#I want to write more though I just have to think of more

[tender-rosiey]

hello, love! i hope you're doing great! i love reading your works and thank you so much for writing such beautiful pieces 🫶🏻

soooo... i was thinking of making a request! i'm not sure if you've written about this or not and please feel free to ignore it if you're uncomfortable with writing it or if you've already written it but here's the request:

satoru with newborn twin daughters 🥹

i noticed that there are almost no twin dad gojo fics and we already know that he's a girl dad. plus, i love your writing style. hence this thought. again, thank you so much for your hard work, rose! stay hydrated and have a great day! byeeee!

twin girls (and gojo ig) — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: i cant believe it took me like 7 months to finally post this; i am so sorry 🙏 BUT i am so so happy that you like my works and srsly thank you for your sweet words. they mean the world 🥹 hope that you like this as well! have a wonderful day!! 🫶🫶

the only thing worse than having one girl you can’t say no to is having two.

add to that the fact that satoru is already a softie when it comes to his daughters, and it’s a recipe for disaster—if you’re not there to intervene.

"papa, I want a dress!" one of your twins looks up at satoru with wide, sparkling eyes, her hands tugging at the hem of his shirt.

her sister quickly chimes in, her voice a little shyer but just as determined. "I-I want a dress too, papa!"

satoru crouches down to their level, hands on his knees as he looks between his two little girls, his white hair falling messily into his eyes.

“two dresses, huh?” his voice takes on a faux-serious tone. “what kind of dresses are we talking about?”

“sparkly!”

“twirly!”

“pink!”

“blue!”

their voices rise with excitement, and satoru’s grin only grows wider as he listens, nodding as though their demands are being carefully cataloged in his mind.

you can’t help but smile from the doorway, watching the scene unfold. his enthusiasm when it comes to them is both endearing and ridiculous.

"satoru," you call out, interrupting his train of thought. your arms are crossed, and a teasing smile plays on your lips. "we agreed they only need one dress each, remember?"

he turns toward you with a playful pout, the twins following his gaze.

“they’re my princesses, wifey! how can I deny them a little extra sparkle?” he says, completely unbothered by the parental negotiations you both agreed on just yesterday.

you raise an eyebrow, taking a few steps closer and placing a hand on his arm. “you’ll be sleeping on the couch if they come home with more than one each.”

satoru's expression shifts immediately, an exaggerated look of surrender plastered on his face as he straightens up, holding up his hands. "alright, alright. one dress each. promise."

later that evening, when you return home, your twin girls are twirling around in front of you in two dresses each—one sparkly, one twirly, naturally.

your gaze falls on satoru, who stands casually leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, whistling as if he’d done nothing wrong.

“satoru,” you pout, “I thought we had an agreement.”

he gives you a cheeky grin and a shrug, completely unbothered. “they were on sale,” he says as if that justifies everything.

the girls, oblivious to your exasperation, giggle and show off their new outfits, spinning around in excitement.

"mama, look! don't we look pretty?"

"yeah, mama! we look pretty, right?"

you press your lips into a thin line, but the fondness in your eyes betrays you. you sigh and ruffle their hair, "yes, very pretty, both of you."

the girls squeal in happiness and run around the house in their excitement. your husband nudges your arm gently with a teasing smile. you quirk an eyebrow before pushing him away with a chuckle.

you can never deny that you love seeing them so happy, even if it means satoru has bent the rules—again.

of course, life with your husband and your twin girls is a whirlwind. even bedtime is an adventure (read: a battle).

one night, the girls are bouncing off the walls in their matching pajamas, their giggles filling the room as they run circles around satoru, who’s sitting at the edge of the bed, utterly failing to get them under control.

"alright, time to settle down," he says, his tone light but lacking any real authority. the girls shake their heads as their dad is simply not cut out to be the strict parent in their eyes.

however, when he opens his arms, one of the girls takes the chance to climb his lap. his hand ruffles her hair, and she hums happily .

"papa, can we have three stories tonight?" the twin on his lap asks, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

her sister, not wanting to miss out, rushes over and clings to his other arm. "no! I want four stories!"

satoru sighs dramatically, glancing over at you for backup. you are sitting like the boss you are on the loveseat in the room. you look up when you feel your husband's eyes on you.

“they only get one story,��� you remind him, trying not to laugh at his predicament.

satoru looks between the two girls, their wide eyes fixed on him. “alright, alright,” he finally concedes, holding up two fingers. “two stories. that’s my final offer.”

he hears you groan, and his heart breaks at disappointing you, but he can’t just say no to them. the twins cheer as if they’ve won a war, grabbing their favorite books from the bedside table.

it takes you a few moments before you smile helplessly as you watch him negotiate with them like it’s a high-stakes sorcery mission. it's not long before your daughters fall asleep. satoru's voice has always been comfort incarnate for them.

"you’re too soft," you tease as you walk over to him, pinching his nose—he yelps as quietly as he can, so you plant a soft kiss on his temple.

he leans into your touch for a moment, closing his eyes. "can’t help it," he mutters, "they’ve got your charm.”

afternoons are no less chaotic, especially at the park, where the twins drag satoru toward the swings, their little hands gripping his fingers as they bounce excitedly.

"papa, push me higher!" one demands, already settling onto the swing.

"me too! higher!" her sister echoes, scrambling onto the swing beside her.

satoru stands behind them, cracking his knuckles.

“higher, huh? I think I can manage that.” he gives the first swing a firm push, sending one of the twins soaring up, her laughter filling the air.

you sit on the third swing, smiling at the scene.

satoru looks over at you, his grin softening as his eyes meet yours. the way their laughter fills the atmosphere fills your heart, and you can tell that satoru feels the same.

at least, until he decides to push you and make you take full 360s on the swing.

“wow, mama is swinging!”

“in a circle!”

“satoru, I will kill you!!”

"waiting for that, wifey!"

dinner, as always, is an ongoing fight. tonight, the twins are in full protest mode against their vegetables.

"I don’t like broccoli," one twin pouts, pushing her plate away.

"me neither," her sister adds, crossing her arms as if this decision has been made final.

satoru, ever their ally in mischief, leans back in his chair, his expression far too relaxed. "well, I guess no one’s eating broccoli tonight," he says, clearly enjoying this little act of rebellion.

while you're proud of your girls backing each other up, you rather it not be right now. you shoot satoru a warning glance, shaking your head with a sigh. "they need to eat their veggies, satoru."

he shrugs, smirking lazily as he glances at the twins. “they’re gojo kids. I think they’ll survive without a little broccoli.”

the twins giggle, clearly siding with him. but you know how to play this game too; otherwise, you would have never been able to handle the man child beside you. “okay, fine,” you say with a sly smile. “no dessert if they don’t eat their veggies.”

the girls’ eyes go wide in horror, and they quickly turn to their father, their last hope. “papa, no! we want dessert!”

caught between you and the twins, satoru sighs dramatically, like he’s being asked to sacrifice everything.

“alright, alright, princesses,” he concedes, hands raised in defeat. “but you’ve gotta eat the broccoli if you want dessert. we gotta listen to mama.”

the twins reluctantly pick at their plates, eyeing the broccoli with disdain, but determined to make it to dessert.

you exchange a triumphant smile with satoru, who just rolls his eyes playfully.

and in the quieter moments, when the twins are asleep, and it’s just the two of you, he wraps his arms around you, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I don’t know how you do it,” he murmurs softly. “keeping us all in line.”

you smile, leaning into his touch, “someone’s gotta make sure we don’t end up with a house full of sparkly dresses.”

satoru laughs quietly, pulling you closer. “what can I say? I’m weak when it comes to you three.”

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[luveline]

would you ever write a ditsy!reader with sirius? where he's grumpy and she's just giggly and makes him feel a little less grumpy? I love you and your writing sending kisses <3

I love you

Fuck’s sake. Sirius glares at the TV. Fuck off. 

“What’s it say?” you call from the kitchen. 

“It’s raining all weekend.” 

“No way, really?” You appear with a tea towel in your hands, wiping your fingers dry one at a time. “Shit, sorry, baby. I guess we better get out our rain ponchos.” 

Sirius loves concerts, but he hates shitty weather. “What if they cancel?” 

“I don’t think they’ll cancel.” You put the tea towel on the coffee table and gesture for him to do something. What it is you want is unclear, but Sirius leans back, and, as usual, you make yourself at home in his lap. Gentle but not shy. “We might get a bit muddy, is all.” 

You rest your ribs half on his chest and half against the sofa. This close, he can confess to finding you the kind of beautiful that makes his jaw ache. Being around you is like a constant re-realisation that you’re his amazing girl, his one good love, as he likes to put it. Romance has never felt more real to him than when he’s with you, slipping his arm behind your back, and letting your nose at his jawline. Then the man on TV says the area is at risk of thunder and lightning on Saturday and he forgets to be in love. 

“Fucking hell,” he complains, clinging to you as though you have the power to change what the weatherman has to say. 

“It won’t be as bad as you’re thinking,” you sing-song back. 

“No, we’ll be turned to husks when we’re struck by lightning, but I’m sure it’ll be great.” 

“So negative,” you murmur, drawing along his collar. 

“I’m being realistic, lovely, our weekend is completely ruined.” 

“That’s not true, is it? Your weekend is ruined. Mine is the same as it was, because I don’t care if it rains on Metallica, I just want to spend time with you.” 

“You’re such a dick,” he says through a soft laugh. 

“Why? Because I am clearly the more loving partner?” you tease. 

“Yes. Because I don’t care about you at all, I only care about the concert, and spending time with you means nothing to me.” 

“Oh, well when you put it like that,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss his neck softly. Short presses of your lips with the faintest of sounds, then you're giggling. He’s glad you can’t see his face. You’d run with the honeyed smile he wears now. He would never hear the end of it. 

“I’ll have to find your anorak,” he says, rubbing a loving path down your back. 

“We’ll get the thermals out of the attic. Don’t worry, baby, the rain won’t ruin all your fun.” You kiss him again, and laugh like you’ve made a joke he isn’t privy to. 

“What’s funny?” he asks. 

“I just love you when you’re mad.” 

“I’m not mad.” 

“Aggrieved, then.” You lift your face only to hold his and press your nose to his cheek. You move your face back and forth, like a hurried nuzzling. “You’re such a downer.” 

“Stop it.” 

“Make me,” you say through giggles. 

He closes his eyes and turns in for a proper kiss. 

[bindeds]

𐔌  ✦₊  PRINCESS TREATMENT  𝜗𝜚 . WRIOTHESLEY  𑁤

⭑ — the duke shows you unending generosity when you visit your inmate father often and long past visiting hours due to your long shifts at work. Your father blows up at you again and wriothesley is more worried than he should be. As he walks you back to the surface, you find out why. 

wc. 8.5k cw.   nsfw 18+ , fem reader ,  hints of reader having a toxic family , reader’s father doesn’t trust wrio , reader probably has daddy issues , pent up wrio , soft wrio , fwb , wrio being courteous as hell , nicknames used: good girl, princess

៳ note.   I haven’t played genshin in years so I’m probably going to get something wrong despite my research (wasn’t sure if transport in fontaine was 24/7 and if submarines/boats are used often or easily accessible), apologies in advance. And also, I think this is a very specific flavor of wrio I have barely seen others write so I hope you enjoy anyhow. I actually have more headcanons abt this fic so if you want a part 2 lmk! :D oh shit I’ve been working on this for a week straight too and I didn’t proofread it so AGH sorry for many mistakes! (p.s. I take requests too!) here’s the ao3 link if you prefer to read on there <3

“Agh, forget it. You know what? Since you’re always coming back here, you ought to know one thing; that duke? He’s bad news.” 

You pressed your lips into a thin line. Your grip on the phone against your ear tightened.

You frowned at your father from across the clear plastic between you both, refusing to look at him properly as you lowered your head. 

You sighed, shutting your eyes for a moment. “What’s wrong with the duke?”

“He’s corrupt, I’m telling you. He favors some prisoners over others. Everyone will tell you he’s just but he’s not!” Your father hissed, the microphone dulling the low noises he made. 

“Dad. Why are we even—” you sighed again, this time pressing your fingers on your temples, and part of you thinks maybe this was your subconscious shielding you from him since you refused to leave yourself. “First of all, I am always here way past visiting hours. Who do you think allows that?”

Your father grumbled something under his breath, probably a curse—but it was hard for you to care.

“Second of all, we’re always dodging the topic. Why don’t you ever want to talk about our fam—”

“I’ve told you a million times!”

You flinched away from the metal desk, your father practically baring his teeth at you with wild eyes that seemed to set his complexion on fire.

“Alright, that’s enough,” a guard from behind him chimed in, clutching your father firmly by the elbows and upper arms. He scowled at you before turning back to where the guard was leading him.

When your name was called you nearly jumped out of your seat, both your hands clutching the thick-wired telephone to your chest.

“Hey, you okay?” 

The Duke gave you a once over and returned to your eyes. His brows furrowed, and for a moment, looking into his eyes felt too revealing.

“Yeah, sorry,” you replied as you returned the phone to its hook and curtly stood up. 

“Don’t apologize.”

You gave him a puzzled look, but he wasn’t looking as he escorted you down the halls and towards the lifts. “No, I insist. I keep staying past the visiting hours despite knowing them well—”

“Yes, and, you work for over twelve hours nearly everyday. I don’t think I want you getting up at four in the morning just to be able to visit either.”

The duke clenched his jaw just then. Your hands grew clammy. Other than his legs, he barely moved at all. His muscles were ice and his veins were held in place with coats of steel. 

You remembered you had told him the reason for your late night visits early on, but his response stunned you to the point of being unable to get your thoughts right. He had thought about your situation much more than you thought he would. Though, come to think of it, the visits after you told him this, he’s always by the entrance of the visiting room just to give you a small nod of permittance. A nod you came to appreciate, and eventually miss when he stopped coming by. 

“Why did you stop by today?”

He looked at you this time, silent for a moment. The lift doors dinged open, and he gestured for you to enter before him. 

“Your father has been … irritable these past few days—”

“Oh, shit I am so sorry for him—”

“Hey, don’t apologize for your old man’s behavior. You’re the last person who should be apologizing.”

There it is again. That … look he has on you. The gaze he put on you weighed heavier than you could carry. Though, you couldn’t understand what about it made your knees melt. You nodded slowly. When you swallowed, your heartbeat reverberated in your ears. 

Even if he was tense, your demeanor would make things worse. You knew you were making a bigger deal out of this than you should have been; you hadn’t entirely dodged the topic of the duke of Meropide purely for family’s sake. The duke … was difficult. Though, not that he was causing you any sort of trouble. Evidently, it was quite the opposite.

“Anyway, I have my men observe him closely whenever you visit. Got the memo that he was already starting to blow a fuse a few minutes before he yelled at you.”

The lift arrived at the entrance floor and you exited rigidly, your mind unable to juggle basic motor control and the bewilderment of the situation.

He continued to walk you through to the exit of the fortress.

“Thank you, Your Grace. But I hate to have troubled you.”

“I’m the one who should be worried about troubling you,” he corrected. “Your father doesn’t come close to the worst convicts here. And yet, he’s one of the most difficult to manage. Prisoners who have committed the most heinous crimes are more amiable with me than your father has been, and he’s been here longer than some of said prisoners. Now, you visit him twice or even thrice a week, I don’t want him to cause trouble for you too. Especially with how often you visit? He should be—”

He clenched his jaw again, much more conscientiously this time, turning away for a second. 

“ … What?” You walked slightly in front of him as you tried to catch his expression. 

“No, that was … way out of line.”

You placed a hand on his shoulder—though, with how careful you were, it was really just your fingertips.

“Please, I want to hear it,” you said, almost in a mutter. “I know my dad is an asshole.”

The duke gave you a soft smile that seemed to muddle the edges of his pond blue irises. This was a gaze you were unfamiliar with, across all the kinds he’s given you, you knew, just from the shift in the air alone—this was somehow different.

“He’s lucky to have a daughter who visits him despite … well,” the duke chuffed ruefully. “Himself.”

You parted your lips to say something.

“But besides that—I got word he was talking about me again, and he gets worked up whenever I’m brought up so I rushed over. In any case, it’s late. Later than usual; I’m trying to see if I can get you home safe.”

With all the things he’d just said swimming in your mind, it was hard to think about rest or even getting home. It was a long travel, and having someone else worry—the Duke of Meropide, no less—was unbecoming.

He clenched his jaw again and for some reason, you hooked onto that to start. 

You held him back by the arm, stopping in the middle of a room. “Your Grace … listen, I just—I see that you’re tense and it’s embarrassing that I’ve made you worry about me to this degree. I can handle the commute home. Again, I’m sorry to be such a bother for the fortress and—”

“Please, you’re not … you’re not a bother.”

“Then … what am I?” 

“ … I’m sorry?”

“You had your guards update you on what goes on with my father when I visit. You’re always giving me extra time and now you’re helping me with transport. I mean, you even …”

He cocked a brow. Wriothesley’s shoe clicked loudly against the floor as he took a step closer.

“Go on.” He tilted his head ever so slightly, his hair falling over his face at an angle that seemed to accentuate his jaw. 

Shit.

This was all a mistake. Surely. 

But for some reason, mustering the words to apologize tied knots in your stomach.

“Maybe you were just being nice,” you murmured. He was so close now, and you had to crane your neck just to look at him, which didn’t last long at all. “I’m sorry Your Grace, I didn’t mean to—”

“No no, no need for that now,” he interjected in a tranquil tone. “I want to know what you mean.”

Your heart could crack your ribs open for how hard it shook against its bars. 

The Duke was difficult, absolutely—but not in the way he treated you. 

He was difficult because he seemed to display a certain kind of softness unexercised with anyone else. 

Something you now realized you clung onto for ammunition to your wild desires.

“No, I’m afraid I am the one who’s out of line this time, Your Grace. I was going to imply something completely absurd.”

“Are you put off by it?” 

You shook your head, almost like a knee jerk reaction.

“Definitely not. You’ve been nothing but kind towards me,” you insisted without hesitance.

“Okay. Then what’s on your mind?”

The silence of the fortress laid heavy on the floor, quickly rising up to your chest. The dust whispered of the gaps between your unspoken words. Both of you might have known just what hung in the air between you but without your explicit validation, external factors could easily be to blame for tension that spanned two or more months. You both were busy, working adults. And you both were mature, of course. Tension is and can realistically be caused by work stress. However …

With the way he had never once broken eye contact with you, always hanging by the cusp of your response, your approval … it gets to your skin.

“I could be imagining things …”

“You’re not,” Wriothesley chimed in. “I want to hear it.”

