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shy-writer-999 · 7 months ago

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When they're drunk: Monster Trio, Ace + Law (sfw, fluff)

Summary: How do they act when they're drunk? What's their favorite drink? Do they get lovey-dovey? SFW fluff. CW: Curse words/profanity. "Princess" used in Sanji and Ace's parts. Mentions of kissing/making out, suggestive themes but nothing outright explicit (hence, sfw). A singular, mild nod to vomiting in Sanji's section.

Luffy: rowdy and hungry

He’s pretty predictable; he gets rowdy, eats a lot, and has horrible hangovers (one of the main reasons he abstains from drinking almost entirely).

Rarely drinks. One of the reasons in his mind for not over-indulging is that if he gets too drunk he won’t be able to remember all the meat he ate.

Literally no impulse control. So when he does drink, he racks up a HUGE tab (mostly bar food) and one of the crew has to pick up his bill because he forgets to close it out. You make sure to tip extra because it’s his tab.

Eats even more than usual because (obviously) eating good food while you’re drunk makes it taste even better. Chokes on his food more, too. It's kind of a pain in the ass.

Luffy is a MENACE about the food. He’ll gomu gomu his arm to the other side of the bar to swoop up some unsuspecting random’s food and he’ll shove it in his gullet in the blink of an eye. No evidence or crumbs. A monster.

He gets dehydrated because he doesn’t drink water when he’s drunk, and his salt intake is crazy, so he literally has to be reminded to do so. At some point you just start pushing a glass of water into his hands and rolling your eyes because you know he’s going to be the biggest complainer the next morning.

Luffy and Usopp egg each other on, it’s bad because sometimes they have drinking contests (or eating contests). They get scrappy sometimes and you have to tell them off because they cause a scene.

He won’t shut up about being king of the pirates. No one minds but, goddamn, how many times can one person say that in a night?

He’s endearingly sweet when he’s had too much to drink. He can’t stop staring at you when his face isn’t buried in a plate of food.

His eyes are glued to your face.

“Luffy, what? Why are you staring at me?”

“You just look so pretty.”

He even wants to hold your hand when you walk back to the ship at the end of the night. The whole crew thinks you make a cute couple, and they love how happy you make each other.

When you crawl into bed at the end of the night, he clings onto you like a sloth and then starts snoring in your ear. He wraps himself around you and conks out almost immediately.

Sure enough, the next morning he’s complaining so much it would be insufferable if you didn’t love him to pieces. He whines and you take care of him.

Luffy recovers from his monster hangover at a superhuman speed, which makes the whining not so bad—it’ll be less than an hour of complaining and whining and pouting, but when you’ve made him drink enough water and brought him enough food, he is as good as new in mere minutes. It’s uncanny.

Favorite drink?: Anything he can get his hands on, but he likes beer best (more volume). Will never do shots.

Zoro: over-indulges like clockwork

When he's drunk he generally does things he shouldn’t. Drinks too much and flirts too much. Eats way too much and runs his mouth too much, too.

He flirts with anyone he wants to, which is usually VERY out of character, but he doesn’t care at all when he’s drunk. He’ll flirt with you, with Sanji’s partner, with Sanji (?), the bartender, anyone and everyone he feels like.

It’s when he’s tipsy that the flirting starts. He’s deviously subtle about it at first. Zoro jokes and tease, but after coaxing so much laughter out of you one too many times, you start to wonder if he’s flirting with you (he is).

He gets more blunt as the night goes on. The drunker he is the bolder he is. He manages to elicit more crimson, flushed faces in the bar than anyone on the crew, and this can be attributed to the fact that he’s strikingly handsome and he almost never says anything suggestive. But the liquor brings out his cheeky smiles. And it’s hard to look away from those muscles or flashing eyes.

Drinks wayyyy too much but has a super high tolerance, so he doesn’t usually act very drunk. He can drink the whole crew (and usually whole bar) under the table.

Always down for a drinking game and loves to bet on it because he knows he’ll win. He pouts when no one wants to participate because everyone can only lose to him so many times before they start to refuse for good.

Generally just down for gambling in general, but when he’s drunk he goes balls to the wall with it. And he actually doesn’t lose very much. Almost makes enough to pay off his tab.

While he doesn’t act very drunk, if you know him well enough you can tell when he’s too far gone. His eyes linger, he smiles harder, his glass empties faster, and he turns his body towards yours more with each passing second. His knee or thigh rests against yours and you’re so intoxicated with his presence that it’s hard to pay attention to his words.

Zoro orders more than he knows he should, and more than he knows he can pay for. Somehow it always works out—one of the crew members bails him out (usually Nami, and when she does, she adds 300% interest, but Zoro is too drunk to care).

Surprisingly polite to waitstaff, maybe a little curt at times.

It’s no secret that he just loves a good glass of sake, beer, wine, anything and everything with alcohol. One of his favorite things is to just sit back, relax, and drink. It would concern you if you didn’t know how strict his discipline and self-control are.

He gets extra handsy when he’s drunk (and possessive). He never crosses lines with you, but since you started seeing each other in an intimate capacity, he can’t take his hands off of you, especially when he’s drunk. Doesn’t care if he’s in public, doesn’t care if people are watching. The rest of the crew is shocked when they first witness him getting a rough handful of your ass.

Zoro pulls out pet names, which you’d assume is out of character. Somehow the liquor makes him sweet. “C’mere gorgeous.”

But it also makes him spicier. “God, you’re so fucking hot.”

Loves sloppy make out sessions after he's had a few drinks. Also is prone to pulling you away somewhere and... well, you know. The man's a dog.

Zoro’s voice gets lower and huskier when he’s too far gone. It makes you feel some sort of way. And your bashfulness does not escape him.

But when he’s wayyyy drunk, he just falls asleep. Like he’ll pass out at the bar. He makes it back to the ship by himself usually, but you’ve had to shake the sleepy swordsman awake a couple of times.

“Zoro, get up. We’re going back to the ship.”

You have no idea how he can sleep in such a loud bar, and the bartender has been glaring at him for a good 20 minutes at this point.

“Wha-?” He raises his head and blinks sleep out of his eyes while he instinctively reaches for his (empty) pint. “Oh hey, pretty.” He mumbles and your heart does a flip for the 100th time that night.

Zoro gets MONSTER, BRUTAL hangovers. Next level. He doesn’t complain, per say, but he’ll walk around squinting, shielding his eyes from light, wincing, muttering curse words, and hissing in air through his teeth the whole time. Forces himself to train through the hangovers and gets grumpy about it.

Favorite drink: sake. Really nice sake.

Sanji: as doting as ever

Ohhh Sanji. He’s adorable when he’s drunk.

His whole face gets red and his hair gets a bit ruffled. He blushes more than usual and you can practically see his eyes turn into hearts when he looks at you.

Sanji drunk flirts wayyy more audaciously than Zoro, and when he’s drunk he actually spits mad game.

He’s incapable of doing so when he’s sober, but when he’s drunk he literally attracts a crowd of women. But his eyes are only for you.

If the bar has music and people are dancing, Sanji begs you to dance with him. He loves to twirl you around, feel your hand in his, and let loose. And he’s surprisingly good at it.

Orders bar food even though he’s continually unimpressed by it.

He somehow manages to weasel his way into the kitchen every time he sets foot in a bar. He wants to see what’s going on in there—when’s the last time they cleaned the stove? Are the knives sharp? What’s the mise en place setup? What’s their speciality? Why are they using cabernet sauvignon to cook, instead of a pinot noir that would obviously be the better choice? God forbid they use frozen french fries.

Inevitably, he ends up cooking something and either getting along with or fighting with the cooks.

Sometimes he even ends up behind the bar. He isn’t just a spectacular chef, he’s also good at making drinks. Obviously his are better than the bartender’s.

Smokes so many cigs when he’s drunk (because nothing trumps a drunk cigarette) >_>

When he isn’t fucking around in the kitchen or slinging cocktails, Sanji waits on you hand and foot. He gets you literally anything you desire when you’re at the bar, and when you’re back home he asks you (and everyone else) what food you’d like.

“Princess, would you like another cocktail?” and “Have you been drinking enough water, sweetheart?”

If a creepy guy at the bar so much as looks at you, let alone puts an unwanted hand on your arm or small of your back, Sanji flips his shit. “Hey asshole, watch it. Do that again and I’ll kick your ass.”

This goes without saying, but Sanji loves to cook when he’s drunk and somehow his food is even better than usual—and that isn’t because you’re drunk, too. It’s just that good.

“What would you like me to make you, my love?”

If you don’t know what particular dish you’re in the mood for, he makes you a feast comprised of your favorite foods.

Even if you request something elaborate, he has no problems with it. Cooking is his love language, and he puts extra love into your food.

“God, you’re so beautiful. I can’t take my eyes off of you.” He praises you beyond belief, even when he’s at the stovetop. “You’re perfect, my angel.”

Sanji smothers you in kisses and wants to entwine his fingers with yours. He’s a huge hand holder and cuddler.

If you get way too drunk, he carries you to bed, helps you into some comfy clothes and makes sure you’re sleeping on your side. He’ll pet your hair and watch over you carefully. He’d never let you get to the point of throwing up, but just in case you do, he brings you the necessary supplies.

He sets out everything he thinks you could possibly want in case you wake up before him, and when he is awake, he brings you whatever you ask for. He’s attentive, never overbearing, thoughtful, and darling.

“You somehow get more beautiful every day,” he tells you first thing in the morning when you feel like shit from your hangover and (objectively) look a damn mess. “So perfect, like always.”

Favorite drink(s): bougie and carefully curated glass of pinot gris. Even better if it comes with complementary accoutrements. Also enjoys a negroni.

Ace: charming and protective

When Ace is drunk, he’s smooth, flirty, charming, polite, and a bit forward. But he gets just as rowdy as Luffy. God forbid they’re at the same bar.

He loves it when a bar has pool. He’s crazy good at it and begs everyone to play.

When the situation calls for it, he either breaks up bar fights or runs his mouth so much that he starts them. He’s sassy in general but also talks big game (that he can back up). Especially if someone starts slandering or talking out of their ass about someone he knows.

Somehow manages to gain control over the music every bar he walks into. And he has good playlists too. He hates it if the vibe is off so he takes it upon himself to remedy or prevent that.

Also a big fan of drinking games.

Weirdly excited if there is any opportunity to grill meat. Thinks it’s fun to fuck around with his powers and show off (but it doesn’t get too cringey or anything).

Won’t smoke any drunk cigs (like Sanji) but will accompany people outside and give them a light if they need one (he’s just so thoughtful!!!)

He’s wildly protective over you.

Makes you flustered nonstop and pays for everything. Making you flustered is like a sport to him.

And while he’s obsessed with you, he doesn’t cling to you at the bar or demand your attention every second. He wants you to have fun with your friends, but he also wants you to be safe, so he keeps a watchful eye.

Sings random bar pirate songs with his friends and crew and gets super goofy.

Raucous laughter. Spit-take level

When his cheeks are ruddy and his eyes are glazed over he looks painfully good. The flush makes his freckles pop and when he scrunches his nose up to laugh they’re emphasized even more. He looks ridiculously good. Like, squeeze your thighs together good.

Ace TEARS UP bar food when he’s drunk. He’s a beast for it. Can put away plates of fries, wings, pizza, pretzels, you name it. The man is a machine.

Loves to put a hand on your thigh when you’re sitting next to him. He does this sober but when he’s drunk it’s feels so much more intense.

Pulls out the sweetest pet names.

“How’s it going, sugar?”

“You drinking enough water, pumpkin?”

Among others: buttercup, darling, angel, princess, doll, etc.

His polite tendencies are multiplied by 1000 any time he gets a drop of alcohol in him.

Gets into sports (or strength) debates at bars.

Has a penchant for accidentally leaving stuff at bars, e.g. wallet. Gets embarrassed about it afterwards.

Ace’s body gets HOT when he’s drunk—his ability (or attention) to control his temperature slips a bit and he can sometimes forget to regulate himself (regarding his devil fruit). And while he’s physically hot, he doesn’t get sweaty or anything. And it’s nice to hold his hand when it’s warm, too. Super comforting.

He’s all hands (and lips) when he’s drunk, and when you let him/when neither of you are too wasted, but if you’re really drunk and try to initiate anything with him, he IMMEDIATELY puts a stop to it. He’s a gentleman (not implying that anyone mentioned here would do the opposite of this, just stressing it for Ace because I think he’d put a lot of intention and thought into this, along with Sanji).

He makes sure you don’t drink too much (and tries to do the same) because he hates seeing you miserable with a hangover. But if you do over-indulge, he’s there to bring you anything you need—ibuprophen, water, Pedialyte, more blankets, different clothes, food, literally anything you could think of.

When you’re out of bed the morning after, he literally chews people out for speaking too loudly around you when he knows you have a headache. He's attentive and gets grumpy (not towards you, of course) whenever you're feeling bad.

Favorite drink: whiskey or rum and coke. Beer guy, too, so might indulge in the occasional IPA and pretend like it tastes good.

Law: awkward, silly, and endearing

Frequently refuses to drink because he hates having his senses dulled in the slightest. But on rare occasions when he does drink, the whole crew has a blast.

His standoffish and cold disposition melts away when he has a few drinks in him.

The first time you witness his coldness melting away, you’re sitting around a table with the crew at a pub. He’s a couple drinks in, mean mugging like usual, deadpan and unamused. But someone says something ridiculously funny and he breaks into roaring laughter. You weren’t expecting that but everyone else is grinning because they love to see their captain happy.

When Law gets past a certain point he lets loose. It’s fun to see him mess around with the crew. He’ll laugh so hard he doubles over.

He's so sweet and tender inside. And that makes more of a prominent impression when he lets his guard down just a tad.

When he’s drunk he thinks Bepo is even cuter and goes a little overboard about it to the point where Bepo side eyes him >_> he thinks it’s weird to have his captain hang all over him sometimes. But Bepo is just so fluffy and cute!

When Law is intoxicated and you’re around, his face is covered in big, goofy, sweet smiles. Flashing eyes and lingering touches. He gets rosy cheeks and his hair gets messed up. Makes him look even better.

But he also has the tendency to make blisteringly intense eye contact. So strong and scathing that it makes you squirm in awkwardness if you aren’t used to it. He can’t help it though, he’s locked-in on how beautiful you are.

Surprisingly a fan of drinking games (no gambling though), but what he likes best is if a bar has old arcade games (air hockey and pool will suffice, if not). He could play them for hours and gets super excited about them. He knows all the facts and history behind each arcade game and will rant about it to anyone in earshot.

His ears perk up if he hears some nerdy shit. Did someone mention a comic he read when he was five? A commemorative coin that he has been on the hunt for? He’ll get to the bottom of it.

If he hears a bad take on his interests^^ he’ll sit down for a heated debate and he always wins.

Surprisingly cute when he’s wasted because he slurs the “-ya”

Watches the crew's water intake like a hawk. Reminds everyone to drink water and makes sure everyone has a glass of it at all times.

Will make sure the crew has enough bar food to eat, family-style.

Picks up the crew's huge tab without being fussy about it. Might pretend to be grumpy about it. But he does it lovingly because he cherishes his crew so much and it's a nice way to showcase that without having to say it out loud.

If you’re one on one, Law can be persuaded to talk about deep and personal things, or rather, he’s more comfortable speaking about them when he has some liquid courage in his veins.

The first time he got too drunk and you took care of him was before you started seeing each other. You practically had to carry him back to the Polar Tang. He almost left his hat at the bar, too.

Law was being uncharacteristically sweet to you all night. When you got back to his cabin, you helped him get into bed and brought him water. He (drunkenly) thanked you profusely and called you beautiful (you didn’t expect that).

