#cutesy reader

[lucentlovers]

!! JJ W/ CUTESY GF

• painting your nails the color of his eyes

• loves surprising you with flowers, shells, random colored leaves he can find, anything he’d think you’d like

• adores watching you try on dresses

• “baby i’m not gonna-“ “pleaseeeeeeeee pleaseplease!” “… fine but i swear to god if this ruins my street cred.”

• lets you do his makeup, acts like he hates it but he still rubs his lips together to smudge the pink color on his lips

• never thought he’d be the type of guy to go on one knee just to tie someone’s shoe, until you showed up

• his wallpaper is you collecting flowers

• always walks with his hand in your back pocket

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

katsuki hits the back of your knees with the grocery cart when you’re out shopping and the way you look back at him makes him wheeze every time.

[hatsbuckets]

Sunday Softies: The 141 and Spoiling

I think the fandom generally agrees on how this would go, I just wanted to write it with my little brain ideas. :) Inspired by friend, u know who u r <3 U deserve to be spoiled.

Price: He takes care of things before you even realize they needed taking care of. Paperwork done. Groceries stocked. Car serviced. That task you didn’t want to do? Already finished. He spoils with reliability, steady devotion. He’s a gift giver, but not flashy, practical things that show he’s been paying attention. A good knife with a grip that fits your hand perfectly. A coat that’s just your color. A book he thinks you’ll love, already book marked on his favorite page. And no, you cannot say no, or don't do that. It's already happening, love. He doesn’t say “I love you” often, but he shows it in every little thing.

He’ll brush a hand over your back in passing, make your favorite tea without asking, pay a bill you didn’t mention was due. And if you try to thank him, he’ll just huff a soft, “Don’t need thanks, love. Just want you alright.”

Simon: Quiet spoiling, always thoughtful. He doesn’t make a show of it, doesn’t always say what he’s doing, just does it. You’re cold? There’s already a blanket around your shoulders. You’re quiet? He’s pulling you into his chest, pressing a kiss into your hair, no words needed. He notices the things others miss: the way your shoulders tense when you're overwhelmed, the little sighs when you're tired. And he acts.

He’s the one who starts your bath before you even say you’re sore. Who loads your playlist before a flight. Who stocks your favorite snack in his go-bag, not for him, for you. He’s not flashy. He’s constant. A pillar you don’t have to lean on, but he’ll always be there if you do.

Johnny: He’s all heart, all noise, all joy. He spoils with laughter and food and physical affection that never runs out. He shows up with your favorite takeout, grinning like he just did something brilliant. He’ll pull you into his lap, kiss your forehead, tease you about how “needy” you are. while holding you like you’re made of glass. He’s a giver in every sense: touch, time, warmth, comfort. He wants you to take it. All of it. And expects absolutely nothing back. (Okay maybe just a kiss.)

He’ll cook for you, even if it’s absolute chaos in the kitchen, just to see you smile when he says, “Aye, try it. If you hate it, I’ll order pizza.” He’ll kiss you between bites, laugh when you spill something, clean it up like it doesn’t matter. He’s a lover, through and through.

Kyle: Softest form of spoiling, quiet doting with precision. He’ll make your appointments, massage, nails, therapy, whatever you need, and pay for them without blinking. He’ll pick out pajamas that feel right, fluff your pillow, draw your curtains, and light your favorite candle before you even come home. He spoils with a gentle consistency, with warmth that feels like safety.

He’ll run a bath, make sure the water’s perfect, and leave a clean towel folded by the tub. And he won’t say a word, just kiss your cheek and say, “Go relax. I’ve got dinner handled.” And he does. Always.

[teddybeartoji]

when co-worker!toji finds a cupcake, a note and a small paper flower on his table when he comes back from his break, he’s more than confused. he hasn’t told anybody about his birthday because he doesn’t even care about it in the first place and he doesn’t really care for the people at the office other than you either, so— 

you. 

his green eyes scan the room but he notices that you’re missing from behind your desk, he slowly slumps down onto his chair. he gnaws on his scarred lip as if he’s a little nervous – he’s used to just spend the new year’s eve with shiu and his family, and while they always gift him something nice, a little too nice even, to toji, his birthday has lost its meaning almost completely. 

he thinks this is too nice, too. 

sure, you’ve been working with each other for a good couple of months now and he gets along with you the best out of everybody here, he really can’t imagine why you’d go out of your way to get him something. hell, he doesn’t even know how you know it’s his birthday in the first place.

he eyes the cupcake and the little note beside it. and the flower. 

did you– did you make that for him? 

no way. 

…right? 

gently, he takes the small thing and places it right under the monitor, right where he can see it at all times. he doesn’t know how to describe the feeling inside him, right behind his ribcage, as he looks at the gift with his furrowed brows but it sure is something new. something he hasn’t felt in a very long time. 

next, he takes the note into his hand and glances around the office to make sure that nobody has noticed what he’s doing. they haven’t, and toji finds himself in a new type of a bubble – one that you’ve crafted just for him. 

it’s definitely your handwriting, he has seen it before. it’s a very simple ‘happy birthday toji’ with a very small heart next to his name and oh, how stupid he feels. what do you mean a doodle is making him feel giddy? 

this is ridiculous; he is a grown man, he doesn’t get giddy, he doesn’t— 

“i hope the flower wasn’t too weird.”

toji isn’t easily scared, it’s almost impossible to catch him off-guard like that, and yet, right now, his eyes are wider than ever. your voice is barely a whisper, most likely just so you wouldn’t attract any unwanted attention, but toji hears you loud and clear. 

he swallows the lump in his throat before pushing himself off the chair but since he didn’t realize you were so close behind him and you didn’t realize he’d stand up for you, he ends up grabbing onto your arms, so you wouldn’t fall over. 

“sorry…” you bite your lip and bat your eyelashes at him. he thinks he’s going to die. 

 “how’d you know?” 

he drops his hands to his side but he doesn’t move away and neither do you. 

“what, that today is the big day?”

he squints his eyes at you and you laugh. “okay, the small day.”

a ray of sun peeking in through the blinds. a warm light kissing his cheeks. you make the stupidest jokes. and he will always listen. 

“it’s a secret.” 

toji clicks his tongue.

“why?”

“why is it a secret?” 

“why’d you buy me stuff?” 

to a stranger, it’d probably sound like he’s interrogating you. but you know it’s just because you managed to surprise him. you, too, feel a little giddy now. 

“i didn’t buy you anything.”

his brows furrow again while your smile grows bigger.

“i made them, silly. and ‘why’ you ask?”

you don’t miss the slight flush that now adorns the apples of his cheeks. 

“because i wanted to. simple as that.”

[seokminfilm]

crybaby 🤍 lee seokmin

🤍 pairing, lee seokmin x reader

🤍 warnings, idol au, very short, hurt/comfort, established relationship, boyfriend seokmin, crybaby seokmin, seokmin calls reader lovie, kissing, reader calls seokmin baby boy, lowkey just really soft

🤍 summary, caratland made your soft boyfriend cry, and you did your best to comfort him without crying too.

🤍 author's note, been obsessed with caratland 2025 recently and this seokmin is one of my favorites 😭 the fluffy hat and outfit is everything LMAO also seokmin's just such a pretty crier 😞 makes me want to cry just looking at his watery eyes and reddened nose and squishy frown and UGH i'm tweaking out. gonna pour out my heart and soul into this just watch

🤍 now playing, if you leave me (seventeen)

🤍 word count, 502 | for @kstrucknet, @maestro-net

"it's okay to cry seokmin. you didn't look stupid at all." smiling at your boyfriend's wet face, you cup your palm under his cheek, wiping the tears away with your thumb.

seokmin had just come backstage from finishing the second day of caratland, and you had expected him to cry at the end─you were tearing up yourself, especially with the way all of the members were so soft with wonwoo, realizing that their time with him was coming to an end.

seokmin was one of the more uncontrollable criers of seventeen, and he proved it even now; tears were dripping down his sharp jawline as he quietly sobbed to himself, lips downturned into the meltiest frown you think you had ever seen.

"lovie, i'm sorry, i really am sorry, i─" seokmin's apologizing for the third time in the past twenty minutes, and you shake your head, moving closer to your boyfriend as you cradle him towards your chest. he clings onto your shirt like he has nothing left, and your heart melts a little more, pressing a kiss to his scalp as you sigh.

"are you crying because you're going to miss wonwoo, baby boy?" you ask softly, and seokmin nods, head still on your chest as he sniffles.

"i honestly don't know why i'm crying anymore." seokmin lifts his head up from your chest, adjusting his hat as he sighs, looking down at his hands as he plays with his team ring.

"that's okay too. you know what i think?" you inquire quietly, and seokmin looks at you, big brown eyes glossy as he shakes his head.

"i think you're crying because you miss jeonghan, you're gonna miss wonwoo, and you just love carat so much, you can't help but give them everything." you take seokmin's hand in your own, tracing his knuckles as seokmin falters a bit, eyes watering again as he nods.

