#I adore them more than life itself and I need to talk about them

[diyasgarden]

Joining this one:D

What about flowers?

this is so cute :))

Art loves getting you bouquets. He doesn't even need a reason, he'll just get you one. He likes to change up the flowers each time, so it's like a surprise. You get a new bouquet each time and you adore it. You always send him bouquets after his games. Usually it's just red roses, and he loves it each time.

Tashi knows your favorite flowers by heart. Whenever you have a big event in your life, she will make sure to get a bouquet and send it to you. It's always more or less the same bouquet but because she knows you love it. Why fix something if it's not broken? She also loves lilies! That's why Lily is named lily. Whenever you get bouqets for her, it's a combination of different lily flowers. She loves it each time.

If Patrick is getting you a bouquet there is a 99% chance he picked out all the flowers and put them together to hand to you. Maybe you should consider this to be laziness, but you find it really sweet. It started when he was a child and would pick flowers from his mother's garden to give to her (which always ended up with him getting in trouble). You appreciate the gesture far more than she ever did. Although you hope he stops picking flowers from random gardens because there was that time someone called the cops on him for trespassing (and he smooth talked the cop into letting him go). Also I think if you gave Patrick a bouquet he'd probably act all normal but also be super emotional about it. Doesn't even have to be a certain flower or anything, just the gesture itself means a lot to him.

[screampied]

‘ #KNOCK(HER)OUT ! ’

ᡴꪫ‎ sum. you get more than what you bargained for by getting involved with two boxers—two boxers that can’t keep their hands off the pretty new journalist. what happens in the ring stays in the ring though…. right?

wc. 5.7k

warnings. fem! reader x t. fushiguro & s. ryōmen, boxer!au, thrēesome, manhandling, unprotected, semi public, size kink, ōral (f & m receiving), head lock, spīt, sqūirting, they fight over you, brēeding, fīngering, implied multiple ōrgasms, nipple play.

an. based on this ask, haven’t recovered since :,)

sukuna ryōmen and toji fushiguro. . .

the talk of the town. top most infamous boxers of your city, they were supposedly rivals but ended up becoming super close friends. 'friends' was probably a stretch. acquaintances was probably a far better word to describe the two. there was hardly anyone that didn’t tune into your detailed magazines about them—your occupation? a journalist. you’d be the first to write about their fights, their strengths, weaknesses, their total wins & losses, and even a few unnecessary things like their love life. you were new, but you were good. always in the front row, you’d watch them spar against some of the most scariest opponents imaginable. something about guys taking it out in the ring right before your eyes got your panties in a twist. how unprofessional..

you only did it for the money, the publicity— a lot of people adored your skill to make such stories so interesting. between toji and sukuna, they were almost always compared, and oh did they hate it. ex rivals continuously pinned against each other, it’d piss anyone off. although, you were in dire need for a new story topic to write and you just so happen to stumble into their private gym.

“yo,” a rough sly yet cunning voice mutters, and it’s so deep—you recognize it from anywhere, toji fushiguro in the flesh. “are ya lost? no fuckin’ autographs.”

“don’t be rude, ‘toj,” and your eyes avert towards sukuna— he’s a few inches taller and your eyes roam at them both. they had droplets of sweat racing down their washboard abs, scars coating their skin with ruffled hair as if they’d just finished a match. sukuna drags his feet towards you before his eyes light up. “ohh, i know you,” he snickers, grabbing your notepad before nudging his friend. “she’s our little journalist toji. and she’s a damn fine one too..”

“. . . uh,” was all you could make out, feeling a sudden tightness in your stomach. your eyes continue to stare, your lewd thoughts only become more and more vulgar. seconds pass before you realize sukuna took your notebook, toji pauses his sets to get a good look at you. “i thought this was the ladies' room.”

“girl bye,” toji grumbles with two hands buried into his shorts pockets— he reads right through you as if you were some sort of exposed novel. people said he was a lot sassier in person but you didn’t think it’d actually be true. green dark eyes linger onto you for a long time before he stretches, leaning down to get a good glimpse at your figure. “did you come here just to stare or what?”

you were taken aback at how blunt he was.

a coy grin appears on his lips as he watches you struggle to formulate a good enough response.

you were nosy, you were really really nosy. for once, perhaps you didn’t wanna just jot down things about these two— just maybe, just maybe . . you wanted a hands-on experience.

“i… needed new material for my article before the next match starts,” you utter, squeezing your thighs together. sukuna tilts his head, eyeing you in a way that makes you feel hot. toji’s stare was ten times more intimate, darkened irises practically staring right into your soul—you knew this wasn’t the bathroom, you were lying. “i was hoping maybe you’d give me some uh . . inspo.”

they were both towering over you with height, you felt small—like an ant that was preparing itself to be crushed by a villainous shoe.

“inspiration, she says?” sukuna hums, his voice is low—raspy, an almost purr hiding underneath it before he moves closer towards you. “just tell us what you really want, princess.”

“nah don’t get all shy now,” toji chimes in once he sees you grow more sheepish. they both close in on you—you felt like you were trapped in a fever dream, you weren’t exactly complaining either. they smelled so good, a mixture of sultry sweat and a loud scent of heavy cologne that wafts throughout the entire training room. “you got our attention so spit it out, girl.”

“i— i want you both.” you finally mutter after seven long consecutive seconds. with the way toji’s staring right through you, you felt like your stomach sank between your legs - your legs that were throbbing with nothing but mere arousal, again perhaps this was unprofessional. no, it was very unprofessional—but anyone would kill to be in your position, being sandwiched between the top two boxers of your city.

sukuna snickers. “both? what makes you think i’d wanna share with this bum?”

“shut up,” toji snarls, and the way his facial expressions tense a bit—so attractive. the headlines + press was right about toji, he was a lot more handsome in person. he was a fairly new boxer yet a pure lady's man. he’s had a plethora of fangirls while in the ring and maybe you were one of them. as he inches towards you with a hand softly gripping underneath your chin, he inhales. his entire facial structure, so chiseled—brief dark stubble coats the entirety lower half of his jaw and he rubs his left boxing glove against his left knee. “that really want you want? both of us?” and his voice softens. it’s a bit more pitchy and low, and he sneers. “on me, look at me when you reply too, girl.”

your lip gradually pulls down from his thumb playing against it. you felt so hot, the air suddenly felt thick.

a sudden lump gets caught in your throat before you mumble. “i want you both,” and your eyes meet the dark-haired boxer, simultaneously glancing at his attire— shirtless, boxing shorts on with his custom-made ‘fushiguro’ briefs wilting near the top—only showing the hem part. just a teensy detail like that was so enticing that you even spot a few parts of his exposing snatched waist. only after awhile you then abruptly snap out of your vulgar fantasm. “…please.”

“the real question is, pretty little journalist,” sukuna steps in, a hand stroking against your chin. you didn’t know where to even look. both boxers had their hands on you and the tightened squeezing between your plush thighs grew even more. “can you handle both?”

“yes.” you’d speak in a soft voice, most likely as of now you were probably speaking from between your legs—you didn’t care though, everyone’s a little delusional at some point. emphasis on a little in your case, because you had no idea what you were getting in to with these two.

toji snickers. “hm,” he mutters, eyes focusing on you for a long time before he raises his chin. “fine. let’s test your strength then,” and he briefly gazes at sukuna. “sukuna. we can take her ‘n the ring.”

and they mean it quite literally— taking you, the both of them versus you, except you weren’t relatively fighting.

not in that sense, but it was versus an opponent that was throbbing between your thighs.

the arena was empty, about a good hundred or more vacant blood-shot red seats scatter everywhere.

inside the ring, it was a mere raised platform, guided and shaped by strong stringy ropes that were yanking between poles at each side and corner. you lay on the spongy canvas of the ring’s floor before biting back a moan.

“scared yet?” sukuna hums, and he props himself right between your legs. this was risky—entirely risky, anyone could just walk in. besides, you were pretty sure they had a match in about a good forty-five minutes. with sprawled-out legs, he moved closer before dragging a thumb down your panties. his voice was a bit deeper than toji’s, they both shared the same amount of rasp.

sukuna had the charm, toji had the suaveness.

you shake your head, feeling yourself grow even hotter the more he stalls time. it feels warm, the entire air around you is humidly thick and you whine as he teasingly bites your panties. not enough to pierce his teeth into your folds, but he bites near the fabric—you watch, the string of your underwear slowly dragging with him. yet, you can’t help but glance at toji who’s just standing there—arms crossed and that same scowl that stuck against his face. “mhm,” he jibes, eyes flickering towards toji. “toji. she’s looking at you.”

“i know she fuckin’ is,” he grumbles, and your head tilts upward. you’re face first with his bulge that was right against your face. talk about space, it was right there. such a big bulge, who were you even kidding though—you found yourself gawking at his bulge at every match he had. with the skin-tight shorts he’d worn, you just knew he was nothing more than a packer. “nosy girl. y’er mouth bored or somethin’?” and he watches your hands paw at the hem of his tucked-out briefs. “need a bit of throat training, huh?”

sukuna’s playing with your panties still. by now, he’s peeling them towards the crevices of your thighs and you whine whilst you feel a thumb of his drag down your honeyed slit. sopping wet, just a three-second stare and he was suddenly esurient.

“look at me, not him,” toji lightly turns your head to face back up to him again. his bulge, his damn bulge that was right up against you. you nod, feeling your mouth dry—you wanted your throat to be filled, it wasn’t even a question. toji gruffs lowly, moving your chin side to side. “huuuh? girl, i don’t speak silence. thought i told ya how to use those words when you speak.”

“i- i wanna suck you off, ‘toj,” and you get cut off once he pulls his boxing shorts down halfway, bringing your face close to his briefs. you’re taken by surprise once he makes you rub your face against his hardened bulge—you moan, as if on instinct, your tongue lolls out just to taste him. even if it’s just the clothed fabric protecting his actual cock, it was something.

he scoffs. “y’er a nasty girl, huh,” he mumbles, peering down to see sukuna starting to lick against your cunt. your legs quaver upon impact and you slump back against the corner of the ring. “can’t wait, yeah. want me to train this empty throat? maybe it’ll make ya a better journalist, nosy ass.”

you’d almost laugh at his little side remark if it wasn’t for sukuna’s tongue lapping against your slick entrance. your lips part as you lean back, a hand going through his hair. “mphm,” he grunts, one hand squeezing the right part of your thigh. “sweetest taste i’ve had in a . . . looong while.” and he’s so sloppy, not even a few seconds pass before he’s already slurping. your panties were lazily shoved to the side and that’s when toji hauls down his briefs.

you gulp, damn.

he wasn’t just big, he was huge…

your mouth starts to salivate the more you stared at the swollen shaft. toji was a big guy . . hence meaning, toji he was a thick guy.

staggering height and a fat base to back it up, he had about two veins running down the side. his tip was a reddish pink, you could already taste him throbbing in your mouth. toji was quite well shaved a bit— though, it was a few specks of black hairs scattered everywhere. however, his happy trail was so pleasing to look. it roams all down his sculpted body, he sighs once you slowly wrap a hand around his cock.

“spit the fuck on it.”

five words and you didn’t hesitate to roll out your pink tongue once more.

you gather a good amount before watching it coat against his pink sweet tip. he groans, watching your hand stroke him a bit. he was so big, so fucking big that you could barely wrap your entire hand around his dick. toji groans, watching you make a total mess out of yourself. pretty glossy lips, pretty glossy lips that would soon be wrapped around his hefty length.

once you get it wet enough, you gently move your mouth onto him. he hisses, the warmth of your throat has his abs clenching.

“m-mhm,” you’d moan out, though your words were purely muffled. sukuna’s sucking on your clit, occasionally nipping and nibbling on it just to make you squirm even more. it was cute— the way your legs could barely hold still, so this was your weak spot. it’s what he thought to himself, lapping his tongue against your slick entrance. brief kisses coat near your folds before he maneuvers such circles against your pussy. feeling his canines nip against your folds every few seconds had you feral in the best way possible.

“y’er makin’ her squirm all over, ‘kuna,” toji lowly chuckles, such baritone in his voice that it makes you soak even more. you didn’t even know how it was possible with the way you were just profusely dripping like a faucet. not even—you put faucets to shame with how slick you were, quickly coating the lower part of sukuna’s chin with your syrupy taste. “open that mouth a ‘lil more, yeah . . . yeah,” and he tilts your head back a bit, prying your mouth open some more. he starts to slowly sink his cock in, so slow. the pace was incredibly tantalizing, your tongue runs against his slit before he pushed more inches inside. “fuckkk, girl,” he continues to grunt out, knees already starting to buckle. the way you took him in, hollow cheeks all puffed, you were already starting to drool a bit. small amounts of your saliva trickle past the corners of your lips as he goes deeper and deeper. deeper until his tip ends up mashing against your uvula and you gag.

“. . ooooh,” he hums, and just a simple noise as that was so seductive. “good…. good,” he swallows, a hand digging through your hair before maintaining a good grip against it. “now . . let’s test this pretty throat’s durability, hm.”

your little nod makes his sly smile widen, your jaw hangs and he starts to gradually piston his hips. such a mess, he was just so big that you were surprised all of it even fit.

“alllll the way down, shit,” your head starts to move, bobbling as your tongue swiftly running against his pulsating head. he gnashes his teeth together, dim eyes flickering towards your hands. you were feeling hot yourself so you made a cute attempt at reaching between your legs. doing so only greets you to a soft concise smack.

“hands to yourself, silly girl,” sukuna grumbles, and this time he grabs your wrist. he simpers, watching you try to even still rub one out but with his grip, you weren’t getting anywhere. as your mouth was occupied with such inches, you whimper once you feel sukuna spank your cunt a few times. “don’t touch my pussy.”

one turns into two, then three, then four. . .

your pretty cunt starts to become his new obsession—the way you’d squelch for him so easily, he gets hard in his boxers. so wet, he knows the layout as if he’s so used to doing this. you wouldn’t be surprised, especially with a tongue like he had. lapping left and right, he parts your legs just a bit farther before the tip of his tongue swirls all around it. he lays it flat, getting a good enough taste before giving it yet another mean spank.

you whimper, feeling your tummy cave in before toji makes you face him once more. “eyes up here, eyes on me,” and he sounds almost jealous the more you focus your attention strictly on his boxer acquaintance. you’re still stroking him, a thumb sliding down a vein that prods alongside his shaft and he groans. your throat, so warm that he starts to feel his right thigh bounce. “should be . . usin’ this throat for shit like this instead of running that mouth.” his voice pitches lower, boxer shorts pulled down and his hair was slightly ruffled. you stare up at toji and he gives you that same cunning smirk. oh, you were soaked. again, this simply felt like a fever dream. even if at the slightest chance that you were dreaming, you never wanted to wake up.

toji’s quite talkative throughout the entire thing, sukuna’s dragging you further and further onto your incoming release and your legs start to rapidly shake even more. you whine and mewl out such sweetened moans, occasionally coming back up for air as you kept his cock warm in your mouth. each time it hits the roof of your mouth, you let off a straddled noise and he finds it so cute, so filthy.

“relax y’er throat, girl,” he mutters, a firm grip on your scalp. with glossy eyes, you follow his words and you stop gagging a bit. he grunts, getting hard every time your pretty eyes make direct contact with him. “such a pretty girl when you listen.” and his tone gets a bit more sensual, more tender.

you whine, feeling sukuna insert a single finger inside of you—you swallow his digit almost immediately and you cringe at hearing your own salaciously lewd squelches.

soaking, sopping wet,

three perfect words to describe between your legs, you choke out a moan once you feel that sensation brew right up inside your stomach. steadily, it was coming closer and closer. you’re breathing through your nose—feeling a few of his pubic hairs tickle against you. you’re moaning, eyes becoming half-lidded and droopy. toji had a mere pout stretching against his face and he felt himself coming close too.

the icing on the cake was your tongue, the way you swirl and slide it against his frenulum—he groans out a low grunt that rings throughout the arena. it reverberates, it's raspy and it only makes you even more aroused. “s-shit, you close too?”

you nod, and toji jeers, finding it amusing to taunt with you as you’re about to reach your inevitable peak. “yeah? gonna make a mess on ‘kuna’s face?”

“told ya don’t call me that,” sukuna grouses, resuming to pump not one but two fingers into you now—you’re almost there. it’s a hot feeling stirring up near your lower abdomen, a pool of it. your eyes start to roll, still slobbering down toji’s cock before he starts to thrust and thrust into your mouth.

“make me.” toji stared at him—and the both of them grew quiet before laughing with each other.

idiots.

your maw opens just a bit wider, and he’s shoving himself in and out of your tight throat—the noises that follow are so lewd, he finds you so pretty like this. mascara all smeared and runny, your hand continues to wrap around his length—his sagged base, so full. you start to salivate again, imagining what his taste was like. you craved it like you crave sweets, sukuna’s tongue running against your clit only made things far more intense before you start to convulse.

“f-fuckkk, ‘m gonna cum,” toji rasps, tilting your head back a bit more. you stare at him, tongue still grazing against the pulsing slit before after a few more pumps—he shoots a nice velvety load into your mouth. he grunts lowly, nostrils flaring up, jaw tightening and all. “. . damn,” he swallows, allowing himself to slow down. you end up finishing around the same time, costing sukuna’s mouth with a honeyed amount of your slick and he hums. you whimper, legs barely able to hold themselves up before you feel toji’s dick pour the remnants of his cum flat on your tongue. “nah, don’t fuckin’ swallow yet. stick it out, lemme see that shit.”

your legs felt like they were about to fall off, sukuna’s kissing near your now swollen entrance and you slowly loll out your tongue. obeying, you didn’t exactly swallow yet and he hums. “best savor that shit,” he groans, giving his veiny cock a few subtle strokes before he smacks his angry tip against your tongue. “and where’s my thank you for the meal, baby?”

“t—thwak y—you toji,” you speak, barely coherent with his seed splattered all on your tongue. you didn’t wanna spill any, and if you did—you didn’t wanna stick around to find out his reaction.

“yeah,” he huffs. “you can swallow now. get every drop in.”

sukuna moves towards you, you’re still laid on the ring’s mat before he softly wraps a hand around your throat. “hey. don’t let this bastard have all the fun, i want a taste too,” and you're taken by surprise once he pulls you into a deep steamy kiss. you moan, feeling him quite literally take your breath away. your tongue drags against sukuna’s chin, the bitterness. a concoction mixture of your saliva and his mixes, and you whine once he snakes a hand up your blazer. you taste yourself on his tongue and it’s so dirty, hot breaths mash against each other, teeth gnashing, and only then do you feel his cunning smirk.

“no one told you to hog her,” toji grumbles, pulling you back towards him. you briefly gasp for air and they both stare at each other, then you. “tell me, baby. who’d you think win in a fight? me or this . . . thing.”

sukuna glares.

“i don’t … know,” you pant out, heaving from your current orgasm—so cute, yet you only wanted more. from kissing sukuna to having your throat entirely filled, you didn’t know which was better. “can we finish?”

“aw, is someone impatient?” sukuna titters, and you stare at his glistening body—beads of sweat race down his precious v-line, the ideal body for a boxer. you just couldn’t stop staring at his pecs, so chiseled. you even thought his pictures were edited, but seeing them up close . . you wanted him, you wanted both of them. “hm. how ‘bout this? we teach you a few ah, moves. full nelson to start, ‘s pretty easy.”

easy, sure.

with it all being easy, you’d least expect to be put into a full nelson position. a mere popular wrestling position, although you’d be performing it with no one other than sukuna.

he’d have you slump back against him, hooking both arms underneath your thighs as you’re taking such mean thrusts from him. time and time again, you’re spasming out. mouth all open, saliva running down the very corners of your lips before you moan. “s—sukuna, oh my godddd,” and you glance up at toji who’s got a cute pout, stroking himself. you lost count of the time, it’s probably been about a good thirty-three minutes by now, thirty plus minutes of various teeth shattering orgasms. your head hits back against him and each time his tip smacks against your cervix, you short circuit. “fuck, fuck, right there, hit it thereee.”

“you coachin’ me how to fuck, dumb girl?” he chortles with a groan shortly following—he was so deep, the heftiness of his base taps against you each time you bounce back against his cock. he sucks his teeth, the way you easily took him had him groaning all up against your ear. “gotta get a little more stretchy, we gotta . . hah, work on your flexibility too, huh.”

“sukuna hurry the fuck up. watching you fuck my girl ‘s boring as shit,” toji grouses, pumping his cock into his fist every few seconds—you stare and he’s so needy, you could tell. his scowl he had earlier forms into a cute pout, dark eyebrows furrowing together and he’s growing impatient.

you caught that though. ‘my’ girl.

who would have thought toji . . the womanizing boxer who’s never had time for any woman throughout his career would start batting for you?

