sweets-library

[sweets-library]

hiii i would love a tasm! peter where reader has just moved out of home for the first time and is feeling a bit lonely! peter comes over and keeps them company, maybe they make dinner or have a movie night :)

Thanks for requesting lovely!

cw: reader deals with loneliness

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 753 words

You open your door to the smell of smoke. Instantly you beeline towards the kitchen, worried you’d left the stove on or your new apartment came with some faulty wiring, but you find yourself blocked at the threshold. A tall figure steps into your way. 

“Please don’t—” 

You gasp and jump at the same time, up and back, and Peter has to grab your arms to keep you from tripping over the couch. 

“Freak out,” he finishes. He grins as he rights you, eyes light with amusement. “Sorry, there were probably better ways to do that.” 

“Fuck,” you sigh, bending and setting your hands on your knees. “Peter, what the hell? How did you get in here?” 

“You left your window unlocked.” Peter lets you go, holding his hands aloft for a second to make sure you don’t topple before stepping back. “Super not safe, by the way. I’m not the only person in New York who knows how to climb a fire escape.” 

You shake your head, baffled, before remembering your original concern. “Are you burning something?” 

He winces. “Not intentionally.” 

You raise your eyebrows and move past him, into your kitchen. Peter follows behind. 

“It’s out,” he assures you. You spot a smoldering dish in the sink, the charred remains of what you suppose was once food submerged in cold water. At least the smoke seems to be thin, clinging to the ceiling and drifting slowly out your open kitchen window. “I thought I could be fancy and make something, but, uh, reinforcements have been called.” 

You turn. “Reinforcements?” 

Peter grins sheepishly. “Pizza.” 

A little laugh sputters out of you, and his grin softens around the edges. 

“Can I get a hug?” he asks. 

You step forward willingly, the remainders of the day’s exhaustion seeping out of you as Peter wraps his arms tightly around your shoulders. You squeeze his middle in return, resting your cheek on his chest and wishing stupidly that you could fall asleep just like this. 

“What’re you doing here?” you ask. 

“What do you mean?” Peter’s tone is teasing, but it’s still a bit gentler than usual, mushy fond. “Where else would I be? You thought you could move to Staten Island and get away from me?” 

“It’s kind of far,” you admit. 

“You’re delusional. You don’t get to have an apartment all by yourself, you’re stuck with me and my mooching forever. This is our new apartment.” 

“Really?” you ask, though the words have happiness and affection sprouting to life in your chest. When you’d moved here on your own, you’d figured it would seem empty without your family but you hadn’t known how much you would feel it. You like the freedom, having control of your own schedule and how you decorate and which things go in the dishwasher, but you miss having people around. It’s been so easy to fall into a routine characterized by solitude, with nothing but work to make you leave the apartment and no one to keep you company when you’re home. “You gonna pay rent?” 

Peter squishes his cheek into the top of your head. Unbeknownst to you, he’s picked up on all of this. You’ve been calling him more since you’d moved in here, late at night and in the middle of the day. He’s gotten the sense you just want to talk to someone. He’s always happy to be that someone, but sometimes the phone doesn’t cut it. The trip from Queens to Staten Island isn’t a short one, but he’s going to be making it more often. He’s missed seeing you, your sweet face and the way your eyes crackle when you look at him. 

He pulls back, and they’re doing it now. You’re smiling at Peter like he’s the best thing you’ve seen all week, which is very flattering, but it seems like a low bar. 

“I’m thinking I’ll pay thirty percent of utilities,” he says. “Sound fair?” 

“Totally fair,” you agree, rolling your eyes. 

He grins. “Perfect. You’re getting a great deal, here, sweetheart. I’m already providing pizza and a movie.” 

Your eyebrows raise. “A movie?” 

Peter goes to your couch, whipping up the DVD case. “Yup. Blu-ray.” 

You’re smiling so big he can see all your teeth, but you shake your head. “Oh, Peter.” 

“What?” 

“I just moved in here. Why would you think I had a DVD player?” 

Peter’s head rolls back, an odd breath leaving him that’s half sigh, half laugh. “I guess that’s another thing I’m getting you, huh?”