"am i right?" you question, and seokmin nods again, hand going to his eyes as he gently wipes away the tears, trying to be careful of his makeup. "mhm...i think you're right, lovie."

"what should i do? i don't know if i can go on without them." seokmin sighs, and you know who he's referring to; jeonghan and wonwoo. if you were being honest, you didn't know if you could go without them either. since they were seokmin's best friends, they were yours too.

"you can go on without them, seokmin. i know you can─even though you don't want to, you're a strong person. you'll hold on for them, and they can trust you with their positions while they're gone. you'll be the man in the gap while they're absent." you pat seokmin's thigh, pressing a kiss to his tear-stained cheek as he nods.

"i will. i'll do it for carat." seokmin whispers softly, leaning his head on your shoulder as you squeeze his thigh reassuringly.

"that's my baby boy." you smile softly, pressing a kiss to seokmin's forehead as he sniffles once more, finally calming down.

[callmebyyourcallsign]

Touch and Go

Pairing: Lt. Robert “Bob” Floyd x Pilot!Reader

Tags: Slow burn, mutual pining, emotional repression, soft yearning

Setting: Post–Top Gun: Maverick, new elite flight program

Summary: You're a rising star pilot hand-picked for an advanced tactical training assignment. Bob Floyd, calm, brilliant, and frustratingly unreadable, is your WSO. You trust him in the air more than anyone. On the ground, though, your hands brush a little too often. Your silences last a little too long. And Bob? He's already gone, in the quiet, devastating way he always does. Love is mutual, but unspoken. After all, you’re both professionals… right?

Word Count: 4,983

Bob Floyd has always been good at silence.

Not the awkward kind, he hates that, actually, but the kind that sits warm in your chest, wraps around your ribs like a seatbelt. The kind that lives in cockpits and libraries and back porches after midnight. The kind that feels like knowing.

That’s the kind you bring with you.

You talk a lot less than people expect from a pilot with your record. But when you do, it’s always something that sticks. A sharp little joke. A perfectly timed one-liner. Sometimes, if he's lucky, one of those honey-dripping nicknames you toss at him when the others aren't around. Flyboy, mostly. Soft and smug, like you know exactly what it does to him.

Bob pretends he doesn’t.

He's good at that too.

The first time you flew together, you turned around in your seat, grinned through your visor, and said,

“Don’t let me crash and die, Floyd.”
He’d blinked, heart skipping a full beat.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Now it’s been months.

You know the rhythms of each other’s breath in-flight. You finish his checklists before he finishes speaking. You know when he tenses by the way his boot shifts under the floor panel, and he knows when you're fighting Gs by the subtle dip in your voice, still strong, still cocky, but just soft enough to make his heart ache.

And still. Neither of you has said it.

Neither of you has said anything.

This morning, on the tarmac, the sky’s the color of the Pacific, soft gray-blue, streaked with sunlight, like someone dragged their fingers through it. You walk toward the jet with your helmet under your arm and a lazy kind of swagger that drives him insane.

Bob is already waiting, running preflight. He hears your steps before he sees you.

“Morning, Flyboy.”

He turns, and God help him, you’re smiling. Not a big one, not like the ones you throw Rooster when you’re teasing, or the bright ones Phoenix gets when she’s kicking Hangman’s ass in a sim. No, this one’s just for him. Subtle. Real.

His hands pause on the panel.

“You’re late.”

You raise a brow. “You’re early.”

He shrugs, looks back down at the jet like it matters. “Wanted to make sure everything was perfect.”

Your voice dips, warm like whiskey. “You calling me high-maintenance, Floyd?”

He flushes. Stutters. “No—no, I—”

You laugh, soft and surprised, like you didn’t expect to get that out of him so easily. “Relax. I like it when you're nervous.”

He says nothing.

What could he say?

I think about you every night before I sleep? I replay every flight, every brush of your hand, like it’s scripture? I’ve been in love with you since day three?

So instead, he climbs into the jet and double-checks your oxygen levels.

In the air, you’re like poetry.

You take corners like you’re dancing. Pull into dives with the kind of grace he’s only ever seen in nature, like birds or storms or the ocean at dawn. Bob watches you from behind, one gloved hand hovering by the throttle, the other pressing the radio.

“Looking good, Spook,” he murmurs.

You smile without turning. “Aww, Flyboy. That almost sounded like flirting.”

He swears he hears Hangman laugh over the channel.

Bob clears his throat and looks back at his screen. His heart is loud in his helmet.

After landing, when the others are walking ahead to the locker rooms, you fall into step beside him.

It’s quiet again. But that kind of quiet Bob loves.

“You did good today,” you say after a minute.

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”
You bump your shoulder lightly into his. His stomach flips. He wonders if you can feel the way he leans into it just a little too long.
“You still nervous around me, Floyd?”

His voice is soft. “Always.”

You don’t respond, but your hand swings close to his, knuckles brushing. He doesn’t pull away.

Neither do you.

That night, Bob sits in his bunk with a journal he never shows anyone.

He writes down flight stats. Maneuvers. Fuel data. And then, in smaller handwriting, like he’s afraid the ink will betray him

She looked back at me before takeoff.
I think she always does.
I wish she’d stay.

Across the base, you lie still in the dark, listening to the faint hum of the A/C and the buzz of the vending machine down the hall.

Sleep doesn’t come easy tonight.

Not with the shape of his voice still tucked behind your ear, and the way he always leaves a little extra space on the ladder, like he’s waiting for you to catch up.

You close your eyes and see his hands. Careful, steady. Always holding something invisible.

You wonder what it would feel like if it were you.

-

The storm rolls in out of nowhere.

That coastal kind of wild, thick sky, wind like a punch, lightning cracking in silhouette. Half the squadron’s grounded before they even make it off the tarmac. And your jet’s tucked away in the hangar, warm and dry, but completely useless.

Bob pulls his helmet off with both hands, curls of damp blond hair sticking to his forehead.

“We’re not getting out of here for a while.”

You sigh, pulling off your gloves with your teeth. “Damn. And I was looking forward to fighting for my life at 30,000 feet.”

There’s a beat. Rain slams into the hangar roof like it’s got something to prove.

Outside, someone’s truck backfires. Probably Rooster’s. Hangman’s already making jokes. Phoenix is haggling over vending machine snacks.

You sit on a crate, tugging your flight suit down to your waist, tank top sticking to your skin.

Bob looks like he’s trying very hard not to look at you.

“You cold?” you ask, half-sincere, half-testing.

He shakes his head. “No. I’m good.”

You smile, barely. "You always say that."

There’s only one truck back to base tonight. Everyone else finds a ride, Hangman with Coyote, Phoenix and Rooster squished into Payback’s ridiculous little Subaru.

You and Bob?

You get stuck behind.

It’s quiet now.

Stormy dusk bleeding into navy blue, rain still hammering the roof in a steady rhythm. Bob’s sitting cross-legged on the concrete floor, flipping through the manual like he doesn’t have it memorized. You’re pacing. Slowly. Like something inside you’s moving too fast.

“You hungry?” he asks, not looking up.

You pause. “Not really.”

“Me neither.”
He hesitates. “But I brought one of those granola bars you like.”

You blink. “The cherry almond kind?”

He nods without meeting your eyes. Holds it out like an offering.

You take it.

You sit beside him, knees not quite touching.

Twenty minutes pass like a sigh.

Bob reads. You pick at the wrapper. He clears his throat.

“You ever think about what it’d be like... to not do this?”

You glance over. “Fly?”

“Yeah. The Navy. The pressure. All of it.”

You tilt your head back against the crate behind you. “Sometimes. Usually when we’re pulling 7 Gs and I think I’m gonna puke.”

He huffs a laugh. “Same.”
Then, quieter: “But then I think about days like today.”

You turn to look at him. “Rainy and grounded?”

“No.”
He finally meets your eyes. “Flying with you.”

Your chest goes still. Like the storm stopped inside you, just for a second.

You want to say something, anything, but the words get caught somewhere in your throat.

So you offer the granola bar back to him instead.

He breaks off a piece. Your fingers brush. He flinches, like the contact startled him.

You pretend you didn’t notice. Even though it’s all you can notice.

Later, the lights flicker.

You both look up.

“Power must’ve gone out,” you say, unnecessarily.

Bob nods. “Shouldn’t be long.”

You shift closer to him instinctively. Just a little. Just enough to count.

It’s quiet. Not tense, just full.

Full of things you haven’t said. Of all the times his hand hovered near your back when you climbed the ladder. All the glances across the ready room. All the almosts.

He speaks first.

“You ever think maybe—”
He cuts off. “Never mind.”

You nudge him with your knee. “Maybe what?”

Bob shakes his head. “It’s dumb.”

“Bob.”

He closes the manual. Sets it aside like it’s too heavy now.

“Maybe it’s not just flying I don’t want to lose.”

You look at him.

Really look.

The hangar light flickers again. Thunder cracks like a warning.

You say, so quietly it barely counts:

“Me too.”

