop you, it only probed you to continue, dwindling your lover into a mess. There was a weight in his stomach and abdomen, one that he had only felt on the occurrences when pleasuring himself. Daryl’s eyes too felt like they could weep, he was engrossed in the feeling, hoping for it to never end, but he was already nearing his peak, and it would be only a few more motions of your mouth until he spent himself. “I-I, Y/N, imma-“ Guilt ebbed through him as his orgasm exploded inside and outside of him, he had tried to give you warning before he spent into your mouth in case you wished for it to end up somewhere else, he spilled his cum onto your tongue, and was shook furthermore as you swallowed it down without any complaints.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand after you had removed his softening mouth, aiding him in stuffing it back inside of his boxers. He slumped against the wall of your shared cell, his breathing weighing a ton on his chest. Daryl couldn’t fathom how he had held the ability to feel so good. He had never thought it to be possible, but he had been proved so wrong. “Did you enjoy that?” It was a following question for someone who had working eyes or ears, though he smiled, knowing that you wanted verbal communication on the matter.

“Ya know I did peach, loved i’.” Love you, he thought, knowing that he would soon have to say those words to you, they were eating him up inside, but again, he did not want to put too much on himself at one time. The archer helped you stand, taking your face into his large hands as he kissed you, caring not for the taste of himself that lingered on your lips. There were so many things that he couldn’t say out loud, he would stumble over the syllables like a walker, and so he spoke them to you with his lips, bringing you close to him, astounded at how you repeatedly amazed him with not only what you could do, but as a person.

[rainydaygotham]

THAT’S NOT A PART OF YOUR ASSIGNMENT

Dick Grayson x art student!reader gn || 1.6k words

Warnings: smut, naked cuddling, blow job, slight exhibitionism but not quite

Summary: You have an assignment for figure drawing and thankfully have a willing model (along with yourself). Time to take some reference photos. Unfortunately for one horny boy, this means he can’t move. lol poor guy.

a/n: goddd i’m a senior so i’ve spent a bajillion hours in figure by now oof. so here, let me indulge my fantasies. need me a muse like Dick Grayson… well, maybe it’s for the best, since this fic shows how i wouldnt be getting anything done with him around agdjhsajhfk

“Hey, Dickie, can you come in here for a second?” you called and instantly you heard the sock feet of your fiancé come padding towards you.

“Do you need me for something, Baby?”

You were too distracted with the task at hand to pick up on his flirting, “Yeah, just come lay on the bed for a bit.”

“Oooh. Of course~” Dick grinned as he eyed the camera you were adjusting on its tripod before he flopped down onto the bed, “any particular pose?”

“Nah I’m just fixing it right now, you can do whatever as long as you stay on the bed,”

You had meant, like, maybe he could scroll on his phone while you worked. But he took that as ‘whatever sexy pose you want, Babe’ and began showing off his lithe body. Little distracting, but you were used to him enough to successfully ignore it. But damn, was it hard. Especially when he turned around so you could get a nice view of his ass.

“So, we shooting sex tapes or what?”

You rolled your eyes, “No, we’re not shooting sex tapes. I need references for a piece for Figure. We’re supposed to be focusing on the ways the human body will fit together, so we need at least two models,”

“Sound’s intimate,” he schmoozed.

You sighed, “Yeah, that’s why I thought I should just draw us. I like the intimacy of the way we fit together—“

“So we are making sex tapes,”

“No. We are going to just be cuddling, I'm not going up in front of my class to present an explicit piece of us fucking, thank you.”

“But we are going to be naked?”

You sighed even more dramatically this time, “Yes, Dick, we are going to be naked. I have to ‘show off the beauty of the human form’…”

He raised his eyebrows at you suggestively, you shook your head, “and I'll admit, I wanted it to be a little sensual, okay, but it's not like that,"

You went back to fiddling with the camera, ignoring his childish snickering. You positioned it perfectly, able to capture Dick's full body but not too much background with it. Hopefully cramming yourself in there too wont crop anything weird.

Humming to yourself, you grabbed the tiny remote for the tripod and tested it to make sure it was working. Doing so, you accidentally got a shot of Dick taking off his shirt. The way his stomach and chest were flexed as he lifted the shirt over his head was beautiful. Just what you wanted, art. You didn’t delete this test shot like you would’ve done on any other day. Don’t tell Dick.

“Little eager there, Babe?” you flirted.

He had already moved on to stripping off his sweatpants. As he threw the garment across the room you noticed he uh, had a little problem growing. Ah..

“The faster we get these pictures the faster I can convince you to “take a nap” before patrol tonight,” he slipped his boxers off as he talked to you.

“Uh. Yeah. Um,” you started unbuttoning your shirt, “Let’s get this done, yeah…”

Great, now you’re flustered. You’d think you’d learn your lesson by now, to not use your own boyfriend as a model. But he was so pretty, it was always so tempting. If you had your way, all you’d ever draw were portraits of Dick. If you did that, though, you’d quickly get known as “that guy/girl/kid who only draws local celebrity Dick Grayson” around your university, which would most likely get shortened to just “Dick Guy/Girl/Kid”, and you did not need that kind of bullying in your life right now. You’re a professional studio artist now, goddamnit.

You heard the springs of the bed as Dick laid back down, “So what were you thinking?”

“…” man what were you thinking again? Oh, “I wanted to start with a shot of us spooning. You know, how the legs fit together, how a face fits into the crook of a neck,”

He smiled, “Do I get to be the big spoon?”

“I guess,” you teased.

You took off your own pants and underwear and gave your hair a good finger comb through before laying down on the bed with Dick. He smirked as you cozied up to him. He placed his hand on your hip as he repositioned himself.

“So you want my leg like—”

“Uh huh,” you felt the heat of his bare body melting into yours. And his errection nestling into your ass. Geez…

“And my face—“

He nuzzled into the side of your neck, brushing against the sensitive artery there. Hoo boy, perhaps this is a bad idea. Dick hummed against your throat as he began peppering the area with light kisses.

Mmm, perhaps it’s a really good idea.

“Dick, pose,”

He stopped his onslaught on your neck for a moment, keeping still as you pressed the button on the remote to take a few shots.

“Thank you,” you shuffled over to check the photos, much to Dick’s disappointment at you leaving his embrace, “these are good, next pose,”

“What now,”

You adjusted the angle on the camera, “okay now sit up, on your knees,”

He did as you told him and you crawled back over.

“Uh, sorry, I promise I’m trying to keep professional thoughts right now,” he gestured to his now very prominent boner.

“That’s fine, Baby,” you snickered as you started straddling him, “they’re not gonna be able to see it. This one’s about how legs perfectly bracket a waist,”

“Hands?”

“On my chest, with your fingers in between the ribs,”

Dick was a little confused on what you meant there for a moment but he found it. You were right, his fingers did perfectly slot in between the bones of your ribcage.

Took everything in him to not start running his hands up and down your sides, feeling more of you beneath his fingertips. The gentle way your skin was always soft, no matter where he touched you drove him wild.

And it’s like you knew, the way you grinned and shook your head.

“Here,” you dipped your face towards him and he greedily took the kiss you offered.

It was just a chaste thing, when he tried to deepen it you pulled away. Dick had to fight back the whine in his throat.

“Forehead to mine pleas—“ he gingerly complied, “there we go,”

Dick’s eyelids were pressed tightly shut, but he heard the click of the shutter go off a few times. You then disentangled yourself from him to go check the photos. He missed you immediately, even though you were just right over there.

Damn. This was horrible. Torture. His punishment from the gods like Tantalus’s fruit. He’d rather clean the Batmobile with a toothbrush than have you naked in his lap and not be able to do anything about it.

Okay so maybe he was being a little overdramatic. Can you blame him, though? He can’t just hold his everything in his hands and not make love to them. It feels irreverent.

“Okay, last one”

Thank fucking god. He could feel his cock throbbing and it was starting to get painful.

“Come get close to the camera, this one doesn’t need to be fullbody,”

He crawled closer as you adjusted it once again, “what’s up with this one?”

“How hands were made to cup our curves. I’ll need you to hold my chin in your hands,”

Done. You don’t have to ask him twice. But damn, as you positioned yourself to how you wanted, was it hard to not just start kissing you.

He gazed lovingly at you as he gently played his part, holding you for the camera (and a bunch of students, apparently) to see. He hoped he was doing you justice in this, in all of these. Although, a part of him didn’t want them to be good, didn’t want other people to see how beautiful you could be for him. Your home was his own private little gallery with you as the star and maybe he didn’t want to share.

Gatekeeping art. Tsk…

The shutter clicked and flashed but you didn’t really care anymore. That was the last picture, after all, and Dick was looking at you like he was about to devour you.

And you were right, as he realized he had a greenlight and dove right in.

Dick wasted no time in shoving his tongue into your mouth this time, lapping at your molars. Two can play at that game, so you licked into his mouth as well, only for him to fight dirty running his tongue along the roof of your mouth in flicks. A shiver ran down your spine as Dick pulled your face, still cupped in his hands, further into his. He moaned with the action, and damn, he really was trying to devour you.

He continued his attack on your mouth, sliding his tongue along yours in the most delicious way. You felt the vibrations of another groan as you let your hands start to wander down his body. His trapeze artist tits pecs.. his grabbable hips… his very hard cock weeping precum onto your hand as you fisted it. He pulled out of your mouth with a jolt, panting for air.

“Please—“ he was cut off by a surprisingly high-pitched noise breaking out his throat as you went down, wasting no time in taking him into your mouth.

You took him as far as you could, the head hitting the back of your throat. You pressed your tongue flat into the underside of his cock, slowly dragging it along his tender shaft before pulling off of him again. He made a strangled noise as you looked up at him.

“What?” why’d you stop before you even started?

“Well look,” you placed your tongue back into the divet where his tip met his shaft, “it’s like my tongue was made to be there. Fits together perfectly,”

God, you were going to be the death of him.

[bkgexe]

if all else fails, i was myself

bakugou x reader ✾ 4.6k

info! no smut sorry gang ✾ tw! trust issues that manifest as issues w physical intimacy/contact, dubcon in its vaguest definition (NOT bkg & reader) ✾ notes! ive been in perpetual writers block for months. is this trite idk. i miss my baby but anytime i write for him im like oops this is gonna be 60k words!!! so here is. a drabble lmao. also big lmao moment this is titled after count me out by kendrick lamar ldskfjdlkjf which was on repeat while writing so uh sorry mr. lamar abt the mha fanfic

katsuki has always known that part of him is wrong.

he’s never liked being touched. every kiss he’s experienced has made him tense as an elevator cable poised to snap. any attempt to go further than that has made him a little ill, made his gut feel like a stack of loose papers being torn to shreds, slow and loud.

it doesn’t help that he’s only ever had three kisses in his life: eijirou at a new year’s party (too many teeth), eijirou again at another new year’s party nearly a decade later (too much tongue), and then his fourth date with kyoka (when he tried to convince himself he just had to push through the discomfort to become normal).

things went further than that. it was a mistake. they both knew it right after it happened—kyoka first, and then katsuki after his head stopped pounding with what if i'm doing this wrong what if she's pitying me for fucking this up what if i don't know how to touch another person correctly what if i was supposed to learn at some point and i missed it how could i fucking miss it will it always be like this because i can't do this again i can't i don't—

“kat," she said after. she looked at him with something only a few degrees removed from pity, and poorly removed at that.

he attempted a halting non-apology. he attempted a real apology. failed at both.

"it's okay, you know," she said. "to not like it."

he scoffed even though he wasn’t entirely clear on what she meant by it, because there was so much he didn’t like. “i like it just fine.”

“if that was liking it, I’m honestly worried about your capacity for enjoying life in general.” it wasn’t a joke. her bluntness was something that'd made katsuki think he could push his boundaries with her. all of her thoughts were laid out plain for him to read, an open-source journal. “i'm just saying you don't have to like it. and you don’t have to force yourself to do things you don’t want to do. don't fuck yourself over for someone else's happiness.”

kyoka still texts him often, checks in, invites him to drinks with their friends. she’s kind. she’s normal. she doesn’t have this weird, shredded thing inside her that makes her balk at the idea of someone’s hand on her skin. that makes her think she's doing something wrong, even if she's not the one that initiated the touch.

when you started your job at the front desk of katsuki’s agency, he never thought that he'd be here, wishing above everything that he could just be normal. just for one fucking day, so he could laugh at your shitty jokes and maybe brush his knuckles across the back of your hand in passing and take you on a date where he could kiss you in his car after driving you home and the thought wouldn’t make his skin crawl, wouldn't tear up his insides to pulp.

because he fucked everything up. he's standing in his empty office where you'd been spending time with him and he fucked it up and hurt you and he's not sure how to unfuck it.

the thing is, he could grin and bear it. he could deal with the odd thing inside him that hates the contact and white-knuckle it through every kiss, every caress. but he’s never been a great actor. he wouldn’t be able to hide that from you.

(kyoka told him, years later, that it’s not that the sex itself wasn’t fine—what made it nearly unbearable for her was the fact that she could tell, only after it was too late, that being physically vulnerable with her pained him far more than he was willing to reveal.)

no one wants to feel like the person they’re with is grinning and bearing it. that they’re white-knuckling it through. katsuki knows this. he knows he’s basically a fucking virgin all but in title at thirty and that he’s got the personality of a dried-out fig you find in your fridge weeks after its last edible moments. he doesn't have much to offer.

but he walked into work one day and nodded at you, curt, a grimace on his face—and you smiled at him so kindly that his stomach twisted.

with you, it wasn't the feeling of something being torn apart. it was different, lighter. leaves wrenched into the sky by a strong breeze. still a kind of tearing, but different—less destructive.

he was wearing a deep carmine sweater his mom sent him in one of her bi-monthly care packages (as if he’s not an adult, and a pro-hero on top of that), and you said, “that’s such a nice color on you. is it new?”

there was that breeze inside his chest, strong, pulling at his bones. “yeah,” he grunted. then slowly, as if remembering how: “thanks.”

it was the attention, he thought at first, that piqued his interest. he wasn't used to it. people always watched him from afar, and he had fans online that were borderline obsessive, but people didn’t approach him. they didn’t say that’s such a nice color on you. they didn’t smile the way you smile.

he’s always had a shallow streak. it’s not like he doesn’t know this. it’s become a little muted over time, a little discouraged by the visible scarring on his face and body from his time in the field, but it’s never fully been eradicated. so it was simple, he thought. you paid him attention and stroked his ego, and he preened like a self-obsessed bird of paradise.

and then you started making these little origami whale sharks.

fucking stupid. it bothered him an annoying amount. you had a bunch at your desk, all different colors and sizes, some taped to your desktop monitor, some hung up with little pieces of string under the desk's storage overhang. you drew dots on the back of each one, a distinct spotted pattern that was unique for each shark. and you made them for everyone but him. eijirou bought you a pack of high quality origami paper and you made him his own fucking school, all with little faces, winking or surprised or angry, their wide paper mouths gaping and empty, the lines of their bodies pressed careful and sure.

he hated it. it was annoying and a waste of company time and he usually didn’t ever use dumb corporate slogans like “a waste of company time” but you were really pushing his fucking limits.

it was definitely just the attention he liked, he told himself, because surely someone doing something as dumb as this would annoy him to no fucking end if he spoke to them.

and then he spoke to you and he was wrong.

he asked why you made the damn things in the first place and you told him, “i like whale sharks. but to be totally honest, i just run out of things to do."

and he saw that as a challenge. you were running out of things to do? rest assured he could find more shit for you to take care of. so he did. tasks that he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy, they were so dull and time-consuming. and you were so achingly competent that it drove him up a fucking wall. you completed everything he asked of you in half the time it would take someone else, and you always reported back with a smile, and you always did good work, and he could see himself having a conversation with you about something other than work but he didn't want to try because he was worried he'd begin to like you as a person.

