#so i decided to do this... better than nothing

[dollyfiles]

pulling off fwb!rafe’s condom during sex

cw: smut, fuck buddies dynamic, p in v, first protected then unprotected sex, creampie, praise, explicit language

“rafe—” you gasped, the back of your head thudding against the pillow as he drove into you, hard and fast, the bed creaking beneath you with every sharp thrust. your hands gripped his shoulders like you were holding on for dear life, nails dragging down his back, a broken moan falling from your lips. “fuck—don’t stop—”

he didn’t. couldn’t. not with the way you were clinging to him like you needed him inside you just to breathe. sweat slicked skin, hair sticking to his forehead, jaw clenched as he tried to keep control, but it was slipping. you made it impossible.

being friends with benefits with rafe cameron meant wild and relentless sex. morning, day, and night. and even when you felt like it couldn’t get any better, there always was this little five percent missing to make it absolutely perfect.

it was this damn rubber that was wrapped tightly around his thick shaft, always keeping that little percentage hidden inside, and waking your curiosity like nothing else.

it was a mutual decision when you both started this little arrangement, of course it was, at least you thought so. rafe on the other hand would’ve loved to just toss that little annoying thing out the window at any given chance.

not that he didn’t care. oh he cared. more than anyone else, that’s why he decided to agree in the first place. just for you and your comfort. and of course you didn’t know that once you guys started hooking up, he went and didn’t dare touch another woman.

not because you two were something exclusive, no. he simply didn’t want to. you were already giving him everything he needed, even if things were just casual. so now, with rafe hitting something deep inside you, you couldn’t help but want more.

you were totally soaked, clenching around him, but your expression said it still wasn’t enough. his hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider. the slap of skin echoed through the room, mingling with your breathy moans and the rough rasp of his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

that’s when you stilled beneath him, your thighs tightening around his hips to stop his movements. “pull out.” you demanded and rafe froze mid-thrust, blinking down at you, chest rising fast. “what?” his voice cracked with confusion, panic flickering in his eyes.

“just—” your voice was ragged, pupils blown wide, lips swollen. you were panting, shaking, like your body was on fire. “just do it.” rafe couldn’t help but feel his heart stutter as he pulled back, chest heaving in disappointment. “did i—?”

“no,” you breathed, shaking your head, your hair clinging to your damp forehead. your hand slid between you, fingers curling around the base of his cock. he hissed through his teeth, nearly losing it right then and there. “it’s just—” you looked up at him, eyes blazing. “i want more.”

leaning up, you kissed him hard, tongue brushing his lip before whispering into his mouth, “i want you raw, rafe.” for a long moment rafe didn’t move, he was too stunned, until you started rolling the condom off his cock yourself.

it was slow and deliberate, watching his face the whole time. your fingers were slick, trembling just a little, but your touch was confident, and god if that didn’t undo him. the thin rubber slid off inch by inch, and you tossed it somewhere into the room, reaching for him again like you were starving.

“come on,” you whispered, voice wrecked and dripping with want. “please let me feel you.” and then, without hesitation, he grabbed your hips, dragging you down the bed, and slammed back into you with a raw, guttural groan. you both swore at the same time, almost relieved.

the difference was immediate. no barrier. no distance. your bare cunt hit him like a punch to the gut. it was even wetter and tighter and so much more. you cried out beneath him, hands flying to his back, holding onto him like a vice.

you could feel every single vein of his cock, every time his tip nudged your cervix without any protection. you were soaking him, wrapping around him, dragging him in. “jesus—” he growled against your throat, teeth grazing your skin. “you feel—fuck—you feel unreal.”

you wrapped your legs higher around him, clawing at his back, pulling him deeper, rougher, harder. “don’t stop,” you begged, your voice cracking. “don’t you fucking stop.”

his rhythm turned brutal, desperate, the kind of pace where none of you cared if the neighbors heard. you met every thrust with a needy whimper, the whole bed shaking as your fingers tangled in his hair, dragging him in for a kiss that was all tongue and teeth.

he slammed into you again and again, chasing that sweet spot, chasing your moans, like he’d die if he couldn’t get more. you were already falling apart under him, body arching, hands scrambling for anything to hold onto.

“i can’t—i’m gonna—” your voice broke off in a gasp, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent cry. “cum for me,” he growled against your ear, hips snapping faster. “fuck, baby, cum on me.”

and you did. your whole body locked around him like you were pulling him down with you, your poor cunt clenching around him hard that it triggered his own release, hot and overwhelming. he buried himself in you with a rough groan, the feeling of his hot seed inside you making you moan out as your orgasm rolled over you.

both of you collapsed at the same time, panting, completely wrecked, skin slick and sticky with sweat. your legs stayed locked around him, his face buried in your neck, both of you shaking from the aftershocks.

“that,” you whispered hoarsely, barely able to speak, “was so much better.” rafe laughed, breathless and fucked out, brushing a kiss over your chest. “you think we’re done?”

you just smirked, still catching your breath but fingers already sliding slowly down his stomach, teasing his cock again. “i fucking hope not.”

tags: @inbred-eater @dearapril @isasweetie @rafessecret @littlelamy @bradshawed @cherrygirlfriend @trusweethrt @inspiredangel @et6rnalsun @bluemerakis @nemesyaaa @rafekisser @deansbeer @ditzyrafe @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lacyydollette @drewsephrry @angvl3tears @rotapathetic @raahosh

[notsomeoneyouknow]

There you go. Took me a while, but finally submitted my entry. When I planned doing this I didn't realize it's going to be hosted in itch.io and it's more serious than I thought, so when I found that out I decided that I had to have a "real" itch.io page before I submit anything, lol.

This is my first "big" game. I'm actually still unhappy about it, but this month is surprisingly busy, so I thought any submission is better than nothing. Maybe when I'm less busy I'll put a v2.

Making the Werewolf: The Forsaken/Wisher, Theurgist, Fatalist situation worse on purpose by running a game jam whose only rule is that each submission's title must abbreviate to "WTF".

[dykeriver]

there’s just something about the concept of loser!ellie stumbling across your camgirl stream one day as she looks for something to… help her, if you know what i mean. mouth dropping a bit, eyes widening. she can’t get over the the soft flutter of your eyelashes through the slightly grainy camera quality, the curves of your body in your pretty, sheer babydoll lingerie. she can see your pert nipples through the material, and immediately she’s squeezing her thighs together. and ellie simply has nothing to say about the fact that she bookmarks the link to your site, keeping it in her private browser with a sheepish look on her face.

she starts watching at least one stream of yours a week, always ready with her hand shoved down her shorts, wet around her fingers as you dirty talk the camera about what you’d be doing to her (and your other 300 viewers) if you were there right now. it becomes this pathetic little crush after a while, to the point ellie is willing to spend her hard earned money (read as: money she got from getting into the top ten of a gaming tournament) on a solo call with you.

when you greet her, ellie’s mouth gapes like a fish out of water. her glasses fall down her face and a loose grey hoodie is pooling around her neck. her eyes are wide as she takes in the sight of you, scanning her screen up and down. i’m no better than a man, ellie thinks to herself when her eyes get stuck on your breasts. “um,” she starts, “h-hey.”

“hey yourself,” you smile, unfazed. “what’s your name?”

“uhhhm,” ellie says again, this time trailed out a little longer and even more awkward than before. “uh… ellie.” she averts her eyes, looking everywhere except the screen. ellie picks at the sleeve of her hoodie, staring down at it to avoid looking at you again. and she’s so shy as she responds to all your questions about why she decided to book an appointment, prominent pink blush showing even through her blurry camera

and poor ellie is just so inexperienced, and so damned cute — she’s never even been talked through it by another person. she hides her face in her hands when you ask to take care of her; when you offer to talk her through an orgasm. “i’ll make you feel so good, pretty thing,” you sing promises to her, “like nobody else ever has before.” and already at this point you can’t deny it, she’s starting to get to you, too, with those wide puppy eyes and cute little button nose. the genuine awh in which she looks at you. it makes you feel fucking powerful.

sooner or later you’ll have convinced her to have taken off her pants and boxer shorts, leading ellie’s hand between her slender thighs with your words alone. “wh-what do you want me to do next?” she whispers, voice thick and choked up. and you tell her to keep touching herself, just how she likes. to slide a finger in if she wants, but to imagine it’s you doing it. and the moment ellie pushes her fingers into her pussy, you can tell. her jaw goes slack in relief, a sweet little oh! escapes those soft pink lips.

“yeah…” you murmur, “that’s it, ellie. take my fingers like the sweet, obedient girl you are.”

ellie straight up gasps at this, fucking into herself faster, harder. “keep… keep talking,” she pleads abashedly. ellie looks so needy, so fucking erotic that your cunt clenches around nothing. so you obviously do, you don’t think you’d be able to not give this sweet girl what she wants. you tell her all about how pretty she is, how handsome. how perfect she is, and how well she’s doing for you. you call her your girl, your sweet girl. and when she whimpers out i’m close, hushed and overwhelmed, you tell her to let go for you. you tell her to cum around your fingers, to get them and her pussy all messy.

you… may or may not give her your personal phone number by the end of the call.

[cinnamon7girl7]

"WHAT'S MINE IS YOURS"

Being married to Satoru Gojo didn’t just mean sharing a bed, a house, or a last name. It meant sharing your life with someone who loved you absurdly — someone who never understood, and never will understand, the concept of boundaries.

You had your own missions.

Your cursed technique.

A well-built life long before you ever met him.

But from the moment you stepped into his world, Satoru decided that no part of you would ever be alone again. Not your exhaustion. Not your hunger. Not even your most simple little preferences.

The first time you said your feet hurt after a mission, a week later you had a high-tech imported massage chair with a smart footrest and a robe with your name embroidered on it.

One night, he canceled a meeting with his clan elders just to come back home, crawl into bed with you, and wrap his arms around you.

—The only urgent thing on my schedule is you —he whispered, without even taking off his coat.

His gestures were constant, subtle... and sometimes incredibly ridiculous.

Other times, if he found out you’d had a rough night, he’d wake you up with a breakfast cooked by private chefs in his kitchen.

Once, he spent over six million dollars just so you could see snow on your birthday for the first time… in the middle of August.

He had an entire climate-control system installed at one of his properties in Dubai, imported realistic artificial snow from Japan, and had a fake alpine village built in the garden.

The team helping him included meteorologists, movie set designers, and a group of dancers dressed as penguins who showed up at the end with an igloo-shaped cake.

—You said you wanted “pretty snow, like in the movies” —he told you with a proud grin, while you cried in your thermal robe and bunny-ear slippers.

—And I want every birthday of yours to be better than the last. So… get ready.

If he noticed you were quiet or down, he would shut down five floors of a luxury shopping mall just so you could walk around in peace, no crowds, no noise.

—The world’s being annoying today, babe. So no world. Just you… and the window displays —he’d say, carrying your bags like they weighed nothing.

Sometimes he even paid millions so that an amusement park would open just for the two of you for one night. Not because you loved the rides… but because you told him you’d never been to one as a kid. That night, he let you ride the Ferris wheel a thousand times, just to see you laugh.

And if he noticed you were happy… he gave you even more reasons to be.

Once, he hired Chanel’s head designer to make you a custom dress in less than 24 hours, just because you said “nothing I have fits for tonight’s dinner.”

Another time, he decorated an entire room just because he heard you say “I need a space just for me.” You didn’t say anything when you saw the library with new shelves, the aroma diffuser, the soft blanket on the perfect chair. You just hugged him.

—You deserve to be comfortable. Always. I don’t like that you’re unhappy in our little home because… I want to give you that. All of it —he said.

By “little home” he meant, of course, his modest three-story mansion with a Japanese garden, heated pool, and a walk-in closet that looked like it came out of a fashion magazine.

Because for him, the size of the place didn’t matter if you didn’t feel at peace there. And if that meant gifting you an entire tower just for yourself, he would do it again without hesitation.

Not even when he replaced all the chairs in the private cinema because you once mentioned that velvet irritated you. The next day, the furniture was soft leather, with cashmere blankets and a sound system that made you feel inside the movie.

Not even when he ordered croissants from Paris, flown in by private jet, because you joked that “nothing tastes the same since I came back from my trip.”

You didn’t question it when he planted a whole garden of flowers that only bloom at night, you said nothing. He just took your hand one early morning and led you outside, under the moon, to show it to you.

Or when he had a perfume made that smelled exactly like your freshly washed hair. He didn’t tell you. He just wore it one night when he had to travel, and when you hugged him, you felt your own scent wrap around you like an invisible ribbon.

Not even when he reserved a planetarium just for the two of you and rearranged the constellations to spell your name.

—Because there’s no star I find more beautiful than you, darling —he said, in a voice so soft you almost didn’t hear him.

And he meant it.

Not out of obligation, but as a personal desire —and you knew you couldn’t stop him. Not even when he bought you 10 identical pairs of Louboutin heels just because “he didn’t know which color you liked more.”

