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sirxlla · 3 months ago

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Accidentally Hitting Them In The Balls/Them Accidentally Hitting You In The Boobs

Note: Not Proofread or Check Grammer (I would today but its my birthday and I dont wanna.

Dick: "No, I promise I can get it open. Just hold the bottom of it." He was helping you open a pickle jar that almost seemed superglued shut.

"Are you sure you got it, Hun? It's not a big deal, it's a pickle." You said as you held onto the jar as he pulled and squeezed at the lid. At this point, you weren't even sure you wanted a pickle anymore after such a hassle.

"You want a pickle, you get a pickle." He said as he pulled the lid off and somehow simultaneously hit you in the boobs. Your face turned bright red, as did his, you two were just friends, and he hadn't ever grabbed you like that before.

"Ummm...." He started to short-circuit like a phone that had been dropped in the kitchen sink.

"Cop a feel, why don'tcha?" You teased him, and his face got even redder. He liked you, but right now, he's trying not to burst into flames due to embarrassment.

"I wasn't trying to cop- I mean, I am a cop, but I- I- Um...Pickle?" He held up the fork with the freshly skewered pickle, and as you took it, he quickly put the lid back on the pickles and opened the fridge door before pretending to browse the fridge until you left the room. It took him about thirty minutes for the blood that rushed to his face to leave.

Jason: "No, tighten this one, Babygirl." He instructed you as you tried your best to fix up your Chevy Impala you found at an auction a few weeks ago.

You attempted to tighten the bolt on the bottom of the vehicle but quickly realized you grabbed the wrong wrench. 'Oh. No problem, I'll just get the other one.' You thought before you slid out and went to get up, effectively teabagging yourself with Jason's boys. You were trying to be quick so you hit them a little too hard with your head. If you asked Jason to recount it right now he'd remember it like those X-Rays you get when you play Mortal Kombat.

He groaned and held onto the hood of the car, leaning over it, just trying to handle the pain in his groin. He reached down to massage them, and you did your best to apologize, which you were doing profusely.

"I- Um....um...Ice?" You asked even though you knew the answer and you went to get up and slipped and elbowed him in the crotch.

"I'm so sorry! Jason- I-" You didn't know what to do and you didn't want him in any pain.

"Just- Just go get the ice!" He was lying on the floor at this point, gripping his family jewels like the precious cargo they were to him. You quickly ran off to go get ice, but there was none in the fridge, and you were scrambling.

"Ms. L/N, Can I help you find something?" Alfred asked as he noticed your panic and your watery eyes.

"Jason- knee- nutz- ice-" You were so worried and concerned about Jason that you weren't entirely thinking about what you were actually saying, but alas, Alfred put together what you were trying to say. He had gotten good at that after all of the boys and essentially him raising Bruce on his own.

"Ah, you hit Master Todd in the nads? Take the frozen peas in there, they will work better than any ice pack or ice cubes." He said as he directed you to the frozen lentils.

He shook his head with a bit of a smile as you ran back out to the garage. You leaned down next to Jason before gently removing his hands from his boys to place the icepack as softly as you could, holding them for him.

"I'm so sorry, Jay. I- I didn't know you were right there. I thought you were on the other side still." You apologized profusely over and over whilst rubbing his arm with one hand to try to calm the both of you.

"It's okay, I should've told you. It's okay, Princess. Deep breaths. Shhhh...I'm okay, it's okay." Jason knows you didn't mean to, and he definitely was not gonna get mad or angry at you for an accident.

Bruce: You're his assistant, and of course, being his assistant meant you're normally with him regularly when he takes flights, in meetings, etc. The both of you were on a plane, he got off the seats that turned into a bed, and it was all great until there was some serious turbulence. Bruce's hand suddenly reached out for anything he could grab. In this case, that was your ass that caused you to blush and clear your throat.

"Um...I'm sorry, Ms. L/N, I didn't mean anything by it. I- Not that you're ugly, 'cause that most certainly isn't the case; I don't believe I've seen someone so beautiful. I-" He stammers out as his face turns as red as the lobster he ordered.

"I um- sorry, Mr. Wayne. It's entirely my fault for not watching-"

"It isn't, don't take blame for my actions."

You probably sit down before taking a few breaths to try to calm the redness in your face. He's your boss, and you shouldn't be thinking of him this way right now, the only thing you would think about was what was underneath his clothes.

The same thought was on his mind about exactly what you would look like when your clothes were off and how he felt the soft skin of your ass underneath his hands, and how he would love to feel that again. The rest of the flight was silent between you two it was hard to ignore the tension that filled the two seats. After the flight, both of you took a car to the hotel and found out they only booked one room instead of two.

Well, it looks like you're sleeping in the same room as your boss. Even after you had insisted that he sleep on the bed with you because you didn't want him to be uncomfortable he still slept on the couch like a gentleman.

Tim: Tim asked you out on a date, and he chose roller skating even if he hasn't done it in years, and he's definitely out of practice.

"Come on, Slow Poke! I'll race you!" You said as you zoomed past him, skating backward, and the colorful lights lit your face in such beautiful ways. He's distracted as he fights his desire to just continue admiring the look on your face right now. If he could tattoo this moment on the inside of his eyelids he would.

You laughed at the traced look on his face, but before you both knew it, you hit the short partition that blocks the rink from the dining area, and his face was buried deep in your breasts.

He pulled his face from your breasts, and his face was redder than a firetruck, and he began to apologize profusely. You didn't even hear what he was saying with the song on the loudspeaker blasting in your ears. You gently grabbed his face to calm him because his embarrassment was turning into panic and worry.

"Hey, It's okay." You smiled and his heart fluttered before it stopped as soon as your lips pressed against his. His shoulders fell, and he relaxed against you, completely forgetting he had just mashed his face into your boobs on the first date.

Damian: Both you and Damian are drenched in sweat from working out. His black compression shirt stuck to his torso like a second skin, and the both of you ready yourselves again. He looks at you. You aren't even remotely ready, you're exhausted and wanna stop but promised him one more round.

Damian goes to flip you onto your ass, but you move, flipping over, and your face somehow ends up firmly planted into his crotch. You move your head and press your cheek to his thigh as you try to catch a breath. You can't see it, but his face is bright red as he fights the erection that his body is forcing on him, as well as the pain from your head hitting him in the crotch.

You can feel it forming underneath you but choose to ignore it to not embarrass you or him; it's better if both of you pretend to be ignorant of the hardness and pain. He breathes trying to put himself at ease.

Damian brings his hand down into your hair to comfort you and himself, more so for himself. The both of you calm your panting breaths slowly, not to rush each other.

"Teabagging myself on you wasn't on my yearly bingo card. You okay?" You asked as you took a break from training on your best friend's lap.

"I didn't imagine I'd have pants on." He jokes before his eyes widen like saucers when he realizes what he says.

"I- Errrr." He stammers a slight bit before quickly snapping his mouth closed again and continuing the silence between you both; you both lay like that until you fall asleep against his thigh, much to his relief. Damian, being the gentleman he is, puts you in his bed, and you wake up surrounded by his silk sheets and warm blanket. It's one of those blankets that just wraps you up like a fireplace; you look at the time and realize he's most likely on patrol now and decide to head to the bathroom to relieve yourself and refresh. Then you change into one of his shirts and socks before crawling back into those sheets.

Masterlist

Send me prompts if youd like.

#batboys #batboys x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd #damian wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #red hood x reader #red hood #tim drake x reader #batman x reader #batfamily #batman #batfam #dick grayson #red robin x reader #damian al ghul x reader #damian wayne

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tobiosbbyghorl · 2 months ago

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Ripped and Ready (For You) | psh | 1

part 2

You were not prepared.

As student council president, you were used to a lot—early meetings, last-minute logistics, running on iced coffee and caffeine gummies—but this?

This was a safety hazard.

Park Sunghoon, your quiet, hoodie-loving boyfriend who always had a Rubik’s cube in his bag and glasses sliding down his nose, had the audacity to walk into the school gym wearing a fitted black shirt that clung to his very real chest and had the words “Ripped and Ready” across the front in white, bold lettering.

You felt your brain stutter.

“Y/N? President? Hellooo?” Sunoo waved a clipboard in front of your face.

You blinked rapidly, eyes still locked on your boyfriend, who—bless his awkward soul—looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. His hand was rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks a soft, blooming pink as a few girls giggled not-so-subtly in his direction.

“Who dared him to wear that?” you asked, tone too casual for the heat crawling up your neck.

“Jay,” Sunoo whispered, biting back a laugh. “Truth or dare in the AV room. He said Sunghoon needed to let people know what’s under all that fleece and flannel.”

And oh, you knew. You knew what was under all that fleece and flannel.

Unfortunately, so did your short-circuiting body.

Sunghoon was heading toward you now, the shirt clinging to his waist like it was scared to let go. His biceps flexed unconsciously as he pushed up his glasses and you swore someone behind you squealed.

“Hey,” he murmured, his tone soft as always, as if his pecs weren’t trying to hypnotize you. “You okay?”

“No,” you breathed.

He blinked. “…Did I mess up?”

“No,” you repeated, grabbing his wrist. “We’re going to the supply room.”

“Wait, wha—?”

You didn’t give him time to protest. The school gym was buzzing with students prepping for Student Day, but all you saw was the way that stupid shirt clung to your very, very humble boyfriend.

You tugged him behind the divider, through the back hallway, and straight into the supply room—clicking the lock shut with a soft but definite snick.

Sunghoon adjusted his glasses, cheeks burning red now.

“I, um, knew you’d react, just not—this fast,” he said sheepishly, eyes avoiding yours

“You’re wearing a shirt that says ‘Ripped and Ready,’ Sunghoon.”

He scratched his head. “Jay picked it—”

“And your body,” you emphasized, eyes trailing from the sharp lines of his collarbone down to his cinched waist. “You’ve been hiding that under your hoodies this whole time?”

He shuffled his feet, smile shy. “Didn’t think it mattered. You already like me.”

You stared at him, momentarily stunned by the sheer adorableness of that answer.

You did like him. Loved him, even—nerdy quirks, accidental hotness, and all.

But right now?

You wanted to kiss him until he forgot his own name.

You stepped closer, hands trailing up his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through the thin fabric. “Sunghoon,” you murmured, looking up into his dark, pretty eyes, “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

His breath hitched. “Okay.”

And then you did.

Your lips crashed against his in a kiss that was less sweet, more needy—his hands instinctively finding your waist, gripping your soft curves like he always did when he lost himself in you. You tugged at the hem of his shirt as your mouth moved against his, tongue slipping between his lips in a way that made him groan into the kiss.

He stumbled back against the supply shelf, knocking over a stack of paper cups, but neither of you cared. His fingers dug into your hips as you pressed closer, chest to chest, heat to heat.

You pulled away just long enough to murmur, “I’m gonna kill Jay later.”

Sunghoon chuckled, breathless, resting his forehead against yours. “Please do. Then I can stop being public eye candy.”

“You’re my eye candy,” you said, voice low, lips brushing his jaw.

He smiled shyly, tugging you into another kiss, this one slower, more languid. “You’re the only one I care to impress.”

Your heart did a backflip.

How could he be this hot and this sweet?

You threaded your fingers through his hair, kissing him again, again—until someone knocked on the door.

“Y/N?” It was Sunoo. “If you’re in there making out with your hot nerd boyfriend, I support you. But also we need someone to fix the mic cables.”

You groaned, leaning against Sunghoon’s chest.

“Should’ve locked it twice,” he murmured.

“Next time,” you promised, smoothing down his shirt as you caught your breath. “But you’re never wearing this again in public.”

He laughed, helping you straighten your clothes. “Noted.”

You unlocked the door, peeking out to make sure no one else was around. Then you leaned up, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “But maybe wear it just for me tonight.”

His ears turned bright red.

And you couldn’t wait.

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @morganaawriterr @rikifever @daisyintherainsposts @kkamismom12 @pocketzlocket @semi-wife @soona-huh

a/n: i dropped my phone on my face when i saw the photos🤤

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gvshing · 3 months ago

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Streamer Vi . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

masterlist

→StreamerVi! started streaming as a hobby. She figured it would make gaming feel less lonely and unproductive. She had friends she would play with occasionally but on the days they weren’t able to game together she feared she was wasting the evening away. Playing with no one, to no one, yelling into the abyss, celebrating a win to herself. It was lonely, and she hated the feeling that made her feel she was being unproductive. Even though deep down she knows that indulging herself in something she enjoys is never a waste or ‘lazy’.