you're pretty. really fucking pretty. he can see that now, and he sure as fuck saw it then. you're hardworking. you're just likeable, and that's something katsuki had never been. it (reluctantly) impressed him. worse than that, it turned his feelings for you into a sort of interest.

but he knows he's not normal when it comes to things like this.

he tried to distance himself from you because of it, but it turns out that asking someone to do work for you means you do have to speak to them sometimes. and sometimes turned into a lot of times.

sometimes turned into bringing him coffee in the morning, not because he asked you to, but because you're sweet like that. sometimes turned into being the person he bounced ideas off of when he had a board meeting coming up or something otherwise boring and meticulous. sometimes turned into you laughing at his prickly comments rather than going quiet because of them. turned into you saying suck it up, dynamight, this is what it means to be the boss when he complained about doing paperwork.

sometimes turned into staying late with him at the office, getting take out for the two of you to share while you finished filing claims and damage reports and other stuff he hated taking care of by himself. sometimes turned into him asking you to stay late just because he wanted you there. because even when he was quiet, you'd tell him about your day, about things that happened in the office, about how much you like the book you'd both been reading. he loved listening to you talk. felt comfortable enough to tell you things about himself when he'd never felt comfortable doing that before.

sometimes turned into you holding out a piece of fried tofu from your take-out container for him to eat while he was approving time-off forms that he should have looked at much earlier that week, and you being so close that he could notice how good you smelled, and the warmth of your body basically radiated towards him, like all your energy was focused on him, and your smile was small but somehow even more lovely than usual, a secret for him to tuck away and keep, and when you finished feeding him and he had a little sauce on the corner of his mouth and you reached forward to wipe it off for him and your hand lingered there for a moment and your eyes fell to his lips and what if you try to kiss me and i'm wrong and you hate me for it and what if i can't give you what you want and what if i'm not actually what you want what if i've disappointed you already what if—

it was too much.

so he fucked it up. your thumb was so soft against his skin. he reeled backwards in his chair, rolling it whole feet clear of you, and he felt the tearing again, the bad kind, like paper unevenly shredded by clumsy hands, and he had to leave. he had to leave. he needed to leave so badly that it felt like pulling his skin off would be preferable to being in that office with you.

hiding in the bathroom was fucking pitiful. he remembered his breathing exercises. he remembered to ground himself. and when he came back to his office, you were gone.

if he was normal—and he wants to be normal, god fucking damn—he could have stomached your proximity. he could have eaten out of your fucking hand. he could have touched you back like a normal person probably would have and he wouldn't be here, alone, looking at a little purple sticky note you left him that says i finished organizing the pto forms. i hope you feel better!

he doesn't know whose pride you're trying to save with that. as if you didn't leave because he made things so fucking awkward by running away from you when you touched him. when you—maybe, if he was reading the room correctly—were about to kiss him.

and you don't speak to him for days. he doesn't want to push so he doesn't—just watches you out of the corner of his eye whenever you're both in the same room, which is arguably worse. he's not sure. he's just itching to fucking talk to you because he misses it.

he misses you. in a more-than-friends way.

it takes a while for him to realize this. when he does, it hits him like a metal rod up the side of the head. it's fucked up of him to miss you the way he does when he doesn't feel like he can provide you with the things a normal person could. and though he's worked on his patience over the years—worked on understanding that he can't have everything he wants—it doesn't stop him from being selfish and finally pulling you aside to talk.

and baffling as fucking ever, the first thing you say is sorry. "i know i should've talked to you about it earlier. i just—i shouldn't have done that. and i know it. i shouldn't have assumed that—i don't know. that you..."

you look helpless. it's one of the very few times that katsuki has ever felt the compulsion to touch someone. not because he wants the touch, per se, but because he wants to be able to provide comfort. he never figured out how to do that with words. he's so focused on his inability to comfort you that he barely has any idea of what you're actually talking about. instead of doing anything at all, he just stands there like a fuckwad.

"i just want you to know that i would never—like never—have touched you, or tried to... if i didn't think there was like, a vibe?" you shake your head, exasperated with yourself. "god, even that sounds so bad. i'm sorry, i just—"

"wait, what are—?" and then it clicks, because he's been slow on the uptake figuring out his shit when he should have been focusing way more on yours. "there was..." katsuki says, and he fucking hates that he can't find better words for what you were both feeling in his office, "a vibe."

the way your face changes when you're flustered is one of katsuki's favorite things, but it's not as enjoyable when he feels just as flustered as you look. "i—oh? so... so you—?"

his ears feel like they're being attacked by two heated straightening irons and he knows they're red as hell right now. he's gonna have to say this plainly even though he'd rather get his teeth pulled out one by one with a pair of pliers. "it's not you."

your expression loses any sort of hope it once held. you press your lips together and sigh, maybe a little exasperated. he's doing his best here but he knows his best is shit. "i can handle a non-cliché rejection," you tell him. "honestly, i'd prefer a non-cliché rejection—"

"i'm not trying to reject you," he says, and it's selfish of him. because he's really not. he isn't comfortable with the things you'd want from him, but he still wants you in some capacity. "i just don't—do shit like that."

"kissing?"

somehow knowing for sure that you did want to kiss him in his office makes him want you more. he likes that you're bold. he likes that you're not ashamed of that. he wants to be different than he is. "any... of it," he struggles to admit.

"at all?"

he nods.

"just—like touching, and stuff?"

it sounds so juvenile that he can't help but laugh through his nose, roll his eyes. "yeah. touching and stuff."

"oh."

you're disappointed. of course you are. it's not like he expected anything different, but—sometimes he fucking hates his life. hates that he can't be the thing people need him to be. hates that trying is so difficult, that it flings his stomach into space, like a throwing stone skipping across a still lake.

"so you don't go on dates, or anything."

"haven't tried."

"do you not want to?" you ask, and he can tell it's more of a genuine question than anything. you're curious about him, like you always are. it's more than he deserves, for all he can offer.

"doesn't make sense to."

"that's not what i asked."

it's not. and so katsuki listens as you ask your question again, and he really takes a moment to think.

considering the answer to your question leads him to his first date with you. and his second, and his third—his fourth, and he's keenly aware that his last fourth date ended with what he expects all dates are supposed to end with.

he takes you to the aquarium. because of all the fucking origami whale sharks. you still haven't given him one and it sticks in his craw like a bone. in front of the backlit tank that holds sharks of all types, shapes and sizes and teeth he's never pictured possible of a living creature before, he asks, "why sharks?"

you look at him, brow raised. "i don't know. they probably needed the biggest tank in the aquarium. and this looks like the biggest tank."

"no, dumbass—your sharks. the ones all over the fuckin' office."

"what, you don't like them?" you ask, but you're smiling, sly.

he shrugs. he thinks they're dumb as hell. he wants one to hang up at work, like the ones you've got hung up at your desk. "they're whatever. they clutter the fuck out of ei's office. and he's already got issues organizing." you've just made eijirou so many at his point, and it's getting ridiculous. "but what—are they easy to make, or something?"

you laugh a little. "no. not at all, actually." a whale shark swims by, its spotted hide shimmering in the tank's eerie blue lighting, and you watch it intently. "but it'd be boring if it was too easy."

this date ends with him walking you home from the aquarium a few blocks from your apartment and you smiling at him and telling him that you had a really great time, and he feels like a fucking freak because you don't even expect more. you don't wait for a kiss. don't look disappointed that he doesn't try to give you one. the way you look at him holds so much affection that he doesn't deserve and he has no idea how to reciprocate it to you, and somehow he lands on, "make me one."

"one what?" you ask, but he thinks you already know what he's asking. you like to play coy. he likes it when you play coy. when you're enjoying yourself.

"one of your little fuckin' paper things," he mutters, because admitting that he wants one of those dumbass sharks feels somehow demeaning. he doesn't want you to know how much he's wanted one. "ei's got a million of 'em."

your hand was on your door handle, but it falls to your side. he's keenly aware of its proximity to him. he doesn't feel that terrible ripping in his gut and its absence is almost frightening to him. your fingers tighten into a fist. it's cold out. "ah, and you're jealous?"

"no," he says, knee-jerk. "i just don't get why everyone gets one but me."

you smile when he says this and he could live in this image of you, delicate and small and made for him. he goes home and thinks about it until he falls asleep. thinks about it even beyond then, feels that strong breeze inside him tearing every leaf from its grounded perch.

here's the thing—nothing against jirou, but unlike his other fourth date, this one was enjoyable. more than. he loved watching you be amazed by the size of the whale sharks, and he loved watching you put a bunch of coins into the penny press and cranking the machine until one was squeezed out into the pattern you wanted, and he loved watching you lay your hand against the glass where the rubbery wings of a flood of stingrays battled for your attention, and—

he loved watching you. that's weird, right? he sounds like a fucking lunatic thinking that.

but he does. he hadn't realized until now how difficult it had been not only to touch people, but to look at them. maintaining eye contact, watching someone do a simple task out of interest instead of staring them down in an attempt to intimidate them. he's so much more fucked up than he thought but what makes it bearable is that he can do it with you. he can watch the way you enjoy things and feel like he's not intruding on something he shouldn't. without even trying, you make him feel welcome—wanted.

that's it. you make him feel wanted.

the realization affects him in a way he doesn't understand. at work the next day, when you smile at him over the top of the front desk, he feels something incredibly strong—something like instinct—that tells him to touch you. small. a thumb brushed across your cheek. his fingers grazing yours. he wants it in a way that can't be right because he's never wanted to touch someone like this.

he doesn't do it, but he thinks about it all day. your little smiles when you notice him watching you on your dates, the way your fingers graze your lips when you cover your laugh, the softness in the way you regard him. you're quiet, reserved, but when you laugh you laugh hard. he wants your soft, your quiet and your loud, he wants the feeling of your fingers on his lips, he wants your smallest smiles, all things he wishes he could fold up and keep and later display somewhere he can always see them. a school of paper fish, gaping mouths and drawn-on spots and such carefully pressed lines.

so on the eleventh date—(he knows it's ridiculous to count, but he's never spent this much time with one person before, not like this)—he reaches for your hand when you're walking alongside the bay, the air turning cold in the wake of the sunset that the two of you had just witnessed. that's romantic, you'd teased when he asked you to watch it with him. he'd rolled his eyes, shrugged you off.

but maybe he wanted it to be romantic. maybe he wanted to make this as normal as possible for you because nothing has been normal between the two of you so far.

you pull back when he reaches for you, as if on instinct. look up at him, confused, when he reaches out again. "katsuki..." you say, and it sounds as if he's done something wrong.

he tries not to let his brain spiral but thoughts drip inwards. water meeting a dented hull. what has he done this time? what else has he fucked up by being fundamentally wrong?

"you know..." you start, and you lose your words.

he thinks of kyoka, years ago. it's okay, you know. to not like it. he wonders if you'll still text him like she does.

your lips pull into a frown before you speak and katsuki can't breathe. "i was never gonna ask on my own because i know you don't like talking about things like this if you don't bring it up. but—um. katsuki—do you think i expect something from you?"

"huh?" he asks, dumb. breathing is still something he fails to do.

"i know that this is—different. i know you have some things going on that make the physical part hard for you." you look up at him so earnestly, and he loves looking at you. he loves looking at you and doesn't want to have to stop and he's worried that this is it. the moment he'll have to stop. you try to smile and it's small and he wants it all for himself. careful. delicate. secret, for him. "i'm not gonna lie to you. i don't know what a relationship without that kind of stuff looks like. but that doesn't mean i'm not willing to find out. it's—i don't need you to try to do something you think i want you to do."

"i'm not."

"it makes me feel a little sick, kat. honestly. it makes me feel like, i don't know—like i'm taking advantage of you, or something—"

"you're not."

"you don't have to do things like that to keep me around." you look flustered, eyes darting from his face to the skyline. "if you want me, i'm—you know."

it's okay, you know. "i don't know."

"i'm yours," you say, and cringe immediately at your words. "or like—i could be, you know, kind of whatever you wanted, if you—if that's what you want. would want."

katsuki can only remember a few times when his head was this quiet in the presence of someone else. when he trusted someone enough to let his mind go blank, to let himself act on instinct. "can i kiss you?"

you sigh. "this is what i was saying. i don't want you to—"

"no," he says, quiet, and he's closer to you than he's ever been. he likes the way you smell. he's not gonna apologize if that's weird. "i just want—god, i feel pathetic asking again. can i just—?"

just, just, just. just a touch, just a kiss, just a moment of your fucking time—it's all he wants. and he's never wanted like this. he's never trusted like this. his head has never quieted entirely because he's so sure that he's not going to disappoint you, or be something you don't actually want, or be wrong.

you've shown him that he can't be wrong with you, regardless of whether or not something within him is broken.

your lips are warm, a little chapped from the dry air, and he tries to remember what kissing chastely is but it's like something breaks in him further the second the two of you touch. his hands are cradling your face, his tongue is gliding against your tongue, his teeth are clacking against your teeth, and he knows the kiss is bad and wrong and messy but he suddenly needs it. he needs to feel you.

you make a noise against him and worry slices into his stomach before he realizes it's a quiet, breathy moan, and maybe you've been okay without the touch but that doesn't mean you don't enjoy it when you receive it. he can tell he hasn't made his boundaries clear enough—your hands circle his wrists, too cautious to go further, too hesitant to grip him like he thinks you want to. like he wants you to want to.

his teeth hit yours again and you laugh, and he pulls back, stomach tight. there's a hope in him that's ready to be torn.

you see it in his face—the fear. "i love kissing you," you blurt out, as if it's the only reassurance you can think of in the moment. "i mean—you're just." you laugh again, and he realizes it's nerves. you're just as nervous as he is. "can i—can we go somewhere warm? and maybe do this more? or—if this was enough—"

he's pulling you towards his apartment before you can get another word out.

kissing you is easy because you make him feel like it's relatively new for you as well. maybe that's how it feels for everyone every time, but he wouldn't know. he just feels comfortable with you. like you're not so much better than him, like you're not waiting to laugh at him when he fucks up, like you're touching him because you really want to.

so he takes you to his apartment and puts you on his couch and kisses you until your back is against the armrest and he's looming over you and you feel comfortable enough that your hands stray from his wrists to his shoulders to his hair and he didn't even know touching someone could feel like this.

put aside the fact that he's nearly finished in his fucking jeans three times just from your fingers running across his back, from the way you cup his cheek when he pulls back for air because he keeps forgetting to breathe—just having you close is intoxicating. he wants to bury his face in the curve of your shoulder, he wants to bite marks into your skin that'll stay vibrant for weeks, he wants to etch himself into you so deeply that he doesn't have to leave. these wants aren't even sexual—it's something about having you be his. i'm yours, you'd told him, and he hadn't even known that it would be exactly what he needed to hear.

he's in love with you, which isn't shocking to him, but he knows he shouldn't be in love with you yet because people that aren't fucked up in the head don't feel shit like this so quickly. he's not gonna tell you this for a very long time, but he knows—so completely and confidently—that he will reach a point when he can tell you.

"you sure you want this?" he asks, breathy, between kisses.

you stop kissing him, brows raised in surprise. "katsuki, we don't... this is a lot for one night. we can take it slow, still."

"that's—i'm not talking about that." he gives in, then—lets himself bury his face in the crook of your neck, lets himself breathe in deep, lets himself find your hands and intertwine your fingers, and you can probably feel that he's hard as fucking metal for you but that's not what's important right now. it sure as hell makes it awkward to try to have a serious conversation, though. "you sure you wanna deal with all... you know. my stuff."