Your name left his lips like a breath of cold air in winter. Sentence after sentence, word after word—it was all but one start after the other. You tried to recall the last time he said your name, but you came up with one moment only; the day you first visited the fortress of Meropide.

“I can’t help but think you’ve taken a liking to me,” you confessed quickly. “Which, of course I am more than thankful for.”

“‘Taken a liking’ … that’s one way to phrase it,” the duke scratched the side of his neck with the opposite hand, angling his jaw away for better access. A small grin rose to his lips. “I would like to think I’d use more … direct vocabulary but I understand this is a delicate situation.”

You clutched onto the sides of your pants, wiping the sweat off your palms.

He noticed, however, his eyes following the movement of your hands then giving you a discerning look. 

His adam’s apple bobbed slowly before he spoke up. 

“If things were simple, I would have you tell me yourself what exactly it is that you want. But sadly, they’re not, and that’s mostly to do with me so I apologize,” Wriothesley began rigidly. “You were right about me being tense. But it’s not about … you.”

Silence drifted at the tail of his sentence as you waited for him to say more.

“Okay …”

“Well, actually … it is, but it’s not because of anything bad you’ve done. It’s …” 

When he struggled to choke up the words, he cleared his throat and tried again. 

“Can I be frank with you?” He asked with a lowered head. “The truth is rather indecent, but you deserve it regardless. Nothing has to change between us, you have my word.”

You nodded eagerly.

“Good.

 “You’ve been visiting very often within the last few months and every time I come down to see you I … don’t know how exactly to put this. I see moments when you’re trying to reason with your father who’s just—excuse my impertinence—beyond talking to, and the patience you have, the ability to be gentle in moments where he threatens you, to still care for him like that, it’s … it’s … too much for me. The reason I allowed you to stay here so late was because you’re the only outsider who came here and didn’t act like they owned the place. Besides the fact that you already know I allow you past visiting hours, this was another reason I stopped coming down to supervise. It was bad for me to think about you like that. I rarely come up to the surface as is, and even when I do, it’s usually still for matters regarding work. I know I don’t have any time for any relationships beyond friends and, well, I haven’t had much time to … let off steam either.”

Your heart was just about ready to splatter itself all over the walls of Meropide at this moment, rattling violently in your chest you could barely hold yourself up, even if you were only standing.

This was a fever dream, surely. 

You parted your lips again but he stopped you before you could speak.

“Please, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t want to involve someone I barely know with my petty inconveniences. And I don’t mean to imply that I only ever think of you crudely, I just—”

“Stop. Don’t say anything else.”

“No I must insist—”

You caught his lips chastely, tiptoeing as you pulled him in by his tie. 

His hands wrapped around your waist almost as quickly as you had taken him, slightly pushing against you to roughen the kiss.

You nearly chased his lips when he pulled away eventually. His eyes were lost in the haze of what had just happened but he blinked a few times and refocused himself on you.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked, and the words left him lazily like they were dangling off of your kiss.

“Yes. I’m fucking tired—of life, of my dad, my family, my job, and I have thought about you a lot more than I’d like to admit. And I know we barely know each other, but fuck you’ve been so so fucking nice an-and you’re so fucking hot with your handcuffs, your tie, your vest, your everything. Oh, archons and the fucking—worrying about my commute home was my last straw. I can barely breathe around you. Please,” you confessed listlessly, your head spinning as you held him tighter. This caused him to tighten his grip around you, too.

Wriothesley grinned. “While I enjoy it, you don’t have to beg. Not for this.”

He drew the smallest circles on the small of your back, and there was something else he wanted to say. But judging from his averted gaze, it wasn’t easy. Though, to be fair—none of what was just exchanged was easy either. Your heartbeat still reverberated throughout your whole body, still wavering at the fact that you had literally just initiated a kiss with the Duke of Meropide.

“I need to warn you, I mean all of what I said. I can’t give you the relationship you deserve—any guy would be lucky to have you, but that comes with the responsibility of treating you right, and I can’t give you all of my undivided attention for where I am in life right now. But what I can do my best on is, well …” he cocked his head to the side. 

“Giving you the best fucking night of your life.”

That was all you needed to hear. 

“Where’s your office?”

“My office? Don’t you want to head home to …?”

“I need you so bad, Your Grace. I don’t know if I can wait until we get to my place.” You clung onto him like a lifeline, it was almost embarrassing—except, for every muscle flexed to have him closer, he reeled you in even more. 

Wriothesley huffed, giving you a small smile and that stupid gaze you couldn’t help but see every time you blink or close your eyes.

“You don’t know what you do to me when you say that.”

. . .

It took distraction, much distraction on the smallest of sounds, the faintest of smells just to keep your hands off of the duke as you both were back in the elevator, side by side. You would have laughed at the larger physical distance between you if you had seen this from third person, but the lift was charged with a silence that both of you felt was impenetrable and the sweat from your palms was being washed away by a cold breeze. 

It almost suffocated you to have waited this long—even if it had only been a minute or two. And you had already taken off your shoes by the time you arrived at the top of the stairs to his office. You thought you would tackle him then and there, but alas, the urge to be the civilized being you were taught to be reined just one point higher than your urge to take him all at once. After all, wouldn’t it be that much more enticing to see how exactly he wants to have you?

He caught you almost immediately by the lips, just as you had previously with him, this time his large hands almost cradling the back of your head as your hair fell between the gaps of his fingers. 

His other hand was busy taking your hips flush against his, and holy shit, there was a bulge larger than you anticipated pressing against you. You lost yourself in the warmth his kiss brought you anyway, fingertips feeling the smooth texture of his vest and the cold metal of his chain.

A tight grip on your waist caused you to yelp and suddenly, Wriothesley carried you by the ass and placed you down on the edge of his desk. His arms cornered you around him, and you continued to kiss him again—though this time, he lightly nipped at your bottom lip for permission which you gladly granted. 

Your arms floated then landed like petals on a pond upon his shoulders, hands like paper around his neck.

Much like him, his tongue was eager; while his hands crept up your shoulder blades only to begin its slow trek down, his tongue touched every surface you allowed in your mouth, brushing your tongue against his. 

Fuck, at this angle your legs were wide open and wrapped loosely around him while his tent pressed intimately against you. 

You hummed, trying to suppress the soft noise that burned from the depths of your lungs, fueled by months of illicit fantasies that dripped into your disposition towards him—and finally, it seems, his dam broke with the help of your nudging. 

It began to pulsate against him, but you didn’t think he could tell from how he seemed to need you tangled in his arms this instant, how each inhale he took was only luring him deeper into the promise he had made to you for tonight.

You angled your jaw away when he bit your neck and sucked and kissed the pillowy ache away. You whined as he had done so, lightly kicking the back of his leg with your heel.

“Oh, come now princess. Don’t tell me you’re impatient now when you’ve waited months for this,” he rasped against your neck, his hot breath sending chills down your arms. 

“I told you I need you. I need you so fucking bad, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley held you tightly in his arms as he grinded in one, slow stroke against the gap between your legs which made him groan, and you held back your own noise.

“Don’t tempt me, please don’t tempt me. I wanna treat you well, take you softly—but you’re making it impossible not to fuck you right now without restraint whatsoever,” he hissed between kisses down your jaw. 

“But …” you whimpered. You couldn’t muster the strength to finish your sentence as you had already melted in his firm arms long ago.

He’s right; he was undeniably pent up, hands arm chest and arms shaking and twitching every now and then with what seemed to be the urge to just have you as he mentioned. But even after all his kindness, all his patience—he still had more to give, unwilling to crumple you for his pleasure. 

“But?” 

He fiddled with the button of your pants with one hand, and just like that it was undone. 

The zipping sound cut through your thoughts and the breeze blew past your exposed skin. 

His eyes, heavy and brimming with intent concealed from you, locked with your own as he lowered himself painstakingly before you. His fingers barely brushed your skin when he peeled your clothes off your legs, sinking lower and lower. His actions hypnotized you on him, on the lines of his clothes, his curves—the way he looked up at you as the dim light of his office glistened by the edges of his shadows. 

All this time spent having to look up at him had caused this moment to flutter within both your lungs and mind. The many looks he’d given you, one after the other, each of different unnamable qualities that always left you unable to think of the decent thing to say. But this? 

He looked at you not only as if you were something to be worshiped; he gazed upon you as if he’d known you all his life, and now has rediscovered you, getting the opportunity to refine his memory of how the light traversed your features as he bathed in the grace of your eyes.

“You’re even more enchanting from down here.”

His wide-eyed stare seemed to have caught the tip of this tongue as he cleared his throat.

“You can call me Wriothesley,” he concluded with a rough exhale and a nod. “If you’d like.”

He sustained his gaze on you, waiting for a response. 

“Yes, I would like that very much,” you said. “Amongst calling you other things, too.”

“Yeah?” He smiled, and it was the kind of smile you could hear in someone’s tone; when they speak, you don’t have to look to know they have a smile that completes their tender expression. 

“Mhmm.”

“Like what?” He had you boxed in with his ropy arms rooted on either side of you. He blocked out the light from your view, bronze shadows rose like thin sheets on both of you. 

“Please me and maybe you’ll find out,” you chuckled and played with his tie between your fingers. 

He let out a weakened huff as he lowered his head. He looked up at you at that angle then shook his head. 

“To think I have learned of proper self restraint,” Wriothesley muttered. “This is self restraint. You test me in ways that have me failing before I even get to touch you.”

He pressed his middle finger between your clothed folds before you could quip back, causing you to gasp and cling onto him for support. He brought himself closer to you and snickered wryly. 

“Cute. Impressive, even. Now, what if I …”

His hand slipped into your underwear and his finger rubbed more intimately against your slit. It was almost completely submerged between your folds. 

You let out a hint of a moan, and with him hunched over you as you hugged him, you were right by his ear. Your mouth hung open but you still had control over the sounds rising in your throat, and you would let none of them pass over your tongue.

With his entire finger between your folds, his shoulder moved with each swipe that only grew vigorous by the second. 

“C’mon …” he said in a low voice. “You gotta give me something, princess. Now I know you like what I’m doing. You’re shaking so much I’m scared you’ll break.”

Something you haven’t even noticed—but it made you bunch his clothing in your fist. 

This time, he rubbed circles into that nub, his other fingers resting over your folds but pressing anxiously every now and then. You bit your lip, even squeaking once or twice at how he sparked your nerves alive between your legs.  

“No dice?” He asked again. He exhaled audibly through his nose. “Alright.”

He draped his arm around to the opposite shoulder, laying your back delicately on his desk. With your hair splayed out, a halo formed with the ring of light waxed around your head. 

His middle finger slipped into your cunt and you whimpered as a crease formed in your brow and you tightened around him—both your entrance and your arms.

“That’s it, atta girl,” he praised too sweetly for a rust-wrought voice. “Mm, you’re spilling for me. Why, I’m honored.”

“Sh-shut up,” you gritted out of embarrassment.

He littered kisses along your neck, deciding that lying like this with you was more warm than any stance with better access, because he kept his arm around you even when you assumed it to be cumbersome. 

“Do you really want me to?”

He curled his finger into that sopping, textured wall that made you cry out.

You shook your head.

“Use your words, princess.”

“Fuck—why-ngh!—why do you c-call me that?” You barely managed the sentence out.

“Let’s see,” he grunted, beginning to pump his finger in and out of you, the cold silver of his glove hitting you in time with the noises you made. “Staying far past Meropide’s visiting hours, monitoring your fathers’ behavior days before, during and after your visits which means all the time just to make sure he at least treats you with the bare minimum of respect any decent human being deserves, escorting you to and from the entrance every time you visit and supervising the visiting room but really only having my eyes on you—of course, I say this all to express my pleasure to serve you. Be reminded of just how gorgeous you are every time you walk down these halls.”

“Your Grace!” You squealed, feeling something coil in your stomach. 

He must’ve felt you squeeze around his finger because he chuckled.

“‘More’, you say? Gladly.”

His ring finger plunged into you, and it gave so easily with how much you gushed from your entrance. Your cry climbed higher in pitch as he curled both his fingers repeatedly, watching you squirm and squeeze beneath him. 

“You okay?” He asked, and he had asked the same way—if not a little breathier—than he had when he saw you in the visiting room that night. 

“Yes,” you exhaled. His face was only an inch or two away from yours. 

“Tell me if it hurts or if you want to stop, yeah?” 

You nodded.

“I’m just trying to warm you up to it. Believe me, I’d put it in right now if I knew it wouldn’t hurt you.”

You reached up to cup his cheeks. They’re softer than you imagined they’d ever be for the Duke of a renowned prison who barely goes outside.

“What are you … are you saying th—”

“Don’t worry about that now. I’ll take care of you.”

His pumping resumed in and out of you, his strokes spanning longer this time with his fingers almost completely exiting you this time around. You threw your head back, unable to bear looking him directly in the eye with how you were already being driven off a wet cliff to incoherence, and he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

With how much he seeked a full view of your complexion without directly asking, there was no way he didn’t know he was rubbing against that spongey wall with every languid yet firm stroke into you. 

“Oh, we can’t forget this, can we?”

He pressed his thumb on your clit, keeping a steady pace that matched the fingers thrusting in and out of you. 

Your legs jolted in a shock of a new layer of pleasure, both your cunt and nub retracting to the stimulation his fingers treated you to.

Your muscles staggered, a growing ache making them give out and drop dead.

With his fingers still stretching you out overtime, he lifted your leg by the back of your knee.

Feeling him do that, his clothes running past your chilled skin, his grip a silent plea to have you wrapped around him accompanied by a softer kiss by your ear—your stomach coiled and flexed without much control and your cunt throbbed.

“Rest your legs on my back for me,” he grunted, his fingers stretching the boundaries of your walls faster as that silver hitting your entrance would start to bruise. You did as you were told, crying out all the same and in messy succession. He kissed your temple. “Good girl.”

His fingers juddered in and out of you making you shake to its command.

“Y-Your Grace—gonna—please—”

“Sh, sh sh—you’ve been so good for me. You deserve this and so much more,” Wriothesley praised airily. “Come on. Let go.”

He had nearly rearranged your insides from his fingers alone, and upon his command, you came all over him, pouring and pouring—even as he was slowing down, you kept coming.

He kissed you again without warning, this time his tongue making sloppy brushes against your own. He tilted his head to have more of you, your arms weak yet slithering around his shoulders.

His fingers left you, and even then it seemed your cunt was still trying to push your juices out. 

When he pulled away, he licked up what was left of you on his fingers and wiped away the access that stained his gloves.

“Shit, I’m sorry about your gloves.”

He peeled the tip of the black dressing wrapped around his wrist area. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ll just clean them when—”

“Don’t take them off.”

You placed a hand over your mouth the instant those words left you, eyes widened and breath hitched. Even he had snapped in your direction.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

He cocked a brow at you as he reworked the dressing on his gloves. 

“As you wish, princess.”

Fucking hell, you think you just came again just from the petname alone.

As he had just begun to walk around to the other side of his desk, you sat up swiftly with pain writhing all over—mainly on your stomach and thighs. 

“Are you sore?” He reeled back towards you.

“A little. Not like I wasn’t going to be,” you jested. The duke snickered with you. 

“Naturally,” he smiled, and again you could hear it as he exhaled sharply. Smiles like that were always the ones that thrum against the strings in your chest. 

“Okay, so … how do you want to do this?” 

“Hm?”

Wriothesley strolled around to his chair and sat. 

“You could sit on my lap, but I’m not sure how comfortable you’d be,” he suggested. “Or you could sit there too, but that can’t be comfortable either.”

You got off from his desk and walked around it to join him. You turned around so that your back faced him and you sat snugly.

“Your lap is plenty comfortable,” you concluded with your hands on your knees and your thighs pressed together.

Wriothesley chuckled lowly, and your breath hitched when his hands slithered to your waist and kept sliding steadily.

“I’m glad to hear it.” 

By this time, he had pulled you closer, thick forearms wrapped around your torso as your boobs sat on top. He had buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathy kisses left in a meticulous trail.

The longer this whole thing went on, this little … agreement between you and wriothesley—the less this seemed to be letting off steam and a little more of making up for years of disregarded passion. 

But you were far from complaining. In fact if you could have it your way … oh, you’d send the duke running out the door.

“I want you,” he murmured into your skin as if you could hear through it. “I want to see your face when you sit on it.”

Speak of the devil. 

“Oh?” You muttered. Your fingers fell between the gaps of his own, and his knuckles poked your palms. “You want to see me come undone on your cock, hm?”

“Yes, yes absolutely,” he breathed heavily against you and your shoulders tensed at the chills crossing your spine. “I want—no, need to ease you into it.”

“I’m a big girl, I can handle myself.”

“Uh huh. I’ve never doubted that,” he replied instantly. “But you’re not the only one.”

You grinded against him just as he said that, your ass pressing into his bulge and his lower stomach as he hunched over and groaned.

He bit into your shoulder then, and you moaned again before chuckling.

“Stand up,” he commanded for what you recalled to be the first time that night, and after all his service, who were you to deny him?

His belt had come undone and his fingers worked the zippers of his pants. You moved them away to handle it yourself. 

You teased him, though, the zipping sound buzzing through the air as you took your time over each metal tooth in the zipper. He didn’t say a word of it, even if he gripped the armrests so hard you could hear the friction. When his zipper was all the way down he shifted so you could peel his underwear back. 

Oh, fuck.

You couldn’t even estimate the length because you hadn’t quite processed the girth.

You immediately rose to your feet at the sight.

He looked up at you expectantly. Goddamn, his eyes were crystals in this light. Indecisive ones that didn’t know what to think, yet held hope, adoration and possibly something more in the large pool of light it nurses.

“Your Grace, it’s …”

He reached out for you again, and for a second there was absolutely no way the hands that fell on your waist were the very same ones that have spilled the blood of others. Not when he held you like his touch would scorch you.

“You can take it. I’ll help you.” 

He held the hem of your shirt but your hand grappled his wrist. 

“Can I … leave it on?” You asked gingerly. “I’ll remove my bra. You can touch them underneath. I just …”

“Of course.”

He let go of your shirt. You both gave each other looks you couldn’t recognize before you reached behind tk unclasp your bra.

“May I?” He spoke up after a few seconds of you fumbling with it.

You froze. 

You could just be seeing things that weren’t there, but in this moment, his gaze was … wistful, yet sanguine. A white glow poured into his irises that surely wasn’t from his office’s bad lighting.

You gave him a warm smile and lowered your head. “Sure.”

You turned around, and he prompted you to sit on his knee as his fingertip climbed your back and your bra fell to the floor within the next three seconds.

When you stood up again, his fingers brushed your inner thigh and lingered as if he wanted to draw something there, stirring up chills on your leg before two of his fingers disappeared into you again. 