The next morning he blushed bright red and was painfully awkward when he said thank you. He had a massive hangover and tried to hide it but you could tell every time he winced.

After that, Law figured out he could just use his devil fruit powers to remove the last traces of alcohol from his (or someone else's) systems, so it's safe to say that the Polar Tang doesn't experience hangovers much.

Favorite drink: Espresso martini.

tysm for reading ヽ(>∀<☆)ノ

i'm back from my mini-hiatus! but i can't say i'll be posting regularly (or at all? idk) until mid december. (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ it's final papers and app season so i'm going to be getting it from all sides 😭 but holy shit i can't wait to go absolutely crazy when i'm free from those obligations!

see my masterlist if you'd like more~

#one piece headcanons #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece fluff #op fluff #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #luffy x reader #monkey d luffy x reader #sanji x reader #sanji x you #portgas d ace x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #portgas d ace x you #one piece imagine #op x reader #op x you #op x y/n

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lovelybucky1 · 11 months ago

Note

Oooohh i have a request!:

Playing “never have i ever” or something like that with logan and wade (maybe along the lines of a boring friday night with nothing else to do) and you admit to never having an orgasm by anyone but yourself

Flash forward you’re in logan’s arms and wade is eating the fuck out of your pussy, and then they switch 👀👀

i’ve written something similar two the second part here, but i love the never have i ever idea! // divider from @strangergraphics

boredom isn’t something heroes are used to. there’s always something happening somewhere, someone needing to be saved. but tonight, everything is quiet. the three of you were suspicious at first, but you checked every police scanner, news outlet, and all of your contacts and came up with nothing. the bad guys had decided to take an evening off, and now you were stuck with nothing to do.

you, wade, and logan all sit around in the living room with bottles of beer. you and wade stare at the mindless gameshow on tv while logan rests his eyes. you’re definitely bored, but wade is restless. it’s like he’s itching for something to do, like his body is physically unable to handle the inactivity.

“why don’t we play a game?” wade asks, startling logan awake.

the two of you look over at wade. “what kind of game?” you ask.

“i don’t know, ‘never have i ever?’”

logan rolls his eyes, then shuts them again. he’ll deny any “old man” comments, but he really is one. you elbow logan in the side and he opens them again.

“come on, it’ll be fun,” wade pleads.

“it’s not like we have anything better to do,” you say to logan. reluctantly, he agrees.

you reposition yourselves in the living room. you sit on the couch, leaned against the arm with your feet in logan’s lap, who sits on the other end. wade sits on the floor by the coffee table, his beer on the table without a coaster next to him.

“this is your game, wilson. you start,” logan says before taking a sip of his beer.

“no, don’t drink! you only drink if you’ve done the thing i say,” wade scoffs. how can logan be so old and still know nothing about fun? “okay, okay. never have i ever… gotten arrested.”

you furrow your eyebrows at him while logan takes a drink. you’re almost certainly wade has been arrested before. “i don’t think you’re playing this game right,” you say. “you have to say things you’ve never done.”

wade scoffs. “i haven’t been arrested, thank you very much. all the cops who’ve tried have mysteriously ended up with broken noses.”

you roll your eyes at him. “my turn now? never have i ever… cheated on a partner.”

both of them take drinks, wade with more shame than logan. ugh, men.

then it’s logan’s turn. “never have i ever worn a dress.”

you figure it’s targeted at you, just because logan’s a dick, but to your surprise, wade drinks too. logan raises his eyebrow at him, silently urging him to elaborate.

“you wish you saw that, huh, peanut?” he taunts instead. logan makes a face at that.

“i’m thankin’ god i didn’t have to.”

you play a couple more rounds, all three of you exchanging stories and sipping from your bottles. it takes a lot to get them drunk, but you’re starting to feel it. there’s a collection of empty bottles, mostly beer, but halfway through the game, wade decided to up the ante with some liquor.

it’s wade’s turn again and he says, “never have i ever been with two guys at once.”

he means it as a joke. he doesn’t expect anyone to drink. there’s no way logan would do something like that, and you’re too innocent. that’s why his eyes practically pop out of his head when you throw back the shot.

the game turned sexual a few rounds ago, but it was pretty mild stuff. talk about doing stuff in public, kinks, freaky shit like that. nothing as interesting as this.

both wade and logan turn their full attention to you, eager to hear this story.

“what?” you play dumb.

“two guys at once?” wade asks. you shrug.

“it wasn’t anything.”

“nah,” logan says, sounding interested for the first time all game. “you gotta tell us.”

you sigh. “it was a while ago. i met this couple at a bar and they said they were looking for a third. i had nothing better to do and they were both hot, so…” you trail off, shrugging again.

“give us the gory details. how’d you do it? daisy chain?eiffel tower? double cowgirl? triple spooning? come on, tell us,” wade rambles.

“you’re a fucking perv,” you tell him and he doesn’t deny it. “it was just normal dp.”

logan raises an eyebow. “that stands for double penetration,” wade tells him.

“i know that. i’m just wondering how you took it all,” logan says.

you’re used to this kind of talk from wade. the man thinks with his dick so much that you question if he even has a brain. you’re not, however, used to this from logan. he’s no prude, but he usually doesn’t participate in these kinds of conversations with wade.

“must’ve been a tight fit,” logan adds on.

you look between the men and their interested faces. you’re still pretty bored, the game having grown stale a while ago, and now you’re a tipsy. you want something exciting and right now, you’re feeling bold enough to persue it.

“do you wanna see?” you ask them.

wade and logan share a glance, but it only takes a second before they’re replying “yes” in unison.

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aventoru · 16 days ago

Note

HII I saw you asking for requests so here I am!

I love your worrrkssss sm btw!

hsr men (mostly maybe Sunday, phainon, mydei, aventurine, Anaxa) feeling cuteness aggression towards reader? fluff I think!

take your time and thank you! 🙏

cuteness aggression

ft. sunday, phainon, mydei, aventurine, anaxa

tags : biting (with love), pda, physical touch, squeezing/tugging/tickling reader, FLUFF!

a/n : hii anon! this is my first ever request on this acc so i hope you enjoy it 🫶 i haven't written tooth rotting fluff like this in a long time so i hope it turns out fine 😭

SUNDAY

he usually expresses his affection in more subtle ways, no outward physical touch or pda

but there are moments when the aggression completely consumes him

you can tell he wants to touch you, or at the least do something to release the tension in his heart

but knowing sunday, he would never voice his desires out loud in fear of making you uncomfortable, so he just sits there, trying to keep his hands to himself

you have to admit, he looks so cute when he’s internally squealing over your cuteness like some teenage girl

often, you would give him the push he needs, encouraging him to show his affection to you as he pleases

and he takes the chance, despite still being shy

“you should try some, it’s really good!” you point to the mochi laid out on the table. after another one of the astral express’ expeditions, march 7th had brought back some desserts for the crew to share. you’re sitting across sunday, enjoying the delicacies after a fulfilling lunch.

sunday nods, moving his fork to prod at the food. but his gaze is zoned in on your cheeks that are currently stuffed due to your lack of self control when it came to sweets. you notice his fingers tighten on the end of the utensil as he bites his lips, as if he was trying to hold himself back.

“if you wanted to touch me, you could’ve just asked, y’know?” you say.

“n-no, it’s okay—” sunday stutters, flustered having been caught red-handed.

“i insist,” you lean across the table, offering your round cheeks to him.

your boyfriend sighs as he puts the fork down. his hand hesitates mid-air for a split second before he cups the side of your face. his fingers give your face a light squeeze before he admits, “you’re very adorable, (name).”

you smile dreamily and nuzzle your face deeper into his hand, satisfied at the affection your lover is showering you with.

PHAINON

he already has cuteness aggression towards you on a daily basis

he practically kisses every single part of your face every morning without fail. it’s become a routine at this point

fun fact : his favorite thing to do is squish your cheeks together and kiss your puckered lips

phainon usually has some degree of self control and keeps his aggression mild

but when you act particularly adorable, things get a bit…intense

you’ve witnessed him have to stop himself by screaming into his fist and physically suppress his desire

sometimes he fully loses control and takes ACTION. the furthest he’s gone is biting you either on your cheeks or a part of your hand

yes, he’s absolutely SHAMELESS

he doesn’t know why, the feeling just overtakes him and he can’t stop when it comes to you, even in public (run.)

“…what are you doing?” you ask. phainon stays silent next to you, his eyes zoning in on the cute jewelry you sported on your hand. the jewelry the he gifted you. “hello? earth to phainon??” you wave a hand in front of his face but it was no use.

“so pretty…” he murmurs, entranced by the shiny silver and gold. phainon intertwines your fingers with his and squeezes (affectionately).

“babe, stop,” you hiss, trying to pull your hand away from his grasp.

he pulls it right back, gently kissing your knuckles. his kisses move up your body, to your neck, then face. “muah!” he smooches your cheeks dramatically, leaning in subtly again before biting you.

“phainon,” you gasp turning to him in disbelief, “we’re in public!”

“so?” he drops his head to your shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

you can only sigh, letting him do as he wishes. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy his display of affection, even when it can get embarrassing at times. and who are you to stop his advances anyway?

MYDEI

despite being aggressive on the front lines, mydei is gentle when it comes to you

he’s known the battlefield all his life, so mydei’s still pretty hesitant when it comes to physical affection

that doesn’t make him immune to cuteness aggression though ❤️‍🔥

it’s a brand new feeling for him—feeling aggression not with malice but with love instead

at first, he physically restrains himself because he’s afraid he might hurt you (he could never tho) and resorts to straying away from physical touch altogether

you watch him with a look of concern when he sits as still as stone and reassure him : “mydei, you can squeeze me i won’t die i promise!!”

you take his arms and wrap them around your body, squeezing yourself, “see? im fine!”

when he finally realizes he can touch you as he pleases without hurting you, all hell breaks loose

you two are lazing on the couch, ready to take an afternoon nap after another tiring fight against the black tide. mydei has you seated on his lap as he observes your sleepy face. he thinks you look cute like this, getting comfortable in his arms. your boyfriend slowly wraps his arms around you, drawing circles on your hips before squeezing your waist tightly.

“i can’t breathe!” you cough, trying to squirm out of his grasp. he loosens his grip on your waist, yet his hands never leave your body.

“just a little longer,” mydei settles his face onto your shoulder, placing gentle kisses on your skin. you relax after a while after he makes no other attempt to cut off your airway. and just when you feel like dozing off in the warmth of your lover, he bites you.

“OW!” you exclaim, shoving his face away. mydei remains nonchalant as though nothing happened when you turn to glare at him. the moment you turn away though, the tiniest smirk appears on his face.

he’s prepared to bite you again.

AVENTURINE

aventurine definitely loves physical touch, but he only showers you with affection in private

his touches are usually gentle and soothing, with the purpose of finding comfort in you after a long day at work

it’s rare for him to feel cuteness aggression, but when it happens, it unleashes something inside him he didn’t know existed

he’ll shyly squeeze you by the waist and kiss you just a bit more dramatically (with the muah! and all)

when you catch his actions and tease him for it, he suddenly gets shy and hides his face in your neck

“you can keep going, i don’t mind”

“hmmm i don’t know what you’re talking about”

once he gets more comfortable with these feelings, his sly nature comes out when you let your guard down

he usually takes the opportunity to rush in and tickle you, tackling you and trapping you between his arms

“stop it!!” you laugh uncontrollably as aventurine tickles your weak spots. your boyfriend has you trapped on the couch under him. “hmmm stop what exactly?” aventurine feigns innocence as he continues his actions.

“let go!” you squirm, holding onto his arms in an attempt to stop him. aventurine halts his tickles yet his warm hands still remain on your skin. “but you look so cute,” he gushes affectionately as he squeezes your waist. the blond flops his entire body onto yours, nearly suffocating you with his weight.

aventurine had spotted pictures of you and him doing cute poses stuck on the fridge when he came home from work. seeing you with your cheeks puffed out and lips smiling definitely awakened something in him.

“get off meee,” you whine. “noo, let’s stay like this for a bit” he nuzzles himself into your neck. and just when aventurine was about to fall asleep on top of you, you grab his waist and flip him over, smiling cheekily when he opens his eyes in surprise. your boyfriend is about to get a taste of his own medicine.

ANAXA

to be honest, no one knew that anaxa was even capable of cuteness aggression, not even anaxa himself

anaxa knows he loves you, but physical touch was never a major thing for him. he just wanted your company, and that was it. or so the thought

the first few times he feels cuteness aggression, anaxa thought there was something was wrong with him, either mentally or physically. but the feeling keeps coming back and so he has to experiment

at first, he tries all sorts of remedies to get rid of such feelings : drowning himself in research, teaching more classes, getting in even more debates (arguments)

but none of it worked, and anaxa realizes that he wasn’t feeling angry, he was feeling affection

and well, there’s no other way to relieve that besides…you

he's not very obvious about it when he randomly approaches you and shows physical touch once before walking away as if nothing happened

you’re confused at first but eventually catch on, assuming it's just his strange way of expressing love

and now you just let him do whatever he wants LOL

you’re minding your own business, making anaxa a drink before he has to leave for work this morning. the scholar walks out from your shared bedroom, properly dressed and ready to go. he observes as you hum to yourself in the droma pajamas you stole from him. the outfit looks adorable on you and anaxa senses the strange feeling in his heart again.

so when you finally give him the drink, your lover ignores your outstretched hand and instead pulls on your cheeks. hard. you’re stunned into silence staring at him as if he’d committed some kind of offense.

“what was that?” you ask after a long pause. the professor ignores you, plucking the drink out of your grasp as his feet quickly stride towards the doorway. “hey! you can’t just do that and walk away—” the door slams shut as he walks out.

you’re frozen in place, mouth agape at his sudden gesture of affection(??).

the audacity of this man.

masterlist

#honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #sunday hsr #sunday x reader #phainon hsr #phainon #phainon x reader #mydei #mydeimos #mydei x reader #anaxa hsr #anaxa x reader #aventurine x reader #aventurine

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fayes-fics · 1 year ago

Text

Mirror, Mirror

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: When Benedict's wife tries on his clothes, things happen...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, cross-dressing, clothing kink, light biting, breast play, a smidge of intercrural sex, very mild exhibitionism, mirror sex, vaginal sex.

Word Count: 2.2k

Authors Note: Request fill for @d-caryophyllus (HERE) about Benedict being aroused by his wife dressing up in his clothing. I hope this fits what you were hoping for, my dear. Thanks as ever to @colettebronte for the beta read. Yes, the title is a nod to Season 3, lol. Err, enjoy! <3

It’s early in the morning on a mundane Thursday when a somewhat daring idea forms in your mind.

Fresh out of your morning bath, you dismiss your maid quietly when usually she would assist you with dressing for the day. As the double doors click closed discreetly behind her, you glance through the open archway into your bedroom; heavy curtains still drawn there, obscuring the sunlight. In the darkness, you can just decipher the outline of your husband sleeping soundly after a late night of carousing with his brothers.

With a little secret smile, you decide that, yes, now is the perfect time. He is asleep, and you have a few hours to spare until your first social engagement - a ladies' luncheon - so why not use the time to satisfy your curiosity?

You stride to your husband's side of the dressing room, opening his wardrobe doors and running your fingers over the items within—a symphony of wools, silks and cotton, all luxurious to the touch. While he is arguably one of the more flamboyantly dressed men of the Ton, with eye-catching jewel-toned waistcoats and colourful cravats, the basics of his outfit are mostly the same every time: dark trousers and a white shirt. A large part of you is envious of that easier choice. Sometimes, it feels like a veritable minefield being a woman during the social season, the looming threat of an unintended fashion faux pas simply by wearing the wrong colour to the wrong event.

Upon a chair, you spy the outfit he discarded when he came home in the early hours, not yet tidied away by your staff. You decide this shall be your choice, a frisson that they are already worn.