"are you sure you wanna deal with all of my stuff?" you counter, and he pulls back to look at you. kissed rotten and smiling. "of course i want to deal with it. i like you."

and he likes you too. god, he likes you so fucking much.

the next morning, long after you've left for home, he finds a little orange whale shark hidden behind the alarm clock on his bedside table, stars in the place of eyes, and the trace of you is enough to make him feel warm. to hope that over time his apartment becomes full of the little paper creatures until his home is its own aquarium, until everywhere he looks is a memory of all you've brought him—pieces of you, perfectly arranged and delicately folded by your careful hands, much too gentle to tear.

[luveline]

Hii i love the way you write!!! Could you write something about bad ass reader X Spencer? I miss them soo much.... Maybe something about her saying I love you for the first time and she's nervous and he's confused bc he's not understanding why she's nervous and what she's trying to say ❤️❤️❤️

some light spencer fluff ! love u. fem

Spencer has hair like silk. Brown, shiny curls in the milky moonlight of a September sky. The cold air nips his nose and cheeks, leaving ruddy blush like cherry stains that bring out the endless brown of his eyes. His hand is callused beneath yours, evidence of hour upon hour of stooped writing, pen ink on his fingertips, dark black smudges that stretch as they squeeze. He tips his head back to look at the bruising sky and the stars are like pin pricks, close and very, very far as he again squeezes your hand. You’re surprised you can see the stars, but this part of the country is quiet. 

“Wow, look at all of those,” he says, like he’s begging you to see them too; worried you’ll miss out on such a heart-rending sight. 

You let your side weigh on his and look up, feeling the cold of each star above you like a sudden breeze. Your nose is ice, your lips chapping despite a little lip balm you’d rushed on before you left the cottage. It’s a small, beautiful place, decorated by its patches, ivy and cobbled roofing, window panes replaced in different shades of pink and orange and green. You can see it from where you’re standing, a light forgotten in the bathroom. 

Let’s go on a walk, Spencer‘d said, before it gets too cold. 

It’s too cold already. You shiver, forcing more of your weight into Spencer’s side, only slightly abashed as he wraps his arm around you and presses the soft of his cheek to your head. “See that one?” he asks, smiling, “I think that’s the North Star. Brightest one.” 

You close your eyes.

“It’s really cold, isn’t it?” he asks. 

“It’s freezing.” 

Spencer noses your cheek. Your stomach flips, a zapping, sickening electricity bending and aching inside you from his innocuous touch. Intimacy with Spencer has become casual, but not less exciting. You feel him like a contusion, sometimes. Right in the pit of your stomach. It borders on unpleasant, though it never quite gets there. You want him to do this to you for the rest of your life, you think, opening your eyes to catch a last look at the dark sky and its rich field of stars like white strawberry seeds. 

Spencer’s watching you when you drop your chin. You’d scowl if he were anyone else, reluctant to be caught relaxed, but it’s him. 

“You okay?” 

“Shouldn’t I be?” you ask. You’ve given little clue of nerves. You’re as rigid as ever, the softest part of you your hand where he’s petting your index finger. 

“I know when you’re… not fully you,” he says. 

“I’m still me. Just worried.” 

“About what?”

There’s a layer of gutted to his voice you don’t like. You shouldn’t be worried about anything. You and your colleagues at the BAU recently received a pay rise at work, as well as a small bonus, which you and Spencer then cashed to vacation here. It might not be the best time of year, but anywhere with Spencer can be perfect. So far it has been. Waking up with him in a space that isn’t his apartment or yours feels new, startlingly good, it makes you think of the future in ways you hadn’t considered in depth previously. The aching puddle of your stomach yawns again. 

“I have something– something I–” You wince through it as Spencer’s brows rise. “I need to tell you something, Spencer. Before it jumps out of me.” 

“Okay.” His breath is like mist in front of him. His cheeks continue in their reddening. 

“I’m worried I won’t say it the right way.” 

Spencer shakes his head. You’d like to rub some warmth into his skin, but you don’t trust your hands to stay steady. “You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m really happy we’re here. I can’t… there isn’t any other way I’d like to spend the weekend. This is really– Spencer, this is perfect, and it’s because of you. Us.“ Spencer’s overlooked and under appreciated everywhere he goes. Just once, you want him to feel seen for the gem he is. “I really,” —your breath leaves you like it’s been yanked from your chest— “love you.” 

Spencer brings your hand to his chest. “You love me?” he asks, kissing your fingers. 

You dip your chin to your chest. “Yeah.” 

“I love you.“ What an odd emphasis, and somehow the right one. 

You nod. That’s good. It’s good to be loved. You’d known he loved you, of course, but it’s good to have it said aloud. 

“You aren’t surprised?” he asks. “But, why were you worried?” 

Hard to explain. You give in to temptation, cradling the cold stretch of his cheek to rub a thumb over his bottom lip. Your lip balm has left it soft. “I told you, I didn’t think I’d say it right.” 

“You don’t usually say anything wrong.” 

Spencer wraps his arm around you and tugs you in for a hug. You stumble back at the force of him and he sways you from one side to the other, keeping you up with him, frosting grass crunching under your shoes. The night is quiet here, coloured only by the shush of the wind and the stirring leaves of the woodlands. Spencer’s breath is by far the loudest sound, a huffing, happy thing that betrays his excitement. “I love you,” he says on a laugh. “It was nice to see you struggling to talk, for once, but you don’t need to be nervous with me. I love you.” Two admissions at once. You find yourself renewed.

“It was a one time thing, I assure you.” 

“Consider me assured,” he says, ferrying your face up for a warm kiss. 

[scribbledswans]

could yuo possibly make.... uuhhh..... shedletsky x healer reader like where the reader bandages up shedletskys wounds they shed on my let till i sky

yea sure

it'll happen again.

Shedletsky finds himself yearning for your touch often, even when your hands are pressing gauze against his chest to stop the bleeding.

Warnings: Percieved one-sided pining / percieved unreciprocated emotions

this work is also up on ao3

"It's like you're TRYING to get yourself hurt!" You scold quietly, stitching up a laceration on your companion's side.

Shedletsky monumentally whiffed a stun on Jason earlier that evening, and recieved a punishing gash from said killer's machete. He listens to you lecture him on how he shouldn't be stunning unless its absolutely necessary, how resource intensive caring for wounds is, the likes. He absolutely would not say it to your face, but as much as you scold him and maybe even handle him a little harshly, he finds your worrying cute. One could say he DOES get hurt on purpose, just so you can patch him up.

A sharp poke into his side rips him out of his admiration of you with a yelp, a quickly mumbles apology falling instinctively from your lips as you close the stitch. Then it's on to gauze and the likes, making sure the stitches are stable before wrapping him up.

He honestly hates getting wounded like this. It's seriously humiliating! Even then, the closeness of being cared for... the intimacy of this, even, is enough for him to not really care. You rolling up his shirt, hands on his chest, carefully nursing the wounds that bring him to you– It's intoxicating, and he develops addictions easily.

Hell, you look hot when you're mad, too.

By the time you had finished wrapping him up and making sure the bandages were secure, Shedletsky had come to several jarring realizations about himself, not noticing your silence. You tap lightly on his shoulder, bringing him out of his head.

"You're all done. I keep telling you to be careful." You say, pointedly.

Shedletsky rubs the back of his neck thoughtlessly, "I'm sorry. It'll probably happen again."

You sigh, turning to leave the room when he grabs your wrist. The act startles you so badly that you turn to punch him, barely managing to stop your fist from meeting his jaw. He flinches, giving you an apologetic smile and beckoning you to come sit on the bed with him. You frown.

"Elliot still needs to be patched up,. Later"

"But—"

"I promise we'll talk after, okay? I'll be back. Hang tight." You say, heading out the door quickly with your medkit.

Shedletsky stares as the empty doorframe where you left, a strange coldness calcifying in his chest. He knows it has to be done, but so much of him selfishly wants to have you alone. You're always so busy bouncing between the other survivors, making sure their wounds are properly addressed and treated, it's only natural. That selfish part of him aches for a private moment that isn't just a medical visit, Another part yearning to feel your hands against his body in a way meant only for him.

He swallows down his desperation to feel any part of you at all. It sits heavy in his stomach with the jealousy he feels when he hears you laugh in the other room.

Winded by his own thoughts, he leans back on the bed beneath him, staring at the ceiling as though it were the most interesting thing in the universe.

[solvisun]

121924. ❀ ₊˚⊹ HERSHEY’S KISSES

haikyuu 𝜗𝜚 tsukishima kei x fem!reader

you’ve had your fair share of experiences when it comes to relationships. yet for some reason, the one you have now, with a certain blonde who gives you love that’s tangible enough to feel its warmth flowing your skin— makes all your hair from your nape rise in an indescribable feeling. it’s a mix of apprehension, excitement, and an overwhelming desire to do something you have never done before.

or: 4 times you felt the urge to kiss him, and 1 time he acted upon it.

❀ MASTERLIST. I. KNOCKS YOU OUT OF BREATH. NEXT

content 𝜗𝜚 casual post-match celebration with the karasuno volleyball team. subtle hints of physical intimacy and affection. tsukki is very attentive. reader's falling in love all over again.

you feel a bit silly about the whole thing. hinata keeps bickering with kageyama over the last piece of karaage, their voices rising like two squabbling crows. yachi is trying—and failing—to keep them from spilling the table. nishinoya, meanwhile, sneakily grabs a skewer of yakitori from tanaka’s plate, stuffing it into his mouth with an exaggerated wink that tanaka doesn’t notice until it’s far too late. across the table, yamaguchi can only smile awkwardly, as though secondhand embarrassment is the price of admission for sitting here.

you don’t think your presence makes any sense. this is supposed to be your boyfriend’s and his team’s little celebration after a taxing match—just something to spend their time together after all their hard work. yet tsukishima hasn’t really given you a choice. or rather, everyone wanted you here, even offering to pay for you if you admitted to being short on savings.

your dress feels tight under the humid heat of the air. their laughter feeds your heart full. sweat trickles down your temple and you’re slightly having difficulty with breathing. yet you’re happy, a proud smile etched on your lips. it’s inevitable; karasuno’s joy is very, very contagious.

light flickers on clinking ice. to your right, tsukishima slides you a glass of cold water. it hits the back of your hand where it rests on the table, cupped together as though you’re trying to fit yourself small and still.

your hands unravel themselves as you take the glass, mumbling a thank you which you’re sure he couldn’t hear with how quiet you are. the coldness soothes you, washes down the unease settling your throat.

he doesn’t say you’re welcome back. instead, he gently brushes your hair behind your ear, pulling out a small handkerchief to pat it over the side of your face. he gives you a look of knowing. stays quiet. but you can hear him over the million voices swirling around you.

he blinks, briefly glances, and points to the doorway at the back. eyes telling, do you want to leave now?

the question lingers with the way his gaze just stays on you. and he knows even a simple question like this can lead your mind branching out too many factors to consider. too much hesitation. so he waits, with a stare so familiar and so quiet that no one dares glance at the two of you. like it’s only you and him existing, even for just a short while.

yours and his plate are finished. you doubt you can refuse hinata’s or nishinoya’s insistence to eat more! take anything! but you don’t want to leave yet, either. you promised yourself you’ll bask in this moment until its end. you don’t want to ruin the atmosphere. you don’t want to be selfish and ask him if he could escape with you.

(though he would. for you, of course he would.)

you gulp down your water as you shake your head, no. you gift him a little sheepish grin, as if to say you’re sorry, because you can’t ever be rude to anyone even if you tried.

he sighs through his nose. okay. he expected it. and as careful as he can, he scoots closer to you. and you do the same on instinct. his arm finding a home on your back with ease.

like it’s natural, like it's breathing. it’s this small but thoughtful act that makes you a little bit in love with him, how he cares for you in a way that’s freeing. less burdened and more reassured. it leaves you aching for some reason. a smile that can't be suppressed curling your lips and you can guess from the way tsukishima's hold tightens tells you that he's pleased.

you kind of want to kiss him right now.

oh...

oh—

wait, what?

it’s a small admission. a tiny hidden rock on asphalt as you stumble in collision with it. you feel your body tense, all noise lulls in the backdrop as you feel tsukishima’s palm rubbing your back in circles. he takes a gulp of his own water and watches everyone with cool nonchalance, adam’s apple bobbing up and down. he doesn’t notice how you zone in on his lips, glistening under the warm lights.

it’s tantalizing, pricking your skin and raising the hairs on your nape. what the hell has gotten into you?

it’s bad enough that the weather makes it a pain to wear anything from your wardrobe, full of thick clothing that covers almost all your skin. you’re hyper-aware of everything—the dress clinging to your skin, the damp heat settling on your shoulders, and most of all, his hand. it’s starting to feel like a live current residing on your back, sparking warmth that spreads through your chest, thrums with every slow circle his palm traces.

you haven’t felt this way in so long, like the air itself is too heavy to breathe.

and then it hits you. one larger rock emerges in front of you, forcing you to take a step back with caution.

you also haven’t kissed anyone despite your fair share of experience with relationships.

it’s not that you haven’t wanted to. it’s just—

well, every opportunity seemed to slip through your fingers, like sand spilling from a cupped hand. moments passed by unnoticed or ignored, until now, with tsukishima’s palm against your back, his quiet affection settling into the spaces between the both of you. it feels monumental. intimidating.

oh shit. now you might want to escape before they notice the expression you’re making. which you’re unsure what it is. you probably look like you’re suffering from constipation.

you risk a glance back at him, your breath catching for reasons you don’t want to admit. he’s not even doing anything special—just being himself, as sharp-tongued and soft-hearted as ever. but suddenly, the idea of leaning in, of closing that short distance, able to mesmerise him more than what normal circumstances provide, seems almost impossible.

just daunting.

“you okay?” his voice is low, barely audible over the team’s raucous laughter. his brows knit slightly, his hand pausing mid-circle against your back. there’s no mockery in his tone, none of the usual sarcasm. just the familiar level of concern when it comes to you, carefully wrapped up in his usual aloofness.

you nod quickly, too quickly, the motion jerking like a marionette’s strings pulled taut. “yeah, i’m fine. just, um, warm.”

“obviously.” he snorts, but his hand doesn’t leave your back. instead, it shifts, the warmth of his fingers brushing against your arm, grounding you. “you’re overthinking again.”

“no, i’m not,” you mumble defensively, though your pulse betrays you with how it thuds and skips.

he doesn’t press, doesn’t ask. tsukishima is many things, but he’s not the kind to push when he knows you’re teetering on the edge of something. he leans back, his hand falling away as he picks up another skewer of yakitori, and for a moment, you almost miss the contact. god.

you’re left to wrestle with the quiet thought that’s now lodged itself firmly in your mind. the thought that maybe—just maybe—you want to kiss him.

it’s so ridiculous. the way your heart stutters and stalls over something so simple and small. but the more you sit there, the more the idea takes root, twisting through your torso like ivy, reaching your throat, making everything breathless and slightly helpless.

he’s looking at you again now, his expression unreadable, though there’s a hint of exasperation in the slight quirk of his brow. “what?”

“nothing.” your voice comes out too quickly, too high-pitched.

his lips twitch, just barely, and you’re struck again by how they catch the light, the way they part slightly when he exhales, the way they curve when he’s fighting off a smirk.

you’re spiraling, absolutely spiraling.

(and yet, despite the mortifying heat crawling up your neck, you can’t bring yourself to look away.)

taglist (open!) — @stellar-haikyuu @kokokoula @luvether @yoru-exe @reirain @hwanghyunjinismybae @astolary

reader is so strong if i were in their place i'd be ravaging him idc

© SOLVIA 2024. HERSHEY’S KISSES. do not alter/repost !