“your girl?” sukuna snickers, resuming to hold your legs up a bit further. he reaches so deep, that your stomach starts to seize and your maw drops. hooded eyes, your lashes flutter and you felt continuous strained breaths get yanked from your lungs. “your girl yet she’s gettin’ fucked by me? the better boxer?”

toji snarls, and he kneels to kiss you. you moan, barely able to return the gesture since you were in the midst of taking sukuna. with being gifted with such sharp thrusts, you dig your nails into his thighs before running tangling your tongue alongside toji’s. his breath was warm, you whine once you feel one of his hands stroke your cheek.

“aha, look at him. already whipped before me,” sukuna snickers, feeling you sink and gape around him—he stretched you out so good already, it was so relentless. each time you bounce back against his lap, the ringing in your ears grows louder and louder. he feels his dick twitch inside you. seeing you make out with toji irks him a bit before he spanks your ass—the recoil making him even more aroused than before. sukuna hums, seeing the current pout on toji’s face before nodding, “aw. toji wants a turn too, yeah? don’t ya . . big guy?” and he intakes a breath, your pussy constricting around his length as sukuna pulls you further to slam back and forth against him. you’re moving against him now as his dick jackhammers right into your gummy was. your mouth idly dangles with your tongue stil shamelessly lolled out. a raw moan rips from the back of your throat at the pure feeling of utter bliss.

so thick, so girthy—you gasp once you feel his fingers tend towards your neglected tits. toji shortly follows, a hand going between your thighs. your cunt was all stuffed of sukuna, feeding your swollen pussy was so many inches. “hngh, f-fuck, fuckkk,” you’d whine between wet, saturated kisses. toji purposely feels against your folds, all stuffed and sopping wet. he rubs a thumb against your slick entrance as your legs were just about to give out. “toji, m-more. need you to touch me more.”

“you don’t need shit, little girl,” he corrects you, squeezing your lips together before presses a kiss against it. you moan, your ass stinging every few seconds from the stings of sukuna’s palm making direct contact against your ass cheek. spank after spank, oh how he adores the jiggle. he could watch it all day, even in slow motion if he could. “such a cute thing though, had the nerve to say you thought our training room was the fuckin’ ladies' room.”

you cringe once he repeats that. the same ringing going through your ears once more. your ears perk, hearing sukuna’s raspy grunts against the shells of your lobes before you start to stammer, “toji, touch me.”

“i’ll touch this messy body when i wanna,” he gruffs, leaning to nip kisses near your neck. sukuna’s still holding you up—you’re like a rag doll, eyes goggling from the stretch before you start to feel it. not your orgasm, but something entirely different. it was a new type of pressure, sweet whiny moans emit out of you before you feel sukuna’s rude tip thrash against your g-spot again, and again, and again..

toji’s thumb softly strokes underneath your neck as he pulls you into a short kiss. you whimper, pulling away before spreading your legs a bit further.

“i— something’s coming, i f-feel tingly.”

sukuna roughly laughs against your ear, seemingly getting what you were implying. “yeah, gonna make another mess on us, princess? oh. i mean on me, heh?”

you shudder, your pussy feeling entirely stuffed and your eyes merely roll way back. he fit nice and snug, you bare around him before a whine drags out your throat. so deep, so so deep, you’re spasming—each relentless piston of his hips makes you whine louder. a feeling that was purely euphoric welts right against you, and you’re laid all back against sukuna’s bare chest, riding him in reverse. “c-choke me, ‘kuna, choke me, please.”

“want me to put you in a headlock, yeah,” he whispers to you in a rough low voice. you moan, feeling him lick against your earlobe before toji strokes your cheek. you could tell he wanted a turn too, the pout on his lips stretching even further. you’re nodding against him before your cunt gapes more. “sure. i’ll let you in on what my opponents feel, pretty girl.”

you moan, his voice was so low up against your ear, you’re about to cum. or were you, you swallow thickly despite having a sudden dry throat— voice all raspy and strained from moaning for such a duration that your head’s woozy. it feels too good, your thighs ache and quaver before you feel a beefy arm wrap around your neck. “upsie daisy, thereee we go,” and he scoots you on his lap just a bit farther. he’s buried to the hilt. you moan, toji pulling you into the nth kiss of the night, lips moving in pure tandem. just when you’re about to finish, you feel him rub against your stuffed cunt once more. yet that’s only when you decide to move your hands towards the boxers . . . nipples.

“t-the fuck,” he grunts in a hoarse tone, his voice was suddenly a bit shaky. it was cute—you couldn’t lie to yourself, you found yourself staring at toji’s chest way more often than you should. practically always shirtless, his pecs were huge. such pink swollen nipples, you slide a thumb against it and he shivers from your touch. “fuckin’ weirdo. ‘m sensitive there, s-shit.”

he doesn’t tell you to stop—instead, he grips your hair not so tightly but firmly. you look up at him, speaking in a tiny yet sheepish tone. “can— can i?”

“can ya what?” he grits, watching as sukuna continues to feed your cunt of his cock — you were just about to burst, you felt it and your toes clench and curl all up. so cute.

with a thumb still sliding against his pecs tenderly, you murmur. dilated pupils flicker towards his chest, then back up at him. “. . can,” you huff out in short breaths, tummy seizing, breathing hot and heavy. “can i suck on them?”

“no you can’t fuckin’ suck on them. what kinda question is tha—”

“toji, don’t be fuckin’ mean. you claim she’s your girl so let her suck your tits, big guy.” sukuna chimes in, releasing his soft grip against your neck. you gasp, leaning way back against him now. he was so warm pent up against you—you whimper out, sukuna leans against your ear and he starts to talk you through your incoming orgasm. “right? wanna make toji a little whiny bitch?”

“shut the fuck up,” he rasps, and his pecs literally stare at you—so beefy, you could have sworn they twitched. he groans, watching you give him such eyes before he inches closer towards you, bending down. “…….fine. whatever.”

still grinding against sukuna’s lap, you hold toji’s pecs before latching your tongue against it. his face scrunches up and it’s so cute, for whatever reason, the way your tongue curls against his perky nipples feels … good. awkwardly, he pulls your head closer towards his chest, eyeing closely as you briefly start to suck. as usual, you were so sloppy too—moaning up against his sensitive skin, rolling your tongue all against his nipple.

“nasty little g—girl,” he chokes out.

you glance up at him, parting your lips away before he makes you go back to tending to his tense nipples. “i didn’t tell you to stop. use y’er fuckin’ tongue some more. and stare at me while you do that . . . weird shit.”

toji’s voice significantly pitches and you’re so into it that you don’t even realize that before you know it, you end up squirting. everything comes at once, you’re pulsing with sukuna’s cock still twitching vigorously inside you and you whimper, mouth still sucking onto toji’s tits nipples. low laughter could be heard from behind you, and it’s all so much. your pussy was equivalent to a waterpark, gushing out all into sukuna’s lap. “fuckkk, princess,” he chortles, slowing down your hips and he ends up finishing a few seconds after you.

when he came inside, it came out quite a lot too. a hefty amount, it came out in ropes to where he paints the entirety of your womb. so warm from the inside, your tummy briefly caves in and your legs felt like mush.

“heh, did you just squirt?” sukuna points out, cock still twitching inside but he just lies still. you’re stretched out literally on the mat, seeing pure stars— the lights of the arena merely blinding you before you lie back against him. “a squirter and you’re tapping out already? aw boo. ‘n here i thought you could handle a few more rounds in the ring, princess.”

“i— i can,” you protest, parting your lips away from toji’s sheeny pecs. your lips were spit-glossed, he stared at you before squatting down to stare at the mess right between your legs. so messy, sukuna lifts you off of him and it just pours right down between your thighs. “i can go for more.”

toji hums, taking a quick three-second glance at his watch. “five fuckin’ minutes, ‘s all you’ll get with . . me,” and it’s cute because a mere pink forms on his face.

he’s still embarrassed from you sucking on his nipples that he tries to act all tough—but that only makes his tone quaver even more. “match’s gonna start soon. sukuna, let’s take her both.”

he snickers, pulling your shirt that was tucked underneath your blazer all the way up.

“both?” and sukuna lifts you to sit on top of toji, straddling him. you were being preparing to be overly stuffed with not one but two cocks. you fall face forward into toji’s broad chest, the coldness of his chain that wraps around his neck brushes against your skin before he helps you align yourself.

you moan, feeling sukuna get behind too—you gulp, toji’s fondling your breasts that almost poke out through your unbuttoned shirt whilst sukuna was behind. you’d be taking them both— one in each hole. “can you handle us both at the same time, pretty girl? toji’s known for his record of lasting a good ah . . . two solid rounds.”

toji glares, feeling himself start to open you up again. with his plump crownhead of his cock, he splits you open, and he is a tad thicker than sukuna—you moan, wrapping flimsy arms around him before sukuna enters from behind with toji focusing on the front. “shut up. you say that ‘n act like i won’t k.o. you right now.”

“oh yeah?” sukuna cavils, and you gasp, landing on the cold canvas with an 'oof' once the boxer lightly places you down. you pout—glancing up at the two of them who were having a face off at a time like this. sukuna already pulled out and they stared each other down before toji slyly smiles. “is that a fact?” and for a brief moment, he leers down at toji’s sheeny lips— the dark-haired boxer slides his tongue against his scar before humming.

“don’t play, you know it is,” he replies, giving you one ogle before turning back towards his rival. “y’know, ‘kuna. you sure talk a lot of shit but you couldn’t even pin me down if you tried.”

sukuna rasps lowly, inching closer before they were inches apart—you thought they were gonna kiss at this rate. oh, something like this would be such a good inspiration for the headlines.

“if you wanted my attention, should have said so,” sukuna sneers, rubbing his hand that was carefully wrapped up in a white bandage against his slim torso. “besides, i think we all know who can last more rounds.”

“did you two just forget about me—?” you furrow your eyebrows, literally still soaked and laid against the corner of the ring. they shoot you a glance before turning back towards each other.

toji scoffs back at sukuna, ignoring you. “prove it then. pin me the fuck down, hot shot.”

“bend the fuck over then, big guy. we’ll show the pretty journalist who’s gonna win this night’s match. round fuckin’ one.”

[kitorin]

"I need you to be completely honest with me right now."

"What's wrong, Rin?" Another page turns, your eyes remain glued to the novel, head resting on his thighs as his fingers occasionally poke your cheek.

"Am I ugly?"

The question makes you choke on your spit; Itoshi Rin, the very man who had you infatuated at first glance with his prominent eye lashes and his wintry gaze, just asked if he was hideous.

"Who the hell said that?" The surprise makes you sit up, and Rin barely dodges collision with your head. It's common knowledge that he couldn't care less about his appearance, skin and hair care were simply for hygiene, which was all that mattered to him. There's anger heating up at the thought of someone breaking his indifference, and it reveals itself through your speech

"No one, Yukimiya's photographer came for a photo shoot. Everything went well until I noticed the lines on my face."

"Lines?"

He nods "They weren't there before." His fingers ghost over an area near his cheeks. "Apparently they're not supposed to be there." Rin reaches into his pocket, unlocking it and showing you a photo.

It's a photo of him, Hiori and Yukimiya, the three of them grinning whilst being covered in designer brands. Nothing seemed wrong, it's an adorable photo; revealing Rin's typically concealed dimples, eyes squinting with joy, the kind of smile he uses when he's genuinely happy, instead of the polite and subtle one he gives to interviewers.

"I don't see an issue."

"Here." He zooms into his face. "Those things." His lithe fingers point towards the area between the sides of his nose and the corners of his mouth. Smile lines.

"Fans said they shouldn't be there. So, am I ugly now?"

There's a legitimate confusion laced with his tone, and you silently thank how he decided to talk about it with you before believing in whatever comments were left on Instagram.

"First, whatever fans say have no credibility, they're just people on the internet. Second." You climb into his lap again, cupping his cheeks and once again getting lost in the depths of his beryl irises. "Those are called smile lines. You're not ugly for having them, and never will be." His aquamarine eyes gaze back, as you brush a strand of hair out of his face.

"Even if they weren't there before?"

"Of course. They're a sign you're living a life filled with joy and happiness. And that is more beautiful than any beauty standard out there, and so are you." Your thumbs trace the creases, the entirety of your palms can feel the warmth of his cheeks, savouring how the softness contrasts the callousness of your hands. "You're beautiful, you always have been and always will be. Don't listen to anyone who says otherwise."

Your lips plant a kiss on his forehead, and you soon return to admiring every crevice of his face. From the viridescent azure irises and the eyelashes which adorn them, how surprisingly soft and squishy his cheeks are (of course only you'll ever know that).

"Thank you for putting them there then."

"Hm?"

"I never had reasons to smile. Not until I met you."

Anyone can tell Itoshi Rin seldom expresses emotion, let alone joy; but you had always assumed he kept it to himself rather than believe nothing was worth his jubilation.

His hands reach for yours, fingers ghosting over them. "Thank you for brightening my life, for being the reason why I'm able to live so happily." Gently, his hand pries one of yours off his face, placing a kiss on it. "I love you."

Rin smiles; it's soft, exposing his dimples and smile lines, cheeks matching his lips in colour. You're pretty sure you're just as flushed.

A quick peck to his lips (he still tastes like the persimmon haichuu you were eating together earlier) and you swear he somehow grows redder. "Does this mean I'm allowed to have the last ice cream?"

"You're supposed to say it back dumbass. And fuck no, that's mine." Despite his callous language he picks you up into a cradle carry, placing you down besides him, soon making his way to the front door. "What flavours do you want? And what kind and which brand?"

"Awww, I love you too, I want the vanilla and melon soft serve by the way."

Rin scoffs. "Of course you only say it back when I'm doing you a favour." But he's pocketing his wallet, and about to unlock the door to leave. "You're annoying."

"Yet you still love me."

"Are you sure? Because I'm buying every flavour of yukimidaifuku and you're not getting any. Milky candy too." You don't miss the smirk on his face at the sight of your disbelief.

"I hate you."

"Love you too darlin'."

[In the end "you're not getting any" was a lie]

Tagging: @yuzurins

[lustfulslxt]

ok, hear me out. so reader decides to try out the red nail theory and shows them to matt, and he freaking adores them, but adores the marks they leave on his back even more😏😏idk if you dont wanna thats completely fine, but i just got red nails for the holidays and all i can think about is scratching up matts back...

Say Thanks - Matt Sturniolo

warnings : smut, filthy matthew

—

It’s been a while since I’ve gotten my nails done, and I so badly want to go get them done right now. However, bills exist and with my roommate moving out, everything’s been piled on top of me all at once. It’s stressful to say the least, but I just need to find my footing. It’s not that I can’t afford it, I just have a really bad spending habit, that I didn’t realize is an actual issue until a couple of weeks ago. I used to just work, pay my portion of the bills, save a bit of money, then blow the rest of it on whatever I wanted. Now, I just have to learn to budget.

Saying that, I’ve not really been going out of my way to splurge on things that make me feel good. I’ll get back to eventually, but unfortunately, I can’t afford to right now.

Despite knowing that I should focus on getting my money right, I can’t help but look into my spare cash, crossing my fingers in hopes that I have enough. Before I can even begin counting, my phone flashes and vibrates, indicating I have a new notification.

Matt sent you $100 for your nails❣️.

My eyes widen, a gasp leaving my mouth as I read the words displayed on the screen. Immediately, I’m facetiming Matt.

“Hey.” He answers, instantly, a knowing grin on his lips.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me mister. Why did you just send me money?” I question, glaring at him through the screen.

“Hmm. I’m pretty sure I said it’s for your nails.” He answers, then continues, “You can say you don’t need it all you want, but I know how bad you’ve been wanting to get them done. And if you haven’t, then you just can’t right now. Which is why I wanna do it for you.”

“Matt-“

He cuts me off, “Y/N, shut up and accept my offering. Come over after you get them done?”

“Fine.” I sigh, giving in.

“Great, I can’t wait to see them. Maybe then you can show me just how thankful you are.” He suggests, his lips wide with a smirk.

My jaw drops at his proposal, completely bewildered at his comment, the underlying meaning far from missed. I can’t help but bite my lip as I look away from the screen, my skin ultimately flushing.

“I already scheduled your appointment with Analysse. She’ll be there in fifteen. I expect to see you no later than an hour and a half.” He informs me.

“Yes sir.” I say, unable to prevent the smile that pulls itself to my lips. “Thanks, Matty.”

“Of course, doll. I’ll see you soon.”

With that, we hang up and I’m left to sit in my puddle of confusion and eagerness. Matt and I are only friends. There’s always times where we’re flirty and we’ve always been close, physical touch being our love language. However, his actions and statements today threw me for a loop. I’m sure I’m not misinterpreting it, he seemed very suggestive. Honestly, I don’t even mind that, I just don’t know if he’s only messing with me or if he’s serious. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

“Hey babe, how are you doing?” Analysse greets me, unpacking her supplies.

“I’ve been good, just learning to adjust to new things. How have you been? I feel like it’s been ages since I last seen you.” I reply, sitting on the opposite side of the desk.

“I know! It’s been so long! I’ve been great though. Just living life and doing what I love.” She nods, a smile blossoming on her face.

“That’s amazing, I’m glad to hear.”

“Thank you. So, what are we thinking?” She asks me, all her supplies laid out in front of us.

“Probably just a simple red, maybe like medium length. Hm, not too long but long enough to leave marks.” I explain, smirking at the thought of digging my nails into Matt’s back.

“Ouu, okay.” She giggles, grabbing my hands to prep my nails. “So, are we talking about Matt? I mean, he is the one that reached out to me to book this appointment for you.”

I can’t help the warmth that rushes to my cheeks, “Yeah, I’ve been wanting to get my nails done again. Life just hasn’t been working in my favor.” She nods in understandment, listening to me rant. “Let’s just say, he’s got me thinking about a lot.”

Her mouth opens, laughter pouring out of it, “Oh, I get you. We’ve all had one of those.”

We continue talking and sharing stories as she does my nails. The conversation goes from boys, to makeup, to careers, to food, and just about everything under the sun. Once she’s done, I pay and tip her, and bid her on her way.

Since I still have some time before I have to be over at Matt’s, I decide to take a shower to freshen up. Seeing as I really only had around an extra thirty minutes, I decide to make it quick. I swiftly wash up and rinse off, hurrying out to dry off and get dressed. After applying deodorant and lotion, I slip on my shoes and grab my phone and keys, then I’m out the door.

It only takes me eight minutes to get to Matt’s house, so when I arrive, I’m eagerly making my way inside. We’ve been friends for eons, hence why I have my own key. Upon walking in, I instantly make my way upstairs and head back to his room. As soon as I open his door, his attention is on me.

“You’re late.” He states, his voice stern.

“Only by four minutes.” I shrug, joining him on his bed.

“Four minutes is still late.” He points out, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Won’t happen again, I promise.” I grin, tossing my hands up in defense.

He doesn’t say anything, only smirks as he grabs my hands to observe the nails he paid for. He plays with my fingers, looking at each individual nail, as if inspecting to see if there were any flaws. They were perfect.

“I love them, they look good.” He tells me, his voice now husky.

I look from my hands to his face, his eyes already being on me. His hands never leave my own, his warm fingers brushing back and forth over mine. The intensity of his stare has me clenching my thighs together in need. I don’t knew where this is coming from, but I want him bad.

“They’d look even better wrapped around my cock.” He whispers, his voice deep and raspy, placing one of my hands on his lap.

Only then, did I notice the growing bulge beneath his pants. His cargos now restricting his hard on, keeping it caged in below the fabric. I could feel him pulsating through the clothing, his erection rock solid. My mouth opened and close, suddenly unable to find words to speak.

“Don’t you want to show me how grateful you are?” He taunts, his gaze unwavering.

“Did you have a favor in mind?” I ask, licking my lips as I attempt to swallow in hopes of lubricating my now dry throat.

“Mhm.” He hums, standing up from the bed. He stands directly in front of me, his hands slowly working his belt off. “I want your pretty little mouth around my cock.”

I could feel my underwear becoming more and more soaked, my arousal seeping out of my pussy, completely and utterly turned on. His hand reaches my chin, gripping my jaw as he pulls me up from the bed, before dropping me to my knees. His thumb rubs against my lips before forcing itself in my mouth. I suck on it, my mouth immediately salivating from this situation I find myself in. He removes his thumb, dragging it down my bottom lip, letting it bounce back up as he moves to remove his shirt. I watch in awe, his lean torso flexing with every movement. Next, he unbuttons his pants. Once he pulls them and his boxers down, his dick slaps up, bouncing off of his lower abdomen. I’ve never been this intimate with Matt, meaning I’ve never seen his dick before, and boy was it something.