And that’s it. No kiss. No confession. Just two people sitting on a hangar floor, sharing a granola bar, rain tapping the roof like Morse code.

But it feels like something.

It feels like a shift.

A holding pattern, sure, but maybe next time, you’ll land.

-

You wake up stiff, aching, and warm.

Bob’s jacket is around your shoulders, too big, sleeves bunched up to your wrists, the collar soft with wear. It smells like jet fuel and cedar soap and the weird, sweet nothingness that is him.

At some point last night, you must’ve drifted off on the hangar floor. He did too, slouched against the wall, one leg stretched long, the other bent, chin tucked to his chest.

The storm is gone.

The world is pale and quiet in the way it only gets just before sunrise. The kind of light that makes everything look like it’s waiting for something.

You don’t move.

You just sit there, wrapped in Bob’s hoodie, listening to the hum of the fluorescent lights and the distant squawk of gulls outside.

Eventually, Bob stirs. His eyes blink open, slow and owlish. He stretches, winces, notices you watching him.

“Morning,” he says, voice low and gravel-soft.

“Hey,” you whisper back.

He looks down at the jacket around your shoulders, then back up, slightly pink.

“Sorry. You were shivering.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s… Thanks.”

There’s a pause.

And then you say, gently:

“You always take care of me.”

Bob’s mouth opens like he’s going to deflect, say something dumb or self-deprecating, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just nods.

“You take care of me too.”

It’s quiet after that.

The kind of quiet that says everything’s shifted, but no one wants to startle it.

The truck finally arrives mid-morning. Phoenix hops out of the passenger seat and gives you a look like you good? You give her a look like later. Bob loads the gear like it’s muscle memory, avoiding your gaze but staying close.

When he helps you into the truck bed, his hand lingers at your back.

You think about that all the way back to base.

You don’t see him the rest of the day.

You both get assigned separate pre-flights, different trainers. You wonder if he’s avoiding you or just busy. You wonder why that stings.

Later, you find his jacket still folded on your bunk. He must’ve dropped it off during your briefing.

On top of it, a granola bar. Cherry almond.

Folded underneath, a note. Scrawled in Bob’s neat, awkward handwriting.

Thought you might be cold again.

I’ll be in the sim room tonight. Just in case.

You read it three times.

You don’t go.

Not because you don’t want to.

But because your heart is thudding too loud in your chest and you’re afraid if you see him, really see him, you’ll say something stupid.

Like don’t leave again.
Like stay the night.
Like I think I want you to kiss me.

Instead, you write back.

See you tomorrow.
Save me a seat.

You leave it tucked inside the pocket of his flight suit.

Bob finds it the next morning, just before warm-up.

He reads it, folds it up, presses it into the inside cover of his journal.

Then he smiles, just a little. Just enough to count.

-

The sim room smells like coffee and jet oil and a hint of someone’s off-brand cologne. You’re early. So is Bob.

He’s standing at the control panel, fiddling with his headset, glasses pushed up into his curls. The simulator’s screens are still dark. Outside, the sky’s starting to smudge purple.

“Hey,” he says when he hears you.

“Hey,” you say, voice lighter than you feel.

You take the copilot’s seat beside him. Close, like always. Closer, maybe.

Bob’s legs are longer than yours. One of them brushes yours under the desk. Neither of you moves.

The sim loads.

You start the mission. Standard approach, familiar territory. You and Bob in sync, calling coordinates, updating status, ticking boxes. It’s smooth. Too smooth.

And then, turbulence.

Not real, but simulated. Unexpected.

Your console flickers. You lurch slightly forward.

“Whoa—”

His hand flies out and catches you.

Fingers splay over your ribcage.

Just for a second.

Just long enough.

You freeze.

Bob does too.

His hand stays there, warm through your flight suit, palm over your side like a tether. You turn your head. His eyes are wide behind his glasses, breath caught.

“Sorry,” he says, barely a whisper.

You shake your head, equally quiet. “It’s okay.”

But he doesn’t let go. Not yet.

There’s something unsaid sitting heavy in the space between your mouths. Not even a breath away.

And then.

“Pilot One, altitude dropping—”

The console voice crackles, breaking the spell.

Bob pulls back like he’s been burned. His hand drops to his lap. He stares forward, ears red, jaw clenched.

“You good?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Fine,” he mutters.

But he’s not. You can see it. Feel it.

Neither are you.

You finish the sim. Land the jet clean. Call the end of the exercise with the same forced calm you use when your hands won’t stop shaking.

He logs the results. You shut down the system. Neither of you speak.

You walk out together, side by side, the hallway lit with that same bluish hum. When you reach the locker room doors, you hesitate.

“Bob,” you say.

He stops.

Turns.

Eyes soft. Scared. Hopeful. Tired.

You don’t say what you want to.

You don’t say you can touch me again.
You don’t say I wanted you to keep holding on.
You don’t say I think about you all the time.

You just say

“Thanks. For catching me.”

He nods, slow.

“Anytime.”

You part ways. Locker rooms. Showers. Briefings. Dinner.

But when you’re lying in your bunk later that night, wrapped up in the same silence you’ve carried all day, you touch your side where he held you.

Like maybe the shape of his hand is still there.

Like maybe it always has been.

-

It’s weird, not flying with Bob.

Not wrong, exactly. You’re a professional. He’s still on base, still training, still just a few hangars away. But it feels like the air shifts without him in the backseat, like the jet flies fine but not quite right. Like muscle memory tripping over a heartbeat.

The switch wasn’t personal. Scheduling conflict, maybe. A re-routed assignment. You didn’t ask. He didn’t explain. All you know is when you checked the flight log that morning, someone else’s name was listed as your WSO.

And his name was missing.

Your new WSO is capable. Sharp. Quick on comms. He does everything right.

But he doesn’t know how you like your patterns called out. Doesn’t echo your thoughts mid-maneuver like Bob does. Doesn’t glance up at you through the canopy after a perfect landing like he’s proud of you in secret.

You miss that.

You miss him.

Bob’s been quieter, too. Around the locker room. The mess. Even in briefings. He’s not avoiding you, exactly, but he’s not seeking you out either. The silence between you has stretched, uncertain and loaded. Like you’re both waiting for the other to say something first.

And neither of you does.

You catch a glimpse of him two days later on the tarmac, post-run. He’s halfway through a bottle of water, sleeves rolled up, curls damp with sweat. There’s a red mark on his jaw, helmet, maybe, and his eyes are on the horizon like he’s somewhere else entirely.

You open your mouth.

You almost call out.

But then your new WSO claps you on the back, says something loud and dumb, and Bob flinches like the sound hit a bruise. He walks away before you can stop him.

That night, you find yourself in the hangar.

It’s mostly empty, just a few shadows and the hum of after-hours maintenance. One of the jets, the one you flew today, is parked under a dim light.

You rest your hand on its nose cone and stare at the stars through the open bay.

“Miss me already?” a voice says behind you.

Your heart lurches.

You turn.

Bob’s standing there, hands in his jacket pockets, expression unreadable.

You try to joke. “You wish.”

He half-smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

That quiet hits you hard.

You swallow. “Why’d they pull you from the rotation?”

He shrugs. “Said they needed me to run backup sims. Training the newer guys.”

You nod. “Makes sense.”

Neither of you says what you’re thinking.

Makes sense. But it sucked.
Makes sense. But I wanted to look over my shoulder and see you.
Makes sense. But nothing else felt right.

You sit on the edge of the wing. He stands next to you.

The hangar is all hush and echoes.

Then he says it, softly

“I don’t like not flying with you.”

It’s not dramatic. Not even particularly romantic. But it hits you harder than anything has in days.

You nod, slowly.

“Me neither.”

There’s a long pause. Then

“I’m sorry,” Bob says.

You look up. “For what?”

“For leaving you in the air without me.”

Something cracks open in your chest.

“I don’t feel steady without you,” you whisper.

His breath catches.

Then, gently, he leans his arm against yours. Barely a touch. But it’s enough.

“I’ll be back in your backseat soon,” he says, voice low and certain.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You close your eyes.

And for the first time in days, you feel your heart start to level out again.

-

The base wakes before dawn, but you’re already tangled in thought, and maybe a little frustration.

Bob didn’t show up to breakfast.

No text, no word. Just silence that hums louder than the engines on the flight line.

You sip cold coffee, eyes on the muted chatter of the mess hall, but all you can hear is the thrum of your own heartbeat, tight, impatient, restless.

He’s been distant since the hangar night, like there’s a wall he’s building brick by brick, and every time you try to reach him, the mortar’s fresh and unyielding.

Later, you’re suiting up for another sim run. Your new WSO is ready, calm, competent , but he isn’t Bob.

You glance over at the empty seat beside you, where the cockpit light never flickers without him.

You fight down the ache curling in your chest, because this mission is important. Because professionalism means showing up even when your heart is jamming on stall warning.

You taxi down the runway, engines roaring to life, but it’s the silence in your headset that’s deafening.