[sweets-library]

I have an idea for another shouta and mic fic, but I’m not sure about it because I think it might be too similar to the one I already wrote about shouta going away and mic helping. It’s a different concept but that’s like the core, so idk

[sweets-library]

daddy!matt murdock + maintenance spankings ♡

it’s quiet in the apartment except for the pitter-patter of rain tapping on the windows, soft and steady. matt’s jacket hangs on the back of a chair. his sleeves are rolled up, his tie’s loose, and his hair’s mussed like he’s run his fingers through it half a dozen times since court. 

you’d helped him fold his cane up by the door when he got home. he’d smiled then, chuckling with a little “thank you, sweetie,” and a knowing undertone that made your tummy flutter before he brought you in for a quick peck on the lips.

now you’re in the bedroom. well. almost.

you’re standing nervously just inside the doorway, dressed in your favorite zip-up hoodie—his, dark blue with the drawstring missing. your cotton panties peek out from beneath the hem when you shift from foot to foot. your fingers are fidgeting with the edge of the hoodie, tugging and twisting.

you know what’s coming.

matt’s sitting on the edge of the bed, thighs spread, expression unreadable behind the dark red lenses. he cocks his head just slightly when you don’t move.

“sweetie?”

you swallow hard. “i-it’s just... i was good today…”

“you were,” matt agrees easily, voice warm but laced with amusement. “sweet and helpful. didn’t even argue when i told you to limit your screen time.”

you look up quickly, heart jumping. “so—so then—”

“and maintenance doesn’t have anything to do with behavior,” he says smoothly, cutting off your hope before it can rise too far. “you know that, sweetheart. it’s not punishment.”

your lips wobble. he can’t see it. but he knows. of course he knows.

he says your name, gentle. “what did i tell you last time?”

you stare at the floor. “that… it’s good for me.”

“that’s right. it’s about structure. it’s about helping your body reset, especially when you’ve had a big week.”

he taps his thigh once, just a slow little pat to his leg. “so, we’re going to take care of you, alright?”

you hesitate only a second longer before moving toward him, feet padding across the hardwood. he reaches for you, warm hands steadying you by the waist as he turns you gently, coaxing you over his lap.

“there we go,” he murmurs as you settle across him. 

he doesn’t say anything for a moment. just strokes your back through the soft hoodie. the tension in your shoulders. the fluttery nerves in your chest. he can feel all of it.

“you’ve been working so hard lately. running around. pushing yourself.”

you’re quiet, cheek pressed to the comforter.

“your body needs to settle. you need to be held. and regulated. and that’s exactly what we’re going to do tonight, alright?”

his hand strokes your back once more. his palm brushes down the back of your panties, soft and damp from nervousness. then stills, deliberating briefly.

“twenty today. and you’re gonna count for me, nice and clear. can you do that?”

when you nod, his hand leaves your thigh. you brace.

the first swat lands with a crisp, firm sound. not too hard. but definitely not soft. your breath jumps.

“one,” you whisper.

his hand rubs gently where he hit. then lifts again.

the second swat is sharper. you count, voice shaking slightly.

matt smiles, the kind of smile you can feel even if you can’t see it.

you barely have a chance to brace before the next one lands—sharper this time, the slap echoing in the quiet room.

“t-three,” you choke.

he hums in approval. “good.”

you squirm a little in his lap, and he tightens his arm around your waist, a gentle warning.

the next three come in quick, firm bursts—his palm unrelenting, each swat snapping into your skin with practiced rhythm. your body jerks in surprise.

“four… f-five… s-six—”

his free hand slides up your spine, slow and sure, until it reaches the back of your neck. then flips his hand so his fingers curl just under your jaw, palm supporting the underside of your throat.

“stay still for me, alright?”

the next spanks come slower. steadier. you count them between shaky inhales.

by ten, your thighs are trembling—tight with effort, strained from the way you keep pressing into the hardwood, trying to shift the sting, lessen the bite of each impact. you’re moving too much now, and his hand pauses mid-swing.

“sweetheart.” low. stern. enough to freeze you instantly.

“what are you doing?”

“n-nothing,” you breathe, face burning.

his palm smooths down your back again. “you sure about that?”

your breath stutters when his fingers dip just beneath the waistband again, adjusting the bunched cotton like he’s testing something.

“because if i didn’t know better, it feels like you’re starting to break position. squirming.”

he pinches your ass, sore and blooming with warmth, and you yelp.

“you know the rules,” he says softly. “what happens when you start misbehaving during a maintenance?”

“i’m—’m not—”

he gives your thigh a short, sharp slap—not a spanking, just a correction. quick and firm.