Not even when he bought a private island just because you said you wanted to “sunbathe without hearing people talking nearby.” He furnished the whole place in two days, with exclusive chefs, an endless bar, and a 3-meter-wide bed just so you could sleep like a queen.

And much less when he installed a heating system in your studio because you said, half asleep, “I hate when my feet get cold while I’m working.”

One night, while the city lights shone through the tall windows of his office, Satoru was reviewing papers with a half-finished glass beside him.

His phone vibrated on the desk. He answered without hurry, without even looking at the number.

—Gojo?

—Mr. Gojo, good evening —said the voice on the other end—. We’re calling to confirm a transaction attempting to process from your joint account with Mrs. Gojo. The amount is four million seven hundred thousand dollars. Do you authorize it?

He smiled, leaning back in his chair.

—Of course I do.

—Are you sure?

—If she’s the one buying it, don’t even ask me.

And he hung up with that calm of his, as if approving a multimillion-dollar purchase was as easy as breathing.

Because for Satoru, it didn’t matter what it was. If it was for you, it was always worth it.

One afternoon you came back from an exhausting mission. Everything hurt, you didn’t want to talk, just sleep.

But when you opened the door, you found something that left you speechless.

Lilies.

White lilies. Blue lilies. Oriental lilies, in big and small vases, marble flower pots, crystal bowls, and even in a teacup on the table.

There were petals on the stairs, tall stems in the corners, bouquets gently swaying with the breeze from the open windows.

The scent was delicate, enveloping. Familiar.

You walked among them with wide eyes, your heart racing, as if you had been transported to another world. In every corner, a small note:

“Here I took your hand for the first time.” “Here I realized I never wanted to let go.” “Here I knew you were my home.”

Satoru appeared at the end of the hallway. Smiling, without glasses, messy hair, wearing a light blue shirt half unbuttoned.

—Happy anniversary of the first “click” —he said—. I don’t remember what we ate that day… but I perfectly remember how your hand fit in mine.

And since then, I haven’t stopped wanting to repeat it.

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

So you did the only logical thing: you threw yourself into his arms, among lilies, among notes with memories, and surrounded by the scent of a kind of love money can’t buy.

He held you like always: as if you were the only thing he’d ever let fall.

I’ll be posting a long feed about Streamer!Gojo tomorrow, so hope you enjoy this one for now!

[hawkinsbnbg]

Steve had this kind of stray puppy thing going on that Wayne was reluctant to give him a shovel talk. And he didn't even do anything! All he did was sat there with his perfect posture—straight back, hands politely folded on his lap, big earnest eyes, and calm breathing. He was all good-mannered and nervous smiles, which was both annoying and endearing.

Now, Wayne wouldn't call himself soft or lenient when it came to securing his nephew's happiness. But maybe, he'd mellowed out because of old age. Or maybe, he'd seen how Steve always brought out the best of Eddie, making him the kind of man that Wayne was proud of.

Either way, Wayne didn't have the heart to threaten Steve with something truly malicious, so he just skipped right over it and ended the talk with a well practiced stern look that made the Harrington boy cower just fine.

Later that night, when Eddie came home with a goofy, lovesick smile, Wayne couldn't help but ask, "Anyone given ya the talk, yet?"

"What talk?" Eddie plopped down beside him on the couch and took a long swig from the bottle of Guinness he'd just retrieved from the fridge. A metaphorical lightbulb went off above his head when Wayne gave him a raised brow. "Ah yes, The Talk. 'Course. I'd be offended if they didn't!"

Wayne hummed and continued nursing his lukewarm beer while watching the TV, ignoring Eddie's curious look that slowly turned mischievous.

"What? I just left you guys alone for fifteen minutes and you already adopted him?"

"He's your boyfriend, Ed, not some stray," Wayne responded gruffly, but Eddie could easily hear the exasperation in his flat tone.

"Jesus," Eddie cackled, slapping his knee as if he couldn't believe it. "You're worse than Hopper, old man!"

This time, Wayne just stopped pretending to not care and smirked at his nephew's nativity.

"Ya really think it took that man longer than me?"

Eddie paused and let out a gasp, eyes widening as realization dawned on him.

"He threatened to hunt me down if I dare to hurt Steve." Eddie slapped his forehead. "No way it'd take him months to adopt baby Steve on sight!"

Wayne nodded, not so smugly. "Now you're talkin'."

He'd eat his pickup truck if Hopper didn't also immediately yield under those puppy eyes. The Harrington might not be the best kind of people, but Wayne had to admit that their son was a sweet soul with a big heart. No thanks to them, of course.

"Anyway," Eddie smirked, nudging at his shoulder teasingly. "You're not distracting me from the fact that you consider Steve family now."

Wayne shrugged, unbothered. Family was family. He'd lived long enough to know it had nothing to do with blood relation.

"'Course, he's your boy."

And though neither of them said it aloud, they both agreed that Steve had been a Munson since the day he saved Eddie's life and continued to make it better with his presence alone.

"Thank you," Eddie said softly a moment later when they were about to go to bed.

The only good thing that came out of the whole 'earthquake' incident was their new apartment, which was afforded by the government's compensation money. And even so, if Wayne was allowed to choose again, he'd rather they still lived in their shoebox of a trailer than watch his nephew suffer from blatant PTSD that none of the kids were willing to talk about and this town's blind hatred.

"He makes you happy and you love him. That's what matters to me." Wayne shrugged, ignoring Eddie's blush and sputtering N– No, I'm not!

Before Eddie could try to argue against a moot point, the phone rang and he sprinted toward it to snatch the receiver up as if fearing it'd disappear otherwise.

"Hey, sweetheart," Eddie said breathlessly, looking far too smitten for someone who'd just refused to admit he was in love.

Shaking his head, Wayne decided to leave his nephew be for now. The way he saw it, Eddie wouldn't be able to hold back for long. Not with someone like Steve Harrington.

[lazy-ahh]

hihihi I love your work, can you do a omni mark x a hero make reader

COLD HANDS, WARM HEART

pairing omni! mark grayson x (superhero) male reader

winter always made your bones ache. the cold seeped into old scars, the silence pressed too close, and patrols felt longer without someone to share the quiet with. until him—until mark, with his sharp edges and sharper tongue, started showing up uninvited. until his cape became your blanket, his gloved hands your warmth, and his presence the one thing that made the cold feel worth enduring.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro , @cynvia

the winter air bites at your skin, sharp and unrelenting as you perch on the edge of the rooftop, your breath curling in front of you in hazy puffs of white. you watch the mist dissolve into the night, fleeting, like so many things in this city. below, the streets pulse with life—neon signs painting the snow-dusted sidewalks in streaks of pink and gold, laughter spilling out from packed bars, couples huddled close under shared scarves. your gaze lingers on a family of four, the parents tugging their kids along, their cheeks flushed from the cold, their laughter bright and unburdened. something warm flickers in your chest despite the chill.

you hate winter. always have. it’s too quiet in the worst ways, too full of memories that cling like frost—cold hospital rooms, the hollow silence after sirens, the way grief settles like snow, heavy and suffocating. but nights like this? they make it worth it. if braving the cold means people get to go home safe, if it means kids get to keep laughing like that, then you’ll freeze on this rooftop every damn night.

stretching your arms above your head, you roll your shoulders, wincing as the cold stiffens your muscles. patrol’s been quiet tonight. too quiet. either a good sign or the calm before the storm.

"you’re slower than usual."

the voice cuts through the silence, smooth as ice, and you don’t even flinch. you’ve gotten used to him appearing out of nowhere—like a shadow given sentience, like the winter itself decided to take shape behind you. your lips quirk into a grin before you even turn around, your breath still fogging the air between you.

"or maybe you’re just getting faster," you shoot back, twisting to face him with a playful tilt of your head.

mark stands there, arms crossed, his red cape barely stirring in the frozen air. the black lenses of his mask give nothing away, but you don’t need to see his eyes to know he’s studying you—that slight tilt of his chin, the way his mouth twitches, just barely, like he’s caught between annoyance and something dangerously close to fondness.

you grin wider, just to see if you can pull that expression out of him again.

"doubtful," he says, but there’s no real bite to it—just that low, measured tone that always makes you want to poke at him until it cracks.

you hop down from the ledge, landing in a crouch before springing up lightly in front of him. the snow crunches under your boots as you straighten, already grinning, your breath a visible puff between you. "what, did you miss me?" you tease, leaning in just enough to invade his space—close enough to watch the way his mask tilts ever so slightly downward to track your movement. "couldn’t resist tagging along on my super thrilling patrol once again?" your voice lilts, all mischief, and you punctuate it with a wink, just to see if you can get a reaction. (you always can. it’s your favorite game.)

"i had nothing better to do," he replies, monotone as ever—but there it is, that tell: the faintest tilt of his head, the way his gloved fingers flex at his sides like he’s stopping himself from reaching out.

"uh-huh. sure. definitely," you draw out the word, slow and syrupy, just to watch his jaw tighten under the mask. you nudge his shoulder with yours as you pass, the contact lingering just a beat too long—his cape brushes against your arm, cold and smooth, but beneath it, you can feel the warmth of him. "well, since you’re here," you call over your shoulder, already breaking into a jog, "you can be my backup. try to keep up."

you don’t look back. you don’t need to. you already know he’s right behind you. you take off running, leaping across the gap to the next building. you don’t need to look back to know he’s right behind you—his presence is like a shadow, steady and inevitable.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

patrolling with mark is... different. not in the way it is with other heroes—no boisterous banter bouncing between fire escapes, no synchronized flips off billboards just for the thrill of it. when it was just you, nights were quieter, lonelier; just the hum of the city and your own breath fogging in the cold as you kept watch from shadowed ledges, a solitary guardian in the dark. you'd learned the rhythm of these streets alone—the way moonlight pooled in alleyways, the particular creak of that one fire escape on 5th, how silence could be either comforting or ominous depending on the hour.

but mark? he moves through the night like he owns it, all silent certainty and effortless power. he doesn't fill the spaces with jokes or pointless chatter, but his presence changes everything. where you used to weave through shadows, now you move through pools of streetlight unafraid. where silence used to sit heavy on your shoulders, now there's the quiet sound of his cape whispering against concrete when he lands beside you. he listens in that intense way of his—head tilted just so, like every word you say is being filed away somewhere important. and sometimes, when you say something particularly ridiculous (usually mid-swing between buildings), you catch it: that tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth, the barest hint of a smirk he thinks the dark hides. (it doesn't.)

you stop a mugging with your usual flair (minimal property damage this time, a new personal best), help a swaying drunk guy who squints up at you with bleary reverence—"you're either a tall an' really ripped angel or i died at the bar. both?"—and even rescue a hissing ball of fluff from a tree.

mark observes it all with his arms crossed, the picture of detached amusement, right up until the moment the terrified feline decides his shoulder is the safest perch in the city. the way he goes perfectly still—back rigid, fingers twitching like he's calculating sixteen different ways to remove the creature without looking like he's fleeing—makes him resemble some ancient statue of a very confused, very murderous saint. you press your lips together so hard they tremble, shoulders shaking with silent laughter you can't quite contain.

"you're wasting time," he says, voice impressively level considering there's now a puffball of claws and fury draped across his shoulders like some bizarre living epaulet. you scratch the cat behind its ears, grinning when it starts purring loud enough to rival a motorcycle engine.

"it's called community service, markus," you croon, dragging out his name like it's some private joke between you. "look it up. chapter four: 'how to not be a grumpy hero 101'."

then, because you've never been able to resist poking the bear (especially when the bear is currently being used as a cat tree), you scoop up the feline and deposit it directly into his arms. the way he freezes is nothing short of art—hands held out like he's been handed a live grenade, shoulders hiking up toward his ears. the cat, sensing his utter lack of cat-holding expertise, takes exactly three seconds to scramble up his chest, use his face as a stepping stone, and plant itself triumphantly atop his head like some fuzzy, self-appointed crown.

you lose it. completely. your laughter bursts out bright and uncontained, head thrown back as you clutch at your sides. tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, and you're pretty sure you look ridiculous—bent double, one hand braced against your knee as you try (and fail) to catch your breath—but you can't bring yourself to care. not when mark is standing there like some bizarre holiday display, all sharp edges and simmering annoyance topped with the world's most self-satisfied cat.

and if you catch the way his mask can't quite hide the way his lips twitch, the way his shoulders lose just a fraction of their usual tension—if you notice how his gaze lingers on you a second too long, like he's memorizing the sound of your laughter, the crinkles by your eyes, the way your nose scrunches up when you're this unbearably happy—well. that just makes you laugh harder, until your ribs ache and your cheeks hurt and the cold night air feels warmer than it has any right to be.