Mid-flight, something goes wrong in the sim, a sudden mechanical failure on the enemy’s side. Your fingers tighten on the stick, muscles tense, and instinct takes over.

“Bandit at your six!” you bark into the comm.

“Copy that,” comes a voice you don’t recognize. It lacks the familiar edge you crave.

You’re scrambling, trying to shake the imaginary tail, but inside you’re scrambling for Bob, his voice, his steady calm, his fierce presence.

A bead of sweat runs down your temple. You miss him.

Hours later, back on the ground, you find him in the briefing room, eyes dark and jaw tight.

He’s barely spoken all day, swallowed behind a mask of professionalism.

You clear your throat.

“Hey,” you say softly. “We need to talk.”

He looks up, startled, like you broke some unspoken truce.

“What about?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “This… us. The distance. The silence.”

Bob’s gaze flickers, like a storm barely contained.

“It’s not that simple,” he mutters.

You cross the room and stand in front of him, heart on your sleeve, voice shaking but determined.

“It is that simple. We don’t have to pretend it’s not.”

He looks at you, eyes searching, and for the first time in days, you see the truth shining beneath the surface:

He wants this too. But fear is tying his hands.

The air between you thickens, heavy with everything unsaid.

You reach out, brushing your fingers against his.

He doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he sighs, low and rough.

“Why is it so damn hard?” he asks, voice barely a whisper.

You smile, bittersweet.

“Because it’s worth it.”

And just like that, the dogfight shifts from the skies to your hearts, a battle for courage, for honesty, for the quiet, messy beauty of letting someone in.

-

The squadron’s quiet buzz hums through the ready room, but all you feel is the weight of the moment pressing against your ribs.

Bob sits beside you, closer than before, but the space between you still tastes like a question unanswered.

You both know that whatever was there last night, no, whatever’s been there for months is waiting to be named. Waiting to take shape beyond stolen glances and tentative touches.

You glance at him. His jaw clenched, eyes locked on the briefing screen, but you see it, the hesitation. The part of him that’s still afraid to cross the line.

You clear your throat.

“Hey,” you say softly, voice barely above the hum of the room.

He turns, eyes meeting yours, surprised but steady.

“We can’t keep doing this,” you say. “The almost, the maybe, the silence.”

Bob exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath for too long.

“I know,” he admits. “But it’s not easy.”

You nod, heart pounding.

“Nothing worth it ever is.”

The briefing ends, and you walk side by side to the hangar, the sun filtering through the windows casting long shadows that seem to reach for you both.

Your fingers brush, light, accidental, but this time neither pulls away.

“Why did you stop coming around?” you ask quietly.

Bob’s eyes flicker, vulnerability softening his usual edge.

“I was scared,” he confesses. “Scared of what this could mean. Scared of what I might lose.”

You stop walking, turning to face him fully.

“You won’t lose me.”

His gaze drops to your hands entwined, then back to your face.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he says. “Not with you.”

You smile, something gentle and fierce blooming in your chest.

“Then let’s stop pretending. Let’s take the risk.”

That night, the base hums a quieter tune.

You find yourselves on the roof, under a sky strewn with stars, vast and endless, like the possibility before you.

Bob reaches for your hand, fingers trembling slightly, and you squeeze back, steady and sure.

You don’t need words.

The silence between you says everything

This is the beginning.

You lean in slowly, breath mingling, hearts racing, and for the first time, the line you’ve both been afraid to cross becomes the bridge you’re ready to walk.

-

The morning light seeps softly through the blinds, painting the room in muted gold. You wake before Bob, your fingers still laced with his, the warmth lingering like a secret promise.

His breathing is slow, steady, a rhythm that somehow feels like home.

You watch his face, the way his brow smooths, how his lashes flutter, delicate and vulnerable. It’s a side of him few get to see, and it makes your heart swell with something deeper than you expected.

When Bob stirs, his eyes open to meet yours, wide and raw and honest.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice husky with sleep and something more.

“Morning,” you reply, voice barely a whisper, afraid to shatter the fragile bubble you both inhabit.

There’s a long pause, the kind of silence that isn’t empty but full of everything you don’t say yet.

Bob’s hand tightens around yours, thumb brushing your knuckles like a question.

“I’m not good at this,” he admits, eyes searching yours for forgiveness or understanding.

“You don’t have to be,” you say. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

He smiles then, slow and shy, like he’s afraid to believe it’s real. And maybe it isn’t perfect, maybe it’s messy and uncertain, but it’s yours.

Later, the base feels different.

Every glance between you carries a new weight, every touch lingers longer.

You walk down the hallways with a secret shared just between the two of you, like you’re part of something no one else understands.

During briefings, you catch Bob’s eye and see the spark that’s always been there, only now, it’s not just longing; it’s something steadier, more fierce.

After drills, when the adrenaline fades and the world quiets, you find your way to each other again.

One afternoon, you’re sitting on the wing of the jet, the sky a brilliant blue canvas.

Bob sits beside you, helmet set aside, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

“Ever wonder what it’d be like,” he says softly, “if we didn’t have to keep it all so guarded?”

You turn to him, heart quickening.

“I do,” you confess. “More than anything.”

He laughs quietly, a sound full of warmth and relief.

“Me too.”

For a moment, the world shrinks down to just the two of you, breath mingling, laughter light and free.

And then, almost without thinking, Bob’s hand finds yours again, fingers weaving together like they belong.

That night, in the quiet dark of the bunk, you lie awake, the afterglow of the day wrapping around you.

It’s not fireworks or grand declarations, just a steady, simmering warmth, the kind that roots deep and promises more.

You don’t need to say the words aloud.

You already know.

-

The day starts normal, but the air feels heavier, thick with the kind of silence that’s waiting to snap.

You and Bob are prepping for a joint training mission, the kind that demands every ounce of trust and synchronicity you’ve been building. But underneath the routine checklists and briefings, something feels off.

Maybe it’s the way Bob’s eyes flicker away when you glance at him. Or how his jaw tightens just a little too much when the instructor calls out formations.

You want to reach for him, steady him like he’s steadying you. But there’s that wall again, the one you thought you’d chipped away with every quiet moment.

The mission begins with familiar drills, engines roaring to life, the world narrowing to speed and precision.

You’re locked in your cockpit, the steady hum of the jet syncing with the pounding in your chest.

Bob’s voice comes through the comms, clear, but clipped.

“Ready when you are.”

You respond, heart thudding.

The sky blurs around you, adrenaline sharp and bright. You move together, two halves of the same pulse, perfect in motion.

But when you land, the air is still thick with unspoken words.

Later, in the dim glow of the briefing room, you catch Bob alone, staring at a map like it holds the answers.

“I messed up,” he says without looking up.

You step closer. “What happened?”

He swallows, voice tight. “I lost focus during the run. Missed a call. Could’ve put us both at risk.”

You shake your head. “We all mess up.”

“But this—this felt different,” he admits. “Like I’m carrying more than just the mission.”

Your heart clenches. “Bob…”

He finally looks at you, eyes raw and vulnerable. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of losing you. Of not being enough. Of what this means—us.”

You reach out, fingers brushing his cheek.

“You’re enough,” you whisper. “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time.”

He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch like it’s a lifeline.

That night, the tension hasn’t lifted, but something’s shifted.

You find yourselves sitting side by side, neither speaking, just sharing space.

Bob’s hand finds yours again, tentative but desperate.

And in that quiet grasp, all the fear and hope and longing swirl together.

It’s messy.

It’s real.

It’s yours.

-

The base is quiet in the early hours, a fragile calm that feels almost sacred.

You’re leaning against your jet, the dawn light soft against the glass. Bob slides in beside you, the world outside still waking, but beside him, time slows.

His eyes catch yours, no words needed. The space between you is charged, filled with every unsaid confession and yearning.

“Talk to me,” you finally whisper, voice trembling just a little.

Bob’s gaze drops, then lifts again, steady, sure.

“I’ve been scared,” he admits. “Scared of losing control. Scared of what this means. But mostly... scared of losing you.”

Your heart twists, but you reach for him, fingers threading through his.

“You’re not losing me,” you say softly. “We’re in this together.”

He smiles, small, genuine, and it breaks through every wall he’s built.

The jet rocks gently as he moves closer, breath mingling with yours.

“I want you,” he breathes, voice low and raw. “Not just when the world falls apart, but when it’s quiet. When it’s real.”

You lean in, the distance dissolving, lips brushing in a hesitant, trembling kiss that blooms into something fierce and tender.

In that kiss is everything, the fear, the hope, the long nights and silent battles.

When you finally pull apart, the world feels different.

Brighter.

Clearer.

You rest your forehead against his, breath mingling, heart pounding the same rhythm.

“We don’t have to have it all figured out,” you say.

Bob nods. “No. Just... this.”

Outside, the sky is vast and endless, a promise of more flights, more moments, more love.

And inside this small cockpit, you both know you’ve finally found your safe place.

Ao3

[jaegahh]

cw: the jjk babies trying out a silly little tiktok trend w dad! toji muehehe

“Dad, get in the frame!”