→When she started gaining traction/viewers she was genuinely surprised. She didn’t think she was THAT entertaining. Her viewers enjoyed her reactions that seemed so genuine. Enjoying her rage, shock, tears of sadness and of laughter. Her overreactions to angering situations within the games made her fans cackle with her creative sling of words she spat at the computer. "I can't believe you guys like to watch this. I mean I appreciate y'all tuning in, but I do hope you guys are in therapy."

→StreamerVi! mainly plays action games but she enjoys a cozy game every now and again. Finding the stimulation of the fighting and fast paced scenes more enjoyable typically compared to the relaxation of cozier games. Though she finds herself indulging in Animal Crossing and Stardew Valley in her off time.

→StreamerVi! Was bad at Minecraft. Not that she would ever agree with that statement. Her fans aren’t sure why she’s so bad at it. She’s usually amazing at fighting and surviving in games like that. It’s mainly the building she’s not great at. Her houses were made out of dirt, wood if she’s able to obtain that much, and were shittily built cubes. She tries to make more intricate things but her brain short circuits and she’ll eventually break it down and make another dirt cube in its place. As long as her house has a bed, crafting table, anvil and furnace, she’s set.

→StreamerVi! would have an intricate story line on her Sims game that gets progressively more confusing as it goes on. “God, Shelley is such an idiot. I know I created her but Jesus. How the fuck did she end up burning the house down? I didn’t even know you could do that in Sims! First, she ruins her marriage by cheating on Esteban. Then, she loses her daughter? Still no clue where she went. Lastly, she burns the house down? That’s why I didn’t let her go to college… On second thought, maybe that’s why she’s doing all this.”

→Her Sims characters are her babies, for sure. She cries for ten minutes straight when one dies. She’ll walk off camera and you can hear sniffling off camera before she walks back in. “Okay, how can I make them haunt the house? I know they can do it. I will pay any amount of money to have that happen.”

→StreamerVi! would put up a poll on what games to play next on her stream and would put a joke game on there that would end up getting the most votes. So now she’s stuck playing some weird simulator game that lags constantly and is crashing every 5 minutes. “Who the fuck would make a dish washing simulator? I’m doing chores as a video game? That’s fucking boring. Why did you guys have to pick this one? Do you hate me? Be honest."

→StreamerVi! is a rage quitter. 100%. She would scream and smack her headset down on the table, walking away from her PC fully. Leaving the stream for almost a full minute to take deep breaths. “I may have overreacted a bit. Maybe. That boss is still a bitch, what the fuck even is that?”

→She would sit down back at her desk and stare into the camera, hands in a fist resting over her mouth in embarrassment. “Guys, pretend that didn’t happen.” She would boot up the game to retry and be done five minutes later when she still couldn’t beat whatever it is she couldn’t win. “Okay, that’s it. I’m done. Fuck this game. See you tomorrow stream, I’m going to go take a deep breath and touch some fucking grass.”

→StreamerVi! drunk streams... already drunk when streaming or getting drunk on stream. She's done both. It doesn't happen often but when it does it a nice treat of chaos. Slurring, hiccupping and hearty laughter that echoes thoughout her whole apartment. The fans love it.

→StreamerVi!’s desk is probably messy. It’s not overly messy but she definitely has a few cups littered around, and old takeout containers from her 8 hour long streams. She cleans it frequently. She just spends so much time sitting over that desk, hunched over in uncomfortable positions, that it gets messy the second it’s cleaned. She eventually puts a trash can and a tub for dirty dishes right next to her desk to prevent clutter. It takes one time spilling water all over her keyboard for her to implement something to help.

→StreamerVi! would cackle at her own jokes while everybody in her chat groaned. “That was a good one! I’m such a funny guy. You don’t get it, guys. And that’s fine, you don’t see the vision. Stop calling me lame! I am not lame! I’m hilarious. You guys are the lame ones. You’re watching me, someone you claim is lame, so what does that mean about you? Yeah exactly, lame-o’s” They would also groan at her use of the word ‘Lame-o’.

→StreamerVi! fell asleep on live one time and has never lived it down. She streams for so long and she’ll just fall asleep waiting for a cut scene to end. Head propped up on her arm, lulling over with every breath. Her hand would slip causing her head to fall and smack against her keyboard, the brand new one she got after ruining the other one with the spilled water. She would jolt awake and stare at her screen in horror, reading the chat coming in faster than normal. “Is she… sleeping?” “She fucking dead.” “Awww, she looks like a sleepy puppy.” “Why is her mouth hanging open like that?? Is she drooling?? Y’all oh my god” “Literally, what the fuck.” She reads her chat and sighs deeply. “Guys. I must go. I’m so sorry.” She would hit the ‘end live’ button and immediately scream out of embarrassment. “They will never let me live this shit down. Fuck fuck fuck.”

→ And her fans don’t. “Waiting for her to fall asleep every time at this point.” “It was one time!!” It annoys the fuck out of her, but she appreciates her fans so she doesn’t mind the stupid jokes.

→StreamerVi! has a strict streaming schedule and she is ALWAYS on time. She sits at her desk 5 minutes before time, ‘Go Live’ button staring at her. Anxiously scrolling on her phone until the clock hits 5pm. Streaming for the past 3 years has been all she knows, yet the anxiety she feels before beginning is intense every single time.

→Anxiety melts away within seconds of hitting the dreaded button. Chats streaming in of various ‘hello’s and ‘missed you’s.

→StreamerVi! probably streams more than just games as well. She enjoys vlogging when she’s out and about doing random stuff, like when she’s travelling and trying new foods. “Okay, what am I about to put in my mouth? If you know, please tell me, because I’m lost.”

→StreamerVi! loved the spontaneous streams sometimes more than gaming streams. They were low pressure and less chaotic.

→She would do mundane things around her house when streaming as well. “You’re coming with me to dye my hair. I need help doing the back.” While dying it she would turn around and ask chat if she missed any pieces. They were unhelpful, as always. “You suck at this.” “Uhhhh bestie, you missed a few chunks ngl” “Does she have nobody irl who can help her with this?? Wtf are we supposed to do?” She would roll her eyes at her chat’s unhelpful responses. “I can’t even tell if you guys are being truthful anymore. You all hate me. I have friends! I’m just not bothering them with it! You guys could help! You just don’t want to! What parts did I even miss??” She eventually would facetime somebody to help her find the missing pieces.

→COOKING STREAMS!!!

→She loves to cook on stream! She enjoys the company when cooking. Although chat has definitely distracted her a few times and she’s burnt things because of it. “FUCK! Guys! Why did no one say anything about the literal pan on fire behind me?” She would run the pan over to the sink, throwing it in and quickly turning the water on. Snuffing the fire out. “The pan was in frame the whole time and we were chatting! I know at least one of you saw it! I even said ‘why does it smell like something burning?’ and none of you decided to say anything? You guys want me to die?” She often finds herself lecturing her fanbase as if she were their father. “Dad Vi back at it again with the lecturing.” “oohh we’re in trouble this time.” “Are we grounded?”

→StreamerVi! would start streaming less often and get interrogated in her chat. “Where have you been??” “She’s got a girlfriend, guys. Look at her glowing. We’re so cooked.” Vi would scoff at their invasive questions. “I don’t have a girlfriend! I mean… Okay. Yes, I am seeing somebody but they’re not my girlfriend!” She would defend, growing redder the longer she goes on. Not convincing anybody. “Vi lovers. We’re fucked. We lost our chance.” “No offense guys! But none of you had a chance. I’ve just been busy… ANYWAYS! So today’s game…” she would change the subject, afraid she was going to hard launch a relationship that wasn’t even official.

→StreamerVi! would casually drop the word ‘partner’ every now and again after a while. Accepting that she would never convince anybody that she wasn’t seeing someone. She was and she’s not a liar.

→Chat would go CRAZYYY. Demanding to meet her partner. “You lecture us like you’re our dad all the time, and suddenly you don’t want to introduce us to your partner??” She gets what her fanbase is saying, but it ultimately depends on what the girlfriend says. Not her.

→StreamerVi! would beg everybody to be nice when she finally does introduce you to her stream. “Guys, be nice. Don’t be mean like you are to me.” Her fans are offended. “We’re so nice!!” “So this is how you treat people who pay your rent?” “Dad Vi again.”

→StreamerVi!’s fans are nicer to you than to her. “SO pretty!” “How did VI!!! Bag you????” “no offense but she’s out of your league vi.”

→StreamerVi! Is only a little jealous. “So you guys hate me and love them? Well maybe they can just have my channel and I’ll retire since y’all hate me so much.” She’s the ultimate pouter. And pouts even more when chat is seemingly chill with that idea. “Ok! Best idea you’ve had thus far!” “yippee!” She mutes chat after that.

→You make sporadic appearances on her channel every now and again. Often enough that you’re a ‘recurring character’ on her streams. Her fans love seeing you. Eventually you make your own streaming channel. But you only stream like once a month and it’s usually with Vi there. It’s not your thing as much as it’s hers. And you don’t want to take that away from her.

→StreamerVi! Doesn’t tell her viewers that she proposed to you. They just happened to catch a glimpse at the engagement rings in various streams over time. “YOO IS THAT WHAT I THINK IT IS??” “Vi and Y/N engagement era”

→StreamerVi! Keeps a majority of her personal life secret from her viewers. It’s not that she doesn’t trust them with the information of most of her friends or family, or what she does for a living outside of streaming. She just enjoys having that still be private. It’s the small things after getting an online fanbase. She appreciates her fans but they don’t need to know anything. Like the day you guys get married. That’s for her, you and attendees. But, she posts photos from that day whenever she can. One of her top favorite days of her life for sure.

→StreamerVi! Loves this life she’s miraculously gained. The fans that bully her, the friends she’s made, the games she’s played that she might not have if it weren’t for the viewers pressuring her, and you.

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pegging-satan · 5 months ago

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Ok girls today I’m not feeling sane about Zayne and Caleb let’s fucking gooooo

MDNI

Imagine them catching you with a... special toy to feel good because he was busy and you were desperate :(

Tags: MDNI pls. just smut. Inappropriate usage of evol, inappropriate usage of weapons, pissed off Zayne, mean Caleb, edging for Zayne, some cnc towards the end for Caleb, temperature play, gun play, impact play, (Zayne is kinda ooc w that,) Caleb is scary, not proofread 🤪

a/n: this is my first smut so like yay? Ig? i have major brain worms for these men so here is my contribution to this fandom. i'm so obsessed with Colonel Caleb omg.

Visuals <3 • <3

Zayne walks in on you, cheeks flushed, legs spread, body shaking, heat radiating from every inch of your skin. Your eyes are closed focusing all your attention to that one spot. Slowly building up, ultimately making your walls spasm under the satisfying vibrations.

You have no idea he just walked in, too busy chasing your high, and he is now watching you; amused and jealous. How dare his warm tongue be replaced with a cold silicone toy. How dare it. He still watches you as you writhe and shake as you come undone, part of him a little turned on.

As you’re coming down from your high, eyes still closed, he speaks. His tone ice cold, in that deadpan monotone which sent shivers down your spine this time, as it was filled with barely contained…. Something.

“Well hello to you too” he says, not smiling. You are mortified. Oh, he’s pissed.

“Z— Zayne… I thought you were going to be busy today so I th—“

“Save your explanations for some other time.” He cuts you off. Oh, he’s pissed. And oh, it’s so hot. You wait for what he’s going to do next, and to your surprise, joy and terror, he’s taking off his shirt. He comes over to you, a fire in his eyes, a look of betrayal, and a hint of anger.

“You wouldn’t wait for me?” He said, again ice cold.

“No, it’s not th—“ you’re cut off by his large hand cupping your face, not so gently squeezing your cheeks together, rendering you unable to speak.

“I expected better from you, you know” he says his tone unchanged. His hand going to cup your jaw, putting a little pressure on your throat making you a little light headed.

“Since you like cold things between your legs so much,” he scoffs and materialises an icicle. Your skin is so hot you can almost hear it sizzle and the vast temperature difference makes you squeal and squirm. He rubs it between your slick, sticky folds making them wetter, the coldness of it in contrast to your body temperature short circuiting your brain.

You try to wriggle out, but then all of a sudden you feel ice cold restraints around your wrists, binding your arms to the headboard, and around the ankles spreading your legs out to expose you completely. So many juxtaposing sensations in your body making you shiver and burn up, it’s so confusing but you can’t help but enjoy it

Zayne runs his icy hands over your body, pinching and groping at your soft, plush skin. The grip around your neck tightens and you feel faint everything is blurry. He materializes an ice cube and runs it down your neck, to your chest, circling around your sensitive peaks, making you hiss and squirm.

He runs it down your stomach right between your legs, placing it directly where you need it he just keeps it there, making you squirm and cry but he does not care. This is your punishment.