“Like what you see, pretty girl?” He teases, his hand engulfing his shaft and jerking it a couple of times. “Get over here and make me feel good until I say you can stop.”

I can’t help but frantically nod, instinctively scooting closer to him, eager to take his member into my mouth. One of his hands goes around my head, entangling in my hair, while the other one takes his dick and slaps it onto my lips, leaving drops of his precum behind. My tongue immediately flicks over my lips, taking the traces of him into my mouth, leaving him to toss his head back as a groan leaves his throat.

“Open.” He states, his hand pulling my jaw down.

As soon as my lips are parted wide enough, he’s shoving his entire length down my throat, pulling a gag from me. From his rough thrusts, my mouth is producing enough saliva to coat his dick, strings of spit connecting him to me once he pulls out. He then sets his tip on my lips, nodding at me to get to work, so I do.

My tongue swirls around his head, licking over his slit, causing him to tighten his grip in my hair and involuntarily buck his hips, his dick prodding at my mouth from the movement. I wrap my lips around him once more, my tongue continuously twirling around him, before taking as much as I could of him into my mouth, using my hands on the rest of him that wouldn’t fit. Peering up at him through my eyelashes, I see his brows furrowed in pleasure, his bottom lip held between his teeth.

“Fuck. You’re so pretty, doll.” He moans, running a hand across my cheek. “Sucking me so good, baby.”

I hum around his length, accepting his praise. Throaty moans continue to escape his mouth, encouraging me more as the desire in me burns hotter. I pull away from him completely, then take all of him in my mouth, deep throating him as much as I can without dying. His free hand wraps around my throat, making the feeling of his dick going down my throat all the more noticeable. He starts thrusting, matching my speed, his hips now sputtering as more lewd sounds come from his mouth.

He quickly pulls away, tugging me back by his grip on my hair. “Strip.”

I eagerly obliged, nerves building in my stomach, anticipating what’s to come. It didn’t take long for me to remove my outer clothing, leaving me in my bra and panties as his hungry eyes bore into me.

“Strip.” He repeats, his tone more demanding.

Without breaking eye contact, I reach back and unclasp my bra, letting it fall down my arms before falling to the floor with other clothes. The cool air hit my nipples, the buds hardening in response. I watch as Matt’s eyes follow my every move, soaking in every gesture. My fingers slip in the waistband of my panties, slowly tugging them downwards as I continue shimmying out of them, kicking them off my feet. Matt’s hand is now around his cock, stroking it as he watches me, intently.

“My turn.” He whispers, pulling me against him, skin to skin.

His mouth meets mine in a hot kiss, excitement bubbling between us. He walks me a few steps backwards, pushing me back on his bed and climbing on top of me. Our lips lap one another’s, before he’s shoving his tongue in my mouth, exploring behind my lips. We move together in such a hot and steamy way, his hands touching every part of me as my hands lace through his hair. His mouth then moves down my jaw, dragging open mouth kisses across my skin, leaving a trail saliva in his wake. My breathing was heavy, small whimpers coming through as he sucks and nibbles my sweet spot.

His hands then intertwine with mine, bringing my fingertips to his lips, pressing soft kisses against them. “I can’t wait to see the damage you do with these.”

He starts kissing down my chest, keeping his hands interlocked with mine. His mouth nips and bites at my skin, goosebumps spreading over me. He takes my nipple into his mouth, twirling his tongue around it, his teeth grazing over it, causing a sharp gasp like moan to come from my mouth. He moves on to the next one, repeating the same action. My legs squeeze shut, attempting to relieve the tension that keeps building and building with every little thing.

“Matt, please.” I whisper, attempting to grind against him for friction, to which he only presses his hands onto my hips to hold me in place.

“Shh, baby.” He mutters against my skin, lowering himself to my navel, his tongue leaving a stripe of spit.

His mouth meets my thighs, going back and forth between the two, peppering wet kisses all over them. His half lidded eyes meet mine, a smirk making its way to his face as he blew air onto my center, causing me to thrash beneath him. Instantly, his tongue is between my folds, pulling a loud moan from me as my hands return to his hair, tugging ever so slightly. He licks up and down my core, sucking all of my juices along the way. His tongue prods at my entrance, poking in and out, before he goes back up and wraps his lips around my clit.

“F-fuck, feels so good, Matty.” I whimper, thrusting my hips up for more.

His hands press down on my hips again, his grip now tight, holding me in place. His mouth continues lapping me, his tongue flicking every which way, bringing me closer to the edge. One of his hands leave my waist, his fingers meeting my heat. He slides them up and down, lubricating them before pressing two of them into my entrance. A loud moan falls from my mouth, my body jerking as he begins fucking me with his fingers. His mouth focuses on my clit, sucking with his warm tongue continuously flicking over it. His fingers pumping in and out of me, my arousal evident from the sounds emitting from my core and my mouth.

“I’m so close.” I moan out, pushing down into him.

Unfortunately, he pulls away, completely removing himself from me, a whine of desperation coming from my lips. He hovers back over me, his mouth pressing onto mine, my juices traveling from his mouth to mine as he kisses me hard.

“We’re gonna cum together, princess.” He says, one of his hands holding himself up as his other one rubs his dick up and down my folds.

I can’t help the gentle shaking of my thighs, my hole clenching around nothing as my eyes beg him to fuck me. Without words, he grants my wishes, slowly sinking his cock into me. Low moans escape both of our mouths as he bottoms out, my eyes closing in pleasure as he tosses his head back one again. My arms wrap around him, pulling him closer to me.

“I just knew you’d feel so good, baby.” He groans, his thrusts slow, yet hard. “So wet and warm, and tight around my cock.”

His thrusts remain slow, but not too slow, as he continues digging into me, hitting exactly where I need him.

“Oh, Matt.” I moan out, my face contorting in pure bliss as I drag my hands down his back.

He lets out more groans, enjoying everything about this moment. Instantly, I could feel the knot forming in the pit of my stomach, close to snapping from the building pressure. He picks up his pace, increasing the strength of his thrusts. His hand meets my center once again, rubbing tight circles onto my clit, ripping another moan from me.

“You look like a dream.” He moans out, his eyes never leaving mine. “I can see your close, baby.”

Words stuck in my throat, I’m left nodding my head, nothing but incoherent sounds coming from my mouth as I dig my nails into his back. His lips slam onto mine, bringing me into a passionate kiss, swallowing every noise that emits from me. His tongue roams my mouth again, quickly and eagerly, as if he can’t get enough. As he pulls away, he drags my bottom lip out in between his teeth.

“Cum with me, doll.” He groans, his finger on my clit applying more pressure.

And just like that, the knot snapped, unraveling, and I was letting go all over him, eliciting pornographic moans from my mouth. He followed seconds after, his dick twitching inside of me as his load spurts out. He continues pumping, fucking both of us through our orgasms, pushing our cum deeper into me with every thrust. Stilling for just a moment, he then slowly pulls out and lies beside me, both of our breaths erratic from the exertion.

“If this is what I get as a thank you, I’ll gladly pay for your nails every single time.” He chuckles, grinning over at me.

I laugh, rolling my eyes at him, pushing him away. He smirks, before starting to put his clothes back on, so that he could start us a shower. As soon as I catch glimpse of his back, a gasp leaves my mouth, causing him to turn around with raised eyebrows.

“What?” He asks, expectantly.

“Your back is fucked.” I laugh, covering my mouth, grabbing his phone from the nightstand.

I motion for him to turn around so that I can take a picture. Once I do, he grabs his phone from me and smirks at the picture, pleased with the aftermath of our moment together. He does some typing on his phone before tossing it back down and leaving the room. I pick his phone back up and see that he made a new post on snapchat.

After clicking on it, my mouth dropped, “Matt!”

—

a/n : here ya go! sorry for the delay, i’ve been lacking inspiration and motivation. i hope you enjoy it, and apologies if this isn’t what you had in mind. send in more reqs pls, love you 🫶🏼

[httpswritings]

@alexiaps94 has liked your profile — Alexia Putellas x Reader

Word count: around 648

Warnings: none

Summary: You and Alexia match on an exclusive dating app.

“@alexiaps94 has liked your profile”

That was first notification you saw when you first checked your phone in the morning, still half asleep.

Some days ago, you signed up on Like.ly, an app similar to Tinder but extremely exclusive. The app was directed to wealthy people and reputed celebrities. You had to e-mail the company and wait if they accepted you on the company. If you were, you had to go through an interview where they'll ask you all types of questions, as the company itself would look for some potential matches to get you started. They did not succeed to your liking. They matched you with all sort of celebrities, but nobody properly caught your eye. 

You weren't a football fan, but you knew who Alexia was because of the expectation she woke up when she won her second Ballon D'Or and when Spain won the World Cup, as the press talked non-stop about the different problems with the federation, especially about the incident during the final. 

You clicked on her profile. Her profile pic was a picture with her dog, Nala. She had more pictures uploaded; you could see her with her family, her friends, her team and by herself. You scrolled down to the “About Me” paragraph.

“Hi! My name is Alexia. I like playing football, spending time with my family and learning new things. 😃”

“Cute”, you thought. You hesitated about what your next move should be. You liked her profile but decided to not write her yet. 

“Hi. I saw your profile some days ago and you seem lovely. I'd love to hear from you”. You hated the way you wrote that text. “Y/N, you want to get to know her as a friend, maybe as something more, this is not a business meeting”, you said to yourself. Your text was fine, you were only overreacting. If you knew they way Alexia reacted to your text, you'd feel more than accomplished with yourself.

“Hi, Y/N. Thank you! You seem really lovely too. I'm seeing that you have four cats! Wow, that's some good company. I think a get along better with dogs because I've been around them my whole life, but the cat life sounds fun too. 😸”

You chuckled as you read her message. “She's indeed very lovely”, you thought. 

“Yeah, so damn crazy, but it's quite fun😸😹” You had never used those emojis. Weird. Adorable but weird.

As you kept talking during the week with Alexia, you got to know her better. She told you about the passing of her dog, Nala, and how bad that affected her. You told each other about your life: family, friends, place of work. She even taught you a little bit of football, and you were so entertained you couldn't quite believe it, as you never showed any interested in football except for some random matches of the men's world cup. You started to educate yourself in women's football.

“Can I call you?”, was the message you received from her on a Saturday night. You had spent the whole day rotting on your sofa and talking to Alexia until your eyes started to feel really heavy. As she called you, and you responded, you started to breath uncontrollably rapid but at the same time, you felt so comfortable listening to her. Alexia's voice was soft, and her laugh sounded so delicate, you felt butterflies in your stomach every time you made her laugh.

“It was nice talking to you, Ale, but we both need some rest, especially you. You have training tomorrow.”

“... I liked hearing you calling me Ale”

“I like hearing you, Ale.”

“God, are you always this flirty?”

“Not in person. I'll have to be a little bit tougher when I'll have you in front of me.”

“No, don't be. I'm pretty sure I'd love the timid version of you. I can't wait to see it.”

[plush-rabbit]

Adam Dating Headcanons

I love him sm and I hate that it's him!! Why couldn't be like Lucifer or something!!

Angel:

With his status as the “First Man”, Adam can get away with most things. In doing so, he has you with him at all times. Takes you everywhere like a pampered pet. If someone comments about you, he’s hyping you up. He’s telling everyone how you’re just so hot, and you give the best kisses, and how you tempt him constantly. You’re all that he can talk about. It’s him bragging about how great you are, and of course, you're great. He deserves all the finer things that angelhood has to offer. You’re an added bonus. Someone so cute and hot. 

He’s crass with everyone, and you are no exception to this. He’ll throw our swears, and phrases that are demeaning. He’ll use awful pet names that have your ears burning, and s scowl twisting at your lips. A part of you believes that he only continues to call you such things to see your reaction. His crude nature is public for all to see and bear witness to. He has no issue telling others the filthiest things that you two have done, and where you’ve done them. He only slows down when you swat at him, your face burning and hidden into his arm, pulling at the cloth for him to stop. His grin is sharp, and for the few times in his life, he takes pity, and he gives you mercy, letting the words come to a sudden halt, about how only he should be privy to just how perverse you can be. 

There are times where he’s just a jerk. Flat out mean, and cruel towards others and towards you.. It never lasts long, it’s more like it’s just second nature to him to know that he’s above everyone else, so he doesn’t have to play nice with others. He’ll snarl and when an angel clings to his robes with stars in their eyes about meeting him, all he can think about is how he has to be somewhere that isn’t there and they’re dirtying his robes. You’ve been on the receiving end a few times, and everytime you give him a certain look. He isn’t one to say sorry without being nudged into it, but he’ll lift his shoulders as if to hide himself, and he’ll mumble something close to an apology, and when you look away from him, he’ll hold your hand. He didn’t mean to snap at you- he thought you were someone else, and you know how it is. When you do take it personal, he still won’t tell you a proper apology, but he will wrap his arms around you and his mask will nudge itself along the crook of your neck, soft words spoken that won’t be heard for a long while.

It’s rumored around Heaven about the past wives of Adam- how they both fell for Lucifer, how they were Adam’s but they left him. He complains about it, grumbling under his breath about the fallen angel, about Lilith and Eve, and there’s this underlining of hurt in his voice. Everytime that you see him without his robe, he almost always has his side turned away from you, a hand curving just under his chest. And maybe because of the betrayal, he’s so attached to you. He wants you around him. He needs you around him. Far more than he would ever like to admit, he can’t- and he hates to even give it thought- he doesn't think he could stand another betrayal like that. So he’s attached to the hip with you. He’ll call you constantly, he’ll want to go everywhere with you. He just wants to be near you. 

While he may have his moments where he’ll whisper honeyed words to you, or give you bouquets of flowers, Adam expresses himself through touch. When the two of you go out, he’ll hold your hand, and if he can get away with it, he’ll tuck his hand over your bum. He’ll put his arm over your shoulders, letting his fingers graze over your chest, and keep you tucked underneath him. His wings are massive, soft to the touch and blinding in the sun, shimmering with gold and snowy white feathers, and while they can be heavy to hold them against his back, he’ll curve them around you, pulling you close to him when others cannot see. You’re protected underneath the gold, and he adores how you always reach out to touch them, to smooth at any stray feathers that bristle when he surrounds you. He needs to be touching you- he has to. In private, he’ll hold your hand and trace over yours with his claws. He’s never been so gentle with someone, he’s pulled apart sinners and covered himself in blood and gore, he’s vile and cruel, but he holds your hand so tenderly, and for a moment, he’s forgotten he’s Adam, First Man, and at that moment, he’s a man, holding an angel’s hand in his calloused claws.

Sinner:

Adam likes to joke that Extermination Day is the best thing to ever happen to you since it’s what allowed you to meet him. Plus, the added bonus is that now you’re protected and you won’t die. Probably. If you listen to what he says. But even then, he always makes sure to keep an eye out for you- hunting near your hiding spot, shooing away any of the other exterminators. It’s a win all around, really. At first, he’d have the two of you meet at the Heaven Embassy in Hell. However, it proved to be suspicious when other angels would question and even his own lies were starting to fall apart. He could always tell them he needed a break from all the singing and pure-hearted delight in Heaven, but he knows that he would have others follow him, peeking into something personal. So, he’s commissioned a new mask, and he’ll ditch his holy robes for something more Hell-esque to visit you.

You’re aware of his feelings towards demon folk, and walking hand-in-hand with him in the very place where he creates destruction, makes you feel like a traitor. You can tell that he's disgusted by everything- the gore and deaths, the rotten stench of meat coming from the Cannibal District. The rottenness of Hell has acid burning his tongue, but when you pull him towards a vendor on the street, he can hold his tongue. He gets to see you, and that’s enough for him. He holds no power in Hell. He could, and while he’s sure he could handle a few of the Hellborn and Sinners, you would be at risk. So any amount of disrespect has him biting his tongue and keeping you close to him. It’s infuriating to know he has to spend his time locked in your apartment, eating takeout- or on the lucky occasion your home cooked meals- and hiding away with you. He wants to show you off. He wants to be showed off. But, you sit beside him, and tap against his horns with an impish smile as you hold a forkful of food near his lips. 

He may never admit it, but he likes staying indoors with you. For those few hours, where you cook and you nap together, and you kiss him earnestly and with want, he can slip into the illusion that this is his norm. It’s vanilla- so much so that if it were any other time or place, he’d be sick. But, with you by his side, complimenting his mask, the tips of your claws curving over the horns and tracing the outline of his mask, he’ll take it. He’ll tease and snap at you, asking you to beg for him to remove his mask, telling you to ask nicely, and when you coo and press yourself against him, he’s grateful that the mask is still on. Not much can make the First Man flush, but when you act so sweetly, lips pulled into a smile with fangs on display, he thinks it’s one of the better sights that he’s seen in a long while. If he’s in a pleasing mood, he’ll rid himself of the oversized robe, and let his wings expand. He watches your expression- the awe and wonder that they hold, the gasps when you touch his feathers. He’ll stare and memorize the shape of your eyes, and the curve of your lips, as you familiarize yourself with his wings. In those few hours when he’s with you, it’s domestic, and it’s nice. 

When he visits Hell, he never stays for long. It’s visits that last for a few hours, but they never stretch into the night, and when it’s time for Sinners and alike to rise, he’s gone, not a single trace of him left behind. The dishes are put away, his part of the bed tucked in and flatten, it’s as if you dreamed a perverse dream where an angel took interest in a demon. You’ve asked him what excuses he gives to the others, never telling him that you wish he would stay for longer. He tells you that he’s told others he’s doing paperwork, or that he’s going to some orgy party and no one should bother him. When you laugh at that, he stares at you, eyes wide and heart- or whatever it is that he has- skipping a beat. You sleep in your bed, and he pulls you close to him, his eyes on the wall, as you make yourself comfortable on top of the Exterminator. He tells himself that he could miss a day- skip work and spend the day with you here, where the two of you could entangle yourselves with one another, but when brushes over your skin, and he hears the demons talk between the thinned walls of your apartment, he pulls away, and rests his lips over your temple. Leaving you behind in Hell never gets easier, and the more he erases that he existed in your home, the more he hopes that you’ll cry and miss him, and want him.

Unsurprisingly, he’s mean. Perhaps it’s his own personal feelings that he’s had with demon folk for the past number of  millenniums, and how in comparison to that, he’s only just met you, that he still has animosity towards demons. Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop with you. He can be cruel, referring to you as a Sinner, and sneering at you, and when you flinch, hurt evident in the way that you back away from him and pull your limbs close to yourself, that he groans. He hadn’t meant it. Not like that- at least not towards you. You have to understand, some demons, some of those sinners, well- and his explanations are always cut short when you scowl at him. He hadn’t meant to be mean to you, he promises. He’ll envelop you in his arms, and pout, asking you to not take it so personally. He’s tense, and he waits with bated breath, and he visibly relaxes when you wrap your arms around him. Adam had never thought himself to care about what a demon may think of him, but in those moments where you sit still and he’s unsure if you’d forgive him or not, his mind is racing. He can’t- It can’t even comprehend what it would feel like to be rejected by you. 

[sirenedeslily]

𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 ‎𐦍 𝐦atthew 𝐬turniolo

❛i’m tired of you, still tied to me.❜

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 the preacher's daughter, the town's beloved sweetheart, harbored a pain far deeper than anyone could have ever imagined. matt, the boy who had found solace in her presence, struggled to understand how the love of his life could slip away so tragically. now, he must learn to live without his cherished fawn, accepting his fate of being forever tied to her memory, unable to let go of that fateful day.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, a fuck ton of angst, death, mentions of domestic abuse, slight fluff if you squint, grief and loss, reader ends her life (!!!!), suicidal ideation, mental health struggles, parental neglect, graphic descriptions, sort of a happy ending?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭, 3.7k !