"get it off," he says, voice eerily calm despite the fact that there's now a very smug cat sitting atop the terrifying omni-man successor like it's claimed its rightful throne. the feline kneads its paws against his scalp, purring loud enough to vibrate his mask, and you watch with absolute delight as one of his eyebrows twitches through the mask—the only crack in that perfect veneer of control.

your grin stretches wide enough to hurt, eyes sparkling with mischief as you whip out your phone with a flourish. "nah, i think it likes you," you sing-song, snapping a quick picture of the ridiculous scene. the camera click echoes between you, and you immediately angle the screen to admire your handiwork—mark, all brooding intensity, topped with a fluffy white cat that looks absurdly pleased with itself. "oh this," you declare, tapping at your screen with exaggerated importance, "is going in the hall of fame. right between that time you face-planted into a dumpster and that other time you face-planted into a dumpster."

"delete that." his voice drops into that dangerous register that makes lesser villains wet themselves, but you've never been lesser anything. not in mark's eyes. never in mark's eyes.

you pocket your phone with a wink, leaning into his space until you can see your own reflection in his dark lenses. "make me," you challenge, crossing your arms with all the bravado of someone who absolutely knows they're playing with fire.

he could, obviously. he's faster, stronger, and you're pretty sure he could vaporize your phone with just a glare if he really wanted to. but he doesn't. instead, he just stands there—a living statue of long-suffering patience—with the cat now grooming itself atop his head like it's settling in for the long haul. the way he exhales through his nose is nothing short of cinematic, his entire body radiating the energy of a man replaying every life choice that led him to this exact, undignified moment.

you can't help it—your expression softens into something unbearably fond, lips quirking at the corners as you take in the sight. there's something almost... soft about it, this terrifyingly powerful man letting you get away with this nonsense. your fingers itch to reach out, to brush away the strand of hair the cat has dislodged from its perfect place, but you settle for nudging his shoulder with yours instead, your smile turning warm and just a little bit smug. "alright, come on pretty boy," you murmur, "patrol ain't over yet."

his jaw clenches at the pet name. his chest rises with a breath that's just a fraction too deep, like he's physically holding back everything threatening to spill out—all those carefully guarded words and dangerous feelings that hover between you like static in the air before a storm. the cat ruins it with a dramatic sneeze that sends its whole body shuddering. somewhere in the distance, a siren wails its mournful song, the sound weaving through the city canyons to find you here, in this ridiculous, perfect moment where the most dangerous man you know stands frozen with a disgruntled feline perched on his head like some absurd crown. yep, perfect.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

later, when the city's finally settled into that rare pre-dawn hush and the sky bleeds from inky black to soft violet at the edges, you both find yourselves on your favorite rooftop—the one with the cracked concrete ledge that fits your backs just right, the one that frames the sunrise like it was put there just for you. you sink onto the familiar spot, legs swinging carelessly over the sixty-story drop, and after a beat of hesitation that's more habit than anything, mark folds himself down beside you with that unnatural grace of his.

"thanks for hanging out tonight," you say, bumping your elbow against his ribs with just enough force to make him grunt. your smile is all soft edges now, the playful bravado from earlier melted into something more genuine—lips quirking unevenly, eyes crinkling at the corners as you watch the first streaks of gold cut across his sharp profile. "even if you did complain the whole time."

"i didn't complain." his voice is its usual low rumble, but there's something different about it now—less polished, rough around the edges like he's been awake as long as you have.

you snort, leaning further into his space until your shoulders press together from elbow to elbow. "you exuded complaint. it was very loud." you can feel the vibration of his sigh through the contact, the way his muscles tense and release under your weight. "like, impressively loud. olympic-level silent bitching."

he gives you a quick glance, eyebrow lifting slightly before he looks back at the view in front of him. you almost chuckle. right, forgot about how 'swearing doesn't make you cool'. mark doesn't answer, but then—he doesn't need to. not when he shifts just slightly to accommodate your leaning, not when his cape rustles as he tugs it around your shoulders without being asked. the fabric is still warm from his body heat, carrying that faint ozone-and-leather scent that's become as familiar as your own. you let your head tilt against him, cheek pressing into the curve of his shoulder, and if your heart does something complicated in your chest when he doesn't pull away—well. that's between you and... you.

it's different like this. patrols alone had their own rhythm, sure—the quiet solidarity of watching over a sleeping city, the satisfaction of knowing you were enough to keep the darkness at bay. but with mark? the shadows don't just retreat; they reshape themselves around you both, like the night itself knows better than to interfere. there's safety in the way he moves with you, not behind or in front but beside, always beside, even when he pretends he'd rather be anywhere else.

(especially then.)

his mask is off now, discarded somewhere to your left, and when you sneak a glance up through your lashes, you catch the exact moment a sliver of sunlight paints across his face—gilding the stubborn set of his jaw, the dark sweep of his lashes, the barely-there quirk of his mouth that no one but you would ever think to call a smile.

yeah. you could get used to this.

"you're cold," he mutters, the words rough around the edges like gravel, but his thumb is already brushing over your knuckles—once, twice—as if he could chase the winter from your skin through touch alone.

"yeah, well," you laugh, breath clouding between you in a hazy puff, "not all of us have built-in space heater genes." your fingers flex instinctively toward his warmth, pink-tipped and stiff from the cold, and you don't miss the way his gaze drops to them, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

he huffs—a sound that's almost a laugh, almost surrender—and then, after a heartbeat suspended between you, his hand finds yours properly. his fingers slide between yours with a certainty that steals your breath, his grip firm and steady like an unspoken promise. his palm is furnace-hot against your chilled skin, callouses rough in all the right places, and you can feel his pulse where your wrists press together—steady as sunrise, relentless as tides.

your smile comes unbidden, soft at the edges and brighter than the dawn creeping over the skyline. you squeeze back, just once, just enough to say i know, i know, me too.

and maybe—with his warmth seeping into your bones, with his thumb tracing absent circles over your wrist, with the first golden light of morning gilding the snow-dusted rooftops around you—maybe winter wasn't something to endure after all. maybe it was just the universe holding its breath before handing you this: his hand in yours, the quiet between heartbeats, the slow unfurling of spring hidden in the spaces where your fingers intertwine.

huh. maybe you didn't have to wait for spring as long as you thought.

ayeee!! the writing grind is slowly but surely making its comeback—and honestly? i’m kinda proud of myself for it lol. hope you guys enjoyed this little 2.7k word dose of emotionally constipated omni-mark and his (very patient) disaster of a... 'comrade'. term break starts next thursday for me, which means more time to write, less time to stress (theoretically), and a self-imposed mission to finally tackle that mountain of requests i’ve been hoarding like a dragon with a blank word document. no promises, but maybe… just maybe… i’ll actually finish them soon. (pray for me.)

[wendichester]

⋆˚✿˖° say my name,

summary. sam has you captive. or a resemble of who sam used to be. he's not in his right mind. and neither are you.

pairing. demon!sam winchester x gn!reader genre. dark, weird, nsfw

wordcount. 1569

notes / warnings. captivity (reader is restrained), dubiously consensual vibes (very much a tension-based fantasy setup), morally grey dynamics, corrupted!sam, powerplay, heavy tension, implied dom/sub energy, degradation (light), reader is conflicted and into it, seriously filthy in a twisted kind of way — reader is fully into it, even if they hate themselves for it

You don’t know how long it’s been. Days, maybe. Or maybe it’s only been hours. Time feels weird in this place—too quiet, too dark. You're tied to the bed with soft leather straps that look expensive and feel… weirdly personal. Like they were picked out just for you.

Which, knowing him, they probably were.

The door creaks open and your breath catches before you even see him.

There’s a heaviness that hits the room first. That twisted sort of energy that makes your spine straighten and your lungs forget how to work. The air gets hotter. The space gets smaller.

And then he walks in.

Sam. Or… the thing wearing Sam.

You used to be able to tell the difference. You think.

But now? God, it’s hard. It’s so hard.

He still looks like him—tall, broad, hands in his jacket pockets, that slow walk like he’s got all the time in the world and nothing to fear. His hair falls into his eyes, and his lips curve in that little smirk that used to mean he was about to kiss you. Or pin you down.

Only now, it means something else entirely.

“Well,” he purrs, voice like velvet and smoke, “someone’s awake.”

You don’t say anything. Not right away. You try not to give him the satisfaction of seeing how fast your pulse kicks up.

He stalks closer, lazy. Controlled. A predator with nothing better to do than play with his food.

“You've been so quiet,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch is gentle. Too gentle. It hurts.

“I miss your voice, sweetheart.”

You glare, but your throat’s dry. You’re too warm. The way he looks at you—like he wants to ruin you, like he already has—is making it hard to hold your ground.

“Not gonna say anything?” he tilts his head. “Not even a ‘screw you, Sam’?”

“You’re not him,” you manage to whisper.

That earns you a grin. Full teeth. Sinister.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He leans in closer, breath ghosting your jaw. “That’s the fun part.”

He drags a finger along your collarbone, slow and deliberate, like he’s tracing his name there. “You think you can tell where I end and he begins?”

You hate how your stomach flutters.

He’s too close now. And you can smell him—Sam—earthy and warm and familiar, like he just stepped out of your memories and twisted them into something filthy.

“Maybe I’m just pulling what was already inside him to the surface,” the demon muses, fingers sliding down your arm. “Maybe he likes this. Maybe he’s been waiting for a reason to stop being the good guy.”

Your breath hitches.

Because deep down, you’ve wondered that too.

You’ve seen the fire in Sam’s eyes before, the hunger he tried to pretend wasn’t there. The way his grip would tighten on your hips, on your waist, like he was barely keeping something chained.

What if this is just… him, unfiltered?

No guilt. No leash. Just raw want.

“Poor thing,” the demon says, tilting your chin up. “You can’t even decide if you want to fight me or fuck me.”

You flinch. But only a little.

He smiles.

“You know what the best part is?” he says, almost giddy. “He can feel all of it. Every sound you make. Every little whimper. Every time your thighs press together.”

He runs a knuckle down your sternum. “He likes how much you want this.”

“Shut up,” you breathe, but your voice is barely a whisper.

He just laughs. “Why would I, when I’m finally getting the truth out of you?”

He climbs onto the bed, straddling you, moving with that maddening grace. Like he owns you. Like he’s entitled to this.

His face dips lower, lips ghosting your ear.

“Say my name.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “You’re not him.”

A pause. Then a soft, dangerous hum.

“Maybe not.” He traces your jaw with his mouth, barely touching. “But I sound like him. I taste like him. And if you let me…” He presses his lips just below your ear. “I’ll make you come harder than he ever did.”

Your body shudders. You hate him. You hate how much you want him.

“Say it,” he whispers. “Say my name, and I’ll let you scream.”

You bite your lip. You try not to let the moan escape—but it does. Just a tiny one. His grin sharpens.

“That’s what I thought.”

You look up at him, breathless. Torn. Thrumming with need and shame and something far too dark to name.

“Sam,” you whisper.

He stills.

Then he smiles. Slow. Sinister. Triumphant.

And you swear you see the glint of something real—not just the demon. Him.

You don’t know who you’re begging for anymore.

And honestly?

You’re not sure it matters.

Your wrists ache, but you’re barely aware of it. Not with him hovering over you like that—his weight caging you in, mouth dragging heat and ruin down your neck, breath warm against your skin. You can’t tell where the demon ends and Sam begins anymore. It’s all tangled up: the voice, the touch, the hunger.

And worst of all? It feels good. Too good.

You don’t know what you were expecting when you said his name—Sam—but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t the way he stilled, like you’d yanked on a leash. It wasn’t the way his hands trembled, like he was fighting something off… or fighting to stay in control.

But now?

Now he’s kissing you like he’s starving.

And not just the demon. Him.

“Sam,” you breathe again, dazed.

He groans into your mouth like it hurts to hear his name in your voice. Like it’s pulling him back up through the black sludge of whatever’s holding him under.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he rasps against your lips. His voice is rough, strained. His voice.

“Then tell me to stop,” you whisper.

He kisses you harder.

You can feel it—feel him clawing through the surface. His hands tremble where they grip your hips, and when he pulls back to look at you, something flickers in his eyes.

That softness. That guilt.

But underneath it, still there, still hungry—the demon.

You don’t know who’s kissing you anymore.

Sam’s mouth crashes into yours again, deeper this time. Like he’s trying to memorize you, consume you. He groans against your tongue like he’s just found air after drowning.

“God, you’re so—” he breaks off, panting. His forehead drops to yours, his grip on your body bruising.

“I shouldn’t,” he says. But his hips are grinding down against yours and he’s not stopping.

“You already are,” you whisper.

He snarls, half-demon, half-man. “You think I don’t know what this is doing to you? The way you squirm when I get close? The way your thighs press together when I speak?”

You gasp, but he doesn’t stop.

“You like this. You like me like this.”

“Sam—”

“I’m still me, sweetheart,” he says, dragging his mouth down to your throat. “Still the one who fucked you in the back of the Impala. Still the one who made you cry on my tongue.”

Your whole body shudders.

“I’m just... better now.”