You can feel yourself going numb, and you beg for forgiveness, but he doesn’t stop till he’s satisfied. He’s a doctor after all, he knows best. He knows the best way to punish you is to take away how you feel pleasure, even if it’s temporary.

He slides the icicle in you, watching it melt from your heat. Sadistic, vengeful. It’s too much to handle, you need to feel something, anything. desperately. With all the strength you can gather, you mumble out

“Hit me, please”

he raises an eyebrow, and a cruel smile plays in his lips. You didn’t know this side of him existed, and oh my goodness, was it hot.

“What did you say?” He says amused, wanting you to repeat yourself.

“Hit me Zayne. I’m serious I can’t feel anything, hit me”

He releases his hold on your neck, and you gasp for air. He traces a couple small circles on your cheek, before a hard smack lands on your cheek. The sting of it sends electricity through your body, and before you know it there’s another sting on your other cheek. Your face now going red, as he grips your face to look at him, the look on his face unreadable, his gaze burning holes through you.

You feel some sensation returning to your previously numb parts, and you can see him look increasingly more needy. With essentially the go-ahead to manhandle you, his large hands roam around your body, roughly playing with your chest, and he dips between your legs, deeply inhaling your scent before giving you a little lick making you shudder.

But your punishment is far from over. He takes the toy now discarded to the side and turns it back on.

“Isn’t this what you wanted hm?” He asks mockingly

“No, no I want you, I want you please, please” you say, no, beg. But you were the one who made this mistake, unfortunately. He ignores you, despite how desperately he wants to be in you, and places it between your legs, vibrating at the highest setting.

“And don’t you dare cum because of this thing” he warns, knowing full well it’s a battle you’d lose. And he’d enjoy watching you lose, looking at you with pitiful eyes, oh you helpless little creature, can’t help yourself can you, look at that, so pathetic.

He sits there, looking at you, using his evol to strap you in place so you can’t even squirm. It’s cold and it’s hard and it’s hard for you to not cum and he’s enjoying watching you struggle.

He keeps you there for god knows how long, drawing them out much to your disappointment and his amusement. The waterproof bedsheet is so soaked that liquid’s dripping down onto the floor and he’s showing no signs of stopping. You’re a crying, sobbing mess, you didn’t even know it was possible to cum this much and he hadn’t even entered you.

“Didn’t know there was such an easy replacement for me” he says mocking you as you cry even more. He’s enjoying this, what the hell, might as well give him more. You cry some more, beg some more, and ultimately he goes

“Aww, what’s the matter, love? You want me?” You nod in affirmative.

“Too bad, I just got a text, I’m needed at the hospital, urgently”

And he just leaves you there, restraints still on, and all you can do is just wait for them to melt away before you can move.

—————————— .•*•. ——————————

bonus visuals <3 • <3 • <3 • <3 • <3

“I see I’m not enough to satisfy you, pipsqueak” you hear the voice. You turn your head to look at him, and to your horror, he’s standing there with the hot pink ahem, toy in his hand.

“Caleb! You weren’t supposed to find that!” Embarrassed, you rush to take it from him and he holds it above his head so it’s impossible for you to reach it.

“Caleb!” You muse. He’s unrelenting. In fact, he’s quite enjoying this.

“Mind explaining why?”

“I get lonely when you’re not there” you say pouting.

“Aww pipsqueak but I’m here now aren’t I? I don’t think you’ll be needing this thing for a while. Or… I can use this on you”

“You what” you ask now a little scared. You see a dark look flash across his features, a very extremely subtle shift in demeanour, that made him go from the golden retriever childhood best friend to the cold and cruel Farspace Colonel.

“Actually, no. I have a couple of my own toys I’d like to use on you” he says darkly, the sweet, kind Caleb gone, replaced by the authoritative, commanding officer.

“Sit” he commands. You freeze, and since you’re taking too long to obey he makes you sit using his evol. Your hands feel as if there’s a thousand pounds of weight on them and you can’t move. He returns with a bag, his bag. His… arsenal.

One by one he starts pulling out his guns.

And placing them on to the bed.

You look at him in horror, having put two and two together, and strangely, it was making you wet as hell.

“Caleb are you—“

“Put some damn respect to my name” he cuts you off coldly. Why was it so hot? Why was Farspace Colonel Caleb so fucking hot? He was demanding, he was possessive and he was mean. So mean. So. Fucking. Hot.

You were already feeling hot and bothered the moment that personality came out, where golden retriever Caleb made you feel safe, this Caleb turned you on so goddamn much, hell, he made you cum with his words alone this one time.

Your heart’s beating with anticipation as he finishes laying down all his weapons, shiny, cold, pristine.

“I suppose you get the idea what toys I was talking about, pipsqueak” the nickname now spoken in a condescending tone, his expression stern and resolute.

“Cal— Colonel” you said your voice shaky, you were curious but also scared.

“What’s the matter pipsqueak? Scared are you?” He says, a sly smirk on his face watching your scared expression.

“A little bit yes”

“It’ll be over before you know it.” It would not. There were five guns on the bed right now, and knowing him, he would make you cum on each and every one of them at least twice. And the knives? God, how would he even use them on you?

“It’s time I showed my little girl how to play with some real toys” he says darkly. Still having you bound to the bed with his evol, the sounds of the gun in his hand clicking as he emptied the magazine and unloaded it.

“I just cleaned them recently. Now I must bathe them in your essence. For luck, of course.”

He comes closer to you, you’re still sitting there unable to move. He kisses your neck trailing kisses down to your shoulders and collarbone. He has one of his knives in his hand, which he scrapes down your neck, to your shirt, the blade is so sharp it rips the straining fabric around your chest, freeing them from the confines of your shirt.

“Mmm…” he murmurs as he buries his face between your tits, inhaling your scent deeply, squeezing, biting, sucking, making you hiss.

He tosses the knife to the side and reaches for one of the formidable weapons. It’s so hard and thick, you don’t even know how you’ll take that but he spreads your legs for you, hiking up your skirt and rubbing the cold metal tip on your heat through the wet fabric, slowly, teasingly.

You quiver and moan, but he will continue going at his pace no matter what you do. You feel his fingers sliding the thin fabric of your underwear to the side, spreading your folds, now sticky with slick, and teases you with the cold tip yet again. He continues sliding the weapon up and down the soaking slit now, enjoying the way it collected in the grooves of the gun.

“You sure are wet for someone who was terrified a few minutes ago” he remarks looking at your face, flushed and dazed. He knows you’re in not position to speak right now, so he doesn’t give you a chance to either. And pushes the metal tip into your entrance, eliciting a gasp from you. He pushes it in deeper, until it’s all the way in til the base of the handle.

“Look at this hungry little thing, swallowing cold metal like it’s my cock” he scoffs. “So greedy”

You whine as he pulls it out, and gasp when he pushes it back in. As he starts pumping, your mind starts going hazy as he fucks you with his gun, the wet squelching sounds echoing in the room, it’s so fucking debauched and you can’t believe he’s doing this, and then suddenly he stops.

“Ride it” he commands

You obey, swaying your hips chasing your pleasure, riding a god damn gun that your childhood best friend— no, a Farspace Colonel was holding, whispering filthy things in your ear as you chased your high.

He had stopped using his evol on you long ago, this was getting too much for him, oh so fun for him. He grabbed the back of your neck and slammed you down on to your pillows, back arching, keeping your face pinned to the pillows as he continued his ruthless assault on you.

“So. Fucking. Greedy.” He said between slaps to your ass. Each one making you squeal and drip down the gun.

“Didn’t know my little pipsqueak was a freak like this” he said his tone flat and amused.

“Come on, cum for me like a good fucking girl” he says slapping your ass one more time, and as if on cue, you’re gushing around the not so cold metal.

“Fucking beautiful” he says as he pulls it out, a couple strings of slick connecting the weapon to you. He brings it up to his face and deeply inhales the scent before licking up your juices from the base to the tip all while making steaming eye contact with you. The sight damn well sent you near the edge again, it was so fucking hot.

“Hope you’re not too spent, pipsqueak. We have four more guns to go”

You nod, dazed.

“I’m not stopping even if you pass out, baby”

You nod again accepting it.

It was going to be a long night.

#zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #zayne smut #caleb smut #lads smut #god gun play is so fkn hot #gun play #twitter links #p links #love and deepspace smut

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sunarryn · 3 months ago

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DP X Marvel #19

Pepper Potts prided herself on her ability to adapt. She’d survived Tony Stark’s post-cave existentialism, Stark Expo 2010, the entirety of the Avengers Initiative, and several global cataclysms. But nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared her for the day she received a glowing scroll via flaming raven at 3 a.m. It exploded into glitter and legal jargon the second she touched it.

The Temporal Child Reassignment Authority—TCRA for short, like an IRS from hell with better penmanship—had declared her the legal guardian of four de-aged minors, all results of an “interdimensional ghost war and subsequent reality collapse.” The document even included a family tree, pointing out her half-sister Maddie Fenton as their maternal parent. The kicker? Three of the children were meta-class ecto-beings. And the fourth was an “anomalous prodigy with cognitive potential exceeding known human thresholds.”

Pepper blinked at the words, reread them, and poured herself the strongest wine she owned.

By the time she finished the bottle, her living room shimmered with unnatural frost, and a swirling green portal opened with the subtlety of a chainsaw. Out stumbled four children—if one could use such a soft word for what appeared to be three weapons of mass destruction and a tiny, furious psychologist in the making.

Jazz was nine years old, with blazing red hair in a ponytail so tight it looked like a weapon. Her eyes scanned the room with military precision. She was holding a notebook, already scribbling down assessments.

Dan, aged seven, had black-and-white hair that flickered between forms, red eyes glowing faintly, and a permanent scowl that screamed war criminal in a booster seat. His tiny boot crushed a Stark Industries coaster underfoot.

Danny, five, looked like an overcaffeinated sugar cube in a “Ghostbusters are Bigots” shirt. He levitated six inches off the ground, phasing through the coffee table like it offended him personally.

And Dani—dear sweet baby Dani—was three, wore a tutu over her jumpsuit, and was gnawing on a Stark tech screwdriver like a teething raptor. It sparked. She giggled.

Pepper stared.

Tony wandered in wearing Iron Man pajama pants and blinked at the chaos.

“Huh. Why do I suddenly feel like a dad?”

Pepper stood up and handed him the scroll.

Ten minutes later, Tony was grinning like a proud, chaotic uncle who just realized he’d inherited a feral army. “Oh, I love them.”

“I want to kill Maddie,” Pepper muttered. “I want to re-kill her if she’s already dead. I don’t care. I will unearth her soul and yell.”

Jazz looked up from her notes. “Statistically, yelling is ineffective when dealing with narcissistic sociopaths with academic degrees. But I can write up an interrogation protocol if you give me twenty minutes and a war room.”

Tony looked at her like she was a gift from God. “Pepper. She’s a baby you.”

“She’s a terrifying baby me.”

“I love her.”

Dan crossed his arms, floating ominously. “I’m only here because they said I can’t go back to the timeline where I killed everyone.”

Dani beamed. “I like juice!”

Danny phased up to the ceiling fan. “Does this house have ghost-repellent death lasers like the last one? I hate those.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “You got hit by ghost-repellent death lasers?”

Pepper was already dialing every Avenger in existence. “Tony. Tony, their parents worked with the GIW.”

“The what?”

Jazz narrowed her eyes. “The Ghost Investigation Ward. They are basically interdimensional fascists who want to wipe out all ghosts and hybrid anomalies. Also, they tried to vivisect us.”

Tony blinked. “Vivisect?”

“Scalpels, restraints, anti-ecto shackles, and a man named Agent O who smells like ham and crime,” Jazz said flatly.

“I’m going to kill someone,” Pepper muttered, pacing. “I’m going to launch an HR-approved war.”

Dani blinked. “Are we allowed to bite?”

“No,” Pepper said.

“Yes,” Tony said at the same time.

Dani cheered.

By the time Natasha arrived, Dani was in the air vents, Danny had short-circuited the AI, Dan was brooding in the fireplace like a Dickensian ghost of vengeance, and Jazz was lecturing FRIDAY on ethical protocol failure.

Natasha stood in the entryway, staring, her eyes wide with either horror or admiration.

“Pepper. Did you birth little Widows?”

“No,” Pepper said tightly. “They’re Maddie’s kids. Maddie’s. As in, I share DNA with them and now legally own them. Apparently.”

Jazz tilted her head. “Ms. Romanoff. I’ve analyzed your fight patterns from Battle of New York and determined you have unresolved trauma related to institutional betrayal. Would you like to unpack that?”

Tony leaned over. “She’s nine.”