[mononijikayu]

nonsense christmas — nanami kento.

“Tell you what, Kento.” you said, voice low and teasing. “If you don’t kiss me under a mistletoe by the end of the night, I’ll stop. No more flirting, no more teasing. I’ll leave you alone.” Kento tilted his head slightly, as if considering your words. “And if I do?” Your breath hitched at the question, but you managed a grin. “Then I’ll finally have my Christmas wish.” His lips parted softly, as though he were about to respond, but instead, he exhaled slowly, his warm gaze dipping to your lips for the briefest moment before meeting your bright teasing eyes again.  “You’re impossible.”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: AFAB! Reader, Safe For Work (SFW), Romance, Crushes, Getting Together, Classmates, Friends to Lovers, Persuasion, Teasing, Teenagers, Feelings, Friendship, Fluff, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Flirting, Humor, Domesticity, Slice of Life, Mild Angst, Idiots In Love, Light-Hearted, Confessions, Pining, Kissing, Mistletoe Kiss, Christmas;

WORD COUNT: 5k words.

NOTE: nanami kento come to the front because??? you made your lover wait for this long??? but its okay guys, he'll love you forever so that he'll make up for his making you wait. anyway, i hope that you enjoy christmas!!! ill come back with more stuff!!! i love you all <3

box it up, christmas hun! (santa kayu 2024)

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IT WAS THAT TIME OF THE YEAR. The ballroom felt alive, sparkling with the magic of the season. Music drifted through the air, a soft, lilting melody that seemed to heighten the intimacy of the moment. You couldn't help but notice how the warm golden light cast a soft glow on Nanami Kento's sharp features, making him look even more handsome than usual. His presence in the crowd was magnetic, his quiet strength standing out against the festive chaos of the room.

You couldn’t help but admit it: you liked this man too much. Nanami Kento was just that man. More than anyone else in this room. Maybe even more than anyone in the entire world. It was a thought that lingered in your mind far too often, but you couldn’t shake it, not when every moment with him felt like the only thing that mattered.

You decided that he was the one the moment you both were at Jujutsu High. The very first time you saw him, sitting there in the classroom, casually dressed in his uniform, a book in his hands. The image was burned into your memory, as clear as if it had happened yesterday. The way he looked—so effortlessly cool, so calm, so utterly engrossed in his reading. It could’ve been plucked straight from the pages of a shoujo manga.

And yet, as much as it was cliché, it was perfect. Every detail about that moment was perfect. His sandy blond hair, the way it fell in messy waves over his brow, the soft crease of his shirt, the relaxed way he rested his chin in his hand as he flipped the page. You could almost hear the soundtrack of a gentle string instrument playing in your mind as you watched him, caught in a moment that felt as if it had been orchestrated just for you.

You could still remember the flutter in your chest, that instant of realization. It wasn’t just admiration. It was more. It was the kind of feeling that felt destined, as if the universe had conspired to place you in that moment, in that room, with him. And just like that, you were hooked.

You didn’t even need to know him then to know that you wanted him. His presence was magnetic, his energy effortless, and you found yourself thinking of nothing but how perfect it would be to spend the rest of your life with him.

Looking back now, you could trace the beginnings of your feelings to that very moment—so simple, yet so profound. A single snapshot in time that made you realize that sometimes, the best things in life happen when you least expect them. That moment with him, so ordinary and yet so extraordinary, felt like fate pulling you toward something you didn’t even know you wanted.

And now, here you were, so far from that classroom, so far from the days when the idea of him seemed like an impossible dream, and yet… it was real. He was here, and he was yours. You smiled softly to yourself, your heart full as you looked at him, knowing that it all started with one perfect moment—and you would always fall for him, every time, in every way, for the rest of your life.

The memory of that moment still lingered in your mind, vivid despite the years that had passed. You had spent weeks psyching yourself up, rehearsing your words in front of Haibara, who always smiled and encouraged you.

“He’s too serious, but you’ll break through!” Haibara had said with his usual sunny grin. “You’re good for him, you know? Like sunshine cutting through all those storm clouds he carries around.”

Those words had fueled your determination, and when the day finally came, you’d found him sitting under the big tree near the practice field, reading. His tie had been loosened, his sleeves rolled up, and he looked so effortlessly put-together that it made your chest tighten.

“Kento, hey.” you’d called softly, your voice shaky.

He’d looked up, his expression calm as always, though his brow furrowed slightly when he saw the nervous way you fidgeted with your hands. You shouldn’t be nervous like this in front of him, but you were. It was hard, when you felt overwhelmed by someone. 

“Can I talk to you?” you’d asked, and he’d nodded, setting his book aside.

The confession spilled out in a rush, your words tumbling over each other as you tried to make sense of your feelings. You’d told him how much you admired his dedication, how his quiet strength made you feel safe, how you couldn’t stop thinking about him. By the end, your cheeks burned, and your hands trembled.

“I like you, Kento.” you had finished, your voice barely above a whisper.

Nanami Kento had listened without interrupting, his expression steady but unreadable. When you finished, he let out a quiet sigh, his caramel gaze dropping to the ground for a moment before meeting yours.

“I don’t think I can give you the answer you’re looking for.” he had said, his voice even but kind. “At least, not right now.”

The words had stung, but they hadn’t been a rejection. You nodded, forcing a smile. “That’s okay, Kento. Don’t worry.” you’d said, and you meant it. You didn’t want to pressure him or push him into something he wasn’t ready for.

Haibara had found you afterward, your head resting on your knees as you tried to process everything. “How’d it go?” he’d asked, sitting beside you.

“He didn’t say no, Haibara.” you’d replied quietly, your lips twitching into a small smile. “That’s something, right?”

Haibara had nudged your shoulder gently. “It’s more than something. He’s just the kind of guy who overthinks everything. You’ve planted the seed, though. Give him time.”

But time had passed, and Nanami Kento left Jujutsu High not long after. You never got another chance to talk to him like that again. You told yourself you were content loving him from afar, finding solace in the way your heart still fluttered at the thought of him.

But when he returned, something in you had stirred—a flicker of hope, fragile yet insistent. Maybe, just maybe, things could be different now. Time has changed both of you. The boy who had quietly declined your feelings at Jujutsu High had grown into a man, more self-assured but still carrying that same steady, composed demeanor that had drawn you to him in the first place.

You were adults now, and that alone made you believe there was a chance. Life has taught you patience, resilience, and the courage to keep trying, even when the odds seemed slim. That was why you hadn’t given up on him.

And so, you pursued him.

Every opportunity to be near him, to share a moment, you seized with the quiet determination that had defined your feelings for years. You sought him out for coffee when you knew he preferred a quiet café to the bustling city. You’d “accidentally” bump into him at the farmers’ market, pretending it was a coincidence even though you’d memorized his routine.

“Kento!” you’d say with a teasing grin when he raised a suspicious brow at you. “What a coincidence running into you here. Do you always buy the same sourdough every Saturday morning?”

He’d sigh, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his lips, a ghost of a smile he didn’t quite let show. “You’re persistent.”

“Someone’s got to make sure you don’t spend your weekends brooding, you know?” you’d reply, nudging his shoulder. “Come on, loosen up!”

It became a habit, this delicate dance of seeking his company without being too obvious about your intentions. You’d ask him to spar under the guise of “staying sharp” though the truth was, you just liked the way he’d carefully correct your stance or the brief flicker of admiration in his eyes when you managed to land a hit.

“You’ve improved, a lot.” he’d say, his voice calm but laced with sincerity, and it would make your heart race.

“Good teacher, as always!” you’d reply, hoping he couldn’t see how much his approval meant to you.

Every moment with Kento, no matter how mundane, felt like a gift. Whether it was sharing a quiet cup of coffee on a rainy morning, or simply sitting in comfortable silence while reading, there was something in the way he looked at you, spoke to you, and allowed you to be near him that made everything feel extraordinary.

And though he didn’t openly reciprocate your pursuit, even after all these years. Never rushing into declarations of affection or sweeping gestures—he didn’t push you away, either. It was a slow process, but he let you in, bit by bit, his walls coming down in small, subtle ways.

You could see it in the way he’d glance at you when he thought you weren’t looking, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You noticed it in the way he trusted you enough to share a casual comment or a fleeting thought during the moments when he felt most comfortable.

One evening, you found yourselves sitting on the couch in his modestly minimal apartment. The sound of the rain pattering against the window and the occasional crackle of the radiator filled the air as the two of you shared a bowl of popcorn. 

Nanami Kento looked so effortlessly at ease, his long legs stretched out and his sweater sleeves pushed up to his forearms as he focused on a historical documentary you’d both stumbled upon online.You leaned your head on his shoulder, your voice soft as you broke the comfortable quiet.

“You know, you’re not as cold as you pretend to be, Kento.” you said, stealing another handful of popcorn.

He glanced at you briefly, his lips parting slightly in surprise before he let out a small, amused chuckle. “Not cold?”

“You’re warm, always.” you said with a grin. “You let me in. You don’t push me away, even when you could.”

There was a moment of silence as Kento stared at the television, his hand resting on the couch beside you. His expression wasn’t guarded, but it wasn’t entirely open either—just enough for you to read the smallest hint of vulnerability.

“I guess I never really had a reason to push you away.” he finally said, his voice low but steady. “Never.”

His words lingered in the air for a moment, and you could tell he’d chosen them carefully. His voice had a softness to it that was rare for him, but just enough for you to feel the weight of his trust.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze, catching the faint glow of the television reflecting off his glasses. “Why’s that?” you asked, your curiosity getting the better of you.

He hesitated for a moment, his shoulders shifting as he adjusted his position, and then he looked at you fully. “Because you make things easier,you make life feel kinder, in some ways.” he admitted, his words simple but honest. “You don’t ask for much, you listen, and you’re just there.”

You held your breath for a moment, your heart tightening at his words. His walls had come down, even if only by a fraction, and you could feel it. His tender tone, his presence, his warmth—it all felt so sincere. Too sincere for you to handle.

“I care about you, Kento.” you said softly, unsure if he truly understood the depth of your feelings.

His caramel gaze lingered on you for a moment, his hand reaching for the bowl of popcorn absentmindedly. His lips pressed together, his expression unreadable, before he looked back at the screen, the conversation shifting back to the documentary.

But the weight of his words, and his willingness to let you in, lingered with you, wrapping you in a warmth that felt both fragile and strong. You knew there was still much more to uncover with Kento, but for now, this….his presence, his openness, his choice to let you stay—it felt like it was more than enough.

And sometimes, enough was everything.

But sometimes, you know that doesn’t fill the hole.

You still wanted more than what enough was.

And that was human of you, truthfully enough.

You weren’t naive enough to think it would be easy. Nothing about life, especially when it came to love, had ever been simple. You knew this, just as you knew there was a layer of reluctance in Kento—a hesitation, a kind of guarded distance he fought to keep even when you could feel the pull between you both.

Kento was, and still is, someone who struggles with the idea of letting go completely. His walls were strong, built from years of experience, loss, and quiet battles that no one but him could fully understand. It was clear to you that he struggled with the need to distance himself.

As if pulling back were his only defense against the weight of inevitable heartache. His fear of loss, perhaps, weighed heaviest on his mind, an unspoken ache that lingered just beneath the surface. And he’s never gotten over it.

He never told you, not in words, though you could feel it. Sometimes, late at night, you could see it in his tired caramel eyes or hear it in the hesitancy of his voice. He still dreams of Yu Haibara sometimes, in the most grievous ways.

And it was there in his moments of quiet, the small ways he hesitated to open up, even when you wanted him to. His reluctance was both a shield and a barrier, but it didn’t mean he didn’t care. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to feel things he does for you.

Because even through that fear, even through his uncertainty, you knew he still wanted you close. He still wanted you around him. His need wasn’t entirely spoken, but you could sense it in the way his hand would linger near yours, in the way his shoulders would relax just a bit when you sat beside him, in the way his smiles felt so much warmer when they were aimed at you.

He wanted your companionship. Your warmth. Your smiles. Even if just for a little while.

And you found yourself wondering if you could ever bridge that gap, if you could ease away the weight of his fears, of his walls, just enough to allow him to breathe. But you knew it wouldn’t come easily. It wasn’t about convincing him or rushing him. It was about staying close without suffocating, about being the kind of presence that felt like home without overwhelming his heart.

So you stayed. Patient. Gentle. Hopeful.

Because sometimes, love wasn’t about having all the answers. Sometimes, it was just about simply the ability to be there. But of course, that didn’t mean you didn’t like being playful with him sometimes. 

Sometimes you ended up teasing, flirting absentmindedly when the mood suited you. It kept things light, kept the tension from building too heavily between you both. And you knew Kento liked it, even if he would never openly admit it.

Now, you watched him, standing by one of the tall windows with his usual composed grace. The snow was falling outside, the icy tendrils of white dancing against the backdrop of the gray sky, and it cast a dreamy, ethereal glow over his figure. 

His sharp handsome features looked even more striking in the pale light, his stoicism seemingly as solid as ever, but something about his posture seemed a bit softer, more contemplative, more… approachable.

He had a half-full glass of champagne in his hand, the bubbles dancing at the surface as if mirroring the cold, soft beauty of the snow. His gaze was fixed outside, distant, a world away from the warm interior you occupied.

You felt that familiar pull—the urge to go to him, to close the distance, to connect. It wasn’t a conscious thing, really. It just happened. And as you took a step toward him, you couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at your lips.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you took his hand gently, drawing his attention as you swayed toward him. His stoicism faltered, ever so slightly, his usual confidence wavering under the warmth of your smile.

“Care for a dance?” you asked, your voice light, playful.

His eyes flickered down at you, the quiet surprise in them both unexpected and endearing. He hesitated for only a heartbeat before nodding, his lips parting into the faintest, almost-smile. “I suppose one dance couldn’t hurt.”

You held his hand as you moved into a slow, natural rhythm, the sound of the music faint in the background as you swayed together. His movements were smooth, calculated, but you could feel the tension in his shoulders ease as he allowed himself to follow your lead. His fingers were strong, steady, warm as they pressed into your hand, grounding you.

For a moment, everything felt still. The soft sound of the snow outside, the faint music, the warmth of his touch—everything blended into this gentle, fleeting moment that felt like it belonged to just the two of you.

You met his gaze, playful and soft, as you twirled, and he followed you easily, his composure blending seamlessly into the rhythm you created together. You could feel his walls, his hesitation, but this time they felt far less imposing. His defenses, ever so slightly, had come down.

It was in these moments, in these small dances and quiet gestures, that you felt yourself reaching him bit by bit. Not with force or words, but with your presence, your laughter, your warmth. You grinned again as he looked at you, a genuine, rare smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, and you knew this was enough.

“Come on.” you teased gently, tugging him toward the floor. “It’s Christmas, Kento. Loosen up a little.”

His grip on your hand tightened briefly, a subtle indication that your forwardness had caught him off guard. Still, he followed, the faintest hint of pink brushing against his ears. As the two of you swayed to the music, you let your fingers glide lightly over his shoulder, relishing the solid warmth beneath your touch. 

“You know, Kento.” you began, your tone playful, “I wasn’t lying earlier. You’re on my wish list this year. Like last year and the year before that.”

Kento raised an eyebrow, but the slight flush deepened across his cheeks. “That so?”

“Mm-hmm.” you replied, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You’ve got that whole ‘Santa-but-make-it-dashing’ thing going on. Makes a girl want to write a love letter to the North Pole.”

He cleared his throat, his warm caramel eyes darting away briefly before returning to yours. “I doubt Santa would entertain... that kind of correspondence.”