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬, this is fully inspired by “hard times” by ethel cain. i’ve never written angst like this so please let me know if there needs to be any changes or anything. i really hope that this is somewhat good as it is very different from anything i’ve ever created. please read this at your own risk as it is quite graphic when it comes to someone dealing with grief. i love you all so much and your well-being is so very important so please take care of yourselves.

in the heart of nebraska, nestled among lush green fields and winding rivers, there was a small town—one that was often disregarded by civilization. the town’s isolation made it a haven for its people, a place where they felt safe and at home, sheltered from the chaos of the outside world. life here moved at a leisurely pace, marked by the changing seasons and the gentle flow of the river that wound through the landscape like a lifeline.

the townsfolk were a close-knit community, bound together by shared histories and traditions. they found comfort in their routines and the familiar faces that greeted them each day. to them, the world beyond the town was a distant, almost unreal place, and they took pride in their self-sufficiency and the quiet resilience that defined their lives.

matthew sturniolo had lived in this town all his life. the fields and rivers were as much a part of him as the memories he held of his childhood and its people. and although matt knew that this town was as much his as it was anyone else’s, he couldn’t shake the feeling of not truly belonging—at least not belonging like his brothers did. for his brothers, the familiarity was a sense of comfort, a security blanket they had wrapped themselves in since birth. the town had given them everything they needed, a predictable path laid out before them, and for them, that brought solace. but for matt, it felt suffocating, like a script he was expected to follow without any lines of his own.

being the black sheep of the town would feel isolating for anyone but not for matt, at least not when he had you.

you were the preacher’s daughter, a spirited and gentle soul, affectionately dubbed a fawn by those who saw your wide-eyed wonder and felt your heart, as pure as untouched snow, embodying the innocence of the forest itself.

it puzzled many why such a pure, free-spirited girl, almost like a porcelain doll, would choose to befriend the solitary soul in town, known for his perpetually sour expression and quiet demeanor. and yet it seemed as though the two of you were physically sewn together. where you went, he followed.

the two of you had a mutual understanding. When it came to your lives and dreams, it felt as though you were one. unlike everyone else in this town, you both dreamt of having more—of being more.

"i want to explore the world, matt," you would exclaim through a mouthful of cherries, the two of you sitting on the wooded dock near his house, the view of the river you both adored in front of you. there you would sit, talking about your aspirations and dreams until the sun had gone to sleep and the sky had welcomed the moon and its freckled stars.

matt was never one to express his feelings, never feeling satisfied with the phrases he'd use, so he settled with writing them. he filled the pages of his journal with endless words, some he'd picked up through books. everything he felt was between his pen and paper. you noticed his habit straight away, seeing him scribble through his journal endlessly with no regard for the world around him. it blew you away, the way he would be so focused on whatever he was writing. whether you both sat in the far end of the church listening to your dad preach about whatever it was that he preached, matt was still in his own world with words floating through him. you wanted to be a part of that world too, and that was when your brilliant idea of writing letters to each other became a thing. writing endless letters to one another each night and making sure that they’d be in the other's mailbox each morning.

yet, despite the joy their bond brought him, there was an unknown darkness that shadowed your life... one unbeknownst to matt, to your town. your father, the town’s revered preacher, was a man of harsh discipline and cold heartlessness. he ruled his household with an iron fist, his wrath hidden behind a mask of piety.

the townspeople saw you as the epitome of innocence, their sacred fawn, unaware of the bruises and scars that marred your body and soul. they could not see the fear that lingered in your eyes or the pain that haunted your every step. you carried the burden in silence, suffering a secret kept hidden from the world.

matt saw you as the girl that you wanted to be, the girl who freely ran chasing the flying butterflies through the forest, hair still damp from swimming just moments before. the girl who said every and all things that went through her mind, never needing a pen to help her feel. it brought you solace, knowing that someone in the world saw you for who you were and not who they painted you to be. in reality though, you felt like the priest's favorite sacrificial lamb. docile and sweet, not daring to mutter even so much as a sound unless spoken to. holding still and letting yourself be the victim of everyone’s wrath. you’d never tell matt about any of it though, wanting him to keep being your solace. not ever wanting your dynamic to change.

matt suspected something, though, noticing the way the letters you wrote were sometimes incomplete, like you’d written more than what you let on. the scribbled-over words as if whatever was underneath that scribble was poignant to whatever you couldn’t say. the fact that you’d wear long sleeves in the beaming hot summer air. the random bruises he’d ask about during your morning swims that you’d brush off as an accident. he had a gut feeling that something was wrong, but he’d never have the courage to do anything more than suspect, afraid of losing the one person in this world who noticed him.

he remembered that day like no other, the way that he was woken up by your body landing on top of him. feeling the heat of your body on top of his as you caressed his waves out of his face and murmured to him about the day you had planned.

“i already have everything ready; you just need to get up and get ready.” you whispered as he felt your legs intertwining with his body. he stood up, you still being wrapped around him as you peppered his face with light kisses. giggling at his tired eyes before he set you down on the ground, letting you be as he got ready.

that morning, he had forgotten to read his letter because you had rushed him out of his home. leading him to the town’s farmers market to start off your day. such a small action that he normally would have never thought twice about, but he didn’t know this would have been your last letter.

though you both shared an unspoken bond, sharing your deepest thoughts and feeling understood, matt still felt as though you were an unfinished puzzle, never feeling like he had every piece that he needed to know and see all of you. he noticed the look you’d have as your dad, the preacher, held his sermons. a look he couldn’t quite distinguish, one where it felt like you were in another world, far from everyone. he always wanted to ask you about it, but it scared him to sacrifice the one relationship that he treasured the most.

today, as you were dragging him around the town, adorning his favorite smile on your face, he could feel you being in that sacred world he never had the chance of knowing. the longing gazes in between the books you’d both inspect in the town's bookstore. the dread you seemed to face the longer the day passed, the expression he still to this day couldn’t erase from his mind whenever you’d lose him in your eyesight.

“you okay, angel?” matt had asked you. the two of you were walking towards the river you both loved so much. he looked at you with concern in his eyes as he carried the tote bag you had taken with you before your adventures.

“yeah, I’m okay,” you whispered, smiling at him as you both settled your things on the dock. matt was getting ready to further question you, not being satisfied with your answer. that is until you ran and dived into the deep horizon, and he followed suit.

“i could stay here with you forever,” you heard matt mumble. your hands were intertwined with matt’s, the two of you letting the current swish you away. the setting sun gave you both a bit of warmth as you floated in the body of water. you felt safe, at home even. you’d never felt that way before; the words 'safe' and 'home' never coexisted for you. you felt your eyes roll to the back of your head whenever anyone would mention going “home.” that word was a safe word, not one that you’d ever think to use when describing your house. but with matt, you felt at home. he was safe, he was home. and as you floated among the river, with your hands intertwined, staring at the sun that was getting ready to sleep, you couldn’t help but tearfully mumble those three words that you’d dare utter to anyone ever... that is, until now.

“i love you.” you whispered, ever so gently, almost as if saying it too loudly would damage or change the moment. “so, so much,” you continued as you felt yourself blinking away the tears. matt detached himself from your once intertwined hands, swimming up to you so he could hold your body, your face. you felt his ocean-blue eyes burn into your face as he tried to get you to stare at him, but you were stubborn and you hated being this vulnerable in front of anyone, even if matt wasn’t just anyone. he couldn’t take any more of it, so gently he lifted your head up by your chin and took hold of your face once he felt your head go back into staring at the moving water.

“hey, hey, look at me,” he said once he felt your gaze distancing itself from him. “i love you too, forever and always.” he whispered as his eyes stared intensely at yours. in that moment, you swear you felt infinite. it was you and matt against the world, forever and always.

the night ended with matt getting a call from his mom, telling him that his dinner was ready. you, of course, were invited, but for the first time in what felt like ages, you declined, telling him that you weren’t hungry and just wanted to sit on the dock for a little longer. matt kissed you goodnight, making sure repeatedly that you were certain not to come over to his, and when you finally heard him walk away, you decided that you were ready.

as the last rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the tranquil town, you sat quietly on the dock, the wooden planks cool beneath you. the day had been filled with laughter and moments of sheer joy, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. the stillness of the evening offered a rare moment of clarity, a moment to reflect on the secrets you had kept hidden for so long.

you looked out over the river, its surface shimmering in the fading light, and felt a profound sense of peace wash over you. the water, so often a symbol of freedom and escape in your dreams, now seemed to call to you, promising release from the pain that had become your constant companion. you sighed, a soft, resigned sound, knowing that your journey was nearing its end.

the only sound that could be heard was the gentle lapping of the water against the dock, a serene melody that seemed to echo the ache in your heart. the air was cool, the night filled with the soft sounds of nature. as you reached the water's edge, you paused, the stillness of the moment settling over you like a shroud. the moon cast a pale light across the lake, turning the water into a mirror that reflected the stars above.

with a deep breath, you stepped into the water, the cold biting at your skin but doing little to deter you. each step took you further from the shore, the water rising around you, embracing you like an old friend. you felt a sense of release, a weightlifting from your shoulders as you waded deeper into the lake.

you closed your eyes, the water now up to your chest, and let the tranquility of the moment seep into your bones. the pain, the fear, the secrets—they all seemed to melt away, leaving behind a profound sense of peace. as you took your final steps, the water enveloped you completely, a gentle caress that promised freedom from the torment you had endured.

you let go, surrendering to the pull of the water, your last breath escaping in a silent prayer for peace. the lake, now a sanctuary, cradled you in its depths, a final resting place for a life that had been lived in shadows.

the following morning, the tranquility of the town was shattered by a scream that echoed through the streets. your lifeless body was found by the river, a haunting reminder of the secrets that had been kept hidden for too long. the townspeople, who had known you as the preacher's innocent daughter, were plunged into shock and grief. they gathered in hushed groups, their faces pale with disbelief, struggling to comprehend the depth of your suffering.

news of your death spread quickly, casting a dark cloud over the town. the people who had once seen you as a symbol of purity and grace now mourned the loss of a young life cut tragically short. the river, once a place of joy and dreams, had become a somber reminder of the fragility of life.

matt was among the last to learn of your fate, his world collapsing around him as he heard the news. the shock of your death left him reeling, his heart aching with an unbearable sense of loss. he replayed your final moments together in his mind, each memory now tinged with a sorrow that cut deep.

guilt gnawed at him, a relentless torment that he couldn’t escape. he blamed himself for not seeing the signs, for not understanding the pain that you had been hiding. the letters you had exchanged now felt like cruel reminders of what he had failed to protect you from. he spent hours by the river, staring into the water that had claimed you, searching for answers in its depths.

it wasn’t until a few days later that he found your final letter, tucked away in his mailbox, a testament to the bond you had shared. as he opened it, his hands trembled, tears blurring his vision. the words you had written were filled with love and sorrow, a poignant farewell that spoke to the depth of your feelings. you had written of the dreams you had shared, the moments of joy that had brought light to your life, and the pain that had driven you to your final act.

reading your letter, matt felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness. your words were a window into a world of pain that he had never truly seen, a world that you had hidden from everyone, even him. the letter was a heartbreaking reminder of the love you had shared and the life that had been lost too soon. it deepened his grief, leaving him with a sense of profound loss that he knew he would carry with him forever.

it had been years since that day, the day matt couldn't seem to escape. his soul was tethered to a memory he wished would leave his mind. wherever matt went, you were there, somehow always connecting back to his life. he couldn’t live, breathe, or exist without your memory being etched everywhere in his mind. the pain was unbearable, unimaginable.

the town had moved on in its way. everyone still felt a sense of loss whenever they’d stare at the lake or pass by the now rundown church. it hurt, but life continued to move, and people had to accept that the world didn't stop spinning. it angered matt. why could they move on but he wasn’t capable of it? how could they pretend that what happened didn’t happen? how were they able to breathe without thinking about the girl who wasn’t able to anymore?

he used to be able to live, to enjoy the wind brushing through his waves, the water moving at its own pace, and the laughter of the townspeople without feeling a sense of anger. he used to be able to be a person.

he tried to move on, to find a semblance of normalcy in the small town that had once been his sanctuary. yet, everywhere he went, your memory followed him like a shadow. the fields, the river, even the old dock where you had shared your dreams—all of it was a constant reminder of what he had lost. matt felt trapped in the past, unable to escape the grip of his sorrow.

it haunted him, knowing that all he ever wanted was to be like you. what did that say about him? you were the embodiment of freedom, in his youth and now you’re dead, in the river now filled with sorrow. he felt as though he was physically tied to you, the dead girl, the one who gave up. he wanted to be like you, and now he was terrified of ever becoming you, of succumbing to the same despair that had driven you to the river.

it hurt, so, so much.

he hated to admit it, but in a way, he resented you. he felt an unimaginable amount of anger towards you, himself, and everyone that had ever been near you. how couldn’t they have known? how couldn’t he have known? and why couldn’t you have told him? why didn’t he push? he knew something was wrong, but he would have rather lived in complete ignorance and bliss than ever confront you. he hated himself; he was a coward, and now he lost the one person he never wanted to lose.

he was exhausted. his only way to ever make sense of his feelings was through writing, but that alone was another thread connected to you. he couldn’t even find solace in his writing, and yet he continued to write, getting used to the sting of you consuming his everything.

and so he wrote, about a life where you were still here. a life where you could still be in love, where you had traveled the world and settled in northern italy. where you got to be writers and eventually parents. where he was able to touch you, kiss you, and love you.

his writing was the only place where you weren’t consumed by your death. it was the only place where he didn’t see you blue and lifeless, the only place he was able to stop picturing you as the dead girl that you had become. his dreams weren’t even safe, so he settled in the pages of his notebooks.

matt was never one to have nightmares, at least not in the past. now his sleeps were restless, noting that every time he would close his eyes, he would be encountered by your dead and soulless eyes. he got used to it, the bloodshot eyes and sleepless nights. though, he was never able to get used to you being gone.

matt sought closure in every corner of his life. he spoke with old friends and family, trying to piece together the fragments of the past, to understand why you had left him. conversations with those who had known you only deepened his sense of loss, as he realized how little they had understood your pain. the more he searched for answers, the more elusive they seemed to become.

one evening, driven by an overwhelming need for closure, matt found himself laying under the leaves, exhausted. with a heavy heart, he decided to write you one last letter. he poured out his feelings, the pain, the love, and the resentment, onto the paper. he wrote about his fears, his longing for you, and his desperate need for closure. each word felt like a release, a way to unburden his soul.

and with tear-stained cheeks, he picked up his empty coke bottle, folded his letter neatly into the glass bottle, and sealed it tightly, a symbolic gesture of his longing for closure.

matt found himself walking towards the lake, bottle in hand. the same lake where you had ended your life, where you had shared your last moments together. as he stood at the water’s edge, memories flooded back—your laughter, your dreams, the way you had looked at him that final day. the pain of your loss was almost unbearable, but he knew he had to confront it if he ever hoped to move forward.

as he stood by the river, the place where your life had ended, he felt a mix of emotions—sorrow, anger, love, and a faint glimmer of hope. he threw the bottle into the water, watching as it drifted away, carrying his words into the depths. for matt, the memory of the preacher’s daughter would always be a part of him. he would forever be tied to you, his heart marked by the loss of a love that had been both his greatest joy and deepest sorrow. and though he might never find the closure he sought, the act of letting go, even if only symbolically, was a step toward healing.

as the bottle drifted out of sight, matt took a deep breath and turned away from the river, ready to face whatever the future might hold, his heart still aching but a little lighter than before.

ᨳུ⠀ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭. @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @flouvela @l34n to be added click here

my inbox is always open !!! pls feed it some content 🪽🎀 likes, comments & reblogs are highly appreciated.

[kaiser1ns]

#. DIOSA FROM ORQUÍDEAS ꕥ @17020'S EVENT !

featuring 𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 ıllı. umemiya hajime, togame jo, endo yamato

fluff. a celebration of self-love, empowerment, and confidence. he's always by your side, as if he's in a trance, spoiling you and always having you on his mind. he is more than willing to worship you like the goddess that you are.

i want to give my special thanks to the person to whom all this is due. amor, thank you for the wonderful opportunity, thank you for being such an amazing person, a real goddess! i hope you and everyone else, writing and reading, will enjoy the orquídeas shared with our favourites ♡

UMEMIYA HAJIME

The world could crumble, and the stars could fall from the sky, yet Umemiya Hajime would remain on his feet with a smile on his face and a bouquet in his hand. He'd walk through fire for you, dive into the deepest depths of the ocean, conquer every mountain, plant every seed, just to see his love grow and grow more for you. His eyes will never lose that warm flame, that spark, that burns only for you. You feel it in every glance, every whispered word and every touch. It's almost overwhelming, the intensity of his adoration, but you revel in it. You bask in the warmth of his affection, knowing that you are the center of his universe.

Hajime knows you better than you know yourself. He has memorized the way your eyes light up when you talk about your dreams and the subtle change in your voice when you speak of things that matter most to you. He knows what brings a smile to your face—a particular song, the scent of your favorite flowers, the quiet moments shared in the garden of Eden. He also understands what brings tears to your eyes, the memories that haunt you, and the fears that sometimes creep into your heart. But most importantly, he knows what makes you feel loved, cherished, and adored.

It might be daunting for some, the way he is always attuned to your every need, but for you, it's a comfort. You find joy in his attentiveness, in the way he anticipates your desires before you even voice them. His friends often tease him about how he spends all his time thinking of you, and how he seems to have little room for anything else in his life. But you find it amusing, a proof of the depth of his feelings. They don't understand the bond you share, the unspoken connection that ties your souls together.

You are used to getting what you want. The universe seems to have a way of bending to your will, of aligning itself with your desires. And in Umemiya Hajime, the universe has given you the greatest gift of all. He is the embodiment of love, the very essence of devotion. To you, he is more than a man; he is a force of nature, a manifestation of your deepest dreams and wishes.

Hajime treats you like a goddess, showering you with the kind of love that poets write about and artists strive to capture in their work. You see it in his eyes, a reverence that makes you feel like the most precious being in existence. He is your most fervent admirer. And you, in turn, are his goddess of love, the divine presence that completes him, inspires him and fuels his every action.

“You deserve the world, and I will spend my life giving it to you.”

You've faced heartache and pain in your life, moments that have left scars on your heart. But he has shown you what true love is. He has healed those wounds with his unwavering care, replacing sorrow with joy, and fear with security. With him, you feel safe, cherished, and above all, loved. His love is a salve, a gentle touch that soothes and mends, making you whole again.

Your belief in the law of attraction has never been stronger. You understand now that confidence and a strong sense of self can indeed bring about the desires of your heart. Hajime is living proof of this. With him, you feel empowered, as if the universe itself is conspiring to make your every dream come true.

Every moment with him is a treasure, a precious gem that you hold close to your heart. His love is a melody, a sweet, lingering tune that plays in the background of your life, making everything more beautiful, and more vibrant. You savor the way he looks at you, the way he holds you, the way he whispers your name with such tenderness. It's as if he has unlocked a part of you that you never knew existed, a part that is capable of experiencing the kind of love that transcends time and space.

As you rest your head against his chest, you think about how fortunate you are and how the universe, in its infinite wisdom, has brought you together, intertwining your fates in a dance of love and devotion. And as you gaze into Hajime's eyes, you know with absolute certainty that this is where you are meant to be — you have found your soulmate, your partner, your forever.

TOGAME JO

In his presence, you feel like you're dancing on clouds, weightless and free. The worries of the world dissolve as he takes your hand, pulling you closer. You gaze into his eyes, finding yourself reflected in their depths, and you know that he holds your heart in his hands.

Togame Jo’s love is like a long, beautiful dream, one that you never want to wake from. He tried to play it cool at first, but your presence ignites something within him. You’re so hot, so captivating, that he melts the moment he lays eyes on you. His smile, once reserved and composed, now breaks free with a joy that matches the intensity of his feelings.

You feel his heartbeat in the silence, a steady, rhythmic pulse that syncs with your own. The room fades away, leaving just the two of you in a moment of pure bliss. His wish was granted the moment he found you; the goddess he dreamt of is now in his arms, granting him the greatest gift of all – your love.

He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. You close your eyes, savoring the sensation, knowing that nothing can stop this. Nothing could keep you apart. He’s giving you his best, his all, and you accept it with open arms. The goddess within you recognizes his devotion, his unwavering commitment. It’s the least you can do to bless him with your fondness, to hold him close and never let go.

"Look into my heart, you’ll find only love there, love for you."

You know he speaks the truth. His love is evident in every gesture, every touch. There’s no need for him to prove himself, for the sincerity in his eyes says it all. The world seems to pause when he wraps his arms around you, holding you as if to shield you from anything that might come between you.

It wasn’t mere chance that you were brought together. The universe had a hand in it, orchestrating your meeting long before you were even aware. Destiny had plans for the two of you, plans that have unfolded beautifully, leading you to this moment. You, the lonely goddess, have found your true companion in Togame, a man who cherishes you beyond measure.

Heaven itself seems to be smiling down on you, as if acknowledging the perfection of your union. You fell from the stars, and he has caught you every single time, never letting you slip away. The temptation to love and be loved by him is irresistible, a sweet promise of happiness that neither of you can deny. You are captivated by the way he loves you, with a devotion that feels both ancient and new, as if you are discovering each other all over again with every shared moment.