“She scares me,” Natasha whispered.

Bucky showed up next and read the full report Jazz had printed out for him, complete with footnotes, photos, and color-coded trauma timelines.

The super soldier sat down, dead-eyed. “I just had a Hydra flashback from a PowerPoint.”

Jazz gave him a lollipop. “That’s a common symptom. I recommend candy and validation.”

Dan muttered something about weak mortals and floated upside down through a wall.

“I like him,” Bucky said faintly.

Steve walked in, saw Dan breathing ectoplasmic fire at the neighbor’s cat, and noped back out.

Wanda arrived and blinked at Jazz, whose psychic aura flared like a dying star every time she got emotional.

They stared at each other for a long time.

“I sense wrath,” Wanda said.

Jazz nodded. “I contain multitudes.”

Pepper was halfway through arranging a legal drone strike on the GIW when Rhodey FaceTimed her. “Hey, uh, why is CNN reporting that four tiny gods have occupied New York and turned the Stark Tower into a haunted war bunker?”

“They’re children,” Pepper said.

Tony poked his head into frame. “Children who can melt tanks.”

Danny flew by holding the Iron Man helmet upside down like a bowl of cereal.

“Dani just set the couch on fire,” Pepper added, dead-eyed.

Rhodey blinked. “I’ll bring extinguishers.”

The thing about children, Pepper had learned, is that they operate entirely on vibes, sugar, and trauma. And these four had plenty of all three. Jazz was terrifyingly competent, and within a week had formed an inter-Avengers child committee, wrote a new AI ethics guideline, and had Bruce Banner signing waivers just to talk to her.

Dan blew up a parking meter because it “looked at him wrong.”

Danny asked Tony if they could build an ecto-bazooka together and promised not to use it on Steve “unless Steve said ghosts weren’t real again.”

Dani tried to use her powers to possess a Roomba and ride it into battle.

Pepper walked in on all four of them forming a pact to “annihilate GIW headquarters” with something called Operation Ghost Buster Buster.

Tony approved instantly.

Pepper did not.

“Pepper,” Tony said. “We have kids now.”

“We have war orphans now.”

“They’re adorable!”

“They’re armed.”

“They’re basically Avengers Junior.”

Dani crashed through the ceiling riding a ghost dragon she “found in the laundry room.”

“I changed my mind,” Pepper muttered. “They’re perfect.”

Pepper flew to Amity Park a week later, dressed in corporate armor and rage. She walked into the Fenton household with Natasha, Bucky, and a glowing legal team of literal demons (Tony’s idea) and found Maddie and Jack cheerfully explaining how ecto-dissection worked on “halflings.”

When Maddie smiled and said, “It’s science, dear,” Pepper threw her coffee in Maddie’s face.

Tony had to hold her back while Bucky dismantled the Fenton portal and Natasha found enough surveillance footage to convict them of several counts of attempted child murder.

Jazz watched the entire thing from the jet via livestream, calmly taking notes.

“Pepper’s my favorite aunt,” she said.

Dan nodded. “She has potential.”

Danny was asleep on Tony’s shoulder, clutching a ghost plushie.

Dani was drawing herself riding a unicorn with a flame thrower.

The Avengers voted unanimously to make the kids honorary members. Jazz requested clearance access to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s trauma archives and got it. Dan received therapy. Danny built a ghost-safe treehouse. Dani declared herself queen of the Stark kitchen and banned kale.

Pepper watched them play in the yard one day and finally exhaled.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” she whispered.

Tony grinned. “You’re doing fine.”

Jazz ran by wielding a dagger made of solidified ghost energy.

Danny chased her screaming something about shared custody of the Lunchables.

Dan floated overhead like a sullen storm cloud.

Dani cackled, flying past them on her Roomba dragon.

“I need wine,” Pepper muttered.

Tony kissed her cheek. “I’ll buy you a vineyard.”

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flawssy-227 · 19 days ago

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Day Dreaming | Harry Castillo x female reader

harry castillo x (bartender) f!reader

summary: harry is your bar regular, reeling after his breakup with Lucy, you two form an unlikely bond.

tags: 18+, female reader, always write for woc in mind, but there are no descriptions so everyone is welcome to read. unspecified age gap, classism, alcohol consumption, kissing

a/n: I can't wait for this movie omg -- loosely inspired by the best song ever, day dreaming by Aretha Franklin.

w/c: ~2700

“Your man is back again.”

You were just in the middle of making yet another old fashioned, a staple amongst the finance bros who frequented your workplace, when you looked up to see Harry Castillo gliding into the empty stool at the far end of the bar.

He had become a staple during your shifts for the last eight weeks or so, one Susan, your coworker, annoyingly loved to point out.

“Not my man,” you replied, but you couldn’t keep the smile off your face when you made eye contact. You handed the now complete old fashioned to a very inebriated man wearing a Morgan Stanley vest. He would be cute if you had eyes for anybody else.

You made your way down to Harry’s side of the bar, Susan giving you a nod of acknowledgement that you knew meant she would manage the rest of the patrons while you caught up with Harry. She was annoying as hell, but you had to admit she was one heck of a wingwoman.

The smile he gave you changed his entire demeanor. His default setting was shrewd businessman, scowling at those who tried to get too close. But with those who he tolerated, maybe even liked, he offered warm, wide smiles that spread across his face and brought life to his big, brown eyes. It made your heart catch to be on the receiving end of one of those smiles.

“Three times in one week,” you grinned at him. “What a lucky girl I am.”

“Sometimes you gotta make your own luck,” he responded. You had half a mind to question what he meant by that, but the wink he shot you succinctly short circuited your brain. This man was too cute.

You cleared your throat, trying to suppress the heat that was spreading across your face. “You want your usual?”

Harry feigned thoughtfulness, but you rolled your eyes, knowing he only ever ordered your old fashioneds.

“Don’t know why I bothered asking.”

You got to work, peeling an orange, muddling a dark cherry and sugar cube when he broke the silence: “What time are you off tonight?”

“12. I always close on Fridays.”

Harry just hums at that, patiently waiting for you to finish making his drink. When you're done and he takes his first sip, the moan he releases at the taste is absolutely sinful.

“Been waiting all day for this.” He leans back in the seat and takes an appreciative look at you.

The way he was looking you over was making you feel incredibly heated. Big brown eyes scanning you up and down. You did the same, noting the way his dark brown sweater fit his shoulders perfectly. With the hours he worked, you wondered if he made time for a personal trainer and was just naturally built. He looks healthier now than he did a few weeks ago.

When you first met Harry, he was a man healing from a brutal breakup.

“She completely blindsided me,” he had told you one night when you had definitely overserved him.

This big businessman who had been on the cover of Forbes three times in the past decade was crying to you about some matchmaker who broke his heart. It was… disarming, to say the least. You shared your own brutal breakup story with him and before you knew it, you were fast friends. It didn’t hurt that he frequently left you crisp $100 bills as a tip. Some of your other regulars would murmur about how the Harry Castillo was so close to them; you had to Google him.

And now, Harry was energetic, light even, seemingly over his heartbreak and back to being the heartbreaker himself. It was nice to see.

Two hours later, you and Susan were closing up, cashing out checks and collecting abandoned glasses. It wasn’t lost on Susan that Harry was still there, patiently sitting at the bar and responding to emails idly on his phone, glancing up at you and throwing a heart pounding grin your way when he caught you staring.

“We’re closed now, Harry,” Susan stated over the roar of the dishwasher, a cheeky smile on her face. “If you’re gonna stay here, you gotta make yourself useful.”

Harry stood up from his seat and you figured he was tired of Susan’s light ribbing. This man was an old money, multi millionaire in private equity—he didn’t need to take shit from some random bartender. You were about to tell her to lay off, if not for the fact you were harboring a tiny crush on Harry, at least for the sake of his incredibly generous tips, when he grabbed a serving tray and started collecting miscellaneous glasses from around the room. Your jaw dropped.

“Holy shit,” Susan muttered.

Harry didn’t even turn to look back at you, he just kept bussing your tables like it was second nature. “Are you two gonna help or make me do all the work?”

Harry wasn’t doing this out of the goodness of his heart, of course. He tried to recall a summer in the early 90s where he helped buss tables at his godfather’s restaurant. His dad told him it’d help build his character, something about not relying on nepotism alone to become a success.

In truth, Harry was helping you both close down the bar for purely selfish reasons. He wasn’t sure when exactly he stopped reeling over Lucy and you began consuming all his thoughts. He had thought about putting some distance between you both, maybe skipping the bar a bit more. He forced himself to stay away on Thursday after seeing you already twice this week, but during work on Friday, in meetings he should have been more present in, it was only you that was on his mind. He worked late, finishing up all the things his workaholic self would have done to fill up his Saturday, knowing that tonight, he was going to take things with you to the next level.

He didn’t have anything specific in mind—maybe dinner at that 24 hour diner he used to frequent when he was at Columbia for grad school or perhaps he could convince you to grab breakfast with him tomorrow morning. Hell, if you at least gave him your number he would walk away from tonight happy as a clam.

It was almost 1 AM when you finished cleaning. Typically by now you would be dead tired, aching all over but with Harry still hanging around, the promise of something new gave you an extra burst of energy. You kept catching his eye, unable to stop the smile on your face when you did.

“Alright kids,” Susan started, an easy smile on her face when she looked at the bashful looks you two were giving each other. “Let’s get outta here.”

She locked the doors, gave you both a wave and a wink before she headed to the subway. The silence was slightly awkward. After an entire evening of him drinking at the bar and helping you clean with an ease that made it seem like he had always been there to help you, he was quiet, lost in thought. Men are all the same, you thought to yourself. He was being too quiet, too pensive, and you weren’t sure if you should try to extend the evening or just call it a night. Before you could make a real decision, Harry finally speaks up:

“Wanna take a walk?”

And yes, you really do.

You don’t have much of a destination in mind, your apartment is on the other end of the island and you’re certain Harry has a driver on standby somewhere, but right now, in the middle of the night in Lower Manhattan, he’s light on his feet and ready to spend the rest of the night walking 60 blocks with you.

Harry’s equally surprised at how giggly you are this late. He knows he’s tired, but just being near you seems to recharge his soul. The conversation is too easy, easier than it ever was with Lucy and he’s punching himself a bit at being so hung up on her for so long. He wants to take you to dinner, he decides. Somewhere nice and comfortable, no tasting menu nonsense that still leaves you hungry even after 12 courses. He’s just about to ask you what night works best for you when the loud rumble of your stomach breaks up the conversation. You want to be embarrassed, but Harry just smiles at you and laughs.

“C’mon sweetheart. Let’s get you something to eat.”

The idea of a meal with Harry is enough to light up your eyes, but then your attention shifts to something just behind him. He blinks and you’re running past him, approaching a hotdog vendor. If he’s being honest, the idea of a New York City hotdog makes his stomach curdle, probably something to do with the expensive palate he’s been developing for the past two decades. But he’s helpless when you look at him with those bright eyes of yours and big smile.

“This is the best hotdog vendor below Canal street,” you tell him.

He buys two without thinking too hard.

Once you get to Tribeca, he offers you a sheepish smile and tells you his building is just a little ways away. “Nightcap?” he asks you.

He looks far too earnest for you to turn down, so you follow him to his building. The white-gloved doorman gives you a nod.

“This is where you live?” The $12 million apartment is even more grand than you imagined when you took the private elevator up. “Harry, this is…”

“Too much isn’t it?” He takes an appraising look around, clearly not phased by the size. “Figured one day I would grow into it. Get the wife and kids and annoying little dog, but…” he trailed off and looked at you. Your heart fluttered at the sight. He wants to tell you to move in, that you belong here in his oversized space. He’s certain you would make it a home and less cold to walk into after another long day filled with pointless meetings. He thinks better of it when he remembers he doesn’t even have your phone number.

Patience, Harry.

He pours two glasses of a Bordeaux he picked up in France last winter at some investment conference while you make yourself at home on his sofa. You fall into a comfortable silence, letting yourself enjoy the wine and being so close to Harry. It’s so different from being with him at work, where you’re serving him and separated by the heavy wood of the bar. Here, you’re a guest in his pristine home, not at all ashamed to still be wearing your soiled work uniform on a couch that probably costs two months rent, at least. Harry would not shame you for being working class, so you don’t shame yourself. When you turn to look at him, he’s already there, watching you.

“Harry,” you sigh, “I don’t usually go home with guys I barely know.”

“I think you know me well enough,” he responds. “Plus, I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

Harry also wasn’t the type to bring women he barely knew back to his palace, but there was just something about you. He couldn’t get you out of his head. You, with your perfect face and perfectly imperfect smile. You ran through his mind all day.