You leaned in, your voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Good thing I’m not sending it to him, then. I’d deliver it straight to you. No middleman required.”

For the first time that night, Kento faltered. His confident posture shifted, and his eyes widened just a fraction. “You’re relentless, you know that?” he murmured, a hand coming up to adjust his tie, though it wasn’t even out of place. “Always have been.”

You laughed softly, the sound warm and teasing. “Oh, Kento, don’t tell me I’ve made you nervous. It’s just a little harmless flirting…….but well,  unless you want it to be more.”

His lips parted, but no immediate response came. That small victory sent a thrill through you, and you leaned closer, just enough that your words were for him alone. “Tell me, does this kind of thing make you uncomfortable? Or are you just not used to someone being so... direct?”

Kento’s hand tightened slightly on your waist, his composed exterior visibly cracking. “It’s not discomfort, not at all.” he admitted, his voice low but steady. “Just unexpected.”

“Unexpectedly charming?” you pressed, your eyes twinkling with amusement.

He exhaled sharply, a sound that might have been a stifled laugh. “Something like that.”

Encouraged, you let your fingertips trace the seam of his suit jacket. “You know, Kento.” you continued, a playful lilt in your voice, “if you’re ever feeling generous this season, you could always fulfill my Christmas wish.”

“And what would that be?” he asked, the words coming out more strained than he probably intended.

You leaned in, your lips barely brushing the shell of his ear. “You. Under the mistletoe.”

When you pulled back to gauge his reaction, you were rewarded with the rarest sight: Nanami Kento, speechless. His hand flexed slightly on your waist, and his gaze flicked away as he struggled to compose himself. He looks at you for a moment. 

“You’re incorrigible, really.” he finally muttered, but his voice betrayed him—soft, amused, and maybe even a little flustered. “You haven’t  changed.”

“Only with you, Kento.” you said sweetly, squeezing his shoulder before stepping back. “But don’t worry, I’ll wait for my gift. After all, good things come to those who are patient.”

As you walked away, a satisfied grin on your lips, you couldn’t help but glance back to find Nanami Kento standing exactly where you’d left him, his calloused fingers brushing absently over his tie, his expression a mixture of bewilderment and something you dared to hope was intrigue.

The night carried on, the hum of conversation and the swell of holiday music forming a cozy backdrop, but you couldn’t keep your attention off Nanami. He had retreated to the edge of the room, standing by one of the tall, arched windows. The faint reflection of twinkling lights played across his face as he stared out at the snowfall, the earlier flush still faintly visible on his well defined cheeks. You decided you weren’t quite done with him yet.

Grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing server, you wove your way back through the crowd, your dress swishing lightly with each step. When you approached him, you tilted your head playfully, holding out the glass. 

“For the most stoic man at the ball, our dear Santa.” you teased.

He glanced at you, his lips quivering in what might have been a reluctant smile, and accepted the drink. “I didn’t realize I had a title.”

“Oh, you’ve earned it, Kento.” you said with a wink, leaning against the window frame beside him. “But don’t worry—I like a challenge.”

Nanami Kento took a measured sip of the champagne, but you caught the way his jaw tensed, as though he were bracing himself for whatever you might say next. It only spurred you on to tease him even more.

“So, Kento.” you said, turning slightly to face him. “Are you enjoying the ball, or are you just here to fulfill some jujutsu society obligation?”

He hesitated, clearly weighing his words. “I suppose I’m here out of tradition. And obligations. These events aren’t really my style.”

“I could’ve guessed that, you know.” you said, grinning. “You’re not exactly the life-of-the-party type. But you know, Christmas is about more than tradition. It’s about joy. And sharing it with someone.”

Kento gave you a sidelong look. “You’re quite persistent.”

“And you’re quite stubborn.” you shot back, smiling. “But I think there’s a soft side to you, Kento. One you don’t show often enough.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And what makes you think that?”

“Well, for one, you haven’t walked away yet. I’m sure that you could end up doing that, knowing how much I tease you.” you said with a smirk. “And two... you keep looking at me like you don’t know whether to scold me or kiss me.”

His composure faltered again, a faint cough escaping as he set his glass down on the windowsill. “You certainly have an active imagination.”

“Oh, come on,Kento.” you said, your tone playful but insistent. “Admit it—you’re at least a little tempted. And if you’re not, then prove me wrong.”

Kento looked at you then, really looked at you, his sharp gaze softening just slightly. For a moment, you thought you might have pushed too far, but then he straightened, adjusting his tie with a deliberate slowness. 

“I don’t think I need to prove anything.”

“Ah, I see.” you said, stepping closer, emboldened by the flicker of challenge in his tone. “So, you are tempted.”

He said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes. The tension between you was palpable, the space narrowing until you could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. You bit your lip, deciding to go all in.

“Tell you what, Kento.” you said, voice low and teasing. “If you don’t kiss me under a mistletoe by the end of the night, I’ll stop. No more flirting, no more teasing. I’ll leave you alone.”

Kento tilted his head slightly, as if considering your words. “And if I do?”

Your breath hitched at the question, but you managed a grin. “Then I’ll finally have my Christmas wish.”

His lips parted softly, as though he were about to respond, but instead, he exhaled slowly, his warm gaze dipping to your lips for the briefest moment before meeting your bright teasing eyes again. 

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stalling for a while now.” you countered, a laugh bubbling up. “But that’s okay. I can wait. I always will.”

You stepped back, letting the tension linger as you gave him a playful wave and walked away. You didn’t have to look back this time—you knew he was watching. He was trying to memorize this moment, to observe it for what it was. And somehow, you had the distinct feeling that before the night was over, Nanami Kento would be fulfilling your wish.

As you moved away to get another glass of champagne, your heart fluttering with equal parts exhilaration and nervousness, you wondered if perhaps you’d gone too far. But before you could fully retreat into the crowd, you felt a hand on your wrist. It was a gentle, but firm pull enough to stop you in your tracks.

You turned around, with a surprised look on your face as you found Nanami Kento still standing there, his expression unreadable. His warm fingers lingered just a moment before he released you, his caramel gaze steady but softer than you’d ever seen it. The air between you seemed to hum with unspoken words.

“I—” He hesitated, his usual composure slipping just enough to make him seem almost vulnerable. He exhaled sharply, his shoulders relaxing as if surrendering to something he’d been holding back. “I need to say something. I should have, a long time ago.”

Your pulse quickened, and you nodded, stepping closer. “I’m listening.”

Kento glanced away briefly, as though gathering his thoughts, before looking back at you. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet but steady. “I’ve been aware of your... feelings. For a long time. I always knew about it. You were frank about it.”

Your cheeks flushed at the admission, but you didn’t interrupt. His words felt heavy, deliberate, as if each one had been carefully chosen. You could see the warmth in his eyes and the guilt and the desperation swirling through into one, your reflection echoing softly.

“I didn’t know how to respond, I never have.” he continued. “I thought it was... better to stay distant. With how things are….To keep things professional, I thought it was the best course of action. But… I made you wait. And that wasn’t fair.” He paused, his brow furrowing slightly, and when he looked at you again, there was something raw in his eyes. 

“What are you saying?”

“I’ve realized I’ve been lying to myself.”

Your breath caught, and you stared at him, hardly daring to believe what you were hearing. “Kento... you don’t have to—”

He ran a hand through his hair, his usual calm veneer cracking further. “I like you, I think I’ve always have.” he admitted, the words escaping like a confession he could no longer contain. “I’ve liked you for longer than I care to admit. More than I can express in words. Maybe…Maybe if I had loved you less, I’d be more able to talk about it.”

You gasped at his words, your mouth opening as wide as your eyes in surprise. “But I didn’t know how to handle it. You... you’re bold, and relentless, and you make it impossible for me to think clearly. You make it impossible for me to know what to do. Because I’m overwhelmed by you. And I…I surrender to it.”

“Kento, I just….” A surprised laugh bubbled out of you. “This is just….”

Kento gave you a small, self-deprecating smile. “You challenge me in ways I’m not used to. And while I’ve tried to ignore it, I’ve found that I don’t want to anymore. I don’t want to keep playing games, especially tonight.”

Your chest felt like it might burst, a mix of disbelief and elation washing over you. “So... does this mean I get my Christmas wish?”

Kento let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, darling.” you said, stepping closer, your voice playful but trembling with emotion. “You like me anyway.”

He sighed, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “I suppose I do. More than I could ever understand.”

“You made me wait a long time.”

His eyes looked warmly at you. “I know. And I have….I want to spend the rest of my life making it up to you, for making you wait for so long.” 

Before you could overthink it, you closed the remaining distance between you, your hand resting lightly on his chest.  You smiled at him. “Good. I’ll take that as your apology.”

“Does….does this mean—”

“Kento.” you murmured, your voice soft but sure, looking at his eyes more closely. You smiled at him. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

His warm caramel gaze dropped to yours, and for the first time, you saw no hesitation in his eyes. Not one bit. He smiled back at you, his warm palm resting against the tresses at the edge of your hair, tracing it as though to memorize every bit of you.

“I think I do.” he said, his voice low and steady, and then, as if finally giving in to everything he’d been holding back, he leaned down and kissed you.

The world seemed to fade around you, the music and chatter of the ball becoming nothing more than a distant hum. His lips were warm, firm, and deliberate, and the way he held you. His one hand steady at your waist, the other lightly brushing your cheek. It made you feel like the only two people in the room.

Your heart soared, the years of unspoken feelings and quiet longing finally culminating in this perfect moment. His kiss wasn’t rushed or hesitant. Everything about it was purposeful, full of emotions he’d kept bottled up for far too long. Everything about it made you swore into the clouds, ever so happily.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours, you couldn’t help the soft, giddy smile that spread across your lips. His face was red as the scarlet sunrise, but he smiled even warmer than that as your gazes lock in an embrace.

“Merry Christmas, Kento.” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly with emotion.

He huffed a soft laugh, his breath warm against your skin. “Merry Christmas.” Then, with a smirk that was both rare and devastatingly charming, he added, “I suppose you got your wish after all. After all this time.”

You laughed, the sound bright and uninhibited, before teasing back, “Well, you are my Santa, you always have been.”

“Am I really?” He responded back, heartily.

“You do have a big sack too, so……” You trailed off, leaning closer with a mischievous grin. “Let me unpack it tonight, Santa?”

His face turned into an even more impressive shade of red, his composure slipping for a moment as he stared at you in disbelief. You laughed as he looked away for a moment, trying to gather himself. Your arm wrapped against his own. 

“You—” He cleared his throat, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as if to steady himself. “That’s... incredibly bold.”

You tilted your head playfully, your grin widening. “My boldness worked on you, didn’t it?”

He exhaled sharply, his lips twitching as though trying to suppress a smile. “I’m starting to see that, darling.” he muttered, his voice laced with reluctant amusement.

The nickname had made you feel even more giddy inside. “Hm, I suppose so, my love.”

“I’m sure that you’ll be more creative about it.”

“Well, you are right.” you said, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. “Stick with me forever, Kento. I have plenty more where that came from.”

Shaking his head, but unable to hide the warmth in his warm mahogany gaze, he leaned in again, ever closer this time. You could feel his voice in a low murmur against your ear. He gives you a small smile as his fingers trace the back of your neck. 

“Something tells me I’m in for quite the adventure.”

“Absolutely, my love.” you said, beaming as his lips found yours once more, sealing not just a moment but the beginning of something you’d both waited far too long for. “Buckle up.”

He snickers. “I look forward to each and every nonsense Christmas then.”

You laughed. “Expect it for all your days too.”

“Hm, that’s what I signed up for.”

[luigilore]

luigi husband/domestic hcs

(a/n: trying hc format! thx anon for requesting! i hope its okay <3 if anyone wants to talk about domestic lu pls hit up my inbox<3 )

likes going grocery shopping with u like you have a little routine on sundays and he's always searching for new recipes to try

lots of pain management fit into yalls daily routine... massages <3 theragun time <3 tens unit whatever helps him and hes sooo grateful

lovessss showering together

he's great at picking up on your emotions and how you're feeling

words of affirmation- complimenting, uplifting, and supporting you is how he communicates that he cares

when luigi can tell you're upset, he wants and will do anything to solve whatever problem there is and make you feel better

luigi is really perceptive, like annoyingly so, "what's wrong? are you sure you're okay?" you can't fool him at all

he really prides himself on knowing the people he loves

wants to know all about you, even the most trivial things i think he would be so interested in learning about.. a bit obsessive in the most romantic and sickening way and u match his freak so dw

might be (is) a lip biter when kissing like first time he did it was on accident, he just got very excited but you both quickly discover he lovesss it

i think luigi is masterfully good at foreplay, methodical in everything he does... including uh... physical intimacy

luigi has a lot of self control and he prides himself in that... but he is also soooo sensitive he just thinks it's incredibly unfair

like just running your hands through his hair and scratching his scalp lightly, oh he's meltinggg

a very intense lover like his eye contact, his touch- firm grip, his voice- always lower and quiet, intense in the best way possible

oh and once you're married he loves always mentioning or name dropping "my wife," in conversations

he is naturally nurturing so he's very openly and unabashedly the biggest romantic

but your wedding is small, only with your close family and friends OR you elope... (i think eloping is sooooo romantic and i feel like he would be extremely enticed by this... and yes both of ur families are pissed)

omg then planning a big backpacking trip or something for ur honeymoon... oh

lovesss house hunting with you

he's a great partner, very responsible and reassuring, his presence is naturally calming for you

problem-solver, if something's bothering you he wants to fix it immediately. it doesn't matter how big or small, if it's upsetting you, he wants to make it better

you trust him and his decision making 100%

luigi prides himself on how well he knows you

to be loved is to be known and that is very relevant here

he also feels so so so loved and special when you remember little details about him

loves being spontaneous

a great gift giver, will retain you offhandedly mentioning you like this certain book or lipstick and boom six months later it's wrapped up for your birthday

anniversaries? forget about it, he out does himself every single year

luigi loves a romantic gesture, would not care about public embarrassment or judgement at all... do these ever materialize? probably not but he really only sees you and him in public

twirling you and dipping you around the dance floor

but that being said isn't huge into pda like making out in public is not his style

but holding hands, hand on the small of your back, or just physical proximity?

oh absolutely loves pet names, especially honey and baby

but totally melts when you call him any pet name! even just his literal name lol... the way u say it just gets him...

loves just like... being married, having you to go through life with he just really loves it.

loves it when you read to him, will very timidly request it

some nights will read to you as well, you guys take turns picking out books

one of those couples that does everything together but not in a bad way? just codependent but <3

he just genuinely enjoys spending time with you. you never run out of things to talk or laugh about

luigi is great at having a routine down, he's so busy but gets everything done

okay soooo he would be the most attentive dad

has art work from your kids on the fridge and all over his office, present at every single one and is sooo proud

documents everything about your children, like buys the baby books and takes so many pictures it's so endearing

in awe of your baby like she's so precious and luigi can't get over her chubby cheeks or squealing laughter... she's his weakness

of course he reads to the kids too and tucks them in at night

you do have to force him to relax sometimes and take a breather, it can be very hard for him to let himself relax and chill

so busy taking care of everyone else that he's not taking care of himself

loves being hands on with the kids

will somehow teach himself how to build things like your daughter wants a dollhouse? of course luigi can do it... why couldn't he... he's actually designing a 3d printed model rn like okay...

loves cuddling and spooning

like laying on the couch together, legs entangled, his hand on your waist, just reading or working on different things in silence, just the physical touch and intimacy is so nice for him

always wants you to sit in his lap or the arm of the chair

would be the sweetest dad, but would feel perpetually unprepared and terrified for fatherhood

would always be researching the best foods, products, etc

like not full helicopter parent/soccer mom but he's very involved and always trying to find new experiences for your kids

overall, luigi is a great person to share a life with, he's organized, responsible, respectful, and LOVING <3

[aventurineswife]

HAI its meeee idk if you've already written something like this before so if yes then my apologies but if not can i request ratio, aventurine, and boothill comforting their s/o after a nightmare? you don't have to go into details about what happened in the nightmare if you don't want to but id love to see how they'd comfort their s/o after one!! i just want these guys to snuggle me and tell me everything's gonna be okay and comfort me tbh ,,

sending lots of love !!