You shake your head, chest heaving. “This isn’t right.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good,” he growls, biting down gently on your pulse. “Tell me you don’t want it. Lie to me. I dare you.”

You open your mouth. You try. But nothing comes out.

Because you do want it. Want him.

Whatever this version of Sam is—drenched in darkness, wild and unfiltered—it’s him. Just more. Less rules. Less hesitation.

Still the same hands. Still the same mouth.

Still the same ache he’s always pulled from you like it was his.

“I hate you,” you whisper.

He laughs, dark and dangerous. “No, baby. You hate how much you want me.”

His fingers wrap around your jaw, tilting your face up so you’re forced to look at him.

“I could let go,” he murmurs, eyes boring into you. “Let him come fully back. Let just Sam fuck you. Let him be soft.”

Your lips part. Heat coils deep in your stomach.

“Or,” he adds, voice dipping into a snarl, “I could stay right here and break you open myself.”

You whimper.

“Yeah,” he purrs. “That’s what I thought.”

But then—suddenly—his grip falters. His expression changes. Something in his eyes shifts. Softens. Flares.

And then, just like that, he’s Sam again.

Fully.

Panting. Shaking. His hands are still on you. His mouth is still red from kissing you.

And his eyes are horrified.

“I—I didn’t mean to…” he breathes, looking down at your restrained form like it’s the first time he’s really seen you. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I never—fuck, I didn’t want this.”

You stare up at him, chest rising and falling. Your lips are red. Your wrists are raw. And you’ve never wanted him more.

“Then don’t stop,” you say, voice low. “Do it as you.”

Sam blinks.

You tug on the restraints. “You’re already in this deep. Might as well make me yours.”

His jaw clenches. “I’ve always been yours.”

And just like that, his mouth is on you again—desperate, messy, real. No demon. Just Sam.

But god help you, it’s worse. Because it’s better.

Because it’s him—and you’re still tied up, and you’re still wrecked, and now you’re crying out his name like a prayer.

And he’s answering every single one.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[t-a-a-1]

To Fall In Love For A Prime

Summary: Optimus realizes he is falling in love with you.

1.4k words. Optimus x Female Reader

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Optimus had an instinct. 

Some instics are more peculiar than others. He noticed that his own actions did not match the rational thoughts in his processor. 

He made sure to be kind to everyone. To treat each individual with respect. 

But he noticed that things were different with you. 

Once, you had mentioned your interest in poetry. The next couple of days, Optimus spent day and night trying to retrieve from Iacon’s old DataNet, poems written by the great authors of Cybertron. He spent more time trying to translate them.

And when he was ready to show you, to recite to you … He couldn’t.

You looked at him with those eyes of yours and his processor stopped working. 

He walked away and till this day he regrets saying anything. 

“Optimus and I … Well, we are not really close. I don’t think he likes me very much.”

Although it was true that he kept a distance, he didn’t think you would wake this negatively. The only reason why he doesn’t speak much to you is because his mind goes completely blank whenever he is near you. Because your eyes shine so brightly that he can’t help but stare at them. He is quiet because nothing he could say could compare to listening to your voice. Optimus much prefers to just listen to you and see your face. Even if it's from afar.

But how can he tell you that?

How can he speak to you when he just can’t?

“Oh, it’s raining a lot,” you say as you try to cover your head. “I am sorry. You probably have better things to do than being here.”

Your car had broken down and Optimus was the first one to come to your rescue. An act you didn’t understand since you thought he disliked you … Just a little. 

It would have been better to wait inside your car but seeing that it was letting out smoke and you didn’t want to explode, you decided to wait outside just in case. 

Optimus is quiet, as he usually is when he is near you. You don’t understand why as he is very much talkative to the rest of the group. 

“You know, if you have more important things to do, you can alway leave–”

Suddenly, the rain doesn’t touch your head anymore. With one servo, Optimus covers your entire body, protecting you. 

You look up at him, your mouth a bit opened.

“Are you … harmed?”

You feel your heart beat faster and suddenly, the need to look away overpower your senses. Flustered, you didn’t understand why all of a sudden your body feels warm. 

“No, I am fine, thank you for asking!”

You say that too loudly and you become more embarrassed by the simple sound of your voice. 

Optimus doesn’t say another word and it keeps raining. A few seconds passed and you take the courage to look at Optimus again.

And he looks at you. 

Blue optics meet your eyes.

And you look away again.

“You know, maybe you can just change to your vehicle form and I can wait inside until the towing truck comes? You know, just so you don’t get caught.”

He did as you said.

And it was the first time he let someone inside his vehicle form. 

It was … a beautiful experience.

Optimus wonders how you were able to trust him so easily. Your small body, surrounded by all of him. He felt your fingers touch the Autobot emblem on the steering wheel. Your soft skin was able to touch every crack, dent and small space that he thought he lacked sensibility. 

Turns out he is just like a big old cat that loves to be pet. 

And in completely quietness, he enjoyed the silence.

You noticed this too. And although you wanted to ask him if he could be the one to pull your car to save you money, you didn’t want to interrupt the peaceful moment.

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.

.

And as days passed, Optimus began to wonder about other things.

What things did you like? Was your job of your liking? Did you have an interest in anyone?

Would you ever consider a Cybertronian as a romantic partner?

He wants to believe that the reason why that question lingers in his mind is due to mere curiosity.

That has to be it. Why else would it be?

It’s not like he wishes for your affections to be reserved just for him. It’s not like he saw you talking to a co-worker and suddenly felt the need to interrupt and take you away from him. 

Because only he can look at your face and wonder what kind of gods created such delicate art? Only he can wonder why he can’t speak to you when you look at him in the optics. 

Only he can have sleepless nights thinking of what it would be like to have your lips on his intake. 

Not because he was delusional and thought of the possibility of having a human-cybertronian relationship.

It was mere curiosity because humans seemed to have a hyperfixation on interspecies relationships. He knew because of all the human media he had consumed, not because he wanted to relate to something, of course not. It's all pure research. 

That has to be it.

“(Reader) protected the datapad with her life. We are not sure why, she probably thought it was important. But she will be fine.”

It was Optimus’s datapad. 

You lay on the medical berth as Optimus rushed to your side as soon as he heard the news. 

His mind is already punishing him for not being there when the Decepticons attacked you, for not arriving in time, for not doing his job to protect you. 

What a worthless piece of mech he is. 

Unworthy of any type of connection. He should have known. Oh, he should have known from the start. How stupid he was to believe he could ever–

“Optimus,” Ratchet interrupts his thoughts. “Does your datapad contain any classified information?”

“No,” he simply says as he looks down at your body. Delicate, hurt but still breathing. “That datapad just contained … poetry.”

At seeing his friend’s desperate optics on you, he felt as if he was interrupting an intimate moment between the two of you.

“I’ll leave you two alone.”

With that Ratchet left.

Optimus didn’t look at Ratchet leave the medical room, his optics only focused on you. He took the freedom to use one of his metal fingers to touch your hair. He found himself trembling, scared, terrified at the thought … the simple thought that maybe today you wouldn’t be here with him. 

He lets out a glitch sound as his vents exhale in an exasperating way. 

You slowly start to regain consciousness and you are blessed to see Optimus in front of you. Although you wish he looked happier.

“The datapad,” you say in a soft voice. “I am sorry, I am sorry, it broke while I–”

“You have nothing to apologize for, my Spark,” the name came out so naturally from his intake that he didn’t even realize he had said it. “It’s me who should apologize.”

“But you always wrote on that datapad, it was important to you and I–”

“You are important to me,” he says. “The most important individual, my dearest–”

He stops himself, he cannot longer put any burden on you. He’ll be damned if these feelings ever caused you harm again. For Primus, he prefers to die a thousand times if that means all harm from you can be exempted. 

And yet, a very, rotten, selfish part of him, can’t believe that you went to such lengths to protect something you thought was precious to him. When in reality, the thing you should be protecting should be yourself. 

How selfish of him to be happy at this moment. This moment when you are alive and smiling at him. Hurt but your heart is still beating. The relief cannot compare. Having you here, alive, you. 

How selfish–

“Do you wish to know what was in the data pad?” Optimus asks, returning your smile. But in your mind, his smile was the most beautiful of scenes. 

You simply nod.

“I know you enjoy poetry so I wanted to introduce you to some Cybertronian writings,” he says. “Do you want me to recite some pieces to you?”

You smile once again at him. 

“Yes.”

Very softly, Optimus begins to speak. 

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A/N: i don’t know where I was going with this but oh whale 🐳 … I have so many drafts …. But I gotta update The Darkest Hour first.

[fawnoria]

in which the strongest sorcerer asks you out on a date.

GOJO SATORU arrives twenty-three minutes late to a meeting he insisted on scheduling.

the higher-ups are dialed in already, projected in harsh pixels across the briefing room’s high wall screen. utahime is mid-sentence, explaining some strained cluster of regional curses in hokkaido, when the door slams open and in comes the strongest sorcerer—radiant and unapologetic, his polished black dress shoes clicking against the tile.

“apologies,” gojo announces cheerfully, breezing past protocol, posture, and of course, shame. “had a very important meeting with someone extremely high up.”

“with who?” you ask with a raised brow. he lifts a paper bag. it reads croissant croissant in cursive.

“myself,” he replies, dropping into the seat beside yours.

“took me out for breakfast. because self-love is the foundation of any healthy workplace environment.”

utahime looks like she’s on the verge of rupturing a blood vessel. shifting slightly in your chair, you angle your head without turning it fully, and murmur behind the shield of one hand, voice pitched low enough not to carry:

“…are those mochi socks you’re wearing?”

staring straight ahead, gojo lifts the hem of his tailored slacks a fraction, revealing a flash of pale fabric: pink, round-faced mochi with arms. one is holding a flag. he wiggles his ankle.

“business casual,”

___

the meeting drags on, a mire of mismanaged exorcisms and pressure from the kyoto school. gojo contributes nothing except red sharpie doodles in the margins of a terrain map—one of which is labeled “enemy base” and drawn to resemble a cat.

afterward, the other staff shuffle out in varying degrees of exasperation. only two remain. one out of obligation. the other… out of reasons unknown.

“you really skipped half the briefing for croissants,” you quip.

gojo shrugs, unrepentant. “i invited you. but you didn’t come.” he adds, with a pout.

“no you didn’t.”

he looks genuinely offended. “i thought about inviting you telepathically. didn’t you get the memo?”

your brow lifts.

“fine,” he concedes, mock-humbled. “next time i’ll text you. with my phone…so cold, so impersonal.”

the corner of your mouth twitches despite yourself. “what, and ruin your reputation for spontaneous irresponsibility?”

he grins. finishes the pastry slowly, more contemplative than usual, and flicks the crumb off his thumb like he’s stalling.

then, offhand: “you free now?”

“for what?”

“coffee. with me. ideally somewhere you won’t start quoting the handbook at me.”

“you’re on thin ice, gojo satoru.”

“…emotionally or professionally?”

“both.”

the smile he gives isn’t his usual one. not the cocky, lopsided smirk meant to provoke. you decide you like this version better.

“shall we?”

“now?”

“before i disappear again. i know how much you miss me when i’m gone.”

you give him a look.

he adds, a beat softer, “c’mon, my treat. i’m being generous. open-hearted. warm. lovable.”

“lovable?”

“undeniably,” he says, rising to his full height.

“but i’ll let you pretend otherwise, if it helps you sleep.” he waits for you at the door, hands tucked in his pockets, head tilted as if he’s already mentally elsewhere—but his eyes under the blindfold never leave you. not until you move.

and when you do, he falls into step beside you, quiet for once. he’s decided—for reasons you’ll never get him to explain—that this afternoon is his to waste with you.

[dailymanners]

Some more additions, because this isn't the only time I've gotten a reply like "but this manner was followed and my feelings / someone else's feelings still got hurt" and/or "but this doesn't cover this specific situation where there is middle ground (when again, unfortunately my posts just cannot cover every possible scenario without becoming longer than most people are willing to read, when again, my posts are already too long IMHO)

a) Having good manners doesn't guarantee nothing hurtful will happen. Unfortunately, there is no way to 100% avoid having your feelings hurt and/or hurting the feelings of others, no matter how hard we try, because it is simply an unavoidable part of the human condition. You should still practice good manners because they are general guidelines to make human interactions easier, smoother, and more pleasant for everyone, and IMHO make the world a better place. However, they can never 100% safeguard against someone being hurt.

There is a line between good manners and people-pleasing (in my opinion that line lies in still having personal boundaries), however even those who have struggled with the most severe cases of people-pleasing will be able to testify that there is no possible way to 100% avoid ever upsetting anyone.

b) Speaking of manners being general rules, they are just that, general blanket rules that will generally make human interaction better in most cases, and do try to cover as many situations as possible, but there will always be exceptions. The point of good manners is to make the world better and easier, on average. You will have to decide for yourself when exceptions apply, because there is no perfect formula that can cover every situation.