You cried out as your hands clutched the edges of his chair for support. His other hand squeezed firm on your hip. 

He thrusted a few times before going, “tell me if this hurts.”

And he slipped a third finger into you. 

“Your Grace!” You cried. “Fuck.”

“Does it hurt? Should I pull out?”

“No, no.” You shook your head. “Please.”

“Please what?”

If you went on any longer like this, your legs would give out and drool would cover your chin.

“I want you.”

“You have me.” His grip squeezed tighter on your hip as his eyes narrowed on you.

“No, you.”

He caught how your eyes shifted to his erection. 

He looked back at you and nodded. When he pulled his fingers out, you would have fallen on your knees had his hands not been there to support you.

You quickly cross one leg to his other side and luckily, his chair was spacious enough for your calves to rest on either side of his thighs. You on him with his erection on your stomach. 

Seeing its length against your body …

Both of you stared at it for a second, measurements filling your heads as your thoughts ran free about how exactly this was going to go. How noisy you’d be. How noisy he’d be. 

His silken tip was a pulsing red, blending into his pale skin color as a few veins branched up from the base

“You’re … fuck …” you whispered. 

“Is everything alright?” He asked as if you both weren’t looking at the same thing between you two.

“Yeah. It’s just—intimidating, is all.” Your playful tone fell flat with the heated air you both exhaled moments ago. “But fuck, I’ll never forgive myself if you don’t make a fucking mess of me.”

“Good, because I really don’t know how much more I can take,” he added fervently. His hands wandered over your hips and dipped into your waist, careful not to squeeze in any capacity. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

That was all the encouragement you needed as you shifted closer on your knees. He held you tightly on the hips which each move you made, one hand moving to align him to your entrance. 

“Don’t rush, okay? I’ll do my best not to move until you tell me to.”

You grinned. “Stop being so nice. It just makes me wanna swallow you whole.”

You lowered yourself on him and both of you moaned out, his sounding almost like a growl. The pain clawed at the walls as you were being pried in two.

“Fuck,” he cursed sharply. If he had longer nails, they would have maimed you by now. 

And that was just the tip.

“Think you can swallow me whole still?” He quipped with his hands still holding your hips up. 

“I’m tougher than you think,” you couldn’t help but remark as you sank deeper in—his entire body steeled and another strained groan escaped him. 

The pain took its place in the backseat in this moment, his delectable reactions causing the butterflies in your stomach to jolt awake. That was something you hadn’t felt in a while; it would steer you to a higher state of mind you couldn’t recall ever being in.

It only took a few more minutes before you had indeed swallowed him whole, his tip pressing against your cervix as you shifted to get comfortable.

His hands slithered around your waist once more only to tighten against him, your torso flush against his as his eyes wandered you. Even if you still had top on, it seemed as though he was getting lost in the folds of the fabric, frequently coming back to the swell of your breasts.

“Hey.” You placed a hand on one of his bulky arms tightly slung around you.

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?” You tilted your head. 

There was something in the way he was holding you, a warmth that rose like steam that caressed your skin—but you weren’t sure this was that kind of scene. You wanted to say it felt out of place but somehow you only felt yourself dripping wetter at the thought of it. 

He swallowed. “Yeah. I’m more than okay, I mean—fuck just—can’t believe my dick is in you right now. You feel so good. This feels good. I can’t even begin to explain how many times this very scene has played in my head in the most inconvenient times.”

He laughed softly, and you laughed with him. 

“How many times I dreamed of fucking you like this. Having you all to myself. Thinking I’d make sure I am the best you’ll ever have.”

He pressed his nose into your clothes as it reached your sternum, his face sitting comfortably between your breasts.

“You smell like … black tea.” His comment was muffled as his eyes were closed.

“Well yeah, that’s because you always give me some when the visiting rooms get busy or if it’s raining outside,” you replied with a lighter chuckle, running your fingers through his hair. How can something be so rough and soft at the same time?

What, exactly, you were referring to when that thought flitted right by you—you didn’t care to reaccess. 

“Wriothesley?”

“Hm?”

“Please fuck me,” you said, lace and pink bow ties intertwined in your words.

“You’re ready?”

“Mhmm.”

His arms unraveled from you, and it seemed like his grip had worked knots on its own; ages passed before his hands rejoined either side of your waist. He was reluctant to part from you, even in the slightest degree as he was no longer pressed into you. 

“Be good for me, yeah?”

And with that, he lifted you up and down on him with ease. He started out at a reasonable pace, though it was one faster than you expected. Your moans spun the room once more, each at their highest when his tip hits your cervix. Pain slipped out and away with each sodden thrust in you.

One hand covered your mouth and the other rested on his shoulder—and even as he rubbed hot, liquid pleasure into you, you caught the precise moment he realized what you’d done.

“Agh—please princess. Haven’t I earned this? What else will it take for me to hear your precious voice, hm?” He hummed, pleasured groans weaving through his strained words. 

“That—mm fuck!—damned nickname again,” you cursed under your breath, causing the duke to smile. 

He slowed his pace to a near stop. “What can I say?” 

Then he pounded so hard into you, the wet slap along with your scream echoing in the safe confines office.

“You make me want to pamper you.”

He clenched his jaw as he continued to fuck you at the same pace, though this time each thrust left a sting on your ass. 

You felt as though your nerves swam and writhed in each layer of flesh beneath your skin, pleasure following the way sound follows shortly after light. The butterflies panicked in your stomach, almost tickling you with the shrouded embarrassment of the duke of Meropide seeing you this way—how you could barely keep your lips together as your jaw lost its zeal a long time ago.

“Mmm c’mon,” he encouraged as your name left his lips again as an exhalation of sampled affection. “If I don’t get to hear you, I’m going to do something I’m not sure you’ll like.”

His thrusts picked up its pace slightly, as if to try and get the noises bubbling in throat to spill. You stayed resilient, however, even shaking your head as you offered a choked whimper instead.

“Alright then.”

His grip on your hand was gentle as he moved it to his shoulder, his fingers brushing your arm as he stopped moving altogether.

You whined irritably, and of course the duke laughed it off with that low and sadly attractive voice of his. Your gut dropped at the very sound of it.

“I told you I’d do something you wouldn’t like,” he reminded, and he sounded perfectly fine, as if he didn’t have his cock buried deep in you and twitching from the lack of friction. His hand was warm and soothing over your own, the other sliding up your waist. 

“Ride me.”

“What?”

“Please, ride me,” he repeated. 

You didn’t follow his request immediately as you knew what it would entail; your entire face, fucked out and reacting to every thrust you made down on him. You couldn’t muster a reply so instead you buried your face in his neck, pressing shallow kisses on his scars.

He laughed again. “Come now, princess. I asked nicely, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t the first time,” you pouted without meaning to.

It was almost like a knee-jerk reaction when his fingers ran through your hair, kissing your head as he cooed. It felt as though his fingers left a trail of butterflies where it combed, and the nectar of his kiss seeped straight to your mind. 

“I’m sorry. I know I didn’t. But I needed to see your face,” he said. His fingers still laid in the strands of your hair. “How shall I make up for it?”

“Beg.”

And so he nodded. 

“Please,” he stressed, your name placed on the throne of his saccharine plea. “Please, ride me. I need you so, so bad—I promise I won’t be mean again. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

You heard him loud and clear the first time, but part of you needed to hear him say it again. A confirmation of what it would mean if he asked this of you—what exactly it is he wanted.

And so you lifted your hips off him slowly, and even in that little bit of movement pleasure ran down his every inch where your cunt hugged. He made soft noises, ones you would keep like small souvenirs in a jar as he shut his eyes for a moment.

Then you dropped down on him, moans shared between the both of you as yours reigned louder.

"I love hearing you moan, fuck," he cursed.

You repeated what you'd done, this time getting faster as the feeling of him filling you grew as addicting as it was pleasurable. Seeing him restrain his sounds and bite his lip was more than a reward for doing as he asked. You wanted him all the way in, even if it bruised your cervix—and his chivalry had only impassioned the carnal thoughts spinning in your mind, chained to the wall as you couldn't have done anything about it without seeming downright sick. 

That is, until now.

Oh, to think he'd been pent up before this, and now you're the only one who can bring him brain-hazing pleasure in this moment. Your fingers clawed at his clothes, legs cramping but the hot pleasure burned brighter in you than anything else. 

"I want to fuck you," he moaned. "I want to see you, hear you, make you feel good—please let me fuck you over the table—ngh—please.”

"How bad?" You panted as you refused to stop.

"What?" He perked up.

"How bad do you want me?"

He wasted no time in wrapping himself around you again, sweat on sweat as he laid you back on his desk, careful not to let your head fall. 

"I hope this answers your question," he whispered in your ear before he backed away to gaze at you again. He had naturally pulled out a little from the movement, but he didn't mind—he wrapped your lips in a heated kiss once more, his tongue a little more gentle this time as he pushes in and you gasped in his mouth. 

More wet slaps ensued as his thrusts grew needy. He drew out slowly only to jerk back in and nearly choke your body in bursts of pleasure, your nerves tingling again as those coils reformed in your gut. They were going to give out. It was approaching sloppily and even your mouth went limp when you tried to pull away. 

You tapped his jaw, and he pulled away instead, with the fog in his half-lidded eyes you could hardly say it was any easier for him than it was for you.

"I'm c-close.”

"Me too," he panted as he straightened his back, hands finding purchase back on your waist. “You’re so pretty like this.” 

Your tailbone had already begun to ache, remnants of your body ache plaguing the rest of you.

His finger wounded up back beneath your folds, and dancing with your clit as you screamed again. Shit, it was approaching before you could catch up to it. Your hands flew to his wrist out of instinct and your knuckles turned white in an instant, but your grip was wind to him.

Your eyes squeezed shut and you erupted, quickly falling off that cliff as you clenched around him and caused him to moan. 

“Fuck! I’m coming!”

He pounded quicker into you, your waist bruised in his grip as your ass stinged a bright red—he pulled out just in time for his cum to spill on the desk and floors. 

Your body went limp. Your clit still pulsed, and both you and the duke panted for a few moments. 

It took a while before the daze of the orgasm cleared, and some of your thoughts had come back coherent to you again.

The first one that took you by the throat was that you had just had sex with the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide, the warden of a highly-regarded prison, a man known to be intimidating and a force you should never cross. 

“Hey, hey hey—you okay?” 

Wriothesley rushed to your side when you sat up and winced. His hold on your arm would have hurt if it wasn’t out of concern and the failed attempt to support you on time.

“Yeah, just cramping. I’ll be fine.” You dropped onto the floor, whipping around to find your pants. He didn’t let go of your forearm nor let his eyes leave your face—you didn’t fight it.

“I was thinking of offering to let you rest, but I realize you start work early tomorrow,” he said as he cleaned himself off, then fixed the belt and fasteners on his pants. “I’ll send you home.”

You turned back to him. “What?”

“I’ll see if I can get us private transport so it’s quicker.”

Your other hand fell over his arm. “I don’t want to trouble you.”

“I was the one who brought you back here, so I’ll get you back safely.”

“And if I invited you over?” You raised a brow at him.

He paused for a few seconds as shock reached his gaze. His eyes examined each of your own as if to wonder just how serious you were. 

“I’d go back to the Fortress on my own.” Wriothesley cleared his throat when he handed you your pants. 

“That’s hardly fair,” you scoffed as you rested your sore ass against his desk to put on your clothes. 

“I have never said this about ‘fair’ before, but I think I’m okay with that,” he grinned. You frowned.

“Wriothesley.”

He said your name back to you in a laugh.

“You don’t have to do … all this for me. You’re a very busy man.”

“Indeed, so I’d better hurry and make sure you get home safe and quick.” He tucked some of your hair behind your ear, and for a moment his eyes seemed to draw your features, the way light met your eyes or how your lips crumpled in a certain way when you were in thought or observing something intently.

Just like you had been now, with him. 

You gave up at his persistence, simply shaking your head and then gathering your things before leaving his office with him. 

The fact of the matter is that despite the coils that had broken loose in your gut just a while ago, your pores rippled with goosebumps at the brush of his fingertips down your shoulder when he followed so close behind you. He closed the door behind him and his touch had fled just as soon as it had arrived. 

“Did you mean what you said?” He started, “when you said you’d … invite me over.”

“Mmm, why do you ask?” You teased.

“Because if your word is true we’d stop when the Fortress of Meropide meets the surface.”

note. don’t ask me why I have a backstory for reader and more ideas for this fic oml. Idk why I am rotting sm over this. Tysm for reading!

taglist: @mun-in-rain @neverlandlostchild @mmmairon

[hoshifighting]

heyy there!!

I was wondering if you could write a fiction where the svt members give a silent treatment to the reader but she is too sensitive and starts crying (because she thinks she doesn't deserve them)

Please feel free to reject it if ur uncomfortable 😚😚

seventeen reaction when you start to cry when they give you a silent treatment

a/n: guyyyys im the worst with angst, but i tried!! 🙏

seungcheol the second you start shaking, he’s up on his feet, crossing the room and pulling you into a tight, crushing hug. he’s warm, solid, his hand gently cradling the back of your head. “my fault, my fault, my fault,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “i should’ve been better. i should’ve stopped this. i didn’t mean to hurt you. god, i didn’t mean it.”

jeonghan’s regretting it the whole time. too good at keeping his distance, until he sees the tears running down your cheeks. then, he freezes “hey, hey…” he pulls you into his arms, wiping your tears away with his thumb. “shit, i’m sorry. you know i was just being stupid, right?” he leans his forehead against yours, brushing his fingers through your hair. “don’t cry, baby. it kills me to see you like this.”

joshua he’s always so gentle, i dont even see him giving silent treatment to someone. he’s instantly at your side, cupping your face in his hands. “please don’t cry. i hate this. i hate that i made you feel like this.” his voice wavers as he presses his lips to your forehead, his touch feather-light. “i love you, okay? i’m so sorry. i should’ve never let it get this far.”

junhui’s been avoiding your gaze, trying to keep the silence going even though it’s killing him. that first broken sob makes him almost freak out, he’s at your side, his hands trembling as he touches your arm. “oh— i— no, don’t cry,” he murmurs, his voice in purew panic. he gently pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you.

hoshi snapd. of course he snaps. he practically flies out of his seat, rushing over to you, arms wide. “oh, shit—no, no, don’t cry, don’t cry,” he blurts out, voice frantic as he wraps you up in the tightest hug, almost lifting you off the ground with how desperate he is. his fingers stroke your back awkwardly, trying to soothe you, and his voice is trembling.

wonwoo when he sees the tears fall, something inside him bursts. he’s not good at dealing with emotions, but he can’t just sit there while you’re crying. he pulls you gently onto his lap, his hand awkwardly stroking your hair. “i’m sorry, i don’t always know how to show it… but i care. a lot. i never wanted to make you cry.” he presses a kiss to your temple, his heart racing. “don’t cry, please. or I will cry too.” wonwoo says—already crying.

woozi stands up, awkwardly hovering for a second before pulling you into a tight hug. “fuck… i’m sorry,” he whispers against your hair. “i didn’t mean to push you this far.” his grip on you tightens, and he rests his chin on your head, letting out a shaky breath. “i can’t stand seeing you like this.” fingers twitching like he’s about to break any second.

minghao crouches down now too, right in front of you. he doesn’t say much at first, just gently tugs your hands away from your face, his touch delicate, like he’s scared to break you even more. “this was stupid, i shouldn’t have done this. it was childish.” he holds your gaze, his eyes serious “you didn’t deserve that.” kisses the back of your hands, laying his head on your knees begging you for forgiveness.

mingyu is already full of shame before you even start crying. but when the sobs hit, he stops dead in his tracks. he rushes to you, kneeling down in front of you. his large hands cup your face, and his thumbs brush away your tears. “fuck, i never wanted to make you cry.” his voice cracks, and he pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, his head buried in your shoulder. looks like he’s about to break down himself.

seokmin gets on his knees beside you, eyes wide and watery, his usual smile completely gone. “my love i—” he says in this tiny voice, like he’s terrified he made everything worse. his hands flutter near your arm before he finally grips your sleeve like he needs you to believe him. “please don’t cry because of me.”

seungkwan’s been fidgeting the whole time, hating every second of the silence. thinking it couldn't get worse until you break in front of him “oh my god,” he blurts out, rushing over to you, his voice frantic. he pulls you into his arms, holding you as tight as he can. he lets out a shaky breath. “you’re everything to me. i’m sorry for making you feel like this.”

vernon is not sure how to fix it, thinking that in all ways, this sucked. the second you start crying, his chest tightens, and he’s at your side, pulling you into his lap. “i’m so so sorry. i didn’t mean to let it get this bad.” he wraps his arms around you, holding you close, trying to look into your eyes, pressing his lips into a line when you look away. “i’m here, okay? i’m here.” he presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

chan would be standing by the door, but the second you sob again, he’s crossing the room in three big steps, hands flinching to touch you and flinching back at him again as if he would burn you if he did. he would rather sit beside you still in silence, to find the best words since he hasn't talked during this whole time.

[allmoshnobrain]

You're a short girl, and sometimes that messes with your confidence. Your boyfriend doesn't seem to care at all, though.

✦ on this fic: simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader, fluff, reader is short and it makes her a bit insecure

✦ a/n: this is my first time writing for anything other than metallica/megadeth/venom which is what i usually write for but i've been daydreaming a lot about this man and needed to get this out of my system 😭 also it was a great way to warm up and start writing again after my break!! hope u guys enjoy it 💖

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It takes him a while to pick up on your insecurity.

It's subtle, and honestly, he’s not exactly great with subtle. He fails, at first, to catch the way you pout, the way you frown whenever you see a hot actress who’s taller than you, or a long dress you think would look better on someone with a few more inches.

He finally catches on, though, one night when you’re cooking dinner. It’s kind of a slip up, really — a tiring day and your period cramps the worst they’ve been in the last few hours just making it easier for you to get upset over the smallest thing. So when you can’t reach one of the trays on the top shelf and have to ask him to grab it, he turns around to see you teary-eyed and upset, which is not how this usually goes.

“Love?” he asks, his brow furrowing when he sees your state “What’s wrong?” He glances at the glass tray in his hands. “Did I grab the wrong one?”

“What? No, no, it’s fine,” you mutter, his confused look quickly shifting into worry when he notices the tears in your eyes.

“Hey,” he quickly puts the tray down and gently grabs your chin. “Talk to me. What is it?”

He’s firm, straightforward but not harsh, which just makes you feel even more ridiculous for almost crying over something so dumb.

“I’m being silly,” you say, but he shakes his head. 