“that didn’t sound like taking accountability,” he says calmly.

“i-i’m sorry. matt—please!”

his hand strokes over your backside again, where it’s warm and darkened. “i know it’s hard. i know you’re sensitive right now. and that’s why you need to stay still.”

“i want you to breathe through it,” he murmurs. “let go. relax your legs—good. now chest down for me.”

his palm leaves your skin, and brace for the next impact. but his fingers slip lower, trailing over your clothed cunt, hovering there. not quite applying any pressure, as if he’s studying you.

he chuckles, low and barely audible. and you clench instinctively, toes curling, hips wiggling.

he pulls his hand away.

you panic. “wait—!”

matt’s demeanor changes and he clicks his tongue.

he shifts you slightly in his lap, drawing you up a little higher. tucking your legs more firmly beneath him, pressing your hips down.

“i said—stay—still.” he says calmly, voice slightly raised. 

you blink fast, embarrassed tears starting to sting.

“your body’s overwhelmed. i know that. but that doesn’t give you permission to ignore structure.”

his palm lands suddenly—three times. the hardest you’ve had, and you choke on a sob.

“we’re going to finish this. you’re going to count. you’re going to take it”

another swat.

“eleven,” you whisper, voice cracking.

he keeps going. firm and unrelenting. your voice shakes more with every count, but you keep going. every now and then, you stutter. break rhythm. and every time, matt pauses—corrects you, calms you, brings you back to center. makes you recount if he’s not happy with the way you take it.

by fifteen, your breath’s gone wild. fast, shallow hiccuping around sharp little whimpers that keep slipping past your lips. you shaking your head frantically, hips squirming, heels kicking against the mattress. 

he sighs. and then he moves.

before you can catch your breath, he shifts you—fluid and strong—and you don’t even realize what he’s doing until your chest is pressing into the mattress instead of his thigh. your hips are lifted now, his arm snug around your waist. your legs pinned beneath his.

he pulls your arms gently from the blanket and brings them behind your back. 

and suddenly, you’re contained. nowhere to run. nothing to grip. just heat and pressure and him.

you protest, but he has none of it.

his fingers tighten lightly around your wrists. his other hand finds your hip, holding you still.

“there. that’s much better, don’t you think?”

smack.

“sis-sixteen—”you sob, helpless against it, your voice raw now.

smack.

“seventeen—”

you try to say the next number, but you choke, voice buried somewhere under the heat and shame cracking through your ribs.

“use your voice,” matt says quietly.

you suck in a trembling breath.

“e-eighteen—”

by the time he reaches twenty, your thighs are shaking uncontrollably—tremors you can’t will away—and even matt, relentless as he is, seems to grant you mercy.

he rubs slow, wide circles over the skin he’s worked, his palm gentle now.

“all done,” he says softly.

you let out a soft, broken sound—not from pain, but from the sheer release of it all. tension bleeding out of you in slow waves. then—

his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties.

you protest on instinct, voice barely formed.

he hushes you instantly.

“sh. sh,” he murmurs, already tugging them down, slow and sure, peeling the damp cotton from your skin. “just want to check my work.”

you bury your face deeper into the blanket, body trembling as he pulls the fabric to your thighs, exposing all of you—hot, flushed, aching.

his hand finds the spot where he’d spanked you, and rubs over it with maddening care. warm. firm. circling the tender flesh like he’s marking it again, this time without his palm.

he chuckles under his breath, dry and low.

“that’s my girl.”

and then his fingers drift lower. down, between your thighs, through the mess he already knew he’d find. slick and clinging, humiliatingly obvious.

he hums, pleased. his fingers stroke through you again, slow and deliberate—circling your clit where it pulses and jumps under his touch. just enough to make your hips jerk.

“and you tried to tell me you didn’t need this tonight.”

he turns you over on the mattress and climbs over you, two fingers already pushing past into your entrance.

he’s going to draw it out.

he’s going to make you beg—sweet, choked little pleases torn from your throat.

he’s going to make you thank him for every kiss of color, every correction, every inch of care he carved into your skin.

and you will.

because you’re good.

because you trust him.

because no one—no one—takes care of you like he does.

masterlist | support my writing

[sweets-library]

scout spare skrunkly thots about our lord and savior fat cock izuku 🤲🏼🤲🏼🤲🏼

unedited. nsfw. be nice to me this is actually my first bit of writing in four months ;~;

warnings: size kink, pet names, dacryphilia, mating press, praise kink

:( im thinking about izuku who is always just so fuckin stressed. Body sagging and worn every day when he comes home from work; aging like the fruit on your kitchen counter, going grey by the time he's 30. Half lidded eyes outlined by purple, shoulders that sag like Atlas with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

But you —you with your saccharine smile and laugh that rings out clearer than bells; you who is the sole person who looks at the weight on his shoulders and does everything you can to help him carry the burden. You who looks at Izuku like he hung the moon in the sky with his own crooked hands; who looks at him with the same look of amazement humans look at the stars with.