After a long, long day of begging him to take part in some “challenge” they saw online, he finally gave in. Toji huffs in frustration, fixing his position so that the phone can fit his broad frame. He makes sure to shoot Megumi a sharp Boy,-don’t-raise-your-voice-at-me look before glancing down at the bowl in front of him. He shakes his head in disapproval.

“This the type of food you kids like t’eat?” He pokes at the rim. The bowl is literally sagging.

“…Why’s the guacamole overflowin’?”

Standing closely behind, Yuji bites back a giggle at the older man’s sour face. Nobara, unfortunately unable to make the occasion, shifts her screen to hide her expression on Yuji’s facetime.

Megumi just shakes his head in defeat. Clicking on record, he starts the video.

This was a horrible idea.

“Alright, we’re gonna rate Yuji’s Chipotle order.” The air feels painfully dense as he glances at Toji flicking the damp bowl further away from him. He wearily looks back at the camera. “…I guess.”

Yuji obliviously beams into the video. “Okay! Let me tell you guys what I get. First, I get brown rice,” Yuji looks straight at the camera, “Double. Then some chicken, uh, then… I get… uhhh…”

Nobara’s patience begins to thin. “You get your chicken doubled.”

“Right, right.” Yuji awkwardly clasps his hands together. “Double chicken. Then, um…—”

“—Lettuce, corn, guac, cheese, queso and sour cream.” Nobara finishes for him, now scrolling through different filters. She lets out a satisfied hum once she lands on some pink cat ears. Picking up on the silence (which, concerningly, included Yuji), she dismissively waves her hand. “Continue.”

Megumi rolls his eyes. He makes a mental note to never, ever, ever make a bet with his friends again.

Toji crosses his arms on the table. “So, what d’ya need me for?”

“Uh, you’re trying the food with me??” Megumi grabs his fork, ready to get this bullshit over with.

Toji shoots Megumi another snappy look, taken aback by his sassy attitude. He narrows his eyes at the boy next to him as if to tell him he’d better fix that fuckin’ tone.

While still staring daggers into the teenager next to him, Toji grabs his fork and packs a hefty bite onto it. Glancing at the phone, Toji’s annoyed expression turns into one of genuine concern after seeing the weird ass face Yuji’s making at the camera. Seriously, though… what’s up with the kid’s face? His cheeks look like they’re about to burst in the effort he’s putting into trying to not laugh. The two lock eyes on camera.

“Fix your face, Chipmunk. Y’look like you’re about to shit yourself.”

“Oh, sorry,” the pink haired boy gulps before immediately straightening up his posture, “…S-sir.”

Wasting no more time, Megumi quickly clashes his fork with his dad’s. He won’t wait for anything else to take up his remaining 19 seconds— and God forbid he has to restart the video.

Letting out a shaky breath, he braces for humiliation.

“Cheers,”

Toji’s just about to finish taking his bite when Megumi coughs.

“—the fuck.”

Toji drops his fork.

“What?”

“—What??”

“Excuse me?!”

���What happened??” The 16-year-old stuffs his mouth full of sour cream.

Toji takes his time to finish swallowing the food in his mouth before exploding in Megumi’s face. “What do you mean ‘what’? What the fuck did you just say?” Toji grabs the bowl, forcing Megumi to look at him. The phone they’re recording on slips from the force.

“YUJI!! GET THE PHONE!!!!!”

Nobara shouts at Yuji to get out the way, frantically attempting to position her phone in front of her laptop to record the scene. Yuji struggles to hold back his laughter as he watches Megumi turn red.

“Nothing! All I said was cheers…” Toji eyes are wide, almost like he’s anticipating the next words to come out of his son’s mouth. “………the fuck.”

“Did you just—” Toji looks at Megumi in disbelief. Is he laughing right now?! He looks around the table, grabbing a handful of napkins before throwing the crumpled material at his son’s face.

Megumi’s about to choke and Yuji’s on the floor hollering. Nobara, still green from the Shrek filter she put on 5 seconds ago, is already fantasizing about how viral this video is about to go on TikTok.

Toji grabs the bowl, aggressively pushing his chair back to leave the table.

“You’re sleeping outside tonight.” Toji shouts, already halfway down the hallway to his room, “I’m serious, Fushiguro!”

In reaction to that last bit with his last name being used, Megumi jumps out of his seat, tripping over his own feet as he tries to reach his dad. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time he’s heard of that punishment.

Stumbling, he reaches the hallway just to see that Toji’s already made up his mind with his hand on the doorknob.

“Wait— it was a joke!”

Toji enters the room and slams the door shut, cutting Megumi off, and leaving him genuinely worried in the middle of the hallway.

“Oh my God—” Yuji’s clutching his stomach, holding himself up with a weak hand behind his back. Nobara cackles in the background. “Why would you say it twice?!”

Megumi rolls his eyes at the sight, chuckling with the effect of his friend’s contagious laughter. Walking over to where Nobara goes on about getting 452 views within 1 minute, Megumi grabs the phone off the table, still embarrassed from what just happened, but… weirdly pleased with Yuji’s choice of toppings.

He licks some guacamole off his thumb where it’d splattered after Toji’s little tantrum. He raises a surprised brow at the taste. “His order is actually really good.”

“I know. I made it.” Nobara yawns, pulling her blanket over her chin.

“Mm,” He hums in understanding, watching as the pink haired boy, still on the ground, is suddenly concentrated on some mobile game he’s playing.

Yuji looks over to where Megumi’s looking at him. “What?” He asks, confused as to why his friend is still standing there staring at him. His phone then abruptly slips from his hands, dropping flat onto his face. “Ow…”

Megumi stops staring, looking back down to face Nobara. “Figures.”

Turning to look for the rest of the plate, he found just the crinkled tissue that was thrown at his head. He scans the table, but it’s to no use. There’s no food to be found. His eyes trail up towards the hallway.

“Wait… where did the bowl go?”

Loosely inspired by the lovelies: @/trintheweirdo & @/erikadayshawn on tiktok

a/n: HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY my loves!! LMAO i did this exact dafuq trend with my little brother & my dad got soooo pissed then stole all our food🤣🤣 this was supposed to be published in light of the whole tiktok ban that was goin on a couple months ago… but I got lazy and forgot😅 Can u guys tell that Yuji’s my fav from jjk hehehe

[rcttendolly]

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬

Re4!Leon S. Kennedy x Fem!Reader

summary ! you wake up from a nightmare and are plagued with your own insecurities, but luckily, your boyfriend is right there to help lull you back to sleep + also show you how much he loves your body!

warnings ! NSFW, cunnilingus, praise, slight body worship, soft dom leon, slight hair pulling, pls tell me if i’ve missed any

wc ! 1.3k

notes: sorri for being gone so long ᡣ ︠ 𓈒. .𓈒 ︡𐑠 a sweet n short fic to get back into writing :3

sweat. that’s the first thing you notice when you’re suddenly jolted awake from your… not so lovely slumber.

your body is completely soaked in sweat, and your clothes are slightly clinging to your body as your chest heaves from the recurring memories playing in your head. well, they weren’t memories, per se, more like figments of your imagination that had made up a horrific nightmare about leon and you, so horrific it had jolted you awake at it’s climax.

speaking of leon, ever the light sleeper, he woke up the minute you sat up with a dramatic gasp, and his eyelids fluttered open as he glanced at your sat up form.

“sweetheart?”

you heard from behind you, and you swallowed before turning your head back to him, “mhm?” you asked quietly, watching as leon’s larger arm enveloped your waist and tugged you to lay back down next to him.

his head laid next to your ear as he spoke, “what are you doing awake?” he asked quietly, his voice no more above a whisper as he gently played with your hair, ignoring how sweaty it was.

suddenly, he speaks, “did you have a nightmare?”

ah, ever the perceptive one.

well, it wasn’t exactly hard to figure out what happened—you were covered in sweat and hyperventilating just a little.

“yeah,” you mumbled, turning to bury your face into his broader, warm chest.

god, he smelt so good.

leon hummed in response, wrapping you up securely in his embrace as he continued to gently play with your hair, yet after a while of you barely calming down, he decided he needed to at least do something.

small sniffles came from you as you laid in his embrace, yet you glanced at him as he gently laid you on your back, his own form moving to gently trace a hand along your side.

you just continued to watch him, your breath slightly hitching at the way his hand slowly slid up and underneath your shirt, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

in response to your breath hitching, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips and he looked down at you, “just let me take care of you,” he whispered, dipping his head down to gently—so gently—attach his lips to your own.

immediately, you reciprocated the kiss, your hands coming up to gently play with his hair as you sniffled slightly, feeling his warm, calloused hand slowly trail its way up to the underside of your breasts.

you hummed in response, goosebumps rising on your skin as his hand moved, and you whined quietly into his mouth when his fingers gently played with your sensitive nipple, tugging slightly at it as he rolled it between his fingertips.

you squirmed slightly, “leon—”

“shh,” he shushed you, breaking the kiss to look down at you, his own gaze holding a hint of desire and something more… something deeper.