In his heart, there is only purness and awe for the goddess who chose him, the one who made him feel and do things in ways he never thought possible. His entire world revolves around this precious connection, a love that feels as eternal as the stars. As he holds you close, he silently thanks the universe for granting him this unparalleled blessing, knowing that every moment with you is like falling in love all over again.

ENDO YAMATO

Endo Yamato’s eyes always seem to find you first. The moment you step into a room, it’s as if the rest of the world fades away, leaving only the two of you. His gaze is intense yet tender, a silent vow that he’s yours—body, mind, and soul. He doesn’t need to say it; it’s an unspoken truth that’s engraved into every touch, every look, every breath you share.

From the very first moment he met you, he knew his life had changed forever. Before you, everything was simple, predictable, almost painfully dull. He was a prodigy, praised and admired by everyone around him. He excelled in everything he did—whether it was academics or sports—leaving people in awe of his talents. But that admiration felt hollow, devoid of any true emotion. He lived his life on autopilot, going through the motions because that’s what was expected of him. He never understood what it meant to feel until you came into his life.

You were different. You didn’t look at him with the same awe-struck eyes that everyone else did. You saw him as an equal, a person with strengths and flaws, not just a prodigy on a pedestal. And when you smiled at him, it wasn’t because of his accomplishments, but because you saw something in him that no one else did. You saw the real Yamato, the one who had never truly been loved for who he was.

It was at that moment, when you reached out to him, that he realized what he had been missing all his life. Love. True, deep, consuming love. And now, he can’t imagine a life without you. He doesn’t want to. You are his muse, his guiding star, the one who painted his world with colors he never knew existed. 

“ I have fallen for you and I’ll never stop loving you. Not in this life, not in the next.”

Yamato is utterly devoted to you, in a way that transcends mere affection. It’s as if he’s in a trance, completely enchanted by you. He follows you with an almost reverent devotion, always by your side, always ready to do whatever it takes to make you happy. You’re his queen, his goddess, and he’s more than willing to worship you as such. Every glance from you is a command, every smile a reward he strives to earn over and over again.

He never hesitates to spoil you, to shower you with affection and gifts, to do whatever it takes to see that smile on your face. He lives for your happiness, and when you’re pleased, it feels like the world is exactly as it should be. They say you must have enchanted him, that there’s something otherworldly about the way he adores you. But you know the truth. It’s love, pure and simple, a love so deep that it has reshaped his very soul.

And in return, you adore him just as fiercely. You love the way he looks at you as if you’re the center of his universe. You love the way he always knows exactly what you need, what you want. You love how he’s always there, he is someone you can always rely on. With him, you feel cherished, and treasured, as if you are the most important person in the world. And in his eyes, you are.

You can see how he’s grown, how he’s learned to love, to care, to feel, all because of you. You’ve opened his heart, and now it beats only for you. He’s like a butterfly, drawn irresistibly to your sweet scent, caught in the web of your love, and he doesn’t want to escape. He’s fallen for you, completely and irrevocably, and he couldn’t be happier.

He believes he was born to worship you, to be by your side, to love you with everything he has. And you, in turn, have learned to accept his devotion, to revel in it, because you know it’s what you deserve. You are his queen, his goddess, and he will spend the rest of his life proving that he is worthy of you. You are his everything, and he is yours.

It’s not about ego, or power, or control. It’s about love, a love that is deep and true, a love that binds you together in a way that nothing else can. You feel him shudder slightly in your arms, as you pull back just enough to look into his eyes and see tears welling up, but then he relaxes, the tension easing as he lets himself be vulnerable with you. He cries, not out of sadness, but out of pure, unadulterated joy. Еach tear is real, showing how it flows into the deepest oceans of his devotedness, which overflows into the waters of true love.

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work

[worldseer]

Unpopular JJK opinion.

If I die in flames for this, I may as well die standing. Fanon Toji is just wrong. Like- that's not him.

Walk with me-

First and foremost to remind y'all:

Toji was abused for much of his life growing up, and likely never recovered from that

Mamaguro is the first and only woman he loved, the one who changed him and made him better. His habit afterwards and likely before was to just go from rich woman to rich woman to get money. It's unsaid if he had relationships with them, but it's more likely he just did jobs for them in between assignments.

He has a gambling addiction, likely because it gave him a sense of choice and control over things in his life. He wanted to feel like he could win at something, if not at being loved and revered by the Zenins. He is not addicted to money itself, or frugal about things.

While not THE BEST father, he only wanted to have Megumi given to the Zenin Clan because he believed he would be treated better and thrive there. Living in luxury and adored for your cursed technique is better than living with a non-sorcerer who struggles to keep money. Hell Megumi is NAMED Megumi because he's a blessing.

Now that that is out of the way, here is the unpopular opinion part. TOJI IS NOT THE LOVER YOU ALL WRITE HIM TO BE! HE'S NOT SOME KINKY DADDY WHO WILL DEGRADE AND BULLY YOU OR STEAL YOUR MONEY. And now I will explain why- 1. By example of Mamaguro, Toji notably softened and let go of bad habits. Yes, including his assassin job and gambling (so no worries about him stealing money). If in fanfic we're writing that he loves you, then yeah, he's gonna be a sarcastic sweetheart. Probably teases you a lot, but still cares and makes effort to show it.

2. As a man who worked a job as a literal assassin, I highly doubt he would want to ever be rough in intimate settings. He wants to keep the violent sides of himself as FAR AS POSSIBLE away from those he loves. So no rough kinky stuff, sorry. He's not gonna consistently degrade you or leave rough marks and bruises from grabbing and tossing you around in bed. He wants you safe, and not to see the man he was before.

3. As a man who was abused, he will likely be polarizing at times. Sometimes he avoids touch, and other times he's all over you asking for attention. He will want comfort, care, and gentle touches. Like the biggest lap dog you've ever seen. Please just compliment him, kiss him and hold him, he needs the reassurance. Or give him his space, and let him be but don't forget to offer something to cheer him up (like meat and offal).

4. He can be VERY bitter, but not overly angry. We know he still has a deep grudge against the Zenin clan and jujutsu society as a whole. It wouldn't be uncommon to see him possibly seething and stewing in silence, or hold more grudges. That being said, they likely wouldn't be held against you (if he loves you). He's cool and level-headed, and rarely lets emotion get the better of him (save for combat).

Thanks for coming to my TED talk, I care too much about characters.

[m00nsbaby]

Asking for help with your makeup.

Moon system x reader. - headcanons.

Steven.

You had done it for fun, asking him to do your makeup like those old YouTube videos that trended a few years ago.

He didn't hesitate at all, Steven got to work.

But first, he put on his adorable reading glasses.

You discovered he bit his tongue when he was too concentrated, and you just wanted to kiss him.

In the end, it was a bigger challenge for you than for him.

"Oh Gods, look at that." He whispered to himself as he used his finger to correct the mistake on the edge of the blue eyeliner he had applied.

Contrary to what you thought, he chose vibrant colors.

Turns out Steven wanted to try every interesting thing he found in your makeup kit.

"Can you…?" "Mhmm?" "Can you do... like Gus, with your cheeks?"

It wasn't fair that a man could be this adorable, asking you to suck in your cheeks so he could apply bronzer.

"What is this glittery thingy for?" "Highlighter, like the ones you use for your books."

He wasn't too thrilled about using his fingers with your makeup, he immediately wiped them on some surface.

And his hand trembled when he applied a touch of highlighter to the inner corner of your eyes.

Usually, you were the one who made Steven nervous, but at this moment, his brown eyes were so focused on you that you were almost trembling.

So close to asking him to forget everything and kiss you until both of you were tired.

"Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink." He held the mascara wand as you obeyed, until he was satisfied with the amount on your lashes.

No one had ever looked at you with such admiration before.

"Finished?"

Still, he didn't seem satisfied.

"What's missing?" Your voice came out curious, playful. Like you would talk to a child who can't quite express what they need. "I don't know, love."

He just kept looking at you. And your brain worked in seconds.

His eyes lit up when you showed him a palette consisting solely of glitter. In different colors and sizes.

Three gentle taps on each of your cheeks with the glitter, and now you saw him nod, content with his masterpiece.

"Done! How did I do?" He was just so… excited.

You weren't going to burst his bubble by telling him that the look screamed 'I'm drunk at Coachella,' so you smiled. Almost as excited as he was.

"It's perfect, Steven."

Little did you know, you had just triggered this to become a constant activity.

You had so many colors for him to try, and you couldn't refuse if he looked at you that way.

Marc.

Marc was… rough.

Like every second of his life, he had a furrowed brow as he worked on you, and at every moment, he reminded you that you had asked for this.

"You're taking hours." "Rome wasn't built in a day." "And now you're talking like Steven."

He rolled his eyes for the fifth time within a span of 2 hours.

"Lift your face." That request also repeated more than you would have liked.

And his hands could be coarse, but his touches were so gentle that your eyes had started to close a few minutes ago.

He wasn't going to say it, but this almost felt therapeutic.

There was something stupidly relaxing about choosing what he liked without anyone else interfering, not even those little voices in his mind.

No one could judge him for his choice of neutral colors.

You, on the other hand, as relaxed as you felt, had a racing heart.

Turns out Marc and Jake are probably the most stubborn people you know, so neither of them accepts that their body needs glasses outside of Steven.

As a result, he had to be closer to you to focus his gaze on what he was doing.

His warm, minty breath gave you goosebumps.

Did Marc have to be attractive in everything he did?

Your train of thought slowly started to drift away from the situation.

"I told you…" His hand firmly positioned itself under your chin and forced you to lift your head to look at him. "To lift your face."

You swallowed hard.

And you weren't sure if he noticed that you were about to melt on the edge of the bed where both of you were seated.

Stupid Marc Spector, he was the love of your life.

His hand stayed on your chin, his gaze fixed on you until he finally finished.

"Well?"

Finally, that beautiful smile.

"Beautiful. As always."

It didn't surprise you that he had done such a good job. Your boyfriend didn't like to make mistakes, and if he had to do a meticulous job on your face to confirm that he was talented in absolutely everything, he would.

You blushed, needless to say.

And he rewarded your hours of staying still with a chaste kiss on the lips.

"Did you like it?" "I loved it."

And his satisfied expression grew.

Jake.

Jake always organized the best dates.

Even though the looks were starting to wear you out, going out with him always meant something a bit out of the ordinary from the casual you usually wore.

"Jake?" He nearly stumbled as his eyes fixed on you.

You never ceased to surprise him.

"Sí, amor?" "Which one do you prefer?" You showed him two lipstick tubes, one red and the other nude.

He couldn't even look at anything other than you.

"Red." "Got it."

When you turned to the mirror to finish your makeup, you saw him walking slowly behind you.

It was hard to decipher Jake's intentions when he always had that mischievous smile on his lips.

You knew he wanted your attention when he placed a hand on your waist.

"Let me help you, mami."

Ugh.

You couldn't tell him no.

His index finger lifted your chin, and you could already feel the heat rising through your body, settling in your cheeks.

You analyzed his features up close. You would never tire of looking at him, that was for sure.

You handed him the already capless lipstick, and he focused all his attention on your lips.

"Open wide for me." His teasing and flirtatious tone always pushed you to the edge.

You rolled your eyes but obeyed, as always. You parted your lips for him.

He was so… delicate.

No one knew better than Jake how to drive you crazy.

"Stay still, mami." You were going to melt. You were going to die right there in his arms.

When he was done, he used his thumb to clean the edges of your lips, wiping away his nonexistent mistakes from your skin. It had turned out so well that you could safely say there was nothing to clean up.

It didn't surprise you; he always touched you as if you were made of glass.

"Can you do me a favor?" He was done, but his forehead was resting against yours, his eyes fixed on you as you tried to find the right words in your throat.

He stole your breath, quite literally. So you could only nod.

"Give me a kiss, babe."

You understood his request as he tilted his head to the side, giving you space to choose.

You left two kisses. One on his jawline, another on his white shirt collar. Both marks were perfectly formed and in a bright red shade.

Jake was satisfied with your work, and with his own.

He considered it a good way for you to mark him as yours, although he later discovered a much better way when your lips were marked all over his body, leaving not a single inch of his skin untouched by your red-stained kisses.

[gemini-sensei]

Oh Baby! | Jaime Reyes x Chubby!Reader

Fem!Reader ○ Fluff Headcanons

@sensei-venus this deserved its own post 💖✨️ Hope you enjoy it. Also, I could definitely do more of dad!Jaime if anyone wants that.

💙 When Jaime and Reader talk about having kids, there's no rush. No matter what his family may say or tease him with, he wants to be ready for a baby. Given his position as a superhero, he needs to have a plan. Needless to say, he was not ready and none of this was planned.

💙 Naturally, Khaji Da knows about Reader becoming pregnant before even she knows. At first, it keeps the idea to itself, gathering more scans over a few weeks before sharing its findings with Jaime.

💙 As soon as it tells him, he doesn't believe it. He's not ready, so he doesn't want to believe it, but as soon as Khaji starts listing things off, including Reader's changing vitals among other evidence. At this point, it's literally like 4 or 5 weeks into the pregnancy, so Reader has no idea - not even an inkling or feeling - of being pregnant.

💙 Jaime has no idea what to do with this information. Does he tell Reader? Does he wait for her to find out? He's truly at a loss and is not taking any "advice" from Khaji because it's the whole reason this is an issue. However, he ends up slipping up and telling Reader before he can even make up his mind.

💙 If you thought Khaji was protective of its host, it is even more protective of Jaime and Reader's unborn child simply because it knows that Jaime would be devastated if anything happened to them or to Reader. So Khaji is constantly wanting to be near Reader so that it can monitor her and the baby's vitals and well-being. Who needs doctors who went to medical school for several years when you have an alien weapon willing to do all that work for free?

💙 In all seriousness, though, Khaji Da would kill if anything happened to Reader and the baby (I mean, Jaime would too, damn his morals because that's the love of his life, the mother of his child, his whole world, I could go on). No one is touching a single hair on her body. Hell, no one is going to look at her the wrong way. Basically, it's on sight if anything bad happened to them.

💙 Jaime is so awestruck when his baby girl is born. She's so chubby and has the roundest cheeks he's ever seen. He's so in love with her and is hard-pressed to let anyone hold her other than himself and Reader.

💙 His family adores her. When they get to meet her, they are talking to her and telling her how she's so precious to them and how much they love her already. She gets held by everyone at least once, except Milagro who is hesitant to hold her because she's so brand new; she's an 11/10 tía though. She's definitely the kind of aunt that is like "You can tell me anything and I won't tell your parents."

💙 When alone, Jaime cries pure tears of joy because of his baby girl. He loves her so much but fears that somehow he's going to bring danger into her life and Reader's life. He gives his daughter lots of kisses and promises to protect her no matter what.

💙 His family stays with him and Reader for the first week or two at home, offering a helping hand when they can. His mom literally can't get enough of the little one, and she takes on a lot of the work so Reader can rest and recover from the birth.

💙 Jaime loves sitting in a comfy chair with his baby girl on his chest, fast asleep. He will not move because just looks so cute drooling on him.

💙 By the way, this baby has some thick, pretty curls that you know she got from her daddy. She's so pretty and Jaime's camera roll is soon full of nothing but pictures of her and Reader, though it was at one point just Reader. He always has to have some pictures of them both handy because he just loves them so much and they're beautiful.

💙 This is his first baby, but I promise that it won't be his last. He wants at least one more kid, but he sees himself having a big family.

[give-some-lemons]

Watching/playing in horror genre with Sylus

~first of all he’s a busy man and despite the fact that he likes horror genre, usually he just don’t have enough time for watching movies giving more preference to books. He’s favorite would definitely be Stephen King for that atmosphere in his artworks.

~he’s a kind of person that will chuckle or at least smile at characters deaths, especially if it’s a stupid one like stepped on “the most obvious trap he’s ever saw” and he’s more than glad if you’re same, discussing how dumb heroes are for coming up with those decisions.

~he secretly waits for scary moments cause he loves when you cling to him all tensed seeking for his protection and comfort when monster’s face appears on the screen with a loud scream. But if you’re a tough one, that cannot be affected so easily don’t worry, after some time you’ll find yourself in his arms pressed against strong chest anyway.

~he would be glad to watch all the screen adaptations of Stephen King’s novels, even if he doesn’t like any of it, telling how much better it was on the book pages, but he has favorites like “Carrie” and “It”.

~movies about serial killers is his top of most enjoyable ones, sympathizing Myers and Ghost Face and considering how society itself made a monsters out of them. And that is the reason why you often need to put it on pause for you two to meet in a debate battles on that topic.

~if we’re talking about games he’s not much of a player but of course he will do that with you cause obviously that’s what you’d like. It takes some time for you to explain him how to play but since he’s a “talented student” he’s very fast at learning.

~for the reason that not so much horror games are a multiplayer ones, you play in turns, even if at first he prefers watching you, taking his turn only in case if some moments are too scary for you but after not so long mostly you will be the one to just sit, often giving him advice.

~I feel like this man would like “Resident evil 7” and first parts of this franchise, cause the atmosphere in some places there would keep him all in tense, plus he seems to really like the idea of Umbrella, an evil company with their terrible experiments on human body and you already were regretting of giving him ideas for his next business.

~even though he loves to control everything he seems to enjoy games with an unpredictable jump-scares like “Layers of Fear” or “Mortuary Assistant” that can throw him off course for a couple of seconds. And it’s funny for you to watch how carefully and slowly he’s trying to turn back not to be taken by surprise after the last jump-scare.

~”Phasmophobia” is next on your list, a game that was terrifying for you first times you played it. But despite your expectations you almost always were the one to die first while your man just sat there holding a laugh, hidden in the closet like he never even entered the haunted house. Newcomers are lucky not to go out on the ghosts, I guess.

~not a secret that he adores the feeling when somebody’s life fully depends of his choice, no matter if that’s a real life or a game, that’s why he enjoys “Until Dawn” along with “Dark Anthology Pictures”. That thrill of power and control that he has over these virtual humans make you feel very sorry for them. And don’t even doubt, if he doesn’t like the character they will not make it until the end, at least alive.

~he likes horror games/movies with a deep meaning, you know the ones after which you usually sat on one place for some time reflecting on what you’ve just seen or played. At that point you and your partner are talking sharing your thoughts and considering all the ways how differently it could be if characters did this instead of that.

~he would love as well physiological thrillers like “The Shining” and “The Babadook”, movies where the story is told through the thoughts of psychologically stressed characters, revealing their distorted mental perception of the world and how what seemed like a nice, not remarkable at any point person goes all the way straight to insanity.

~not a big fan of a body horror, as he thinks that it’s the easiest way to impress people with just an image of blood and organs everywhere on the screen. As was said before, he appreciates people’s emotions and the atmosphere, that puts viewers or players in a primary terror.

[milliesfishes]

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓲𝓻𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

(requested)(@kayleigh--23 <3) [fem reader] contains: pregnancy angst, arranged marriage, pressure to become pregnant. pairing: young coriolanus snow x fem reader summary: You thought being married to Coriolanus Snow would be enough, but when there is pressure on the two of you to have a child, the events that follow are life changing. author’s note: Oh I do adore pregnancy angst. Another take on the arranged marriage trope, please enjoy! Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

"...an heir."

You could barely hear the words through the door. Your husband of one and a half years and an old Snow family friend, a man called Mr. Vesta, had disappeared into his study an hour ago and they hadn't allowed you in. It had sounded important, and you couldn't help it, you needed to know what it was. Especially after you'd heard your name mentioned more than once.

With one ear to the door, you'd caught bits and pieces of the conversation. None of it made sense in your mind, this new bit of information least of all.

Coriolanus Snow was the least objectionable option when it came to marriage. Not that you'd had a choice at all in the matter, but for your own peace of mind you pretended. You pretended it hadn't been a strategic political move on his part to marry someone from your family. You pretended Mr. Vesta wasn't overbearingly and old fashioned-ly invested in the image the two of you presented as a married couple.

The goal was to make him president. You knew that much. And Mr. Vesta, as well as having known Coriolanus his entire life, had experience in running for office. But you knew very little else. Politics in Panem were a mystery to you, and at times they could be archaic. At least, the things everyone wanted you to do were.

The dresses you had to wear, the people you were seen with, how you acted. Hell, the arranged marriage itself seemed that way to you. But this was how it was done. Your own mother had married your father for similar reasons, though her situation had nothing to do with politics, only social gain. Yours was both.