You are the only reason Midoriya Izuku can get up in the morning. The only reason he has not crumpled to his feet in agony. To him, you are the sun that kisses him with your golden mouth; a lion face guarding your hummingbirds heart.

Because of all of this, because he loves you; because you're worth more to him than the sun and the moon and the stars that litter inky black skies, he indulges you over and over again. Shows you he loves you with featherlight kisses pressed to collarbones, the gentle flick of his wrist when you come undone around his fingers; teeth that toy with your nipples, big hands that grab desperately at the fat of your hips.

But no matter how many orgasms Izuku's skilled tongue and fingers have pull out of you; no matter how many times you've fucked, taking Izuku — all of Izuku — as always proven to be a problem.

Could anyone, really, easily take all of Izuku though? 8 inches of uncut cock, wide and girthy with pretty veins running down the sides of it?

"Come on baby," he hisses through clenched teeth, face flushed and voice strained. "You're doing so good for me, yeah? C'mon jus' a lil bit more f'me you can do that f'me right?"

You nod, small hiccuping sobs escaping from swollen lips and Izuku cannot help but think how gorgeous you are lying underneath him; pretty lips twisted into a pout as he bullies his fat cock into you; your knees pressed to your chest and toes curling as he inches his length slowly into you.

"Sure you can do it, baby?" He coos, concern lacing his voice and coating his words like sickly sweet honey. "S'okay if you can't."

"N-no!" You whine, voice coming out louder than you intended. "I can do it, jus' a lil bit more right?"

"Yeah, baby," He huffs, inching his fat girth into you a bit more. "Doing so good f'me, my sweet girl." Words of praise fall from his lips so easily, it's all second nature to him. You look at him then, notice green curls sticking to his sweat slicked forehead; the amazed way he watches you cunt suck his fat cock in; his clenched teeth between pink lips. "Look at that," he smiles at you, proud and beaming. "Y'did it, just f'me."

You nod, hiccuping, "Yeah, only for you."

"Good girl," he coos, cock twitching and aching to move. You're greedy, always so greedy for him, but for you? He'll give you everything you want and then some.

[sweets-library]

I was gonna write some silly little Rick grimes x reader hcs and it turned into a whole fic so my bad yall

[sweets-library]

Born to bounce on it or whatever lana said

[sweets-library]

Frank Castle Masterlist

Alone Again- Summary: The reader is in a long-term relationship with Matt Murdock (Daredevil) but what happens when he keeps leaving you to deal with things alone? What if someone else is there for you? What if that someone else is Frank Castle?

Jealous...over stuffed animals? - Summary: Frank Castle would totally be the man that is jealous of your plushies when you cuddle them to sleep instead of him.

Plumping lip gloss - Summary: Frank with a girl that uses lip plumping lip glow and forgets to tell him before kissing him.

Love Language - Summary: How does frank castle deal with a s/o whose love Langauge is acts of service?

Studying - Summary: Frank dealing with you stressing over studying

[sweets-library]

I CAN FIX HIM

[sweets-library]

just came across this picture... somebody sedate me i'm so serious

[sweets-library]

birthday girl

summary: sometimes a girl just needs to cry her way through her birthday; joel makes sure you cry for a good reason this year.

tags: 18+, smut, praise kink, crying, crying during sex but not for bad reasons, fingering, joel has big hands (duh), soft sex, sweet sex, clingy!reader, academic!reader (implied), reader is younger than joel, reader is in college still but no age is discussed, anxious!reader, quiet!reader, soft!joel, dom!joel (a little?), praise kink (again), boyfriend!joel, use of the following nicknames: baby, dove, birthday girl, reader has hair, size difference kind of, happy ending :]

a/n: it's my birthday today !! and i felt like projecting into a fic so here is this thing i wrote in one sitting HAHA <3

(1.4k, not beta read)

“Baby?” Joel calls softly.