-firefly anon

Whispers in the Night

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Boothill x Reader, Angst, Comfort, Nightmares, Emotional Support, Tenderness, Protective Characters, Relationships, Vulnerability, Soft Moments, Intimacy, Healing, Romantic Tension, Gentle Love.

Warnings: Nightmares, Anxiety, Mild Violence (Mention of weapons), Emotional Distress.

A/N: wrote a similar Aventurine fic like this lol

The moonlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting delicate patterns across the room. Aventurine stood at the edge of the bed, his usually sharp features softened by concern. The sound of a shuddering breath broke through the silence, and he watched as you stirred restlessly, your brow furrowed in distress.

He had been asleep, but the faint tremor in the air, the restless energy, woke him before the nightmare could reach its full crescendo. Without a word, he slid beside you, careful not to startle you further.

"Shh..." His voice, smooth as velvet, was a balm to your frayed nerves. He gently touched your shoulder, his hand warm against your cool skin, his fingers tracing reassuring circles. His presence alone was a fortress—steadfast, unwavering.

"You're safe," he murmured, leaning closer. He could feel the sharpness of his usual detachment slipping, replaced with a softness he rarely let others see. "You’re safe with me. No nightmare can reach you here."

Aventurine's eyes, ever perceptive, studied the way you tensed, the way your breath hitched. He moved a fraction closer, his arm carefully wrapping around you. It wasn’t about force, but an unspoken promise: You won’t face this alone.

He pulled you into his chest, cradling you as if your fragility were his to protect. His fingers combed through your hair, slow and steady, a methodical rhythm that spoke volumes. “Rest easy, love. I’m here. Nothing will hurt you.”

The warmth of his embrace was steadying, and the subtle pressure of his hand on your back made the chaos of the nightmare seem distant. His breath was steady, his heartbeat a quiet lullaby in the still night air.

"Whatever shadows haunt you," he whispered, pressing a kiss into your hair, "they won't have the power to keep you here. Not while I’m with you."

Aventurine’s usual charm was gone, replaced by something far rarer—a tenderness only a few ever saw. He stayed there, holding you close, letting his presence be the anchor that tethered you to the here and now.

His words were soft, but they carried the weight of truth. "You’re stronger than you know. We’ll face this together."

And as the tremors slowly faded, Aventurine stayed by your side, a silent promise to never let you go.

You jolted awake, your heart racing and breaths coming in sharp, shallow gasps. The vivid remnants of the nightmare clung to you like a heavy shroud, making it hard to distinguish reality from the terrors of your subconscious. Beside you, Ratio stirred. Though he often appeared detached and consumed by his intellectual pursuits, he was startlingly perceptive when it came to your well-being.

“What’s wrong?” His voice, deep and steady, cut through the haze.

“I… just a nightmare,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Ratio sat up, the moonlight casting a soft glow on his sharp features. His eyes, circled by the faint rings, softened as they studied your face. Without a word, he slipped an arm around your shoulders and drew you close. His strength was reassuring, his warmth a balm against the cold grip of fear.

“Nightmares,” he murmured, his tone thoughtful yet soothing, “are the brain’s attempt to process overwhelming emotions. A chaotic library, if you will, where the books fall from the shelves.” He placed a hand on the back of your head, gently guiding it to rest against his chest. “But they’re not real. You’re here, with me, and no harm will come to you.”

His words, tinged with the calm authority of a scholar, grounded you. He shifted slightly, wrapping both arms around you in an embrace that was as protective as it was comforting. “Let me be your anchor,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of your heartbeat slowing to match his steady rhythm.

Ratio tilted your chin up gently, his gaze meeting yours. “Breathe with me,” he instructed, taking slow, deliberate breaths. You mirrored him, the storm within you gradually settling.

When he was certain you were calm, he leaned back, propping you against him as he spoke softly about the constellations visible outside the window. His words—filled with awe and wonder—distracted you, drawing you into his world of intellect and beauty.

“You’re safe,” he said finally, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And I’ll always be here to remind you of that.”

The nightmare left you trembling, your breaths uneven and tears threatening to spill. Boothill was already awake—he was a light sleeper, his cybernetic enhancements alerting him to even the faintest shift in your breathing.

“Hey, darlin’,” he drawled, his voice low and raspy but laced with concern. “You alright?”

You shook your head, unable to find the words. Boothill didn’t push. Instead, he swung his legs over the bed, his spurs jingling faintly as he settled back against the headboard and pulled you into his lap. His metal arms were cool but comforting as they encircled you, the faint whir of his mechanics barely audible over your labored breathing.

“You’re safe now,” he assured, his voice steady and firm. He rested his chin on top of your head, his long hair falling around you like a curtain. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you while I’m here.”

His shark-like grin softened into something far more tender as he tilted your face toward his. “Look at me, sugar. Whatever it was, it’s gone. Just a bad dream. You’re tougher than that, and you got me watchin’ your back.”

Boothill rocked you gently, the motion reminiscent of sitting on horseback. “Close your eyes,” he coaxed, his drawl soothing as he began to hum a low, calming tune. “Think ‘bout somethin’ good—somethin’ real.”

He reached for his scarf and draped it over your shoulders like a blanket, its familiar weight and scent grounding you. “Ain’t no monster or memory that can take you from me,” he murmured, his eyes softening. “And if it tries, well…” He patted one of the holstered guns on his hip. “You know I’ll handle it.”

The reassurance in his tone and the rhythmic hum of his song eased the lingering fear. “Everything’s gonna be okay,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Promise.”

[shortnfreaky]

Bucky Barnes request for smut! Could be after Thunderbolts or before Civil War!

Um, well I never done a request, but I love the idea of a sweet/shy reader who is Bucky's girlfriend and teammate who was a lab experiment that made her enhanced. I like virgin tropes and I love the idea of a sweet and shy reader being one. Although, Bucky is clueless at first of her being a virgin and is shocked when things get heated and she tells him. Then, she admits that he's her first everything from kiss to boyfriend and etc. They talk about her past and she expresses that she's been in love with him for awhile. He tells her he loves her too and they have gentle loving sex with aftercare! If you do this idea, can you tag me? Thank you!!!

ೃ⁀➷ ⋆·˚ ༘ * ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ ⋆·˚ ༘ * ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ ⋆·˚ ༘ * ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

a/n: love love love this, keep these requests coming y'all

warnings: smut minor dni, post-thunderbolts!bucky, soft smut, virgin!reader, mentions of reader's traumatic past, fluff at the end

word count: 2.9k

masterlist ✶ requests are open!

My First, My Only

The Avengers Compound is quiet tonight, a rare calm after the chaos of your last mission with the Thunderbolts. Your muscles ache from the fight, your enhanced strength pushed to its limits, but it’s the warmth of Bucky’s hand in yours that grounds you. You’re in his room, the dim glow of a bedside lamp casting soft shadows across the walls. His metal arm glints faintly as he sets his jacket on a chair, his blue eyes catching yours with a tenderness that makes your heart stutter.

“You okay, doll?” Bucky asks, his voice low, rough from the day but soft for you. He steps closer, his flesh hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. Your cheeks heat up, and you nod, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is, how his scent—leather, cedar, and something uniquely him—wraps around you.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. You’re always shy around him, even after months of dating. He’s your first everything—first kiss, first boyfriend, first person to make you feel like you’re more than the lab experiment HYDRA made you. Your enhanced strength and reflexes came at the cost of a childhood locked in sterile rooms, and you’ve never known intimacy… until Bucky.

He smiles, that lopsided grin that melts you, and leans in. His lips brush yours, gentle at first, but when you lean into him, the kiss deepens. His tongue teases yours, and a spark ignites in your core, unfamiliar but thrilling. Your hands find his chest, fingers curling into his shirt as he pulls you closer, his metal arm cool against your back.

The kiss grows hungrier, and you’re dizzy with want. Bucky guides you toward the bed, his hands roaming your sides, igniting heat wherever he touches. You’re wearing a simple tank top and leggings, and when his fingers slip under the hem, grazing your bare skin, you gasp into his mouth. He pulls back, eyes searching yours.

“Too much?” he asks, concern flickering in his gaze.

You shake your head, but your nerves betray you. Your hands tremble as you clutch his shirt, and he notices. “Hey,” he says softly, cupping your face. “Talk to me.”

Your throat tightens. This is the moment. You’ve wanted him for so long, loved him since the day he carried you out of that HYDRA lab, but this is uncharted territory. “Bucky, I… I’ve never done this before,” you whisper, eyes dropping to the floor. “I’m a virgin.”

His eyes widen, surprise flashing across his face before softening into something unreadable. “You’re… you’ve never…?” He trails off, processing. “Wait, doll, are you saying I’m your first everything? Kisses, all of it?”

You nod, cheeks burning. “Yeah. I was in that lab for so long… there was no one. And then I met you, and…” You swallow, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’ve been in love with you for a while, Bucky. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”

His breath catches, and for a moment, he’s silent, his thumb stroking your cheek. Then he smiles, a mix of awe and tenderness. “God, sweetheart, I love you too,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “I’ve loved you since the day you smiled at me, all shy and strong at the same time. I just… I didn’t know I was your first. We’ll go slow, okay? Whatever you want.”

Relief floods you, and you nod. “I want this. I want you.”

He kisses you again, slower this time, savoring every second. His hands move deliberately, peeling your tank top over your head, revealing your bra. His eyes darken with desire, but his touch remains gentle as he traces the curve of your shoulder. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and you believe him.

You tug at his shirt, and he helps you pull it off, revealing the hard planes of his chest, scarred but perfect to you. Your fingers explore his skin, tentative at first, then bolder as he groans softly. He unclasps your bra, letting it fall, and his lips find your collarbone, then lower, kissing the swell of your breasts. A moan escapes you as his tongue flicks over a nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

“Bucky,” you gasp, and he looks up, checking in.

“Still okay?” he asks, voice husky.

“Yes,” you breathe, pulling him closer. He guides you to lie back on the bed, his body hovering over yours. His lips trail down your stomach as he hooks his fingers into your leggings, pausing to look at you for permission. You nod, and he slides them off along with your panties, leaving you bare.

He exhales sharply, eyes raking over you. “You’re perfect,” he says, and you blush under his gaze. He sheds his own pants, his boxers following, and your breath hitches at the sight of him—hard, thick, and ready. You’ve never seen a man like this, and the mix of nerves and desire makes your head spin.

He settles between your thighs, kissing you deeply as his flesh hand trails lower, fingers brushing your core. You jolt, the sensation new and intense. “Relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your lips. “I’ve got you.”

His fingers explore you, slow and deliberate, finding the slickness that’s already building. He circles your clit, and you whimper, hips bucking instinctively. “That’s it,” he whispers, sliding a finger inside you, gentle but sure. The stretch is unfamiliar but not painful, and when he adds a second, you moan, clinging to his shoulders.

“Feel good?” he asks, watching your face.

Bucky’s eyes hold yours, a storm of blue softened by love, as he rests between your thighs, his body a warm weight above you. His tip presses against your entrance, a gentle promise, but he doesn’t move yet. Instead, he leans down, his lips brushing yours in a kiss so soft it feels like a whisper. “I’m gonna take my time, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Wanna make this perfect for you.”

Your heart pounds, a mix of nerves and longing, but his voice soothes you, wrapping around you like a blanket. You nod, your hands trembling as they slide up his shoulders, fingers tracing the line where flesh meets metal. “I trust you,” you whisper, and the truth of it burns in your chest. Bucky’s been your safe haven since he pulled you from that HYDRA lab, and now, he’s your first—your only.

He smiles, a slow, tender thing, and kisses you again, deeper this time, his tongue teasing yours in lazy, unhurried strokes. His flesh hand skims your side, fingers grazing the curve of your waist, then resting on your hip, anchoring you. “Tell me what you feel,” he says, his lips brushing your jaw, then trailing to the sensitive spot beneath your ear. “Every step, okay?”

You nod, swallowing hard as he shifts, pressing just the tip inside you. The sensation is foreign, a gentle stretch that makes you gasp softly, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. He pauses, watching your face, his thumb stroking your hip in slow circles. “Good?” he asks, voice low, almost a growl, but laced with care.

“Yeah,” you breathe, your voice shaky but honest. “It’s… new, but good.”

He hums, pleased, and kisses your forehead, lingering there as he eases in a fraction more. The stretch deepens, and you tense for a moment, your breath hitching. Bucky stills instantly, his metal arm braced beside you, cool and steady. “Breathe, doll,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours again, coaxing you to relax with soft, patient kisses. “I’ve got all night. No rush.”

You exhale, focusing on his warmth, his scent—leather and cedar, grounding you. Your hips shift slightly, testing, and he takes the cue, pushing in a little further, so slow you can feel every inch. There’s a slight burn, but it’s softened by the slickness he’d coaxed from you earlier, his fingers having worked you open with care. You whimper softly, and he pauses again, eyes searching yours.

“Talk to me,” he says, his voice a gentle command. “What’s it feel like?”

“It’s… full,” you say, cheeks burning. “A little overwhelming, but… I like it. I like you.” The confession slips out, raw and unguarded, and his eyes soften, a flicker of awe crossing his face.

“God, I love you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. He leans down, kissing you deeply, his tongue slow and deliberate, mirroring the careful rhythm of his hips as he presses in further. You moan into his mouth, the sound muffled but desperate, and he swallows it, his hand sliding up to cradle your face.

He’s halfway in now, and he stops, letting you adjust. His fingers drift to your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear, and he kisses along your jaw, down your neck, each touch deliberate, reverent. “You’re so strong,” he whispers against your skin, his lips grazing your pulse point. “Not just your enhancement, but… you. Letting me in like this. It means everything.”

Your heart swells, and you pull him closer, needing his warmth. “You make me feel safe,” you admit, voice barely audible. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

He groans softly, the sound vibrating through you, and he moves again, easing in deeper, inch by agonizingly slow inch. The stretch is intense now, but he’s so careful, so attentive, that it never crosses into pain. His fingers find your clit again, circling gently, and a wave of pleasure washes over you, loosening your body. “That’s it,” he murmurs, feeling you relax. “Let me make you feel good.”

You’re trembling now, not from nerves but from the overwhelming intimacy, the way he’s filling you, body and soul. He’s fully inside you now, and he stills, letting you feel him, his forehead resting against yours. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

“More than okay,” you whisper, your hands sliding down his back, feeling the ripple of muscle under your fingers. “Please… move.”

He does, slow and shallow at first, each thrust a gentle roll of his hips that sends sparks through you. His eyes never leave yours, watching for every reaction, every flutter of your lashes. You moan softly, the sound building as he finds a rhythm, each movement deliberate, drawing out your pleasure. His metal hand grips the sheets beside you, knuckles white, but his flesh hand stays on you, stroking, soothing, grounding.

“Bucky,” you gasp, your hips starting to meet his, instinct taking over as the pleasure builds. He groans, the sound raw, and leans down to kiss you, his lips soft but urgent. His pace stays steady, unhurried, letting you feel every sensation, every drag of him inside you.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes against your lips. “So perfect for me.”