Dropping your bathrobe from your shoulders, you grab the pair of his trousers and pull them on. The finely woven wool feels plush on your skin, and there is an undeniable novelty in having fabric between your thighs. They are, however, almost comically long for you, and you have to bend to roll them up a few times around your ankles. Bemused, you briefly catch sight of your reflection in the full-length dressing room mirror, topless in oversized trousers.

You snatch his white shirt and pull it on, pausing to tug the ruffled lapels up to your face and inhale deeply, enjoying the flood of scent there. His woodsy citrus cologne, yes, but also that undercurrent that is all him. That tang you cannot help but bury your face into, be it upon his pillow when he is away or his body while you cling to him, moving together in ecstasy.

You fasten a few buttons, then tuck the shirt into the trousers and loop the braces hanging loose around your hips up onto your shoulders, once again inspecting your reflection in the mirror with a wry smile, twisting this way and that, admiring how different you look dressed in his clothing.

“Wife, what are you doing?”

You almost jump out of your skin as that velvet tone, slightly roughened by sleep, calls out from across the room. You twist to see Benedict leaning casually upon the archway into the dressing room, shooting you a look that is pure menacing intrigue while looking like sin himself—all riotous bedhead, and, as your eyes slip further down, gloriously naked. It makes you swallow hard.

“I… I was trying on your clothes,” you stumble sheepishly, a blush creeping over your cheeks being caught doing something perhaps rather bizarre.

“Any reason?” he queries, bemused, that crooked smile claiming his features.

“They just seem so much more practical and comfortable—especially trousers. I would like to wear such things…” you confess, turning back to the mirror to appraise your appearance again, watching him prowl towards you in the reflection. “Are… are you vexed with me, husband? For taking such liberties?” Your words petering out, mildly abashed.

A large, warm hand wraps around your shoulder, yanking you back almost roughly, making you gasp as your shoulder blades collide with his chest.

“The precise opposite,” he rumbles, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror, a sudden burning intensity that makes your lungs feel tight.

Long fingers spider down his brocade brace, draped down your chest, lingering where the strap rests over your nipple, swiping his thumb in a deliberate tease, his face triumphant as you swoon back into him from just this simple touch.

“My clothes look much better upon you than me,” he opines duskily, his lips tracing your temple as his fingertips push the brace aside to capture your nipple through the thin cotton shirt, making you inhale sharply. “Perhaps we should attend a party with you dressed like this?”

“That would be a scandal!”

There is a vault in your stomach at the idea of attending a social event dressed in his clothes, even as you melt under his questing touch.

“Not in the more… bohemian… circles that I know of…” he contends; his breath is a warm gust in your ear as his other hand does the same, fondling both nipples now.

He waits until you meet his gaze in the mirror again, then lowers his lips to your neck and bites gently. His incisors a faint scrape, immediately soothed by a wide, wet lathe of his tongue. A little crest of victory as something sizeable stirs against the cleft of your bottom.

“If I were dressed as you, then what would you wear, husband?”

“Whatever you would like, my darling,” he offers between soft, damp kisses, a tingle running up your neck from his lips to the top of your scalp. “I could wear your clothing should you wish it. Or perhaps just your corset and underwear?” He nuzzles into you, taking a deep breath. “Our little secret…”

Something about his tone, the images he concocts, makes your blood run warm, your hand reaching up and diving into his luscious hair, tugging gently upon his roots so again he feels compelled to use his teeth, a groan bubbling up from within as he does. With a flick of his wrists, the braces fall from your shoulders, and he cups your breasts through his thin cotton shirt. It makes you sigh his name, asking for more, arousal coursing thickly through your veins—a yen to be taken right away.

“The thought arouses you, does it not?” he correctly surmises, trailing his touch down over the shirt, brushing your ribs and belly to the fastening on the trousers, making short work of the buttons.

You nod demurely, biting your lip as you watch his dextrous hands in the mirror, his arms encircling you; it is almost as if he is removing them from himself. The air feels heady as he pushes the loosened fabric from around your frame, and it hits the rug with an audible thump.

Standing before him in just his ruffled white shirt with only a few buttons fastened, you feel his weighted stare in the mirror, lingering on the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs peeking out between the shirt sides.

“I shall prefer you keep this on…” he asserts, popping open a button over your chest so the fabric opens enough for him to slide a hand inside, tweaking your nipple and pulling you back into his frame, rutting his now solid cock against your bottom.

You turn your head to press your lips to his, imploring for more of his touch in a fervent whisper before seeking a kiss. His mouth is hot on yours, rolling his tongue with yours, endless caresses of your breasts as you burn so hot you rub your thighs together in delicious anticipation of more, already more than ready for him, your clit pulsing with each tease of his tongue.

“Here?”

You know what he is asking—if you wish to have sex right where you stand, in front of your dressing mirror, his shirt loose around your body, him naked behind you.

“Yes. Yes please…” you murmur into his mouth, rolling your body against him, telegraphing unmistakable need.

“The window is open,” he points out with a smirk, nodding towards a high window that allows in light to the dressing room but affords you not to be seen; it is open this morning to let in the summer breeze. “What if we are heard?”

“I care not,” you confess, exhaling jaggedly, knowing he likes you in this state, desperate and debauched, uncaring if you may be overheard in your pursuit of pleasure.

Rubbing yourself upon him akin to a feline in heat, moving so his cock passes teasingly between your thighs now as you writhe. He groans and tells you not to stop, hissing his approval. So you squeeze your legs together tightly, allowing him to rut between them, the pass of his cock glancing maddeningly over your engorged clit.

His touch becomes heavier, hands mapping your body as his hips surge, and you see the red, weeping tip of his cock emerging and disappearing in the mirror, an intoxicating sight. You moan lightly with every pass, a tantalising swipe, not enough to bring you real pleasure, just notching your want higher.

He finally takes pity upon you, angling his hips differently and driving into you; you, moaning at the invasion so deep and encompassing, rocked up onto your tiptoes. Every time he has entered your body, it's always the same: a force that steals your breath and makes your eyes roll. His hands are a firm grip around your waist as he withdraws slowly back, then surges in again, capturing your earlobe in his teeth as he does.

As your eyes meet in the mirror, you idly wonder how many other wives are watching themselves being fucked by a handsome husband like this; a bright weekday morning, birdsong wafting in on the scented breeze, body wrapped only in his shirt. You suspect none are quite so lucky.

You moan his name and arch back against him, wrapping your hands around his neck and watching yourself being taken, relying on him to keep your stance steady as he starts to fuck into you in earnest, large hands sliding up to cup your breasts, engulfing them in his warm palms.

Unable to stop the noises you make, each pass hitting all the spots inside that make your toes curl into the thick pile of the rug beneath your feet, your pussy clenching around his invasion, making him growl and move faster, taking you harsher, an onslaught that is as pleasurable as it is powerful.

His mouth is a breathy litany of praise into your cheekbone, your eyes fluttering closed to focus on the carnal moment - the sweat, the skin, the ragged breaths, the meeting of your bodies so primal and glorious, but he has other ideas.

“Look at yourself,” he purrs dulcetly, your eyes reopening to do as he asks, to watch this unrestrained moment of passion, to see the little marks blooming on your body from where his fingers dig into your flesh as he pounds into you now, a flourish of colour on your neck from his thorough attention.

You plead for more throatily, pushing back as best you can against his thrusts, wanting him to make you scream, uncaring of any audience inside or outside your townhouse, only craving the sweet, blissful release he always provides.

Abruptly, he wrenches open the shirt you wear, one button pinging forward and tinking against the mirror before skittering across the floor, your naked body framed by his crisp white shirt, the ruffled lapels tickling the sides of your breasts, catching sight of his handsome face in the mirror contorted in a passionate tempest.

Then one hand slides down your front, you feeling it rippling in your belly and seeing it in your reflection before you until those fingers slide between your legs and hook over your clit with a force that steals the air from your lungs, a sharp stab of pleasure that makes your knees buckle, him pausing in his motions briefly to brace your weight, keep you upright.

Then it is a blur as he restarts his motion, his fingers dance on your swollen pearl, slipping silkily over his touch as he grunts encouragements. It feels like you are circling for so long, so close to something mind-blowing, but then he flicks harshly with his fingernail and bites your neck, and you are hurtling. Everything is loud and quiet at once, no doubt your voice calling his name as you tumble over the edge, clenching hard around him as your whole body shatters and rebuilds in a blissful puzzle. Dimly, as you float, you feel his entire body tense, and with a roar, he follows you over, a warmth blooming inside you as he reaches completion.

There are a few moments of panted breaths as you both recover from the intensity before he spins you around and sweeps you into his arms, carrying you back to bed. There, he lays you down gently and proceeds to turn you into a molten, quivering pile, mapping your body with his lips and fingers until you are begging for him again, which he more than obliges. So much so you are almost late for your social engagement.

If there are a few derogatory looks as you swan into the ladies' luncheon with a blissful smile and a burgeoning mark on your neck from your husband's amorous intentions, well, so be it. You wouldn't change it for the world.

And it is also most definitely not the last time you dress up in his clothes…

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton smut #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagine #1k notes #2k notes

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mostly-imagines · 7 months ago

Text

Sweetheart

jason todd x afab!reader

aka you catch an attitude with jason

warnings: smut, soft!dom jason, fingering & oral (fem receiving), edging, begging, mild restraint

18+, interacting minors will be blocked

It all happened when he was in a good mood. And it’s probably best that it did.

You haven’t really been this irritable with Jason before, so neither of you were really expecting the ensuing events. Him, the former portions, and you the ladder.

He didn’t say anything about it when you first came home, moping and grumpy, he’d only greeted you with a kiss like he always does and hugged you tight.

Early on in the evening, you’d grumble about the workload of chores you still have to deal with tonight. Again, he made no comment. Instead, he decided to split the work with you, standing shoulder to shoulder as you wash the dishes and he dries.

You hold a plate up in the air, frustrated when it’s not immediately taken from your hand. You glance over to where Jason is still drying the last bowl you handed him, despite it being—mostly—done.

“Jason, come on,” you complain, not thrilled with the leisurely pace he’s landed on.

He stops his drying movements, looking at you sideways.

“Sweetheart…try that again?”

His tone is enough to set you back, resetting your attitude. You don’t say anything more, moving along with your movements silently. He accepts the silence for what it is—yielding—and continues drying the dishes alongside you.

It only takes another twenty minutes for another slip up.

He’d sat down on the couch expecting you to curl up against him, like you always do, but this mood of yours wouldn’t even allow for an assumption as safe as that.

“Seriously?” you grumbled at him, unimpressed with the lack of space. It was quiet, but you know he’d heard you.

“What was that?”

His tone is a little sterner than it was before, but it’s just as daring of you to answer.

This time, you give him one.

“Can you just fucking move please?”

The look he gives you honestly confuses you at first. There’s the expected rise of the eyebrows, but a small smile plays at his lips too. It’s disbelieving and daring at the same time.

“Really? You sure about that one, sweetheart?”

Your chin lowers out of habit upon hearing his tone, but you say nothing.

He tilts his head, smirk growing. “Okay.”

You don’t immediately clock the comment for the promise that it is—in fact, you don’t realize until much later that this was the moment you should’ve known.

Later that night, he’s sitting on the couch, legs spread wide, silently watching you move throughout the room, huffing. You’re looking for something that he’s not even sure you brought home, tearing through the apartment with little patience.

He tilts his head, eyes sympathetic.

“Baby.”

He coaxes you with that soft, low voice he uses when he’s trying to coerce you. “Come ‘ere.”

You pause your search, shoulders sagging.

You oblige his request, very much in need of his touch after the day you’ve had.

You straddle his lap, letting him hold you steady by your waist. You initiate a passionate kiss, hands circling the nape of his neck. He breathes you in deeply, rubbing slow circles against your hips. You start to grind your hips down over him, the resulting friction from where his jeans meets the thin fabric of your shorts being addictive.

He traces a light touch along your waist, kissing you with an unequal intensity.

You pick up your pace, grinding with more intent. You moan into his mouth and he kisses you with more passion.

Just before you’re able to come, he suddenly flips you around so that your back is to his chest. The repositioning momentarily upsets you due to your lost orgasm but the words die off quickly as he begins rubbing at your clit. He kisses your neck as he rubs lucid circles at just the right pace.

His thumb takes over the work as he inserts two fingers in you, pumping slowly. You relax your body against his chest, craning your head to the side so you can kiss his neck. You can feel him hum under your lips, circling your clit faster.

You’re starting to squirm on his lap as your high approaches, lips parting in desperation. You can just see the horizon of bliss when his ministrations stop suddenly.

You glance down between your legs, brow furrowed, before looking back up at him.

He doesn’t look perturbed in the least, just as easy-going as ever.

He glances at you, tilting his head.

“Haven’t been very sweet for me today, have you?”

You frown and turn yourself around on his lap again, sitting over his thigh. You press your hands to his still clothed chest, eyes imploring. You start to move your hips over his but he forces you still like it’s nothing.

Despite your active protesting, he lays an unhurried, sweet kiss to your mouth, breaking away slowly.

“Good girls get to come,” he whispers against your lips.

You lightly thud your forehead against his, “I’ll be good.”

He hums, pursing his lips. “Not tonight.”

You’re fully whining now, “Jay…”

He nods faux-sympathetically, “I’m sorry, baby.”

You try to grind your hips against his thigh but he does little in the way of letting you move. His grip remains firm on your waist as he watches you struggle.

He tilts his head, “You want me to rub your clit some more? I will. But I’m gonna stop.”

The promise rings a scorching heat in your ears but the opportunity can’t be passed up. You know you’re stupid for thinking you can manage to come anyways, but you’re getting desperate.

You nod against him, and he makes a cooing “mhm,” before obliging.

He reaches down again, rubbing languid circles, not fast enough for you to even think about an orgasm.

“Please,” you beg quietly into the crook of his neck.

You feel him nod before picking up his pace. “Okay, baby.”

You’re too worked up to notice the lilt in his words, how they’re a little more ‘careful what you wish for’ than you would’ve liked. You catch up soon, though.

He starts up again, nuzzling his face against your neck as he works your body, hitting that exact right speed. You moan out, head falling back. You can feel his eyelashes flutter against the column of your throat, cheeks warm. This time you get so close that you think he’s going to let you come.

You hit his chest harder than you should when he stops again.

He doesn’t seem to care though, moving his hand away without an ounce of remorse.

“Jay—” you groan, forehead thumping against his shoulder.

He’s shaking his head before you can finish your complaint, “Nuh uh, baby. You’re not coming tonight.”

He kisses your cheek, nudging you back so he can see you.

“You’re supposed to take care of me,” you pout. “You said that.”

He hums, brushing your hair back. “I do take care of you. I am. Just not how you want me to, right?”

You borderline glare at him, not at all thrilled that this is the game he’s choosing to play after today. He doesn’t care in the slightest, not really, in spite of how sweet his actions read.

At this point you’re more frustrated and overwhelmed than you’ve been in a while, and you don’t even realize it as tears start to slip out.

Unfortunately for you, even that does little to sway his mercy. His indulgence only comes through with the way he kisses your tears away from your cheeks. His touch remains gentle with you, too gentle, and it’s making you feel like you’re losing your mind.

His hands slip under your shirt to hold you in place, undeterred by your squirming. He pecks a series of kisses all across your face, ignoring your whining.

You push his hands off of you with a huff, pulling yourself off of his lap and onto the couch cushions. You start to frantically rub at your clit yourself, subconsciously knowing that you only have a moment to get away with this. Your success lasts half of that though, before Jason scoops up both of your hands and pins them to your chest, holding you still.

He huffs out a laugh, “No, baby.”

His tone is almost mockingly sympathetic.