He’s knuckle deep in you, stretching you across two of his fingers. You can feel how you’re melting onto him, how you clench onto him in every way possible.

There’s no possible way that this is comfortable for him, not in the slightest. You can tell that his wrist is aching, that the forearm he’s resting on is aching, but he hasn’t said anything yet and you don’t want this to stop.

He’s laid beside you kind of, with one of your legs out on the opposite side of the bed while the other is sandwiched between his own. He always lets you hold yourself open how you want, and tonight you want to be as close to him as you can. 

Your arms are awkwardly hugging his neck down to you, so you can nuzzle into his cheek and tell him how you’re feeling. This kind of attention can feel so anxiety inducing sometimes, this weird pressure to come for him quickly so he can be done with it, even if that isn’t what he wants.

Joel will coax your release from you no matter how long it takes, or how many times you want it. He doesn’t mind, he’s always telling you he doesn’t mind, but he needs you to talk to him through it.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly, curling his fingers in you. It makes your hips twitch slightly, a soft mewl leaving your throat in response.

“How’s my birthday girl doin’? Is this good?” Joel asks. 

You’re stupidly lucky to have him.

He carried you up the stairs after you began bawling into your birthday dinner, salty tears mixing with the pasta that Joel slaved over for the evening. You couldn’t swallow anymore of it, everything was feeling so heavy already and each gulp of food was landing like lumps of grease in your stomach. 

This year has been lonely, painfully so. Somewhere between high school and postsecondary you shrank back into your shell, leaving behind friend groups and growing into your own skin. It felt good for the first little while, but your success and achievements in classes didn’t make up for the sinking feeling in your heart. You have some friends, but not enough for a birthday party, and they aren’t close enough to remember your birthday anyways. 

Going out to dinner felt stupid if it was just you and your boyfriend celebrating, it didn’t feel important enough. Joel fought you on it at first, but gave up when he noticed how upset you were. Instead, he made dinner for you and set up some decorations.

You feel a little guilty, thinking about the birthday banner downstairs, the pasta on the table, and the cake in the fridge, but then he curls his fingers again and your eyes flutter.

“Need your words, dove,” Joel says patiently. He doesn’t thrust his fingers at all, just pushing them against your walls softly to remind you he’s there.

Managing to nod, and find your voice, you murmur a yes, feels good, but your voice is so small. Joel picks up on it right away.

“You wanna talk, baby? S’okay if you don’t, s’okay if you’re feelin’ quiet.”

Tears start to billow and burn in the bags beneath your eyes, stinging as you close your eyes and shake your head into the crook of his neck. Your hands clasp behind his neck, pulling him closer, and he nods. 

You feel so embarrassed and guilty, but also stupid. Here is Joel, giving you all you need, and you can’t even speak up for him. You didn’t finish his dinner, or blow out the candles, and he’s still reassuring you. 

“Is it good slow? Deep and slow right now?” he asks into your ear, scruff scratching your ear.

Your soft nods reassure him and he resumes a slow pace, pushing up against your wall as he presses kisses down the side of your head and in your hair, hushing you. The feeling of his fingers in you is so foreign still, not quite new but not your own either. He’s such a stretch compared to yourself, one that makes your brain fuzz over. 

Joel curls his fingers in you, then strokes the inside of you with the pads of his fingers as he begins to talk.

“It’s okay you’re bein’ quiet, baby, you know I don’t mind. Don’t matter if you can use your voice or not, s’long as you keep bein’ the good girl you are.”

Now the tears spill over, hot and rolling slow down your heated cheeks. There are so many emotions and he’s monopolized this overwhelming feeling into pleasure as he pulls wetness from you and spills it onto his knuckles, into his palm. You’re surprised you’re even this turned on when you’ve had such a shit day, but you know it’s because of him. 

He hasn’t realized you’re crying yet, still fingering you at an easy pace, something he hopes you can handle. 

“Jus’ wanna make you feel good, you deserve it. My strong girl’s been so tough lately, workin’ so hard to make me proud, huh?” 

Your tears pour into the fibers of his tee as you push your head down into his shoulder, nodding as you catch your breath between a quiet sob. This recognition feels so different, so much better. 

“You cryin’?” He asks quietly.

His fingers don't still. You’ve cried a lot tonight, if you wanted it to stop he knows that you’d tell him, or kick him. You have your means of communicating, even if you’re feeling too much to speak. 