“Don’t say that,” he mutters. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

That last part sounds almost like a command, his voice all firm and serious — something that would probably annoy you if he didn’t sound so genuinely concerned. You sigh.

“I wish I was taller,” you whisper, hoping he wouldn’t hear it, but he does. Of course he does.

“You wish you were taller?” he repeats, now more confused than worried. “Why?”

“I just don’t want to feel useless, always needing your help,” you half-lie, because that’s not really it.  And of course, Simon knows — he always does. You can tell by the way he raises his eyebrow slightly at you, disarming you instantly. “I wish I was prettier,” you finally mutter.

“You are pretty,” he says slowly, like he’s still trying to figure out where all this is coming from. “You’re beautiful. And I like helping you.”

“But tall girls are… More beautiful,” you sniffle, and he snorts.

“Who said that?”

“I said,” you frown. “Like, every time I see a cute dress that’s too long, I just think I can’t wear it. It won’t look right on me. I always feel like I can only look cute, but sometimes I want to look, I don’t know, gorgeous. Tall girls just always seem to look gorgeous to me, and I...”

“Oh, shush,” Simon grumbles, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. He tilts your chin up gently so you’re looking at him. “You are gorgeous. And you’re beautiful, and you’re mine. And I like you small — easier to hold.”

You can’t help but laugh. It’s shaky, and you try to hold it back, wanting to stay in your little pity party a bit longer. I mean, seriously, what does he mean by "you’re gorgeous" when you feel the exact opposite?

"Easier to hold?" you say, trying to sound offended but failing as a giggle slips out.

"There she is," he hums, kissing the corner of your mouth, and that’s when you realize you’re smiling. "My girl. Don’t be upset, love. You don’t need to be taller to be pretty. And if you ever need to reach for something, well, that’s what I’m here for."

“You’re just saying that because you’re my boyfriend,” you tease. He lets out an exasperated sigh.

“I’m not.”

“You are!”

“Goddammit, woman. Will you quit trying to convince me you’re not beautiful? It’s not happening,” he frowns, then leans in, pressing a small, tender kiss to your lips. His arms wrapped around you are comfortable, warm and firm and feel like home.

It never fails to disarm you, how soft he can be. Out of the blue, always when you’re not really expecting it. Just when you think you’ve finally managed to annoy him or maybe this is the time he’s gonna get tired of you. He never fails to prove you wrong. 

He never fails to prove that he loves you, just the way you are.

[thefrogman]

Back in the olden days, if you used the "keep reading" function on a Tumblr-dot-com post, it would

not get very many notes.

At all.

I am not sure exactly why.

I think people hated pressing an extra thing.

But maybe it was also a psychological phenomenon where, given the choice, they were unwilling to trust me with their time.

But if I sucked them in with a good story or a compelling image, they would get serious FOMO.

When I created a super high effort post-of-length I would get comments like, "This was way too long but before I realized it I was reading the last sentence."

That was a really good feeling.

I used to do tests to figure out the best posting strategies and I think I figured out you'd lose about 90% of your notes if you did a "keep reading" post.

So that notion was ingrained in my brain again and again from when I was very note-obsessed and I have since avoided the "keep reading" option almost like a conditioned response.

Just seeing that squiggly line appear still induces a Pavlovian fear.

But that was probably a decade ago and I did a new experiment. My story about replacing my mailbox did reasonably well with a strategically clickbaity "keep reading."

This was a promising result due to the fact that some people like to send me hate for writing a lengthy post.

I recently got a death threat for writing too much, which was a fun reminder of my M&M days (I melted men's rights activists' brains with a poorly worded analogy and they launched a years long harassment campaign).

It seems in present-era-Tumblr-dot-com many more people prefer pressing an extra thing rather than scrolling a bunch on their smartphone. The collective behavior has changed. And maybe I don't need to use tricks and running gags in order to get folks to "keep reading".

Unfortunately I started writing that ring light post a few months ago so I wasn't able to include that in the experiment. But I am going to try using the keep reading function in the future and as long as the average number of folks that usually read my longer posts continue to read my posts, that will be the standard approach.

I also tag these posts with "long post" so you can flag that if you wish.

While I am no longer in the audience-building phase of my Tumblr career, these essays and stories and educational posts take a considerable amount of time and effort to create, so I do want to make sure everyone who wants to read them is able to. But posts without hearts and reblogs can quickly die a gruesome algorithmic death. Even my most ardent followers would tell me things were not showing up on their dash. (I think replies help mitigate that, so if you like a long post, you can help with engagement.)

The collective noun is a "business" of ferrets.

Do you want to see a business of ferrets ready to do some business?

KEEP READING

I love writing and it is a huge catharsis for me. And I love sharing any knowledge I feel like I have the earned expertise to speak on with authority (technology, photography, light, fun ferret facts, etc). I wish I had the energy to be a photography teacher, but long posts on Tumblr are probably the best I can do for now.

I know my posts are super long, but I try to make them as fun and informationally dense as I possibly can. I don't like wasting people's time if I can avoid it. Though maybe I should trust my follower's attention span a bit more. I have this fear that if I am not constantly entertaining, people will click away or unfollow.

I think a good business for a business of ferrets would be selling pool noodles that look like ferrets.

So as long as I get roughly the same amount of notes I will do the keep reading. And then maybe people can lay off on the mean comments and occasional requests to end my own life because I bloviated about soft light.

100% true ferret fact..

If you ask a ferret what their business is, they will crawl on your shoulder and whisper in your ear...

[crushmeeren]

thoughts on the bnha guys grabbing/pulling your hair? it just sounds so hot

keep up the work crush ♥️ everything you touch turns into a masterpiece

Hi anonnie friend! Your comment is so kind and when people send me stuff like this it encourages me to keep writing, I appreciate you more than you know! I hope this fulfills the fantasy. (ˆ ̳ , ̫ , ̳ˆ)

⋆ ft. katsuki, eijirou, shouto⋆ ⋆ﾟ꒰ FEM READER ꒱ ⋆ﾟ

master list link

Katsuki, without a doubt, would pull your hair. He’d be the man to fuck you from behind, ass in the air and face shoved into the mattress. He’d spank the hell out of you when you try to stifle your moans in the sheets. He’d chastise you, playful yet mean until your fingers curl into fists.

Doesn’t matter if your hair is down, in a braid, in a bun, whatever style you have it in, that man is forcefully lacing his fingers through it or wrapping it around his hand and yanking you up until your fingertips are all that support your weight. Your neck would be bent at an awkward angle, scalp burning and tingling but the pain would only electrify the blood in your veins and makes your pussy flutter.

Katsuki would snap his hips even harsher than before until you’re crying out his name with abandon, pure sinful noise crawling out of your throat.

The position would bully his cock into you just right each time and it’d be soon after that you find yourself resisting his pull, trying to escape the overwhelming build of your oncoming orgasm. You’d need anything to hold onto for leverage, but he wouldn’t give even an inch. He’d click his tongue and tug harder, a breathy laugh leaving him as he watches you struggle.

Your breath would get caught in your chest when he pushes inside you so roughly you’d face plant if not for the death grip in your hair.

“Katsuki!” You’d gasp brokenly. “Fuck, please please don’t stop.” Your scalp would start to throb at this point and your cheeks would be burning and hot to the touch.

“Fuckin’ pussy is suffocatin’ me baby, you’re gonna cum aren’t ya?” He’d be unbearably smug when he teases you and you’d want to bitch back but you’d have no time to reply because the coil in your belly would release and all your muscles would lock up as you cum.

Your mouth would drop open in a silent scream and Katsuki would give you a throaty moan and speed up the rhythm of his hips if only to drag out your pleasure and work you through it.

Safe to say Katsuki would really love pulling your hair.

Eijirou’s the kind of man who enjoys yanking on your hair when you’re sucking on his cock. When he thinks about how he can control the way you move and the speed at which your head bobs, he gets shivers. Granted, he’s often gentle in the beginning, when you first push his soft tip between your lips and creep down his thick shaft until you’ve almost swallowed him entirely.

He’ll delicately lace his long fingers through the hair at the base of your skull, a barely there pressure to guide you.

He’d make soft sounds of encouragement when you start to really move, fingers curled around the base because you can’t possibly fit all of him into your mouth without working up to it first. He’d watch your features pinch with concentration as your jaw started to ache, sucking obscenely when you pull back and swirl your tongue around the head.

He’d be so sweet and kind it’d rot your teeth, cooing at you while he lets you play into the illusion that you’re in control and you’d fall for it every. single. time.

At some point though you’d get tired of doing the work and you’d whine around his cock in frustration. Eijirou would laugh softly in return. He’d know what you want without words.

Then Eijirou would tighten his grip in your hair until the pain is pulsating and tangible underneath his commanding hands. He’d hold you in place and roll his hips again and again until you can comfortably take most of him as he fucks your mouth like a cock sleeve.

You’d squeeze your eyes shut, nails digging into his thighs but ultimately you’d love the way Eijirou uses your throat to make himself feel good. It’d make your pussy drool and your thighs clench together until he’d be gasping your name and jerking back to rest his cock head on your tongue.

You’d open your mouth and lock your half lidded gaze with his as stripes of his cum coat your tongue and hit the back of your throat. It’d be too easy to swallow it all and the sweet grin Eijirou would shoot you afterwards would be more than worth the sore throat you’re sure is to come.

Lucky for you the man is an overgrown puppy, eager to keep going and make you feel just as good if not even better.

This time though, you’d pull on his hair.

Shouto would specifically fixate on pulling your hair when he’s got you laid out on your back. When he’d be in between your thighs and fitting his cock snugly into your pussy.

Shouto would fuck you in such an undemanding but intense way. He’d get a thrill out of forcing you to keep eye contact with him as he brings you closer and closer to cumming. He’d love the way your lips part to gasp his name when he curls his hips a certain way. Or when your eyes would get so wide and shine with an almost panicked look to them when the pleasure gets too close to overwhelming.

Mostly, he’d pull your hair when you toss your head to the side or squeeze your eyes shut. Shouto would sneak his hand underneath your head, cradling the back of your skull before fisting a handful of your hair and tugging until your throat stretched painfully.

“If you look away from me I won’t let you cum,” he’d murmur in warning, a piercing cold trickling onto your scalp when his hand frosts over. You’d nod if you could but he keeps you motionless. Shouto watches you closely when you bite your lip in lieu of an answer. The reality is you know he’d make good on that promise if you didn’t listen and you aren’t taking any chances.

Shouto would sneak a hand down and press on the underside of your knee, bending it until your thigh is close to touching your chest, your other leg hanging loosely around his hip.

The look he’d give you then could never be called anything other than heated. His half lidded stare would be unashamed and his mouth would drop halfway open as he memorized your expression. He’d easily make you feel naked and vulnerable underneath the weight of it but it’d send you to the edge.

Shouto would lean down until your lips barely touched, waiting until your pussy clenches in response. “That’s it baby, you feel amazing. You’re about to make me cum.” His praise will get you every time and then you’d be cumming, desperately trying to keep your eyes open as you do so.

He’d follow you after a few thrusts and finally he’d release his iron clad grip on your hair, burying his face in your throat and scratch your scalp gently in apology. Your head would throb but your limbs would be jelly and you’d admit that you fucking love when he pulls your hair.

[machveil]

Trying not to think about Simon 'Always Doing Acts of Service and Caring for Others Silently' Ghost Riley forgetting to care for himself as much, and how it would probably touch a part of his heart he thought wasn't there anymore if someone did the same for him. Something simple, like just a new jacket after his old one got wrecked from wear and tear, that's thick and durable but soft and comfortable, a nice weight on his shoulders but doesn't make him sweat, resting over his chair. Or after a long day of work where he's dragging himself along, finding a meal already made for him sitting in the fridge, something actually cooked and seasoned the way he likes so he doesn't have to think about cooking or go to bed on an empty stomach. Idk, this has been rattling around in my brain all day and I needed to get it out, sorry if this is weird! Also really like your art and writing, congrats on the 1k, you deserve it and so much more!

anon I’m smooching your big, beautiful brain (I wrote this in one sitting, hope it’s not terrible lol)

Simon Riley is a man of action - Ghost, the most literal manifestation of serving. Ghost follows and gives orders to assure his team, his friends, make it home safe at the end of a deployment. as a Lieutenant, Simon wouldn’t say it out loud, but he cares so deeply for his team. Task Force 141 is a second home to him, more so the people, and thus makes it his job to protect them

but Simon Riley is also a man of action off duty - a civilian who’s heart rests in your hands. loyal as a dog, Simon would do anything for you. a man of action, he’ll insist you relax, you shouldn’t lift a finger for something small. anything Simon can do in your stead he will. because, while his team is a second home, his true home is you

but Simon, stubborn and strong as he is, gets tired. front door clicking shut, mask already being tugged off, his muscles are tense and sore after a long day. dirty blond hair messy and eyes half lidded with exhaustion, he’s still only got one thing on his mind - to serve you and make you happy. he already planned on trudging into the kitchen to make dinner, something simple but filling. he pauses when he smells food already though

kicking his boots off, worn and dirty, he makes his way to the little kitchen around the corner. cracking a small, barely there smile at the sight in front of him. you, moving about the kitchen. the lights a little dim - he’d change the lightbulb later, and there you are, cooking a meal. one step ahead of him, and he soaks in the domestic scene. a part of him wants to step in, tell you you’ve done enough and he’ll finish everything off… but he doesn’t have the heart to disrupt this cozy, intimate moment

it’s only when you see him does he approach, hands a touch too rough and calloused - he’s sure you’ll make him moisturize later. “Smells nice, lovie.”, he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hairline. eyes fluttering shut as he holds your hands, a small grin tugs at his lips, “S‘pose the food smells good too.”. he relishes in the laugh that leaves you, the way you squeeze his hands. he moves to press a kiss to your jaw, slightly crooked nose nudging against you as his hands wander to your hips - touch featherlight, as if handling you any rougher might shatter you

there’s a reluctance in his heart as he lets go of you, scoffing when you tell him to go sit down. “Bossy little thing.”, he mumbles, voice lighthearted as he leans back against a counter. he stays there for just a moment, one last glance at you happily cooking - cooking for him. it melts his heart knowing that you’re just a loyal as him, that you’d both run to the ends of the Earth for each other

he’s content to finally relax, leaving the kitchen to slump against a chair in the small dining room. head tilted back a little as he rolls his shoulders, his hands move to idly take his belt off - he’d change later, a hot shower after dinner always made him feel better. maybe he’d convince you to join him, better yet— maybe he’d convince himself to indulge in a hot bath instead. and when you join him at the table, sitting down next to him with a full plate for him, Simon feels butterflies in his stomach

he loves eating with you, sharing a meal and letting his guard down. gaze smitten as he listens to you recount your day, breathing steady as he hums. and when everything is done, stubborn man, he’ll take the dishes to the kitchen. as much as he’d like to wash them straight away, he settles for leaving them in the sink tonight. soon enough he’s sweeping you up in his arms - no matter how roughed up and sore he is, he always finds the strength to carry you. he’ll ignore any protest that, “Simon! I can walk—“, a gruff chuckle rumbling in his chest, “Know that, love, but I can carry you just fine.”

and from then on, Simon feels like he’s floating. in a dreamlike state, he sets you down on the cool bathroom floor, feet making contact with tile. gently thumbing at your hips, he presses a soft kiss to your lips, “Thank you.”. soft spoken words contrasting his gravely voice, another kiss pressed to your cheek - lips a little chapped, but he’s never heard you complain about them

and when you help each other slowly strip, the bathroom filling with mist like steam, he feels the tension in his muscles give. he puts up a little fight, grumbled words, when you insist on sudsing him up. he’s all bark though, when he feels you rub his aching shoulders he feels like he could never muster up any bite ever agiain. comfortable and turning to putty in your hands, he’ll happily let you mould him into a soft, gentle man

he’ll lazily return the favor, rough hands lathered in your body wash. content. feeling you under his palms, warm skin dotted with beads of water and bubbles, Simon’s content. a warmth in his chest that he’s still not used to. the simple intimacy of washing away the sweat and filth from the day, it makes Simon feel like a new man - and to wash you? he’s happy you feel safe enough, that you trust him, to handle you so carefully

and at the end of the night, cleaned from the dirt of his daily life, Simon settles in bed with you. all gentle touches and soft, murmured praise - you did so good for him today. he fights the back of his mind off, you’ve taught him better than to believe those gnawing words. Simon Riley deserves this. a phrase you carved into his heart, long since settled at the forefront of his mind. and as he holds you to his chest, warm hand on the small of your back, he sighs deeply…

a man of action deserves rest

[nonushu]

jealousy's a disease - choe hansol

genre: fluff, bestfriends to ???...🥺😊 | wc: 840 | non-idol!vernon x reader a/n: ok fineeeeee i'll stop writing for vernon now haha...

you hate him for this. you hate the way he sits there so beautifully, so blissfully, making you gawk at him—does he even know? does he know how his skin glows in the sun, or how gracefully his lashes flutter? does he even know how-

"what?"

vernon's voice cuts you out of your trance, his body facing you on the other side of the couch. his headphones rest around his neck as he stares at you in concern.

you raise your eyebrows, confused. "what?"

"i dunno, you were just... looking at me weird," he says, narrowing his eyes.

"was i?" you say softly, putting your book down, "well, sorry, didn't mean to weird you out."

he blinks, those eyelashes fluttering, again. "nah, it's cool,"

you nod, feeling something subtle building as you pretend to read, flipping to a random page. but vernon catches the shift in your expression.

"you okay, though?"

you perk up at him, meeting his suspicious gaze. "why would i not be okay?"

"'cause you're being kinda weird," he tuts, removing headphones to place them on the table. "did i do something?"

you sigh, mirroring his movements, placing your book down next to his headphones. "i don't know, vernon. did you?"

"well, no..." he mumbles, clearly muddled, "did you do something?"

"what? no," you scoff, feeling a little flustered. "no one did anything."

a pause falls over the room as the two of you stare at each other, the tension almost palpable. vernon shifts awkwardly before speaking again. “do you… not want me to stay anymore? i can leave if-”

“no!” you blurt out, your body instinctively inching closer to him on the couch. “why would you think that?”

“i don’t know!” he says, raising his hands defensively. “i just thought you were staring at me because you were getting sick of me or something.”

your heart skips a beat at his words, the sudden rush of panic rising. because the last thing you want is for him to leave.