“Jason—!”

He leans over you, basically making out with your neck languidly. The intense affection directed towards the wrong place is maddening and it has you squeezing your eyes shut.

Several more rounds of this go on before you give up, collapsing onto his chest. His hands still keep your wrists pinned against him as you fall asleep, light kisses being pressed to your hairline.

You can’t be completely sure, but you think you dream of a scenario or two where he actually lets you come. Ha.

When you wake up you’re in your bed, sheets pulled up over you. The sky is glowing an orange-pink hue and the city is still mostly quiet.

As you push yourself to sit up, you notice the bedroom door is open and the sound of sizzling can be heard from the kitchen.

You creep out from under the covers, tip-toeing through the living room. You can be certain he knows you’re there by now but he makes no acknowledgement of your sneaking.

As you approach, he lets you duck under his arms, resituating them around you so you’re comfortable. He kisses the top of your head, not looking away from his work on the skillet.

You rest your cheek on his chest, murmuring, “Jay…”

“Yeah, pretty?”

“I’m sorry…”

“I know, baby.”

He sets the spatula down, using his now free hand to nudge your chin up to look at him. “You gonna be my good girl?”

You nod submissively, hoping to God that he believes you this time.

“Yeah?”

You nod harder, and he returns the gesture, mulling it over.

He wordlessly nudges you backwards to sit at the kitchen table. You watch dumbly as he turns back to the counter, scooping the entire contents of the pan out onto a plate.

He faces you again, plopping the plate of eggs down in front of you.

“Eat.”

You frown at him, fully ready to start pouting when he cuts you off.

“You haven’t eaten in like twelve hours. Eat, then we’ll talk.”

You don’t want to talk, but you slump your shoulders and take a bite.

He moves to stand behind you, pleased, resting his chin atop your head.

He caresses your waist as you eat, torturously gentle and kind.

After a few minutes of silently eating and enduring, you tilt your chin to look up at him, frowning.

“You’re being mean.”

He raises his brows down at you, “I’m the one being mean now?”

You break eye contact, dropping your focus back to the plate of half finished food.

“I said I’m sorry,” you mumble.

He brushes your hair back from your neck gently, “Yeah, you did.”

He says nothing more so you continue stuffing food into your mouth as quickly as you can without attracting suspicion.

When you’ve scraped the plate clean and can be sure he has nothing left to ask of you, you get up and set the plate in the sink.

You look up at him expectantly, still frowning.

“Jay?”

He looks almost bored as he contemplates, taking in your expression.

He concedes after a few moments gesturing you towards him.

“Yeah, come here.”

You’re too fast to have even tried to play it cool, but neither of you would’ve believed it anyways.

He drops a hand down to the edge of your shorts, about to slip beneath the fabric. You stop his hand before it can go any further, imploring.

“I want to come.”

He raises his eyebrows, “Yeah? I want my good girl back.”

You nod in yield, happy to give him whatever he wants at this point.

He removes his hand, and lifts you up by your thighs, bringing you up to his height momentarily. He sets you down on the table, laying you back.

“Jason, please—” you beg, trembling for what’s to come.

He nuzzles his nose against your cheek, “Yeah, I’ll make you come, baby. ‘Course I will.”

He pushes you to lay back, pulling your shirt up to your collarbone, and pressing sweet kisses to your chest.

He kneads your left breast in his large palm, kissing your right with a feverish amount of attention.

He switches after a moment, giving some love to the other side of your chest before beginning to work his way down.

He lays kisses down your sternum, leading to your navel. His affection is just as tender as it had been last night and you’re not sure whether to trust it.

You’re not given much time to mull it over before he’s pulling your shorts and underwear down in one go, letting them drop onto the tiles.

He leaves open mouthed kisses on your pussy, sucking gently on your clit periodically.

He wraps one hand around your thigh, keeping your legs open. His other hand rests atop your stomach, mostly idle except for the occasional reassuring brush of his thumb.

His eyelashes flutter as he eats you out, and you only realize now why he hadn’t last night. He’s not much for denying you when he gets you like this—he likes it too much to stop. Especially when you’re begging him so pretty.

You’re not quite sure when he’s taking the time to breathe but you can’t bring yourself to care right now.

Even if you weren’t still so on edge after last night, he’s really good at using his mouth. He works you up quickly, bringing you close after only a couple minutes.

When he can tell you’re there, he nods encouragingly, rubbing your clit with his thumb for the brief moment he breaks away. “Come on sweetheart. You can come.”

Warmth floods your body upon hearing the words, knowing that he wouldn’t lie to you.

You call out a noise that’s half a moan, half a whine. You shake under him, legs stiffening as he continues to work you through the orgasm.

He kisses your clit once more, humming.

“Oh, there she is. There’s my sweet girl.”

He moves back up your body, pulling you to sit up slowly. He holds you up by your lower back whispering soft praises.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your neck.

You sigh silently, catching your breath.

🔧 every time you don’t reblog a fic jason gets hit in the head with a crowbar 🔧

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mournaeve · 20 days ago

Text

❝ almost, always ❞

paring : yeon si-eun (weak hero) × gn!reader

genre : fluff, mild angst/hurt-comfort, emotional miscommunication, slow burn

warnings : mentions of emotional exhaustion/burn out, emotional whiplash but make it quiet and poetic, excessive eye contact with a emotionally constipated boy, 9/10 confession (where's the last 1, no one knows)

synopsis : Two people, both quiet in different ways, six missed chances, one almost-confession—and a love that grows in the silence between what’s said and what’s meant.

joy speaks : hi, and welcome to my first fic <3 genuinely hope you like it. don't be a silent reader!

1. The first time you met Si-eun, you were stealing Baku's snack and threatening to bite Gotak. Not seriously, of course, but with the kind of conviction that only came from a lack of shame and too little sleep.

Your mouth still tasted like instant noodles and regret. Your hair was a chaos theory. Your hoodie?—stolen from Baku, smelled faintly of laundry detergent and sweat, like a boy who lived his life in motion and never washed anything properly and also had a giant yellow pikachu on the front.

You didn't notice him at first.

No, at first you were too busy lying on the classroom floor, narrating your slow descent into madness because Gotak had, in your words, 'emotionally betrayed you' by siding with Baku over what was clearly your bag of chips. Baku, naturally, just sat on your back and told you to accept death with dignity.

Then you saw a pair of shoes. Clean, white, very still. Not fidgety like Gotak's or scuffed like Humin's.

You tilted your head up, squinting from the floor like a raccoon caught under fluorescent light, and there he was.

Expression unreadable. Face sharp in that quiet way—like something drawn in pencil and not yet colored in. Si-eun. Yeon Si-eun. You knew his name only because Gotak had once whispered it like he was talking about a ghost who might hear him.

He didn’t say anything. Just looked down at the mess on the floor, you, mostly, and blinked.

You, still on your stomach, gave a small wave.

"Hey. I swear I'm not usually like this."

He didn’t laugh. Not even a twitch of the mouth. But you swore later, swore, that his eyes lingered for half a second too long. Like he was trying to decide whether to ignore you or classify you as some new species.

Maybe both.

That was the first time. You didn’t know yet that it would become a pattern—him appearing silently, you saying something ridiculous, the two of you orbiting each other like mismatched planets with slightly wrong gravity.

But in that moment, on the floor of a classroom you barely stayed awake in, with Baku sitting on your back and Gotak looking vaguely concerned for everyone’s sanity—

—you thought, 'huh'

He’s kind of cute when he looks confused.

◎⫘◎

2. You didn't expect to see him again. Not so soon, not without the buffer of Baku's laughter or Gotak's nervous commentary or the chaos of you being your usual, spiraling self. But there he was, outside the convenience store, earphones in, staring at the gum rack like it had personally offended him.

You stopped short. He didn't look up.

And for reasons you couldn’t explain even under emotional duress, you didn't keep walking. You hovered.

Like an idiot.

"Didn't peg you for a mint guy," you said finally, voice casual, like you hadn’t just debated crossing the street to avoid standing next to him and his inexplicably intense aura.

He looked up, slow. Blank expression unreadable. Those same pencil drawn beautiful eyes.

Then, flatly, "I'm not."

You blinked. Looked at the gum in his hand. "You've been holding that for like three minutes."

"I was spacing out."

"Oh."

Beat.

You nodded, like that explained the universe, and turned to grab a bottle of water. Behind you, you could feel his silence — not heavy, just… neutral. Like air that hadn’t decided if it was humid or cold.

"I wasn't following you, by the way," you added without being prompted, twisting the bottle cap as you rejoined him at the register. "In case your survival instincts kicked in."

Another pause. He looked at you.

"I didn't think you were."

You laughed — too loud, too fast — and instantly regretted it. "Right. Cool. Great. Just clearing that up, y'know, for the record."

"I don’t think about you that much."

And there it was.

You froze mid-step, plastic bottle crinkling in your hand. A second too slow, your brain tried to patch the damage: he didn't mean it like that. Probably. Hopefully?

"Oh," you said, smile cracking just slightly. "No offense taken. I also don't, like, catalogue your whereabouts or anything. That would be psychotic."

He gave you a look, like he was either very confused or wondering if you were having a stroke.

You both stood there, the cashier watching, deeply done with both your energies.

Si-eun finally paid for his gum. That he definitely didn’t want.

And you stood holding a bottle of water and the first bruise of misunderstanding, shaped like a boy who said things without malice but still managed to dig a little too deep.

Later that night, Baku asked why you were chewing mint gum with a dramatic sigh.

You told him it was an aesthetic choice. You didn't mention Si-eun. Not yet.

◎⫘◎

3. It happened because Gotak's mom called.

Loudly. On speaker. In the middle of the table, right as he was halfway through explaining some physics concept that sounded like witchcraft. He panicked, unplugged his charger wrong, and blew the socket.

And just like that, the lights went out in Baku's room.

Chaos. Swearing. Baku tripping over a dumbbell. You, laughing until your ribs hurt. Gotak apologizing to the socket like it had feelings. Juntae being all flustered while trying to keep the others in check.

Eventually, they both left to 'buy snacks and air out their humiliation.' You were too tired to follow.

And Si-eun didn't leave.

He stayed sitting on the floor, back against Baku’s bed frame, eyes unreadable. You weren’t sure if he didn't move because he was comfortable or because inertia had claimed him.

You sat across from him, the silence sitting with you like a third presence. It wasn't uncomfortable. It just… was.

You cleared your throat. "You always this quiet?"

He didn’t answer immediately. Then: "Do you always talk this much?"

Your jaw dropped. "Are you saying I talk too much?"

"No," he said, and blinked, slowly, "I'm saying I wasn't aware human lungs could handle this level of dialogue per minute."

You gawked at him.

He didn’t look smug. Or mean. Just… factual. As if he were reading weather data.

You threw a pillow at his face.

He caught it with both hands, unimpressed.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes," you muttered, curling into a cross-legged huff.

Silence again.

You should’ve let it drop. But something in you always needed to make sense of things. Of people.

"You don't like me, do you?" you asked.

He looked up at that. Not startled. Just puzzled.

"Why would you say that?"

You mentally snorted 'I wonder why."

"I don't know. The gum comment. The lungs comment. The general 'I'm enduring your presence like a particularly inconvenient fire drill' energy."

His brows furrowed slightly.

"That's not what I meant," he said. "I don’t dislike you."

"But you don't like me."

He looked at you for a moment too long.

"I don’t not like you."

It was the kind of answer that made your brain run into a wall. You opened your mouth. Closed it.

"…Wow," you said. "Poetry."

He frowned faintly, clearly confused why you sounded so sarcastic.

You didn't push it. But when Baku and Gotak returned and flopped dramatically into the room with ice cream and shame, you laughed louder than you meant to.

And you refused to meet Si-eun’s eyes for the rest of the night.

◎⫘◎

4. You were wearing another hoodie.

Not Baku's this time — a different one. Slightly too big. Worn in the elbows. Charcoal gray with a weird bleach stain near the zipper. Not your usual look.

Si-eun noticed it immediately.

He didn't say anything, of course. He just stared.

You were too busy trying to untangle Gotak's wired earphones (how did they still exist?) while sitting on the cafeteria bench, ranting about something inconsequential — probably the school vending machine robbing you again. Baku was making jokes, as usual. Gotak laughed too loudly, as usual. Juntae was swinging his legs adorably like a child waiting for his mother to provide him with candy.

Then a boy walked past. Said your name. Smiled.

You looked up. "Oh—hey. Thanks again for the hoodie."

Si-eun's gaze didn't shift. He didn't ask. He didn't need to.

You caught it in the twitch of his fingers, the flick of his eyes, the way his entire body went very, very still.

Later, in the hallway, he stopped next to you. Not with you — next to. A detail you couldn’t unfeel.

"Is that your boyfriend?" he asked, tone flat.

You blinked. "Who?"

"The guy. With the hoodie. The one you smiled at like he invented oxygen."

You snorted. "No. He just lent me this when I spilled coffee on my shirt this morning."

He nodded. Slowly. You waited for a follow-up. It didn’t come.

Instead, he walked away with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, that silent wall rising like it always did when he didn't understand what he was feeling.

You stared after him, eyebrows pulled together.

You weren't his. He wasn't yours.

But still, you wanted to yell down the hallway,

'I would tressure your hoodie, if you ever offered it.'

◎⫘◎

5. It was raining the way it only rains in cities—sideways, rude, unforgiving. You hadn't meant to forget your umbrella. You were just late, and your brain had been full of other things. Like him. Like the hoodie thing. Like the way he hadn't spoken to you in two days. You were treading recklessly on the thin line between friends and strangers who know each other because of their mutual friends. No matter what you tried, attempted at, maybe to bring you both closer and not be strangers or just be his friend- he would always retract. Push you away with words or build walls around his heart that were too big and impossible not to notice.

You were soaked through by the time you reached the courtyard gate. Shoes squeaking, hair clinging to your face, hoodie (not his, not anyone's) weighing you down like a wet dog sweater.

Your heavy wet eyes widened at the sight before you.

Si-eun.

Standing under a small blue umbrella like the sky had personally chosen to leave him untouched.

You stopped. He didn't wave, or smile, or call out. Just lifted the umbrella a little higher.

You stared. Your heart twisted sideways.

"…Are you offering me that?" you asked, cautious.

"I wouldn't be standing here if I wasn't."

You blinked. Walked over. Shoulders tense.

He didn't say anything. Just turned slightly, so the umbrella covered half of your body. His half was still mostly dry. You were dripping.

After a minute, you exhaled. "You didn’t have to wait."

"I know."

"…I thought you were mad at me."

"I'm not."

"I thought you didn't want to talk to me anymore."

"I do."

You were quiet.

Then you whispered it. Half a joke, half a plea:

"So this is... pity, huh?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you, eyes sharp and unreadable.

You couldn't hold the silence.

You stepped out from under the umbrella. "Forget it. I'm fine."

Rain hit your skin like needles. Cold. Fast. Real.

He didn't follow. You didn't look back. And by the time you got home, soaked to the bone and furious with yourself, it was too late to ask him what he really meant.

◎⫘◎

6. It was late.

Too late to be in the library. Too late for the lights to still hum this way, for the floor to be cold against your knee pits as you sat between shelves with your hoodie bunched up beneath you like a failed pillow.

You weren't crying.

But you were close. That tight-throated silence. That wet weight behind the eyes that made everything feel distant. The kind of sad that didn"t have a name. The kind that didn't explode — just leaked.

He found you anyway.

You didn't ask how.

Si-eun stood there, backpack still on, hair a little rumpled, shirt collar tugged loose like he'd either run or paced in circles before finding you.

He didn’t ask what was wrong. He just sat beside you. Close, but not close enough to touch.

After a long, long moment, he said, low,

"I'm not good at this."