Nodding into his shirt, you breathe out a shaky little breath. His neck feels clammy under your hot palms, but you can’t bring yourself to let go.

“S’okay if you’re cryin’, that’s okay, baby. It’s tough bein’ the birthday girl, right? So much stress sometimes, hard to be that pretty and special,” Joel reassures, pulling his fingers almost fully out of you before slowly easing them back into you. There’s a nasty noise coming from you, one that would be lewd if he wasn’t so sweet.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s so hard for you, but you’ve been so good. Best birthday girl I know,” he hums, pushing a little harder into you now. It makes your eyes draw together as tears brim, a little sound pulling itself from your chest.

“M’so proud of you, dove, you know that? I wanna make you feel good, an extra special birthday gift for bein’ so disciplined,” Joel adds.

He drags his face down to yours, shrinking into his own body in a silly way so he can nudge your nose with his. Your eyes are closed but it doesn’t matter, you don’t know if you can handle seeing anything right now. Joel presses a kiss to your forehead, pushing deeper and a little faster into you as his fingers curl, drag, and press into you just right.

“Can I give you that, huh? You want your gift, birthday girl, since you were so good? 

Everything is melting now, the tears down your face and the space between your thighs. Wet is everywhere, from your cheeks to his knuckles. Hot, and sticky, and dripping, all of you being kept together from where he’s plugged himself into you. Trying to speak, you make noises, but just babble aimlessly through a desperate sob.

Somehow, through your orgasm, you drag him closer. He’s nearly collapsed on top of you now, barely able to keep moving his fingers as you clench around him, spilling onto him.

“There you go, dove, there you are,” he shushes softly as your chest heaves with a mixture of gasps and sobs.

He doesn’t pull away from you, just lets you cling and sob as you need, kissing wherever he can. 

It takes awhile for you to come down, but when you have he doesn’t pull away except for sliding his fingers out of you. Your head feels distant from you, eyes soft and chest exhausted.

“Maybe we can try this birthday thing again tomorrow, hm?” Joel asks, adjusting you so he can lay with you in a more comfortable position. Your head rests on the meat of his chest and you nod, eyes half open. Honestly, apart from what happened just now, today sucked. Having two birthdays sounds perfectly appealing to your melted little brain as he holds you close to his warm body.

Tomorrow, tomorrow can be your birthday.

[sweets-library]

I could absolutely match Braxton Wolff’s freak. Put me in coach I’m ready

[sweets-library]

Would yall be mad if I also dropped The walking dead fics here

[sweets-library]

you're BACK OML I THOUGHT WED LOST YOU!! anyways loved the second part of the box, very cute caretaking type of thing, you always get their characters so damn well its impressive! love to see you writing again, it's always so excellent!!

:)

aw thank you! sorry the wait was so long! I'm glad you liked it, i always try to work really hard on my characterization because bad characterization can ruin a fic for me personally. happy easter!

[sweets-library]

AS A REMINDER ageless blogs get blocked! fuck them kids

[sweets-library]

no big deal

Shouta Aizawa/reader/Hizashi Yamada wc: 1.9k READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. DO NOT READ THIS IF THEY DO NOT APPEAL TO YOU. 18+ content warnings: Kinky themes and discussions, teasing, honestly this ones just a lot of caretaking, use of 'brat', verrry light mention of punishment

ao3 link / link to chapter 1

-

After the humiliation of your box of fun being found out, the boys actually seemed to let the subject lie…

For now.

You weren't stupid, they would absolutely be bringing it up again. You'd agreed to talk about it eventually, and neither of them were the type to forget something like that. But as the days stretched on with nothing more than the occasional teasing remark, it was easy to slip back into denial mode, pretending the whole thing had been a weird little blip you could move past if nobody pushed.

Except... one thing kept circling in your head.

"We've already been taking care of you exactly the way you need. You just didn't think we'd notice what you needed before you did."

The more you turned those words over, the harder they lodged beneath your ribs, uncomfortable in the way that only the truth can be because he was right.

You liked how they took care of you. They'd been doing it for months without making a big deal out of it, sliding into the role so seamlessly that you'd barely noticed what was happening.

You liked not having to worry when you were with them. You liked that Hizashi always reminded you to drink water without making it sound like nagging. You liked that Shouta could shut down your spiralling with nothing more than a steady look and a quiet, "You’re okay."