“It feels… I don’t know, different with you.” It’s the first time you’ve seen him look so bashful.

“I get what you mean,” you tell him with a nod. “It feels like I’ve known you, really known you, for a lot longer than I have.”

He understands what you’re saying. It goes beyond some rich guy who tips you well without being creepy. There’s a pull, some sort of magnetism that brought you together.

“You know, I walked past that bar every day for the past two years and never went in.” You just look at him, soft, glossy eyes peering into his own. “I was a little depressed.”

You laugh at that, because you knew. You had seen him sallow and worn down for weeks. But there was still always something bright about him even when he looked so sad.

“And the day I finally decided to come in, it was because I saw you from my office.”

You gasp at that. “Really?”

He hums in acknowledgement and grabs your hand that isn’t holding the wine glass. “It had just stopped raining, and the sun was shining like a spotlight right in front of the doors. I looked down, and you were there, just basking in the sun like it was the first time you had seen it all winter. And I swear, it kickstarted my heart.”

You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to say something vile or vulgar and take you out of the moment. After years of being single and dating in New York, you had determined there were no earnest men left in the city. Surely no one like Harry, but here he was, laying his heart on the line for you.

“I was heartbroken and you saved me, by just being you.” Like a beacon of hope, Harry was drawn to you day in and day out for weeks. With each passing conversation, you chipped away at the ice in his heart, what had formed in a protective shell since everything happened with his ex. He was oddly grateful for her now, the way she had abandoned him, devastated him. He would have settled down with her and been happy enough, but because she was who she was, and she did what she did, he got to meet you.

“I don’t want to rush into things,” he told you, still tittling with your fingers. “But I really do care for you and I think, with time, we can have something special.”

You were at a loss for words. You liked Harry, but you figured he brought you here for a fun night or short fling, not to explore something serious with you. Perhaps you were classist, holding on to some archaic view of dating politics in high society, but it was clear, that was the furthest thing from his mind.

You decided to wear your heart on your sleeve, just like Harry. “I really like you, too.”

He didn’t say anything, but the slight brightening in his eyes told you everything. He grabbed your wine glass and set it down on the coffee table. He moved closer to you and let his thumb run across your jaw. You leaned into his touch and let your lips ghost over his.

Harry was all consuming, ravishing your lips like he’d been waiting to kiss you for years. In a way, he had been. Constantly waiting to find the right woman, waiting to feel actual sparks when his lips met someone else’s. Waiting for the butterflies, the fireworks, the chills, and whatever else the romance movies he’d watched as a young man portrayed. He was so close to writing them off, categorizing them as the fiction they were, but you, you had proven them truthful.

You hadn’t had a makeout session in years, never enjoying a kiss as much as you were right now. Kissing Harry Castillo. His lips, his hands, his scent. You were surrounded, drowning in the best way possible, all because of him. You touched his hair, his neck, his chest. You unbuttoned his shirt and moved your hands lower, lower, until he grabbed them and separated from your lips. His breath was heaving and he let his forehead rest against your own.

“Wanna go to bed?” he asked you.

You squeaked out a quiet yes and let him lead you to yet another magnificent room. Wood and earthy tones consumed the space but you didn’t get the best look as Harry pulled your body back into his. You fit perfectly, you decided. A missing puzzle piece that slid into the side of his body, your head resting neatly on his shoulder.

“Can we take things slow?” you questioned, looking into his mocha colored eyes. “I just want to lay here, with you.”

“Of course, baby. We can do whatever you want.”

And you knew that he meant it.

#fic: day dreaming #harry castillo x you #harry castillo x reader #harry castillo #harry castillo x woc!reader #harry castillo x black!reader #the materialists fic #harry castillo the materialists #harry castillo fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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kawowoa · 7 months ago

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wrote this so fast if it’s messy .. shhhh… no it’s not🌀🌀🌀

imagine toji finding out he has a thing for praise. it wouldn’t get somewhere downstairs up and going, but it would make his heart race a little faster and his cheeks a little warmer.

he would realize on such a random day too. it would be around midday, just after you put megumi down for his after lunch nap. it was a hassle trying to get the tiny one year old to sleep when all he wanted to do was bang his plastic cubes together and watch some kids show you refuse to even mention.

after what felt like hours to you but in reality was just a few minutes, you would come back downstairs to see toji halfway done with the dishes.

he wanted to be useful to you, make your life a little easier instead of leaving all the shit to you and watching his game.

“huh, didn’t know you knew how to do that,” you joked, bumping your hip against his. you picked up one of the dishes laid out on the dish towel, it was pristine, you shot a sideways glance to toji. “good boy, ‘ji.” you patted his back before slipping away.

toji didn’t even have a witty remark to respond to you. it was like all the gears and circuits in his brain just suddenly decided to stop working simultaneously. he knew you were just joking, yet the sound of your voice calling him a good boy echoed in his mind like a broken record.

you started to catch on after that, he wasn’t good at hiding his reactions as he thought. you found any reason to give him subtle praises, whenever it was when he was holding megumi, mumbling how good of a father he was or when he was working out and you’d loudly exclaim how he’s so good at lifting weights.

it didn’t matter to him because it all affected him the same way. and eventually he started looking forward to hearing you praise him, though he tried to be slick about it.

but, it took him even longer to fully come to terms with it. after a mission that took an entire day where toji sluggishly came through the door. to his surprise, you were still up despite how late it was. the low murmurs of the tv broke the still silence, you both just stared at each other before your arms stretched out, beckoning him over.

he didn’t think twice to be in your arms, laying on your chest as you petted his hair.

“you did good, ‘ji. y’know i’m proud of you, right?” there’s that fuzzy feeling coming back. his eyes staring up at you through his shaggy bangs.

“why do you keep doing that?”

“doing what?”

“complimenting me ‘n shit.”

you chuckled, which only made his eyebrows furrow and his lips curl into a frown.

“do you hate it?” toji didn’t really have a response to that. as much as he hated to admit it, he liked it more than you think. when you say it out loud or pat him on his back that reassures him that whatever he’s doing is right, he all reacts the same way: feeling like his heart was going to burst out of his chest.

“i don’t.”

you pressed a kiss onto his forehead, “that’s what i thought, you deserve to know it.” you whisper against his forehead, he can feel your cheeky grin forming against him. “i always knew you had a praise kink.”

“don’t fuckin’ call it that.”

#★ ! fics #literally want to give him the biggest hug #UGH toji the man u are #toji x reader #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk fanfic #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk toji #toji fluff #jjk fluff

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senascoop · 5 months ago

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☁︎ . , ONCE UPON A KISS , N.RK !

PAIRING: boyfriend ! riki × girlfriend ! afab reader. SYNOPSIS: spending quality time with your boyfriend was good...until he suggested something that you clearly seemed hesitant about. GENRE: suggestive, passing chocolate thru kiss. WORD COUNT: 568. [LIBRARY]

The room was quiet, with only the faint hum of your phone playing some avant-garde foreign film. You both were hardly paying any attention to it. You pointed to the screen, where two actors were performing an overly theatrical kiss, exchanging a cube of chocolate between their lips. “Hmm, do you think that’s dirty?” you quirked an eyebrow at Riki.

You didn't much hope for a reaction-a quick jab, a laugh, or something overly dramatic. Instead, he merely stared at the ceiling for some time in thought.

Then again, his gaze turned to you, brilliant and sharp and eviling-something mischievous. “Don't know,” he said at long last, in a tone that was terribly casual. “Guess I'll have to test the hypothesis.”

Before you opened your mouth to ask him what hypothesis, to remind him he wasn't in science class, he gingerly grabbed a piece of chocolate from the table and gently shoved it into his mouth. You blinked, completely caught between confusion and amusement. “Riki, what-”

But you could hardly finish that because, within one fluid motion, he came worriedly close into your space. His lips met yours-warm, soft-sweet, chocolate-rich came blasting at you as he teasingly flicked his tongue over your lips.

All the connections within your brain seemed to short-circuit.

Was this even real? Were you sharing chocolate through a kiss, just like some tacky romcom couple? Your hands flew onto his shoulders for, well, probably a push-off, or to make sure he did not pull away before you could properly sort yourself out.

The kiss deepened, chocolate heating up between your mouths into a sweet, gluey warmth. Riki was going all off-the-wall, purposely savouring the moment, taking his time.

It was messy, sure, but it was also intoxicating—the combination of heat, sweetness, and the sheer audacity of the moment. You couldn’t help but grip him tighter as the world outside melted away, leaving only the faint hum of the movie and the wild thrum of your heartbeat.

When he finally pulled back, you both gasped for air, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to steady yourself. His lips were smeared with chocolate, so were yours, but neither of you moved to clean up the evidence of your chaos. Instead, Riki leaned back slightly, his signature cocky grin spreading across his face.

“It’s not dirty,” he declared, his tone brimming with mock seriousness, as if he’d just made the most groundbreaking discovery in human history.

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head as a laugh bubbled up from your chest. “Who even thinks to do that?”

“Geniuses,” he replied without hesitation, grabbing the remote and pausing the movie like this was just another Tuesday night activity. Then, with the same unshakable confidence, he added, “Also, that was a 10 out of 10 execution. You’re welcome.”

You groaned, grabbing a pillow and smacking him with it. “You’re so annoying!”

He caught the pillow with one hand, still grinning as if you’d just handed him an award. “Annoyingly talented. And, admit it, unbelievably good at this.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way your lips still tingled from the kiss betrayed you. Riki’s laugh filled the room, light and carefree, and you couldn’t help but join in despite yourself. In that moment, one thing became very clear: not only did your boyfriend match your freak — he might actually surpass it.

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bokunoheros · 9 months ago

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ཐིཋྀ truth or dare : tamaki amajiki

warnings : smut, reader is afab, overstimulation, creampie, size kink?, praise kink, swearing

word count : 500

🐙 note : first post for my man tamaki <3 i hope you all enjoy! there will be lots more coming up soon !

it started off with simple truths and simple dares like any party game would, that is until your friend dared you to fuck tamaki so good that he cried. now here you are on his lap wiping away his tears.

it was warm, too warm for tamaki to handle. his senses were overloaded, he felt as though all he could do was lay there and melt like an ice cube in the sun. it felt so good, the way your thighs wrapped around his hips and the tight hold you had on his cock had him seeing stars. the poor boy couldn’t even look at you, his eyes screwed shut and his hands digging into your hips to try and keep you steady.

“it’s-s’too much shit! please-please hnnng st-stop fuck”

tamaki never swears, he doesn’t mind when others do but he never found himself in a situation where he felt it was necessary to. that is until now, tamaki was mumbling swears over and over without even thinking. the words slipping out of his mouth almost as smoothly as you slipped down onto him, the feeling of your perfect little cunt enveloping him made his mind short-circuit.

this position was just so lewd, everything about it felt dirty. tamaki could hardly handle the feeling of your smothering him with your tits and slamming onto him like there was no tomorrow, you dug your hands into his hair and gave light tugs that made him whimper like a dog. at some point tears starting slipping from his eyes, muttering and stumbling over his words he couldn’t seem to think straight. he grabbed onto you as best he could, simply hoping that it would be over soon, that he could come back to his senses again.

“you’re so big tama, mmm so perfect. i could ride this dick all day and never get bored, don’t you want more?”

the praise was all too much, tamaki could hardly handle being told he did well at hero work let alone in the bedroom. the thought that you believed his dick was perfect was enough to send a throbbing ache between his legs, the way you complimented him made him push his hips up into you and cry out thanks to being overstimulated.

soon, tamaki found himself shaking at the feeling, grabbing onto you and not being able to let go. he knew he was about to burst and so did youz you grabbed his face and smashed your lips into his and he came when you stuck your tongue down his throat, the feeling of being surrounded by you and only you making him feel ecstatic. he filled you up, filled you up so good that it even started leaking down your thighs and onto his aching cock.

“you’re such a good boy tamaki, i’m so proud of you”

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nanamiskentos · 6 months ago

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ACCIDENTALLY YOURS! — jujutsu kaisen

prologue. → some not so meet-cutes 😁 who said love was easy?

pairings. jjk x gn!reader choso, toji, geto, nanami, sukuna, gojo.

warnings+. no curse/jujutsu au, slightly suggestive for toji's. attempted vehicular injuries but gojo's fine w/ it as long as he gets your number. some alcohol mentions. someone has a nosebleed.

word count. 6k! song inspiration. let me in (20 cube) — enhypen

a/n. this is saur silly, and i wrote this super quickly so it's not proofread.