You went into the marriage with a positive attitude. This will be what you make of it, you'd been told. You figured if you walked in with a positive attitude and determination it would work out the best it could.

But then you met your husband to be.

He was handsome but cold. Charming but manipulative. Attentive at times but distant at most. Every good thing about him was punctuated by a flaw. He'd make a good politician, you'd noted.

The wedding was a blur of photographers and fed lines. He'd barely acknowledged you, and you knew every look, every touch was false. It cheapened the whole experience for you, and a resentment built up inside you.

At least after the wedding night he'd allowed separate bedrooms.

Maybe you'd have felt guilty about your feelings toward him if he'd shown any sign of fondness toward you. But he didn't. He ignored you most days, except when he needed your influence or your image or your body.

Which is why now, in the present, you hardly worried about the consequences of eavesdropping. If they were talking about you in there, you deserved to know.

"...bring her in..."

Forgetting your confidence, you scurried away as quietly as you could, returning to the sitting room, where you'd last been spotted by them. Picking up a book, you pretended to read until Mr. Vesta, an older man with a beard, came in and said that your presence was required in the study.

Ignoring the way he'd spoken to you in your own home, you followed him back through the study doors, nodding at everyone in the room before your eyes moved to your husband.

Coriolanus was sitting behind his desk, a look of discontentment on his face. What had they been talking about in here? You moved to his side automatically. He may have not been your number one pick, but he was the safest person in the room for you to stand by.

Putting your hand on the back of his chair, you looked between them. "What did you need from me?"

"We're here to discuss a proposition," Mr. Vesta said, looking entirely too comfortable. He nodded at your husband. "Snow?"

Coriolanus took in an almost frustrated breath and turned up to you. He held eye contact with you for a moment before speaking. "It has been suggested that we..." he inhaled through his nose. "...produce an heir."

You blinked in surprise, doing a double take. When you looked at the other man, you could see that this wasn't a joke. They were serious.

"...No," you said in disbelief, looking back at your husband. "This was never part of the arrangement."

"Things change," Mr. Vesta said, giving you a pointed look. "It is imperative that you produce an heir by the end of the year. A male heir."

That sentence was so offensive to you that you had to look away for a moment. When you gathered your manners back, you said, "Why is this suddenly so important? Isn't us being married enough?"

"Coriolanus is the last of the Snow name," Mr. Vesta said, seeming to think he was providing an explanation. "It would have to happen eventually. In the best interest of keeping the old family names around."

"I don't see how that serves your interests," you said stiffly, and Coriolanus grabbed your hand, squeezing it as a warning, the cool of his ring pressing into your skin.

"It was of the utmost importance to Crassus that I, specifically, see this through," the bearded man said in stern tones. "He hoped his son would be able to carry it out on his own-" he gave Coriolanus his own pointed look- "but since he has not, it was time for me to step in. Not to mention that having a son would increase political gains greatly. Seeing that an old family is still strong."

You were dazed. It all felt so ridiculous to you. Of all the things they'd made you do for this role, this had to be the worst. They were asking you to not just sleep with a man you hated, but to bear his child. And Coriolanus himself looked less than happy about it.

"Within the year," Mr. Vesta repeated, and he stood up. "Both your image and your obligations to your family depend on it." He nodded stiffly at you, then left. You never got the impression that Mr. Vesta was all that fond of you. He didn't see you as a person, more as a machine that broke now and then but was ultimately served its' purpose.

Once he was gone, you turned to Coriolanus, your expression horrified. "You're not seriously thinking about this are you?"

"We don't have a choice," he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

"Yes we do," you protested, kneeling by his chair, grasping the arm. You were trying to look him in the eye, but he was avoiding you. "We're already married. Your image is intact-"

"But my family isn't," he said sharply, turning suddenly to look at you. "You don't understand. I have a responsibility to continue the line and Vesta reminded me of that." He ran a hand through his hair frustratedly. "I apologize that I didn't disclose this before but it's not optional."

"Coriolanus-"

"You think I want to do this?" His voice was irritated, and he stood up suddenly. You did too, surprised.

"No, but-"

"We have to," he said angrily, pacing. "I don't want to do it either but there are no other options. I need Vesta's support, and unfortunately that comes with the wishes of my late father."

You were silent, tears pricking your eyes as you realized this was really going to have to happen. Scoffing in disbelief and trying to hide your emotion, you buried your face in your hands.

He sighed, and you heard him move closer to you, his polished shoes making a distinct sound on the hardwood floor. "Sweetheart...I'm sorry. I am. But you're my wife. You know that means fulfilling certain...obligations."

Coriolanus took your hands in his, removing them from your face. "We'll make the process as quick as possible, okay?"

When you nodded, there was a ghost of a smile on his face. "That's a good girl. The sooner you're pregnant the sooner it'll be over with."

It was terrifying how well Coriolanus knew himself.

The domineering persona he'd built up when entering the political game may as well have become him. It was a skill he'd honed- the art of pretend.

But every thorn had its flower.

You.

Before meeting you he had high hopes for marriage. He'd hoped you'd be tolerable to look at, decent in conversation, with half a brain. Someone who'd please him, but nothing more.

But you were far beyond that.

Upon your first meeting he knew he was doomed. You were extraordinarily beautiful, with a pretty laugh. And so clever. You'd discussed literature and art so naturally, easy as breathing. Within the first hour of knowing you he knew he could fall deeply, madly in love with you.

And therein laid the problem.

Love was not the goal. In fact, love strayed so far from the goal that it was almost the opposite. If Coriolanus fell in love with you, it would ruin him. His mind, his soul, his pursuits. He'd gone to Vesta afterward and asked if there was anyone else, anyone at all. Surely there was some other girl who was less...enticing, but still had good connections.

Vesta hadn't seen a problem with the arrangement. He'd chided Coriolanus for it. He had the most sought-after woman in the Capitol. Your social status would make him more favorable in the eyes of voters, as would seeing him in love. Seeing no other options, Coriolanus had agreed.

To marrying you, not being in love.

He'd endured the game, accompanying you to dinners and galas, and going through with the wedding, all the while keeping you at arm's length. Coriolanus resolved that the only way to keep himself from falling in love was distance. And distance he maintained.

Except for at public events, he avoided you. Occasionally, he'd beckon you to his bed, whenever he needed to relieve some stress or tension, but that was the extent of it. He couldn't help himself- you were just so perfect. And you were his wife after all.

No matter how he justified his actions, it still felt wrong.

With Vesta's newest demand Coriolanus felt his control over the situation slipping. The old man didn't know what he was asking of him. Honestly how could he have, but it was still frustrating. He was asking them to produce a child as casually as one would ask a favor.

The worst part was seeing how distraught you were over it. A bit of his heart had warmed at seeing how you'd come to stand by his side but it was squashed quickly by what he had to tell you.

An heir. And not just an heir, a son.

Coriolanus could have strangled Vesta. It was ridiculous how invested he was in such private affairs. But his father's old friend was experienced in an area he desperately needed help in: politics. So, he had no choice but to accept.

Seeing you on the verge of tears had nearly broken him. He allowed himself to comfort you, just a little, convincing himself that that was what any husband would do, even if he didn't love his wife, which Coriolanus certainly didn't.

You fell pregnant quickly, which he was thankful for. For his sake but surprisingly, more for yours.

Naturally, he kept close tabs on you while still trying to maintain the distance he'd determined was the best solution for the situation. Reports were delivered to him daily.

You were quiet most days, hardly speaking to anyone. He felt guilt over that. Vesta and their public relations team had determined that for the first bit of pregnancy it was best for the two of you to stay out of the spotlight. That meant you were hardly able to leave. And with his insistence on distance, well...it was inevitable that you'd be lonely.

As the months progressed, his reports contained more concerning information. You were losing weight at an alarming rate, becoming more drawn. The baby was doing exceptionally well thanks to the doctors he'd brought in. But you...you were suffering for it.

He saw evidence of this when he was standing at the window of his study one day, taking a pause from his work, when he saw you in the rose garden wandering amongst the blooms.

The reports had not done your condition justice. Even from the window on the third floor he could see how thin you were, even with your belly swelling.

Beautiful, he couldn't help thinking as he watched you. Even in your current state, you were glowing. He tossed a look over his shoulder at his papers, a mountain of work he suddenly did not feel like doing. then in a split-second decision, he abandoned his study and headed down the stairs, rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt.

Heading into the rose garden, he hesitated at the sight of you. You were bent slightly over a flower, lifting the rose to your nose. The corners of your lips turned up slightly as the fragrance hit you. Turning slightly, you caught sight of him, and straightened, your hand sliding over your belly immediately. "Coriolanus."

"Sweetheart," he greeted, stepping closer.

You looked a little puzzled. "Did you need something?"

He felt a little dazed, unsure really why he came out here. "No...I just..." Coriolanus was now less than a foot away from you. "I wanted to see how you were."

Your expression grew slightly more surprised, but you stayed graceful. "I see."

"Yes," he said, unable to stop looking at you.

Biting your lip, you looked to the side, fingers splayed out over your belly. "I'd have thought you'd gotten enough from your reports."

He blanked. "You know about those?"

"You aren't very discreet," you said, giving a tight smile. "Besides, I know you. You're nosy."

He sniffed a laugh at that. "It's hardly being nosy when it's concern for my wife."

Silence.

Your hand fell off your belly and you moved to examine another rose, a white one. "I didn't know you cared for my wellbeing."

He followed you, tracing your steps. "You're carrying my child, sweetheart."

"Not by either of our choice," you said softly. You reached over your belly to touch one of the rose petals on the outside of the flower. "It is an obligation."

"And yet here we are," he said, picking the rose. He snapped the stem, tucking it behind your ear, his hand sliding under your chin, lifting your eyes to his. "Making the best of our situation."

Your doe eyes as you looked up at him nearly melted his heart. Coriolanus wished he could paint a portrait of you as you were right now: belly round and full of his child, one of his family roses in your hair. You looked so utterly his.

"You haven't been well sweetheart," he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek. "Even if I wasn't getting reports-"

"I'm fine. As fine as I can be," you said quietly, trying to avoid his eyes. "Growing a child is taxing, believe it or not."

"This is different." Coriolanus took your hand, which hung limply in his. "I worry about you."

"There is no need for it." You walked over to a stone bench, sitting with both your hands beside you. Your dress fell over your belly in such a way that your knees were not visible. The little detail made you all the more endearing to him.

"Darling." Coriolanus sat beside you, taking your hand once again. "I know this is hardly ideal, but I need you to try."

"What on earth do you think I have been doing?" you asked, looking up at him.

"You're fading," he said simply.

Taking in a breath, you turned slightly to face him. "I'm doing the best I can. I'm pregnant, you'll have your boy. There is nothing more to ask of me."

"Part of that obligation is taking care of yourself," he said, looking you straight in the eye.

"Am I not doing enough?" you exhaled softly. "I don't know why you're so concerned. You've ignored me for the brunt of our marriage. You do not seem to feel any affection for me. I don't see why you should care."

"You know exactly why I care," he insisted, his tone growing frustrated. "I cannot watch you wither away into nothing."

He stood up, holding out his hand. "When is the last time you ate?"

You bit your lip, casting your eyes to the side as you thought. "This morning."

It was nearly the evening. "Come. Let's find something."

"Coriolanus," you said exasperatedly.

"Sweetheart," he said earnestly back, extending his hand further. Even though he wanted to stay distant, there was a protective urge festering inside him, one he couldn't ignore like he'd done in the past.

You pursed your lips for a moment, then seemed to decide something. Taking his hand, you carefully stood up and let him lead you back up to the house.

As he found you something to eat, he thought of his earlier promise to himself not to let himself fall for you. He knew deep down that you had the potential to entrance him, make him adore you. Despite his aversion to this trait of yours, he knew he couldn't keep you at arm's length any longer. Not when your health was on the line.

Perhaps he could resist but stay close.

Your pregnancy progressed with a few things to note.

The first being that your health improved greatly. You were kept under watch, and your weight became less concerning. You found yourself feeling better, a little less tired all the time.

The second notable thing was the sudden closeness of your husband.

Since the day in the rose garden, he had become warmer towards you, more open. He took meals with you every day, diligently making sure you'd eaten enough.

One evening he summoned you to his study, surprising you.

"Is something the matter?" You stood in front of his desk, slightly worried. You'd rushed up so quickly that you hadn't put your book down, your finger still marking your place.

"Will you sit with me?" he requested, gesturing to the seat in front of him.

You tilted your head, sitting down carefully, hand over your belly. "Is everything alright?"

"Of course," he said, nodding. "I just...wanted you to be close to me. Read your book."

Slowly, you nodded, leaning back in your chair. You opened your book and began to read, peering up to see that he'd begun writing again. Slightly confused but surprisingly pleased that he wanted you near, your eyes found the page again.

Shifting in your chair, you did your best to get comfortable, but it proved to be a difficult task. Your belly didn't exactly make things accommodating for you. Doing simple tasks with ease was becoming increasingly harder.

Apparently, this fact was noticeable to your husband as well. He set his pen down. "Darling?"

You looked up. "Hmm?"

Coriolanus patted his lap. "Come sit."

Tilting your head, your brow furrowed confusedly. "You want me to-?"

"You're uncomfortable," he said, leaning back in his chair, his arms open and ready for you. "Come."

Hesitantly you stood up, book in hand, and went around the desk to sit across his thighs. He secured an arm around you, a little over your belly and you leaned back against him comfortably. "Is this okay?"

"More than," he said, smiling just a little. "Stay here."

And with that, he went back to his papers, working with one hand and keeping you against him with the other. You returned to your reading, perfectly content against him.

This became a routine of sorts. You'd come shyly into his study; he'd hold out an arm for you and you'd sit on his thigh and read. You began to look forward to it, to this time you spent together. His touch was somehow comforting to you.

That was the third thing to note. How much you liked his closeness. The way he went out of his way to make sure you were comfortable, to make sure you weren't lonely.

That wasn't to say there weren't challenges.

At the first gala you attended with him since becoming pregnant, you knew it was going to be a trying affair. Coriolanus was attentive, whispering to you that he'd get you out as soon as possible.

Dressed in a white gown that accentuated your pregnancy, you knew pictures of you and Coriolanus would be splashed across every headline. Keeping that in mind, you did your best to be gracious, to smile and say the right things.

But, three hours into an event that would surely last all night, you found yourself becoming weary. You tugged at Coriolanus' arm, which you'd been glued to all night, but he didn't notice. He was speaking with a senator, engrossed in conversation.

His wife turned to you, starting to speak. "How have things been so far? With the baby?"

You smiled tightly, not upset with her, but tired. "Very well. It's been a wonderful experience."

"How lovely," she smiled, eyeing your figure. "It is a wonder to be sure. A great deal of people have thought you'd never give him a child."

You didn't quite know how to respond to that, so you merely smiled shyly.

"And you're certain it's a boy? We certainly don't need any more young girls around here," the woman laughed, oblivious to your discomfort.

"I suppose we'll see," you nodded, stifling a yawn with your hand and tugging at Coriolanus' arm again. He didn't respond.

"I suppose you aren't eating enough then," the woman noted, raising an eyebrow as she caught your yawn. "If you were you wouldn't be so tired. Or thin for that matter. I know when I was-"

"Darling," Coriolanus cut in, turning to you. "I believe it is time for us to leave." He nodded politely at the woman in front of you and escorted you out, one hand holding one of yours and the other on your back.

Once you were alone at home, you started to cry, a hand over your mouth as you let yourself break down. Your fatigue, the unsolicited advice, the comments on your appearance...it was all too much. You couldn't stand any of it.

It was just another reminder to you of how alone you were. You had no friends- the women of the Capitol were less than inviting, only speaking to you out of obligation and jealousy. And your husband...well, you weren't sure what to think of him at the moment.

Knowing you needed to move around to calm yourself down, you left your room, wandering down the hallway. You tried to keep your breathing even, a hand on your heart as you walked.

You stumbled upon the ballroom, opening the door and wandering inside. The vast emptiness of the large room made you feel small, and you marveled at the feeling. Sometimes being married to Coriolanus made everything feel more heightened. But being alone in this large room made everything feel smaller...less important. It was wonderful.

There was a piano in the corner of the room, and you meandered over to it, running your fingers along the keys. In your training as a socialite, you'd had several lessons in the instrument, but it had been a long time since you'd played.

You sat on the bench carefully, positioning your hands on the keys and beginning to play an old favorite. Muscle memory was your companion, and your fingers moved nimbly and easily. It was comforting to know that you still knew how to do it, that not everything in your past was easily forgotten.

When you looked up after you finished playing, Coriolanus was standing in the doorway. The corners of his mouth were turned up slightly, and he walked over to you. You turned slightly on the bench as he did.

Your husband knelt in front of you, taking your hands in his and bringing them to his lips. He lifted his eyes to meet yours, seeming to take you in. You were still in the same white dress you'd worn to the event. He squeezed your hands. "I'm sorry. I know tonight was hard."

Closing your eyes, you nodded, trying not to cry again. "I'm okay." Coriolanus was still looking up at you when you opened your eyes, and you gave him a small smile when you saw how sincere he was in his apology.

"Are you tired?" he asked softly, searching your eyes.

You shook your head. Somehow your fatigue had vanished somewhere in your walk through the halls.

"Okay." He nodded and stood up, helping you stand as well. "Will you come with me?"

It was a genuine question, and you nodded at it, somehow trusting him more in that moment than you ever had before.

He led you upstairs and up to a door you recognized as his room. You hesitated before going inside but ultimately decided to follow him. Coriolanus kicked off his shoes and sat you down on his bed, hands in yours. "Are you well?"

"Yes, I'm fine," you managed, looking down at your joined hands.

"Darling," he murmured.

"I just...it gets so lonely sometimes," you said softly, looking up at him.

"Oh, sweetheart," Coriolanus breathed, lifting your chin and searching your eyes. "I had no idea."

You closed your eyes, shaking your head. "It just gets to be too much sometimes."

His hand came to your face, thumb stroking your cheek. "Sweetheart." You opened your eyes. He brought his forehead to yours, the gesture surprisingly comforting. "I'm sorry. I never meant for you to feel this way."

"I feel like I'm all alone in this," you said quietly, rubbing a hand over your belly.

Coriolanus pulled you closer to him, his expression softer than you'd ever seen it. He kissed your temple. "I'm sorry darling. I know that's my fault."

"It's not. Not really," you murmured, leaning into him. "I know you didn't want this."

"That doesn't mean you should suffer for it," he kissed your forehead. Then Coriolanus took your face into his hands, and you leaned into his touch. "I want you to know how grateful I am for you."

You softened between his hands, looking up at him with doe eyes. "Grateful?"

"Grateful," he clarified, looking over you, your body and your belly. "Grateful because you have given yourself wholly to me. And you might say you didn't have a choice. But you did. And you chose to do this for me. Whatever the reason is, I am grateful for you."

You were stunned at this, your lips parting slightly. He saw you. He had seen you and he cared. A tiny smile made its way onto your face as you looked up at him. "That means a great deal."

"You deserve more than a great deal," he breathed, his hands sliding from your cheeks to your shoulders. "After everything...what you've given me..."

His voice was husky. "Nobody's ever done anything close to this much for me. You..."

"Coriolanus," you whispered, your lips ever so close to his. Months ago, you never would have allowed it, never would have gotten so close. But things were different now. The child growing inside you had changed everything.

"I'll never let you feel alone again," he breathed. "Never let you feel undervalued, unappreciated...nothing less than what you are."

"And what's that?" you asked.

"Beautiful," he murmured. "The beautiful mother of my child. A woman who is more than I deserve."

"Hardly," you looked up at him, feeling like you were seeing him for the first time. His expression was caring, his touch gentle. He seemed so different now than he was at the start of your marriage.

"Let me show you." Coriolanus muttered, hands coming back to yours, lifting them and kissing your fingers once more.

Your heart pounded, breath quickening, and you nodded. He set your hands down, moving his hand to the zip of your dress and pulling back slightly to look at you. You nodded and turned so he'd have easier access. He slid the zip down carefully and you helped him move the dress over your shoulders and down your body. It ended up as a pile of fabric beside his bed.

Gently, Coriolanus laid you back onto the bed, eyes roaming over you. He appeared entranced by you. Your skin was glowing, your body curvier, belly swollen. His lips parted. "Beautiful," he breathed, leaning down. Your lips were terribly close to his...

You took the final step and pressed your lips to his, capturing them in a kiss that started innocent but quickly became searing.

He pulled you in by the waist, pressing you against him. You knew from experience that Coriolanus' kisses were hungry, but tonight he must have been starving. The way his lips moved against yours was sinful, but you wanted it, wanted it bad.