It was like puzzle pieces clicking into place, the three of you fitting together in ways you hadn’t even known you needed. And now that they knew, they were only getting worse. 

More teasing, more protective, more stern, in these subtle little ways that made your stomach flutter without ever crossing a line.

The moments always seemed to come and go without you realizing what was going on until they were over. For example, one morning, when you were running late and they both insisted on hovering around like mother hens.

You were crouched by the door, lacing up your boots, when Hizashi’s voice cut through the apartment like a crack of lightning.

“WHERE do you think you’re going?”

You glanced over your shoulder to see him standing in the hallway in full hero gear, hands on his hips, head tilted in mock outrage.

“To work?” you said slowly, like maybe he'd finally lost his mind. “I have the early shift, I told you that.”

Hizashi’s eyes narrowed behind his shades, laser-focused. “Not like that, sweetcheeks. You'll freeze. Where's your coat?”

You snorted and turned back to your laces. "I don't have one — it was warm when I walked over yesterday."

There was a beat of silence behind you, just long enough for the realization to dawn. "You walked here without a coat?"

His voice shot up half an octave, sounding absolutely scandalized, and you winced, already regretting saying anything.

"It was fine-"

"It was negative two yesterday!"

Here we go.

"I'm gonna be late, Zashi-"

Hizashi was already stomping over, hands creeping onto your hips from behind like a cartoon villain about to deliver a lecture when Shouta finally shuffled out of the bedroom, drawn by the noise like a tired cryptid. He was still in sweats, hair loose around his face, looking like he'd barely opened both eyes, and you still lost your breath a little at how good he looked.

"What the hell is going on?" he rasped.

Hizashi's hands squeezed your waist lightly - more to keep you still than anything else - as he spun around to plead his case.

"She's trying to leave the house without a coat on. In this weather. Like some kind of- of-"

"Independent adult?"* You muttered under your breath.

Hizashi pinched your hip in warning.

"Like some kind of brat."

Shouta's mouth twitched, just barely, but his gaze landed on you, dark and half-lidded and entirely too perceptive for how barely awake he was.

"You don't have a coat?"

Your stomach dipped.

It was the way he said it, so calm, so simple. No teasing, no exasperation, just the quiet assumption that if you'd forgotten something, it was his job to notice.

You glanced away, fumbling with your bootlaces.

"I didn't think I'd need one."

"Hm."

That little noncommittal noise made heat flicker low in your belly.

He padded into the bedroom without another word, and you figured that was the end of it, until he came back thirty seconds later holding his own black scarf and one of his thick zip-up hoodies. Your heart flipped.

"I'm fine, really-"

"Put it on."

You opened your mouth to argue, and Hizashi leaned in, his voice low and warm against your ear. "I wouldn’t push your luck, baby."

You froze. They'd implied things before - little comments, subtle shifts in tone -  but this was different. This was the first time you’d actually felt like you were toeing a line. The first time, it felt like Hizashi might actually do something if you didn’t listen.

And he sounded so damn sincere.

Like he meant it. Like he’d already decided what would happen if you kept pushing.

You bit your lip and didn’t say another word.

-

By the time you finally made it out the door, bundled in Shouta’s hoodie and scarf, practically drowning in his comforting scent, your heart was hammering.

You weren’t sure if you’d won or lost.

Part of you felt chafed, a little raw from their overprotectiveness, from the way they’d both just assumed you’d do what you were told. But there was something else, too. A lingering hum just beneath your skin, something warm and buzzy and hard to name.

It stayed with you the whole walk to work, clinging to your cheeks and the back of your neck like heat from a too-long embrace.

-

Things started to ramp up slowly after that morning. The changes were subtle at first, more overt as time went on, but never abrupt. Never uncomfortable. It always felt… good in a way you almost felt guilty about. Sometimes, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were taking advantage, letting them make all the decisions, taking care of you like this. But every time that thought crept in, it was quickly drowned out by the undeniable feeling that they were enjoying it too.

One morning, you arrive at work, groggily unpacking your bag. Your hand brushes against something that definitely wasn’t there when you packed it. You pull out a lunch box, its contents wrapped in the familiarity of care you’ve come to know all too well. You pop it open, and sure enough—there it is, a well-balanced meal: a mix of veggies, fruit, protein, and even a small handful of chips. You freeze, staring at the lunch, then quickly close the box, as if hoping it might vanish.

You grab your phone and shoot a text to the group chat you three share.