CHOSO KAMO ✶ just trust me bro ... ?!

there's a man in your apartment.

at first, your brain short-circuits with options. scream, call the police, throw your used dinner dishes. why not all three in rapid succession?

it's nine at night, and all you wanted was to collapse into bed with a cozy throw and a criminal minds marathon. instead, fate or your carelessness in leaving the door unlocked, has gifted you with this stranger who just walked in.

this man didn't sneak in, mind you. no, this stranger barrelled through the door, let out a soft groan as he ran into your dining table. he then muttered a soft and polite 'excuse me' before plopping himself down onto your couch like he'd paid three months of rent.

and now? he's sitting there, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees and his head bowed. like he's contemplating the futility of existence, or whether he left the stove on at home. you can't quite see his face yet, just the curtain of messy chestnut hair falling over it.

what you can see is that he's wearing an oversized violet sweatshirt that's swallowing him whole, and right over dark cargo pants and scuffed combat boots.

well, now what?

your heart is hammering as you edge closer, gripping a fork behind your back like it's king arthur's sword. he's muttering something, no. a name?

you lean slightly, straining to hear.

"...yuuji, when i c-catch you."

but finally, the stranger looks up at you, as if he's searching your face for this 'yuuji.'

big hazel eyes stare up at you, bleary and glassy, and his lips are pouting, pale pink and peeled raw from where teeth have gnawed into them. his cheeks are slightly flushed, and he smells faintly of cheap alcohol.

great, the strange man in your living room is also drunk. you wonder where your phone is.

"uh, hey. are you one of yuuji's friends?" and the stranger's voice is absurdly deep, but incredibly shy, "can you get him? is he in his room?"

your brows furrow, "huh, who's yuuji? what room?"

the man blinks slowly, and he hiccups. a tiny, almost cute sound — and then he frowns, "yuuji? my little brother? lives here, obviously?" he gestures broad hands around vaguely, loosely.

"no. i live here."

his wide eyes scan the room. your glossy magazine on the table, a cup of hot chocolate next to your laptop which still glows with the not-so-legal streaming site. but you can see the very moment that the stranger's face freezes, like he's just been slapped in the face, "oh."

"yeah."

the stranger groans, dragging his hands down his flushed face and this only makes his clingy strands stick up in strange places, "oh no. oh, man. i — uh, think i'm in the wrong apartment."

"you think?"

"i was just tryna' find yuuji's place," he mutters, his words slurred but earnest, "we live, like, two floors down. but it's all the same, right? like...layout-wise?"

you open your mouth to argue, then close it. technically, he’s not wrong about the layout, but that’s hardly the point. "why didn’t you check the apartment number?"

"because i’m…" he pauses, thick brows knitting together like they’re searching for answers his brain won’t provide. finally, he lands on, "tipsy. yeah, tipsy. i actually really hate drinking, by the way. it was some stupid bet with my little brother."

you lift the fork a little higher, its tines gleaming under the dim overhead light. "so you broke into my apartment."

"hey, i didn’t break in!" he protests, his voice thick with indignation that doesn’t quite match the circumstances, "your door was open."

"unlocked," you grind out, ignoring the mildly adorable pout on his flushed lips,"not an invitation."

the man has the decency to look sheepish, one hand reaching up to scratch at his neck. "uh… yeah. my bad."

his bad? that’s the best he’s got? not a sorry for terrifying you! or a sorry for making you think you’re about to feature in a criminal minds special! but before you can really get going on the lecture building on your tongue, there’s a soft thud.

you glance down. your cat, the fluffy little traitor, is rubbing affectionately against the leg of this random man, purring like an old motorbike. meanwhile, the stranger just lights up, crouching down to scratch behind your cat’s ears with absurd gentleness.

"hey, buddy," he says softly, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. and damn it, he’s got dimples.

"what’s wrong with you? traitor," you hiss at your cat, who just looks far too content in the man's arms.

the stranger looks back up at you with those wide, hazel eyes, his head tilting to the side. "i’m choso, by the way."

"i didn’t ask."

"you’re holding a weapon," choso observes, eyes flicking to your hand.

"it’s a fork," you snap. "and you’re in my apartment."

"touché," he mutters, slouching back into your couch like it’s his own. he looks too tired to argue before he starts rambling, words tumbling out in uneven waves, "look, i’ll leave, okay? sorry for...uhm, being here. it’s just been a rough day, y’know? my brother — he's my little brother, he dared me to drink, and i hate drinking. then the cab driver tried to scam me, and i kinda gave up on the bet and wanted to go home. i don’t even know how i ended up here."

he waves a hand around like the universe itself is to blame for the situation.

you should still be mad. and you are. sort of. but it’s hard to stay furious when the guy in your living room is practically drowning in a sweatshirt two sizes too big, cradling your cat like it’s a lifeline. there’s something weirdly endearing about him, even if your fight-or-flight response still has a foot on the gas.

"fine," you sigh. "but if you've left anything drunk and gross on my couch, you’re coming back tomorrow to clean it."

choso’s face brightens like you just granted him parole. "i didn’t, swear i didn't, but yeah. deal. you’re cool. what’s your name?"

you hesitate, fork still in hand. "why?"

"so i know who to thank when i hopefully sober up. i’m really sorry for scaring you."

"alright, choso." you point to the door. "out. and if i catch you here again uninvited, i’m calling the cops."

he staggers to his feet, towering but unsteady, still cradling your cat. "uh, can i…"

"no," you interrupt. "put mr pickles down."

he pouts but complies, setting the cat down like he’s handling precious cargo. as he shuffles to the door, he glances back, scratching the back of his head, "thanks for not stabbing me with the fork."

"yet, choso," you deadpan.

with that, he stumbles into the hallway, and you slam the door shut before finally locking it properly this time. it’s only then that you notice the little silver bracelet lying on the couch.

maybe when he's also sober, you’ll find him two floors down. not because you’re curious about him or anything. it’s just the responsible thing to do.

probably.

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✶ got a mean laugh, huh ?

you'd just wanted a burger. greasy, cheesy, unapologetically unhealthy — a perfect antidote to a day of endless meetings and passive-aggressive emails from your annoying boss.

what you didn’t want was to make an absolute spectacle of yourself in the middle of a restaurant.

but here you were, ever the universe's favourite clown and plaything.

it started innocently enough: you’d been sitting behind him in this faux-american diner, cheap enough that it didn't break your last paycheck.

minding your business and just sitting behind some two loud-talking men, one of them broad and terrifyingly large in a too-tight black gym shirt and the kind of wide-legged pants only men with way too much confidence could pull off.

then he started making strange noises.

at first, you tried to ignore it. who were you to interfere? but then it got louder — a gruff, guttural wheezing that sounded suspiciously like a man choking on his fries. your heroic instincts (and latent secondhand embarrassment) kicked in.

what can you say? you were a natural born avenger. you didn’t think. you acted.

scrambling out of your booth, you darted behind him, arms awkwardly looping around his absurdly muscular torso. it took more than one attempt — why was he built like a human brick wall?

but you managed to start the worst heimlich maneuver known to mankind, trying to remember your hazy first aid training from high school.

"hold still, man!" you grunted, struggling for leverage, and trying not to collapse backwards. "i got this!"

except he didn’t hold still. he started laughing. loud, throaty, barking laughs that only made the situation worse.

"stop squirming, you’re gonna end up choking even more —oh my god, are you fuckin' laughing?!"

"hey, i’m —" the stranger wheezed between gasps, not choking, just laughing so hard his voice cracked, "i’m not choking!"

you froze, mortified, arms still awkwardly wrapped around his incredibly chiselled torso. "you’re...not?"

"tch, nah." his voice was deep, almost lazy, as he twisted his head back to smirk at you, sharp green eyes gleaming with amusement. "but yer' real determined. if i was choking, i’d probably survive. maybe."

you stumbled back, cheeks flaming, trying to pretend the floor might swallow you whole. trying to pretend that someone didn't pull out their phone to record you.

the expensive-looking guy sitting across from him — a man in a sharp, well-pressed brown suit who clearly didn’t belong in a place with laminated menus and sticky booths, just sipped his coffee with an air of quiet disdain.

"i always said you got an ugly-ass laugh, toji," the man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "could ya not traumatise strangers for five minutes?"

"hey, it’s not my fault i got jumped," toji said, shrugging lazily, and the motion made his shirt ride up just enough to reveal a scar slicing across his ridiculously defined abs. "not that i’m complaining. i got humped by someone gorgeous in public. call that a good day, hah."

your brain short-circuited, trying not to stare at the light dusting of hair over his abdomen, "i wasn’t - humping, oh my god, i thought you were choking! i was just trying to be be a good samaritan."

you backed away slowly, trying to act like the horrifyingly awkward scene behind you had not just happened. you didn’t even spare toji a glance, though the smugness radiating off his gorgeous, stupidly muscular frame was practically tangible.

you grabbed your milkshake, your only ally in this tragedy, and downed it with all the dignity of a medieval knight trying to poison themselves with wolfsbane. the cold, creamy sweetness slid down your throat, like you were trying to drown yourself in the sugary oblivion. which you were.

"well," you muttered bitterly, setting the empty glass down with a clink, "i'm gonna disappear from here forever. just gonna...vanish." you made the universal gesture of disappearing: both hands dramatically flailing as if you were casting an invisibility spell.

"wait, hey, give me your number!"

the voice, deep and annoyingly gravelly, floated over the booth like a warm breeze. you stopped dead in your tracks, eyes narrowing in disbelief. no way. no freaking way.

"you’re joking." you turned slowly to glance back at him, at this toji. the guy in the suit across from him — who had been watching this whole disaster unfold with the kind of expression you’d imagine someone gets when they’re asked to hold a million-dollar briefcase during a hostage situation, was now doing the mental equivalent of sinking into his booth like a man deeply embarrassed.

"swear 'm not," toji insisted, leaning back in his own seat, "what if i really do choke and i need ya to save me?"

SUGURU GETO ✶ love at first nosebleed !

you were exactly where you needed to be: right in the thick of the mosh pit at one of your favourite festivals of the year. one that you had scrounged together enough dollars for an overpriced ticket out, all perfect to spend a night out in the cool, desert night air.

the mosh pit was packed. like wall-to-wall bodies, as though you were wading through a sea of waving limbs.

without any warning, the crowd surged forward in a wave of bodies, just as the lead singer of this band threw a rose into the crowd and you squealed. throwing your arms up to steady yourself, and of course, you managed to send your elbow directly into the guy standing behind you.

at first, there's a sharp grunt of surprise, swiftly followed by a:

"hey, what the fuck!"

you turned around in a panic, your breath caught in your throat as you saw the aftermath of your unfortunate swing. oh, blood. it wasn’t just a little trickle, either. it was a full-on fountain.

the stranger's hands were pressed to his face, but you could already see the crimson streaks spilling through his fingers. and as much as your brain screamed oh my god, what have you done?, your first thought was also, holy shit, this guy is gorgeous.

tall. broad. jawline that could cut glass. his hair was jet-black, falling messily to his shoulders, and when he looked up at you, you saw it. his eyes, pretty.

they were a pale, unnatural shade of purple, sharp and disarming, the kind of thing you only saw in movies. or at least, you thought you only saw them in movies, because now you were staring into them, and the moral compass on your shoulder stomped some sense back into you.

"oh god, i’m so, so sorry," you stammer, your hands flying up in a panic. you just didn't know whether to offer him a napkin or your life savings, so you just stand there like a deer caught in headlights, doing the world’s most unhelpful impression of a living, breathing human being, "i didn’t mean to, i didn’t, oh, that's a lotta blood —"

he waves you off nonchalantly, and you immediately thought, what kind of person is so chill about being impaled in the face?

"don’t worry about it,” he said, voice smooth as butter, if a bit nasally, considering the massive nosebleed that makes you feel a bit faint. the kind of nonchalant tone that should not be coming from someone who had blood pouring from his nose like an open tap, "not your fault, really."

"i...i don’t know what to do," you mutter, your hands still flailing around awkwardly. you didn’t have a napkin, or a first aid kit, or any idea what you were doing. hell, you weren’t even sure if the guy was okay without medical attention.

"nah, seriously, chill," the man says with a chuckle, wiping his nose with the back of his hand like it was no big deal, "relax, i’m fine. it’s just blood. it happens."

just blood. just blood. you stare at him for a beat, trying to wrap your brain around the fact that he was genuinely not bothered. if you had a nosebleed like this, you’d be on the ground, crying for your mother and your entire bloodline, but here this guy was, an absolute unit of a man, all broad shoulders and muscular thighs — bleeding out in front of you, and acting like it was the most mundane thing in the world.