“just let me take care of you,” he whispered again, featherlight kisses trailing down from your jaw to your neck as his fingers continued to work on your breast.

you let out a shaky sigh in response, tilting your head up slightly to allow him more access to the column of your neck, yet your stomach instantly clenched when he responded with a small, “atta girl.”

you arched your back slightly against his hold as he trailed his kisses lower, both of his hands coming up to tug his shirt a little higher off your body.

consequently, he trailed his kisses lower down the valley of your breasts, mumbling small, quiet words of affection and praise as he did, “you’re so beautiful,” he mumbled, his kisses trailing down to your stomach as he his free hand came up to gently tug at the little lacy, pink panties you were wearing.

“so cute,” he hummed, looking down at the growing wet spot on them, as his other hand continued to work on both your breasts.

“leon, please,” you whined, and he paused before looking at you.

“tell me how beautiful you are,”

“what?”

“tell me, or i won’t continue,”

“leon, im not—”

you whined as he slowly began retracting his hands, “okay, okay! i’m really pretty,”

“i thought i said beautiful?” he grinned, yet you could tell he was satisfied with your answer when his hands gently tugged down your panties.

leon was well aware you were quite insecure sometimes, and he had an inkling that your nightmare had something to do with that, so he was determined to show you just how beautiful you really were to him.

gently, he pressed a calloused finger against your clit, watching you intently as you arched your back slightly and whined, his finger trailing down to your entrance to gather some of your slick on his finger.

“already so wet, and so impatient,” he mused before moving to sit up and take his own shirt off, haphazardly throwing it somewhere on the floor.

he loved to lay back in between your legs, his larger hands cupping your thighs and throwing them over his shoulder as he looked up at you, and you swore you could’ve came just from the sight alone.

your boyfriend, laid in between your thighs and looking like he was about to devour you whole.

-

“leon!”

your name rolls off his lips like a prayer, a mantra, to any god out there for your boyfriend to take mercy on your poor, aching—yet totally drenched—cunt.

he’s been between your thighs for a good hour, his large, warm hands wrapped under your thighs and digging into the plush fat of them on top, forcefully holding you against him.

he doesn’t want you escaping.

not when he’s devouring you so deliciously.

he groans quietly against your cunt, the sound reverberating throughout your entire bones as you squirm slightly under his hold. your body feels on fire; the heat from his tongue creating an inferno of pleasure that threatens to burn you alive.

then, that lovely thread of pleasure begins to weave and coil within your abdomen, your muscles contracting and retracting rapidly as you choke out whines.

“good girl,” he groans and instinctively, you reach your hands down to fist your hands through leon’s hair and tug him closer, eliciting a small groan from him as you sob.

“leon— leon, ‘m close—” you hiccup, thrashing a little underneath his intense ministrations.

“come f’me, pretty girl,” he murmurs against you, his tongue flicking and devouring you so nicely, it makes your back arch and your eyes roll into the back of your head.

then, you tumble head first over the edge; your orgasm engulfing your entire body and tensing your muscles as you cry out babbles and incoherent sentences, yet, you don’t miss the way leon groans loudly against your cunt, and his body also tenses.

was he—?

your answer to that question is quickly answered as he rises up from the place between your legs, and you can see an obvious dark stain on his boxers, along with some cum slightly leaking out.

oh.

leon just chuckles at your reaction before leaning down to capture your lips in a gentle, soft kiss, pouring all of his love and appreciation for your body into it.

“love you,” he murmurs against your lips before laying down next to you, a small, satisfied smile on his face as he spoons you from behind, an arm lazily wrapping over your waist.

you hum in response, “love you too,” you mumble back before squealing quietly at the feeling of his soiled boxers pressing against your ass.

“leonnn,” you whine before huffing and shuffling away slightly, to which leon just lets out a low chuckle, tightening his hold around you as he pulls you closer.

“i’ll clean up in the morning,” he whispers, leaning over to gently kiss your shoulder, “right now i’m more focused on getting my pretty girl to sleep,”

a lazy smile spreads on your face as you sigh and just lean back into his embrace, his body heat slowly soothing you into a peaceful slumber.

before you fully drift off, however, you hear leon whisper a small, “sweet dreams, gorgeous.”

[jesuistrestriste]

cw (18+): sub!art, afab + femme!character, age gap, crying/dacryphilia, art being a sad and lonely hot guy in his forties, tashi and art never really got together, creampie

˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢

dilf!art getting with a pretty young thing from down the block. . .

he always admired her effortless confidence and the way her body moved when she walked down the street to the corner store every weekend.

always watched her return from his brownstone apartment window; a pack of cinnamon gum and a case of peach seltzer in her hands.

she’s beautiful and bouncy and everything he didn’t get to have in his youth when he was too sucked into tennis to let himself live a little. he lost tashi to patrick. that was that. and he never tried dating again until about ten or so years ago.

they were all flings that crashed and burned their way through his thirties. meaningless moments where all he was left with was a wet dick and a heaviness in his chest. he hated it. he was done with it.

until her.

she was different.

she sparked a conversation with him one day when they ran into each other outside his doorstep. she was cracking jokes that only made her seem more intriguing because art didn’t understand the social context behind them— he was no longer hip and cool, he’d accepted it. but that, combined with the pop of her hip she did when she was making him laugh (not to mention the way she smacked her gum + batted her lashes when she smiled; all pearly whites) made him feel like even more of a creep.

but now she’s bouncing on his cock and gazing down at him while he gasps and squirms like a livewire underneath her.

they’ve only really known each other for a week and a half.

“say thank you, Artie,” she purrs, her hand tracing the spattered flush on his chest, “say it.”

he bucks his hips up as much as he can to meet her movements, and bites his lip hard enough to taste metal when his tip bumps her cervix.

“thank you, oh my god, thank you— thank you, thank you—! ha-aah-!”

he babbles; a broken record of whines and shaky moans. his throat hurts from all of the sounds being pulled from him when the most he’s talked all month has come from just a couple of boring, remote interviews about his athletic career.

and her, of course.

god, it’s all her..

he swallows and keens, and then his eyes are watering.

and then he’s sobbing. he’s choking on his tears and yet he’s still feeling the tight coil of warmth tense further and further and further-

“don’t cry,” she whispers, leaning down to kiss the wetness from his cheeks, her hips swiveling to ride him harder just as the first slimy blurt of his orgasm spills inside, “you’re a good boy, okay? you’re perfect… a total catch…”

she smells like candy. she’s wiping his tears now.

“oh fuck, thank you-uu—hnghh!”

art lifts his hips, his face crumpling with pleasure and sadness, before he yelps and his climax wipes him out. his whole body trembles as he feels his cock pulse and coat her pussy with gooey clots of his spend. he’s practically wheezing.

he grips onto her hips fiercely; like if he doesn’t squeeze hard enough she’ll just go *poof*, and then he’ll be alone again.

“.. ungh, ‘m sorry, im cumming inside you, im cumming, im so sorry,” he whimpers, the aftershocks leaving him feeling bare and weak. stripped of all of his armor. if he even had any left to begin with.

she kisses his shoulder gently, and then she’s dipping her glossy lips down to whisper right next to his ear. her dainty necklace chills his skin when it dangles from her body and meets his collarbone. she’s so close to him.

“don’t worry, Mr. Donaldson…

you’ll be a great daddy.”

[aerchivez]

𐙚 cuddle monster : ryomen sukuna !

synopsis : not much just cuddles and kisses

notes : i do not make the rules, he gives the best hugs ever!!

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

opening the door to his apartment, you immediately hear your boyfriend and his friends on call playing fortnite on ps5 since god knows when.

he doesn’t notice you enter the apartment so you went ahead and took a shower before heading to your bedroom where he was very seriously focused on building a fort.

“hi ryo, you busy?” his face immediately lights up upon seeing you. “hi baby, how was your day?” in his usual bravado laced voice that actually makes your knees weak every time you hear it after a long day like today.

you slowly slip into his arms facing the game he’s playing and he pulls you even closer to him using your head to rest his chin. you savour this moment as you breathe him in. he smells woody with a hint of citrus and…

“ryo. you used my shampoo again didn’t you?” he just smiled sheepishly and kissed your cheek several times. “you think you’re gonna get away with that? seriously i mean you smell hella good though so.”

good thing sukuna remembered to mute his microphone when he saw you enter the room, his friends will never let him see the light of day with this information.

“yeah, i love the smell. it reminds me of you.” now how can you stay mad at him? “what do you mean?”

“exactly what it means babe, i don’t know i always think about you and ‘smelling’ you comforts me.” you face sukuna and pepper his cheeks and his forehead with a lot of kisses.

sukuna bid farewell to his friends and put the controller down, he was just so cute. i mean if people saw him now, without his shirt on, they’d probably run away from his intimidating ass tattoos but he’s literally just a baby.

your baby!!