The words tip you over the edge, your body tightening as pleasure coils and snaps, your orgasm washing over you in slow, shuddering waves. You cry out, clinging to him, and he’s there, murmuring your name, his own release following moments later. He buries his face in your neck, a low groan escaping as he spills inside you, his thrusts slowing to a gentle rock.

He doesn’t pull away immediately, staying close, kissing your temple, your cheek, your lips. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice a soft anchor. Eventually, he eases out, careful not to hurt you, and grabs a warm cloth from the bathroom. He cleans you gently, his touch tender, then pulls you into his arms, wrapping a blanket around you both.

“How do you feel, doll?” he asks, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back.

“Sore,” you admit, smiling shyly. “But… happy. Really happy.”

Bucky’s grin widens, a soft glow in his eyes that makes your heart flutter. He pulls you closer, tucking you against his chest, the blanket cocooning you both in a warm, private world. His heartbeat is steady under your cheek, a rhythm that feels like home. His metal arm, cool and smooth, curves around your waist, while his flesh hand traces gentle patterns along your spine, each touch deliberate, as if he’s memorizing the feel of you.

“Happy looks good on you, doll,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, lingering there, his lips soft against your hair. “Wanna stay like this for a while?”

You nod, your cheek brushing against the warmth of his skin. “Yeah,” you whisper, your voice still tinged with the shy awe of what just happened. Your body feels different—tender, alive, marked by him in a way that’s both physical and deeply emotional. The memory of his careful touches, his slow, loving pace, lingers in every nerve, and you’re content to just be here, wrapped in him.

He shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. His eyes roam your face, taking in the flush still warming your cheeks, the way your lips curve in a small, contented smile. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, almost to himself, his thumb brushing your lower lip. “I keep thinkin’ I’m dreaming, having you here like this.”

Your cheeks heat, and you duck your head, but he tilts your chin up gently, urging you to meet his gaze. “Don’t hide from me,” he says softly, his voice carrying a quiet plea. “I wanna see you. All of you.”

It’s a vulnerable moment, your heart laid bare after giving him so much of yourself. You swallow, finding courage in his steady gaze. “I’ve never felt like this before,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not just… what we did, but… this. Being with you. I didn’t know it could feel so safe.”

His expression softens, a mix of awe and tenderness. “You deserve that,” he says, his hand sliding to cup your cheek. “You deserve everything, sweetheart. I know your past… those labs, what they did to you… it wasn’t right. But you’re here now, and I’m gonna make sure you feel safe, always.”

Your eyes sting, not from sadness but from the weight of his words, the promise in them. You lean into his touch, turning to press a soft kiss to his palm. “You already do,” you murmur. “You saved me back then, Bucky. Not just from HYDRA, but… from feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere. You’re my home.”

He exhales, a shaky sound, and pulls you into another embrace, his lips finding your forehead again. “God, you’re gonna kill me with that,” he says, half-laughing, but there’s a raw edge to his voice, like your words have reached somewhere deep. “I love you so much. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to hearing you say things like that.”

You smile against his chest, your fingers tracing idle circles over his skin, feeling the faint scars that tell stories of his own battles. “I love you too,” you say, the words easier now, warmed by the safety of this moment. “I think I always have.”

He hums, a content sound, and adjusts the blanket, making sure you’re fully covered, warm. His hands are gentle, checking in without words—sliding over your shoulder, down your arm, as if to ensure you’re comfortable, cared for. “You feeling okay? Physically, I mean,” he asks, his voice soft but laced with concern. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head, nestling closer. “No, you didn’t. It’s just… a little sore, like I said. But it’s a good sore, you know? Like… I can still feel you.” Your cheeks burn at the admission, but his soft chuckle eases your embarrassment.

“Good,” he says, kissing your temple. “But if you need anything—water, a bath, anything—you tell me, okay? I’m here to take care of you.”

You nod, warmed by his attentiveness. “Can we just stay like this for a bit longer?” you ask, your voice small but certain. “Just… you and me.”

“As long as you want,” he promises, his arms tightening around you. He shifts to lie back fully, pulling you half onto his chest, your legs tangling under the blanket. His fingers continue their slow dance along your back, and you close your eyes, letting the rhythm of his breathing lull you.

The room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the Compound’s distant systems and the occasional rustle of the blanket as you shift closer. Bucky’s warmth, his steady presence, wraps around you like a shield, and for the first time in your life, you feel utterly, completely at peace. The experiments that gave you your strength, the years of isolation—they fade in the glow of this moment, replaced by the certainty of his love.

“You’re thinking something,” he says after a while, his voice a gentle tease. “I can feel it.”

You laugh softly, the sound muffled against his chest. “Just… how lucky I am,” you say. “To have you. To have this.”

He tilts your chin up again, his lips finding yours in a slow, tender kiss that feels like a vow. “I’m the lucky one,” he whispers when he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours. “And I’m gonna spend every day making sure you know it.”

You smile, your heart full, and settle back into his embrace, content to linger in this soft, quiet aftermath, where every touch, every breath, is a reminder of the love you’ve found.

[rosenclaws]

Hi!!! I love your writing so much <3<3

I was wondering if you had any thoughts about taking Leopold's virginity? Because I saw you mention that you think he might be a virgin :))

HI YES I HAVE MANY THOUGHTS!!

This is with an afab!reader who is not a virgin in mind but no pronouns are used.

warnings: MINORS DNI!! oral (m and f receiving), soft sex, leo being a bit of a switch/sub

Leopold’s first time headcanons

Okay so Leo is a virgin but because he’s a prude or because there isn’t anyone who wants to sleep with him. I mean damn the first scene of the movie is girls basically fawning over him lol. I think he views sexual intimacy as something that needs to be cherished.

It should be something romantic. A true, deep connection between two people who have given their hearts to each other and Leo has never felt that way until you.

When it comes to Leo’s first time I think there's a lot of lead up. Like a nice dinner and a bath together maybeee. Candles, I mean the whole thing.

Its slow and sweet and a little awkward but the kind of awkward that makes the two of you laugh in each others arms.

You 100% suck him off to start. I mean he’s gorgeous, so pretty and handsome that he deserves to get his dick sucked u know what I’m saying.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands at all. Like he doesn’t know if he should touch you, touch himself. They keep moving. First they’re gripping the sheets, then they’re above his head clenching into fists, and finally you guide his hands to the sides of your head. Winking as you pick up your pace.

He also is a little loud. He tries at first to suppress his noises but he can't help it. His moans are heavenly. So desperate. He whimpers too btw. Like 100% that is a man who whimpers.

He doesn’t last long. Look Leopold is no stranger to. Getting himself off but this is unlike anything he’s ever felt before. So warm and wet and your hands are on his thighs and its a sensory overload that he can’t help but come hard in your mouth.

Even though it's his first time he really really wants to go down on you. He wants to make you feel good so badly. To make you moan because of him.

He's a little hesitant at first, not sure what to do but after some coaxing he dives right in. At first you think he's a dirty fucking liar about never doing this before because holy shit he is filthy without even trying.

Sloppy and wet and needy as hell as he buries his face in your cunt. He listens eagerly to all your instructions. What you like, what you don't like. He plans on studying you until he remembers every little thing that drives you insane.

HE LOVES TO BE CALLED A GOOD BOY!! I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL. He has a praise kink too. Loves to talk about how wonderful you are, how good you taste, how lucky he is. Oh my god call him a good boy and tug on his hair and he's a fucking goner.

"Such a good boy, so pretty."

He loves eating pussy btw. Like he's can't help himself and slowly humps the bed as he feels himself start to get hard again. He could live between your thighs.

Anyways when it comes to actually having sex you ride him for the first time. Wanting to give him nothing but pleasure. He watches with wide eyes as you sink down on his cock. He needs a second to just process it all. His arms wrapped around you, face buried in your chest as he slowly rolls his hips.

It's slow for the first time. You just riding him nice and slow as you whisper sweet things into his ear. He can't stop telling you how much he loves you. How happy he is. He can't get enough of you, especially when you moan his name. (He's def whimpering again)

After a little bit he'd switch positions to be on top. Missionary but he's got one leg hooked on his shoulder. His hips move slow but get harder with every thrust. Your nails dig into his back with every thrust and it turns him on a little more.

He's kissing every bit of skin he can while he's making love. He loves your neck. The whole experience is just overwhelming to him. It's amazing and wonderful but overwhelming. Every one of his senses are being overloaded with you and he can't get enough.

He makes sure you finish before he does of course. Asking you in a desperate tone what you need and how he can do it for you. Begging you to finish because he's going to explode soon.

"Please, please my love. Tell me what to do. Need to feel you."

When he finishes he (reluctantly) comes on your stomach, rolling over onto his back for a minute. He needs to catch his breath, a smile on his face that won't go away. He just feels completely blissed out.

When you try to move he stops you, wanting you to stay comfortable as he goes to get a towel to clean you up. Kissing every inch of you as he does so. Thanking you for this and telling you how much he loves you. He just can't help himself.

He falls asleep pretty quickly after. Holding you close in his arms as the exhaustion takes over.

It's a pretty soft and sweet first time, fueled by love. Leopold is gentle and kind and I think this is the perfect time to for him to show that in a more intimate setting.

Anyways I am obsessed with Leopold he deserves the world okay ty!!!

[satorusugurugurl]

My Wedding Date is an Escort!

Summary: When invited to your best friend's wedding, you panic. One of the groomsmen, Toji Fushiguro, is your ex-fiancè. Not wanting to deal with probing questions and the embarrassment of being single, your friend Haibara recommends using an Escort! Taking a leap of faith, you book one my, the hottest one. Gojo Satoru is hot, sweet, and funny! The package deal! Men and Women pay thousands to go on a date with him (even more, which he doesn't do often). So when your request comes in, the desperation and pleading tone of your voice. Gojo’s heartthrobs, even more so when you tell him you don't want to have sex.

Pairing: Escort!Gojo x FAB Reader

Word Count: 4,782

Warning: cursing, asshole Toji, mentions of blood, physical altercations—👀

A/N:The long-awaited part five! This was so satisfying to write. I hope you all enjoy it!! I think we have maybe one part left, maybe two. Omg! 🥹💚, If you want to be in the tag list YOU MUST HAVE AGE LISTED! Thank you!!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

Red. Red was the only color Satoru saw as he dragged his suitcase. He'd never felt so angry! Hurt! Betrayed! The emotions swirled and festered like an infected wound.

He'd let his walls down with you. A mistake he would never make in his life ever fucking again. It didn't matter how desperate a voice would sound on the phone. And it wouldn't matter if he genuinely enjoyed talking to the client or if they gave him the butterflies.

Gojo Satoru would never allow himself to be put into a situation like this again. One where he got hurt. Where he mourned the loss of a girl he barely even knew. A girl that left a scar on him no one would ever see.

The thoughts continued to swell and build up in his mind as he bought himself a hotel room next to the train station. They built up like a typhoon, threatening to destroy everything in its wake, all the way to his room, where he collapsed on the bed. Satoru didn't like feeling this suffocating pain. He needed to distract himself, to talk to one of the only people he trusted in this world.

He needed Suguru.

With a few taps of his finger over his phone screen, Satoru stared at himself, praying his best friend was still up. Which he was. Satoru sighed in relief as Suguru’s face took up the screen. His best friend was propped up in bed, his face dimly illuminated by the lamp on his nightstand. He took one look at Satoru’s face and cocked an eyebrow.

“What happened?”

Satoru chuckled, covering his eyes with his elbow. “Is it that obvious?”

“You just called me three hours ago. You said, and I quote, ‘You’re going to love her. She's got the prettiest eyes. Her skin is fucking flawless. I wanna put her mouth on my mouth.’ end quote.”

“I didn't say that last part!”

“You didn't have to say it, Satoru.” Satoru didn't argue with that. “So, are you going to tell me what happened??”

“I—” he groaned, sitting up, “we, well, ya’ know—”

“Fucked?”

Satoru glared at his only best friend. “No!” Suguru narrowed his eyes. “Well, we didn't go all the way.” God, he wished it had, but he was glad it hadn't.

“Okay? So, did she give you major blue balls? This isn't helping me decipher what happened.”

Although the pain was fresh and stung, Satoru rehashed the night's events. The kiss at the bar, you calling him after Toji showed up, and everything after. From your sudden confidence to the gentle caresses to the intense intimacy between you both. It had been so fierce, raw, and real. Satoru had never experienced kisses and caresses like yours; hell, your touch still lingered as he lay in bed ranting.

All of the chemistry he felt didn’t change the fact that he’d been hurt. He thought you were genuine, that you didn’t want to sleep with him just because of his good looks. Maybe, just maybe, you wanted to sleep with him because you felt the same spark that he did. A spark that would lead to sex, but from there, it might grow into something more! A relationship, the possibility of a future together.

But those stacks of cash changed it all.

The possibilities Satoru had been fantasizing about, wanting, came crashing around him when he counted the bills. You had been so unfazed by it. All you did was check your wallet before pulling out the bag with condoms in it. Your pitiful face when he asked about the money flashed in his mind. You had been incapable of telling him why you had all that money; you just stared blankly at it like you were trying to put two and two together.

Playing around like you didn’t know what was happening had set him off. Why would you have that much money in your purse? Conveniently, it was also the exact amount that he charged for sexual services. Services that Satoru didn’t typically provide. He had been honest with you. He didn’t like having sex with people that he didn’t know, so for him to find all that money, it set him off.

Satoru finished up his story, rubbing his hands through white hair. “So I left, and I missed the last train out. Could you pick me up in the morning? I want to get home as fast as I can.” His blue eyes darted towards his phone screen, where Geto was staring at him like he was an idiot. “What?” Satoru asked, looking at himself on the smaller screen. “Do I have something on my face?” His best friend let out the most extended, most profound sigh in the entire world.

“Are you a fucking idiot?”

“Huh?!”

“I said, are you a fucking idiot?”

Satoru’s eyes narrowed, eyebrows pinching together. “Why the fuck are you asking if I’m an idiot? Are your gauges too big? Did everything I say go through them and not into your ears?” He watched as Suguru rolled his eyes. “I just told you I found all that money in their bag! Right before we did the nasty! I confronted her, she couldn’t explain. That, to me, screams that she’s guilty, Suguru.” He gestured with his hand in front of him as if motioning toward the evidence before his face.

“Did you ever stop and think maybe she couldn’t answer because she was just as confused as you?”

“What?”

Suguru shifted, dark hair falling over his shoulders as he sat up. “Satoru,” he purred, “think about it. She left her bag where anyone could touch it while you two were—preoccupied.” Well, when he put it like that. “And how would you react if you found that much money in your wallet that wasn’t there before?” Satoru remained silent, not saying a word. “You claim she looked guilty because she couldn’t explain it. But what if she truly couldn’t? And you left before even giving her a chance to explain herself.” Yeah, he did; he left you crying at the inn.

Thinking back to how you ran after him, grabbing his arm, stumbling over your feet, would someone guilty do that? Try to explain themselves, beg for him to stop and listen.

“I-I don’t know how it got there, Satoru! Please! Please believe me!”

Your tear-filled eyes, the shuddering tremble in your voice, and the blatant way he’d coldly dismissed your attempts to clear things up had his stomach twisting. The fury that had been fuming deep at his core had blinded him. He didn’t even give you a chance to talk, to explain what had happened.

“I’m so fucking stupid.” He mumbled out, putting his phone down to scrub at his face. “Why didn’t I stop and listen?!”

“Because you like her.” There was something in the tone of Suguru’s voice that had Satoru glancing at his phone. “You genuinely like her Satoru, so when you assumed she just wanted to fuck you just as an escort and not as a potential lover, that broke your heart.” Satoru opened his mouth to argue. “Don’t try to deny it; you just bitched at me for like an hour like some school girl who just got dumped.”