"i wasn't," you quickly say.

he tilts his head. "okay... then what's wrong? you're acting..."

you open your mouth to respond but nothing comes out. how do you even explain it? how do you tell him how he makes you spiral from just being... him?

you cautiously reach your hand to face, finger lingering over his eye. you can see how his brown orbs widen at your sudden closeness as you softly touch his lashes. "has anyone ever told you that you have lashes to die for?"

vernon's breath hitches, his eyes fluttering. his lips part at the comfort of your touch. "uh," he mumbles, blinking rapidly when you pull your hand away. a faint blush creeps his neck, and he lets out a nervous chuckle. "n-no? that was kinda random."

you smile even though your heart races. "well, consider yourself blessed by the gods. i'm a little jealous..."

"of my eyelashes?" he asks, deadpanned.

"yeah..." you say quietly, "i don't know what you did in your past life to be so treasured."

he scoffs, “yeah, okay," he says, shaking his head with a playful smile. "i’m not sure i’ve ever been called ‘treasured’ before.”

you lean back against the couch, trying to steady your breath, and vernon watches you with a growing curiosity.

“is that what’s been bothering you?” he teases, his smile widening. “my lashes are just too nice?”

you glance at him, a bit annoyed by how easily he brushes it off. “maybe,” you murmur, though you both know it’s more than that.

"or," vernon’s smile falters, and his eyes narrow slightly like he’s starting to piece things together. "you're just jealous of my charms.”

you blink, caught off guard by his bluntness. “what? no, I didn’t say-”

“y'know, y/n, jealousy’s a disease,” he interrupts, grinning again, though there’s something softer in his gaze now, like he’s not entirely joking anymore. “do you need me to take you to the hospital? or should I call someone?”

you roll your eyes, feeling flustered. “don’t be stupid. i’m not actually jealous.”

but vernon doesn’t let it go, leaning closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “oh, but you kinda are, though. and I don’t think it’s just about my lashes.”

you can feel your face heating up under his stare, and your pulse quickens. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

he’s closer now, his tone gentler. “i think you do.”

your heart pounds in your chest, the playful banter suddenly taking a turn you didn’t expect. you meet his gaze, and the teasing light in his eyes fades, replaced by something else.

and in that moment, you realize: you’re not just jealous of his lashes, his effortless charm, or how everyone seems to adore him. scratch that, you're not even jealous! (maybe just a smidge).

maybe its the fact that he might not feel the same way you do.

but as vernon’s hand brushes against yours, his fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he does.

[seventeenpins]

new rules

pairing: ex!Worst!Logan Howlett x f!reader word count: 2.7k summary: You've been broken up for long enough. It shouldn't be this hard to stay away. content/warnings: smut, angst, Logan's a disaster alcoholic, suicidal ideation, unhealthy relationships, big dick a/n: I didn't expect the Logan bug to bite me, but here I am, horny for this old man, writing a songfic in the year of our lord two thousand twenty four. Dua Lipa's "New Rules" came on shuffle and I needed to make it about our big boy. Thank you to the loml @ozarkthedog for being the best human alive and also for hyping me up, reading it thru, and telling me "it made me actually want to try to fix him" 😅

You’re in your pajamas, toothbrush in hand and moisturizer shining on your face, when the screen of your phone lights up. You wince when you see the contact name.

DO NOT PICK UP

You watch as it rings out, and you exhale when the comfort of the black screen returns.

And then it lights up again.

Just ignore it. Just ignore it.

As you’re spitting your toothpaste into the sink, the screen lights up again, DO NOT PICK UP flashing across.

It’s a bad idea. It’s always a bad idea. 

But as it lights up a fourth time, you hit accept. As you bring the phone to your ear, you already know what you’re going to say; you need to stop calling like this; have you been drinking?; this isn’t going to happen again–

And then you hear his voice. It’s just a single word, and comes out more as a croak than anything else.

“Hi, baby-”

Just like the first time. The third. The five hundredth. It makes you fucking melt, makes your body heat and your stomach flip.

“Hi Logan.”

—

“It’s been too long, sweetheart-” 

“Yeah, well-” you sigh. You know how this always goes. “I told you not to call.”

“But you answered.” 

Even over the line he sounds smug. You wish you could punch him, god, if only. But you knew from past experience that his adamantium bones and entirely unfair regenerative powers would leave him perfectly unblemished, while you nursed a broken hand.

“Sooo-,” you venture, “Is there something you need?”

It was better to play clueless, you reasoned; You weren’t gonna jump the gun. You would make him spell it out.

"Just you, hon,” his voice is low and dangerous and you think you might really hate him this time.

“You know it’s nearly midnight, don’t you? Are you ever gonna call me when you’re sober?”

You hear a noncommittal grunt on the other end.

“What do you want, Logan?”

He takes a deep breath.

“Can I come over? I’ve just been missing you. Been a rough day.”

“No.”

“Please, baby? I need you. Please?”

You close your eyes and exhale. Ten calls ago, you might have tried to hide the frustration, but you’re well beyond that now.

It’s always a bad idea. Always makes you remember the bits of him you miss desperately. Your nights together. How you still fucking love him.

“Can take care of you, princess-“ he pleads.

“I hate when you call me that. And no, you can’t. You can’t even take care of yourself, Howlett.”

He huffs a laugh. “Been doin’ alright a couple hundred years. Keepin’ myself alive.”

You don’t want to say the question neither of you will acknowledge.

Is this really living?

“Fine. You can come over.”

“I’ll be there in five.”

“Motherfucker-! Have you been on your way this whole time, Lo?”

With a snort, he ends the call.

He’s on you before you can even get the door closed behind you. His hands are cradling your head as he kisses you deeply. You were right; he tastes like cheap whiskey. And cigarettes, you realize. Fucking cigarettes. And then you remember– he’s all but abandoned his cigars, as though the pain of losing a vice was part of his penance. 

With an awkward foot you try to hook the bridge of your foot along the edge of the door, pull at it, but instead of closing it you just overbalance, tumbling further into him.

He catches you as if it was nothing, as if he were so innately steady he’d always be there to break your fall.

When he has you back on your feet, he gets right back to it, tearing at your clothing and his, pulling your top over your head, fumbling with the drawstring of your bottoms. He cups your breasts, pinching and teasing, and walks you backwards till the backs of your knees hit the foot of your bed and you tumble. 

Logan tumbles with you, his hold on you never ceasing, and now you can feel how hard he is against you.

It sends a shiver down your spine.

You’ve missed this. Fuck you’ve missed this. What kind of self-destructive dumbass judgment were you letting rule you? 

You need to gain some control back.

“Condom,” you tell him. 

He rolls his eyes.

“I’m not joking, Logan. Should still be in the top drawer.”

He exhales with a chuckle, but pulls his beater over his head and lets you get an eyeful of his toned chest before leaning over and sliding the drawer open.

Then, he rummages around, pulling back with a shit-eating grin. 

In his hand is a roll of condoms, classic fit.

“You got a little boyfriend?” he asks, and you feel your face heat.

“Shut the fuck up, Logan.”

“Now I’m not seeing the Magnum’s in here. You sure you still have them? Or are you so busy fucking dumbass boys with little pricks that you can’t even bother to pick up the phone?”

“The condoms are just in case– better to be prepared– and besides it’s none of your fucking business if I’m sleeping with anyone else!”

“You know I can’t get STIs, right?”

You do know. You remember that first conversation years ago. You grit your teeth.

“And if you’re so worried,” he continues, “I’ll buy you Plan B.”

“Move,” you tell him, and he scoots back so you can look in the drawer yourself. Much to your chagrin, he’s right. Not a single gold packet in sight.

You groan, and he laughs.

You should tell him no. Should tell him that if he wants to fuck you, he needs to go out and get some. Because it’s not even the risk of any sort of transmission, or even the risk of pregnancy that gives you pause. It’s the intimacy. The way you can hardly bear it when you can feel him dripping out of you. The love you still have for him, even after everything. 

The way you know he still needs you, too. More than you need him. But after everything he’s done, everything he’s been through, everything he’s lost– you can’t bear to be another thing he loses, not fully.

But now he’s straddling you, scooting you backwards towards the head of the bed. His cock presses heavy against your thigh, and you’re so overwhelmed by the way he’s pressing kisses along your jaw and nibbling behind your ear, you barely notice as he lifts your hips to pull your panties down. His nails scrape down your back and the angry scratches start to bloom with heat. 

You don’t realize you’re both fully naked until you feel the heat from him press against you, the slick of his weeping cockhead dragging a trail just below your navel, down down down-

He strokes himself twice and lines himself up, pressing against your opening. You wait for the feeling, for the way he always slams inside you, but he surprises you. Presses the tip in and rocks himself gently, easing you open.

After a moment (and hardly a single inch) he pulls out and sits up.

For a gut-wrenching second, you think he’s changed his mind, and how fucking dare him? He’s not the one who gets to back out of this. Fuck.

But then his cock is replaced with his hand, and he pumps himself with his left, while pressing inside of you with his right, scissoring his fingers open, pulling whine and moan and gasp out of you, coaxing you along with his filthy mouth the whole way.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighs, letting out a groan when you squirm against him, “You’re tight as the first time I fucked you. Clearly no one’s been takin’ care of this pussy, huh?”

Two fingers become three, and you’re overwhelmed with sensation, pleasure taking over any rational thought.

“That’s it, honey, open up for me. Such a shame no one’s been fuckin’ you right. Would make you feel good every damn day if you’d let me.”

He rubs against your clit in unyielding circles and pulls you right to the edge. You feel yourself dripping, thighs trembling, and tears rolling down your face, but just as you’re about to cum he stops. He guides your arms upwards and pins you down by the wrists with one rough hand and leans over, caging you against the bed. In a second beat, he knocks your legs wide, baring you fully, and he presses himself in. You’re beyond slick and the glide is exquisite. The feeling of his bare cock pressing into you makes you shudder with arousal. The wiry hairs at the base of his cock grind against you, making you shake. 

He fucks you deep and slow. The drag is exquisite. He pulls almost the whole way out, before rocking back in again, his foreskin adding to the delicious glide. With every thrust he’s burying himself so deeply you’d swear you could feel him in your belly.

“You’re openin’ up so nice, takin’ it so good,” he growls, and you feel a thrill of pleasure bloom through your body at the praise. “Been missin’ this. Miss how soft you feel around me. Have you been missin’ your old man, too?”

You don’t even register he’s asked a question till his palm is swatting your jaw. It’s not painful, it doesn’t even sting. And it does exactly what he’d hoped; it refocuses you on him.

“Wha- What?” you ask, coming back to him, whilst feeling your peak build and build and build-

“Have you been missin’ your old man, princess? 

“Fuck you, Logan.”

“Use your words.”

“Yes-”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes I’ve been missing you. Stop looking at me like that, Lo. C’mon now, fuck me like you mean it.”

You can’t deal with him being sincere right now. You need it rough and you need it mean.

It takes him a moment to pull himself away but then he does, obliging as if he can read your thoughts. He pulls out, leans back, hooks your legs over his shoulders, and makes you moan as he folds you in half. He’s pressing so much deeper now than he had only a moment ago. Any gentleness that had been there disappears immediately.

He’s panting, letting out heavy grunts as he slams into you and sweat drips down his temple. 

As he fucks you, he drives into you cruelly but you match each thrust. Every time he knocks you back, you press against him harder and heavier. Make sure it hurts, for both of you.

He’s never been a selfish lover and makes you scream on his cock, cumming three times in rapid succession, each peak that little bit higher. Each peak is a little bit harder. 

You’re boneless and spent. When he cums inside you, his claws shoot out, angrily splintering existing notches on your headboard. Blood trickles down between his knuckles. One drop lands on your lips, the perfect kiss from this mess of a man. Another drop lands on your new linen pillowcase.

At least you got those tide pens. 

You want to tell him off about the headboard–the splintered edges are ugly and ragged. But the fact you hadn’t gotten a new headboard is kind of on you. It may as well be an invitation.

You add a note to your shopping list. Plan B.

—-

You wake up alone in a dark room. The first thing you see is your bedside alarm clock, red blinking numbers telling you it’s 3:12 AM. Then, you hear a rustling in your living room.

You step out to investigate, bleary-eyed, to find Logan silhouetted in front of your liquor cabinet, bottle of amber liquid in hand. He raises the bottle and takes a swig.

Back to this-

"Go home, Logan.” You tell him, and he startles at your voice.

"Baby- I been havin’ bad dreams-” 

You cut him off. "I’ll call you a cab. You’re not staying here, trying to drink yourself to death on my sofa-”

"Sweetheart,” he cuts in, “You know it never sticks-“ 

He says it with a grin like it means nothing, and it’s mean. Makes your stomach flip.

This is the closest either of you had ever gotten to the depths of it all. You’d both been pretending for so long.

You leave the room.

A minute later, you’re back, and Logan has emptied the bottle.

"Get dressed.” You toss his shirt at him. It smacks him in the face and falls unceremoniously to the floor. “Cab’s on its way. You owe me for the whiskey.”

He nods. His movement is loose, and you can see the booze is finally affecting him. More than just making him gutsy, it’s making him sloppy. Every movement is sluggish as he redresses.

"You wanna know why?” He asks, and it comes out slurred.

You ignore him. “I’ll walk you down. Get home safe, okay?”

He nods again. Looks like he’s trying to put on a show to prove just how sincere he is.

You kick his shoes towards him, and help him with his jacket when he struggles.

A horn honks outside, and you both look to the window. When you turn your head back, though, he’s only inches away from you, whiskey-breath across your cheek, and a wearier frown than he’s ever let you see before.

"When I drink I don’t dream-,“ he tells you, “Claws don’t come out.”

Then he kisses you on the cheek, turns on his heel with an unsteady sway, and leaves your home.

You struggle for hours to fall back asleep, the bed suddenly much too big.

You ignore his calls for a week. They come through later and later. Nine PM, ten. Midnight. Two.

And then one night you get a text. 

He’s rarely one for texting, so to see the notification makes your heart speed up and your stomach flip.

DO NOT PICK UP - Attachment: 1 Video

With a single, hesitant tap, you open it.

You’re not sure what you expected. Something dramatic, maybe? Something miserable? You hope to god he’s not figured out some way to make himself an adamantium bullet. It’s a fear that’s bounced around in your head for a while now, but you’d never ask just in case he hasn’t thought of it yet himself.

Whatever it is, though, it has to be something that will make your heart ache and your head spin and–

It’s anticlimactic. Kind of.

It’s just a video of him, phone angled to show him in his steamed-up mirror.

There are dark shadows beneath his red-rimmed eyes, but besides that, he looks as perfect as ever. You can’t see below his hips, but you know Logan and you know he’s fully naked. His body hair is slick, his skin glowing from being freshly showered.

This fucking asshole knows exactly how to get you.

You hit play. 

At first, you can barely tell it’s a video. And then you see the way his arm is moving. He’s holding his phone with one hand, his other casually stroking himself just below the frame of the video.

“You gonna stop ignoring me?” he asks, his voice a throaty purr. “Quit playing games. Get your ass over here and let me take care of you.”

AND, you realize with a twinge, you text with him so rarely, you never turned off read receipts.

Three dots appear and you know that he knows you’ve seen it. 

A moment later, the text comes through.

“Ready for you, princess.”

God, if only it would take more than that.

As if overtaken by a horny ghost, you’re already slipping your panties off and putting on your favorite skirt. 

You’re at his house an hour later. 

You let him guide you. Taste you. Fuck you. Fight with you. 

You let him devour you, and let yourself fall in with him, in with the guilt and the anger and the hate and self-pity.

And fuck, it’s the love, too. It never went away.

[fabydoll]

One Night in the Summer

❪ 🐚 ❫─── It seems like you wanted to keep one another

ಣ՞. ꒰𝒫airing꒱ dilf!himbo!jungkook && bimbo!fem!reader . . . . ۫ cw, cockwarming ˙⠀⋆ needy reader ˙⠀⋆ power!sub!reader ˙⠀⋆ afterglow ˙⠀⋆ softdom, subby!jungkook ˙⠀⋆ simp!jungkook ˙⠀⋆ implied large age gap ˙⠀⋆ reversed cowgirl ˙⠀⋆ implied nipple kink ˙⠀⋆ they fuck in a beach cabin while reader is on vacation ˙⠀⋆ light smut

now playing 💿. summer - pinkpantheress (demo) ⋆ charm - lil hero

The moonlight softly slipped into the dimly lit beach cabin, casting a gentle, ethereal glow. The soft moonlight was the only thing illuminating your angelic, glowing, and damp body. The bed whispered and creaked softly, swaying gently along with the sinful sway of your hips as you rode Jungkook to his breaking point.

The poor thing could only suppress his pretty, little needy and whiny moans by stuffing his pretty face in one of the soft, white, fluffy pillows, your greedy little pussy drinking up every last bit of his sweet cum, like a warm pineapple piña colada, coconut cream on top. He tasted so sweet, like Adonis, the angels, Aphrodite had blessed him themselves; you could practically feel him all the way in your tummy.

You felt so warm, so safe, you felt dazed, lightheaded from how good the pleasure felt.

From how good he felt.

Was this how paradise—heaven felt like?

Lifting up his gorgeous face from the fluffy pillow, he groaned; his voice was melodic, simply hypnotic. “Princess, gotta take it easy on me, don’t know how long I can keep up.” He let out another ungodly beautiful moan as you both reached absolute bliss, your eye lustfully rolled back, fulling you up completely until white, creamy streams of cum dripped down on his sunkissed, perfectly sculpted toned abs. A small, adorable pout appeared on your plush, plump, pink lips, as tiny, perfectly manicured hands daintily played with his swore, reddening nipples.

He was so, so pretty.

Earing you, a soft dazzling smile, as big, tattooed hands reached out to tenderly fondle with your lacey, light pink bra, whose straps loosely hung on your small shoulders, giving a tantalizing view of your blooming, and huge tits “Thought you would want another round or two, snice you know I have to go tomorrow.” Jungkook let a lighthearted chuckle, which softly tinkled in your ears, your heart fluttered. “I know, baby, but it’s getting late, and I don’t think can go for another round, knowing you could go all night long, little minx.” He sweetly teased.

You adorably giggled, lovingly bopping his cute nose. You still wanted more; he was just so addictive. You swore you were going to develop a sex addiction just because of him. But he was right; you could already feel the afterglow setting in. The particles of moonlight dust shimmering in the moonshine looked almost ethereal, not as beautiful as the huge brown doe-eyed, dazed lovesick gaze that stared back at you.

Bopping his nose one more time, laying a needy kiss on his plush lips, as light as a feather, you lightly sighed, “Ok, fine, I guess cuddles won’t hurt. I’ll still get to fuck you in the morning, though, right?” His plump lips between pearly white teeth, cheeks turned a light tint; blushing, he hummed, gently placing a strand of your hair behind your ear. Shifting his position, you whined, losing the contact you yearned for so dearly. “No, no, no, don’t pull out yet; you feel so good, kookie.” Jungkook chuckled as you tucked him deeper inside yourself, laying your head on his damp, warm chest.