“i missed you.” he says as he carries you to the bed cuddling you until you cannot actually breathe. “ryo, i cannot breathe!” you laugh uncontrollably.

times like these are just your favourites, just you and him, being in your own little world. it’s just such a lovely feeling.

[strwbrydreamz]

ㅤ─ Baking with Mydei is such a fun and silly thing you both enjoy doing together , after all it's not often you both get to spend time together and do things such as this so anytime you both bake together , you make sure to cherish it deep within your heart.

Cookies , cupcakes , muffins , you name it ! If you want any type of dessert Mydei will make it for you , he'll even ask you to help him ( not that he needs it , but he enjoys it when your close to him ! ) you both laugh with each other as you make the batter together ( Mydei watched you the whole time just to make sure you wouldn't mix up the salt with the sugar like last time. . . )

When it comes time to eat the sweet treats you baked together , you both happily dig into the cupcakes you made only to immediately spit them out . As it turns out , even under Mydei's watchful gaze you still managed to mix up the salt with the sugar─making the cupcakes incredibly salty. . . Oh well you can still try again !!

ⵌ all writings on this blog belong to me @/strwbrydreamz, so don't copy, or repost on any other website.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Damian x reader but reader is a very awkward but kind person. they are awkward around people, hell this is their first relationship, and generally doesn’t receive good attention from others because of it. but he loves them despite it. i hope this makes sense

Graceless

Damian Wayne x Reader

wc: 2.2 K summary: Being in a Gala his father threw with your dear boyfriend. Also, sneaking out from it. warnings: literally so much fluff I threw up, no y/n used a/n: ThANKYOUSOMUCH FOR THE REQUEST OMG, literally such a cute idea, I hope I could write it as cute as you described it. Enjoy! (Divider)

»You're stiff. No need to be nervous, beloved.« Damian tells you quietly, hand on your back as he stays by your sidesince the beginning of this event. He had been trying to console you and let loose the entire time, having been nothing but patient with you. Sighing out, you look at him and attempt to relax your shoulders. You are not used to such Galas, being especially awkward now with so many people around. There is no reason why you said yes to this. Really, you've been dreading going here with him, but you also didn't want to mess up or make him upset by declining his request.

He looks to you as well, expression soft and understanding. You have no idea how you scored such a jackpot. But truth is, he thinks the same about you. Damian would be lying if he said he didn't find your slight awkwardness and shyness adorble. In fact, he cherishes it.

»We can go, get some fresh air, if you'd like.« You perk up at his suggestion, trying not to make it obvious that you would do anything to disappear for a moment.

»Sure.«

The crisp evening air winds past you, making your hair fly into various directions and you move your hands to unruffle your hair. This action only makes Damian's heart flutter even more, watching your every move while he stands beside you on the spacious balcony.

»What are you looking at?« He blinks out of his stare and looks away, rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly.

»Just enjoying the view.« Now it's your turn to look away, being mostly flustered by his attempt to flirt with you. »Thanks.« You manage to mumble out, earning a soft chuckle from him. It makes you a little confused for a moment before you realise that it may have sounded slightly out of place. How else are you supposed to react to flirting? What was there even to say in general?

»Oh, you are so cute...« In the next moment, you are pulled into his arms, a hug if you will. There are rare moments for Damian to let loose and be affection, but with you it comes naturally. He can't help but always want to squeeze you tightly in his arms every time you are being more adorble than he thought you can be. You return the hug and melt into it shortly after, loving how dreamy the mix of his cologne smells like, wanting to drown in it.

Soon, the chatter from the Gala becomes louder for a moment, followed up with a click of a door before it becomes more quiet again. »Gremlin, B wants to see you. He doesn't want you sneaking out again.« You recognise the voice to be one of his brother's, glancing behind your shoulder to see Tim. You are getting better at their names.

Damian groans and reluctantly lets go from around you, leaving you alone on the balcony for now as he goes to his father to discuss something. Not that he cares, really.

As your alone, you settle on leaning your hands against the cold railing and looking out to the cityscape. It always amazes you at how big and shiny Gotham looks like from the Wayne Manor, the river that goes around the city makes it look even more stunning. The cool wind goes past you once again, this time not as aggressive as before. It helps you cool down from the social gathering, finally having some alone time, even when you would prefer it with Damian.

You focus on the calm stream of the river, not noticing more people pile onto the balcony. Soon enough, you feel someone tap your shoulder which makes you turn around. Dick? It is Dick, right? Damian didn't trick you?

»There you are! Enjoying the evening? I hope we didn't scare you off or anything.« He chuckles lightly, hoping to get to know his youngest brother's girlfriend more without him interrupting every other sentence. You only saw his brother's one time when they invited you to a dinner, and Damian didn't let anyone talk to you for more than fifteen seconds. Not that he was jealous, he was just really annoyed with how teasing and stupid they are, which only makes you more shy around them.

»No, not at all. It's nice.« You respond back in an attempt to come off as relaxed and totally not awkward around him, hating the fact that it's most likely not working. But Dick is polite enough not to mention it.

»I see. You know, Damian can get really grumpy at times.« He starts and leans against the railing beside you, a rather amused smile on his face.

»How do you keep up with that?«

You never expected this question and you have no idea how to respond to this at all. Or is he messing with you? He definitely is with how light he is talking about it.

»Um... well, he is not as grumpy all the time.« You smile back in response as best as possible, making the man beside you laugh a little. It's a mystery for the whole family on how he got a sweet girlfriend like you. You don't seem to talk too much around them, getting out of your shell only sometimes when they directly talk to you. And even then, you still seem more reserved.

»Hm, I have that different in mind. Maybe he is- « He can't finish his sentence as he gets punched behind his back, making him gasp for air and turn around confused.

»Who- «

»Father wasn't even looking for me, what are you doing here?« Damian steps away from Dick and goes to your side, placing his hand around your back like before.

His brother quickly recovers and purses his lips, trying to come up with a quick excuse.

»I was just talking to her! I wasn't even trying to interrogate her or something...« Damian rolls his eyes, wordlessly dragging you back inside the Gala to escape the antics of his brother.

As you're walking away, you glance behind your shoulder and give the other an apologetic smile, hoping you didn't upset his brother. He luckily doesn't seem as upset and just gives you a thumbs up in response, flashing you a shiny smile in return.

»I apologise, they can tend to be a pain in the ass. He didn't try to ask you something stupid, right?« He tilts his head at you lightly, still walking through the Gala and out the hallway to escape this place all together.

»No! No, just...« You answer back, trying to explain to him briefly what your small conversation was about, »uh... he talked about the weather. And stuff.«

He doesn't buy it at all and just gives you an unimpressed look, waiting for you to spill the truth. »Okay, he did ask me about your grumpiness. And how I keep up with you.« You sigh out, biting your inner cheek as you watch his reaction. He is rather amused and shakes his head, tugging you along outside with him.

»Don't mind him... he is stupid.« He mumbles back, reassuring you while wrapping his arm around your waist fully. You both exit the building and make your way to your usual hang out spot near the river, liking the way the moon reflects against the water. The sky is clear, giving you an even more pleasing view. You both walk to a nearby bench and sit down, getting a brief chill down your spine at the cool wood. Damian, ever the oberserver, shrugs his jacket off and drapes it over you shoulder before pulling you close again and relaxing with you.

The close proximity and comfort makes your cheeks flare up, being glad it's dark enough so he doesn't see it. Either way, your subtle reaction of sighing out made it clear you enjoy this.

The comfortable silence is something you both adore, being able to be relaxed and calm with just the other's presence. You don't need to say something to the other or do anything, happily being leaned against his side like that. You don't need to worry about being weird for fidgeting with your hands in your lap. There is nothing you need to worry about or be afraid with him, being the only person you trust with yourself. At first, it didn't seem like he liked you at all before you started dating. But it turns out that he was just trying to mask his feelings in front of you. He noticed you in his class every day and just couldn't help but feel drawn to you. It was scary, but soon learned how to approach you and quickly realised you were probably more cute than he thought you are. All that pining came to an end once you both started to date, but it surely didn't stop entirely.

You sometimes forget that you can be affectionate with him because in your mind, it's still hard to believe that you two are an actual couple. Like now, you finally realise it again and want to do something together with him. Not just sit around and stare at the lake.

»Can we walk around?« He looks at you, not really having expected this suggestion. But who is he to say no to you? He'd be a fool to deny you anything.

»You mean take a walk? Of course we can.«

With his jacket around your shoulders, you both walks side-by-side by the lake and don't talk much again. Neither fo you mind, once more. Damian takes a few steps away from you, making you stop and stand while watching him approach something a bit further away. You uncertain of what to do but decide on standing on your spot and wait for him to come back. He rips something out from the ground apparently, being lightly amused from the sight. Eventually, he returns to you with a small smile, basically skipping up to you again.

He hands you a smaller boquet of white, wild flowers, making you smile even more at how sweet his gesture is. There is no reason for him to pick up some flowers for you, but he still did.

You take the boquet from him happily, unsure of what to say but really grateful for the few flowers he gave you just now.