"are you sure?" you ask, your voice pitched too high from nerves. "i mean, i feel like — i don’t know, i feel like i should at least be doing something to... help? like, i can — oh! i can find you something!"

you start rifling through your bag in a panicked frenzy. who carries band-aids to a concert? not you. who carries tissues to a concert? definitely not you. all you could offer was a packet of gum, a half-melted candy bar, and some lip balm. great. you were the epitome of preparedness.

you frown, "fuck, i'm really so sorry, i was just kinda, -" and you wave your arms around in the air as a half-hearted impression, as he tentatively takes a step back. probably worried you're gonna bazooka his chin next, and leave him with a busted lip.

"hah, i get it," he says with a shrug, as if his nose was nothing more than a minor inconvenience, "practically an expected hazard of being in the mosh pit."

you looked at him, genuinely unsure whether he was joking or just that calm about it, "you’re really okay? i'd really rip part of my sleeve, i don't know, if that would help," but you tug the sheer fabric, "but this is kind of tough elastane. oh my god, what am i even saying?"

"eh, i’ve had worse." the stranger gives you a grin that only made the situation feel more surreal. he was smiling, smiling — despite the fact that he was actively leaking blood like he’d been in a fight with a giant squid.

damn, you kinda like your men when they look a bit unhinged.

“look, just —" he cuts you off, “i'm flattered someone this cute is flustered over me. kinda nice, hah."

your face goes scarlet. "i am not cute, i should be terrifying," you gasp, mortified. “i just broke your nose in a mosh pit, and i —"

and that’s when it clicked. your brain finally registered the fact that this guy wasn’t some random concert-goer. no, this was geto—the suguru geto, the lead guitarist of the band that was headlining the festival tonight. you’d been a fan for years, practically worshipping the man’s guitar solos and smooth stage presence. and now...now you had broken his nose.

god help you when stan twitter got their hands on you.

you stare at him, wide-eyed, and he must’ve noticed the shift in your expression because he raised a pierced brow, "oh, i see it now. you, uh, a fan?"

"uhm," you squeak, still too mortified to speak normally, and trying to lower your voice to sound chill and unbothered. but it's just not working. "of course i recognise you! you’re — geto!"

suguru geto bashfully grins, as if pleased with your sudden realisation, though the blood dripping from his nose didn’t exactly lend him the aura of mystery he was used to, "i gotta say, you’re the first person to recognise me looking like this." he pauses, glancing at his nose with a casual flick.

you let out an awkward, nervous laugh. hoping that the divine powers have some pity for you, and you actually don't mess this up further, "i’m so sorry again. i really didn’t mean to —"

"seriously,” geto said, cutting you off again, "you don’t need to keep apologising. i get it, you're real sweet." then, after a pause, he tilted his head, his purple eyes glinting. "but, hey, next time i’m on stage? i’ll make sure to look for you in the crowd. you won’t be able to miss me. i’ll be the guy with the broken nose."

and just like that, it hit you. he wasn’t just being cool about the situation. he was flirting with you. the man was literally bleeding from his face, and he was flirting with you.

you open your mouth to say something, anything — but before you could form the words, geto flashes a wink, that same mischievous grin never leaving his face, "just gonna have to go and get this looked at. manager's gonna lose his shit, but see you around, yeah?"

NANAMI KENTO ✶ is it too late to turn this plane around ?

the plane shuddered just slightly as it levelled out, and you gripped the armrest as if your life depended on it, trying to pretend that you weren't ready to hurl the contents of your empty stomach over economy class.

it didn’t help that your armrest companion, sharply dressed, annoyingly calm, and with a face that could have been carved from marble — seemed utterly unbothered by the subtle turbulence. he didn’t even glance up from his boring ass magazine.

you had been stealing glances at him since he sat down. the suit caught your attention first, impeccably tailored, so he was probably some finance guy. his tie, a speckled shade of banana yellow that somehow still looked elegant, was loosened just enough to suggest this wasn’t his first flight today, though not so much as to appear disheveled.

well, just your luck that you were seated next to someone who looked like they could be a stone-faced nordstrom model.

his face, though. well, damn! it was the face that made him hard to look away from. angular features, strong jawline, and a slight furrow in his brow that gave him a perpetually exasperated look. the kind of face that probably made people think twice before asking him for directions.

you, however, were not most people.

"so," you began, forcing your voice to sound light and casual, even though your heartbeat felt like it was trying to escape your chest. "do you think we’re supposed to hear that sound?"

he finally looked at you, glancing up from his magazine with the slow precision of someone who was already regretting their decision to acknowledge you.

"which sound?" he asks, his voice calm but carrying a hint of weariness. his blonde hair was neatly slicked back, though a single strand had rebelliously fallen onto his forehead.

"uhm, you know. that sound," you said, gesturing vaguely toward the overhead compartments as if that explained anything.

his gaze followed your hand, and his brow furrowed further, not in alarm but in what looked like mild irritation. “the plane engine or the luggage settling. perfectly normal." his tone is clipped, curt.

"are you sure? i watched a tiktok that said that there was a one in a thirteen million chance of being a plane crash. that's like...too much for me," you press, trying to ignore the mild rattle of the window.

he sighs softly, the kind of sigh that said he was already dreading the rest of the flight. "yes. i’m sure. i would not trust...short videos made by attention desparate people on the internet."

“okay, but what if it’s not normal? like, what if it’s—”

"it’s not the plane falling apart," he interrupted, his tone polite but firm. "i promise you."

you blink at him, momentarily silenced by the sheer certainty in his voice. "well, that’s reassuring, i think," you say finally, "thanks, uh…" you glanced at the seat tag clipped to his bag. "nanami kento. i mean, just nanami, right? don't wanna full name you..."

he inclines his head slightly, acknowledging the unspoken introduction, then returned to his magazine. it didn’t escape your notice that he turns the page with the kind of precision you’d expect from a surgeon.

you sit back in your seat, trying to focus on anything other than the fact that you were currently hurtling through the air in a metal tube. but the silence didn’t last long.

"so, what are you reading?" you asks, craning your neck slightly to get a better look at the magazine in his hands.

nanami hesitates, like he was debating whether to humour you or not. finally, he said, "an article on japan’s economic trends."

you blink. "oh. thrilling."

the corner of his stern mouth twitches, just barely, as if he was fighting back an amused smile, "i find it...informative."

"sure, but informative and thrilling are two very different things," you point out.

nanami turns another page, still exuding that same infuriating calm, "you seemed like you needed a distraction," he says, almost reluctantly. "would you prefer i explain it to you?"

you tilt your head, surprised by the offer. "you’d...explain the economy to me? as a distraction?"

"you were the one asking about plane sounds, and you look as though you're going to pass out. i'm not keen on doing first aid if it can be avoided," nanami says, with a tone so dry that it grates over you.

"fair point," you admit, "okay, hit me. tell me something i don’t know about japan’s economy."

he adjusts his glasses, his expression unreadable as he snaps his magazine straight in front of him, reading off the page, "the yen has been under significant pressure lately, largely due to increased government spending and concerns over inflation. it’s a precarious balance, on one hand, stimulus is necessary to sustain growth —"

nanami gives you a stern glare as you stifle back a yawn but continues, "but on the other, it weakens the currency against global competitors. the nikkei index reflects this uncertainty, fluctuating in response to external factors like american monetary policy and global market trends.”

you stared at him, trying to process the flood of information. frankly, you've never given a fuck about economics, and you had been more busy staring at his smooth lips, "so.. don’t buy yen?"

nanami's mouth twitches again, and this time you were certain it was kinder. "that’s one takeaway."

"wow," you said, leaning back in your seat, "you really know how to distract someone."

"was it helpful?" nanami asks, his tone suggesting he wasn’t entirely sure himself.

you considered that for a moment, "actually, yeah. i mean, i don’t understand half of what you just said, but it was so boring i forgot about the plane noises. uh, i hate planes. in case, you couldn't tell."

his eyes soften ever so slightly behind his glasses, "i could tell. glad to be of service."

you found yourself smiling despite your nerves. there was something unexpectedly charming about his awkward attempt to engage you, even if it involved the driest topic imaginable.

"you know," you say, "you don’t seem like the kind of guy who enjoys small talk."

"not in the slightest," nanami admits.

"so why are you humouring me?"

he glances at you, "didn't want you to throw up over my jacket."

the plane lurches, and you look at him with panicked eyes, "i wouldn't be so relaxed yet! oh, fuck, pass me that plastic bag, wouldya?"

RYOMEN SUKUNA ✶ retail's worst nightmare !

working retail was a game of holy patience, and holy fuck, you were losing.

it wasn't just the holiday rush or the fluorescent lights buzzing ominously as spotify worked through the most overplayed songs of the year.

it was him.

the man who was always camped out in your section of the store, for at least thirty minutes. for each of your shifts, rifling through stacks of neatly folded shirts like a bored bear rooting through a cooler. you watched, jaw grinding, as he unfurled yet another oversized graphic tee. flattening it against his broad frame, against the washed denim of his thick jeans. holding it up like he was considering buying it.

only to toss it back onto the table in a rumpled heap.

occasionally, he'd slide down his red headphones and you'd watch him flex wide arms, tattoos crawling out of the neckline of his shirt as he huffed.

you hated this innocuous customer. hated how ridiculously good-looking he was, in a way that screamed danger. what, with the mess of blush-pink hair and deep, russet eyes. hated how little he seemed to care about the destruction he was wreaking on your display, and most of all, you hated how he smiled whenever you sighed audibly.

making eye contact with you as he tossed yet another tee into the ruined pile.

"are you gonna keep unfolding those shirts?" you snap finally, "or are you actually planning to buy something?"

the man turns, slow and deliberate, and his gaze slides down to your name tag before sharp teeth unfurl from the corners of a rosy mouth, "relax," he drawls, "i'm just browsing."

browsing. right. you stare at the disaster zone that he's created, the meticulously folded rows of band-tees now reduced to a chaotic mound of cotton.

"this isn't a library," you shoot back, hands on your hips, "either decide or move on."

he arches a brow, clearly enjoying himself, "why so tense? isn't this your job?"

you let out a cool breath through your nose, clenching your teeth to fine dust, "yeah. my job isn't babysitting grown men who can't pick a shirt size."

the stranger blinks, pink lashes fluttering over sharp, dark eyes. as though he's genuinely considering this. then, with an absolutely maddening level of confidence, he grabs another shirt.

a hideous neon green monstrosity, with some kind of skull prints, and he shakes it out right in front of you. letting the creases fall out, dangling it like a flag of triumph.

"this one's nice, heh," he says.

"if you ruin one more folded pile, i'm gonna stuff that shirt down your big-ass neck."

his laugh is sudden and loud, echoing through the department. a couple of shoppers turn to look, but he seems to not care in the slightest, "ya can't say that to me. but you got guts, i'll give you that."

"and you’ve got about five seconds to put that shirt down before i make you refold this entire table," you shoot back.

he doesn't move. instead, he holds your gaze, clearly testing your patience. his wolf's smile was now edged with something sharper, something that dared you to follow through on your threat.

"you’re serious, aren'tcha?" he asks, almost impressed.

"deadly," you replied.

for a moment, you thought he might actually comply. but then, with the same deliberate slowness, he dropped the neon green shirt onto the pile he’d already decimated.

you stared at it. then at him. you think you're trying to pour gasoline on him, and blow him up in your mind.

"what's your name?" you ask flatly.

"sukuna."

"i hope a thousand evil little bugs descend on your house tonight, sukuna. i hope they invade your dreams so you know i'm wishing a curse upon you."

"that's kinda hot," he replies, without missing a beat and turning to leave.

"you can’t just walk away!" you called after him, but he was already halfway to the escalator, hands shoved in his pockets like he didn’t have a care in the world, and already pulling his crimson headphones back up.

you groaned, grabbing the nearest shirt to start refolding the mess he’d left behind.

then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw sukuna pause at the top of the escalator. he turned, just enough to make eye contact, and called out:

"when's your lunch break? let's go out!"

GOJO SATORU ✶ you charge my particles :D

the emergency department smelled like antiseptic and awful syringes. you were perched on the edge of a very uncomfortable chair, hands clenched in your shaking lap. staring at the guy you had, accidentally, thank you very much, run over in a parking lot.

his leg was propped up, wrapped up in plenty of gauze and a ice-pack, and he also looked oddly serene for someone with a pretty nasty, bruised up limb.

when you had first gotten there, you had been sick with guilt and worry that this poor stranger had been knocked unconscious by the rear of your car. but to your absolute bewilderment, he was actually just...sleeping? dozing off, sprawled back with a soft and peaceful smile on his face like he was just happy to catch a good snooze. the most absurd shade of ice-white hair mussed around his head.

that was, until his eyes fluttered open.