I could spend all day writing a manners post to try to add a caveat for every possible situation, but it would still never be able to cover everything. So my dear readers, you must decide for yourself when exceptions apply. You are the captain of your own ship.

Assume all conversations to be private and confidential unless stated otherwise.

Of course this mainly applies to things of a sensitive and personal nature. If your classmate tells you their favorite soda flavor or favorite pizza topping, or your co-worker shares a trick with you on how to use the new software at work, that's safe to assume it's okay to share.

But anything of a more sensitive nature, someone sharing with you a problem they've been having at home with their family or partner, a personal insecurity of theirs, a difficult or traumatic event from their past, a health issue they've been having, your default assumption should always be that this was shared to you in confidence and is a private matter that you should not share with others unless a) they've given you permission to or b) it's an emergency or otherwise urgent situation (for example your co-worker just collapsed at work so it's probably a good idea to tell the paramedic that personal health problem your co-worker shared with you in confidence)

This kind of information is something that most people don't just share with anyone, and usually will only share with someone who has earned some degree of their trust. This kind of information can be used against people, or can also be embarrassing or just a sensitive topic. Sharing it with other people without their permission, however, can quickly dissolve whatever trust you had gained from them.

[appleciderlove]

toxic!rafe locking you in to cancel your plans

more of this au here

"i'm going out," you said casually, slipping your phone into your bag.

"with who?”

his voice came from the couch—low, unreadable.

"just… some guy i met at the bar last week." he hummed. not angry. not surprised. just something else.

"oh have fun."

you paused for a beat, eyes flicking to him. but he was back to scrolling, completely unbothered. so you shrugged, turned, and started walking toward the front door.

"wait," he said suddenly. "before you go, come here. i want to show you something."

"what?"

"just come”

you followed, steps slower now. he led you to a room down the hall you'd never really paid attention to. he opened the door.

"huh," you said, glancing around. "i've never been in here."

"yeah, thought you might like it” he murmured, following in behind you.

the door clicked shut.

you turned slowly.

"why'd you close the door?"

"habit," he said, too smooth. too quick.

you reached for the handle, twisted. nothing. it didn't budge.

your fingers stilled. "what did you do?"

you looked back at him, a creeping suspicion twisting through your gut.

"are we… locked in?"

he didn't answer at first. just smiled. faint and unreadable.

"rafe," you snapped.

he stood on the other side of the door, calm as ever. "you weren't really gonna go see him, were you?"

"you're insane."

"i'm obsessed," he corrected. "big difference."

you banged on the door. he didn’t even flinch. “let me out.”

“mm… no.”

you cursed under your breath, this is crazy.

“you can’t lock me in here just because i made plans.”

“no, baby, i didn’t lock you in because you made plans. i locked you in because you made plans without me.”

you’re still standing by the door, in disbelief of the situation you’re in “what are you doing?”

he walked to the corner table, picked up whatever snacks were sitting there, and flopped onto the couch like he didn't just kidnap you.

“trying to spend time with my favourite person” he said. “is that so bad?”

you ignore him, walking to the couch. you try to put some distance between you and him.

he tugged your wrist, and patted his lap. “come here.”

you frowned “no. i’m still mad at you.”

he raised an eyebrow “alright then” you barely had time to blink before his hands were on your waist, lifting you effortlessly into his lap like you weighed nothing.

“see?” he whispered against your neck. “this is much better”

“this is messed up,” you muttered.

he shrugged. “maybe. but i’m way better company than some random bar guy, and you know it.”

you narrowed your eyes. “you’re unbelievable.”

he browsed through netflix with one arm still draped behind you.

“you’ve got five minutes to decide or i’m picking something you hate,” he warned, voice low against your ear.

you rolled your eyes. “fine. that one.”

you tried to stand, but he pulled you right back down.

“no leaving unless you swear you’re staying.”

“fine,” you muttered, “i’m not leaving. i’m too lazy to go out now anyway.”

he finally released you with a sigh. you shuffled to the side, settling beside him instead.

his laugh rumbled against your back. “whatever helps you sleep at night, baby.”

you threw a pillow at him. he caught it without breaking eye contact, smirking. “is that all you’ve got?”

“shut up and start the movie,” you muttered, trying not to smile.

“yes, baby,” he grins, turning his attention to the screen and pressing play on the remote.

the first movie played. then the second.

he let you choose them all, even the one he hated. he let you complain and talk through every scene. he just looked at you with that annoyingly fond expression like you were the only thing in the world worth staring at.

you didn’t even realize you’d stopped being mad until he paused the third movie just to press a kiss to your cheek and say, “you look cute when you’re mad at me” you shoved him. he laughed.

and then you curled into his side and said, “next time you lock me in here, at least light a candle or something.”

“next time?” he teased.

“oh shut up” you say through a half-smile, nudging him with your knee like it’ll knock the smirk off his face.

꒰ 🌙 ꒱ tags — @starkeyvhs

[mattslilies]

Long Day - M.S.

"it's okay, i'll help. you're exhausted." or... the one where you're wiped out from work, and the energy to take care of yourself just isn't there. luckily, matt steps in. warnings: just exhaustion, really! mentions of dehydration. word count: 945 a/n: requested by anon! divider credit to @saradika-graphics! remember to take care of yourselves! nothing is worth burning yourself out. if your home is going through a heat wave, be safe!! stay hydrated!

you were normally better than this. you were usually able to handle much more, but it had all quickly caught up to you.

you'd worked the past six days in a row, pushing through, holding on to the one day off at the end. you had plans to absolutely cherish it. sleep in late, get food with your friends, binge watch a show, spend time with matt, but none of that was going to happen.

you'd finished work that evening, and by the time you got home, you felt like your legs were the consistency of jello, and you were going to drop. the adrenaline of having to do so much and get everything done at work had kept you going through the entire week, but now that your brain had realized you didn't have to go back tomorrow, you were crashing.

it was also recognizing the ache in your legs, the dull throb in your head from not drinking enough water throughout the day, the sting in your hands from fighting to open things. everything seemed to all hit you at once, and tears filled your eyes as you parked your car in the driveway, sitting there for a few moments before going inside.

trying to compose yourself the best you can, you walked inside, giving matt a soft smile. you weren't angry, or upset, just tired, and you wanted him to know that he wasn't the cause of your tears. regardless of this though, he jumped up, immediately walking over to you and holding your face in his hands.

"what's wrong, baby? did something happen at work?"

you shook your head, a laugh leaving your lips at the ridiculousness of the situation. you were done with work for the week, and you were crying. you should be celebrating.

"no, no, i just realized i'm really tired. everything went fine at work."

matt nodded, giving you a hug, and a soft kiss atop your head.

"you worked so much this week. i'd expect you to be tired."

you nodded, sighing.

"i'm gonna go take a shower, and then i'll come fix something for us to eat."

he hummed in agreement, allowing you to walk off towards your shared bathroom. however, he wasn't going to let you make yourself food after such a long week.

he quickly disappeared into the kitchen, beginning to cook up something simple. he decided on pasta. it would be good for your energy, as well as make sure you were full, but not take too long to cook. it was straining as you came back down the steps, a slight look of confusion on your face.

"matt... you didn't have to do that."

he smiled, putting the food onto a plate and grabbing you some fruit from the fridge to go with it.

"yes i did, baby. and i don't mind. you had an long day, the least i can do is make you some food."

you smiled back, giving him a quick kiss before sitting down to eat, the smell of the food made you realize just how hungry you were, devouring the plate in a few minutes, flat. you got up to put the dishes in the sink, but matt stopped you, taking it from your hands.

"it's okay, i'll help. you're exhausted."

you didn't even argue, too tired to have the energy for it. you nodded, relenting before sitting back down, yawning. matt walked up next to you, placing a hand on your back and encouraging you up.

"c'mon, sweetheart. let's go upstairs. it's late, and you're tired."

you went, walking hand in hand with him the whole way, rejoicing in how lucky you were to have such a caring boyfriend. you sighed in frustration, a small groan leaving your lips as your hand caught a tangle in your hair.

"ugh. i forgot i have to brush and braid my hair tonight."

matt shook his head.

"no. i'll brush and braid your hair tonight. do you want to change into my clothes?"

you nodded, stifling a yawn with your hand. you'd hastily thrown on a set of clothes after showering, but matt's clothes to sleep in sounded much more appealing. he walked over to his dresser, pulling out the softest, largest shirt he could find, and a pair of shorts.

"let me help you."

he got no disagreement from you, you bracing your hands on his shoulders as he helped you step into the shorts, easily sliding them up your legs. he softly removed your shirt, feeding your arms through the sleeves in his and dressing you in it.

"that's gotta feel better, hm?"

you hummed in agreement, moving towards the bed and sitting down on the edge. matt grabbed your hairbrush and a ponytail holder, sitting behind you and slowly beginning to brush through it.

he was always so careful with it. much more careful than you ever were. but that was how he always treated you. carefully. not like you were fragile, not like he didn't trust you, but like he wanted to protect you at all costs, despite knowing you could stand on your own two feet.

dragging the hairbrush through your hair, you felt him begin to twist the three strands into a loose, but solid, braid. over the time you had been dating, his hairdo skills had greatly improved, now taking less than five minutes to get it all done.

snapping the hair tie around the bottom of the braid, he kissed your shoulders before setting the braid on one of them.

"i'm gonna change, and then we'll lay down, okay?"

by the time he turned back around, you were already asleep.

[theseinfernalangels]

Love Letters — Garrick Tavis

Synopsis: Recovered Correspondence between Lieutenant Garrick Tavis and Lieutenant Cosette Camden, Princess of Navarre.

 Takes place over the course of the first part of Iron Flame and is for Day 3 of Garrick Week: Distance.

The contents of this recovered correspondence are not dated, but are believed to have been sent between the timeframe of July 29th and December 3rd, 634 AU. This is not a completely recovered set of writing. Whilst included missives were found in the ruins of the Samara and Montserrat outposts, other letters are actively being sought after by scribe and rider alike for insight on personal relations within harsh military structures. Just for studying. Totally just for studying.

— A personal addendum from Jesinia Neilwart, Curator of the Scribe Quadrant of Basgiath War College

Princess,

Fuck. It’s not even been a week without you, and I can already feel myself coming apart (No — not like that. I wish.). Everything would be so much easier with you here, but at the same time, I’m glad you’re in Monserrat rather than Samara. This place is not for the faint of heart, and while you are the most capable woman I know, I can already tell that riders are eaten alive here. Especially when you’re me. I have to start from ground zero all over again to make people trust me, fight twice as hard for all the same privileges that others are handed so easily.

I can’t help but wonder if it’s the same for you. Have people started suspecting about you yet? I doubt anything would happen — you’re an active service member with incredible skills — but a part of me worries that someone will be there to snitch you out. Stand your ground, beautiful. You’re more than any of these people can claim to be, anyway.

I’ll try to keep my missives as brief as possible, although I’d try to write whole tomes for you if I had the time. I love you in ways that consume me wholly. Please stay as safe as you can.

Yours forever, 

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

Garrick,

I can say with upmost certainty that no one here knows a thing, besides that we are together. Seriously — the amount of times I’ve been referred to as “Tavis’s Girl” rather than my own name is appalling. I don’t know many people here besides this one girl from my wing, who decided upon meeting that we are friends. I quite like her. She makes for good company.

I’ll be honest with you, my love; I’m lonely. I miss you more than I miss the sun in a hurricane. Sometimes, I wake at night reaching for you, only to be met with nothing but sheets. Disappointing, but fine.

I’m so sorry I can’t be there with you. Had I known that you’d be sent to Samara, I would have requested to be there, too. I don’t care if it’s dangerous — you cannot convince me that there is a place safer on this Continent than being by your side. Even surrounded by hundreds of infantrymen and dragons, I would still feel better if I could see you. Oh, well. I can be patient, I suppose. 

I send you all the love from my place here. Rest assured I am safe and sound, despite the constant conflict. Send Xaden my best, too — I can’t imagine he has it any easier, especially with his Violet ordeal.

Thoroughly and utterly yours,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

Princess,

I’m glad you’re at least making connections with people — but who am I kidding? That’s what you do best. If your jackass brother weren’t the crown prince, you’d make the fairest queen of all.

You want to know what’s funny? Second to being classified as a traitor, people know me as yours, too. I guess sticking to one another like glue for three years paid off. 

Xaden wishes you well. The lucky bastard gets a couple of days every two weeks to go see Violet. I’d say I’m jealous, but I think Chradh would choke at the thought of being mates with Seachran. Correction — he just yelled at me extensively.

I would try and tell you about my days, but I’m afraid there’s not much to talk about right now. All we do is train and fight, with some recreational fighting on the side. Gambling is a big deal here, apparently. I bet I could cheat my way into getting the weekend off to see you, but I know you prefer honesty over everything. You’ve always been better than me, you righteous little light.