»You like them?« Without thinking too much, you nod quickly and hug him tightly.

»Yes... thanks. It's sweet.« Was that enough to express your gratitude? You really hope so, but you also feel a rush of affection wash over you as you both hug.

»Not as sweet as you.« He murmurs back and nuzzles his nose against your hair, making you feel even more flustered than before.

»Why do you always say something like this?« Damian smiles against your hair and squeezes your wasit softly in his arms, speaking into the top of your head.

»You don't like it? I can stop.« Of course, that makes you react even more. You quickly shake your head and lean off him to look into his eyes. The subtle shine of the moon makes your blush more apparent for him.

»No! I-I mean, just... you're making this more difficult.« You manage to mumble out before averting your gaze towards the water, huffing out defeated. His expression softens and he gently puts his hand over your cheek, carefully making you look back to him.

»Or maybe you are just need to learn how to deal with flirting.« He teases lightly, stroking his thumb over your cheekbone in a gentle manner.

This just made you blush more, pouting at him. He can't help but find this even more adorble, feeliing a little bad for teasing you. »Sorry... didn't mean to sound rude.«

You don't want him to feel bad on the other hand and shake your head, leading you to lean you head more into his hand. »No, I... probably need to learn how to deal with it. You're right.«

You both smile at this and silence falls above you, just studying each other's eyes in the moonlight, getting lost in the proximity of the warm hug.

Finally, his thumb brushes over you lower lip, hand still cupping your soft cheek. His eyes rake over your face, getting stuck on your lips and you feel your heart speed up at the realisation. Leaning in slowly, your free hand supports you on his chest, other arm still around his neck with the small boquet of flowers in it.

After hesitating just for a moment, you press your lips against his own and he could swear he feels a firework errupt in his chest and entire body. He kisses you back without a second thought, pulling you flush against him with his hand by your waist. You're unsure who breaks the kiss first, but you are left a flushed mess in his arms. And he finds it cute all over again. Your slight awkwardness never made him feel annoyed or anthing like that. He's not like most people, he is more patient and sweet with you. Damian doesn't hate that you need a little more time for affection, he doesn't feel worried over you uncertain moves. He is more than happy to guide you through it and show you how to love yourself and express your feelings more freely.

»You are... gripping me a bit too hard.« you break the silence first, a rather sheepish expression on your face as you wait for him to stop gripping your waist so much. He snaps out of his stare and replaces his hand onto your back.

»Sorry... got carried away.« He scoffs lightly, being the one being sheepish now.

a/n: I never felt myself cringe so hard before while writing, but I also tried to make it as believeable and cutesy as possible. Hope you enjoyed it though!

←MASTERLIST

[ctrl-alt-bucky]

Simon Riley being unexpectedly routine with everything he does, which in turn makes you more routine.

Simon Riley who was so used to chaos and uncertainty that when he finally had time to settle off duty, he was only able to feel a purpose through repeating his little daily tasks.

Simon Riley who inadvertently encourages you to take better care of yourself because of course you have to brush your teeth at night with him before bed and of course you need to eat breakfast at the table at the same time every morning and why wouldn't you join him on his evening walks every night at 6pm.

Simon Riley who can't help but feel a crushing lack of presence when you're not around some nights, only because you're not there to join him and make his routines "complete." </3

[m1stm3]

now playing…

from the start by laufey

↺ |◁ II ▷| ♡

teen! satoru x reader

wrote this on a whim teehee!!! i hope yall like it >:3

cw’s!!: fluffff!!!, puppy love, oblivious teens, just all cutesy feelings :3

wc: 584 (yayyy!!)

“i dunno, satoru… you don’t think this is a bit… much?”

your words are soft compared to the blood rushing in satorus ears, almost muffled as if you were speaking underwater.

“wh-what do you mean?”

his words leave him in a barely there squeak, his shoulders drawn up tense like he was about to flinch at his own words. he didn’t even have the time to act collected.

“i just- you dont think this is a little mean? anyone else would be heartbroken if you were to do this to them…” your shoulders slump slightly while you speak, your eyes still fixed to the pretty letter you held between your fingers.

it was so cliche you could’ve gagged. a note passed in class, a set meeting spot after school, and a blush pink envelope sealed with a little red heart (don’t forget the several digimon stickers that adorned both the envelope and the contents inside). you felt like a protagonist in a romance anime that you would’ve squealed over in the late hours of the night.

“mean?” he would’ve been confused if his mind wasn’t going a thousand miles an hour, but right now he was only questioning himself. he can admit, he kinda blacked out a little while writing out the sweet note, but even suguru was surprised with how genuine it sounded! not to mention that he read over it at least ten times before finally committing to sealing it! and the courage it took to ask you to meet with him-

“it’s just… this is really far even for you. i know you and suguru like to tease me sometimes and it’s usually funny but-“

oh.

you thought it was a joke.

“wh- NO!” if you were a meaner person you would’ve teased him about how bad his voice cracked, but you only looked up at him with wide eyes and a look of bewilderment.

“‘no’?”

“no. nonononononono-“ he’s shaking his head so adamantly he honestly might give himself whiplash (it almost looks like you told him he had a bug in his hair or something) and you only notice the fierce redness on his cheeks when he stops with his jerky movements.

“it’s not a joke i promise- i really meant everything i wrote in the letter.” his words are frenzied, like he was expecting you to walk away if he didn’t explain quickly enough.

you pause for a few beats.

“ah.” nice going.

it only takes a few seconds of silence for him to start rambling again.

“shoko was pushing me to finally say something because she was getting sick of me talking about you all the time and i still wasn’t even gonna do it when she said that but then suguru said he was gonna set you up with nanami if i didn’t say anything so-“

and god he would’ve thought the soft press of your lips against his cheek was completely his imagination if he didn’t watch you stumble over your own feet slightly while pulling away.

you’re quick to recover and fleeing the scene as soon as you get the chance with a call of “text me later, okay?” over your shoulder. he doesn’t even know if you hear his small squeak of confirmation, but that doesn’t matter because you definitely hear the way the 6’2 teen squeals to himself when he thinks you’re out of earshot.

[bobucky]

missing ava hours . my babydoll i have such a soft spot for her shes so soft gf coded T_T

[hearts4werka]

My eyes slowly flutter open while the sunlight pools into my and Matthew's shared bedroom through the curtains over the windows as the morning hours strike, glancing at my current surroundings I see the form of sleeping Matthew next to me with his tattoed arm softly draped over my waist. I can't help but stare at his adorable sleeping face for a few minutes, pbserving and taking in his facial features shadowed by the sunlight occupying the space around us in the moment.

Turning my head to lay flat against the soft pillow sitting currently beneath my head, I stare at the ceiling and come up with an idea to prepare breakfast and since Nick and Chris will be arriving later today to visit before they both have to attend to some meetings regarding their brands, I havent been told much yet but hope to get slightly more educated when they do arrive.

I pull the duvet away from my body, ready to exit the bed and start my day but Matthew’s hand that was previously laying down on my waist tightens its grip and subconsciously pulls me closer into his chest, holding me captive as he slowly stirs awake himself and buries his face into my hair as I hear him mumble something into them but I can’t quite make out the words.

“What was that, sleepyhead?” I ask softly, taking my eyes away from the ceiling and now on him, noticing him slowly coming back to consciousness and waking up from his slumber.

“…five more minutes” He repeats more clearly for me to understand him this time in a slight whine, his face still buried in my hair as I notice him inhaling the scent of them in that moment, still remaining half asleep and not fully awake yet.

When the words ‘five more minutes’ in that whiny tone from sleepy Matthew, knowing very well that in his state right now im not getting far with this conversation so I just chuckle under my breath at how clingy he's being and especially in the morning. Accepting my faith I place a soft kiss on his forehead and snuggle further into his chest, giving into his wishes.

“Only five more minutes, after that I gotta get up. Okay?” I clarified, glancing over at him to make sure he understands me but the only answer I receive is a groan of approval. Nodding his head against the top of my head as he softly pulls me impossibly closer into his chest as he can.

“I love you.” I whisper against his chest as I feel a smile growing on his face thats cuddled up into my hair, our bodies melting together as heat radiates off them and transfers them to the other persons skin, making it slightly tingle.

“Love you too.” He muttered as we continued to cuddle up against each other, suddenly I feel a hand starting to tickle me in ticklish places on my body. Out of instinct my body jerks away from the hand, while Matthew giggles under his breath and continuing his tickle assault.

The sudden tickles make me burst out in laughter as I return them, poking at his chest and starting to tickle him as well. Both of us end up as two laughing messes on the bed after only a few minutes passing by, I adore mornings like these with Matthew laughing next to me.

@hearts4werka

authors note: just a random blurb I wrote today in class out of boredom and while writing the drug dealer Chris fic and I might make it like three parts or two bc I’m writing their meeting rn and I don’t want it to be very long since the first part is already longer that I thought it would be so just say if y’all want it to be two parts of nah, luv y’all so much

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