"oh my god, you're awake!" you blurted, leaning forward, with regret pouring out of you, "are you okay? does your leg hurt? what am i saying, of course it does! i am so sorry —"

he turns his head to you, blinking slowly. his eyes were a ridiculous, striking shade of blue. like glacier water caught in the sun. and then he grinned, voice still a little rough from his nap.

"hey, cutie."

you stare, utterly thrown, "excuse me?"

"what's up, gorgeous? don't worry, i forgive you for attempted vehicular manslaughter."

"good god," you muttered, "i hit his head too."

the stranger stretches his arms above his head, and you try not to track your stare to ridiculously, circus-long legs that sprawl over the crumpled sheets of the wheeled bed. way too tall, lean and far too good-looking for someone who had just been brought via ambulance to the hospital.

"it's fine, i swear," the man says, waving a scraped hand dismissively, "i needed a day off, so you did me a favour."

"a favour," you repeat, utterly incredulous, "you're in the emergency department. i backed up my car into you!"

the stranger shrugs, wincing at the stretch. and utterly unbothered by your fluttering worries, "yeah. but think 'bout it. if you hadn't hit me, i'd be stuck in a lecture hall. i don't wanna explain newtonian mechanics to a bunch of half-asleep undergrads."

you stare at him, suspiciously, "you're a professor?"

"mhm, physics."

"you don't look old enough to be a professor," and you're squinting at white lashes that ring impossibly large eyes. he looks more like a famous actor that you can't quite place, or someone's beautiful sugar baby.

no, focus.

he smirks, pale and glossy lips quirking upwards, "saying i look too good to be stuck in academia?"

"what? no," you say quickly, worried that he's gonna think you're a freak who hits on their victims, "that's not what i meant."

"you can say it," the man interrupted, still grinning, "i get it a lot. oh, satoru, you're too handsome to be explaining thermodynamics. satoru, you should be on the big screen, not teaching string theory. it's a bit of a curse."

you rub your temples, trying to block out the nonsense coming out of his fast-moving mouth, "you're kinda...weird. satoru."

"you hit me with a car," he points out cheerfully.

before you can retort, or ask him if he has private health insurance, a nurse clicks over, a clipboard in her hand as she's tapping her pen impatiently.

"mr gojo? we're ready to take you back for another x-ray? we just want to make sure that we also get a good picture at some soft tissues, so an mri as well."

your poor wallet.

"great," satoru says, and then to your utter horror, he adds, "i'll just leave my stuff with my partner, right?"

the nurse raises an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. you feel your tongue go dry, "i'm not —" but satoru cuts you off, with a voice like silk.

"so shy, right?" and he's flashing the nurse a charming smile that makes your nose crinkle, "but i'm just so glad that they're here through this difficult situation."

the nurse looks mildly skeptical, and you can feel your face heat up as she sighs, and stares at you.

"i...yeah. gotta be there for my sugar pumpkin snookums, right?"

it's satisfying that the tips of satoru's ears turn an awful shade of pink as he glares at you now, "such a sweetheart," and he pats your hand.

the nurse seems more inclined to roll her eyes, clearly over what she assumes are the antics of a medicine-doped boyfriend, "right. let's get that leg checked out."

as she wheels him away, satoru winks at you over his shoulder, "don't go anywhere, pretty!"

what a fiend. grinning like he's having the time of his life.

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hannie-bees · 28 days ago

Text

Pieces of you || c.hs

Pairing: Vernon x Reader

Genre: Fluff, domestic, romantic, comfort

WC: 1.9K

Theme: Its your 2nd anniversary and you gift your bf a jar of 100 reasons why you love him.

Song Recommendation: 10000 Hours

Two years.

You’d been with Vernon for two whole years.

And yet, somehow, when your anniversary rolled around, your brain decided to take a vacation. The “what to get him” panic had set in early—weeks of browsing, scrolling through Pinterest boards titled “Anniversary Gift Ideas for Your Lowkey Emotional Musician Boyfriend", and endless Etsy deep-dives later, you caved and bought him a Rolex.

Now…

You were this close to a breakdown.

It was two nights before your second anniversary with Vernon, and you were dramatically sprawled across the living room carpet, surrounded by Google tabs, half-finished card drafts, and a fancy black velvet box from the Rolex boutique that now made you want to scream.

“Why did I do this?” You groaned, dragging a pillow over your face. “It’s so low-effort boyfriend-gift-core.”

To be fair, you’d panicked. Vernon had mentioned once in passing that he admired classic timepieces, and your brain short-circuited into: oh my god, fancy anniversary = man + watch = love. But the more you stared at the sleek, expensive thing, the more you hated it.

Because Vernon wasn’t a Rolex kind of boyfriend.

He was the boyfriend who saved the last bite of every snack for you even if he was starving. The boyfriend who left you post-it notes with doodled hearts on mornings he had early schedules. The boyfriend who wordlessly held you until your anxiety stopped clawing at your throat. Who remembered you liked your toast golden brown and your strawberry milk with extra ice cubes.

A watch didn’t cover all that. He deserved more.

And that's how you found yourself in your sweats, surrounded by crumpled sticky notes and a half-eaten box of cookies, trying to figure out how to tell him what he meant to you.

That’s when it clicked.

Words. Words were always the answer.

He’d once told you that you had a way of making ordinary things feel important, and maybe—just maybe—writing them down would remind him how much of your life he lit up.

You counted out a hundred sticky notes. Soft pastels in a mix of pinks, blues, and greens. And you began writing.

Your gummy smile. The first thing I fell for. It’s unfair. You smile, and I forget how to function.

The way you think. You process the world so gently and deeply—it makes me fall in love every day.

The way you love. Not loud, not flashy. Just right. Just… you. You don’t say it often, but you show it, always.

You understand me—even when I don’t make sense. Especially when I don’t.

You’re patient. With my bad days. My weird moods. You never make me feel wrong for needing time. You just… get me. You listen between the words.

You never make me feel stupid. Not when I forget things. Not when I panic. You just hold space.

You’re weird. The good kind. The dancing-in-the-kitchen, talking-to-cats, doing-a-fake-British-accent kind. The I’m-gonna-marry-you kind.

You send me memes when I’m upset. Usually cursed ones. It works.

You’re honest. Always. Even when it’s awkward or hard.

You give me the aux cord without even asking.

You laugh at my bad jokes like they deserve Oscars.

You kiss my forehead when I overthink.

You listen. Like, really listen. Like, “remembers things I said 4 months ago while half-asleep” listen.

You let me take the first bite of your food even when you’re starving.

You say, “Text me when you get home,” even if I’m just going to the convenience store.

You kept going, hour after hour. You wrote them curled up on the couch, with lo-fi playing and your legs tangled in a blanket you stole from his side of the bed. You wrote them the next morning, stirring pancake batter with one hand and scribbling thoughts with the other.

Each note was like a breadcrumb trail back through your relationship. The quiet mornings. The messy fights. The making up. The comfort.

The you-and-him-ness of it all.

27. You let me warm my hands on your stomach in winter, even though you hate it.

39. You rap under your breath when you’re concentrating. I pretend not to notice. You pretend not to see me smiling.

41. You never let go first during hugs.

57. You carry my bags without making a show of it.

69. You tell me “I love you” like it’s a fact, not a performance.

72. You say “I got you” instead of “it’s okay.” And somehow it feels like both.

88. You’re just… you. And that’s more than enough.

99. You remembered I always wanted to be seen. You saw me. Even when I couldn’t see myself.

100. You’re my safe place. My home. My favorite person.

You folded each sticky note carefully into a tiny square, dropping them into a clear jar one by one until it was full—your love made tangible, note by note, word by word.

___

Anniversary Morning

You woke before Vernon did, still tangled up in the shared comforter. His hand was loosely curled on your waist, chest rising and falling in that steady, sleepy rhythm that always grounded you.

You turned slightly to look at him.

His features were soft with sleep, lips parted just barely, hair tousled and flopping into his eyes. Your eyes trailed down to the tiny mole near his cheek—the one he always forgot he had until you kissed it and your heart squeezed.

Happy anniversary, you whispered in your mind. To the boy who doesn’t need to say much to make you feel everything.

___

You gave him the Rolex first.

He blinked at the box, then at you. “...Babe.”

“What?” you said with a grin. “You love watches.”

He opened it slowly, then whistled. “Okay, I do. But this is—this is a lot.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “You deserve nice things.”

He leaned in, kissing your cheek with a quiet, “Thank you, really,” but you could tell from the way he pulled you into his side that he knew something was up.

___

Later that Evening

The sun was setting, casting honey-colored light through the apartment windows. You stood awkwardly in the living room, the jar tucked behind your back, your stomach flipping.

He was lounging on the couch in a hoodie and sweats, the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, a bowl of cereal in his lap even though it was almost dinner time. He looked up when you stepped in.

“Everything okay?”

You nodded quickly.

Then, without a word, you walked over and placed the jar on the coffee table in front of him, before diving onto the couch, grabbing a throw pillow, and hiding behind it like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

He stared at the jar. Then at you. Then back at the jar decorated with little cloud stickers and a label that simply read: 100 Reasons I Love You (and Counting)…

His brow furrowed slightly as he set his cereal aside and picked it up. “What’s this?”

Your voice was muffled behind the pillow. “Read it.”

He opened the lid and pulled out one of the tiny folded notes, unfolding it carefully.

1. Your gummy smile.

The reason I fell for you. It makes everything else feel softer.

You peeked out from behind the pillow.

He blinked. Then pulled out another.

2. The way you think.

You have such a beautiful way with words; I could listen to you talk for hours and never get bored.

And another.

3. The way you love.

Not loud, not performative. But steady, gentle. I always feel it. You don’t need to say a thing.

By the time he’d reached the fifth one—

5. Your patience.

You’ve never made me feel stupid for not knowing something. You make me feel safe enough to ask.

—His hand had slowed.

He looked over at you, eyes glassy.

“YN… What is this?”

You hugged the pillow tighter to your chest. “I felt like a Rolex wasn’t enough, too boring. So I made this too. It’s a hundred reasons why I love you.”

Vernon stared at the jar in his hands like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

Then he laughed softly, almost breathless, shaking his head in disbelief. “You wrote me a hundred love notes.”

“Every single one?”

“Every single one.”

You mumbled from behind the pillow, “It was either that or a custom rap verse about how hot your hands are. I figured this was less embarrassing.”

He laughed, soft and disbelieving, and then took another.

12. You send me random memes in the middle of the day, and somehow they’re always exactly what I needed.

Like, you just know.

18. You never force me to talk when I’m not ready. You just sit next to me. That’s more comforting than anything.

29. The way you rub your thumb over the back of my hand when we’re holding hands. You probably don’t even notice you do it.

He swallowed, and his voice came out a little choked. “You remembered all these things?”

“Of course I did,” you whispered. “They’re pieces of you. How could I forget? ”

38. You tell me you’re proud of me—even when I haven’t done much.

43. Your hoodie always smells like you, and I secretly steal it when you leave for the studio.

52. You once offered to watch a horror movie just because I wanted to, and you ended up hiding behind my pillow. Adorable.

68. You once said, “You’re my favorite place to be.” I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

He pulled another one out, smiling through teary eyes.

Then he got to one that made him pause.

73. That night you thought I’d leave you… I wish I’d told you then how wrong you were.

I’m not going anywhere. I’m always here.

He paused at number 73. His hands stopped moving. For a moment, the room was quiet except for the sound of his breath.

He looked at you then, completely undone, the kind of emotion that Vernon rarely let the world see.

Gently setting the jar aside, he leaned over and tugged the pillow away from your face.

“Babe,” he whispered. “Come here.”

You climbed into his lap with a shy smile, arms looping around his neck.

His hands cradled your waist. “You’re insane. You know that, right?”

You tucked your face into his neck, grinning. “Only when it comes to you.”

He laughed, pulling you in tighter. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten. Like, ever.”

You pulled back slightly, brushing his hair out of his face. “I just needed you to know. In case I don’t say it enough. I love you. A lot.”

His eyes searched for yours, warm and shining. “You show it in a hundred ways every day. I just have proof now.”

He kissed your forehead.

Then your cheek.

Then, finally, your lips—slow and steady, like he had all the time in the world.

___

Bonus:

He started carrying one note in his wallet every day like a lucky charm.

Whenever he traveled, you’d get a photo—your jar of pastel notes sitting right on his nightstand.

And six months later, you opened your laptop to find a document named Reasons I Love You: Draft Version 1. He never let you read it. Not then.

But a year later, he printed it out. Bound it like a book. Gave it to you on your third anniversary.

The title?

Chapter 1 of Forever.

🌸 Masterlist 🌸

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