You blinked. "At what?"

"This. Talking. Reading people. Knowing the right thing to say."

You looked at him, sharp, surprised. His voice didn't waver, but it wasn't calm. It was something else — strained. Steady, but brittle at the edges.

He went on, "I don't realize when I'm being too blunt, or too distant. I've… ruined a lot of things that way."

You didn’t speak.

He stared at his hands.

"I used to think it didn’t matter. Not anymore. That being quiet kept things simple. But you—"

He stopped. Swallowed. "You confuse the hell out of me."

Your breath hitched.

"You talk like your words are racing to escape you. You say things I don’t know how to answer. You make me feel like I’m always three steps behind and—and I hate it."

The silence rang.

Then, quieter:

"But I hate it more when you're not around."

You didn't move.

You didn't say anything.

Your brain tripped over itself. Every version of you — the loud one, the jokey one, the brave one — went silent. And in that stretch of hesitation, Si-eun stood.

He didn't look at you.

"I shouldn't have said that," he murmured. "I knew it would come out wrong."

He walked away before you could tell him it didn't.

Later, lying in your bed, face buried in a damp hoodie, you whispered it,

'But it didn’t come out wrong at all.'

◎⫘◎

6. It started with silence.

Not the usual kind — not Si-eun's quiet that felt full of thinking, full of weight. This was emptier. Distant. Clean, like someone had wiped the board.

He'd stopped showing up to group study sessions. Stopped responding to your messages. Left early from lunch. Didn't make eye contact in the hall.

You told yourself he was just busy. That midterms had fried his brain. That he'd drop a deadpan one-liner in your DMs any second now.

He didn't.

When you finally cornered Baku and asked what was going on, he just shrugged — unconvincingly.

And so, armed with indignation and mild sleep deprivation, you found Si-eun after school, outside the campus gates, hoodie up, hands in pockets, looking like a ghost of himself.

"You’re avoiding me," you said.

His eyes flicked up. Then away. "No, I'm not."

"You are." You laughed — humorless. "Jesus, Si-eun, at least lie with conviction."

He was quiet for a beat. He exhaled quietly, "I thought you might want space."

"From you?"

"You looked uncomfortable. Last time. When I said… all that."

You stared. Mouth open. Head buzzing.

"That’s why?" you whispered. “You thought I was uncomfortable?”

He didn’t meet your eyes. "You didn't say anything. So, I figured I'd made things weird."

You exhaled, slow. Almost a laugh. Almost a scream.

"You idiot," you said, soft.

He flinched — just slightly. Gazing up with his eyes, 'god damn his eyes, were they always this beautiful?'

You looked away before your voice could crack. "You didn't make it weird. I did. I didn't know what to say, but that doesn't mean I didn't want to say something."

He didn't answer.

The wind was cold. The sky was turning gray, like it couldn't make up its mind.

You looked at him again.

"You always do that," you said. "Assume how people feel and then act like it's confirmed data."

"It's easier than asking."

"Well, maybe next time, ask."

He looked at you then.

Like he heard you for the first time.

But still, he didn't move. And neither did you.

The moment passed like a train that didn't stop.

You both walked away feeling like you’d missed something important.

Because you had.

◎◎⫘◎◎

1. It didn't happen at some climactic hour, in some big cinematic way.

There was no rainstorm this time, no bruised hallway lighting, no tension humming between the inches of silence.

Just a classroom. Late. Empty. Gold evening light spilling sideways through the windows, dust drifting in slow motion. The kind of warmth that didn't burn — just sat in your bones like an old memory.

You hadn't meant to fall asleep.

You'd only meant to rest your eyes. Just for a second. But the warmth got to you — the sunlight, the still air, the safety of a quiet room without anyone needing anything from you. You drifted.

When you opened your eyes again, Si-eun was there.

Sitting on a chair beside the desk. Back against the wall. Book in his lap. Head tilted slightly toward you.

Not watching. Just being.

Your first instinct was to speak. Crack a joke. Break the softness with your usual deflection.

But for once, you didn't. You just looked at him. Let the quiet stretch.

He closed the book.

"Bad dream?" he asked, voice like a whisper folded in linen.

You blinked the sleep out of your eyes. "Not really. Just... weird."

A pause.

"Felt like I was floating."

He nodded. Like he understood.

You sat up slowly, wincing a little at the crick in your neck.

He reached into his bag and passed you a water bottle without a word.

You took it. Sipped.

He didn't fill the silence. He didn't shrink from it either. Just sat there with you, like he had nowhere else to be, no one else to become in that moment.

And then—"Thank you," you said.

He looked at you, eyebrows lifting just slightly. "For what?"

"For... not leaving."

It came out so softly you weren't sure it even reached him.

But his eyes held yours, steady.

You took in his eyes, his eyes were a study in contradiction — sharp in thought, but soft in shape, always watching like they were learning you in real time. Slightly wide, dark, and quietly luminous, like they held whole libraries of things left unsaid. They didn’t flicker much when he spoke — they lingered, honest in a way his voice never quite managed.

And when he looked at you, really looked, it felt like standing barefoot in the middle of something sacred.

Like silence could be tender. Like you could finally stop explaining yourself. Those eyes didn’t ask for words. They just understood.

Then he added, not quickly, but like it had been waiting:

"I wasn't going to."

Nothing more. No sudden hand grabs, no confessions, no dizzying declarations. Just that.

For the first time, there was nothing to correct. Nothing to fix.

You both stayed there. In the gold-lit quiet. In the stillness that didn't ask for answers. Just presence.

And this time — finally — you both understood.

◎◎⫘◎◎

2. It was dark by the time the rooftop emptied out.

The others had gone. Baku, Gotak, Juntae— loud footsteps, louder laughter, the crunch of snack wrappers left behind. The kind of after-school chaos that made everything feel alive. But now it was quiet. That dusky, hush-hour kind of quiet, where even the wind didn't bother to speak.

You stayed behind to clean up. He stayed behind for... something else.

Neither of you said it.

Si-eun was leaning against the railing, hood pulled halfway up, hair catching in the breeze. You were stacking drink cans into neat, metallic towers and pretending not to feel the weight of his gaze on your back.

"You always do that," he said.

You blinked. "Do what?"

"Stay behind. Fix things no one notices."

You smiled — crooked, tired. "Someone has to."

Silence again. Not heavy. Just full.

"I used to think I was fine alone," he said. Quiet. Almost to himself. "That being alone meant being safe. That silence meant control."

You straightened. Slowly.

He didn’t look at you. Just kept talking, eyes on the horizon where the sky bled orange into navy.

"But it’s not quiet when you're gone. It's louder. It’s—"

He cut himself off. Bit his lip. Exhaled sharp.

You waited.

"I don't know how to say it right," he admitted.

"You don’t have to."

"I want to," he said. "I—"

He turned then. Finally looked at you.

"I think about you. All the time. In the middle of things that don’t matter. Like math problems and weather reports and the noise in the hallway. You just show up. In my head."

Your throat tightened.

He stepped forward — one pace. No more.

"If you asked me what we are," he said, "I don't have the word. But I know what I want it to be."

You didn't breathe.

"-and if you don’t feel the same, that’s fine. I'll try to not think of it" His voice cracked slightly, "But I don't want to keep pretending this is nothing."

You looked at him.

"I feel it too."

He smiled.

Actually smiled.

Not the polite curl of the corners of his lips he wore in passing, but the real one, the one that came slow and reluctant, like it wasn't used to being let out. It broke across his face like sunlight through fog, fleeting and precious, the kind of thing you only caught if you were paying attention.

Now that it happened, everything softened: the edges of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the guarded quiet in his eyes. It was a smile that felt like a secret, like you’d been trusted with something he didn’t give away easily. A quiet admission that, for a moment, he let himself feel joy — and let you see it.

And in that soft rooftop dark, with cans clinking quietly in your hands and the wind threading through your sleeves, you realized something simple:

There was no misunderstanding anymore.

There was just you.

And him.

And everything you hadn’t said — finally, beautifully heard.

◎◎⫘◎◎

@mournaeve 2025, I don't allow translations or reposting of my work however reblogging is fine :)

#weak hero class 1 #weak hero class x reader #weak hero #weak hero x reader #weak hero class two #yeon sieun #yeon sieun x reader #ahn suho x reader #weak hero class 1 x reader #weak hero class 2 x reader #fluff #oneshot #mournaeve

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asxgard · 2 months ago

Text

Companionship | pt. 11

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: A first date and a whole lot of sexual tension.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: Y’all really know how to make a girl feel special!! Thank you for all the likes, comments and reblogs!! You guys have been real troopers through the whole slowburn portion!! Now we move on to (mostly) better things for these lovebirds😌

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: age gap, jitters, anxiety, mild angst (it’s literally just who I am at this point lol), mild fluff, alcohol, talk of Adamson

not beta read

A complex flurry of emotions whirled around in his chest, thoughts exchanging between this is good and this is very bad. One wrong move and he could destroy it all, or he could actually make something real out of it.

It was equally thrilling and terrifying.

He remembered Dana’s eyes on his back as he left on time, skipping out right after giving report to Abbot, after avoiding her questions for over an hour. The curious eyebrow raise from Langdon as McKay had whispered something to him, or the way Princess hovered while you were still present. The way Jack so clearly looked like he wanted to say something, no doubt hearing something in passing from Dana, or the rumor mill buzzing through the hall.

They only got more obvious as the weekend got closer.

“You’ve been leaving consistently on-time recently, boss. Even Abbot noticed.” Dana said with a quirked brow and a knowing smile, “Have anything to do with that pretty girl in here earlier this week?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He lied smoothly, “What girl?”

Dana laughed. “The one you rolled right over McKay to help a few weeks ago? A simple stitch job and you took it. Must be special. Even got her back right away to get them taken out.”

Michael hummed, already knowing that Dana was likely seeing right through him. “Wasn’t Gloria just down here explaining satisfaction scores? You know, making sure each patient is seen and heard.”

“With just her?”

He tried to temper the blush, “Was it? Can’t remember everyone I’ve helped.” He glanced from his computer screen to the opening ambulance doors. “Oh, look at that. Gotta go!”

“Saved by the bell!” Dana called after him.

Langdon approached him later, bouncing on the balls of his feet, hands in his pockets. They had just stabilized a patient and were waiting for Garcia to come and consult.

Langdon blew out a puff of air, “So that woman was totally checking you out the other day.”

Barely sparing him a glance, Michael removed his gloves, “That so?”

“Totally!” Langdon told him eagerly, before flickering his eyes across his face, “There was something there.”

Michael hummed indifferently.

McKay piped up from the side, “Called her a VIP, if I remember right.”

It was hard to miss the way Perlah and Princess exchanged a glance.

“Come get me when Garcia gets here.” He said, departing from the trauma room looking for something to busy his hands — or just keep everyone from asking any more questions. The gossip was never likely to stop, but he hated being the center of it.

It seemed like things never stayed quiet long, since Dana found him sometime later, crossing her arms across her chest.

“VIP, huh?”

Michael let out a long sigh, glancing at the clock and hoping his shift would end already.

—

Michael asked to pick you up, and you accepted easily, pacing around your apartment in heels and the dress you had borrowed from Erin. You half wished you had been able to drive yourself, distract your mind with music or some random radio show, and the lull of Pittsburgh traffic.

He arrived a few minutes early, and knocked on your door, and your heart lurched into your throat. It took a few beats of your heart to steady yourself. It was only Michael.

But now feelings are known and there is no more hiding.

Perhaps that was a good thing.

When you opened the door, he was standing there with a bashful smile and flowers. Lavender, purple hyacinth, and baby’s-breath with green foliage holding it all together. You momentarily forgot to breathe, looking from the flowers in his hands then to his face, face lax with dumb disbelief — a thousand words swirling in your mind immediately going silent.

“You got me flowers.” You said, more so from shock rather than a statement of fact.

“I got you flowers.” He said, trying to gauge your reaction. “I wanted this to be proper, but I haven’t been on a date in forever—”

“They’re beautiful.” You breathed out, ignoring the storm in your chest. “No one’s ever gotten me flowers before.”

Surprise crossed his face momentarily. “That’s a shame. You definitely deserve them.”

A warmth rose to your cheeks, before moving to the side, “Come in. I’ll get a vase.”

Do I own a vase?

He stepped into the apartment, handing the flowers over, watching as the smile lit up your features. You inhaled the scent of them, closing your eyes to savor it. They smelled sweet, with the calming aroma from the lavender, and you sighed in contentment.

“You look beautiful.”

You stopped, looking at him, ignoring the way your ears grew hot, “Thank you. You look—”

Grey chinos with a light tan cardigan buttoned over a white shirt. His long, dark grey woolen coat was left unbuttoned, looking effortlessly in the area between elegant and casual. A carefree sophistication that even in Erin’s expensive dress you felt out of place. His beard was trimmed neatly, hair combed carefully, with a smile that clouded your thoughts.

“—really good.”

He blushed.

You moved into the kitchen while Michael stayed in the tiny foyer, hands in his pockets. You grabbed a pitcher to fill with water, unable to quickly find a vase. The water pitcher would do.

On the drive, you had such an urge to grab his hand. The sight of him with one hand on the wheel, the other loosely hanging off the bottom of it, a relaxation seeping from his posture, made your mind lurch into overdrive. You felt rigid beside him, thinking of a hundred thousand things, overthinking anything you could say — should say — that would have been commonplace for any normal first date.

But you already knew those things.

The silence was riddled with tension, thick and unchecked. The way his fingers flexed on the steering wheel, or lingered when he turned the volume up or down, eyes not-so-subtly looking over at you periodically. Each time it felt like he was stoking a fire low in your belly.

He opened his mouth to trade small talk until you arrived at the restaurant, and the low timbre of his voice cooled the anxiety in your chest and fanned the flames in your abdomen. You felt far too hot in your coat, buzzing with anticipation, with nerves, with wanting.

Peregrin was an elevated, classic, modernized eatery, that felt mildly out of place on the street corner — decorated in fairy lights, hues of blue and grey, and sharp, deliberate angles. It had overpriced appetizers and an overhyped atmosphere, but everything you had heard about the food had been good things.

Your table was ready when you walked in, a few minutes early for your reservation, and you absorbed the interior quickly. Refurbished dark wood floors, light cream walls, a brick wall accented on the far wall, copper fixtures and large windows overlooking the Allegheny River.

The waitress eyed you when she arrived to take the drink order, but was discreet in her assessment. The feeling of being criticized hit you like a freight-train. Once upon a time, you would have thought the same, questioned the girl's sanity or the man's intentions — but now you sat knowing both. As big of an age gap as it was should have given you more pause than it did, but you had already danced around the edge of it long enough. You had run far enough, and you were tired of allowing your own feelings coming second place to those around you.

You tuned it all out. You had to. You had to.

You smiled at him, “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

Relief flooded his face, looking back at you. “I have too.”

You both knew you were not talking about the food.

“I hope work was not too chaotic this week?” You ventured, opening the menu.

He chuckled lightly, “Everyone’s been pestering me about the mysterious girl all week.”

Your face warmed, “Oh no, I didn’t cause too much of a stir, did I?”

“I think I created it myself,” he said, pulling out his glasses, “wasn’t exactly as subtle as I would have liked to be when you came in.”

You paused long enough, staring at him, for Michael to look up over his frames at you. Warmth pooled lower and you took a sip of your ice water to try to snuff it.

“Wasn’t my intention.” You said tightly, “Didn’t know that was the hospital you worked at.”

“I’m glad you did.” His lips dipped momentarily. “Not that you got hurt, but—”

“Yeah, me too.” You offered a smile, bringing your wild thoughts to heel.

He smiled, looking back at the menu, “How’re your classes going?”

“Good, actually. Still busy trying to stay on top of everything, but it’s good.”