Listening to his calm, serene heartbeat, the rhythmic sound of gentle ocean waves splashing against the shore, the moonlight glinting off the water, Jungkook’s large, muscular, tattooed arms wrapped around your petite body, whispering sweet nothings and praises, needy kisses that made you giggle and blush, you wish you could stay longer.

In his arms.

𝜗℘ㅤׁㅤ. . fabrianna's thoughts . . . just wanted to practice my smut writing skills tell me whether or not you guys liked it. may or may not make a small drabble series of dilf!jungkook getting fucked by a younger sugar baby/girlfriend. etc. i’m open to suggestions so tell me your thoughts in the comments, toddles.

𝜗℘ㅤׁㅤ. . taglist . . . n/a

꒰ ၇୧ ⠀ᅟ𓈒⠀note, if you want to be added to the taglist you must comment ⠀⠀⁺ ꒱

[luveline]

Hey!! I love love LOVE your criminal minds content so much, especially the Hotch with unexpected daughter reader. Is there any chance you’re gonna write more for that series? I’d literally take anything, the comfort vibes are off the charts with your works and I need some Hotch comfort. But no worries if not, hope you have a great week <33

thank you for requesting! fem, 1.4k

Jack peers at you from over the furthest armrest. “Y/N. Are you grumpy?” 

“Do I look grumpy?” you ask. 

“Yes.” He pokes his eyebrow. “You do.” 

“My face is betraying me then, because I’m not grumpy.” 

“Mine does that to me all the time but mom doesn’t believe it.”

You give him a small nudge. “Your mommy probably knows you better than you know yourself, like, knows how you’re feeling before you do.” 

“But how does she know?”

“I think it’s because she loves you. She really loves you, babe. You’re lucky.” 

“So lucky.” He climbs over the armrest and onto the couch, smiling at you politely, like a friend he’s just found at school. 

You try to see the similarities in your faces. He looks more like Haley than he does Aaron. You look more like your mother, too. There are bits of Aaron in both of you, yours not quite as physical —Jack’s tame when it comes to expressing emotion, and you both talk in a measured tone. (Though your tone is coincidence or genetics, but not learned. You’d have to have known him growing up for it to be learned.) 

“Did dad tell you what mommy said?” Jack asks. 

You glance over his head but see no one. Aaron said he was going to get chips for movie night, and Haley tends to find things to do. “No.” 

“It’s a secret.” 

“Well, you don’t have to tell me.” 

“You can’t tell anyone,” he says. 

Your stomach feels not your own. “I won’t,” you promise. 

“Mommy says you’re here too much.” 

You nod slowly. Jack frowns at you as though waiting for you to be upset, but you’ve suspected she thinks so for a while. It’s not something you blame her for. 

Jack watches you. 

“Dad got really mad.”

“I’m sorry, Jack. That must’ve been scary.” 

Jack drops his face into your arm. “No. Dad doesn’t yell. But he slept in my room with me.” 

“Want a hug?” you whisper. 

Jack squirms under your arm. You pull him toward you and try to divide your feelings into boxes. Embarrassed and horrified and a little annoyed that Haley thinks you’re here too much. Sad and again embarrassed that Aaron defended you. 

This is Haley’s house, and she never signed up for you. She’s never made you feel unwelcome but that doesn’t mean she wants to see you every Saturday. You're a huge new wedge inserted in their married lives, and now you’re affecting Jack, making his parents argue.  

“I’m sorry,” you say, suddenly flooded by a wave of hot, awkward regret. 

You knew when you found out that Aaron was your father that you would change his life. You’ve always hoped it would be for the better, but maybe it isn’t. 

“Jack…” you say. What is it about hugging him that makes you feel like crying? “I’m real sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen.” 

“It’s not your fault. I like you here. You’re fun.” 

“Thanks, Jack.” 

He looks up at you. “Will you stop coming over?” 

“I guess it’s up to your mommy.” You falter. “Jack?”

“What?” 

“I’m sorry if having a new sister isn’t as fun as you thought it would be. I don’t want to make things harder for you, but I guess I did.” 

“Mom says everything is hard now.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek in efforts to hide how you’re feeling. “I’m sorry. Um, listen, can I have a big hug? I just remembered I have to go help my mom at home.”

“You’re leaving?” 

“Sorry, Jack.” 

Jack gives you a hug. You gather your things and rush to the door to shove your shoes on, but your dad catches you before you can leave. 

“Where are you going?” Aaron asks, his smile falling.

“I–” He makes you nervous, and you know your stammer gives you away. “I forgot I had to do the laundry for my mom tonight, if I don’t do it she’ll be mad for days.” 

“I’m sure you can make it up to her tomorrow,” he suggests gently.

“I better go.”

“Honey, what’s really going on?”

“The laundry is really going on,” you say, unconvincing. “I have to go, I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay. Well, I’ll see you on–”

You open the door before he can finish or offer a hug, image of him in his loose t-shirt carrying a tray of sandwiches burned into your guilty conscience. 

—

You don’t see Aaron for three weeks before he corners you. You owe your great avoidance to his busy job, but it didn’t feel good to reject him, to refuse to make time for him as he does for you. 

“You!” he says, clearly kidding but not entirely where he’s waiting outside of your university building. “Beautiful young woman in the blue! I have some questions for you.” 

It’s so absurd for him that you immediately burst into shy laughter. “Dad, what?” you ask, hiding your face. 

Classmates part around you, seemingly unperturbed. 

Aaron retrieves his badge. “See this? I could detain you, but I won’t if you come quietly. In fact, if you don’t argue I’ll buy you lunch.” 

“You’d buy my lunch regardless.” 

He grabs you. Kindly, but grabbing all the same, like he’s worried you’re about to scarper. “Where have you been hiding?” he asks, giving you a quick hug. You feel tenseness in his arms you're unused to, hear a sadness in his voice that makes your throat burn. 

Putting a table between you helps marginally. Aaron pretends he doesn’t know why you’ve been avoiding him and the Hotchner house, and you’re more than happy to go along with it, until. 

“I have something to tell you,” he says. 

You press against a piece of soaked fruit with your spoon. “Okay.” 

“Haley and I are probably going to separate.” 

You bite your tongue so hard it makes you flinch, spoon scratching the bottom of your bowl. “What?” 

“We’ve been having problems ever since Jack was born.” 

You stare. 

Aaron is very still. He talks carefully. Not without emotion, but stilted, perhaps. “I’m not as good a father as I wish I were. And Haley sees that. Sweetheart, I haven’t ever wanted to burden you with the, uh, less than happy details of my life. I think you’ve suffered me enough. But I’m telling you because I know Jack told you about my most recent argument with Haley.” He smiles at you. “Honey, we fight too much. That day, it was about you, but it’s not all about you, and she doesn’t… Haley’s a good woman. She is. I’ve changed her life a hundred different ways and she hasn’t had many choices, and she…” Something vulnerable crops up, a wavering in his breath. “Sometimes I think she isn’t fair. She holds me to standards I can’t reach, no matter how hard I try, but we’ve stopped arguing about it so much recently, and I’m afraid that that’s… the death knell.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say softly. 

“I’m going to keep trying. I don’t want to lose her.” He drinks what’s left of his soda and presses his napkin under the edge of his plate. “But I won’t lose you, you know? I just want you to understand that you’re not the problem, and you never could be.” 

“I don’t want to add another thing to your levy, dad,” you say, still soft. 

“Meeting you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Well, tied with your brother, of course. You aren’t a thing to be added to anything, you’re my daughter, and Haley might not like it but my home will always have a place for you.” 

What if that’s the problem? From his perspective, you’re not a hindrance to his marriage so much as a separate issue, but from your own, it sounds like you’re just making things worse. 

You’ve missed him, though, and you can’t argue that his reassurances aren’t working. 

“It’s not that Haley doesn’t like you,” he adds, reaching for your hand, “more that she’s unhappy. I’m sorry that that’s something you had to carry.” 

You often think to yourself that Aaron talks like he’s telling a story. He’s so calm and steady, the same as the feeling of his thumb on your wrist. 

“I’m sorry I stormed out.” 

“I wouldn’t call that storming out,” he says. “You’re too quiet sometimes. I wish you’d be upset out loud.” 

“I just don’t want you to fight about me.” 

“Honey,” —he holds your eyes, giving your wrist a gentle squeeze— “I’m always gonna fight for you. That’s what fathers do.”

[lovelookspretty]

lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: cute little way to end the night .. OR SO U THINK

one | two | three | four | five | six

authors note: 😋😋 dont be mad guys im writing the next part asap. if you arent already part of the tag list, let me know in the replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3

(pretend he’s wearing the same clothes stop)

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dstarkeynews Drew and Y/N’s first appearance in a year on September 30th in Santa Barbara, California!

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user1 i haven’t heard about them in forever

user2 ALMOST HAD HIM

user3 I thought they broke up 😭😭

↳ user4 i think they’re on and off

user5 I remember them from 2018 they’re so cute!

user6 tbh i’m happy for them !!

↳ user6 i’m crying .

user7 y’all don’t love them like i do

user8 i was really hoping they didn’t break up omg

user9 they thought they could keep it a secret 😒

user10 WERE THOSE FLOWERS FOR Y/N ????!?$:!:! OMGMGF 😭

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you’re carrying a basket of groceries as you walk with leila through the area. there’s not much on your mind besides checking items off of leila’s list. and it feels nice not having to worry about anything because leila makes you feel normal, makes you and drew feel normal.

speaking of, drew’s just trailing behind you both, though he checks out a few things whenever he sees something he wants to try.

eventually he comes up from your left side and places something he’s bought into your basket, then takes it from you so he can hold your hand with his opposite hand. it feels so natural that you don’t even react, and even if you did acknowledge it, you don’t care.

“it’s so nice to just be out here like regular human beings,” you say, though you note that there’s always a few following behind you three but keep their distance to be a little respectful of your space.

you can hear them giggling every now and then or saying ‘hi’ to their videos that they capture you in, but you don’t think much of it. you think it’s adorable.

drew, however, is itching to get to the car and go home already. leila’s complained twice already that they haven’t completed her list but you’ve already bought everything important for tonight, so you just suggest you go home so both parties still benefit.

leila’s a stubborn one but she gives in when drew is pleading with his palms together. you laugh when she says she can’t stand seeing his “stupid fucking puppy dog eyes”.

when you’re done with your little mini-trip, you return to the car. leila is skipping over with two bags of things while you and drew walk together behind her, swinging your hands back and forth.

he opens your door for you and takes the basket from you so he can keep it in the backseat with leila who happily takes it, and you slide into the passenger’s seat without a thought.

“come on,” his voice pulls you out of the tiktok you’re watching, and you switch your phone off, leaving it on the bed as you drag a blanket with you.

drew’s heading downstairs and he dives right into the sofa, awaiting for everyone to come down already. you wrap the blanket around your body as you shuffle over, seating yourself by his legs.

he sits up instinctively and wraps his arms around you, the side of his head resting on your shoulder as you look around. only a few of you are there—you’re just missing gia and libby who, you guess, are getting the snacks and drinks. and you’re right.

“incoming everyone! don’t be alarmed,” libby says as she and gia make way with the food, and you’re in awe at the spread they’re providing.

“you have your homemade sandwiches—”

“that leila bought from the store,” libby is playing gia’s truth echo that makes you and the others laugh.

“assortment of chips!”

“that i got carried away with and ate half of!”

“can’t go wrong with your candies!”

“theo you owe me fifteen dollars!”

“what?”

“and lastly,” gia closes it out as libby runs back to the kitchen to bring over the tray of cups and drinks. you see oscar rub his hands together mischievously as leila practically drools at the sight. “our drinks!”

libby holds up a cup, “with your name on this complimentary glass that you get to take home after the trip.”

you woo as the glass cups get passed down, and you compare yours with drews while giggling about the free gift. you reach for one of the bottles and fill your glass with it, then take a sip.

“this is what you were working all day on while we were away?” leila asks the girls, extremely impressed by how much dedication they had to providing everyone snacks for her movie night. it essentially is just putting the items into cute bowls and calling it a day, but still. it made her heart warm.

you reach forward and grab a few of the candies and hand one to drew, hinting that you want to try it together. these were purchased by you because you were curious about the taste earlier while you were out.

“ready?” you ask him quickly as he already knows the drill, getting prepared to try it as you count it off. “one, two—” you lean your head back to let the multiple candies you have slide into your mouth while drew just pops his one into his mouth.

as you chew, you raise your eyebrows in surprise. they're really good, and he nods, a small ‘oh yeah’ escaping his lips as he sucks some of the chocolate off of his fingers. you reach over to grab the small bowl, then keep it for yourself without saying anything.

you and drew share a blanket so you’re able to hide the bowl on your lap while he reaches to fill his glass with a drink. oscar hits play on the first movie and you lean into drew’s side to watch the movie this way.

you fall asleep during the second movie, long story short. you can’t help it. but at least you last longer than leila, who fell asleep toward the end of the first one. she was the first one to fall asleep during her own movie night.

drew’s arm tightens around you for a moment, and he shifts to look down at you, finally noticing you’ve completely drifted off.

with a sigh, he decides to call it a night and he rises, sliding out from under you. you stir but don’t fully wake, instinctively curling into the empty spot left by his body.

he hesitates, but then scoops you up gently. you don’t wake up even a bit while your head rests against his chest and he carries you upstairs to the guest room.

the room is already dimly lit by the moonlight filtering in through the windows. he carefully lays you down on the bed, your body finding the most comfortable position as he covers you with the blanket. your breathing is steady as you fall deeper into sleep, and he stands there for a moment, watching you in the soft light, before he moves to sit at the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing against your leg as he retrieves his phone from his back pocket.

for the first time all day, drew unlocks his phone, the screen lighting up with a shit ton of notifications. missed calls, texts, and a few unread emails flash across the screen, and he scrolls through them with a frown, trying to catch up.

as he gets back up to return to his side of the bed, he swipes through several messages, most of them from his close friends—some teasing, some concerned—before he pauses on one that makes his heart sink.

his eyes narrow, his thumb hovering over the text as his mind races. he was expecting a couple of messages, but not this. not this many. his phone buzzes again, a few more messages lighting up the screen, and he rubs a hand across his face, letting out a quiet, frustrated breath.

his gaze flickers to you again, making sure you’re still fast asleep. the last thing he wants is to wake you up with this, but he glances back down at his phone.

he presses the power button on his phone with a little more force than necessary, the screen going black, then he tosses the phone onto the nightstand with a dull thud. he quickly winces when the sound is a little louder than he expected.

his heart skips a beat when you stir, your eyes fluttering open just slightly, still half-asleep.

“star?” you mumble softly, the name slipping out instinctively.

drew freezes, his gaze immediately shifting to you as you shift under the covers. he forces a smile, leaning forward a little, his voice low and soothing. “sorry,” he murmurs. “just dropped my phone. go back to sleep, okay?”

you blink at him, your eyes barely open, but you manage a small nod, already too drowsy to fully process what’s going on. you can’t read that he’s just lied to you.

“mmf, okay…” you mumble, your body curling into the pillow as you drift back into sleep.

he lets out a quiet sigh of relief, watching as your breathing evens out again. for a moment, the tension in his chest eases, but only just. he leans back, letting his head rest against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling for a few moments before turning off the bedside lamp.

as the darkness settles around him, the weight of everything presses down harder, and he turns onto his side, facing you. the soft glow of moonlight still filters through the window, and you look so . . . peaceful.

he stays like that for a while, watching you sleep, his mind swirling with thoughts he can’t quiet.

but eventually, drew pulls the blanket up over his shoulder and closes his eyes, trying to shut out the noise in his head and go to sleep.

@rubixgsworld @itgirlbrina @thepopcultureaddict @samsmelodrama @kissfinalgirl @itsamegazaddysworld @willowpains @toterry @wearemadeofstardust0 @maybankslover @itneverendshere @httpsdrewstarkey

[sonotpattismith]

YOURE WRITING IS LIT AMAZING OMG- I had an idea: Sukuna switching in and telling u yuji likes you (romanticly and sexually) and eventually switching back and the aftermath…. 🙏🙏🙏

Forgive Me for Whatever I Do (Yuji Itadori x Reader)

word count: 4.9k warnings: a teeny bit dark, angst, suggestive content, 18+ a/n: y'all, I think I kind of altered what the original vibe was meant to be for this request, but I am apparently physically incapable of not making a fic angsty, I'm SORRY. Also, this was a bit inspired by Remember You by Dominurmom, link if you wanna listen cause it makes me cry. I hope you all enjoy and please remember my requests are always open! 🥹🫶🏻

Friends. It was a good word-- a safe word. It was one you had found solace in hiding behind for years. How could you dare risk the beautiful ebb and flow you had found within the days of while you’d experienced with your best friend? No matter the pools of warmth that engulfed your chest with each glittery-eyed smile-- no matter how the both of you had always found your way back to each other whether rain or sunshine-- no matter how much you loved Yuji Itadori. Friends; it was a safe space. 

There was a time when you wanted something more. It was so early on, before you were too scared to lose him yet. When you two had first met, you felt undeniably pulled toward the bright-eyed and charismatic boy. Both of your lives had been overwhelmingly and newly hectic, what with your being thrust into a life of curses and sacrifice. Similarly, Yuji was still coping with the abrupt weight of managing the demon he now shared a body with. It was never the right time. 

So, your timid glances and blushing compliments soon turned into confiding conversations and fierce loyalty. You two fell into the gentle and safe rhythm of a blossoming friendship. Of course, deep down within the confines of your cowardly hearts, you were always drawn to one another. There was always a hope, never communicated, that maybe once your lives found a peaceful medium, you two would no longer need to hide behind the solace of friends.

This certainly wasn’t how you wanted it to happen. 

Yuji had always made it appoint to keep you and Sukuna at opposite ends of his world, in all senses of the phrase. He barely spoke of him to you at all, in fact. It was actually something you argued often with him about, worried about the impacts of keeping that kind of burden locked away would have on him. In typical Itadori fashion though, he wouldn’t even entertain the notion of an argument with you. No, he’d just squint his honey-brown eyes, and flash that bashful smile to you, a half-assed excuse about why it wasn’t that big of a deal falling easily from his lips. 

The truth was though, it was a big deal to him-- a massive one, in fact. After having already witnessed what that counterpart of his could do, the havok it could ensue on those important to him-- nothing scared him more than the prospect of you coming face to face with Sukuna. Yuji felt this fear so much so that he spared you the details. He didn’t want you to think of him in such a way, to know that any part of him was capable of such atrocities. Yes, he’d bear it all if it meant none of it touched you. 