"Zashi, I think you put your lunch in my bag. Want me to bring it to you on my break?"

Zashi <3: All yours babydoll!! Have a good day!! And eat the vegetables!

Your heart gave a little jolt, but you thanked him and then shoved the phone back into your bag and went about your morning, trying to focus on work. When you finally took a break and went to grab your lunch, you unwrapped the container and smiled as you looked at the neatly packed meal inside. Though you felt a little bad about eating the lunch he so carefully packed for himself, you enjoyed every bite and decided you would make him lunch tomorrow in return. 

By the time you made it back to the apartment that evening, the quiet smell of garlic and something vaguely gingery greeted you at the door. You slipped your shoes off and padded into the kitchen to find Hizashi at the stove, sleeves rolled up and golden hair tied back, humming along to whatever was playing through the little speaker tucked in the corner of the counter.

At the table nearby, Shouta sat with his hair tied up in a loose bun as he flipped through a stack of papers, pen moving with focused precision. He looked up when you entered, eyes sweeping over you for a beat before he dipped his head in acknowledgment and returned to his grading.

“You’re home later than usual,” Hizashi called without turning around, a little sing-song in his voice.

“Yeah,” you said, setting your bag down. “One of the newer interns needed help closing out inventory. Sorry I didn’t text.”

He made a noncommittal hum and tossed something into the pan that sizzled on impact. “No biggie, I figured. How was lunch?”

You blinked. “Lunch?”

He turned then, giving you a grin over his shoulder. “You did eat it, right?”

Realization hit you like a soft wave. “Oh. You packed that on purpose.”

“Well, yeah,” he laughed. “You’ve been skipping or just eating snacks lately. I figured I’d take matters into my own hands. Did you like it?”

You hesitated, caught between the gentle amusement on his face and the faintest quirk to Shouta’s mouth as he listened from the table. “...Yeah,” you admitted. “It was really good. I thought maybe you’d mixed up our bags.”

“Nope,” Hizashi said, turning back to the stove. “All intentional, sweetheart.”

You stepped further into the room, trying not to let the warmth rising in your chest show on your face. “You didn’t have to go to that trouble.”

“I know,” he said easily, stirring whatever he was cooking. “But I wanted to.”

You glanced over at Shouta, who was still grading, though you caught the way his pen had stilled for just a moment, like he was listening very carefully.

“We’re just looking out for you,” Hizashi continued, tone lighter now. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It kind of is,” you said before you could stop yourself. “It's not like I live here, I dont contribute to the groceries.”

That’s when Shouta spoke, his voice quiet but certain. “You said you liked being taken care of. We’re not going to make a big show of it. But if there’s something we can do to make your days easier… why wouldn’t we?”

You bit your lip, unsure what to do with the small swell of emotion behind his words. You had said that. Not in so many words, but… they’d known anyway.

“And we’re not gonna smother you,” Hizashi added, throwing you a wink. “Promise. But you’re ours, you know? Let us do the things.”

The simple, offhanded way he said it made your heart stutter. You didn’t even know what part of that got to you more, the “you’re ours,” or the casual, confident way they’d both decided to just start… being this way with you.

Not asking. Just being.

“Okay,” you said softly, voice catching just a little. “Thank you.”

Shouta didn’t look up, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Hizashi grinned wider and reached out to lightly flick your nose as you passed by.

“Go wash up,” he said. “Dinner’s almost done.”

You nodded, still feeling a little dazed. As you left the room, you could hear the quiet clatter of the pan, the low sound of Shouta’s pen resuming its movement, and Hizashi’s humming picking up again, domestic, steady, safe.

And all you could think about was how easy it was starting to feel to let go of the reins. Just a little.

Just enough.

[sweets-library]

alexandria would have to deal with their problems on their own bc he would not be leaving my bedroom

[sweets-library]

MY LOVE COME BACK THE KIDS MISS YOU😭😭😭 (but on a real note there’s literally no rush keep slaying bestie🫶🏽)

I KNOW IM SORRY i feel the need to make it clear that writing has never been my strong suit lol, i am a huge victim of getting hyperfixated on one idea, dropping 3k words on it and then not writing for like a long ass time because i cant think of anything new so like. my bad.

i could maybe start doing requests kinda? I'm not sure how consistently i could keep up with it, and it would probably be just like rambly thoughts and hcs but would that be better? sorry for the wait guys!