He rubbed his hand along his beard, the light catching several of the greys, “You know, I’d like to say something…about that…without being too forward.”

You raised a careful eyebrow, your lungs stalling.

“I…still want to help you.” Michael said, brown eyes watching you intently before caving and looking back to the menu. “With school, your bills.”

“Michael—”

“I know, I know.” He said quickly, “No ulterior motives. You wouldn’t owe me anything. Just because I want to. Because I have more than the means to do so.”

You hoped the dim lighting did not give away the way you flustered. “That’s—I don’t think—I can’t accept that. It’s…not right. I don’t want to use you.”

“You wouldn’t be.” He assured, one side of his lips quirking up. “I’m offering.”

You frowned, “It just reminds me of what you said; that I wouldn’t be here unless you were paying me. I—that’s not what I want you to think. That’s not how I want to feel.”

Michael’s tiny smile disappeared, and he just stared at you, gears clearly turning over in his head. He opened his mouth, but the waitress returned to take your order, interrupting him. Scribbling down on her notepad completely unaware — or just unfazed — by the tension now collecting at the table.

When she departed, you were both silent.

You chewed your lip and avoided his eyes.

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way.” He finally said, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. “I don’t feel that way about it. I know you would be here without it.”

“Are you sure? I feel like money will just complicate this again.” You met his gaze. “I don’t want to burden this with money, or insecurities, while we’re still figuring it out.”

Michael nodded in what you hoped was understanding. “You’re right, but it’s a standing offer. If you ever need it, it’s there.”

You let out a long breath, “Thank you.”

He sipped the white wine he had chosen for you both, glancing out the window at the sunset.

Part of you felt endeared that he still wanted to help out, but the money felt like an unnecessary weight to add to your shoulders. You did not want to hinder the relationship budding between you, or give him any reason to second guess your intentions.

“I’m glad we’re here.” Michael told you, offering a smile.

“I am too.” You grabbed your wine glass and raised it. “To second chances?”

He clinked his glass with yours and grinned.

—

When the food arrived, you were trading light banter. It felt easy, uncomplicated, despite the warm feelings invading your chest and working their way to your heart. You tried to take a breath, slow it all down, but they thrummed beneath the surface. He was polite, except the occasional way his eyes took you in — eyes lingering over the exposed bit of skin of your chest that the dress made obvious, wandering slowly back up to your eyes.

Those eyes were going to set you on fire.

You laughed, “That reminds me of when we were all on lockdown—”

Michael grew silent, a faraway look in his eyes, completely unaware of the rest of your sentence, or the way you stopped short.

“...you with me?” You asked softly, running your fingers along his hand until you were holding it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t really realize how much the pandemic affected you.”

He blinked rapidly at you, before trying to shrug it off, clearing his throat. “It usually doesn’t.”

“I know it took its toll on the healthcare system, I wasn’t trying to make light of it.” You told him earnestly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I lost my mentor.” He said quietly, looking down at his food. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I had to make a choice, and it didn’t end up really mattering.”

You squeezed his hand. “I’m really sorry. Adamson? Tell me about him.”

Michael looked up at the sound of the name, momentarily surprised by you remembering it.

“He was a force. Reliable. Took me under his wing not long after my residency and showed me just about everything I know. He always knew what to say, a trait I wish I had.”

You nodded along.

“Great doctor, even better man.”

“I can see how much you admired him. How long since he passed?”

“Three years about two months ago.” He said.

“I’ve never met him, but I don’t think he would want you to carry it with you like this. You said last week that it was for a little girl, and I know she didn’t make it either, but I’m sure he would’ve wanted you to try. If he was as great a man as you say, I doubt he’d want you to feel guilty over it. If he showed you everything you know, then surely the decision you made would have been the same one he would have.”

The words hung heavy in the air — and Michael’s eyebrows scrunched together while he digested them. He squeezed your hand tightly and a tear slipped from his eye.

“...thank you.” It was quiet. It was raw. It was unmasked.

You brushed your thumb over his knuckles and smiled softly.

He wiped away the tear quickly and cleared his throat, “So you said school was almost done. Is this your last semester?”

“Yeah, just have to finish out my classes, and then I’ll be graduating in two months.”

“Damn, you’re almost done.”

You moved your hand from his back to your lap, twisting a bit of pasta onto your fork. “I try not to count down the days. But then I’ll have to get my certification, then I’ll finally be a CPA.”

His smile was easy, “Congratulations.”

“I haven’t graduated yet.” But your lips moved upwards anyway.

“You’ve put in a lot of hard work, you should be proud of yourself.”

Your cheeks burned, “Thank you.”

The check came, and you only tried to glance at it once before you reined the thoughts in. He grabbed your hand when you got up from the table, his touch equally holding you steady and sending your thoughts back into a whirlwind. Heat had your heart racing, thoughts without any pure intention slipping in and making you blush deeper.

You intertwined your fingers instead of saying anything.

In the car, the conversation continued easily, though Michael reached for your hand again and held it throughout the drive. It felt like pieces were slotting into place, and it felt good to not pretend. To allow yourself to feel the feeling coiling around your heart. To accept his attention, his intention, without feeling like there was anything hindering you.

When they arrived at your building, he got out to walk you up. You went to protest, but the warmth was back rolling around in your stomach and you closed her mouth. Instead, an excitement was building.

He spoke first when you reached your door, “I had a really good time tonight.”

“I did too.” You were grinning. “Thank you for our first official date.”

He smiled, dark brown eyes flickering to your lips and back to your eyes. Your breathing picked up to keep up with your racing heart, and you glanced at his mouth. When your eyes returned to his, he was already leaning in.

You accepted the kiss eagerly, curling one hand around the front of his coat, the other moving to his hair. He took the invitation, bringing a hand to your cheek and pulling you closer, pressing his other hand to the small of your back.

Something bloomed deep in your chest, and you savored the taste of him while you could. He pulled back before it delved any deeper, though he held you still against him.

“Goodnight,”

“Goodnight, Michael.”

There was a fear of being known, but you were both finally letting the light in.

[ Next ]

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Companionship taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @gabsgabsvaz @rosiepoise88 @calivia @holdonimwalkingmysnail @valhallavalkyrie9 @blahkateisdone @shadowhuntyi @fuckalrighty @elli3williams @yournerdmodziata @i-know-i-can @dickheadturner @dcgoddess @pittobsessed @glamorizethechaos @blueb33ry-cat @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @burningpenguinwitch @evienorville @equallyshaw @heyysolsister @justrandomthougt @babygirlagenda

Dr. Robby taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43 @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @girl-obsessed-with-things @laurenkate79 @woodxtock @rosie-posie08 @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse

(50 tags have been reached with the combo of all three taglists, so unfortunately The Pitt taglist for this series will be added in a reblog right after this is posted - I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience!)

most of the heavy angst is over — they still suck at feelings, but they’re learning😊

as we get closer to smut territory, I get more worried it won’t live up to y’all’s expectations lol (😭)

#the pitt #michael robinavitch #dr robby #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch x female reader #companionship series #asxgard writes

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aventurineswife · 4 months ago

Note

I ssaw that ur requests are open fr a bit and that u opened zzz requests so imma shoot my shot (hehe)

Harumasa, Seth and maybe Hugo (I don't know much about him but I'm biased cuz he's voiced by Jun fukuyama so sue me XD) or wise (tho I'm not sure about wise since he doesn't have fangs) giving playful love bites whenever they're happy.

Them with their s/o having a good time just staying indoors either playing video games, cuddling, or doing anything fun (maybe an arcade date where they play games together like the mini games in zzz, or an at home candle lit dinner idk XP) and when they feel extremely happy nuzzling up to them, they just give a bite~

And if they hurt, they will do that thing that cats do, where they lick or kiss the area they hurt... Only to chomp elsewhere X3c

~🍮

Affection, but with Teeth

Tags: Harumasa x Reader, Seth x Reader, Hugo x Reader, Fluff, Playful Biting, Domestic Romance, Teasing & Banter, Light Angst (implied backstories), Affectionate Men, Cat-Like Behavior, Established Relationship, Humor.

Warnings: Mild biting (playful, not harmful), Light suggestive teasing (mostly Hugo), Mentions of food/eating (if relevant for food-sensitive readers), Minor swearing (?), Might be ooc.

A/N: Thank you for making another ZZZ request! 🤭🙏 I tried my best... though I probably wrote them very ooc. I've seen that seth has the same va as Alhaitham and hugo's kr va is Dan heng I think, I'm not sure... 🧍‍♀️

Harumasa wasn’t the type to go out of his way for extravagant dates. He preferred efficiency, and to him, the best kind of date was one that required minimal effort but maximum enjoyment. So when you suggested a cozy day indoors, playing games and just lounging around, he had no objections.

You sat on the couch, controller in hand, as the two of you played through one of the many arcade-style games from Random Play. Harumasa, half-laying across your lap with his own controller lazily balanced on his stomach, let out a small yawn. "If I win this round, you have to go make coffee for me," he murmured, eyes half-lidded yet still calculating his next move.

"Oh, is that so?" You smirked. "And if I win?"

"You get bragging rights."

"That’s a terrible deal."

Before you could argue further, he launched a sneak attack in the game, completely wiping your character out. Harumasa gave a satisfied hum, stretching lazily as he turned to look at you with a smug grin. "Looks like you’re making coffee—"

Chomp.

You yelped when you felt sharp teeth gently press against your shoulder. He didn’t bite too hard, just enough to make you flinch, and before you could react, he lazily licked the same spot in a mock attempt to soothe it.

"You—!"

But just as you were about to scold him, he struck again—this time on your wrist, grinning against your skin. "Mmm. You taste like victory."

"You menace."

"Hm? I’m just expressing my joy in the most efficient way." His voice was laced with amusement, and he gave one last, playful nibble before settling back into your lap like nothing happened. "Now, about that coffee…"

Going to the arcade with Seth was always a fun experience—he was passionate, competitive, and absolutely terrible at keeping a low profile. He wasn’t the best at stealth games, but give him a fighting or racing game, and he would pour his entire soul into it.

"Alright, final round!" Seth declared, gripping the arcade controls with unshakable determination. "If I win, I get the last slice of pizza when we get home!"

"Deal," you agreed, smirking.

The match was intense, pixelated characters clashing in a battle of reflexes and skill. You held your own, but Seth had sheer enthusiasm on his side, and in a dramatic final move, he won.

"YES!" He practically jumped in place, tail flicking behind him in excitement. "Did you see that?! I actually pulled it off!"

You chuckled, watching him vibrate with happiness—then yelped as he suddenly leaned in and gave a quick, playful chomp to your shoulder.

"Seth!"

He blinked at you, ears twitching, before quickly pressing a kiss to the same spot. "Sorry! I didn’t mean to bite that hard!"

"...So you admit that was on purpose?"

"Uhhh," he hesitated, then suddenly chomp—this time on your wrist.

"Seth!"

He laughed, pulling back slightly but keeping his hands on yours. "I dunno, I just got so happy! You don’t get mad when cats do it!"

"Yeah, but you’re not a cat, Seth."

"Debatable," he grinned.

You sighed, rubbing your wrist with mock exasperation before ruffling his hair. He purred—actually purred—and leaned into your touch. "Fine, you win. Enjoy your last slice of pizza."

"Hell yeah!"

(But the moment he looked away, you took a sneaky bite of his pizza anyway. He totally deserved it.)

Spending a quiet evening with Hugo was always a refined yet subtly mischievous experience. He had a way of making even the simplest moments feel elegant, yet you knew better than to let your guard down entirely.

Tonight, he had surprised you with a beautifully set dinner—candlelight flickering against fine wine glasses, soft classical music playing in the background. It was almost too perfect, and you gave him a knowing look. "Are you trying to impress me?"

"Would it be so wrong if I was?" Hugo smirked, sipping his wine with effortless grace. "Besides, I rather enjoy treating you to things like this."

Dinner went smoothly, filled with pleasant conversation and the occasional flirtation. But it was when you made an offhand comment about how charming he looked under candlelight that he tilted his head with a playful gleam in his sharp eyes.

"Oh? Flattery, my dear?"

"It’s not flattery if it’s true," you teased.

He chuckled, leaning closer across the table. "Then allow me to show my appreciation."

Before you could react, he gently took your wrist, bringing it to his lips. And then—

Chomp.

It wasn’t painful, just a teasing press of his fangs against your skin, but the suddenness of it made you yelp. "Hugo!"

He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the spot he bit, only to immediately sink his teeth into another spot higher up your arm.

You shot him a glare. "You’re doing that on purpose."

"Of course I am," he admitted shamelessly, smirking. "It’s rather endearing how you react."

"You’re lucky you’re charming."

"That is the general consensus," he mused. "Now, would you like dessert? I promise not to bite."

"Liar."

He simply chuckled, reaching for your hand once more.

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blindmagdalena · 1 year ago

Text

Night Terrors

1.6k homelander x reader. established relationship. pure comfort fic. remaster of this old prompt. very mild spoilers for s4 if you squint. mostly just wanted to self-soothe with some comfort/cuddle fic. gif credit.

It's been decades since Homelander last stepped foot in The Bad Room, but when he wakes from a nightmare of it in your shared bed, it's as if he never left.

Most of the nights you spend with Homelander are peaceful.

Tonight is not most nights.

The scream that wakes you from a dead sleep is guttural, barely human. Homelander is sitting upright, frenzied and wild-eyed, the ocean blue of them obscured by crimson glow. You're not even sure that he sees you through it when he looks at you. He's panting like he just ran a marathon, and the comforter is ripped cleanly in half, the two sides strewn on either side of him. "John," you call softly, reaching out to touch his arm, but he jerks away from your hand like you've burned him. "Don't fucking touch me," he hisses, wrapping his arms around himself. Sometimes he is small during these fits, curled in on himself, begging you to make it stop. Not tonight. Tonight he is another self, spitting rage and violence through remembered agony. A cornered animal. "I'll fucking kill you!" "John," you say again, pleading. You know he isn't talking to you. He's speaking to the ghosts of his past. "You're in our bed. You're with me. I would never hurt you. I love you, John." His name is a double-edged sword. It cuts clean through to something at the core of him in a way that “Homelander” doesn’t. Each use of it acts like a shock to his irregulated system.

You keep your hands outstretched, but you don't touch him. You show him that you aren't holding anything. Not a pen, not a notepad, not a needle. You show that you don't mean him any harm.

God knows he's suffered enough. With the sound of your voice, the red glow of his eyes gradually dims, flickers, and then finally it goes out entirely. He's still panting, hands moving slowly down his arms, his torso, checking himself for injury. Though his body bears no scars of the pain he’s endured, his mind knows exactly where each one of them would be. Bit by bit, you watch him come back to himself. He looks around the room, taking in the evidence of your truth. Framed photos, décor, the life you’ve built together. It isn't a concrete dungeon. It isn’t a lab. It isn’t an incinerator. It's home. "Fuck," he says quietly, hiccupping the word into his palm. He says it again, louder, screwing his glassy eyes shut. The third time he says it, it's nearly a sob. It’s agony to wait, but you don’t touch him before he’s ready. You fist the bedsheets, you don’t stop talking. I’m here. I’m right here. I love you. You’re safe. You’re not sure if it’s minutes or seconds before he reaches for you. All you know is you act immediately. You move swiftly up on your knees, climbing over the ruined blankets to take him into your arms, pulling his head to rest against your chest, bringing his ear close to the beat of your heart. You hush him while you work to unstick the words from your throat, unable to help the tears that well in your eyes.