Your hands moved of their own accord, tugging at his shirt buttons and discarding the garment once it was unbuttoned. His pants were the next to go, joining your dress and his shirt on the floor. When he kissed you, his hands wandered over your body, reaching for the clasp of your undergarment. His touch set you on fire.

When he'd gotten you completely bare and he was in the same state, he pulled back, not kissing you for a moment, just looking. You squirmed a little under his gaze, which was intense although caring. "What is it?" you questioned softly.

"Breathtaking." He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "You...carrying my child...you're very nearly a goddess."

That made the corners of your lips turn up sweetly, and you pulled him down for another kiss, his body hovering over you, careful not to put too much weight on your belly.

As you laid tangled in his sheets in the aftermath of it, your body was more wholly satisfied than it had been in a long time. You looked over at him, smiling softly and resting on your side. He reached out and rested his hand back on your cheek, stroking your soft skin. You felt a connection with him then, for the first time since your pregnancy began.

Coriolanus leaned down and kissed you, his lips soft and feather light. He moved on the bed, so he was facing you. The soft light combined with what you'd just done made him look a way that pulled at your heart.

His eyes never left yours. You recognized that look. He was making sure you were comfortable, that you felt safe. Usually, you only saw that look at public events but seeing it right now after something so intimate sent a flutter through you.

"Will you stay tonight?" he murmured, one hand in your hair.

"Yes," you breathed. He opened his arms and let you snuggle close. As you drifted off, you felt one of his hands wander to your belly, caressing it gently. It was the first time he'd really touched it your entire pregnancy.

For the first time, you began to think of the baby in your belly as yours too. A baby. Your hand ran over your bump, and you smiled softly. It was both of your child. As much yours as it was his.

And you didn't mind it one bit.

He had vowed not to fall for you.

He had spent countless hours convincing himself he hadn't.

But after the night of the gala, he couldn't deny it anymore.

Every time Coriolanus looked at you, whether it be at the breakfast table when the sunlight filtered through the windows and hit your face just right, or when he looked up from his work every night when you were on his lap to see your concentrated face as you read, he felt the tendrils of feeling close around his heart.

He found himself becoming more affectionate with you. He used your pet names in an abundance, and he always felt like he needed to be touching you. You were the bright point in his life.

The last months of your pregnancy were bliss. Vesta rarely called on him, so he was free to spend all he free time with you.

Walking in the gardens, reading side by side. He'd press a kiss to your temple now and then, keeping you close, making sure you were well.

He feared childbirth for you the closer you got to it. Thoughts of his own mother, and the stories he'd heard of swam through his head and he held you a little tighter because of it.

Now he insisted you sleep in the same room as him, wanting to keep an eye on you. Sometimes he'd wake in the middle of the night and just watch you sleep, making sure your breathing was steady, wanting to be around in case you needed anything. He was paranoid you'd go into labor while he was asleep.

And of course, when you finally did, he was.

You woke him in a panic, the bedsheets soaked, telling him in hurried tones that it was time, that the baby was coming. He leapt into action immediately, sending for the doctor. The two of you had fallen asleep in your bedroom tonight, and when he tried to move you, you whimpered and shook your head, a cramp rippling through your body.

The doctor arrived, and everything was a blur after that. He never left your side, even though the sight of you in pain made him feel faint.

Before the both of you knew it, the baby was out, and you were collapsing back into the pillows, your body exhausted. Coriolanus looked over to the doctor, who was holding his new baby...

Girl.

Coriolanus stood up, his heart racing. A girl. Vesta would be furious. He was just outside the door after all, expecting the news any moment now.

He went to stand by the window as the doctor handed you the baby, gathering his thoughts. What would he tell Vesta? More importantly, what was the man going to do? His blood started to boil as he thought of Vesta hurting you in any way for this.

Looking over at you with the baby girl in your arms, close to your chest, he was filled with a sense of wonder. You'd grown his child, pushed it out of your body, and he was supposed to be upset that it wasn't a boy?

The door burst open, and Vesta revealed himself, looking over the scene. You rushed to cover yourself, and Coriolanus moved to your side, making sure you had some privacy.

"For heaven's sake Vesta," he said protectively. "You couldn't have allowed us ten minutes?"

"Not when the bloodline is at stake, my boy," Vesta said, grinning. "So, your son?"

"Not a son," you spoke up, cradling the baby close to you. You smiled down at your daughter, who was fast asleep.

The man's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what she said, Vesta," Coriolanus said in quiet tones. "Not a son. A daughter."

Vesta's face grew cold. "This is unacceptable. A daughter isn't good for the family."

"And yet," Coriolanus folded his arms, still standing in front of you.

"She will have to be hidden away. We'll tell the public the baby was stillborn," Vesta moved forward, as if to take the child from you.

You shook your head, holding the baby tight to your chest. "No, no don't."

"To have a firstborn daughter isn't good for your image," Vesta reached out for the baby. "Your wife is clearly defective in some way. We'll have the child taken away. Given to another Capitol family."

"No," you cried out, looking fearfully up at Coriolanus. You looked so scared, and the surge of protectiveness that shot through him was amplified with what you said next. "Coriolanus, don't let him take her."

As Vesta moved toward you, Coriolanus stood in his path. "You won't be taking our daughter."

Vesta's face grew sterner still. "I beg your pardon?"

Coriolanus was unmoving. "A son will come eventually. But in the meantime, our daughter will be claimed as ours."

"Your image-" Vesta started.

"Will not be ruined by a child," he cut him off. Coriolanus took a step toward Vesta, his frame tall and intimidating. "Since I enlisted your help in my career, you have been rude, demanding, and disrespectful, especially toward my wife." He glanced back at you. Your eyes were wide as you held the baby.

"If I ever see you insult my wife again," Coriolanus started, his voice quiet but deadly. "Even if I hear of it, I will not hesitate to make you disappear. You see, since last year, my resources have grown exceptionally. I suppose I have you to thank for that."

Vesta was silent, looking shocked at his words.

"Now get out before I have you escorted," Coriolanus pointed at the door. "Out."

Vesta huffed, straightening his suit. "If your career collapses, you'll only have yourself to blame." He cast a dirty look at you. "Well, I suppose not only you."

And with that, the older man left.

Coriolanus stood there seething for a moment. He had half a mind to run to his study and call the right people to have Vesta taken out right now. But he controlled himself. Later, he thought.

For now, he turned to you, kneeling beside the bed and pushing sweaty strands out of your face. "I'm sorry sweetheart."

"You stood up for me," you said, smiling softly as you looked up at him. You looked down at the baby. "You didn't let him take her."

"How could I?" Coriolanus murmured, leaning in and nudging his nose with yours, which made you smile again. "How could I when I..." he swallowed. "When I love you too much to let that happen."

Your eyes widened a bit, your smile sweeter. "You love me?"

"I think I've loved you ever since I've known you," he said, the adrenaline from the interaction with Vesta seeming to give him courage. "And after this..." he reached down to the baby, stroking her soft little cheek with his finger. "I can't keep it in anymore."

You watched as he sat on the bed next to you, encircling you and the baby in his arms, pushing a kiss to your hair. He smiled, a real smile he always found himself wearing around you.

"I didn't think I'd be able to love you when I married you," you said quietly, looking up at him. "But somehow I do."

He lifted your chin, kissing you briefly. "You love me?" He'd repeated your words, which made you smile.

"I love you," you confirmed, looking into his eyes. You looked so tired, but happy. He'd never understood before how one could feel happy because of someone else's joy, but now he did.

He kissed you again, wrapping his arms tightly around you and the baby, around his little family.

The sun rose that morning, the dawn of a new day, but also a new life for him. He now truly had his wife and his daughter, both so loved.

And he was loved too.

come talk about coryo here!

[ironunderstands]

Here’s my comparison of Acheron, Aventurine and Ratio that I made in 2.1 which I forgot to upload here lol, I would like you to know my thoughts then because OH BOY HAS THIS AGED WELL

Aventurine, Acheron, Ratio and what the Nihility means to them

(Inspired by a convo I had with @aoxizu on Tumblr!)

The ending scene of the 2.1 update (the one featuring the black hole) is perhaps one of my favorite in all of fiction. I genuinely adore the way it was done and what it says about both the characters and life itself. This game has THEMES and by god did they come through then. So, I want to go over why I love it so much, and why it’s such a vital moment for Acheron, Aventurine and Ratios characters.

First, some context. Prior to Aventurine’s and Acheron’s conversation, Aventurine was taking the riskiest gamble of his life. Prior to the confrontation between him, Acheron and the Astral Express, Aventurine set up a plan to try and get to the secret at the heart of Penacony, as well as provide a ruse for Topaz and Jade to do, well whatever they planned on doing, the ending scene says they came there to “harvest”, so in 2.2 I assume we will find out what exactly that entails.

In order for this plan to work, Aventurine needed his cornerstone and to trick Sunday, so pre-2.0 he went to Dr. Ratio to include him in this plan, and set up a fake betrayal to fool Sunday and allow him to keep the Aventurine stone, with the Jade and Topaz stones also being acquired pre-Penacony. We know this because of Aventurine’s conversation with Topaz post 1.4 Belabog mission in which he requests her help in Penacony, something which we didn’t get confirmation on whether or not she accepted until 2.1, in which it’s revealed that one of the Cornerstones in the box is Topaz, meaning when they got confiscated in 2.0 she had already accepted his offer (we can assume a similar situation for Jade). 

Essentially, everything had been going according to plan for IPC (even if Aventurine was absolutely not having a fun time during it), Ratio even says as much, stating that the IPC is pleased to hear of his death sentence, so that part of the confrontation was already predetermined. This leaves Aventurine with one final gamble, hoping the Astral Express and Acheron take the bait, and that they will try and stop him from destroying the entire dreamscape, which if Acheron acts on it, he could entire the true dreamscape to find the truth, as only an emanator could break through the power of the harmony. 

Luckily for Aventurine, the gamble pays off and Aventurine does indeed draw her blade, both stopping him and sending them both into another plane entirely, it’s there in which one if my favorite scenes in fiction ever occurs. 

You see, even if Aventurine planned this all from the start, he hasn’t exactly been having a fun time while doing it. Being sentenced to death and then slowly hallucinating on Harmony sh1t until the manifestations of your past self and your present doubt and insecurities come to haunt you isn’t exactly fun for anyone, especially Aventurine. 1) Because his backstory is horrifically tragic and being faced with a reminder that you will never feel secure or valued or truly happy would be enough to erode away the psyche of anyone 2) A version of himself which claims to be his future, but is more like a personification of how much Aventurine doubts and hates himself. It’s even more telling that this isn’t the first time he has talked to this version of him, in fact it saved his life several times, meaning one of Aventurine’s driving motivations is his own self loathing. 

A trait that on the surface you don’t think he would have, Aventurine plays the role of the confident, unflappable gambler who always wins, when in reality his other hand is under the table, clutching his chips for dear life (something I quite literally paraphrased from the game). 

Therefore, going into this conversation, Aventurine is more relieved than anything, yet another one of his gambles paid off, but now he will have to see how to go from there, and that’s when Acheron’s advice comes in. She’s not stupid, and immediately recognizes that he won (or at least got what she wanted), and that killing him is meaningless, it’s not his time yet. However, what Aventurine is really focused on is the fact that out of all the emanators he could have come across, the one he faces now is an emanator of nihility.

And well, in the face of overwhelming nihility, one’s own value comes into question yet again, and that’s something Aventurine doesn’t even need the aeon for to ask. So, he talks to Acheron, as IX isn’t exactly going to answer, but she might know. Now, I’m just going to lay out the dialogue (then explain it obviously) because it’s genuinely amazing. 

Aventurine starts out by asking Acheron if she is an emanator of nihility, and I find her response to be really interesting. She doesn’t view herself as someone chosen by IX, as nihilism (the feeling of meaningless) envelops everyone equally, but she has simply walked in their shadow longer, tainted on the feeling. This leads Aventurine to question if this is the end, as if life has lost all meaning, in the face of overwhelming nihility, would that mean he’s dead?

Luckily Acheron immediately disagrees, stating that this is merely a manifestation of IX, not the end (he’s not dead guys idk how anyone can think that). However Aventurine still questions if his death has been determined, but Acheron doesn’t promise it. She mulls over his plan and and Aventurine asks her why she thinks he did it, and Acheron believes it was to find a secret deeper than the dream “deaths: the Real Penacony. He wonders how she found out, and Acheron says it’s the trailblazer’s identity which allowed her (and Aventurine) to come to this conclusion (we don’t yet know how this happened for either of them yet, but 2.2 should give answers).

They continue, Aventurine reveals that he believes the barrier the family built using the power of the harmony was not just to keep death out but the nightmare that is the real dreamscape. That the Memory Zone is simply a vast island built atop a violent ocean with the barrier keeping whatever nightmarish secrets from washing ashore. In order to break through this barrier and find the real dreamscape, which is why he kept killing himself earlier in the dream, but to no  avail. When Sparkle gave him the hint, he realized it was referring to Firefly, someone who had seen the other side and survived it, even if she was unable to let others know if it. It wasn’t proof of the families wrongdoing, but it was suspicious enough for him to try and get Acheron to kill him, rather than try and find the Meme to recreate Firefly’s death. 

Acheron points out just how insane this plan was, that if he hadn’t gotten lucky and crossed path with her, it wouldn’t have succeeded. Then, she commends him for playing it perfectly, pitting her perfectly against him and creating a plan that would be beneficial for the IPC no matter what happened, as even if he dies that would be great leverage. However, Aventurine disagrees with that last point, he truly can’t guarantee the IPCs success or even his own survival, that if she hadn’t drawn her blade it would have all be pointless. 

She’s doesn’t let him continue along this line of thought, what-ifs are pointless and he earned his ticket to the dreamscape. What matters now is what happens next, and Acheron asks him if he can return from the abyss (Childe reference?), but more importantly, she questioned if he has ever wavered, as even a gamble as seemingly insane as the one Aventurine just did seems to have not shaken him (from her POV, we know how terrified Aven was but everyone else minus maybe Ratio does). 

Aventurine tells her perhaps the most fundamental aspect of his character; he gambles simply because he has no other choice, betting on everything because he has nothing else to lose. Acheron tells him to wake up from this “dream” (aka find the true dreamscape), and she presumably goes to leave.

However (and this is my favorite part of the scene), he asks her one more question before she leaves, thinking she might know the answer as a pathstrider of nihility, “Why are we born in this world if it’s just to die?”

Her response is the best possible way you could answer this question. Acheron is an emanator of nihility, but she doesn’t think life is meaningless. The feeling of emptiness and pointlessness envelops everyone equally and that’s exactly why the nihility is pointless. It doesn’t matter that nothing matters, and we aren’t born into this world just to die. 

Aventurine still worries though, after all if the dice of fate will always roll to the same conclusion, then destiny is predetermined, so why struggle? Why does it matter?

Her answer again is not one he would expect, but one that absolutely makes sense. Acheron says the answer has been with Aventurine throughout his entire life and journey on Penacony, and that he’s already somewhat realized it. Aventurine said himself that sleep is a rehearsal of death, but people aren’t ready to welcome death, which is why they sleep to get a taste of it. Sleep is much like death, a realm of unreality in which anything might be possible within the dreams that define its existence. Death itself is an unreality, and nobody truly knows what it’s like to die, but dreams are the closest we might ever get before the end. Like Acheron says, in a way, dreams are just a preparation for death, a practice before it can be welcomed. 

However, much like how dreams can contain anything, even if we cannot choose to experience them or not, life itself is full of choices, regardless of if the ending is determined or not. Acheron understands that there are an infinite amount of things people cannot change before the end, but there are choices you can make up until it. Death is inevitable, but the life you live before it isn’t. This is what the words in red mean, both here and in my opinion, in general. 

Acheron reminds the trailblazer to make the right choice when time comes for it, in our first meeting with her. However, I don’t think the path we choose matters, but rather the the fact that we chose at all. Now the next paragraph will include a minor discussion of 2.2 leaks, so skip to the next slide if you don’t want to hear it. 

Sunday is getting a bossfight in 2.2, and it’s highly theorized that he works/believes in Ena the Order, especially because it looks like it’s their hand he’s touching in that one animation of the bossfight. Now here’s the thing, Order as a concept Chooses For You. I think the trailblazer making a decision is the thing that will save them and the rest of the gang, as within the face of an entity defined by limiting choice and free will, choosing to well, choose will save them (us?) and perhaps be the thing that gets the trailblazer acknowledged by the Harmony, a concept greater than Order. 

Anyways, after she says that, Acheron leaves Aventurine, saying the answer to his question was from his friend.

And Aventurine pulls out the vial from Dr. Ratio

The vial telling him that the only impossible thing in the dreamscape is dormancy (meaning the secrets from before are destined to rise and destroy the “island” that is Penacony.

The vial telling him to stay alive and wishing him the best of luck, which in the Chinese version is: 

Ratio answered both of Aventurine’s questions. The physical one, the one that pertains to Aventurines goals in Penacony, informing him of a vital aspect of the dreamscape that will help him win his gamble. But more importantly, he also answered Aventurine’s emotional one. What is the point of living? There is no real deeper meaning but to stay alive, survive and keep on living, because at the end of the day, that’s the only choice Aventurine can make, and that’s the one Ratio wants him to make.

Ratio Gives Aventurine A Reason To Live. 

Aventurine says that he has nothing left, his family is gone and he has nobody and nothing to fall back on which is why he gambles. But Acheron proves him wrong, he isn’t alone, she calls Ratio his “friend”, says that he’s the solution to his doubt. Someone caring about Aventurine is what saves his life, he walks into the massive black hole unafraid not because he holds some secret power or technique or trick, but because someone cares about him, and that someone taught him that caring about himself is enough. Aventurine didn’t need the power of an emanator to survive the true dreamscape, he only needed a friend, and the will to keep going that he realized from them. 

This is the true meaning of nihility, not that  Aventurine says that he has nothing left, his family is gone and he has nobody and nothing to fall back on which is why he gambles. But Acheron proves him wrong, he isn’t alone, she calls Ratio his “friend”, says that he’s the solution to his doubt. Someone caring about Aventurine is what saves his life, he walks into the massive black hole unafraid not because he holds some secret power or technique or trick, but because someone cares about him, and that someone taught him that caring about himself is enough. Aventurine didn’t need the power of an emanator to survive the true dreamscape, he only needed a friend, and the will to keep going that he realized from them. the universe is meaningless, but that regardless of if it has one or not, it doesn’t matter. It’s this realization that saves Acheron from losing herself like other emanators, it’s this realization that allows Aventurine to cross the event horizon of that manifestation of IX, and it’s this realization that I believe is why Dr. Ratio was never acknowledged by Nous: he was already treading the path of nihility without even realizing it. 

Now this is where my conversation with @aoxizu comes in, and I’m just gonna paste directly what they said because I think it’s amazing and everyone should read it, more importantly it’s what inspired this slideshow in the first place.

Ratio tells Aventurine to live despite everything because that’s the only thing he can do. It doesn’t matter how absurd life is, or how meaningless it all seems, choose to live anyways, because all you have are choices, and it doesn’t matter if they lead to some grand outcome or future or whatnot. To Ratio, life doesn’t, and shouldn’t care about that. Existence doesn’t need to make sense to be worth it, and that’s a sentiment both me, the characters and the og poster share.

Acheron is a lot like Ratio, she chooses to live despite having discovered the meaninglessness of the universe. In an existence seemingly black and white she chooses to paint the world red with her choices, accepting its reality and choosing to forge her own path rather than succumb to the madness. That’s why she says in her trailer, “there is no other choice but to move forward” and that’s because there really is no other choice, the universe doesn’t have some grand plan for anyone and you can’t turn back time to change anything, so all you can do is move forward.

My contribution! I’ve already kinda started but I do want to talk about how Ratio could be treading the path of nihility, but I’ll let this amazing post finish.

So yeah, amazing post, and I don’t think I could reword what they said in a better way than they did. Bringing up the philosophical aspects of this scene makes me really happy because they are so prominent, but most people aren’t really aware enough to notice. Absurdism is one of the driving inspirations behind the dreamscape, and it’s nice to see someone else besides you (see: my slideshow about Penacony and its American influences for an elaboration on this) bring it up. Honestly I think that philosophy fits Ratio far better than any of the Ancient Greek stuff you try to slap on him. Sure he obviously has the inspirations, but he’s closer in spirit to philosophers from the 1700s to now than them, a reinterpretation of Greek scholars rather than a copy of them. 