”Fuck you,” Suguru chuckled, knowing Satoru’s words held no heat in them. “So what do I do now? Run back over there, tell her how sorry I am?”

”Well, honestly, if I were in her position, I would slam the door in your face. The whole ‘consider the orgasm, payment for the cancellation of my services’ was fucking harsh.”

”Yeah, not my finest moment.”

“Well, use that Gojo Sator charm and make it up to her.”

After hanging up the phone with Suguru, Satoru plopped down on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. That red-hot rage had faded into regret. He should have listened to you; he should have stopped the second you grabbed his arm. Instead, he pulled away, refusing to listen to what you had to say.

He made you cry like you did when you told him about Toji.

Seeing you that upset had made him sick to his stomach. He thought, what kind of dick makes a girl cry like this? He hated people like that, people that were so cruel. Now the tables had turned, and he was the dick.

God, what are you doing right now? Were you still crying? Maybe you were pacing the room, thinking about what you would do since your wedding date just up and left you. How were you going to explain this to your friends and family? Or were you dreading the pathetic, woeful faces that would be on the faces of your friends and family when you told them he left? You had hired him to make this wedding easier to attend, but he had turned it into an even worse experience for you.

Gojo had been right about you crying. You were curled into a ball on the futon that still smelt like him. Your chest heaved as you screamed into his pillow, gripping it as you let the waves of anguish wash over you, pulling you deeper and deeper into the suffocating waters of despair.

You cried yourself to sleep, waking up with a numbness in your chest as the flashbacks from the night before plagued you. It had been perfect, too perfect. The butterflies, Satoru’s kisses, the pleasure. You felt so good about him, about the two of you, about yourself, to have it come crashing down around you in seconds.

It hurt being yelled at and screamed at and blamed for something you hadn’t done. The rage and betrayal in Satoru’s eyes burned into your mind, and his words sliced so deep into your skin that they touched your soul. You hadn’t been hurt like that since Toji broke up with you, and that had nearly destroyed you. You ran away from the pain, refused to talk to anyone, and stayed in bed for days. Your heart had been broken into a million different pieces, and it took you so long to put it back together. To allow yourself to live your life.

Luckily, your heart was stronger now, scarred and rough. The pain that it had undergone a year before had made it more durable and harder to break. This heartache was not going to destroy you this time around.

Pushing yourself out of bed, you exhaled heavily through your nose before pushing your hair out of your face. You could do this. You didn't need a wedding date to survive the next two days. You were fully capable of getting through this by yourself.

You put on a smile and got ready for your day. Everything hurt, but you would be able to get through it like you had done before. This heartache would not hold you down. You headed into the kitchen, greeting your family as they cleaned dishes from the morning breakfasts that had already been delivered to guests and discussed preparations for the next two nights.

Their voices were white noise as you pulled a bowl of peaches from the fridge. They asked if you were okay if Satoru felt okay since he wasn’t with you. Hearing them say his name stung, but it didn’t stop you from moving, washing peaches, and peeling them as you preheated the oven.

”He left.” You told the truth, not the whole truth, but you weren’t ashamed to tell them he left you. Their reactions varied from confusion and anger to stunned silence and disbelief. “I’ll be okay.” You assured all of them, urging them to go about preparations for the wedding. Right now, all you wanted to do was be alone, to bake the anger and sorrow out of your system.

They granted your wish, leaving you alone in the kitchen. The atmosphere was drastically different from the night before. You giggled and smiled as Satoru stood by your side; those beautiful, captivating blue eyes wandered, watching your hands move. The heat from his gaze alone had the kitchen so hot you thought every oven had been on when they hadn’t. Now, the only warmth that flooded the space was from the oven and stove as you cooked down the peaches in syrup.

You moved unthinkingly, cooking butter into three trays, before setting the stew pot of peaches off to the side. Mind and body numb as you focused on mixing your flour, sugar, and milk in a bowl, you never heard the footsteps behind you. It wasn’t until the timer on your phone went off that you turned, running into a firm chest. You knew the smell of fresh linen masked with musk, and it made you want to throw up.

Satoru rubbed at his neck, glancing down at you. Dark circles were under his eyes as he placed his sunglasses on his head. Even when he looked exhausted, he was still handsome, which irked you.

“Hey.” He spoke softly, like his voice alone would shatter you as if you were a porcelain doll. You said nothing, stepping to the side to turn your timer off. “Can we talk?”

You ignored him, taking out the trays of melted butter from the oven. You put cinnamon, baking powder, and salt into your batter before whisking it bitterly. Satoru moved, gently grabbing your elbow and stopping you from running further away.

“Please.”

“No.” You snapped, pulling away so you could continue to construct the dessert for the rehearsal dinner tonight.

“Sweetie, please.”

“Oh my god!” You slammed the bowl down, turning to shove at Satoru's chest. “You fucking left! You left when I wanted to talk last night!”

“I know I did.”

His eyes never left your face, and his undivided attention only pissed you off more. “Well, guess what? I don’t want to fucking talk now.” Despite your dismissal, Satoru didn’t move. He stayed near your side, watching as your hands moved, putting the peaches on top of the batter. “Don’t you have a train to catch?”

“No, I have a wedding to attend—“

“The fuck you do.”

“You paid for me—“

“And you canceled your services!” Satoru grimaced as you all but threw the trays into the oven. “You paid me with an orgasm, remember?! Because I remember!”

He followed you as you headed to the sink with your dirty dishes. His hand gently grabs your elbow. “Look! Please listen to me.” He took the dishes from your hands, placing them in the sink. “I was an asshole last night, whatever this,” his finger gestures between your bodies, “it’s new and raw and real.” You barked out a laugh. “Stop, please. I messed up; I know I did. And I’m sorry for flipping out on you. But this is worth fighting over; I want to be with you.” His words were regretful; his face matched the panicked pain behind his voice.

That didn’t change the fact he’d hurt you. “Gojo.” The use of his last name had his heart crushed. “You did mess up, you hurt me.” You stepped back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Let’s be honest, this.” You mimicked his finger, gesturing between you. “This is never going to work, not after last night. I had my heart broken once after I was intimate with someone, and you knew that. You knew I didn’t want to have sex. I specified that several times. I put myself out there, out of my comfort zone, because I genuinely liked you. Now, well, let’s be honest: my heart has been broken twice now. So I’m going to ask you to leave.” Satoru swallowed hard, removing his glasses and putting them on the counter.

“Please don’t say that, please.”

“Go.” You pointed to the door, fighting back tears. “I’m not going to ask you again.”

He grips the counter before lifting his head to meet your teary eyes. “Okay,” he reached out, gently brushing away a stray tear, “I’m sorry for breaking your heart.” His gesture had your breath hitching as he turned, heading out of the kitchen with his hands in his pockets.

The moment you were sure he was far enough that he couldn’t hear you, a shaky cry left your lips. You stumbled, your legs no longer wanting to hold you up. How dare he come back and apologize after breaking your heart the night before. If he didn’t apologize, things would have been so much easier for you. You could have grown to hate him, but seeing how upset he looked hearing the pleading tone in his voice, made you want to throw your resolve away to chase after him.

But would a relationship with him work?

He was an escort. People paid him to go out with him. Could you date him, knowing that’s what he did for a living? To be the woman waiting at home for him to come back?

He said he wanted to fight for this, for you and whatever this strange relationship was turning into. He wanted to be with you. So, did that mean he would give up on being an escort? Would he be okay with that? The questions flowed like a steady river through your mind as you sat on the kitchen floor. These were questions you would never get the answers to, all because you sent him away.

Footsteps entered the kitchen as you stared at the floor. You perked up, clenching your fists tight, digging your nails into the palms of your hands. Did Satoru come back? You tilted your head up, tears streaming down your cheeks, to find Toji smirking down at you. The last person on the planet you wanted to see.

”Why are you on the floor?”

”Why won’t you leave me alone?” You snapped as you pushed yourself off the floor.

Toji hummed, leaning over the counter as you went to the sink to clean your dishes. “Because I want to talk to you. But you keep avoiding me.” You threw the whisk into the sink, whirling around.

“You wanna talk? Fine, let’s fucking talk, Toji!” You shrugged a shoulder. “Not that there’s much to talk about, seeing that you’re the one that broke up with me. And last night, you made it painfully obvious that you didn’t want to be with me. So please tell me! What. The. Fuck. Is. There. To. Discuss?!” You screamed, putting both hands on your hips, glaring daggers at the first man who broke your heart.

“Fuck.” He laughed, his eyes trailing up and down your body. “You got feisty in the year that you’ve been away.” When he saw how you glared at him, he held up a hand. “Right, right, fine, I’ll talk.” He straightened his back. “But first, did you enjoy yourself last night?”

His words had your heart dropping into your stomach. “I-I’m sorry?” You asked, hoping that you heard him wrong.

”I asked how your night was. Finally, get dicked down?”

”What?”

”Oh, right, you didn’t know.” He strode forward, grabbing your chin between his thumb and forefingers, forcing you to look into his dark eyes. “After you left, I got a job. I’m a PI, the best in the business.” You felt goosebumps rise against your skin as he leaned beside your ear. “I did a little research into this Gojo Satoru, heir to the Gojo business. It took a little digging, but I eventually found his profile in Escorts4you.com.”

You were frozen in shock and fear. “You knew?” Of course, he knew; he knew something was up the first night.

“To think my ex-fiancée hired a fucking escort to be her date to a wedding. I had a good laugh over it. But when I saw the prices, oof, I know you,” toji squeezed your cheeks, “a pathetic baker from a cafe could never, ever afford to get fucked by a pretty boy like him.”

“W-Wait—“your head spun, “wait, it was you; you put the money in my bag?”

“Ding-ding-ding,” He reached into his pocket, holding another wad of cash towards you. “¥480,000, the money you used to cover rent when I was out of a job.” He put the money on the counter behind you. “I’ve been wanting to pay you back. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“You put—you put the money—“

“But seeing that you were able to buy a high-end escort for an entire week, I figured that maybe you wanted more. So I figured I’d give you half to get the full escort experience.”

“It was you—-“

Toji smirked, gently patting your cheek. “Yep, I found your bag in the kitchen last night. Put half the money in there.” Your ears started ringing as he pulled back. “So tell me, did he fuck you as good as I did? Did he make you scream and cry like me~?” He pulled back, smirking down at you. “Or have I ruined all other men for you?”

Ruined? The only thing he ruined was what you and Satoru had. He fucked this up! It was all because of him!

“You son of a bitch!” You screamed, slapping him across the face. Toji stumbled back, grunting as he cupped his cheek in shock. “Do you know what you did!?” You slapped him again, harder.

“Ow, what?!”

“You ruined everything!” He took several steps back as you grabbed the plastic flour container, throwing it at him, which he dodged. “Yes! I hired Satoru! But I wasn't going to sleep with him!” You tossed a spatula at him, trying to close the distance so you could hit him some more. “But what was supposed to be a job turned into something more! I liked him! I liked him, you asshole!”

Toji dodged a cookie tray, “Well, tell him that!” You rushed forward, slamming your fists against his chest.

“He found the money! And he assumed I was going to pay him to sleep with me!”

“Stop it!” He snarled, grabbing your wrists, forcing you to cease your assault. “Look, I didn’t know you legitimately liked the guy!”

You snapped, yanking your wrists free before kneeing him in the crotch. Toji gasped out, hands reaching down, cupping himself as he stumbled. Vision blurring with tears, you weakly slapped at his shoulders.

“You’re always ruining everything! You broke my heart! I didn’t get to pastry school, and I lost a nice guy because of you!” A gut-wrenching sob made its way through you. “Did you stop to think that maybe I was happy?!”

Your heart was pounding, thundering in your ears as you cried, and cried, and you kept crying as Toji straightened. “Look, I didn’t know it was serious. But if you keep hitting me, we’re going to have a major fuckin’ problem.”

He hissed his vague threat through his teeth. Hearing that only pissed you off more. So you did what anyone else would to the man who broke your heart and kept butting in your life. You pulled your hand back and slapped him as hard as you could. He winced, bangs shielding his eyes as he growled.

When he snapped in your direction, he received another slap. It was when you went in for a third slap that Toji’s hand flew up, grabbing your wrist and squeezing it. He crowded you against the wall, scowling down at your smaller form.

“I told you to stop fucking hitting me!”

“I hate you! Let me go!”

“Are ya’ going to stop hitting me?!”

“No!”

“Then tough shit!”

You kicked at his shins, but he easily avoided you. You were going to kick his ass, beat him into a bloody pulp—once you freed yourself. But all the fight vanished as you saw two ivory fingers tap Toji on the shoulder. He turned around, only to be knocked back by a powerful punch. You stared at Toji, who spit out blood, his gaze locked on the man standing at six-three. Satoru shook his hand, fingers brushing over his knuckles as he glared.

His lip twitched, revealing sharp canines as he stepped forward. “Oh, you think that hurt? Wait until I get a good hit in.” He clenched his fists into tight balls, continuing to close the distance between them.

“Oh, you don’t wanna fuck with me. I’ll fuck up your face so bad you’ll never get a ‘client’ again.”

“Why you—”

“Wait!” You yelled out, jumping between the two men and holding your arms out. “Stop! Stop it!”

Satoru looked down at you as if you’d lost your mind, his momentum stopping. Toji kept moving until your fingers grazed his chest. With a deep sigh, you looked up at Satoru, giving him a gentle smile, one that had his cheeks flushing.

“I got this.” the softness of your voice was the only convincing he needed. With a curt nod, he crossed his arms over his chest as you turned to look into Toji’s eyes. “You have fucked with my life for the last time.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep!” You grinned wide and warmly before punching him directly in the nose. “Try that shit again! I dare you! I fuckin’ dare you!!”

“Oooh!” Just as you went in for another punch, you were picked up, and Satoru carried you out of the kitchen. “Easy there, I don’t want you getting arrested.”

You flailed in his arms, “I’m serious, Fushiguro!” Your ex groaned, cupping his hands over his bleeding nose as you jammed your finger at him. “That was the last time you’ll ever interfere with my life!” You glanced over your shoulder, watching Satoru grab his forgotten sunglasses off the counter before heading down the hall.

“Oh!” You heard your mother squeak out as Satoru passed them. “What’s going on? I thought you said Satoru left!”

Satoru grinned, turning to face her as he passed. “Me leave her?” He shifts, throwing you over his shoulder. “I’m not making that mistake again.” You squeak as he bounds down the hall.

“W-Wait, the cobblers! Mom, take them out of the oven!”

The halls were a blur as Satoru carried you to the room you both had shared. Only once inside, he gently places you down, taking several steps back, giving you space. You remained silent, nursing the hand you had punched Toji with.

“Do you want some ice?” Satoru said softly, eyes following you as you sat down on the futon, thumb rubbing over your red knuckles.

“No.”

You could hear him wince at your stiff tone. “Are you sure?” He slowly approached you, not moving too fast, as if you would bolt if he did. “It could make baking hard if you don’t take care of it.” Your heart slowly crawled up your throat as he sat before you, crossing his legs.

“You know what I want?” Satoru inhaled slowly, holding it for the briefest of moments before exhaling.

“No, what is it you want?”

You slowly lifted your head, eyes locked on his. He was stiff, pulse visible in his throat as he waited for you. Seeing him like this, like a child waiting to be reprimanded, had you swallowing hard as you opened your mouth, the words leaving Satoru’s eyes wide as he rocked back at your request.

“You want what?”

Tag List/ (AGE MUST BE IN BIO)

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