The fear and misery in him is so palpable, you nearly feel as if it’s your own. He wraps his arms around you without hesitation, pulling you to sit sideways in his lap as he weeps against you. It's taken a long time to reach this point. He used to swallow it back like bile, adamant for the longest time that you not see this side of him, this aspect of himself that he thinks ugly, imperfect, broken. You fought for this. As you hold him through these bone-deep sobs, it shatters you that it's taken him this long for him to find someone who would. "You're safe," you whisper, battling to keep the tears from your voice. "You're home. You're with me. You're safe. I love you so, so much." He rocks back and forth, choking on his sobs. “I could feel it,” he tells you, the words barely escaping the clench of his teeth. “It hurt. Every second of it, and they just–they all just watched.”

You close your eyes, tears rolling down your cheeks and disappearing into the softness of his hair. You kiss the crown of his head again and again, combing your fingers through his hair where it’s damp with sweat and your own tears. “You’re safe now,” you whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat. It isn’t enough, but these words and touches are all you have to offer him against the torment of his childhood.

His grip on you tightens. It wouldn’t take much for him to snap you in half.

That scare you? He’d asked you once. How easily I could break you?”

No, you admitted. It makes me appreciate how hard you try not to. It takes time for his breathing to even out. His hold softens, but he doesn't relinquish you. For as terrible as the nightmares are, it's the shame he experiences in the aftermath that often requires the most care.

You rub firm circles on his back with one hand while cradling the back of his head with the other, trailing butterfly kisses along his temple, his forehead, down to his cheek. Any part of him you can reach, you kiss, murmuring quiet assurances in between, as if to imbue him with each word. Eventually, the rocking stops. He's breathing more steadily now, arms encircled firmly around your waist. He gives a shaking sigh. "Sorry," he whispers, voice strained. That's a word in his vocabulary that rarely comes up, but when it does, it is always drenched in shame. He hates himself for this. "Don't," you whisper, carding your fingers through his hair. You sniff back your tears, letting out a breath. "I asked for this. I begged you for this," you emphasize, earnest. You cup his face, angling him to look up at you. "Let me do this for you. Please. You have nothing to be ashamed of." He stares at you with large, watery blue eyes. The whites are red, strained by the force of his grief, his durability tested only by his own power. In his gaze you see damage done to him that may never heal, but your words settle over invisible scars like a soothing balm. It’s that very look of vulnerability that has driven you to this depth of love. You know his violence, his viciousness, but so too do you know the fragile man it protects.

Most of all, the scared boy beneath it all.

His grip on you flexes, his jaw clenched. The nature of your insight into him is both a blessing and a curse to him. He cannot hide from you. You know his shame, and despite how deeply he needs your compassion, your understanding, it’s something he has to bleed for every time. He’s perpetually torn between his desperation to be your perfect hero, and his soul-deep yearning to be safely vulnerable.

If you have to, you'll spend the rest of your life convincing him that he can have both.

Finally, his shoulders sag. "I love you," he says, quietly defeated by your warmth. "I'll never hurt you. Ever." You recognize the plea in his words. He's terrified that someday it will be too much. You’ll see what everyone else sees, and your love will be tainted–destroyed–by your inevitable fear of him. You hope one day that he’ll understand why that will never happen. Someday the depths of your love will soak in as deep as the misery of his past, and he’ll be able to forgive himself for the human way his god’s heart bleeds. "I know. I know that.” You kiss the top of his head, still rubbing his back, taking your hand away only to swipe the tears from your face. “I love you, too. Every part of you."

Even the parts you hate. Gingerly, he lifts you just enough to lay you back down on the bed. He wastes no time cuddling back in against you, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck. The bedding is ruined, but he runs warm enough that you hardly notice the absence of cover while he’s holding you. Your legs tangle with his, bodies slotting together easily. He nuzzles as if he can worm his way closer than skin to skin. If you could, you’d open your ribcage to welcome him inside. He could eat your heart if it kept his beating another day.

"Will you... talk me to sleep?" He asks, threads of shame lingering in the request. The tension has drained away, leaving him vulnerable and exhausted. His blinks are slow, the curve of his lips mournful. "Of course," you whisper, smoothing your hand up and down his back. This isn’t the first time you’ve talked him back to sleep, and you doubt it’ll be the last. Sometimes you tell him the plot of a book as best you can recall, other times it's random anecdotes from your life. Sometimes it's complete nonsense. To him, it doesn't matter what you say. All that matters is that when he does finally drift back into sleep, it's your voice that safeguards him there.

Gladly, he rests his head back down on your chest, closing his eyes with a rumbling sigh while your nails drag along his scalp. You cradle him there, savoring the warmth of him as it seeps into the marrow of your bones, the weight of him grounding you.

You tell him stories until sleep finds him. Even then, you continue to speak until your voice frays and you can no longer keep your eyes open. You speak and speak and speak hoping that somehow, in some small way, you can help make up for the years he spent with only his own voice for comfort.

#homelander x reader #homelander headcanons #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #my writing #x reader #homelander #fluff #angst

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rlnk · 3 months ago

Text

Too smart, too pretty, and definitely too close

art by @/chu-cho

wc. 1.3k

Gojo was extraordinary—skimming through classes like they were side quests, acing every test with minimal effort, and making it all look so easy. What was there to study when everything came so naturally to him? On top of that, he was absolutely adored by the teachers. His endless rants, as irritating as they were, left them in awe. After all, what other student grasped everything on the first try?

He was the top student for a reason.

Then, you transferred to his school and suddenly, everything changed.

You were slowly, yet surely, creeping up behind him—matching him score for score. While others flinched at his remarks, you met him head-on, snapping back at him. And you weren't just smart—you were sharp.

For the first time, Gojo wasn’t the only one the teachers praised. Suddenly, it was always you and Gojo—sitting together, constantly compared, constantly pit against each other like academic rivals. Apparently, to them, it was amusing to see the two of you bickering like a married couple.

And if he was being honest… it wasn’t just the teachers who had taken notice of you.

Everyone did.

You were friendly. Charismatic. The kind of person who effortlessly gathered people around you. Meanwhile, Gojo had his small circle—and he liked it that way. But you? You were orbiting everything.

Including Gojo. A little too much for his liking.

At first, it irritated him. How could someone like you waltz in and start shaking up his world? How were you always there—ready with a sharp remark, always matching his pace?

But then… mild irritation turned into something else. Something more persistent.

He started catching himself watching you in class. Noting the way your brows furrowed when you were deep in thought, the way your fingers tapped restlessly against your notebook when you got impatient, and the way you laughed—bright and easy—surrounded by people who gravitated to you like planets to a star.

It was infuriating.

Because the more he watched, the more he realized that he didn’t exactly hate it.

And that? That was the worst part.

You were always in his space—pushing up next to him to compare answers, cornering him after a test to discuss questions, and occasionally bumping into him during lunch with some ridiculously complex physics book clutched like a prize. (One of his books, actually.)

But no matter how much he told himself it annoyed him, Gojo just couldn’t quite bring himself to pull away.

“It was just so fascinating,” you said, eyes practically sparkling, wild energy in your voice as you bounced on your feet—probably from the sheer mix of exhaustion and caffeine. You held up The Elegant Universe like it was some kind of treasure. “I actually… stayed up all night reading it. Thanks for lending it to me.”

Your grin was shy but knowing, like you knew how insane it sounded. You stepped slightly closer without realizing it, and suddenly, Gojo was very aware of how close you were.

The height difference meant he had to look down, and you had to tilt your head up to meet his gaze. Barely a few inches of space between you. The only thing separating you was that stupid book.

He could feel your warmth. But all he could look at… were your lips. Shiny and parted slightly as you caught your breath. Oh god, had your lips always looked that glossy?

Gojo blinked.

What were you saying again? Right—the book. His book.

He’d lent it to you mostly on a whim, fully expecting you to take your time with it. He knew you were smart, sure—you always had some clever answer ready, always kept up with him—but this? He hadn’t expected you to devour the whole thing overnight.

Not many people could stomach the kind of dense, theoretical science he read for fun. But you? You’d eaten it up like it was nothing—and actually liked it.

When had he ever met someone who matched him like that?

And the worst part?

He loved that.

He scoffed, trying to recompose himself, shaking his head. “So… you lost sleep over the book I gave you?” His voice came out more amused than he intended, the smirk on his lips automatic.

He shoved his hands into his pockets—just to stop himself from doing something stupid. Like brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You shot him a grin and nudged him with your elbow, completely unaware of the chaos you were creating in his head. “You make it sound like you haven’t done the same.”

Damn. You got him there.

But even with your excitement, he could see the exhaustion plain on your face—your eyelids drooping, shoulders sagging, swaying slightly like the textbook in your hands was the only thing keeping you upright. And still… you were so unapologetically you.

He sighed.

You looked ridiculous. Endearing. Exhausted. Kind of like a sleep-deprived monkey that had stumbled into his space just to ramble about string theory.

Without thinking, he muttered under his breath, “Get some rest, nerd.”

You blinked up at him, thrown by the surprising gentleness in his voice. Your brow quirked. “Aw, is that concern I hear? You getting soft on me, Gojo?”

He tried to roll his eyes, but it didn’t quite land. Instead, he glanced away, jaw tightening like he’d just gotten caught doing something very uncool.

Maybe he should’ve kept quiet. Let you wander off—half asleep, rambling about quantum mechanics, blissfully unaware of how much space you’d started to take up in his head.

He had more books at home. Obscure ones. And the idea of you—sitting cross-legged on his bed, flipping through them with that same glint in your eye—made his throat go dry.

Would you be impressed by his collection? Would you run your fingers along the spines, reading titles under your breath like some kind of spell? Would you flop onto his bed like you owned the place, teasing him for alphabetizing them?

Oh no. Nope. Not going there—wait.

…What if it were more than just books?

His breath hitched.

What if you were sprawled across his sheets, legs tangled in his blanket, lazily flipping through another of his nerdy-ass physics books? What if your shirt slipped just enough to show that stupid collarbone he’d been obsessed with lately? You’d been wearing looser shirts lately—blaming the heat—and god, it was driving him insane.

Especially when you leaned closer beside him, practically gifting him a view of your collarbone… and more.

It was a miracle he hadn’t failed the last quiz.

What if you laughed at one of his dumb jokes again, shoved his shoulder, and the two of you stumbled onto his mattress? What if you climbed on top of him—smug, unbothered—with those glossy lips curved into a flirt so sharp it made his heart stutter.

What if you leaned in close—close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath against his mouth and murmured something like—

“So… you gonna offer me another book, or are you just gonna keep staring?”

Fuck.

His entire body tensed. His mind short-circuited. His gaze flicked to your lips again like they held the answer to some impossible equation.

And the worst part?

You sat beside him in every class. Every. Damn. Day. Shoulder-to-shoulder. Desk-to-desk. Grinning at him like you weren’t absolutely wrecking his sanity one teasing comment at a time.

Goddamn it.

His face flushed deep red, heat blooming up his neck like a fever. He couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. His hands twitched uselessly in his pockets, desperate not to imagine what they’d be doing if even a fraction of that fantasy was real.

You tilted your head, squinting at him. “Dude. Did your brain just blue-screen or something? You okay?”

He coughed, suddenly snapping back to reality—dragging a hand through his hair and forcing a smirk. “Yeah. Fine. Just… visualizing the tragic end of your sleep schedule.”

You snorted. “Worried about me again? You’re getting really bad at hiding your love for me, Gojo.”

Before he could snap back with something halfway clever, you flashed him a cheeky grin and turned to walk off—raising the book in a lazy wave.

“Later, nerd.”

Gojo stood there, flushed, frozen, heart thudding against his chest like it wanted out.

Yeah.

He was so screwed.

part 2.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #nerd gojo #nerdjo #nerdjo x reader #jjk gojo #jjk satoru #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk au #school au #academic rivals

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hiraethwrote · 1 year ago

Text

she thought you were cute

summary: you've never had to worry about getting jealous being with Megumi. but one time has to be the first, right?

[ loner!megumi x popular!reader ]

cw: college au, aged up characters, f!reader, sorority!reader, megumi being oblivious, jealousy!!, reader is kinda mean ngl, mild profanity (one use of hell), fluff

word count: 2.6k

Was jealousy a hot topic in your relationship? Well, it wasn’t unheard of. There was no denying you quickly garnered a respectable reputation as a part of the biggest sorority on campus — not to mention your radiating personality and beauty just had eyes draw towards you wherever you went. This did tend to ignite the tiniest spark of jealousy in Megumi, understandably so.

But god forbid he did anything about it — that would mean causing a scene which wasn’t his style. He mostly stuck to groaning a few curses to himself, complaining to his friends about the idiots who thought they stood a chance with you before he quickly relaxed once you joined them just to latch onto him.

You, on the other hand, were a different case.

There had never really been any situations to bring out the jealous side of you. You knew it existed, as you had never been very forgiving when people stepped into the territory of what was yours. But dating the quiet and reserved guy had its unforeseen advantages. Megumi did what he could to stay out of the limelight, never making heads turn. It had you feel special, being the the lucky girl to discover the hidden gem that was Megumi.

Or maybe you had just been lucky enough to discover him first.

His brooding and mysterious personality that had once made people steer clear of him in hallways, seemed to have a different affect in university. Suddenly you weren’t alone in making eyes at him.

You first became aware of this fact one random Wednesday, when you had planned to meet up with Megumi and his small group of friends in the library after a full day of classes to get some light reading done. You’d gotten a little confused when you had come to join their booth to find only Nobara and Yuji, while Megumi’s stuff was abandoned.

“Where’s Megs?”

Nobara didn’t even lift her head from her book, simply waving her hand in his general direction. Sitting down in the empty seat, you spotted him across the room, seemingly in deep conversation with a girl you had never seen before.

Wait- was that a smile you saw lurking on his lips?

Unfamiliar heat raised up your neck looking at the pair, how he casually had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants while she stood sweetly, her books pressed to her chest under her crossed arms.

“Nobara?” She only hummed softly in confirmation she heard you. “Who’s she?”

“Huh?” Her curiosity had her tilt her head to meet your grumbling expression staring daggers past her. She followed your gaze to observe the scene you were silently cursing. “Oh, that’s Yukiko. They have a few classes together.”

“Hmpf.” Your displeased tone caused Yuji’s attention to shift away from his laptop as well. Unbeknownst to you, the two of them shared an amused look, never expecting you to be the one to succumb to the cheap hex of jealousy. “So are they like friends or what?”

Nobara had lost all interest in delving deeper into her curriculum, because the sight of you leaning back in the chair, frumpy expression tightening your features and body jitter with agitation was a hell of a lot more entertaining.

“If you count sharing study notes as friends,” Yuji shrugged thinking his comment would be of help, but when he turned to look at you again he swore he could see a twitch under your eye.

You licked your lips, trying to peer your eyes off of the two… only succeeding for a second before you snapped your head in their direction again.

Tracing your eyes up and down her body, you were not quite a fan of what you observed, because strictly based on her appearance she looked a lot like a girl one thought Megumi would be with. She wore a dark and oversized outfit, her face kind, but had no distinct characteristics — definitely not the person to stick out in a room.

But the way she carried herself, hiding just under her cute and quiet exterior was a behaviour that reminded you of someone; you before Megumi. By the way she batted her eyelashes at him and occasionally twirling her hair around her finger, you had a sneaking suspicion she wasn’t as innocent as she appeared to be. Those were all tricks you knew all too well. You had perfected them, in fact. And now she was very charitably throwing them in the direction of your boyfriend.

And though you knew it meant nothing, you absolutely hated the fact that he was so politely accepting her gestures — because when you had presented yourself so sweetly to him way-back-when, he had shut you down.

The obnoxious sound of you frantically tapping your pen against the open book in front of you filled the space between the three of you, it being the only thing that stopped you from stomping over to them and prove to her she was definitely wasting her time.

Finally, their conversation came to an end, and there was no stopping your eyes from narrowing into a venomous squint when she so adorably wiggled her dainty fingers goodbye before he came to sit by the table.