And this is where my idea that Ratio is a pathstrider of nihility (and he doesn’t even know it yet) comes in. He doesn’t view knowledge in the same way that pathstriders of Erudition do; knowledge for knowledges sake has never been something Ratio has cared about. Knowledge means something to Ratio because it allows people to better themselves, not because it has some sort of inherent value. That’s why he’s so determined to spread it, he wants everyone to reach their fullest potential, and dedicates his life to doing so. Regardless of if the universe has meaning or not, that doesn’t mean people can’t try and live their best lives, and that’s the philosophy Ratio truly believes in.

Moreover, this is why it’s so meaningful that Ratio is the one to help Aventurine, he’s teaching him something Ratio himself learned long ago when he got rejected by the Genius Society. Despite all of Ratio’s intellect and qualifications, he will never be good enough for them because he simply doesn’t view knowledge in the way they do. But instead of this meaninglessness (nihility) consuming him, Ratio dedicated his life to doing what brought him meaning and validation rather than searching for some hidden answers from the universe (specifically Nous).

And it’s not like he just accepted it happily. Ratio still wants their acknowledgement, and it still hurt (and hurts) him a lot to not have it, which is why I think he unknowingly strides the path of nihility. To Ratio, his view on knowledge is simply how knowledge is, and the fact that Nous will never perceive it in that way because his philosophy is more nihilistic than it is erudite is something Ratio might never come to terms with. But that’s ok. The point is that it’s ok, Ratio doesn’t need to be acknowledged or to understand the truth of the universe to be happy or do well for himself. Our universe might mean nothing and yeah that can and will suck, but existence is more valuable than some grand cosmic plan, and even if you don’t realize it, choosing to live is enough.

Continually, this reminds me of the conversation Aventurine had with his hallucination self, in which he told real Aventurine that him and Ratio are very similar. In a way, they are, both struggling to find meaning in their lives, and Ratio helps Aventurine find meaning in his without really even knowing how. Sure the note was meant to keep Aventurine going, but Ratio caused Aventurine to come to a conclusion that probably won’t find Ratio for a while. He helped Aventurine overcome nihility without even knowing it, without Ratio even realizing that THAT is the thing he has been struggling with, and the path he has been walking the whole time.

I really hope we get to see Ratio again, and at the very least I want a story quest for him because I want to analyze his brain under a microscope. Him and Acheron need to meet asap I want more Ratio content idc if everyone else in the fandom hates him I love him and he’s my pookie bear and I will write 3039493494 things about him when it comes to me UGHHHH. Anyways I didn’t know how end this so this is the ending yaaayyy! I hope you liked it and if you have any thoughts let me know! 

_________________________________________

Og post over! That was a long ass read and past me was absolutely cooking up a storm, oh god did this age well and I was right about or close to right about a lot of shit haha. Anyways I really do hope you enjoyed reading this, and this will hopefully provide some needed context for my next posts on this subject. Also feel free to repost this onto other sites I’m very proud of it

[jolapeno]

stockings and stars

javier peña x f!reader

summary: Still need the star putting on the top of the tree. ive got other plans for you Because I’m the star? yeah you're my star and youre not going anywhere but on your back

from the late night texts world - but can still be enjoyed on its own. chapter warnings: allusion to/mentions of smut. no actual smut. javi undresses you, though. flirting. fluff. reader wears red lingerie and a dressing gown. javi flirting. sexy talk, romcom vibes ofc ✨ wordcount: 3k

an: to @goodwithcheese merry christmas from me, to you. thank you for everything, for the tuesday fun we have - i wanted nothing more than to have this out sooner, but life, you know? but, i adore you. and I'm so glad we found one another. ahuge thanks to @thetriumphantpanda who cheerleaded for me throughout.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

Will I be seeing Santa Javi today? I want to decorate my tree.

one time I come to yours in a red shirt

You also had the tree under your arm and a bag of baubles, I’d class those as gifts.

keep talking baby and you can decorate your tree alone

Think I’m gonna wear that shirt you left here while I do it. Make sure I have to get up on my tip toes. Hope it doesn't rise up...

you don’t play fair

I think I’ll be in stockings too…

youre killing me

Maybe they’re white and red, and…

baby if i wasn’t putting this thing up for Pop, i’d be driving over right now

Hope you hurry up, I need someone tall to put the star on top of the tree.

how am I gonna eat you out when youre perched on the tree baby

The last thing on his to-do list from his Pop is to hang the front porch garland.

He had learnt there had been a huge difference in the front and the back porch garlands. A fifteen-minute-long difference when he'd timed the response given to his sarcastic answer.

Javi learnt there was not only one for the back porch and the front, but one which sat across the fireplace and one on the staircase.

He learnt that after he'd made a joke about mixing them up—earning himself a very pointed glare, and the task of the front porch.

Now, it’s a battle he’s losing.

Tremendously so.

While he’d never want his Pop to do the more challenging tasks, he did rather hate he hadn’t thought to trade this one in for the back porch at the very least—because that had looked fucking easy.

Holding the garland in hand, he’s suddenly hit with a second wave of nostalgia, the first having arrived when he'd pulled down the box and peered into it.

It did the same thing as it had done then, all but rushed over him, layering itself on his shoulders, sitting, nothing short of a comfortable weight on him. Letting his gaze fall out over it, he smiles at the tuffs of fabric, all the bows tied by hand, all in an array of sizes and shades.

Over time, he can see how they've become sun-dyed, remembering the first year they'd been sewn into the faux greenery by his mamá, memories of her all hunched over, humming carols.

Smiling, he rolls his lips, letting out a heavier sigh than he intended as he drags it to the post he’d begin at.

But, all he wonders is whether in the years he wasn’t here, whether it was occasionally hung—or if this year is just that special.

The mere hint that he was going to ask if you wished to spend Christmas at the ranch had sent his Pop into overdrive. Practically yanked him out of his chair like he’d been electrified, a bunch of orders being flung from under his white, wiry moustache that they needed to get ready.

He wasn't sure he'd get the image of his Pop suddenly scrambling around like a man half his age, to drag the decorations out from the cupboard, would ever be erased from his mind. Least of all the sound you'd made aww'ing down the phone when he'd given you a condensed version of the story.

Because he hasn't asked you yet, not properly.

Even though he's spent the last two days at the back of barns and spending a ridiculous amount of time at the hardware store—because we need to make sure the lights stay up, Jav.

He just hasn't found the right time to ask you. A promise each time he goes to see you left in the air. Not that his Pop remembers that, instead he's just busy thinking up ways to make it special: one of which includes decorating the trees at the entrance to the ranch.

An idea having sprouted with the newest ranch hand—one which, if Javi overheard correctly, involves rope acting like tinsel and a cowboy hat being the star on the top of the trees.

Feeling his phone vibrate, he temporarily ignores it as he begins to weave the beginning of the garland around the wood—already knowing, before he tries to move it around the spindles, that it isn’t going to be easy.

Because nothing ever fucking is.

Least of all when you’re waiting for him.

His mind begins to concoct images of you in bows and sheer material, lips painted, sat waiting, smelling nothing short of heavenly as you call out for—

“Fuck,” he shouts, dropping the garland to the ground.

It had pricked him, stabbed him right in the skin—hand shaking the pain out, face likely all scrunched. And, if it didn't have sentimental value, he's sure he'd have kicked its protesting ass with everything he had. Instead, he just narrows his eyes more than he had done moments ago as he begins again.

He feels his nostrils flare when it begins to undo itself. The sound of faux bristles on wood grates him before it will even attempt to do what he needs it to.

And it makes him want to quit, to throw it back into the box and tell his Pop it isn’t worth it. But he knows it is. Knows that his mama didn’t spend hours bent over under flickering light for it not to be seen.

Javi also strongly suspects you’d love it. Likely run your fingers over several bows asking who made it. He can even imagine the look of joy on your face when he tells you.

It’s why, if he didn’t already suspect it anyway, he’s pretty sure his Pop loves you more than him. Because even the first Christmas he was back, there weren’t this many decorations; not nearly as much need to have them all out, either.

Not that Javi really minds—or blames him.

There’s a notable shift in energy when you stay over. Even more so in him. He can see there’s a cheer and a glow to the place—one Javi hates watching vanish when he takes you back to your place.

It's why, when—and where—he can, he fights for you to be here. Practically finds convincing ways to do so, including, crossword puzzles, dinner, and two-person showers. But, at some stage, your clothing dwindles, underwear runs low, and he has to make the painful drive into town to return you to your place.

Your fingers in his hair, practically clambered into his lap as you whisper that you’ll be back before he knows it. His fingers on your chin, thumb stroking out the words he says right back—that he’ll miss you all the same.

Javier Peña. Texan softie—what will the world think?

He only thinks one thing when he drives back—a response which had been there on his lips. Guess they’ll see just how much I love you. A thing you know, comment on, say back to him first thing in the morning and last thing at night. An array of promises there, sometimes spoken at a normal level and sometimes whispered.

You always keep them, just like the one that you are always back before he knows it.

He likes it when you are. Enjoys it when you’re nestled beside him, arm across his chest, hand close to his ribs—strumming them, tracing lines and words he tries to understand before sleep takes him.

He still always sleeps better when you’re beside him. When his breathing can mirror yours, when he can feel for you in the night when he’s awoken with nightmares and things he knows won’t ever come true.

Now, he’s fighting a different battle. One to get to you.

Halted in his path to freedom by the garland which refused to be hung, and could be labelled as giving him more grief than the horses which had banded together. A phrase he never thought he’d admit out loud, never mind think.

You still fighting with the garland?

baby its torturing me on purpose

Do you want me to come and help?

will you come in the stockings

No!! Your dad is there.

then stay there actually lie down, but do not begin without me

Still need the star putting on the top of the tree.

ive got other plans for you

Because I’m the star?

yeah you're my star and youre not going anywhere but on your back

Hurry then.

i’m hurrying

He does hurry—practically scratched up by the time he’s parking his truck outside your place.

As he takes the step up to your door, Javi realises how much he misses it here when he doesn’t visit. A place less frequent and often spent time in, even under your insistence of renting it.

It is always usually a stopping point, him parking up, letting you go in and grab what you need before you're back in his truck, heading back to his.

He does like your place though, likes how small it is, how cosy. Plus, it has all the things which make you, you. A thing his place is currently missing.

Although, as he steps through the door, and calls your name, he does have to admit it currently looks fucking ridiculous.

On a good day, he’d describe your place as crowded, but right now, it’s claustrophobic.

The tree you’d forced him to get is shoved into a corner, branches fluffed out, surrounded by the piles of unpacked boxes you’ve tried to discreetly hide. Your remaining floorspace is overtaken by a bit of rug, several piles of books (you have no room for, but continue to buy) and odd bits of furniture you find and attempt to restore.

For the most part, you’ve decorated. A thing you did inform him of.

You’ll be pleased to know when you get here your only job is the star. managed it all yourself, did you I’m a very competent woman, Javi. oh i know baby ive seen you with a crossword Does that do it for you? Me finishing a crossword. does something to me Get over here. im leaving now

There’s a warm, comforting glow spread out across the place from the fairy lights you’ve hung and the array of mismatched decorations—both bought and handmade—hanging from branches.

He breathes in the scent of orange which hangs in the air, his eyes finding the culprit on your fireplace, a garland—one not dissimilar to the one he’d been battled with—places there, mocking him due to the ease of which had been laid, with oranges and little beads all entwined within it.

Snorting, he glances back at your tree, spotting the things he's been with you when you've bought. And, as promised—and informed him through text—there’s nothing at the top of your tree.

“You finally made it!”

Spinning on his heel, he comes face to face with you, and fuck if the sight of you doesn’t make it all worth it.

Dressed in a red, silky dressing gown, all tied in the middle, you're a vision. Then, there's the fact your lips are painted a shade he’d now famously dub Christmas red, a colour he wants nothing more than to be stained with. A path of it from his mouth down to the space where his jeans meet his hips. A thought which seems to only make how tight his jeans are even more uncomfortable.

“Cariño, you’re…”

You sway a little, letting the fabric move—allowing his gaze to land on the stockings. The ones he’s been thinking about all afternoon. The ones he can’t wait to feel under his palm and know whether they’ll create friction when wrapped around his waist.

“Fuck me.”

“I’m kinda banking on it,” you say, biting your red-painted lip. “But first…”

His hand crawls around your waist, feeling the smooth, soft texture under his hand—swallowing, dragging his eyes up and down you, unsure how he could ever be so lucky—how something so good could ever be here for him to unwrap.

“I need you to hang the star,” you continue.

“Right now?”

Nodding, you ghost your lips over his. “I’ve been so good waiting for you.”

“You're never good. You, baby, are a menace.”

“I’m your menace.”

Snorting, he presses a kiss to your lips. “Damn right, you are.”

Moving from you, reluctantly, only to pick up the gold star he assumes you want to hang, getting a nod from you that he’s right.

“Need to ask you something too.”

And even though he’s only taken a mere short step from you, he’s floored all over again about what a picture you look like when he glances back. That you’re standing all for him, dressed in nothing but cheer and ribbons all for him.

“Go on.”

Turning to your tree, he flattens his hand to the wall for stability. “I wanted…”

His concentration slides in—suddenly aware he doesn’t want to knock anything from the branches. Doesn’t want to force things to be misplaced from where they were expertly hung.

He’s also sure he’s wanting to swallow the question. A part of him, all the way deep inside of him, having been bracing—and waiting—to hear you’d be apart for the holidays. A thing the two of you have rarely been since you moved here, not a day going by he hasn’t seen you for at least an hour.

“Wanted to know if you—shit—” the star almost sitting atop, before at the last minute protesting. “I wanted to know if you wanted to spend Christmas with me—with us, me and Pop. At the ranch.”

The star slides into place, sitting more comfortably with another shove, more branch supporting it.

But he doesn’t turn, not immediately. Not as the question hums around him, swirls in the silence of you not immediately saying yes. So much so, that it takes him a second to move on his heels, to face you—to read the answer before it’s delivered.

What he sees is something his heart couldn’t have ever prepared for.

You, grinning—a silly, almost goofy, smile spreading out as you bite down on your lip, forehead slightly crinkled.

“You… you want me to spend the holidays with you?”

“Of course—cariño, I want nothing more than for you to be with me.”

It all quick to leave his mouth, mirroring the movement to be back in front of you, fingers under your chin, lifting your eyes—those beautiful, fucking eyes—to his.

“Do… do you—wanna spend it with me?”

You pull a different face before you’re nodding. One more excited, one which begins to expel out over a smile and a bunch of escaping phrases such as I can’t believe you want me with you and of course.

“Why wouldn’t I want to be with you?”

Shrugging, you scrunch your nose—an act he finds just as cute as the first time he saw it. “Guess it’s a big deal. It’s… a thing people do with families.”

Pulling you close by your hips, your hand lands flat on his chest. “You are my family.”

“Javi,” you whisper, making each letter feel so individual the way you say it, that it makes his heart double.

“It’s true. You’re it for me, cariño. All I’ve wished for.”

Eyes widening, your eyes shimmer under the lights—more so than normal. Taking a deep breath, you lift your chin before pressing a kiss to his mouth. One which turns hungry, desperate—your mouth searing, a thing he’s craved since he woke up before the sun even rose.

“Baby,” you whisper.

And he hums.

It vibrates out, able to feel it from the way his fingers cup your cheek.

“Undo me.”

Releasing your lips with a pop, he opens his eyes, studying your eyes, moving from one to the other.

“Go on,” you urge in a whisper, more breathless, more tinged with something that makes his skin hot.

Sliding his fingers over the knot, he barely has to tug before it comes undone—unveiling you, like a curtain which wishes to part. If he’d thought you’d looked good before, he’s sure every bit of you is a sin now—a Christmas sin.

Red and lace. It’s all he sees. It sitting there, against you, hugging your breasts—sitting on your hips. His mouth is suddenly dry at the thought of running his tongue over the place it meets your skin before pulling it down.

Your fingers follow his eyes, sliding between the valley to land on the bow in the centre, twisting the edge of the tie around your index finger—palm skating over your stomach, allowing him more chance to take in how you’re stood before him in see-through fabric and promises.

“How’d I get so lucky?” he asks, more to no one, than to you.

His fingers teasing the fabric sat on your hip—marvelling, unsure how to think straight until you clear your throat, forcing his eyes to meet yours.

“Hey,” you whisper, tightening your hold on his hands, bringing his arms more around your waist, pressing your front to him, feeling the heat from your skin through your clothes. “You’re all I wished for too.”

Smiling, he looks at your tree, before landing back on you. “You look so good.”

“I know. Could look better though?” His brow arches as you slowly begin to smile, the tip of your tongue sliding over your upper lip. “Everything is held in place by bows.”

Groaning, he closes his eyes, letting his hand slide down your lower back, over sheer material before his fingers find the ribbon on your hip.

“All for you.”

“Mine,” he answers, slotting his mouth over yours—staining the four letters to your lips.

His fingers slide around, brushing over soft skin, until he finds the first bow. Undoing it with ease, licking into your mouth, only to grunt against you when you whimper as the fabric falls to your feet.

“Yours,” you say back, your own hands beginning to undo him.

an: merry christmas, love you

[yynumaki]

Happy Ever After

Sum: After you got horribly injured on a mission with a loose special grade curse, Geto reaches his breaking point

Tw: Fluff¿ idk (part 1 would be angst)

Part 1 Part 2

Nanako and Mimiko are now standing on both sides of him.

"Is that Y/n, Geto-sama?" Mimiko asked timidly, "The one you keep on telling us about?"

"Why yes my dear" he answered with a smile, "Beautiful isn't she?"

The three of them were watching you from the edge of your wall like windows from your newly opened cafe. The place was extremely packed since it was only recently opened, and people claimed that your cafe had a 'home-like-vibe' to it.

Ever since Suguru's departure, you couldn't bare it in jujutsu high.

You tried, really really tried to keep fighting, for your friends and for yourself, but you failed.

Unlike Satoru, you couldn't keep on that track without Suguru, and even though you wanted to be there for Gojo, you couldn't be in that place any longer. Not when everything reminded you of him.

You decided to leave.

With the savings you had, you decided to live a normal life, a life in which you once planned with Suguru; but instead of living on a peaceful and quiet province, you knew that you still needed to save some more to be able to live comfortably there someday, still holding on to some hope that he'd come back to you.

You decided to, instead, build a small business and build a cafe in the streets of Japan, as well as renting out an apartment above it.

There, you've slowly built a life for yourself, not forgetting about your friends of course.

You gave Satoru a spare key for your apartment, telling him that hes welcomed anytime, and that your home is also his.

You knew Satoru took a bigger hit than you at Sugurus departure, he is his best friend after all; though maybe 'brother' is a better fit.

You might not know Satoru as much as Geto does, but you do come fairly close, knowing how much pressure hes in with having the title of the 'strongest', and no one really checking up on him thinking that he must always be ok.

Now you took it upon yourself to be there for him, to know that even with his brother leaving, as well as Nanami, his lover, that you were still there, and Satoru took that greatfuly, claiming that you were his sister in-law, and the both of you were family.

"One day" Suguru spoke, "One day the four of us would leave this wreched place, live a life as a family, happy and peaceful, once we finish our plan, and I make this world safer for my three girls"

He held the girls hands tighter, eyes never leaving your form as you smiled at the monkeys you were serving.

"The four of us?" Nanako asked, "Does that mean she'd be our mom one day?" Eyes shining brightly, matching the smile growing on her lips.

"Do you think she'd even accept us?" Asked Mimiko

"Of course she'll accept you" Geto answered, "Shes the most kind hearted person I know, and on top of that, I know she'll love you both"

Geto knelt infront of the two girls reaching their height as he patted their heads. He handed them some money telling them to buy what ever they wish on your cafe for them to be able to talk to you, making them promise to not mention that they know him.

Since the lunch rush was finally dying down, you were able to accommodate them soon enough.

Two little girls came up to you requesting the most sugary pastry you sold as well as two mugs of hot chocolate.

Amused by the two, you three fell into easy conversation.

You couldn't stop smiling at the girls as they spoke to you with such adoration and passion, asking you so many things about yourself and them telling you stories and things about them aswell.

You didn't know why, but after a long day, the two girls sitting on the counter infront of you telling you how they lost their first tooth as you wiped down the counter, lifted a bit of weight off your shoulders.

The sight itself melted Getos heart, seeing how you've already connected with Nanako and Mimiko after meeting them for the first time.

He couldn't wait to be able to give the three of you in his arms, happy and complete.

So sorry abt this, this was EXTREMELY rushed, (wrote it in lile 10 mins maybe)