I heard that there was an attack near you recently. I imagine you are perfectly fine, but quick correspondance would be much appreciated.

Still terribly lovesick,

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My love,

Rest assured that I am okay. That "attack" was nothing more than a drift of gryphons gone astray. They were taken out quickly, with an efficiency that…Well, I’ll be honest. It scared the shit out of me. I forget sometimes that we’re actually in the service and not students anymore. 

Physically, I am fine. Emotionally? Drained. There is only so much time some can go without seeing the one they love, and despite what you may think, I am a woman of very weak willpower. Perhaps we spent a little too much time together back in Basgiath, because I find myself watching for you around every corner and through every door. It saddened me at first, but now it’s pretty funny. No one here even looks like you, yet I still was hopeful anyway. Perhaps that is foolish. I find it comedic. I think I have to — or else I’ll find myself succumbing to the things that haunt me otherwise. 

Don’t ask. It is best to leave it at that.

Tell me everything and anything you want. I would gladly listen to hours of strategizing and arguments just to hear your voice. You wouldn’t have to cheat, either. We both know that you’re the best of the best, and anyone who thinks they can one-up you just because of a damned relic can kiss my ass.

Always, always, always,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My darling,

Nothing in that beautiful mind of yours could ever be foolish. On the contrary, the same is happening to me. Riorson tried to assure me that it was fine, since some of the women here, “look like you, anyway,” but I disagree. None of them have your smile. They don’t have the freckles that only show themselves in the summer. They don’t have your inclination to take others under their wings, and they certainly don’t have your eyes. I don’t think anyone does.

Oh, yeah. They don’t have Seachran, either. I think we’d know if they did.  

I think you’ve boosted my ego tenfold, but that’s not much of a change, as far as I’m concerned. No time for being humble when I’ve got a lovely woman waiting for me and a bunch of dark wielders ready to hunt me down.

Call me a dreamer, but I can’t wait until this is over. I have so many things I want to show you. To share with you. To be with you. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, and perhaps you’ll think I’m a sap, but that’s alright. You could call me a traitor straight to my face, and I’d just appreciate how it sounds on your tongue.

Still drowning within you,

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My love,

 Firstly, I would never entertain the thought of calling you anything like that. You deserve only the sweetest of words from me, and that’s all you’ll get — unless you decide to be a dumbass.

Maybe you are a dreamer. Maybe it is wishful thinking. The thing about being a light-wielder, though, is that you learn to wish on stars frequently. I am a dreamer, too. Let me share a piece of my dreams with you.

When this war ends — because we will end it — all I want is you. I don’t care where we go, whether it be Aretia or someplace else. Just us and our friends for a while, taking chances and getting to take a moment to breathe air that isn’t tainted with blood. I see the sun, and that river you’ve told me so much about, and waking up to fresh sheets and warm touches. We can be soft and keep it that way,  just you and me, and then…I’m not quite sure. I have thoughts, but I don’t like being too forward. 

Fuck that. Never mind. I want a life with you. A family — a real one, where we never question if someone loves another or if their presence is wanted in the first place. I’ll give as much as you will, because I know you will without asking. That is why I want it in the first place; there is no one else I’d share the sentiment with.

So call yourself a dreamer and a sap. Just know that I am ten times more delusional than you are.

Dreaming of you,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My brightest light,

You can’t just say things like that and expect me to be normal about it. No, I am not crying; it is just exceptionally hot sharing a room with three other riders.

You want my dreams? I’ll give them all to you. I want it all. All of it. The sun, the river, the sheets, the touches, the family. I will give it all to you if you do the same for me. Actually, I’d give it all to you, regardless. You deserve every fucking moment of it for everything you’ve given me. 

Will we have any idea of what we’re doing? Probably not. Neither of us have parents to consult, and I don’t quite understand children, but that doesn’t mean we won’t try. How many do you want? We’ll go from there.

Chradh says he’ll give us parenting advice. I’d sooner let him barrel-roll me into the side of the outpost.

Shit. He’s taking it personally now.

As I was saying, I want to give it all to you. The moment I have the chance, I’ll come to you and we’ll talk it out. I have something to ask of you, anyway. Tell me when it’s best for you, and I’ll fight like hell to get my forty-eight hours, and I’m not sharing. I know it’s not much, but it’s what I can manage without getting my ass kicked — even though, between you and me, I couldn’t care less if Command got mad at me. They’d have to find me to execute me, and fortunately for the both of us, I’m pretty fast.

I’ll be in your arms soon,

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My love,

I also have my forty-eight hours for you. I wasn’t even aware we could do that, but according to command, I’ve been out fighting so frequently that they’ve decided to give me a break of my choosing. Part of me wants to be offended and wonders if they think I’m delicate; the other part couldn’t care less. I haven’t had a break since the moment I slid from my mother’s womb on to her bedroom floor. I think I deserve it.

The end of November or beginning of December would suffice, I think. Since they won’t consider rotating stations until April, the halfway point is probably the best option — for both convenience’s sake, as well as my sanity.

I cannot wait to see you! I have not slept very well since the night before Reunification Day — the last night we had together. Where you should be laying, I have only sheets to cling to. If they smelled like you, maybe I would complain less, but no. I probably average a good four hours, but I know I’ll get at least six with you.

To put it bluntly, I need you here. Desperately. The end of November, at the earliest, please. Ask any question. Request anything of me. I don’t care. Please, just come home to me.

Don’t keep me waiting,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

“I miss you.”

His words are mumbled into your hairline, his lips brushing against your skin like a midnight prayer. It may as well be; the moon, bright and swelling, paints his skin white as milk against the stone alcove you rest under. Despite his softness, his word choice has you frowning and tilting your head up.

“But I’m right here,” you reply, one brow furrowing in confusion.

Garrick just smiles. “I know,” he says. “But I still miss you. I miss you when I’m at Samara. I miss you when I’m on the battlefield. I miss you when you’re three inches away from me.” He presses a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. “No matter where I am, I miss you.”

“Ah.” Has Garrick always been so poetic? Or is this just another change made by the distance and the four months that have separated the two of you?

You could barely go four months without him. You’re not sure if it’s romantic or pathetic. 

“Something on your mind, lovely?” Garrick asks, slipping a finger under your chin to pull your eyes to his. His eyes, wonderfully hazel, search yours carefully. It’s no secret to him that you’ve been struggling without him there beside you, and it’s not like he can say any different.

“No.” You tuck your head into his shoulder and sigh. “I just can’t wait for the next few months to be over. They’re talking about transferring some people out, so I’m hoping luck will be on our side and I’ll get sent to Samara.”

A low chuckle leaves him. “I’m not sure you’d enjoy it there. Unless you’re into watching two sweaty, shirtless men go at each other while everyone else drinks.”

That puts a mischievous smile on your face. “Does one of those sweaty, shirtless men happen to be mine? Because I’d totally be into that.”

That painfully adorable dimple flashes on Garrick’s cheek. “Pervert.”

You shove him playfully, although he doesn’t budge a bit. “Don’t act like you would pass up the opportunity to see me fight someone in just my bindings. I’m surprised you haven’t campaigned for it yet.”

“Well…” He glances around before snaking his hands around your hips and pulling, trapping you further into his embrace as you let out a little squeak of laughter. “I’m definitely not against the idea.“

You lean in and press a light kiss to the hollow of his throat. “You wouldn’t get jealous of other men seeing me without my leathers?”

Garrick scoffs, but the cocky grin is too obvious in his voice. “Wear whatever you want in front of any man. At the end of the day, you’ll end up with me, anyway.”

You snort but shake your head fondly. It’s been three years since the two of you started going out, ever since that terrifying October of your first year. For every day since then, you’ve gone back for Garrick, and he’s always come for you. You didn’t even mean to propose the jealousy scenario, but grateful satisfaction blooms in your gut. Garrick is a lot of things, but he’s certainly not insecure.

“Alright, wise guy,” you joke, poking him in the ribs and receiving a mocking pout in return. “You wanted to ask me something. Talk.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise, stretching the scar on his face a little like he didn’t expect your demand. “Someone’s eager.”

“Of course I am,” you shoot back. “I haven’t seen you in months. Haven’t heard you in months. Ask me everything so your voice sticks with me better.”

He just shakes his head, relaxing against the wall and reaching for the ends of your now-loosened hair. “You missed me, too?”

Your lips purse as you flick him in the chest, your eyes softening as he catches your hand to bring it to his mouth. “Of course I did, idiot. And I’ll miss you in forty-eight hours. Now, spill.”

His lips tense in the way you know is him holding back a dirty joke, and then he just smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist to anchor your body to his.

“…I’ve been thinking,” he says quietly, after a few heartbeats. “About us.”

Oh? You tilt your head. It doesn’t surprise you, given how often you’re thinking of him, but it’s definitely not something you think he’d need to ask about.

“These past few months…” He sighs roughly. “They’ve been painful without you. Really fucking painful. I never imagined how often I’d go to bed and not be able to sleep without your head tucked into my shoulder, or how pissed off I’d get when you’re not there to keep my head set.” 

Your gaze softens, a hand coming up to brush against his unscarred cheek lightly. “Gare…”

He brushes his thumb against your lower lip, shushing you gently. “No, listen. Let me say my piece.”

Your lips seal almost instantly.

He starts again. “You’ve always been right there, you know? Even before Threshing, before we even properly met, you were there. Defending Freya from those assholes. Defending mefrom your brother, even though you knew fully that he wanted both of us dead. I thought you were insane back then.”

A wry smile cuts across your face. “Not now?”

His fingers glide across your jaw. “I digress. And even after that…you never left. Never. Not when you knew we were hiding something. Not when I had to lie. Not even after War Games, and I knew you wanted to scream at me.”

His eyes find yours. “Somehow, despite everything, you’ve never left. Do you know how many people in my life get to say that? It’s not many.”

“Like that’s hard?” you reply quietly, tracing up his relic with your pinkie. “You never gave me a reason to leave. In fact, you’ve only ever given me reasons to stay. I’ve never had that before, either — a reason to stay where I am, perfectly content with what I have.”

“I want you to have that.” Garrick reaches down into the pocket by his thigh, but it’s out of your line of sight. “Always. A reason to stay. A life that you want that wasn’t just thrown your way for the sake of convenience. A place where you’re truly happy, like we talked about. The sun. The river. A family.”

For reasons you can’t quite comprehend, your heart starts racing, knocking your breath from your lungs. Sure, Garrick’s always been a sweet-talker when it comes to you, but this? This is nothing short of a confession. 

But he didn’t say he had a confession. He said he had a request.

You search his eyes, the hazel glow growing brighter in the starlight. “…I don’t understand what you’re trying to ask of me.”

He just smiles. Not cocky. Not cheeky. Just gently. Wanting. Earnest. 

It sets your heart ablaze.

“Lovely.” He shifts a little, adjusting his grip on your face so his thumb can trail over your cheekbone — no doubt re-memorizing the pattern of your freckles. “I can’t do it without you. Anything, really. Sleep, walk, fight the war, live. At the end of the day, I’m just a man, and I never want to have to let you go.”

The cool skin of his fingers brushes against yours as he laces your palms together, pressing something small and cold in between your hands. You watch him quizzically before you bring your hand away from his, flipping your palm towards you and choking once you catch sight of what he’s places in it.

It’s…a ring.

Relatively small, it is. A silver band, patterned in small designs that spread across the surface. The gem lays carefully within the widest spot, golden yellow and glinting in the light. Smaller, matching gems dot against the band. Citrine. They’re beautiful, just like sunlight.

No. Not just sunlight. Your light.

Your breath catches. Oh, gods. 

It’s not just a ring. It’s a ring.

Your head snaps up, meeting his eyes that are lit with pure, unadulterated adoration.

“Say you won’t let go of me, Princess?” he asks, cupping your cheek in his palm.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

You blink once. Twice. A third time, just out of habit. You open your mouth and then close it, your voice stolen away from pure disbelief.

He wants to marry you. To stay with you.

It’s enough to make you start crying like an infant.

“Fuck.” You press your face into his chest, not caring that your hot tears are soaking into his tunic with every shaky breath that leaves you. “Oh, gods.”

A hand ghosts up your spine, cradling you carefully. That’s when you feel it — the gently weight of something pressing into your spine. Cold. Heavier. 

Another ring. His. When did he slip it on?

“Lovely?” he prompts, dragging his lips against your forehead. “Are you—“

You cut him off by tearing yourself away from his chest, meeting his confusion-filled gaze with your own, packed with every thing, every feeling, every moment you share with him. Your eyes drop to his lips, and then trail back up shakily. Watching. Waiting.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Thoroughly and utterly. Yes. Please. Stay with me, forever. Please.”

His lips are on yours before he can even agree, sealing the promise into your mouth.

Searing. Binding. Filled with every ounce of joy and love and light and longing and want.

You’ll never have to let him go.

And, as if in response, the moon starts to glow a little brighter.