“How was class?” Megumi asked softly, settling into a feeling of comfort now that you had finally joined him for the day — sadly, his usual sweet tone flew right over your head, the image of this Yukiko still gnawing at the back of your mind.

“Hm? Oh, just fine. Nothing out of the ordinary,” you shrugged nonchalantly, turning to your notes as if nothing was bothering you.

However, you weren’t fooling Megumi, who from the second you opened your mouth knew something wasn’t quite right. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” You shot him a small smile before returning to your work.

He only let his curious gaze linger on you for a few more seconds, hoping the reason for the annoyance you were trying to hide would show itself to him. But it never did — you just continued to let your pen travel hastily across the blank pages of your notebook, simply trying to erase the image of the girl he’d been talking to.

Megumi wanted to question you further, not really at peace when he knew something had you scowl. But he also knew if you didn’t flat out tell him what it was, it was better to let your frustration die out on its own. Whatever was going through your mind, you yourself thought you were being silly — and digging deeper would only hinder your process of letting it go.

Eight days went by before she triggered your jealousy again. And this time you didn’t manage to shove the thought of her to the darkest and most forgettable corners of your mind.

Entering his small dorm, you were greeted by the most charming little smile while he lazily paced around the room with his phone pressed to his ear. You didn’t hesitate to throw your bag on the kitchen counter before shuffling over to snake both arms tightly around his waist, pulling a low grunt from his lips at the sudden pressure of your embrace.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll see you soon.” Once he hung up, he threw his phone on the bed before he loosely wrapped his arms around you in return.

“Who was that?” You hummed quietly, eyes closed as you basked in his warmth that embraced you so lovingly.

“Just Yukiko who needed to borrow one of the books from the reading list.”

It didn’t take more than the sound of her name to evaporate the relaxation in your muscles. You slowly unlatched your arms around him and took a step back, letting them swing carelessly at your sides.

“She doesn’t have her own?” With a forced bounce in your step, you returned to your bag to retreat your phone, needing anything to fidget with in order to keep the flaming feeling inside you from blowing up.

“She does, but she forgot it when she was home from campus this weekend.”

“And the library doesn’t have a spare copy?”

“Apparently they were all checked out already.”

“Apparently,” you said spitefully, keeping your eyes fixated in the shut off device in your hand.

The unfazed act you put on served as much as a shear lace fabric, jealously shining through like a bright light. It was definitely a behaviour he’d never had the fortune of experiencing up close.

It reminded him a little of the impression he had gotten of you from afar, before he had the privilege of knowing you. Though he had never thought of you to be mean, some of the stereotypes of a popular girl he had theorised about, had proven over time to be a correct assumption — like the fact that you might have been a little spoiled. You definitely weren’t big on not getting what you wanted, especially when someone else wanted it as well.

“She wasn’t too far from here, so I was just going to meet her real quick and drop it off,” he said calmly as he went over to his bookshelf to pull out the book, which he had finished reading nearly two weeks ago.

“I’ll come with you!” Spinning around to face him again, you had your arms cutely tucked behind your back, sporting a smile sweet as sugar.

“It’s only gonna take like ten minutes-“

“No, no,” you cut him off, the forced cheerfulness in your voice slightly scaring him. “I’ll come with.”

Megumi definitely wasn’t the type of person to initiate a lot of public displays of affection, but he never shut it down whenever you rested your head on his shoulder when taking the train, or lacing your fingers with his when walking through campus.

However, the possessive grip you had on his hand right now was certainly different. He wouldn’t necessarily say unpleasant, because it was still you after all, but he did miss the tenderness your touch usually supplied.

“You’re meeting her here?” You asked, a somewhat mean lilt to your voice as you eyed the café you were standing in front of. With a roll of the eyes, he held the door open for you to walk in first, shielding away how the corner of his lips tugged upwards — because even though he hated to admit it, there was a small part of him that found it all slightly amusing.

It was always him who wallowed in the uncomfortable feeling of jealousy, lathering himself with patience whenever people ogled you. And here you were, grinding your teeth together at the first girl who talked to him — who even if she was flirting, Megumi was completely oblivious to it.

“Megumi!” Both your heads turned towards the voice, you having to lean forward to catch a glimpse of her past your boyfriend. When her eyes landed on you, a flash of stress travelled across her face before her smile returned to her glossed lips.

“Hey,” he spoke politely as the two of you approached her table, while you only flashed your pearly teeth in a confident smile.

“Hi,” you said, stretching your hand you straight. She reluctantly returned the handshake as you introduced yourself. “It’s so nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you too. I’m Yukiko.” Her tone was friendly enough, but you didn’t dare put your guard down, scouting for any subtle advances she might throw in his direction.

“Here you go,” Megumi said, handing her the thick book.

“You’re a lifesaver, Megumi! Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

With a burning sensation, you were convinced your instincts were right. The faintest shimmer in her eyes when she looked at his face was enough to expose her. And to think she had the guts to let her interest shine through when you were standing right there.

For the first time in a long time, your territorial side was brought out, making you hook your arm with his, deliberately drawing her attention to your hand grabbing his in a firm grip.

“So the two of you are like study buddies, I understand it?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she chuckled nervously, fingers tightening around the book in her hands.

“No?” Narrowing your eyebrows in faux confusion. “Thought you had shared notes and stuff?” When tilting your head to the side, your entire body shifted position which had you tug Megumi closer to you, but you managed to make it look so effortless — like you’re intentions were as pure as the driven snow.

“Sometimes,” she muttered, once again letting her gaze flicker to your hands.

Scarlet colour was slowly spreading across Megumi’s face, the heat melting his frozen posture. “We have to get going,” he mumbled shyly, slowly starting to back away towards the exit, pulling you along with him.

“Yeah, of course,” Yukiko said, the positive rhythm sneaking its way back to her words now that they were directed at Megumi again. “See you around.”

“Yeah, see you around,” you said with a slight bite to your tone, your fake smile blending into the frustrated scrunch of your nose. Megumi only had time to shoot her a tight lipped smile before the two of you exited the cafe in a hurry.

Once outside, reunited with air that wasn’t suffocating with hostility, your hand now held onto his with the care he was familiar with, your steps much lighter. You definitely seemed more at peace now when you had established your assertive character.

“She seems nice,” you cooed. Your attention snapped to him when he instantly snorted at your statement. By the slightly playful look he gave you, you thought he might have held back that reaction for a while.

“You know I always see through your lies, right?” He teased.

“Pfft,” you scoffed, retreating your hand from between you to blithely shove his shoulder. “I’m not lying!” His neck tilted to the side, soft squint staring right at you, causing the confession to tumble out without any struggle. “Fine, I don’t like her! But can you blame me?”

“Has she done something to you?”

Your feet stopped walking, blinking dumbfounded at him, letting his sentence digest in order to see if he was actually being serious. “You’re kidding?” All he did was shrug. Could he really be so blind? “You didn’t see what was going on there?”

“You’re telling me there was something to see?”

“Megumi, baby,” you chuckled lightheartedly, coming up to him to place a hand on each side of his face. “Do you think I was jealous over nothing?”

“I dunno,” he mumbled with yet another pull of his shoulders.

The adverse sprinkle to your mood was entirely forgotten, too smitten by the heedless behaviour of your boyfriend, not entirely convinced he actually hadn’t picked up on her attempt to catch his interest.

“She thought you were cute.” Another huff met you, accompanied by an exaggerated roll of the eyes. “No, I’m serious Megs,” you laughed, a sound that had his eyes instantly lock on you again. “But, the thing is, I’m the only one who’s allowed to think so.”

“Oh, is that right?” A smirk crept up on his lips.

“You’re my boyfriend after all, are you not?” You teased him, taking your bottom lip between your teeth to swallow back the satisfactory that had festered in you, now about to spill out in victorious smiles.

Again rolling his eyes, hiding how we was just a little flattered at your antics, before indulging in the rare act of taking the lead in showing his affection. Draping his arms around your neck, he pulled you to his chest in a comforting hug.

“I sure am.”

tags (taglist is open) @sad-darksoul @nyahctrl @ssetsuka @aceakariii @chxlexauriana @ps-forgetmenot @thejujvtsupost @acowboykisser

if your @ is highlighted in pink, i was unable to tag you... tumblr is not cooperating sorry <3

a/n this is didn't end up as well as i pictured it in my mind but oh well... don't have all that many ideas atm, so might come another fic of them soon

reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated

plagiarism not authorized

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thistle-wrote · 22 days ago

Text

Tattoo Artist

CW: oral sex, small descriptors used for reader when I felt it necessary i.e. the tattoo artist having tattoos. reader is referred to by a nickname. Authors note: And before you ask, no I do not condone the tattoos price has on the homecoming skin, as an American traditional tattoo GIRLY those are simply an insult to tattoos.

The song I was listing to whilst writing this

Despite what most think, John has tattoos. Mostly hidden in places you can’t easily see. Truthfully, he probably would have had far fewer had it not been for Little Petal.

It’s just when John’s dad died he wanted a tattoo to commemorate his life, you know how middle age men get when their fathers pass. So he booked a session with a local artist, the shop had great reviews; it was clean and busy, and he figured now was as good a time as any.

Never in the entirety of John’s life has he been so instantly captivated by a woman. Covered in tattoos and piercings, she was gorgeous and immediately incredibly friendly. He learned she owned the shop and had gone to art school. For what it was worth she absolutely knew what she was doing.

All in all, it took her barely an hour to draw his tattoo, make his stencil, and have it permanently etched into his muscular thigh. I mean how long could two dates possibly take anyway? And that’s really how it started. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was booking another appointment a few months out, with the promise of allowing her to actually draw him something this time. He could have taken her right there, just seeing the way her face lit up at the prospect of mild creative freedom.

When he returned for his next appointment, this time with a brand new scar and an embarrassing amount of excitement for a grown man, he settled in her chair. She flipped through drawings she’d made for him, drawings she thought would “fit your vibe” all traditional style but not the kind that bored; a street lamp with moths circling it was the one he ultimately decided on.

John was a very tough man. Hell, the man gets shot at for a living, but he didn’t expect the little petal to be able to inflict so much pain. Of course, he was tough about it, barely flinching.

“Does it hurt, then?” She asked him amidst her stabbing color into his side.

“Not bad.” He remembered murmuring to her as her needles dragged across his skin.

“Doesn’t hurt me one bit.” He chuckled at her cheesy joke, but the little smile on her face was enough to make his thoughts go awry.

It wasn’t long before he wasn’t just tattooed, but was one of her regulars. After a few years, his entire left leg was mostly covered. Apparently, when you become good enough friends with your tattoo artist, she starts to tell you things like, “I’m not doing that, John, that’s ugly.” And “No, that fits better over here.”

At some point, he also started receiving unexpected and sporadic text messages from her. Texts like, “I saw this cute cigar shop in London, made me think of you.” Or “I drew you this, thought it would fit perfectly on your knee.”

John has had his fair share of women in his life, he wasn’t exactly sure just why he was so into her. Maybe it’s the sweet, soft way she spoke. Maybe it was how she was so passionate about her work. Maybe the way she joked and teased him, or possibly it was just simply how incredibly herself she was.

John made his way into her shop one Saturday afternoon, the door chiming as he stepped through the threshold. The scent of patchouli filled his nose. She was an eccentric little woman, from the black walls to the leopard print furniture.

He stepped up to the front desk, eyeing the little trinkets she had sat atop it, listening for the soft patter of her platforms against the hardwood. When she poked her head from the back room, she offered a sweet smile.

“Hi, hon.”

“Hi, petal.”

They’d done this dance time and time again, proper etiquette and professionalism were long gone. He watched as she turned back into the room, a wordless request for him to follow. He did, his boots clattering on the floor as he made his way through the shop. He immediately sat in the corner chair, watching the bird flit through her stack of drawings.

“Okay listen,” She began, holding out a hand to silence him as if he’d been about to interrupt, which he hadn’t.

“You don’t have to get it if you hate it but, I drew this pinup.” She pulled out a white sheet of paper and held it out to him. John reached for the sheet, looking it over. He wondered for a brief moment if she’d done it on purpose, if she’d even realized exactly how much the cartoon woman on the page looked like her.

“It’s great, love,” He hums, still looking it over but letting his eyes meet hers for a moment. No, there was no way she’d done it intentionally, she wasn’t the egotistical type to brand someone with a picture of herself.

“Cool,” she mused, already planning. “thinking on your inner thigh. We can do it high enough that people won’t see her when you’re in shorts.” That girl was always thinking ahead. She has a real knack for this, not just the drawing or design process but the placement too.

“Yeah, okay, pretty,” John said simply, leaning back further into the chair. He let her run around the shop, scanning her drawing, then printing and cutting out the stencil. When she returned, stencil in hand, she looked at him with that cute little frown she sometimes got.

“Take your pants off, John.”

God, she didn’t have to tell him twice.

“Right to the point, huh?” He chuckled. She'd always taken his jokes well, so he felt no need to apologize for the comment.

She gave him an eye roll, one more of amusement than anything. He unbuckled his belt, pulled off his boots followed by his jeans, setting them on the chair. He plopped himself onto the table, and she, completely comfortable by this point, started pulling him into the position she wanted, moving his leg to her desired spot.

John liked his tattoos, he really did. But in that moment, he was instantly reminded why he kept coming back. It was the way she pushed the leg of his underwear farther up his thigh, making marks on his skin to correctly line up his stencil, or her casually commenting “You’re so hairy,” as she ran the pink disposable razor over his inner thigh.

“I’m a grown man, petal,” he responded, with a small chuckle.

This tattoo, the one she seemingly didn’t realize she’d drawn of herself, the one he was allowing her to permanently mark on his skin. This might be the worst decision of his life, he suddenly realized, not because it looked like her, or because he’d regret it; he’d learned over his almost forty years of life that regrets were worthless.

No, it might be the worst decision simply because he hadn’t thought about how high up it was, how close her hands and her face would be to his crotch, and how he was absolutely going to get hard whether he meant to or not.

After she’d shaved his thigh, applied the stencil, and properly sanitized his skin, she began to tattoo. She chattered away as she always did, John nodded along, trying to listen. But the man might as well have been fighting demons, not because it hurt, either.

John just hoped she wouldn’t mention the bulge in his underwear, or better yet, maybe she was too busy to notice. After she’d finished the outline, she stopped her machine, moving to change needles and pour her caps of color when she spoke.

“Got a pain kink, John?”

He was momentarily stunned by the way her eyes gestured to his cock. He would never have expected a joke like that from her; sure she teased him but this was a first. He laughed.

John had half a mind to tell her to go screw herself, or sarcastically agree. But he figured if she could say something that should be considered inappropriate for a professional, he could say something incredibly inappropriate for a client.

“No, bird, got a pretty girl's face inches from my dick kink.”

She smiled. No way she thought that was genuinely flattering. She had to trust him more than he’d realized not to immediately get upset. So, like the civilized adult man he wasn’t, he kept going.

“Got a thing for their mouths round it too.”

At that, she didn’t squirm, flinch. Or even make a grossed out face. She laughed, the kind of laugh a girl gives when she knows she’s about to get some.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

John thinks he must have, at some point, been some kind of saint in a past life, because that is the only way he could possibly imagine something so great happening to him: his tattoo artist stopping mid tattoo to wrap her lips around his cock.

The entire afternoon was a haze. When his tattoo was done, her breath now smelling faintly like cum, he let out a satisfied sigh, admiring his fresh ink in the mirror.

“Looks like you, ya know.” He mused, meeting her gaze. She looked momentarily shocked, as if she seriously had not intended that.

“Good,” she replied with a smirk finding its way to her lips. “Marking my territory.” Oh, she had no idea how right she was.

My irl CoD Trad tat

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