So, when he felt his own body deteriorating rapidly in tandem with the whaling blows of cursed energy courtesy of the special grade the two of you had been cornered by, the thought flickered in the back of his head. Heaving out a pained groan, Yuji’s gaze found yours, and he pushed it back down. But you screamed. You screamed, and he couldn’t help you-- he couldn’t move. You screamed, and he was trapped beneath the concrete pillar that had fallen so unceremoniously over his heaving chest. You screamed, and suddenly, it was his only option. 

“Sukuna!”

The King of Curses was not one for favors, especially not for the brat that held him hostage in what was meant to be his vessel. He assessed the situation before him-- the one he’d been watching intently from the safety of his own shrine. Through his insolent vessel’s eyes, he could only see you. It was all the brat would look at, you were all he ever looked at. Whether it be the back of your head, hair swaying gently as you’d turn to smile at him, and Sukuna would always feel the boy’s heart clench fouly at the sight. On some occasions, you’d be looking right at him, your eyes with stars behind them, and the demon wanted nothing more than to rip them right from their sockets simply for the way his vessel would tremble under your gaze.

Pathetic. 

Maybe if the brat had been looking toward something else for once, they wouldn’t have been in this predicament. But he was racing toward you at every chance he got, taking blows that were meant for you, countering attacks that you had antagonized. He couldn’t understand how someone could be so weak.

So, he laughed. In the back of Itadori’s frenzied mind, Sukuna cackled at him. The boy whispered a plea, tears stinging his eyes as he watched you stumble to your feet in a grave attempt to escape the repeated blows being landed on you. 

“Anything, I’ll do anything, please!”

The demon liked the sound of that. Yuji could feel the control slipping away from him, his consciousness being sucked up by the all consuming darkness lurking within. For just a moment, he fought against it, staring up at you in an almost drunken haze. 

“I’m sorry. Please,” He called out to you, voice hoarse and morphing into one you didn’t recognize. “Just look away.”

In mere seconds, the boy you loved was shifting before your eyes. His features were sharpening; sinister, black marks pooling onto his skin like ink. The second set of eyes below his own snapped open, and they were looking right at you. Maybe, Sukuna thought, if he saw it for himself he’d understand, without the barrier of this boy’s soul in the way. Still, as he stared into your fearful eyes, he felt nothing but indifference-- no-- disgust. 

Jagged chunks of concrete rubble sliced through the air around you, knocking into your already weak body, some even slicing through the special grade in front of you. Blinking back the dust that invaded your sight, when your eyes opened again, the curse was desecrated; an explosion of grotesque, purple evidence of what it once was. 

Sukuna didn’t care to save you. What enticed him more for the approximate two minutes he had left in control of this body, was breaking down the brat a little. In all fairness, when you stood there so helplessly, so vulnerable with eyes full of fear before him, how could he resist? His impossibly sharp teeth flashed under the moon’s light as he stepped toward you, torn shirt hanging loosely off his shoulder and chest. 

You wanted to apologize to Yuji, to tell him that you tried to look away like he’d asked. It wasn’t a fair request though. No, not when your best friend, the boy you loved, was being held hostage. You feared if you looked away he might do something awful to him-- unaware of what lurked in the dark chasm of his thusfar imprisoned mind. 

“I’ve gotta say,” Sukuna’s gravelly voice reached your ears. It didn’t hold that playfully boyish cadence you had come to love. In its place was one that mocked you, laughing boisterously in the face of your trembling fear and anticipation of what he’d do next. “In the flesh, you’re pretty underwhelming.”

You gulped down the bile that threatened to rise from your stomach. Still crumpled on the ground from the last hit you’d taken, you weren’t sure if you should attempt to stand; unsure if he’d find that acceptable. Sukuna tilted his head at your silence, taking two slow and calculated steps forward. 

“Disgusting.” He spat suddenly, gripping you by your elbow to haul you up. You yelped in surprise, trying not to shed the tears that welled in your eyes at the sting of his nails against your skin. “This brat spends day in and day out allowing himself to be consumed. And for this?”

Your brows furrowed at his words, and you pulled against his grip. 

“Give him back.” You gritted through your teeth, fear igniting your body in tremors. 

Sukuna’s red eyes, all four of them, lit up sinsiterly, grin widening in a manner that appeared painful. You realized for that split second that he likely didn’t have much time at all to wreak havoc, and he was enjoying this. He wanted to hurt you-- to hurt Yuji, even with the limited scope of his abilities at the moment. 

“How romantic.” He cooed mockingly. His hand came up to grasp your jaw, forcing you to look into the eyes of your best friend, but he wasn’t there. Your stray tear betrayed you, slipping down your mangled cheek. Leaning forward with gusto, he licked a debauched stripe up the path your traitorous tear had taken, cackling madly as the salt tainted his tongue. Pushing you back a bit, his voice was suddenly booming, cracking at your abused eardrums with fervor. “All day!”

You tried to keep your face neutral, to be unwilling to give up the shred of dignity you had left-- for Yuji. 

“All day this brat pines and trembles and burns with the thought of you-- pathetic!”

For a moment, you felt your heart stop at his words. Surely he wasn’t implying that Yuji, even in the slightest sense, saw past more than just your friendship. You knew you shouldn’t. It wasn’t him, but your lips were moving to a different rhythm than your mind was, and you were whispering to him in hushed bewilderment, 

“What?”

“And you’re so stupidly oblivious, too? How revolting.” Despite his disgusted words, the baleful smile on his face grew that much wilder. It struck you then, how much you had disconnected yourself from the fact that the body before you, holding your body weight up with a deafening grip on your jaw, was Yuji. You didn’t see him. When you looked at that pink hair and felt the familiar curves of his hands, he wasn’t your best friend. “I suppose you’re not the only ignorant one. I can practically feel the way your weak little heart pounds everytime that brat looks at you.”

Your cheeks were burning at this point, and if he couldn’t see it in the dim moonlight, he could surely feel the heat under his mean fingers. Blinking away your tears, you willed your lip to stop trembling. 

“He doesn’t know it, you know.” Sukuna chuckled, spurred on by your painful silence. “I spend all day having to listen to him whine about his unreciprocated, little love-sick infatuation.”

It was making your stomach churn, the way he was turning your feelings for one another, ones that you were only now becoming privy to, into something so revolting. The words falling from his lips were ones you prayed so long to hear. You had spent so many sleepless nights staring back at your best friend where he laid sprawled out on the other side of your bed, both of you too traumatized from the day’s monstrosities to sleep alone-- to leave each other. This isn’t how you wanted to find out though. 

Amongst the desecration of your normal lives, you wanted to grasp onto the hope of innocence, of pure and untouched love and fondness. You hoped for bashful confessions and spontaneous kisses, ones that were purely Yuji’s intent. Sukuna was snatching the opportunity right from beneath you two, and he knew it. 

You shook your head, or tried to with the grip that was forcing your gaze on him. 

“My days are filled with his insolent whining, and I don’t find solace at night either.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think by the eager way he was spilling these thoughts out to you that he was happy to spend his fortitude in such a manner. You did know better though, and you knew what he enjoyed was the chance of domestic normalcy he was ripping away from the boy that held him hostage. “No, he touches himself at night.”

“Stop it.” You spat, unable to hold back the dam of your tears any longer. They spilled freely down your cheeks, and you swore you could see his red eyes roll into the back of his head. Your weak hands came up in a desperate attempt to shield your ears from the intimate secrets Yuji likely never intended for you to hear-- not like this anyway. The hand that held your jaw quickly fell, and he laced his fingers through yours mockingly, forcing you to listen. 

“That brat thinks of you all night when he’s beating himself off like the degenerate he is. Sometimes he calls out your name too, when he--”

You couldn’t take it anymore, feeling as though you might throw up. Above all else, your heart ached for Yuji, and you wondered if he could hear what was going on, if he was clawing his way out. You wanted to apologize to him, tell him you never meant to find out this way. You wished you could forget.

“Yuji!” 

Your cry made the demon smile, but it quickly faded with a knowing furrow of his brows. Eyes drooping lazily as he looked toward you, he shook his head. The marks on his face were slowly absorbing back into his skin. His upper lip curled in disgust. 

“Pathetic.”

In an instant, he was falling to the floor limply, bringing you down with him. When you looked up in a frenzied haze at the head that fell onto your chest, you noted with relief that it was Yuji again. His eyes fluttered open deliriously, taking in his surroundings. Looking up, he was met by your grief-stricken expression, fresh tears clinging to your face. His freshly healed arms were pulling himself up clumsily, hovering over you in a way that made it obvious that fear was gripping at every nerve in his body. 

“What— what did he do? Are you okay?” 

It was Sukuna’s very intention, the manner in which you had no choice but to see Yuji so differently now. As he hovered over you, unintentionally entrapping you under his tensing arms and bare chest, you couldn’t help but blush as the curse’s words rang in your mind. The thought of the boy you’d dreamt about for so long thinking of you in such a way, touching himself to the thought of you, longing for you-- and he was right there within your reach. 

“You… you don’t remember?” You whispered, trying to calm your racing heart. 

Yuji quickly shook his head, his comforting brown eyes tracing down your body as if to assess the damages. When his hands molded around your waist to pull your shirt up, the one that was slowly flooding through with blood from the gash on your side, you gasped and flinched away. He gulped back his nausea at the racing thoughts of what Sukuna could have done to you to warrant such a response. His hands reeled back to his sides, and he sat back on his knees. 

“I got pretty messed up back there… I think I was still healing.” he explained slowly, wanting so badly to help you, but unsure of how you viewed him now-- how scared you were of him. What he didn’t know was that you weren’t scared of him, not at all. In fact, you wanted to pull him in, hold him close, tell him that you’ve loved him all this time as well. It should have been an idyllic occasion. In the back of your mind though, you knew if Yuji hadn’t confessed to you himself already then there was likely a reason, and you shouldn’t force the decision onto him just because the curse residing in him ripped away the layers of protection that shrouded those feelings. “Please, I’m sorry. What did he do to you?”

He didn’t remember, and maybe it was better that way. At least one of you could be spared the humiliation. It took some time, but you had convinced Yuji that you were simply shaken up from the fight, though you felt he still wasn’t entirely convinced. His movements were painfully careful as he carried you to safety. It was so clear in the way he touched you with such delicacy, that he feared scaring you more than he thought he already had. 

You stared up at the ceiling that night, tears clouding your vision as you toyed with the edge of the gauze that wrapped your abdomen. In all the time you two had known each other, you couldn’t wrap your head around why he was so scared of opening up to you about the monster he shared a body with. Countless nights you’d spent after missions, as he stared unblinkingly at a wall, begging him to confide in you. In just under five minutes with the thing though, you understood the cruelty he was trying to protect you from. 

There was a soft knock on your door, and you lifted your head up as it slid open. Yuji stood tentatively at the entrance, looking like the absolute picture of health compared to your mangled self. He was scratching at the back of his head awkwardly, a little quirk you’d grown to love, much like everything else about him. Flashing you his attempt at a bashful smile, he tilted his head at you. 

“Thought you could use some company.” He offered. It was somewhat of a routine of yours to meet together after a particularly grueling mission. The two of you would lay in bed, facing each other with moronic smiles on your lips as you talked about everything-- everything but the horrors you’d witnessed. It was the only way you could find yourself calm enough to fall asleep. If you two talked each other’s ears off about the comparable strength of two manga characters, or argued halfheartedly over what was the superior horror movie in your already trash-fire line up, if you distracted one another line by line-- the two of you would forget about what you saw. Just long enough to allow your eyes to forcefully drift in exhaustion. 

Now though, as he stared undecisively at you, you could tell he wasn’t sure if he would still be allowed such privileges. Despite being lost in the labyrinth of your own mind over the night’s events-- over him-- you smiled softly for his sake and patted the spot beside you. Your breath hitched as he eagerly closed the door behind him and climbed into bed beside you. His sigh of relief fanned over the side of your face despite his attempt at concealing it. You felt his eyes on you, his body already on its side and facing you, awaiting for you to do the same. 

“Oh, your side.” Yuji sighed in ackowledgement, and you simply nodded in agreement, not wanting to reveal that you simply couldn’t look him in the eyes without bursting on the spot. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as he reached out to softly graze his hand over the wounded area. The boy saw the way your breath hitched and your expression shifted, slowly retracting his hand. “Listen, I’m sorry for whatever happened back there. Please, look at me.”

A little piece of your heart broke off at the pained desperation in his tone. Blinking back the tears that threatened to form, you turned your head to the side to look in his wide, distraught eyes. Softening your gaze, you struggled against your pain as you forced yourself on your side to face him. 

“No, Yuji, it’s okay--”

“No it’s not!” In an instant, he was sitting up, looking down at you as his chest heaved with purposeful breaths. “He’s taken everything from me, and I…”

His shoulders slumped, and a rosy tint rushed to his cheeks. 

“I won’t let him take you too-- I can’t. So, please, just tell me what I have to do to make you not scared of me anymore, and I’ll do it, okay? I’ll do anything.”

Unable to take it anymore, you moved to sit up with a grunt. Yuji’s hands quickly shot out to help you until you were facing him. He looked back at you with such conviction, such longing in his gaze, and, with hindsight bias, you wondered how you never saw it sooner. 

“You’re my best friend, Yuji… I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Then why can’t you look me in the eyes?”

You pursed your lips, tentatively taking his hands into yours to hold them between you two. His breath hitched ever so slightly at the connection. Scraping your thumb over his knuckle absentmindedly in a manner that was scrambling his brain like eggs, you thought carefully on your next words. 

“You don’t think anything could ruin our friendship… right?” You asked timidly, eyes meeting his through your lashes. His brows furrowed at your question, and he found himself leaning forward to gaze into you sincerely, shaking his head quickly. 

“Nothing. Don’t you think we’ve been through too much together already? You’re kinda stuck with me.”

The hesitantly joking tone in his voice made you smile softly. Yuji had a way of easing your anxiety that way, as if there was a little door in your mind that only he had the key to open up and gaze into whenever he pleased. It gave you more confidence to continue your pursuit.. 

“And there aren’t any secrets between us? Nothing you’ve… not told me?”

Gulping thickly, he felt his face pale. There was something he was keeping from you, something he had come to terms with being content with if it meant he’d never put your relationship in jeopardy. An attempted smile broke into his face, but the corners of his lips were twitching anxiously. You could have melted at the sight. 

 “Uh… no. You know I tell you everything.” The lie stumbled from his lips unconvincingly. Your lips set into a firm line as you shot him a knowing yet playful look. Suddenly, his eyes were darting everywhere but you. They were at your hands, on your nose, on the ceiling, anywhere that would allow him to gather his thoughts. “Is this about the dent in your bathroom wall? Cause I promise I have a good explaination, a-and I was going to tell you, but you were already upset about the--”

“I love you.” It fell from your lips, permanent, unable to be drawn back in. In truth, the both of you could have died that night. Yuji was practically pinned under a building, and you had been face to face with the king of curses. The sentiment of either of you dying without having heard the depths of your feelings for one another was not lost on you. The lifestyles you led were perilous, self-sacrificing, and morbid. You already lived in fear that your next mission would be your last, and, as you were blanketed by the comfort brought upon by the proximity of the boy you loved so dearly, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel this type of fear too. Not for Yuji. 

“Take it back.”

Okay, maybe his blunt order hurt more than the boulder that flew into your side earlier, but you still stood by what you said. A small, breathless gasp fell from your lips as you stared at his solemn expression. 

“Oh,” you muttered out meekly, and, despite your burning embarrassment, you couldn’t tear your eyes from his. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“I wanted to say it to you first.” He reiterated, his lips pulled to the side in frustration, eyebrows furrowed as he regarded you. “I spent years thinking of what I wanted to say to you. Take it back.” 

Relief flooded your system like a drug, flowing through your veins and relaxing your constricting muscles. In its place came a bashful flush at his words. Smiling softly in disbelief, you shook your head a bit.

“Okay,” you drew out slowly, watching him square his muscles back as if preparing for his line. “I take it back.” 

Despite his previous determination and insistence that he had something profound to say, all he could do was lean forward to press his lips against yours clumsily. He couldn’t help himself, not with the way your twinkling eyes stared up at him expectantly, glimmering with an excitement he felt he was alone with for years. A muffled huff of surprise from you was swallowed right up by his eager lips as he lunged forward to deepen the connection he’d just forged. 

“‘M sorry,” Yuji mumbled against your mouth, reaching up to grip at the side of your face as if you’d ever run from him. “Know I talked all that shit, but I forgot what I was gonna say. I love you. I just love you. I’ve always loved you.”

He didn’t allow you any room for a response because his desperate push against your lips had you leaning back to accommodate the sudden weight, and you fell back against your pillow. The boy eagerly chased you, crawling over your panting form to pour out all the soliloquies he longed to spill out to you with some semblance of eloquence, he wanted it all conveyed to you through his frenzied devouring of you. 

Your mind was reeling with his sudden urgency, and you quickly came to the realization that the both of you had been living with this fear of passing one another up. Your hand snaked up to run along his chest, daring to explore up his neck and into the tufts of his pink hair. A soft moan of your name had you blushing profusely, suddenly remembering what Sukuna had told you about the extent of Yuji’s desires for you. You wondered if this was what he sounded like when he called out to you at night with his hands wrapped around himself. Squinting your eyes, you willed your imagination to take a quick u-turn, remembering that that wasn’t information Yuji had given up willingly. 

“Say it back.” Yuji suddenly demanded, finally tearing away from his assault on your lips to stare down at you determinedly. “Say it again.” 

Your free hand came up to cup his cheek. There was so much fear and guilt and sadness pent up in your chest at the prospect of what Sukuna had taken from him that night. It had never been like you to lie to him or keep things from him. As your thumb ran across his bottom lip lovingly, and he looked so accomplished, so content with how this night had somehow progressed in his favor, you realized that the curse hadn’t taken anything from him. Not when you were there to make sure that kind of hatred never touched him. 

“I love you too, Yuji.” 

His wide, boyish grin lit up the dim room. Swinging back down with fervor, the two of you laughed against each other as your teeth clashed messily. Humming contentedly, his wandering hands traveled down your side and snuck up your shirt. God, he’d dreamed of this for so long, and you were right there- underneath of him and pliable to his every touch. He knew he was getting ahead of himself, he could feel it in the way his boxers tightened uncomfortably against him, but he feared he may wake up at any second back in his dorm room alone, like he had so many times following his messianic dreams about what it may be like to have you. 