Taglist: @wonderstruckbyyou, @jessicalee22likestowrite, @freezerbride18, @ineednewdaggers, @suspicious-stain-in-spain, @kienhawon, @goldenmagnolias, @bi-incog-btch, @gracie-rosee, @lxnvmvrzx

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[wildernessuntothemselves]

Eternally | yandere soulmate au teaser

Summary: Beomgyu is a bully. You wish he would leave you alone but it seems that the only joy he derives from his miserable existence is when he's fucking with you and Kai. He especially loves hurting Kai, his eyes glint every time his cruel words hit a nerve, his grin turning sadistic every time his actions lead to another bruise on Kai's soft skin. Kai, ever the pacifist, tries to avoid any confrontation with the bully, but unfortunately for him, Beomgyu knows how to hit him where it hurts, and that place is you. Kai never seems to be able to control himself when Beomgyu directs his harsh insults towards you, your brave best friend always putting himself in the line of fire to protect you.

Your heart aches for him, breaking every time you see the evidence of Beomgyu's hate on his face and his body. But it'll all be alright, he tells you. As soon as you get your soulmate marks, no doubt getting each other, and you graduate from college, you'll be leaving this awful town and Beomgyu behind. You'll start a new life where he won't be able to hurt you anymore.

You cling onto that, wrapping that hope around yourself every time Beomgyu tries to make you fall apart. But it seems like fate can be even crueler than him...

Warnings: soulmates au, yandere au, bully beomgyu, bsf to lovers kai and reader, noncon, dry humping

It all started when you had stayed back late, grading papers for the class as the TA. You hadn’t expected to find any other students lingering around so you were surprised to hear the sound of someone playing the guitar in the music room.

They sounded really good and you were curious who it was so you went to check it out but to your dismay, it was none other than Beomgyu. You tried to quietly slip out but Beomgyu noticed you, throwing a mocking remark your way that you decide to ignore in favour of running away.

But Beomgyu wasn't happy with that, his long legs helping him quickly catch up to you. He grabs you by the wrist and all but slams you against a wall, hissing in your face for daring to ignore him.

"Don't fucking ignore me, bitch." He snarls and then grins at your shivering form. "What? Got nothing to say now that you don't have your lapdog to take your beating for you?"

Oh how you wish Kai was here. He wouldn't have been able to stand up to Beomgyu but damn would he have tried.

He reaches over to your face and you flinch, worried he'll slap you, your sudden movement pulling your top to the side and exposing your bra to him.

"What do we have here?" He laughs, thumbing the lacey strap. Your entire body goes cold. "Didn't peg you for a slut. What? You wore this hoping he'd see it and fuck you?"

You shake your head, telling him this had nothing to do with Kai. Truth is you'd worn it because you were feeling bad about your body and wanted something to give you confidence back even if no one saw it. You certainly never wished for Beomgyu to see it.

But here he was, ripping your top apart so he can get a better look. You yelp when he does it, and try to cover your chest up with your hands but he quickly gathers them in his own hands and pins them roughly to the wall, growling at you "keep those here if you know what's good for you."

You don't dare move them even when he lets go, even when his hands go your chest to cup your breasts through your bra, even when he's pinching and pulling at your nipples, even when he's pressing his leg between your thighs and ordering you to grind against it.

"Come on, baby, we don't want this to go to waste. I'll give you what that cuck can't. I know your body is dying to be felt up by a real man."

You shake your head, follwing his orders but refusing to acknowledge his words. But that's not good enough for Beomgyu because he grabs your face, his fingers digging into your cheeks, "you don't look very grateful. I am doing you a favour. No one else would give a stupid whore like you the time of day so you better thank me for it, bitch."

The threat in his voice is clear. He won't tolerate your disobedience for much longer so you quickly give in to his humiliating demands, thanking him for touching you, for violating you.

"That's better." He murmurs, satisfied. "I prefer it when you're honest. After all I can feel your filthy pussy dripping down my thigh."

He wasn't lying. God you hate your body for reacting to his unwanted touch.

"Bet you're close. Why don't you beg nicely for me to let you cum."

"Please." You sob, wanting this to end. "Please let me cum."

"Please who?" He pushes, grabbing you by the ass and pushing you down harder on his thigh, making you cry out. "Please beomgyu."

"Good girl." He purrs, moving you over his thigh, his movements much more deliberate and effective than yours, quickly bringing you to the edge and shoving you over it.

Your hands finally move off the wall to grab his shoulders, attempting to ground yourself as your body shakes and shivers through the distressing orgasm, but beomgyu doesn't seem to mind.

As your body comes down from its sweltering high, a chill comes over it when you feel beomgyu's hard cock pressed against your hip, and bile rises in your throat as you think of what he might do to you next.

But to your surprise, he steps back, taking off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders to cover you up.

"If you tell anyone about this, I'll make him bleed."

_____________________

A/N: yes I have reposted it this to make it prettier because I need others to freak out about this idea with me lol

[starconstruction]

Designated Ride

Yena x Male Reader (smut)

smut tags: pussy licking, blowjob, public sex, bathroom sex, throatpie, riding.

word count: 3312

forgive my britishness (i've been living a lie and autocorrecting to american spellings) for saying jumper 💔

after 4 months I have finally realized i have not been spacing my introduction properly, much love. Tried a few new things, I wanna write 9000000 yena fics, these pre-fic spaces are getting too long but i yap

Plans rarely make it out of the group chat between you four.

So it was a miracle you guys were here right now, in the glorious shining sun shining radiantly amongst your group. The skies were clean and crisp, shining a nice blue as all clouds decided to go on holiday which is certainly unusual here.

Its a shame that you were alone again.

Turns out being for lack of a better words (or more realistically Yuri's words) a "pathetic bitch loser" means you ended up here alone while they sat in a 2 and a half hour queue for a 30 second ride they swear is "worth it".

You don't necessarily believe them, but if they desire to do so there is no point in shooting down their excitement.

Besides its not all bad.

You get to waltz around the park entirely uninterrupted joyfully and do some rides that they stuck their noses up at.

Different tastes and all, it just so happens to be that you are the odd and obviously right one out.

You walked through the hundreds of people that walked in the way opposite. The full package deal so to speak; annoying children whining at their parents, teenagers randomly mantling each other's backs, the elderly who definitely didn't want to be here. You weaseled through them all just about, only pushing into like... 15 people.

You got to the ride that Minju called the worst, a simple blue water-slide. Sure it was made for children, probably those who haven't formed as much as an independent thought. But there's nothing wrong with enjoying the more simplistic pleasures in life. Climbing up the rickety staircase that almost certainly did not pass health standards, peering towards the ride those three went on. In their defense it certainly looked impressive, making everything its vicinity look miniature in comparison, considering how much they scream at the littlest things it did seem like an odd choice.

You let the minutes pass you by, waiting for the queue of children to slowly funnel down the slide. In your sightseeing you saw a blob of pink hair that looked almost familiar, she was looking down and you couldn't see much more than that.

"Sir how many?" The employee asked, holding the chain in his hand.

"One." You said quickly, getting nothing more than a curt nod before being allowed through. Mantling the orange raft and laying back. It only took a few seconds for everyone else to get into position before you were hurling down the slide, fingers grabbing onto the supports far tighter than the speed demanded. It only took a few seconds before you were at the bottom again, hitting a stylish jump (at least in your opinion) out onto the soft ground.

You would never fathom why Minju hated that ride with every fiber of her being.

"Hey!" A voice squealed to your left, a voice you'd recognize anywhere, Yena. Confirming your earlier suspicions.

You took a glance at her, wearing a cyan shirt with fabric far too thick for this weather. She almost certainly agreed, jumper wrapped around her waist, just not done particularly well by the arms dangling against her bare thighs. She gave you a quick smile and waved you over towards her.

"Oh hey Yena, you work here now?" You walked closer.

"Yep! Got the summer gig I wanted! I've loved this place since I was a kid." That was true, she didn't shut up about it, not that you minded. You've never seen joy quite as contagious as she talked about this place, probably why you ultimately came here in the first place.

"Sweet, does that not mean you have like... a ride to attend to?" Yena flashed a face of feigned offense, pulling her phone out from her pocket.

"Already trying to get rid of me?" She pouted. "But no, I haven't been assigned anything in particular right now. I guess I just get to walk around?"

"Fair enough, well I guess I can keep you company..." You rolled your eyes.

"How generous, anyways... Why have you came here alone? Do you not have friends?" She asked, stepping a bit too close as she intruded on your personal space carelessly.

"I'm not, they just wanted to sit in a queue for 2 and a half fucking hours." You grumbled.

Yena smirked, you knew what that look meant. It just surprised you it came so quickly, she moved you two slightly out of earshot.

"So what I'm hearing is we have some time to kill right?" The scent of her perfume intertwined itself with the scent of summer sweat and new clothes.

"I guess we do, would you happen to have anything in mind?" You murmured, playing innocent.

"I say we break this job in, you remember the last time right?" Oh god you did.

It was her first job, a number of years back. At the gas station not too far from the two of yours houses. She messaged you to keep her company in the middle of the night, expecting her to just want you to listen to her yap for a few hours.

That was certainly not what happened, Yena had black hair back then. You remembered it so vividly, probably because she backed you into the staff toilet and made you grab a handful of it. Pushing your far too erect cock into her ever divine mouth, there were very few words shared. Just the sweet gags of Yena taking your cock in as delightfully as possible, you didn't last long that night. Giving her the load she desperately craved, swallowing it all in one gulp.

You two made a bit of a habit after that, every night shift ended up with some form of messing around. Its honestly a miracle she didn't get fired from the job.

"Yeah, but this is a lot busier than that dingy ass gas station." She giggled.

"Yeah, but I'm staff silly! They so graciously offered me a hotel room since my commute is far too long. We just need to discretely make it that way" She pointed south, "If anyone asks I'm showing you where to go, got it?" You nodded.

Yena lead the charge, moving at a moderate pace. Evidently already enjoying herself in her head; legs not separating quite far as they normally do, her hand finding any opportunity to discretely brush against your thighs when nobody is looking.

The walk is also far too long for your own sanity, giving you chances to imagine all the things you could do to her in a personal hotel room. All depending on how much time she gives you. Maybe you could reunite your cock with her blissful mouth or possibly you could ram her against the wall, or the bed, or the floor, she'd look good in any. You knew first hand of course.

"Quick right here." You followed, the hotel coming into view, it was in the shape of a scrap fish. You chuckled at its sight. Yena was less impressed than you, possibly numb to the sheer absurdity of it.

You two had finally made it to the ocean blue door, Yena scanning her keycard in a rush. Her hastiness resulted in you basically being shoved into the metallic wall of the elevator. "Ow Yena, relax a bit."

She hit the buttons, taking you to the top floor. "I'm impatient, okay?? Is that what you want to hear, we don't have long." Truthfully neither of you knew how much time the two of you had, but she's right.

The elevator opened with a satisfying ding! Yena skipping straight ahead to the door in front of her, 832. It'd probably help to remember that just in case.

She slammed the door behind you, giving you no time to prepare before her hands were on you, fingers grabbing onto the fabric of your shirt hungrily. Tugging you forward, roughly catching your lips in a needy kiss. The agonizing walk must have only furthered her desperation, her tongue sliding into your mouth as you struggled to keep up.

You grabbed at Yena's clothed ass, fondling the firm flesh that you've enjoyed many times before. With your hands, your fingers and even your tongue. Another idea perhaps, but you turn your focus onto kissing Yena passionately. Her tongue resigning its control in exchange of you blissfully tongue fucking her mouth.

It only took a few moments for the two of you to run out of breath, Yena gasping for oxygen which you capitalized on. Lifting her up in your arms to which she yelped "Oh!".

You dropped her gently against the bed, Yena shuddered as she made contact. Looking up at your towering frame. "Fuck its been far too long Y/N" She gasped.

Oh god you agreed.

You definitely planned to make up for lost time, climbing over her. Getting rid of that bothersome shirt that dared to cover Yena's chest, giving it sloppy kisses on her exposed abs. The salty taste of her sweat gathering on your tongue, unashamedly licking on every crevice of her chest from her underboob that exposed itself under her maroon bra to her belly button.

She mewled out her words, "Mmh your tongue always feels good, but it'd feel better somewhere else..."

You smirked, continuing your tongue's long strokes against her chest "Yeah? Where would that be Yena?" You knew her so well and one of the things she loved the most was being fucking teased.

"Hm, just a bit lower than where you are now." She was purposefully vague.

"Oh? Here?" You asked, kissing just above the waist of her shorts.

"Psh– You know what I mean..!"

You pushed your hand between her legs, doing no more than just that. Watching her whine.

"Do I? For someone who was so desperate to rush you are oh. so. slow. in telling me what you want."

Yena finally relented, accepting the loss this time because she knows it'll only lead to greater victories. "Fine, I need you to eat me out, is that what you want to hear?"