As his fingers creeped up, you flinched against his fervent grasp that lit your wounded side ablaze. Yuji was suddenly reminded of the night’s events, and he cursed quietly before reluctantly pulling away from you. Looking down at your flushed cheeks and swollen lips, an unbrittled exhilaration swirled in his chest. There would be so many more nights with you, he would make sure of it. He leaned forward to press a last, longing and solemn kiss against your forehead-- a promise that you two would come back to this. 

Carefully, he pulled his grasp away from your wounded side and settled down beside you. Unlike those countless nights the two of you shared a bed, Yuji laid snuggly against you, locking your knees under his strong legs. With his head propped up on his elbow, he beamed down at you, lovestruck as he affectionately tugged your shirt back down. As his fingers lingered against the protruding gauze, his expression creased a bit.

“You… you never told me what Sukuna did.”

Although he hated that he felt the need to ruin the moment with such dark thoughts, no amount of lust could have driven that fear from the back of his mind. Your smile faltered marginally at his words. Thinking of how excited he was to confess to you, and how ardently he fell into this new role so comfortably with you, exploring you with an innocence that was a stark contrast to the dark world you two traversed, you shook your head. Leaning up to press an assuring kiss to his cheek, you looked right at the slits under his eyes, as if daring the curse to acknowledge you. 

“He didn’t do a damn thing.”

masterlist.

[kairisea]

🌊𓈒𓏸Something New𓏸𓈒🌊

SUMMARY: You and Kinich are officially a couple, and despite the awkwardness of the whole thing (since you're both new at relationships), you wanted to get him something to show your appreciation.

NOTES: gn!reader x aroace Kinich, demiromantic/asexual, though neither is actually mentioned. Reader is implied to be a Natlan native. It's assumed you've done the AQ and his SQ, but should be fine to read without doing either

WARNINGS: None, really, just fluff

COMMENTS: I finished Kinich's quest, and fell deeper in love with him than I already was. So I wanted to write a fic in celebration of his release and quest! Though I must say, this is not the fic I intended to write. My brain wanted something else I guess.

Ever since you and Kinich started dating, things between you seemed awkward. It's not like you knew how to be romantic. And clearly, he was the same. You'd still hang out, and talk, and go places, but when it came to anything romantic, you both were hopelessly lost. Not for a lack of trying.

Ajaw would laugh at your every attempt at something romantic, as you failed spectacularly. Though if something got too corny or actually romantic, Ajaw would always become frustrated and leave. It was clear he just wanted to watch you struggle. He hated the lovey-dovey stuff.

You decided to ask your friends and research the subject, in hopes to become better. Your research led to a lot of fiction, which didn't seem like a good source of information to you. Your friends were able to give you some pointers, but they were mostly about flirting, which you thought was less than useful considering you were together already. Still, they at least had some useful tips.

So here you are, at a traveling merchant, looking through their stock. You're looking for something specific, and if anyone in Natlan would have it, it'd be a traveling merchant, since it doesn't grow here. The merchant seems to get a bit irritated, but then you lay your eyes on your prize. A Rainbow Rose. Native to Fontaine, your friends told you it was a symbol of love. Perfect to give to Kinich.

"I'll take one Rainbow Rose, please!" you asked the man.

"That'll be 7 thousand mora." he replied bluntly. 7 thousand?!?! you thought. That seems absurd! For one flower!? But it's not like I have any other options... You'd come all this way, determined to by a Rainbow Rose for him, and it's not like you didn't have the budget... you'd just have to cut out some other things off the list of things to buy.

You sighed. "Alright, I'll take it." Maybe you'd have been better going to Fontaine yourself, though going there probably wouldn't be an option even if you wanted to. You knew you could've tried haggling, but it was never your strong suit, plus this guy seemed pretty big, and you didn't want to anger him or anything. So you just handed over the mora.

"Pleasure doing business!" He seemed really proud of himself as he handed you the single rose. You debated asking for more, but you had only asked for one, and you were certain that's what he'd say back. Still, you had your gift. It was time to head to his house and give it to him. Let's just hope this didn't go horribly wrong...

You made your way to Kinich's home, building up the courage to knock. You wondered if he was even home. There was no way to tell without knocking, so that's what you did. You held the rose behind you, it had to be a surprise after all. You anxiously for an answer, thinking you had been right and he wasn't home. You knocked again just in case.

"Kiniiich! Are you deaf!? Someone's at the door! As a servant to the great K'uhul Ajaw, you oughta be quick to answer it!!!" You could hear Ajaw yell through the door. It was quite clear he wouldn't be the one to answer the door, but that was already assumed. At least you knew Kinich was home now.

"Calm down, Ajaw. If you're really that impatient you could've answered it yourself." You heard Kinich approach the door. Suddenly you were very aware of what you were about to do. Your nerves seemed like the could burst out of you at any moment. Your heart was running a marathon. As your thoughts were running, Kinich opened the door. "Oh, it's you. What brings you here?"

He seemed so calm. He never was really the type to be mushy gushy, and you appreciated that about him. Though it certainly didn't help your nerves. "Well, considering we're... well, partners. I wanted to get you something. To... show my appreciation! And... well... my love for you..." You trailed off in embarrassment, avoiding his gaze.

"Ahh, it's that human again! Well, do you have some entertainment for us? Another way to spectacularly fail?" Ajaw laughed. You and Kinich did not. "Or maybe you have a gift to offer to the Almighty Dragonlord, K'uhul Ajaw! Something to prove your worth?"

"They said it was a gift for me, not you. And don't make fun of us." He glared at Ajaw, and the saurian shut up with a 'hmph'. He mumbled something about disrespect, but you couldn't quite make it out. "Well? What do you have for me?"

You hoped Ajaw wouldn't make fun of you, and hoped Kinich would like it. "Well..." You pulled the rainbow rose out from behind your back, presenting it to him. "It's called a rainbow rose, from Fontaine. It... I heard it was a symbol of love... so I wanted to give you one." You looked at him from the corner or your eyes for his reaction.

"Hmph! I'm glad it's not an offering to us! A symbol of love? Tch. Perfect for you couple of lovebirds." Ajaw remarked

"We're hardly lovebirds, Ajaw. We're not that experienced. Besides, if you hate it so much, why don't you leave?" He queried Ajaw. "This is a lovely gift." He takes the flower from your hands. He didn't smile often, but you could see a small one on his face just then.

Ajaw hmphed away. "You like it?" you asked him, and he quickly nodded in response. "I'm glad." Suddenly, the 7 thousand mora felt entirely worth it. Though knowing Kinich, the next thing he was going to say would be-

"How much did it cost?" You sighed at his predictability.

"I'm not telling you this time. You don't have to pay me back, really." Knowing him, he still wouldn't accept that.

"If you won't tell me, I guess I'll have to find some other way to reimburse you." You knew he'd say something like that. You were also glad he didn't press on the price. Who knows what he'd say if you told him? "Why don't you come inside? I can get this flower in some water and we can... chill together."

"That sounds great." You tried not to seem too excited at the idea, but you couldn't hide your smile as you entered the house at his signal. You sat down on the couch as you watched Kinich pull out a vase, fill it with water, and put the rose in it. Afterwards, he came and sat down next to you on the couch. Once again, things were awkward. At least you got one good moment. Maybe this could be a good moment to loosen up?

"You two really are hopeless. Maybe I need to give you some pointers, because clearly you suck at this!" Ajaw seemed both annoyed, but also prideful, as if he really could teach you something about romance. Could he..?

I might end up making a part two to this, where Ajaw teaches you something, or you naturally learn it, and get more comfortable with Kinich. Idk, if you want to see a part two, let me know!

I also want to make a modern AU fic where you move in with Kinich, so let me know if you want to see that, too.

Also for the rainbow rose part, I want you to know I asked a friend for a number between 1 and 60 (hi friend) and they gave me 7 or 42. With 1 mora being 1 cent, I didn't want the poor reader to actually end up needing to spend $420 on a single rose XD If you're wondering why between 1 and 60, it's because 1,000 mora is the usual price for local specialties. But of course, there's someone in Ritou selling dandelion seeds for 60,000 mora, so that set my range for someone selling outside of a nation. Anyway just fun research stuff I spent too much time doing for little to no impact :) (Also yes that means the rainbow rose was $70 USD, pretty pricey if I do say so myself😬)

If you enjoyed this, feel free to learn more about me and what I do here! You can also see if my requests are open there if you want something yourself!

[schoenpepper]

Despite Everything (It's Still You)

Intro: When he looks at you, he sees everything he could have been.

Warnings: bad grammar, awful writing, not proofread, kinda angsty, more platonic im pretty sure cus its not specified if ur lovers, might be ooc idk and idc, everytime i write idia i feel 10 years older because i cringe at my own internet slang

A/N: Done! Last request is finished, hope you like it worm anon. On my end, this is super rushed and it's not like, my fave ever so ehhhh.

Masterlist

Riddle thought he’d found a comrade in you. Out of everyone in Twisted Wonderland, he’d thought you would be the one to understand him.

He sees it in your posture, always straight and never slouching. You’re good with academics, a diligent student. Like Riddle, you’d gone through life with the iron fist of a well-meaning parent, so surely, you understand him, right? You agree with him. You believe that rules are important to be upheld lest society fall into chaos. It’s such a refreshing feeling to find a person who, like him, thinks that structure and stability are core values of a proper community.

But you don’t. You don’t understand. No one does. His consciousness is flickering between ink and reality. He’s slipping into the grasp of the phantom and he feels himself slowly being consumed. He’s being devoured. Right before the overblot, even you had stood against him. Why? Riddle wasn’t wrong, he was never wrong—the rules aren’t wrong. Because if they are, then what did he lose his entire childhood for? So you must be the one at fault. This is your mistake. You just don’t understand. You tell him that the rules and the competence and the structure matter less than people. You try to convince him that there’s a better way of living. Is there?

Riddle doesn’t know why. He’d thought you were a comrade because he saw his own experiences in yours, but he’d never been so wrong. While he was still caught up in the chains of his mother’s words, you’d already broken free from the cage. You help him to reclaim the shards of childish wonder he’d never been allowed to have. You help him learn how to breathe, how to relax. Little by little, you bring him onto your path.

He doesn’t understand you anymore.

Leona doesn’t have any opinions about you. You never really talked to him at first, and he can respect that; you don’t go out of your way for bothersome, meaningless things.

Every time he sees you, you’re sleeping or slacking off. Whatever, it’s not like he can judge you for it. You also have a real competitive streak for spelldrive, and your wit’s not half bad, especially when compared to the muscle heads in his dorm. Clever and snarky, talented and strong. He can respect you. Maybe just barely, and he’ll never admit it, but he sees a part of himself in you. So, a sort-of equal. He’s still better than you though.

The taste of sand lingers on his tongue as it swirls in the air through the storm. There’s a part of himself he can no longer control. It makes him wrap his fingers around Ruggie’s throat and Leona… He doesn’t want this. But he can’t stop. He can still recognize you on the edge of his vision. Weren’t you just like him? At birth, everything good was handed right over to your older sibling, leaving nothing but scraps for you. You found it unfair too, didn’t you? So why are you standing against him? This is his chance to be someone worth more than his birthright. Why…are you not agreeing with him?

Leona tried to stay away from you. But call it his instinct or whatever; he can’t seem to avoid you at all. The second prince of Sunset Savanna is awestruck by your words. You tell him that birth doesn’t determine everything. You tell him that you’d learned from your own past. That you can still make something of yourself without that which was given. You sure are chatty now, but who is he to stop you?

You’re not his equal. You’d long since left him in the dust.

Azul sees you as an opportunity. He likes you, really, because you know how to do business and you find a way to compromise that doesn’t step on either person’s lines.

It’s not difficult for him to find out about your past, and to be honest, he’s greatly delighted to find out about all that you have in common. Did you feel the way he did when he was isolated and bullied? Did you feel his pain? You were an outcast too, weren’t you? But wow, look at you (and him) now! It’s rare he sees someone as diligent as himself, as cunning and as smart. Resourceful and oh so benevolent, you’d fit right into Octavinelle!

He’d steered himself long ago; he would never be weak again. He had long, long since forgotten humiliation and defeat. But he’s here again. This time, defeat was brought by your hands. Azul had thought you were allies. Business partners, at least. Why betray him like this? Don’t you get it? He’s powerful now! Why try to stop him? Why did you succeed? He’s left in the aftermath of heartache and debris. He doesn’t know why he did the things he did, but he’s sure that he was so close to being all-powerful. Perfect. A being so beautiful and flawless and strong… You took that chance away from him.

Azul wants you out of his life—your presence now is only a reminder of everything he could have been, and everything he failed to be. Unlike him, you’ve already moved on. You’ve learned to forgive your tormentors, and most importantly, you’ve learned to forgive yourself. You tell him that it was never his fault, but that revenge was never meant to be the answer.

He finds that he had nothing in common with you, after all.

Jamil is perceptive. Next to the one who’s attracting the attention of the whole room with a bright smile and sunny disposition, he finds a kindred spirit in you.

You seem responsible enough, and like a mirror, he sees you taking care of that person the way he does with Kalim. It’s easy to pierce through your act because he knows how to do it too. Seemingly not too smart, not too dumb, not too strong, not too weak. You’re good at pretending to be average. Like Jamil, you’ve lived a life of servitude. Are you tired of forced humility? Of feeling like your life isn’t worth anything when compared to the one you serve?

He’s tired too. He’s so, so tired. Why was freedom unreachable to Jamil right from the moment he was conceived? Was he unworthy of a life unbound by shackles? You’re looking at him like he’s a stranger. Jamil looks at you like you’re a mirror. A mirror that’s shattered, and damaged, and every piece is covered with ink and regret. You know what he’s been through, so why are you in his way? You should be an accomplice. Do you not yearn to be your own person? The phantom is whispering promises he knows it won’t keep. But nothing is more tempting than just…one day of happiness. Of his own happiness.

Jamil is inevitably drawn to you. You live so brightly; you see your master as a friend. You tell him he doesn’t need to do the same. That the only thing he needs to do is find a way that works for him. And you’re asking about things he hadn’t thought of before. An employment contract? The legal status of slavery in the Scalding Sands? Wait, you’re serving that person out of your own volition in exchange for salary and other related benefits?

In you, he sees a light at the end of the tunnel.

Vil approves of you. Like looking in a mirror almost, he sees beauty and a passionate drive to remain beautiful in every single way.

You’re a person with a consistent goal and a persistent drive to do better and be better; a hard worker with tenacity like that of the Queen herself. You are no potato. You are a diamond that has found a way to shine uniquely, and like him, you are already a master at your chosen profession. And yet, he sees the trophies and the medals are all silver and never gold. It is frustrating, but Vil knows that you as well know what it’s like to always be second best.

He’d worked so hard. He’d tried his very best. Professional music and choreography, styling and costumes. He’d set up a multi-week boot camp for his team members in order to whip them into shape. It’s all swept away by that person. Again. And again. And again and again and again and— No. No more. He will take matters into his own hands. But you stand in front of him with a familiar determination, only this time, you’re determined to stop him. Rook had betrayed him and now, you do too. Is he not worthy of a victory? Not even once? The blot is so, so ugly. But if it means he’ll get to wipe out everything that’s opposed to him, he’ll take that blot and use it to his own advantage. Like the queen who’d disguised herself as an ugly witch in order to take down the princess; everything can be sacrificed for the sake of ultimate beauty. If you’re not with him, you must be against him.

Vil apologizes sincerely for his faults. He knows he was wrong, even if it hurts his pride to admit it. But you accept him so easily, so readily, he can’t believe you’re acting like he’d never even hurt you. You forgive him. You help him accept his losses and continue to strive. Because you’d been in his position before, but you’d grown to be happy and appreciate the wins in life instead.

You are no mirror image of him. You are better.

Idia’s never been this happy before; through his screen is someone who just gets him. You’re good at games, and an introvert too? Score!

It’s not like, ever, that someone who vibes with his genius just comes strolling through his life, so Magicord bears witness to long, late night chats about anything and everything. You’ve got some real fucked up childhood trauma too, big mood tbh. It’s easy to spill his guts out over the internet, because even then, you still don’t really know him. You like the games and animes that he likes, and he’s so glad that for once, there’s a person out there who’s lived through the same villain-arc that he has.

He can’t rebuild the world if so many noobs are trying to stop him. Why? What’s so wrong with wishing for a world that can fit him and Ortho right in? Why is that too much for him to ask for? Why are you, the person he thought was his cool moots, acting up too? Don’t you like Ortho? Bro…no…you’re not actually doing a protagonist monologue rn, are you? Seriously? You think you can defeat him and his phantom through the power of friendship? Lolz, you’re so lame. If the world was a fairytale, he wouldn’t have been born with this dumb curse. If the world was a fairytale, he would never have been trapped in STYX with no way out. If the world was a fairytale, Ortho would still be alive. But it’s not. So he’ll remake it to be the story he’d always dreamt it to be.

Idia thinks you’re 110% cringe, like actually barf-inducing. But you did kinda save him or whatevs, so he can put up with you. Like, begrudgingly yk. You’re just such a weirdo. He really thought you were just like him, but no. You’ve had therapy. That’s like, actually wild. You try to counsel him too, talking about feelings and whatnot, and how to move past grief so that it no longer consumes you from the inside out.

So it turns out you didn’t have a villain arc like Idia did. You’re the main hero.

Malleus finds you absolutely delightful. To see another who can speak to him without fear or nervousness is a marvelous thing that he cherishes.

You are no fae or long-lived species, but he finds you fascinating. You are intelligent and wise beyond your years. You are powerful in your own right. You are familiar, in every sense of the word. Even your experiences seem to be shared. You’d been orphaned too, and experienced loss and grieved. You’d mourned for far too many loved ones who have left before you. Do you see the present as he does? Do you embrace the past as he does?

The world is a sad, sad place. He would like to change it. Into one with happy ever afters, into one where there is no hunger and no poverty. There will be no suffering. In his hands, he will mold the world into one that is kinder to its people. There will be no death and separation. He’s had far too many of those, enough to last his long lifetime. He’s not wrong. So why…why do you stand against him, weapon pointed towards him? The only thing he wishes for is permanence. Do you not see the vision? There is so much sadness in the world, why do you choose to wake from your beautiful slumber and face it head on? No matter. He will help you, even if you deny him.

Malleus is more than happy to take your hand when it is outstretched towards himself. You teach him so many things he hadn’t realized before, like how to cherish the present and treasure each memory more than attempting to find a solution to make them everlasting. He had believed wholly that he was right; that the answer to death was a long period of dreams in which everyone lives in a happy ending. He had believed you to be similar to himself—he is wrong about many, many things.

You’ve always looked to a brighter future than he could even imagine.