You reveled in her confession, hands ripping off her shirt leaving her nearly bare. Saved for her underwear and shoes, you didn't fucking care for the rest of it, she wasn't wearing matching underwear, panties a shade of blue made only darker in the middle by her dripping arousal.

"Of course Yena." Your fingers rubbed the damp fabric, getting the desired affirmations you wanted in the form of a broken whimper.

You tugged her underwear down, revealing her wet pussy, wet could be understatement of the century. For she was drenched with little touch at all. The shoes acting as a barrier you did not care enough to overcome. Binding Yena's feet together -not that she had any intention or want to move- "Fuck you are so wet–"

You got closer, climbing onto the bed. The lack of being able to properly spread her legs made things a bit more difficult in terms of position, hands perching comfortably on her right thigh, blowing hot air on her entrance. She shivered, "F-fuck, come on... Stop teasing me already!"

Your breath hitched, only complying because you were equally as desperate. From the first lick you were quick, careless, demanding. sliding your tongue all over her folds, gathering Yena's ever plentiful juices. Her sweet taste being all you needed to keep going but the way her thighs twitched and shook were all the more reason to continue.

"Oh fuck! It's been so long!" Yena gasped at the first contact, you kept licking, twirling your tongue around her pussy, covering her in your spit.

"Far too long." You replied, you could discuss meeting later another day. For now you craved more.

Your lone finger pushed inside, then out, then inside, then out. Slower than your tongue, the two different speeds making Yena lose her mind. "Fuck– that, fuck–" far too stunned to speak, not that you could blame her.

You looked up at her as you licked, her hands didn't remain idle, far from it. Pinching her pink nipples firmly, her bra neatly fallen into the impromptu pile that formed somehow.

Her eyes were closed, scrunched. Mouth wide open just enough to let the sinful gasps and pleads come out, her face was flushed a deep red like she had been burnt by pleasure.

You could sense she was getting close, but it wouldn't be your tongue to finish the job. So you pulled away.

"Ah!– Why'd you stop?!" She groaned at the sudden edging, instinctively freezing her hands movement.

You moved suddenly, Yena suddenly being met with a clothed cock pitching a tent right in front of her eyes. She knew what you wanted, looking up with those fucking eyes that made you weak, giving a small kitten kiss to the straining fabric.

"You want me to suck this dick? So hard and you haven't even been touched..." Hypocrisy certainly was lost on Yena.

"Of fucking course, take every inch for me." Was all you needed to say and Yena gave her hands a new objective, pulling down the two obstructions in one fell swoop. Leaving you to be the one to finish the job.

Yena was still laying there, tongue out. Like she wanted you to claim the ultimate prize or at least the second ultimate prize. Such things are entirely trivial and semantic, you readjusted her. Tangled feet now placed at the pillow as she was given her the perfect access to your cock, to which she took happily. Hand gripping the base firmly.

"Such a good cock, you always were my favorite." You ignored any possible implication because your brain went numb at the sight of her slapping your cock against her tongue.

"Always tasting so good." She sampled it like a divine meal, giving it a barrage of kisses, making out with your tip. Beginning to take you inside her mouth, that made you weak in the knees, just barely avoiding falling backwards onto the bed.

"Fuck, Yena I've missed this..." You gasped, she responded with taking half way. Bobbing her head up and down as a frantic swirl of pink hair, "Like that." Her hands pumped what she couldn't fit inside her silky mouth.

She hungrily swallowed every inch that she could muster, cheeks hollowing out, mouth somehow even tighter than before. Yena relinquished her hand, moving them to your thighs. You knew the look she just gave you, its the please fuck my mouth look.

You grabbed the back of her head, grabbing onto enough of her hair to move her. Yena closed her eyes as you pulled her down to your base, taking you straight to the hilt. Gagging all over your length as she crammed it into her mouth, nose pushing against your crotch in satisfaction.

"Fucking hell Yena, always so good at this..." You pulled her up and down on your cock, letting your tip slam against the back of her vibrating throat as she deepthroated your cock sinfully.

She couldn't really respond, but made her presence known with as many mewls and guttural sounds she could. You bobbed her head quickly, using her mouth as a sleeve for the both of yours pleasure.

The sight of Yena choking herself on your cock was filthy; obscene, the only words that came to mind at this point. The sheer lust in your head drowning out any coherency you once had.

Yena drooled all down her chin, certainly not fit for work in how she looks currently. "Shit...."

ring

ring

Nemonemo nemonemo sign

Well thats certainly not your ringtone.

"Shit." You said more firmly now, getting Yena off your cock.

"Damn buzzkills, hold on." She brought the phone to her ear. "Yep, i'll be over in just a second. On the other side of the park. K thanks, bye."

"I take it we are being interrupted?" You sighed, solemnly missing the feeling of Yena's mouth on yours.

"Yep, guess our luck ran out... You can jerk off if you want? Or something? I don't know to be honest." Yena quickly got to work, reclipping her bra around her breasts, tugging her panties upwards, grabbing her perfume from her bag and quickly making herself as presentable as possible. The event's that transpired here chalkable as just being slightly unkempt.

"Nah, I'll go on some more rides while I wait for the others. Fucking stupid job." You groaned as you put your trousers back on.

"Fuck I wanted to cum! I still do... I'll text you if i get a free minute!" She promised, the two of you discreetly getting out of there.

-

The opportunity presented itself a few hours later, just an hour before closing.

They wanted to go on another ride.

Yena texted you that she was free for the next 10 minutes.

The hotel was a luxury you didn't have time to reach.

This would have to do.

You were sat on the toilet seat, down to your shoes, cock pointing towards Yena's entrance. She sank down, taking every inch of you inside.

"Fuck... This is my favourite ride of them all." You ignored her cheesy comment, she was squeezing the life out of your shaft, bouncing up and down vigorously, slamming against your crotch as she rode the stolen high from earlier.

"Bounce on my cock for me Yena!" You moaned against her ear, hoping that there wasn't people this close to the stool. She was snug around you, your praise making her squeeze even tighter.

"Ah!" That was far too loud.

"Quiet... Don't want people to hear how well you are taking this cock do you?"

Yena nodded and kept bouncing up and down, she was fast, rolling her hips as she rode. "Fuck your throbbing..." You kneaded her ass in between thrusts, groping the soft flesh with pure desperation, want, need.

"We don't have very long, cum for me Yena." You cooed. Yena gasped in your ear, you couldn't expect her to do all the work, swapping positions as you pushed her against the stool door. Thrusting into her needy cunt with all the strength you had left, holding your hand against her mouth, muffling her sweet moans that nobody else deserved to hear.

Her legs trembled in the air, her face was beet red and sweaty, she was getting closer for you.

You could feel her get somehow even more tighter than before, she was getting close. Desperate to hit that high, the clock was ticking. Yena seizes in your embrace, gushing her girlcum all over your shaft, some dripping on the floor, her explosive orgasm nearly making you blow your load right inside her.

You had to act quick, pulling out of her warmth and descending her onto the filthy floor, pushing your cock into her warm mouth, fucking her hole with reckless abandon as there was no time to waste. She gagged up saliva as the new position made you go down her throat.

Your orgasm crept up inside of you, shooting the biggest load you've had ever down her throat, rope after rope filled Yena's throat as she took it all.

You were honestly impressed with how she endured all of that, pulling your cock out of her warm mouth as you fell backwards, "Shit... I'm gonna be late! That took 15 minutes... Help me quickly!" She gasped, you helped her dress herself, spray the perfume for the second time and hope she didn't get in too much trouble.

"If I don't get fired maybe you should come to this park alone... Perhaps you could spend the night."

"Sure thing, they are going to be out of queue soon so I've also gotta run, nice to see you again." You laughed.

"See ya! Hope I was up to customer satisfaction guarantee!" She blew you a kiss and left the stool, you secretly sneaking out a few minutes later when the coast was clear.

[random-mha-one-shots]

bakugou x gn reader

Celebrating bakugou's birthday HIS way

It was April 19th, the day before Katsuki's birthday. For the past week, you had been planning the celebration. Kirishima even offered to help you throw a party, but you decided against it. Katsuki didn't seem like a birthday person, and he definitely wasn't a party person. So, instead, you set up something a little more private for just the two of you to do.

That day, after school, you and Katsuki hung out in your room. Both of you were sitting on the bed, watching TV while he had an arm wrapped around you. "You know what tomorrow is?" You said in a teasing tone.

Katsuki rolled his eyes and responded, "Yeah, I know what tomorrow is. You better not make a big deal out of it."

"Too late, we've already got plans."

"Cancel 'em. Whatever they are."

"What? No, I'm not canceling."

His grip around you tightened a little. "Then you're going alone, because I'm staying in my room."

"Come on, don't be boring… Trust me, it'll be fun." Katsuki didn't respond; he turned his attention back to the TV. You sat up a bit to face him better. "I'm serious, I'll drag you out of here if I have to." Still no response from him, but it was better than being shut down completely. "You gotta be ready by 9 tomorrow."

"In the morning?" He huffed.

"Yes. In the morning."

Katsuki grunted, "And you're not even gonna tell me where you're trying to take me?"

"No, that would ruin the surprise, stupid."

"Figures…" He was mostly quiet for the rest of the night, occasionally prodding you for hints on what the hell you planned to do with him tomorrow. Of course, you gave him nothing. Eventually, it got late, and Katsuki headed back to his room.

You said a quick, "Goodnight, love you," as he left. To which he bluntly responded, "Yeah, love you…"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, you woke up much earlier than usual to get ready. By 9 AM, you found yourself dressed and standing outside Katsuki's door. You knocked on the door, "You awake yet?"

"Gimme a minute." He walked over and unlocked the door for you. You smiled and said, "Happy Birthday, baby."

"Yeah, thanks…" He seemed very unenthusiastic. When you got inside, you sat down on the edge of his bed and watched as he finished getting ready. "Wear something comfortable… and flexible."

Katsuki was about to ask why the hell he needed to wear something flexible, but he honestly didn't care as long as he was comfortable. Once he got dressed, he picked up his phone and his keys. "I'm ready. Now, where the hell are you taking me?"

"You'll see when we get there…" You led him out of the dorms and outside to the lot. You got in your car with Katsuki, started the engine, and drove off together. He still seemed kind of tired, his head was resting against the window. He looked oddly calm, it was kind of nice…

After about 20 minutes of driving through the city, you parked in front of a tall building. "What is this place supposed to be?" Katsuki asked. This definitely wasn't what he was expecting. "If you ask me one more time, I'm gonna smack you. Just wait."

He grinned, "I'd like to see you try." He held onto your hand and followed you into the building. Once you were inside, you went up to the front desk and spoke to the dude behind the counter. Katsuki listened as you gave him your name, trying to get any information about what you had planned here. He heard you say something about a reservation, but that was it.

You thanked the receptionist and headed for the elevator, still holding onto Katsuki's hand. This whole thing had been a pain in the ass to plan, but it would all be absolutely worth it once you got upstairs. The elevator went up and reached its floor. You got off and walked down the hall, keeping an eye out for room numbers. Eventually you stopped in front of a large door.

Katsuki stood there, confused, as you looked at the door, "You gonna open it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll open it…"

You opened the door and held it so Katsuki could step inside ahead of you. When both of you were inside, you watched as he took in his surroundings. The room was huge. One wall was made up entirely of windows that showed an incredible view of the city. Another wall had a huge display case full of all kinds of weapons. The floors were covered in mats and various obstacles. Katsuki opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"This place is a training facility. A lot of pro heroes come here. But for the next 2 hours, you and I have this room to ourselves."

"You're kidding…"

"Dead serious. We can do some quirk training, strength training, mess around with whatever kinds of stuff they have in the case, we could spar… We can do pretty much anything in here."

He walked over to the display case to examine some of the weapons and smiled. "You better believe we're sparring."

"I was kind of hoping you'd say that…" You smiled back and stood next to him in front of the case. Katsuki picked up a spear-looking weapon and turned to face you. He took a fighting stance and waited for you to do the same. You more than happily met his stance and, before you knew it, the two of you were fighting.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

You and Katsuki seemed to forget about time; sparring, switching out weapons, and sparring some more. Neither of you were the romantic type, but sparring like this felt like its own kind of dance, something that only the two of you could share. By the end of your reserved time, the two of you were laying on the ground next to each other, out of breath.

Katsuki sat up to face you and said, "That was fucking insane…"

Between heavy breaths, you responded, "Yeah… I think I'm gonna pass out." You sat up to face him and smiled. "Happy Birthday."

Katsuki reached over and put his arm around your waist, his touch was much softer than it was just a few minutes ago. "Yeah, best birthday ever." You moved a little closer and leaned your head on his shoulder. "How'd you even get this place?"

You smiled. "I had to pull some strings…"

He smiled back. "What kind of strings, idiot?"

"Don't worry about it. Just cmere." You cupped his cheek and pulled him a little closer. Katsuki leaned in too and closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours.