#It's much easier when you know exactly how this works in real life

[prettyboykatsuki]

i can see sae and angst in the sense of like... you break up with him and he's just like okay. alright. no problem. take care. but as time goes on he starts getting a little bit more sore about it. a little bit miserable. when things get particularly bad he kinda wonders what made you finally go- what was that final straw, because it's not like he ever changed the way he treated you

and because it was such a chill breakup, you guys kept in contact. you hadn't asked him out on a whim and you had stayed with him because, despite being a less than ideal boyfriend, you did like him. a lot. loved him even.

when it finally gets unbearable, he turns to ask you (because it was such a quiet breakup. cold. almost emotionless really, in a way that hurt you with how much it didn't hurt you).

why DID you break up with him? you know he loves you, right?

casual. calm. chill.

and you laugh a little bit but he can see the way you scratch at your neck. the way you can't really look him in the eyes.

"I just- i never got the sense that you cared in that way you know? like i could be something important."

and it's like oh.

it's not enough just to like, not enough just to love.

he needs to care

OUGHHH STREI EXACTLY ITS EXACTLY LIKE THIS. LIKE YEAH

i dont think he ever really gets over you either. like in the most angsty context where u dont get back together - sae does what a lot of guys do where he just . settles. marries someone else, has kids for pr. does whats asked of him bc its easier. but he's hung up on you, realizes too late you're his first real love and he misses everything about you very intensely whether or not he can admit it

but he doesn't get over your relationship or you really. he lets you go bc he's not the type to beg for something - and when you do break up, he assumes that you won't care. in the moment he doesn't really care at least. he thinks its like any break up

but like you said - it's sore. a bruise that doesn't seem to heal, that's easy to ignore most times. except sometimes he brushes against parts your relationship and it feels like something is digging on that old wound. he sees instagram stories of you laughing and being bubbly. you're happy. and he's genuinely glad that you are, because you look a lot better when you smile.

but there's such a genuine, crushing loneliness to how much he misses making you that happy. its impossible to get back together right away i think. you both date other people and sae watches you go through milestones and life changes. you were probably much younger when you first started dating. he sees you graduate college and get a new job and get a little older and more beautiful and one day it kind of cracks. he kind of cracks.

you go to catch up with him as friends when he comes to japan once. you're both single. sae is older - enough to be half-way decent to you. and you have the conversation where you sigh, wispy and sad as you reflect on how he used to treat you. you have that whole conversation and its like his mouth dries up

he waited a long time, you know? to talk to you. about this. to do it at the right time but he can't really get the words out. still, he forces himself to take another shot. he really, truly doesn't want to fuck it up again or miss out because he did love you. he really did love you.

nothing happens right there, i don't think. but you see each other a little more, at least he has to work much harder than he did the first time to get you to look his way again, but it's a lot less bleak then when he's by himself and that's enough to make him want to try

[iwasbored777]

Honestly, I joke that Lila's side-plot in S5 is caused by ML Writers being dared into making an episode EVEN MORE fandom-enraging and salt-causing than "Chameleon"

Everyone who follows me knows my attitude on that side plot but also yeah ML writers LOVE making fandom argue cuz they wouldn't have made Ladynoir conflict if they didn't and also look how they constantly make Love Square better but more complicated and they knew this season will be loaded with adorable LS especially Adrienette moments so they were like "wait if we're gonna have that this means fandom will actually get along over something so let's pull the good old angst card that always works we can't have this fandom actually getting along ever also people actually like Marinette more now so why not making the fandom call her a stalker again when they defend the class either that or we get people who love Marinette now calls the class dumb or people say how Lila is wasted potential so we got what we asked for one way or another".

[storybook-souls]

have spent all weekend holed up in a cabin working on my novel and while it’s been very creatively fulfilling i’m left feeling very very [emotion] about the whole thing overall

[kierahn]

NO KISSING THE MILKMAN. [ y! milkman x m! reader ]

[ NSFW, minors DNI ]

yandere! francis mosses ? (that's not my neighbor) x doorman! male reader

warnings :

NSFW content (18+)

Dubcon

Asphyxiation

for my fellow milkman enjoyers, i decided to push out an update before my classes start back up. i'm tempted to make a dom reader version, but we'll see if my motivation can push me enough to do it. 🙆‍♂️ (no beta read)

✧˚ | "don't go around kissing the milkman now," your supervisor jokingly warned you when you first started your job as a doorman in your building. you wave her off with an unbothered laugh, confused by what she meant. but your questions were soon answered when you finally had the chance to meet this milkman that you were advised not to smooch.

✧˚ | he wore the usual milkman uniform with a black bowtie around his neck and a white hat sitting on top of his head. he had dark auburn hair, a hooked nose, and a pair of droopy bedroom eyes. normal people wouldn't exactly consider him as an 'attractive' guy, but he had a certain charm to him that drew you in somehow. maybe it was the drowsy look he always seem to wear or how his uniform clung onto his arms tightly, the build up of his muscles from consecutive days of carrying trays of milk. he was quite the eye candy that you easily took an interest in.

✧˚ | but of course, you had to stay professional if you wanted to keep your job.

✧˚ | your interactions with the guy were kept to a minimum and was limited to a greeting or exchange of questions whenever you would ask him for his id and entry request.

✧˚ | from the list of basic information about himself that he had given you so far, you’ve learned that his name was Francis Mosses and that he lived alone in one of the apartments on the third floor.

✧˚ | you knew that living alone can get pretty dull and lonely sometimes, given that you were also living by yourself. so you did what any normal concern neighbor would do— deliver tupperwares containing food to his doorstep whenever you made too much for you to eat by yourself. whether you did it with the intention of hitting on him or simply out of kindness, you two gradually ended up becoming good acquaintances.

✧˚ | your exchange with francis ended up expanding to casual conversations and short banters. if you're lucky, he would slip you little trinkets like pieces of candies along with his entry request. you found it endearing that the quiet male wasn't as intimidating as you first thought he was.

✧˚ | weeks soon passed with you working as a doorman at your apartment complex. you now knew everyone like the back of your hand and were getting used to seeing deformed versions of your neighbors every now and then. you also found it easier to differentiate the doppelgängers from your real neighbors.

✧˚ | knowing that you held the life and safety of your neighbors in your hands, you took your job pretty seriously. you would always check their files and appearances thoroughly to make sure that no dopplegangers slipped past your watchful eyes.

✧˚ | so imagine your surprise when the day where you make a mistake finally came.

✧˚ | you made sure to check everything; his id, his entry request, his appearance— you even called his apartment to make sure. he talked to you so casually that it left no room for suspicion.

✧˚ | "gh– fuck !" you cursed loudly, panicked as you find yourself restrained by a bruising grip around your neck that temporarily stopped your airflow. 'francis' had you pinned down against your desk, documents flying all over the room from the sudden impact of your body hitting its wooden surface.

✧˚ | your first instinct was to immediately reach for the landline that sat next to your waist, but the other male was quick to stop you.

✧˚ | his grip around your neck tightened, leaving you to arch your back slightly as you attempt to gasp for air. the landline slipped from your grasp and fell to the ground with a slight crack, leaving the device to continuously beep as it waits for a number to be placed. gargled sounds were the only sounds you could make as your fingers instinctively wrapped around francis' wrists, attempting to pry his hand off your neck.

✧˚ | "you really think your silly little D.D.D friends can save you ?" the doppleganger's voice was exactly how francis sounded like, coated with a slight distortion.

✧˚ | 'how is he so bloody strong ?' you hissed in frustration inside your head as you engage in a battle against him.

✧˚ | but then again, he wasn’t human, overpowering you proved to be an easy task for someone like him.

✧˚ | his endless days of being driven away by the D.D.D after you coldly send him off each time was over. 'francis' couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction; couldn't help but marvel at the sight below him– the stonefaced and ruthless doorman who reported him every chance he could get was now at his mercy.

✧˚ | "what's this ?" francis' gaze moved lower, landing on the tent that had unconcsiously formed at the base of your trousers. he knew that you held some affection for the real francis, but to get an erection by being strangled by someone who was a spitting image of him ? how naughty.

✧˚ | "do you really like this face that much ?" francis teased as his free hand wandered up your thigh. "took me a few tries to capture it perfectly."

✧˚ | francis loosened his grip around your neck slightly to give you a chance to catch your breath. he didn't want to kill you. not when he worked so hard to be able to get this close to you.

✧˚ | he'll admit, he had long been jealous of the real francis. the look of admiration directed at him whenever you two conversed; it was a look that contrasted the disgusted one you gave the doppelgänger each time he attempted to deceive you.

✧˚ | he found himself longing for whatever affections you had for that human. he was much better than him in every aspect. he could be whoever you wanted him to be.

✧˚ | "say less," his hand fully left your neck to tug on your tie that came with your uniform, bringing your face closer to his. you feel your face flush at the close proximity. using francis’s face proved to be useful in keeping you somewhat compliant. "i'll be nice and let you have a taste of him."

✧˚ | after he was done with you, he'd be the sole owner of this face for you to enjoy. he'd be the only 'francis mosses' in existence.

✧˚ | the metal window blind behind you slid down with the press of a button, francis having pressed it while you were distracted. now you were completely trapped with him.

✧˚ | you'd expect that a creature like him would have no idea on how humans reproduced, let alone with both parties being male, but oh was he so far from being clueless. francis knew exactly where to place his hands and lips to have you writhe so beautifully under him.

✧˚ | he didn't solely focus on imitating the real francis' appearance. he went far as to probe into both his love and sex life.

✧˚ | he once shifted into some random human female to seduce francis and bed him. he went far and beyond to ensure that he would be able to satisfy your needs (isn't he just the cutest).

✧˚ | francis didn't expect you to be so cooperative after he had literally tried to strangle you to death. he could clearly tell that you loved the real francis so much that you'd be willing to settle for his doppelgänger to satisfy your desires. that thought somehow made francis feel slightly annoyed.

✧˚ | he prepared you carefully with his fingers, just like how the real francis did it. he drew circles with his fingers inside your walls as his lips muffled your needy moans, his fingers stretching you out carefully.

✧˚ | for a doppelgänger, he was being surprisingly gentle with you. after all, he wanted you to genuinely like him; to need him.

✧˚ | “francis–“ his name spilled from your lips like a chant, and as much as your lewd moans sounded lovely against his ears, francis couldn't help but tighten his grip around your waist as he thrusted into you. he hated hearing you use his name.

✧˚ | "don't call me by that name," francis hissed, his thrust getting harsher as he ignored your pleads for him to be gentler. he was obviously ticked off. "hoon, call me hoon, y/n."

✧˚ | his other hand left your waist to squeeze your smaller cock in his fingers, matching his strokes with his thrusts which made you into a trembling mess under him. your words were barely coherent at that point, whines and whimpers the only sounds escaping your lips.

✧˚ | hoon leaned down to capture your lips in his. drool spilled from the corned of your lips, but he could care less. he wanted to savor you as much as he could.

✧˚ | you sobbed against his lips when you came onto his fingers. he pulls away from you, allowing you to breathe and removing his hand around your softened cock. he stared down at his hand that you had stained with your own cum and curiously licked his fingers, his tired eyes staring down at your fucked out state.

✧˚ | he never once stopped thrusting into you, trying to chase his own release. his stamina was not one of a human's, making it much harder for you to match his pace and leaving you to feel overstimulated with all the sensations that coursed through your body and all the orgasms that were forced out of you.

✧˚ | it took him about four rounds before hoon finally spilled his seed inside your walls for the first time, painting them a clear white. he could feel you tighten around him, your abused hole begging for a break, but that was a luxury that hoon wasn't able to give you.

✧˚ | he still had many things that he wanted to try out now that he had you wrapped around his fingers. now that he had gotten a taste, he didn't think he could stop there.

✧˚ | flipping you over so that you were now bent over your desk, hoon resumes his thrusts, his nose buried on your nape as he inhales your intoxicating scent. you chanted his name like a prayer, prompting him to hit your deepest parts which left you panting and begging under him.

✧˚ | he had no plans of stopping until he was fully satisfied and had milked you of every single drop. he had to stick to his role of being the 'milkman' afterall.

[a-writer-on-elm-street]

Hii i was wondering if you could do the slashers with an s/o who likes being carried around everywhere (Brahms Bo and any others of your chosing)

slashers with an s/o who likes being carried around everywhere

mentioned: brahms heelshire, bo sinclair, thomas hewitt, stu macher, michael myers, tiny firefly

warnings: mentions of murder

a/n: thank you so much for the request, this was so fun to write!

also, i had to put tiny in here because i just love him so much :((

brahms heelshire

the one thing brahms yearns for in his life is closeness, somebody who will never leave him

so when you express that you like to be carried around he can't really believe his luck

he loves being close to you and this is just another opportunity for just that

he'll probably carry you one of two ways; he'll either carry you in his arms bridal style, or he'll carry you chest to chest (i don't really know how to actually describe it)

he hates being alone so he loves being able to have you with him most of the time

he won't carry you around all the time though because he still has his own things to do

bo sinclair

he hates it...or at least, he claims he does

bo usually spends his days alone, either working in the gas station or playing his part to lure unsuspecting victims into the town

he never really has much going on, and if he's being honest, it gets lonely

his brother vincent rarely comes out from his workshop and lester rarely has much to do with the town itself so he's left to his own devices most days, with nothing but his own mind to slowly drive him crazy

the second he discovers you like being carried everywhere, he takes a lot of enjoyment in doing exactly that

he doesn't really carry you properly, he kind of just drags you

it's somewhat like a half-assed piggy back

and although he'll spend the majority of the time grunting and groaning about it, cussing you out under his breath, he actually really loves finally having somebody so close to him

it certainly makes his days less lonely

whilst he's very uncaring though about how he carries you, if you're ill or you're injured, he'll make sure to be real careful with you

day to day though he really couldn't give a shit about being careful but he'll never admit to how much he loves carrying you

thomas hewitt

thomas doesn't like being away from you much, so being able to carry you around is just a bonus for him

he takes every opportunity to pick you up and carry you places, even if you haven't asked

sometimes he'll pick you up bridal style and sometimes he'll simply sling you over his shoulder because it's easier

his family get on at him for doing it so much because you need to pull your weight and such and he's just letting you laze around but he doesn't listen to them

he continues to carry you around because he really just loves having you with him all the time

he hopes you never stop enjoying being carried everywhere because he loves it

stu macher

he loves carrying you around

he's always offering to give you piggy backs

sometimes he'll take you by surprise and throw you over his shoulder and carry you like that

either way, he finds it fun to carry you around everywhere

he has requested a piggy back or two in the past though, which ultimately ended with you almost collapsing beneath him

michael myers

he doesn't really care either way, but there's no way he'll put any effort into carrying you. you either hang off the back of his shoulders or nothing

michael's pretty strong so having you on his back wouldn't really affect his day to day activities

stalking his sister? no problem. you're not even there

murdering someone who happened to get in his way? he barely even notices you

simply walking down the street, having you on his back makes no difference as he simply couldn't care less

he does secretly enjoy having you with him though as he gets lonely sometimes

you're like a little companion he can just take with him wherever he goes

tiny firefly

tiny likes to be helpful so he definitely doesn't mind carrying you around

he's used to anyone outside of his family shying away from him because of his appearance, so when he learns that you want him to carry you around places, he practically jumps at the chance

he loves that you're not afraid of him like most people and is honestly happy to help you out in this way

he enjoys having the company and he also enjoys being able to be close to you, so this is really a win win situation for you both

[Main Masterlist]

[seventhemaverick]

Astro Observations 🌱

Disclaimer: This is my first Astrology post! I tried to do this earlier this year but tumblr lagged and it deleted all of my hard work lol. But now I’ve gained the courage to give it another go! I’m not a professional astrologer. I just study it in depth when I have time. Still very much a beginner. Please be kind and if I’m misinformed let me know! If you want to repost my work please credit me. This also has personal opinions in here don’t take it too seriously babes!

🌾 I don’t typically think Leo’s and Scorpios go together romantically BUT any other relationship outside of that exudes power team. For ex: Kylie and Kris Jenner. Scorpios are known to love power and Leo’s love the spotlight! Kylie was bound to be a favorite after her « ugly duckling » phase. Kylie rolls in the dough and Kris keeps that empire going. I’ve seen many Scorpio parents with Leo kids and they really seem to love them the most lol

Let’s talk about underdeveloped placements real quick!

🌿 Having a parent that is toxic or underdeveloped and has placements that fall into your second house can obliterate your self worth. ESPECIALLY if you have planets in that house and their placements are exactly conjunct 0° or 1-3°.

🌾 If your mars sign is exactly square one of your parents mars or 1-5° orb… 🌚 take the steps to move out if you haven’t already it’s for the best.

🌿 Capricorn moons I wish I could hug all of you. You had to grow up so fast and got handed some of the worst cards. But nevertheless resilience is your middle name. As you age things will get easier if you stand on business! Integrity is key.

🌾 I know libras are known to be superficial or whatever and I’m kinda one of them lol. I literally live off of aesthetics and I typically have nice skin but when I have a massive break out? I literally want to hide until they’re gone. My stress is next level when I don’t look my best.. I’m also a Leo Venus 😅 in the tenth house at that and have cancelled plans when I look and feel shitty.

🌿 All of the air signs almost always value intellectual stimulation first from their partner. Someone they can have great rapport, banter with. Someone that’s witty and knows a wide variety of subjects or has many interests is very hot. Sagittarius is the air sign of the fire signs so I’ll loop them in on this too.

If we lost any zodiac element, it would bring chaos to the entire world.

🌾 Air brings logic and reasoning, water brings compassion and empathy, earth brings grounding and patience, fire brings passion and vitality. Life is about interconnectedness.

🌿 I remember reading a blog that the gods put the constellation of Libra in between Virgo and Scorpio because they were too much alike and it’s so true lol. Both signs can be so compulsive and it’s overwhelming from what I’ve heard from Virgo and Scorpio placements. I can also see this easy going equivalence being the case for Sagittarius being in between Scorpio and Capricorn. The benefics happy go luckies in between the malefics drained and over it.

🌾… moon 3rd house overlay is addictive especially combined with 7th/8th/12th overlays in that synastry. I don’t think I can ever do that again unless we both have it overlaying each others charts. Someone’s moon in your 3rd house, their mind fascinates you and it’s easy to communicate with them you feel seen and heard. You dream about them, you think about them all the freaking time. It is the most annoying thing because why are you taking up my brain space like that bro? I had this with someone and I still think about them it’s been over for quite some time now. Another person that’s in love with me, my moon falls into their 3rd house and they tell me how much they think about me and day dream about me. I had said issue of daydreaming with the other guy. 2/10 would not recommend unless moon person is developed.

🌿 When the moon transits your first house you’re more likely to be more emotional and make drastic changes to your physical features! When Doja Cat shaved her head the moon was transiting her first house and I literally did mine the next day when it was transiting my first house.

🌾 Opinion but I love Pisces placements they are so helpful and loving when developed. I think the underdeveloped ones are too but they expect something out of it where the developed ones are just really selfless. I’m a Pisces Stan! I have so many in my life lol I have no Pisces placements. My 5H is in Pisces lol

🌿 Degree theory is that gworl. It helps you relate to the planet and it’s placement more depending on what the degree rules. For example I was dating a Sagittarius Venus in the 9th house at the 9° and he embodied that free spirited nature of Sag Venus fr. Another example, you can be a Pisces Venus but it’s in your first house at the first degree and the way you love embodies a more aries way of loving. Fiery, passionate a bit aggressive but very deep and tender to the core.

🌾 I’ve also heard the theory of when you reach the age of certain degrees of the placements you have you unlock that placements characteristics. Something significant happens to you during that age or you might master that placement regarding the planet and house placement.

🌿 The degree of your rising sign is more than likely the age of something significant happen in your physical life/to you physically. This is tea y’all.

🌾 You most likely share placements or degrees in your chart with your siblings. My sister is a Scorpio sun, Aries rising, Virgo moon and I’m a Libra sun, Scorpio rising, Aries moon. If I was born two days earlier I would’ve been a Virgo sun and if she was born one or two days later she would’ve been a Libra moon. So I think thats pretty cool. We’re also both Venus dominant and she has a Libra stellium 💗. You really choose your family for your next life lol like that’s so crazy to me.

🌿 Ima say dis with my chest. STOP doing wrong by Saturn ruled placements!!! Saturn is ruled by Capricorn, Aquarius in traditional astrology and we cannot forget about its exalted sign in Libra. As a Libra, I receive karma with the quickness but also people that have done wrong by me their quality of life decreases and or whichever house Saturn is in their chart is deeply affected in the worst ways.. daddy Saturn don’t play bout his! Be fair and follow the golden rule. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

🌾 Having heavy Sagittarius placements in your chart makes you open to learn different languages or different cultures.. just always wanting to learn. Whatever house it’s in you want to master in life.

🌿 The mutables Gemini Virgo Sagittarius Pisces love their niches, they are the teachers and preachers of the zodiac.

🌾 Geminis have the gift of gab more than any other zodiac. Sagittarius could possibly go toe to toe with them

🌿 If anyone ever tries to degrade you for studying astrology and eggs you on to prove this practice to be true, get their birth info and read them their Chiron sign and house placement. Hit ‘em where it hurts!

🌾 Scorpio and Libra placements are usually the generational trauma breakers of their family. Honorable mention- Saturns children, Capricorn and Aquarius

🌿 An undeveloped Capricorn placement that enters your life is literally satan reincarnated to torture you for whatever you did wrong in your past life. And I (if u were raised around Christianity) believe Jesus was a Pisces/Aries! I can argue about this all day! In tarot Capricorn rules the devil! Like hellooooo

🌾 Sixth house/Virgo placements are pretty good at taking care of pets and plants. They feel the most sane around nature and animals.

🌿 Personal planets harmoniously aspected to Neptune make the person seem very angelic like. Very soft souls, earth angels. Hard aspects have people having an even more distorted projection of you.

🌾 Personal planets harmoniously aspected or not to Uranus gives you that shock factor some people will be repelled and some people will be very intrigued.

🌿 Aries placements especially sun and moon are really loyal! I’m talking mostly platonically. Once they see you as their person they are truly ride or die.

🌾 Cancer placements can be one of the most loving and giving when developed. Some spiteful mfs when underdeveloped omg.

🌿 I realize cancer placement women get treated with the cutest romantic gestures. I think they lovers want to do these things for them because they give off ethereal or princess vibes but they’re also real nasty in the sheets lol

🌾 Cancers don’t really get a bad rep even when they do shady things. For example: Selena Gomez when she dated Abel even tho she was cool with Bella was super weird. And I think a lot of people forgot how Kevin hart cheated on his wife like it was nothing lol. Ariana grande with the donuts and now the Ethan thing chileee. It’s like they get a second of backlash and then everyone adores them again lol.

🌿 Having a grand trine in your chart can make you so damn lazy in the houses those planets/figures are in 🥹🥲. It’s crazy cuz that talent(s) will come natural to you and you’ll over look it! Please don’t.

🌾 Grand squares are TOUGH but it pushes you to break cycles and overcome so much in your life. Same with t-squares

🌱 Astrology is really a map. It shows you which path you can take and where you can end up when you include discernment and discipline into your daily life. It’s never an excuse to behave the way you do. Ultimately it helps us reach our most aligned and enlighten self! I hope you all enjoyed. 🌱

Idk why I can’t figure out how to delete this question thing so let’s do a cute lil questionnaire!

[itneverendshere]

guilty conscience (+18)

chapter iii

pairing: rafe cameron x female!reader

summary: when ward cameron, a renowned business man and millionaire specifically requested your services through an escort agency, you assumed it would be just another job—brief and straightforward. however, your entire world shifted when ward disclosed his true intentions and rafe cameron stumbled into your life. there were rules, and rules were meant to be followed.

was money worth breaking someone’s heart?

taglist: lmk if you want to be added (comment down below! if you've already asked me to be here and I didn't tag you LET ME KNOW AGAIN CAUSE IM VERY FORGETFUL) : @tiaamberxx @haruvalentine4321 @maybankslover

Your phone buzzed in your nightstand, startling you out of your reverie. 

With a sigh, you fished it out, glancing at the screen to see Ward's name flashing in bold letters. You’d just texted him an hour earlier but spared any details for your sake.

Taking a deep breath, you answered the call, plastering on your most professional tone. 

"Hey, Ward. How's it going?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end, followed by Ward's booming voice, filled with impatience. 

"Well? Did you find him? How's it going over there?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to tell him you royally fucked up. The truth was things hadn't exactly gone according to plan. Rafe had slipped through your fingers not once, but twice, leaving you feeling more defeated than ever.

But you couldn't let Ward know that. Not yet, at least.

"It's... going." you replied vaguely, trying to keep your tone upbeat.

There was a pause on the other end, and you could practically hear Ward's mind whirring with impatience.

 "Make it faster," he snapped, his tone sharp and demanding. "He’ll be at the golf course tomorrow, 9 sharp.”

The golf course?!

You had never golfed a day in your life, let alone attempted to blend in with a bunch of rich snobs on the green. For fuck’s sake. This was going to be a disaster.

On the other hand, you were nothing if not resourceful. You didn’t know the first thing about golf, but you were a quick learner. And if there was one thing you were good at, it was improvising on the fly. 

“Sofia works there. Get his attention off her.”

Easier said than done. 

“Ward, your son looks at her like she hung the moon and the stars."

"I don't pay you to play matchmaker, sweetheart," he retorted sharply, his tone laced with irritation. "I pay you to get the job done. Now, I don't want any excuses tomorrow. Make sure you're at that golf course bright and early, and don't screw this up."

With that, he hung up the phone.

Fucking assshole.

You slammed your phone down on the nightstand, cursing under your breath.

Ward might have been your current employer, but that didn't mean you had to like him. Dealing with his crap was like dealing with a spoiled toddler throwing a tantrum. Except, you know, this toddler had a lot more money and power, which somehow made it even worse.

You were not some puppet he could just yank around whenever he felt like it, constantly ordering you around like some sort of lackey.

But you were not about to let Ward's ridiculous demands get the best of you. If he wanted you to be a professional golfer, you would give him just that.

The evening turned into a crash course on all things golf. Who knew there was so much to learn about golf etiquette? You spent hours glued to your laptop, absorbing every last detail you could find. And those YouTube tutorials? Let's just say you had never clicked on a video so fast in your life.

Then came the real fun—practicing your swing.

Spoiler alert: it was a hot mess. You must've looked like a total dweeb flailing around with that golf club in your hotel room. 

And let's not forget about perfecting your fake smile. You must've spent a solid hour in front of the mirror, trying out different variations until you found the one that said, "I'm totally a golf pro, trust me."

By the time morning rolled around, you were as ready as you'd ever be. 

You found yourself standing outside the gates of the local Country Club, taking deep breaths to calm your nerves. You glanced down at your outfit, a bunch of preppy pieces that you hoped screamed "I belong here" rather than "I have no idea what I'm doing." 

And hey, bonus points for the fact that it made your ass and legs look great. Confidence boost, check.

With a mental pep talk and a final adjustment to your collar, you stepped through the gates, steeling yourself for what lay ahead. The crisp scent of freshly cut grass filled the air, mingling with the distant sound of clubs striking balls and polite laughter. You felt like a fish out of water in this sea of polo shirts and khaki shorts, but you refused to let it show. 

Taking a deep breath, you approached the pro shop, hoping they had something available for a last-minute rental. Inside, it was bustling with old men browsing through rows of shiny clubs and chatting with the staff.

You stepped up to the counter, plastering on your best smile as you tried to appear confident. 

“Hi there," you greeted the clerk, your voice coming out a little shakier than you would have liked. "I was wondering if you had any clubs available for rent?"

The clerk eyed you curiously, clearly noticing your lack of golf attire. "Sure thing," he replied with a friendly smile. "What kind of clubs are you looking for?"

You paused, realizing you had no idea what kind of clubs you needed. "Um, just something... basic?" you ventured, feeling completely out of your depth.

The clerk nodded understandingly and disappeared into the back room, returning a moment later with a set of clubs. "These should do the trick," he said, handing them over to you. "Just sign here, and you're all set."

You hastily scribbled your signature on the rental form, feeling a rush of relief as you finally held the clubs in your hands. 

The course stretched out before you, lush green fairways bordered by trees and dotted with sand traps and water hazards. It all looked so pristine and posh, like something out of a magazine. You couldn't help but admire the luxury of it all, even though you felt like a total fish out of water.

Glancing around, you realized you were flying solo. No caddy to show you the ropes, no fellow players to offer tips or cheer you on. It was just you, your instincts, and the vast expanse of the course.

And let's not forget, your sheer power of delusion. 

Taking a deep breath, you placed your ball on the tee and tried to remember everything you'd learned from those YouTube tutorials.

Grip firm, eye on the ball, swing smooth. Easy, right?

With trembling hands, you lifted the club and took a practice swing, hoping to shake off some of the jitters. Then, with a quick scan down the fairway, you drew back and swung.

The ball sailed through the air, arcing gracefully before landing with a satisfying thud on the fairway. It wasn't the most impressive shot in the world, but it was a start. You hadn't missed the ball entirely or accidentally hit someone in the head.

Small victories and all.

You grinned, feeling a rush of pride. Maybe this golf thing wasn't so bad after all.

You continued to take swings, each one feeling a little more confident than the last. It was all about finding that rhythm, hearing that satisfying "thwack" when the club met the ball, and watching it soar through the air.

You got lost in the game, forgetting all about the stress of the morning. The sun was climbing, spreading this warm, cozy light over the course, and all around you, there were these little moments of nature - birds chirping, clubs swishing, and the occasional "fore!" from nearby players. 

It was kind of peaceful, in a way. All you cared about was nailing that next shot. Walking down the fairway, you couldn't help but grin to yourself. Sure, you weren’t exactly a golf prodigy, but who cared? 

Just as you were lining up for another swing, a voice startled you from behind. "Hey new face, need a hand?"

“Fuck!” You blurted out, nearly dropping the club at the sound of his voice.

There he was, Rafe Cameron, looking all cool and collected in his golf gear like he'd just stepped out of a magazine. And of course, he caught you in the middle of your amateur hour on the course. You were hoping to find him during a break, probably around the bar, lurking around Sofia.

"Hey.” he said with a smirk, sauntering over to where you stood frozen in embarrassment. "Didn't mean to scare you.”

You tried to muster up a nonchalant response, but all that came out was a nervous chuckle. "Yeah. Just, you know, getting some practice in."

For the first time in my life, you’d like to add. 

Rafe glanced down at the clubs in your hand, a glint in his eyes.

"Practice, huh? Well, you definitely look like you're giving it your all."

You wanted to die.

You forced a smile, hoping he couldn't see the panic swirling beneath the surface. "Yeah, well, gotta start somewhere, right?"

He chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Mind if I join you?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion. This was not part of the plan, but you welcomed it anyway. You couldn't help but feel nervous at the thought of him witnessing your less-than-stellar golfing skills up close. But then again, you weren’t here to become a professional golfer, you were here to woo him off his feet and get paid.

Ward's words echoed in your mind—get his attention off her. And what better way to do that than by keeping him occupied with small talk on the golf course?

You shrugged, "The more, the merrier, right?"

"Exactly.” He said, falling into step beside you as you headed down the fairway. "So, how long have you been playing?"

You hesitated, not wanting to admit that this was your first time on a golf course. "Oh, you know, just getting into it recently," You replied vaguely, hoping he wouldn't press for details. "How about you?”

Rafe ran a hand through his tousled hair. "Been playing since I was a kid," he admitted. "It's kind of a family thing."

Of course, it is. Rich people. Nothing like a little golf for some family bonding time. But it gave you the opening you needed to make a personal connection. Nothing like sharing personal information to establish contact.

 “That’s cute. My family thing was shoving pizzas down our throat every Friday.”

Rafe chuckled at your comment, the sound genuine. “Pizza Fridays sound pretty great, actually."

You smiled back, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. Maybe this wouldn't be as awkward as you'd feared. "Yeah, they were definitely the highlight of the week," you admitted. "But I have to say, golf seems a lot more... sophisticated."

Rafe raised an eyebrow. "Sophisticated, huh? You must be hanging out with the wrong crowd."

You felt yourself relax a little more with each passing moment. 

"Maybe I just need the right teacher," you said, giving him a sideways glance.

Rafe's smile widened, and he stepped a little closer, "Well, lucky for you, I happen to know a thing or two about golf."

 "Is that so?" you replied, trying to keep your tone light despite the sudden flutter in your stomach.

Rafe nodded, his expression turning more serious. "Yeah," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "If you're interested, I'd be happy to show you."

You could feel every little detail, like how close you were and the intensity in his eyes, like they were trying to unravel some mystery hidden deep inside you. 

No, no, no.

Pull yourself together! You mentally slapped yourself, shaking off the dreamy haze that seemed to cloud your brain whenever he looked at you. You had goals, a mission to nail, and getting all googly-eyed over some suave, wealthy guy was not on the agenda. 

You flashed him this playful grin, trying to play it cool even though your heart was doing somersaults in your chest.

 "Oh, I dunno," you teased, taking a little step back to collect yourself. "Golf lessons? Sounds like it could burn a hole in my wallet. Can't be going broke over a new hobby."

Rafe chuckled, his eyes lingering on you for a second before he backed off, “You think I’d charge you?”

The way he said it, so casually, it sent a thrill through you, but you knew better than to let yourself get carried away. This was part of the game, after all.

“You’re always this nice to strangers?”

His blonde, tousled hair fell just so, framing his angular jawline, while a subtle stubble added a rugged charm to his appearance. And his smile... ugh, it's like he knew how fine he was. Rafe had this smirk that was just... chef's kiss. And his eyes? Sparkling like he was up to no good but in the best way possible. You couldn’t stop staring. 

“Only the pretty ones.” he replied smoothly, his tone dripping with flirtation.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, trying to maintain your composure despite the butterflies dancing in your stomach. But damn, if he didn't have a way with words.

"Well, lucky me then," you quipped, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt. “But don't think you're getting off that easy. I’m not just some pretty face, you know.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, gaze fixed on your hands as you moved them to fix your ponytail, “Is that so?"

Ah, you have no idea.

"Guess you'll just have to stick around to find out,” you replied with a cheeky wink, feeling a surge of confidence wash over you. “But fair warning, I'm not exactly a pro at this.”

Rafe chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Don't worry,” he said, his voice softening. “I'll go easy on you.”

His confident demeanor was infectious, and you couldn't resist playing along.

“Who said I wanted easy?”

He tilted his head slightly, his hair shifted with the movement, “You think you can take me?”

With that, he gestured for you to take the next shot. You could feel his eyes on you as you lined up your shot, the weight of his gaze fueling your focus.

Taking a deep breath, you blocked out all distractions and focused on the ball. Grip firm, eyes locked on the target, you swung the club with all the force you could muster.

The ball sailed through the air, soaring gracefully before landing with a satisfying thud on the fairway. You couldn't help but grin as you watched it roll to a stop, a surge of pride coursing through your veins.

Rafe let out a low whistle, his expression somewhat impressed. "Not bad," he conceded. "Let's see if you can keep it up."

“Sounds like you’re scared…”

His eyebrows practically hit the sky when you threw down the gauntlet, his lips curling up. "Scared?" he shot back, his voice oozing with playful doubt, “Of you?”

Oh boy.

“Of losing.”

“Pretty girl, I don’t lose.”

Yeah, we’ll see about that. 

“And you’d swing a lot harder if you arched your back just a little.”

"How so?” you retorted, your tone teasing.

Rafe stepped up behind you, his presence suddenly much closer than before. His large hands gently adjusted your posture, touch gentle yet firm. 

"Like this," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear as he guided you through the motion.

The warmth of his palms seeped through the fabric of your shirt, sending a wave of tingles across your skin. His fingers rested lightly against your sides, the pressure just enough to provide guidance without feeling intrusive. You tried to focus on his instructions, on the proper form and technique, but it was so fucking hard with him standing so close.

Every subtle movement, every brush of his body against yours…goddamn. You bit your lip to stifle a gasp, unable to believe how good it felt to have him so close.

"Alright, let's work on that swing.”

 There was a confidence in his tone, a subtle reassurance that made you want to combust on the spot. The way his voice rose and fell with each word…it was difficult to do anything with the sensation of his touch sending your senses into overdrive.

You tilted your head slightly and threw out the question, "Like this?"

Before he could even answer, you couldn't resist the urge to push the boundaries a bit. So, you arched your back ever so subtly, pressing yourself back into him. It was a total spur-of-the-moment move. 

There was a beat of silence that felt like an eternity. And then, oh my god, you felt his hands tighten slightly on your waist.

“Just like that.”

But then he stepped back and you couldn't help but feel disappointment at the loss of his proximity. You gave yourself a mental shake and got back into the swing of things – pun totally intended.

Grabbing the club again, you were all set to take your next shot. With Rafe's tips fresh in your mind, you took a swing, putting everything you had into it. And would you believe it? The ball actually went where you wanted it to, landing way closer to the hole than you expected.

Rafe's reaction was priceless. His eyebrows shot up again, and there was this look in his eyes like, this time he was genuinely impressed.

Score one for you.

But you weren’t about to get cocky just yet. So, you gave him a smirk and threw down the gauntlet. 

“Funnily enough, I never lose either.”

[madlori]

Ship dysphoria

Ok so a bit of time has gone by, and the 9-1-1 fandom is settling into a bit of an...existential crisis?

Because 90% of this fandom is built on Buddie. Buddie has always been the strongest driving force. We love our other blorbos, but it's Buddie that usually drives us feral.

Except...Buck/Tommy. OMG. It is WORKING for a lot of fans. (and JFC we cannot settle on a ship name. Tevan? Kinley? I'm gonna stick with Buck/Tommy)

A LOT of fans are having a "I'm a devoted Buddie shipper, why do I like this so much??" moment and it can almost feel like a betrayal, or that you're deserting the ship (the ship that, remember, Oliver told us to stay aboard).

And I think I can probably speak for everybody when I say that the last thing we want or need is a ship war in this fandom, something we haven't ever really had but which has torn other fandoms apart.

So I'm gonna put on my veteran-of-many-fandoms hat for a second and tell you a thing:

It's okay to ship Buck and Tommy. It's ok to do that and still ship Buddie. It's also okay to leave Buddie behind if it's not working for you anymore. It's okay to just tolerate Buck and Tommy and not really care about it, and stay focused on Buddie. You are allowed to ship however it works for you, and you are not limited to one and only one ship. If you decide you don't think Buddie will happen and you're going to cut your losses, that's okay, too. It is not a reflection on your character or something. You don't swear an oath of fealty to a ship.

We don't know how long Tommy will stick around, but Buck will still be bisexual. He may date another man. He may date a woman again. You can ship those things too.

But why is this ship hitting me so hard? I never thought I'd like Buck with another man! I'm so confused!

I get that. There are some reasons why that might be.

There is something very appealing about a ship that's canon. Some of you might never have had a canon queer ship, but the pull is strong. There's no guessing, no interpreting, no subtext-examining. It's there, it's real, you don't have to wonder if you're just overinterpreting things. Yes. Buck and Tommy kissed and are going on a date. Even if that's all it ever is, you'll never be accused of "seeing things that aren't there." Don't discount that.

Tommy, even in just 1.5 episodes, is a LOT more integrated into the firefam than any of Buck's previous girlfriends. Tim talked about not wanting him to be "siloed off" away from the main cast and that was exactly the problem with his prior girlfriends. Tommy is friends with Eddie. He knows Christopher and has hung out with him. He spent most of that loft conversation reassuring Buck that his place in Eddie's life was secure. He feels more like part of the gang than any other ones. That makes it easier to see him in Buck's life.

The mere fact of Buck's queer awakening is so monumental for so many of us that the character who helped him get there is going to naturally earn our affection immediately, and it's going to make you want that relationship to succeed, even if it's ulitmately not endgame for Buck. You want to see Buck have a good experience the first time out with a man. Of course you do.

And we just want to see Buck make out with a hot beefy firefighter. That is so valid of us.

Anyway. There is no need for a crisis. You can love Buddie with your whole heart and still be excited about this pairing, and want to see how it goes, and read fic about it. I may be writing a lil something myself.

You're good, fam.

[amuromi]

★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 11.0k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! actor!au, unprotected sex, pet names (baby), oral (f!receiving), ooc Toji (no, really!!)

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ This is very self-indulgent because I was once again infected with brain worms because of this post.

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

Toji is a typecast kind of actor. He started out as just a guy they call in when they need some muscle. He’s got the training for all sorts of things. Martial arts, swordplay. If a background character needs to look believably menacing, he’s the one to get on contract. And over time his bit parts as henchman number three and thug with one line slowly evolved into something more involved, because there is no denying that Toji has a face for film. Eyes that come with a vulpine sharpness, like he knows something you don’t, and a scar at the corner of his mouth that’s as marketable as any beauty mark. Really, he looks mean, but that’s exactly what a villain is supposed to look like. He’s all harsh angles that any photographer would kill to work with. So he slowly builds up a filmography from the most insignificant masked goon to a formidable kingpin, front and center. Goes from an uncredited extra to damn near top billing as a main antagonist and that’s just fine with him when the bigger roles come with a paycheck to match. It’s not anything new for him. Toji spent his whole life fighting and training. How else could he make all those stunts look so easy? It’s only right that he makes a career out of all those grueling days of harsh conditioning. And it sweetens the deal when he finally finds his girl. 

Every villain needs arm candy. It’s a constant revolving door of pretty faces standing next to him whenever the director yells “action!” So many that they begin to blend together in his mind and he spends interviews bullshitting his way through any thoughts regarding his female co-stars. “She was fine, I guess.” And of course, he thinks she did a great job in that movie he’s never seen. Empty platitudes to satisfy the interviewer and keep his manager happy that he’s playing nice about the tedious media circuit. Usually his roles don’t require that much attention to detail. He’s coasted this far on his graveled voice and dour expressions, so he never bothers to pay more than the bare minimum of attention. He learns his line and character names. He knows who the blonde character named Amy is but without the blindingly bright platinum hair he couldn’t pick the actress that played her out of a lineup. So it makes his life a lot easier when they find him a girl that works. 

Something about charisma and chemistry. All the buzzwords he’s fed over conference calls boil down to you being his girl. The perfect match for his onscreen persona. Real pretty with just enough training that you can fill in on most of your own stunts. So it makes sense when the two of you start cropping up as a package deal. If there’s an action movie in need of a big bad, Toji’s name is put forward, and if he needs a girl–and, sometimes, even when he doesn’t–his people are quick to toss your name into the ring. He’s not sure on the details, if your agents have worked out some kind of joint agreement or if it’s just coincidence that all the casting directors settle on you as his opposite but he’s not complaining. 

You’re real easy on the eyes in a way that goes beyond basic celebrity standards. You don’t look standard. The other girls he’s worked with were standardized. All coming in the same kind of package, but with you he can pick out true individual features. He can tell when the makeup artists fuck around with your eyebrows and overdoes your lipstick. Maybe it’s ’cause he’s always looking at you nowadays, but it might also just be how gorgeous you are. Of course he wants to know what such a pretty girl looks like. It’s one of the perks of the profession and Toji is nothing if not selfish about almost everything. He’s not acting for the art, it just gives him the biggest payout at the end of the day. He likes his bank account with a ridiculous amount of zeros and it just so happens that you come along with that. 

He can’t see why his manager is suddenly complaining when your names start getting tossed around in tandem more often than not. Why shouldn’t Toji date you if he wants to? And he wants to. But apparently he’s supposed to maintain a certain aura in the media. Mean and unapproachable. Which he is. There’s plenty of videos of him manhandling the paparazzi to attest to that. But that means he’s gotta be something unobtainable, and making heart eyes–he’s definitely not doing anything like that–at his favorite little co-star is certainly the opposite of unobtainable. 

He tries to be pragmatic about it, saying he’s just keeping in character. Mean to everyone but his girl. But his manager isn’t going for that. Something about your people using him for clout since he’s got a few years of experience on you as the new kid on the block. Still Toji can’t see the problem. This whole damn industry is built on connections and favoritism so why can’t he help you a little if he wants to. The mere mention of his lack of concern has Shiu groaning, the sound chopped up and drawn out by a poor connection. 

“You’re my most difficult client, do you know that?” The man sighs like he’s trying to wrangle a toddler into behaving. 

“I’m your only client.” Toji reminds him, earning a scowl through the laptop screen. 

“And whose fault is that?” Shiu sounds so put out that Toji doesn’t bother entertaining the idea that it’s anything other than his fault. Somehow. Even though it was Shiu that approached him after he spent a couple years as a free agent that productions had to play phone tag with to book. Now he’s at least a little serious about this whole acting thing, but Shiu wasn’t there from the start so he gets what he gets. An insanely marketable asset if the only thing you want to be known for is managing the big, scary guy in every action movie out in the past few years. In pigeonholing himself into what he’s good at, Toji has tied Shiu’s hands but that’s not really his issue. Especially not when he’s pissing him off, telling him to stop talking nice to you. 

“All I’m saying is a little discretion would be highly appreciated.” Toji nods like he’s taking his manager’s words to heart but he knows there’s not much the man can do without shooting himself in the foot by pissing off the only person he’s got on contract. 

The people wanna see the two of you together. Toji wants to see the two of you together. And you’re not putting up a fuss about seeing him on every set you show up to. The only person upset with the arrangement is Shiu, and Toji barely listens to anything the man says in the first place. So when you let slip during a break to reset a scene that you’re going through the audition process for some indie thriller starting up production he’s quick to piece together enough information to get himself in the door of an audition without Shiu knowing. You’re new enough that you’ve never had anyone else as your love interest and something cocky and maybe a tad bit possessive in him wants to keep it that way. He likes how the two of you look together, so why ruin a good thing by letting someone else work with you when you already work so well together? And you just have to look so happy to see him when the final cast is announced. 

Here you come, all smiles and newly dyed hair, asking why he didn’t tell you he was trying for a part, too, and he just shrugs to keep from telling a lie. Because the truth is he wasn’t supposed to be trying for a role but like clockwork a villain was needed and he showed up to fill the spot. And it works out in his favor because he’s not here to play some one note guy with a gun. Instead he’s playing a psychopath or sociopath–he’s still not a hundred percent on the difference but you explained that there definitely is a difference–and it just so happens that his character is obsessed with you. Shiu made a snide comment about “a little on the nose, isn’t it,” when the first script came through but Toji elected to ignore him. It’s not some well-guarded secret that he likes working with you so who cares if it seems a bit much that he’s somehow always one step behind you. 

Apparently, the fans care. They care a lot. He’s still trying to wrap his head around people caring so much about what he’s doing. When Shiu gets to throwing around media jargon he usually tunes him out but he hears enough about it from you that he’s starting to recognize certain terms. Fans, stans–two different things, maybe–fansites, and saesaengs–at least that’s what Shiu calls them, and they’re bad fans. Toji would rather call them what they are, which is crazed stalkers, but in the industry there needs to be a code word for everything. He’s caught you scrolling through your own tags on social media more than once, “just to see what they’re saying,” you insist, and then sulk when Toji takes your phone because you don’t need to have an unfiltered experience about how people view you online. It’s a dangerous place for someone so sensitive. You don’t have the same aloofness that he has to how people perceive him and he doesn’t need you getting your feelings hurt. 

Supposed fans like to pick at every little thing people in the spotlight do. An hour on whatever app you’re scrolling that day would pick you apart like buzzards over roadkill and leave you nursing your hurt feelings for days to come. New insecurities you haven’t even considered having would crop up because one person made a comment on your nose. Never mind the fact that it looks perfect just the way it is. At least to Toji. But you’re always quick to remind him that he has something nice to say no matter how you look, which isn’t wrong but he’s never lied or over embellished his thoughts. You are beautiful. It’s not his fault for pointing out the obvious. And his blatant, albeit silent, admiration works towards your newest project together. He hears the crew whispering between takes about how unnerving he is on camera, and how it doesn’t entirely seem like an act when he’s looking at you. 

It isn’t. Although Toji isn’t quite unhinged enough to stalk you or slaughter anyone that gets too close. He doesn’t need to anyway. You offer yourself up so sweetly like you can’t tell how frustratingly tempting you are. He tries to behave. For your benefit. He doesn’t care about Shiu’s constant reminders for “discretion.” And if your agent has anything to say to you about it, you’ve yet to mention it. And you never turn down his offers to go out after work. 

Someone asks for your autograph when you enter the restaurant together, begging for a picture with the two of you before a starry-eyed hostess ushers you to a private table. That picture will cost him another afternoon of Shiu yapping in his ear about tarnishing his reputation but that’s a problem for later because Toji is still thinking about how you rested your hand on his chest and leaned against his shoulder for the photo. There’s probably nothing to it. Intimacy like that comes like muscle memory after so many photoshoots for movie stills and promotional images. There’s a poster somewhere of the two of you posed in just the same position but that had been directed by a photographer. This you did on your own. Toji tries not to dwell on it as you flip through the menu. He knows from experience that you’ll stare blankly at the words printed on the paper, flipping through each page like you’re reading it, just to look up with that deer in headlights face that you get anytime a waiter asks for your order. You can deal with a swarm of paparazzi with a breezy smile but the moment someone asks you what you want to eat you freeze up. 

“I don’t know what to get,” you hum, still looking over all the options. Toji knows what you want. It’s an Italian restaurant and he knows you like pasta. He picks your order before his own, setting the menu aside to watch you pretend to make a choice. It’s cute, because he knows you’re genuinely trying to pick but without fail you start to blank as soon as the waitress saunters over to the table looking far more primped than the others he’s seen milling around. There’s gloss on her lips and her hair is pulled back so neatly it looks freshly done. It almost looks like she’s just clocked in except her cheeks are flushed bright and there’s a slight tremble to her hands. The hostess must’ve spread the word that celebrities were dining at table 17. She smiles real big, eyes fixed on Toji as you frantically flip through your menu, trying to decide on something. He reaches over to take it from you, giving the overeager waitress both your orders before sending her on her way. 

“Thanks,” you smile. Of course, he wants to say, I got you, baby. Instead he keeps his mouth shut, nodding in acknowledgment as he waits for you to start up a new conversation. You’re on about something to do with production, how you’re still not used to being important enough to have your own assistant on set, when the waitress returns with your drinks. Her hand linger on Toji’s glass, condensation dripping over her fingers as if she’s waiting for him to reach for the cup and brush his fingers over hers. It’s like something straight out of a romance movie and he might’ve found the humor in the attempt if it weren’t so annoying. Instead of reaching for his drink he sits back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest as he glowers at the girl. 

She interrupted your story about you assistant messing up your breakfast order yesterday, but you don’t seem bothered as you stick your straw in your drink, humming happily after the first sip. He ordered you one of those Shirley Temples that you always get, candied cherries floating in the soda and grenadine. After a beat longer of Toji’s unflinching glare, the waitress finally retreats with a quiet chirp about your food being out soon. You thank her and Toji wants to tell you not to waste your breath, but that would probably only confuse you. For as intuitive as you can be, you still haven’t grasped the fact that Toji would kill to be your man. It would almost be endearing how oblivious you are if it wasn’t grating on his last nerve. Here you are thanking a girl for flirting with him like it didn’t take every shred of his patience to not tell her to fuck off and leave him alone. 

“So, anyway,” you continue, twirling the straw wrapper between your fingers, “he’s so used to assisting Kyoko”–some other actress Toji’s heard of in passing–“that he never actually asked for my order and just came back with her usual. Apparently she likes tomatoes in her eggs but I had to pick them out. And my omelet still ended up tasting like tomatoes. It was so bad I couldn’t finish it.” You screw your face up like just recalling the story has brought the taste back to your tongue. Toji already knows about your aversion to tomatoes. He always reminds the wait staff to remove it from your order whenever you’re out together. All it took was one time watching you peel a tomato off your burger for him to commit the little quirk to memory. 

“You should get a new one,” he tells you. He’s had his fair share of assistants but they’re a rotating roster of equally intimidated people flinching every time he calls their name like he’s going to tell them to go play in traffic. Usually he just wants a drink or something from the restaurant up the street but something about Toji is just so suffocating that most assistants barely last through filming. There are very few people that can tolerate his terse personality but he’s glad you’re one of them. So pretty and so sweet like you don’t realize that everyone on the production staff avoids him unless it’s absolutely necessary to speak with him. It’s half reputation and half unmitigated judgment. Toji would like to think he’s not all bad. He can be cordial in a distant way when not provoked but so many people seem to have an expert ability to pluck at his nerves. 

“Nah, it’s fine.” You’re laughing like it isn’t a big deal that you weren’t able to eat because some inattentive staff member didn’t do their job correctly. “I told him what happened and he apologized, even asked if he should go and get me my actual order, but by then it was about time for filming to start.” You wave your hand dismissively. “It wasn’t anything serious.” Except it was because you’d had to go hungry because of someone’s incompetence. There’s a reason Toji is always taking you out. Most actresses have a habit of skimping on meals to look as trim as possible and he’s not about to let you starve because that’s what the media thinks looks best. He likes you just the way you are and, as far as Toji is concerned, his opinion is the only one that should matter. Not even your own as your food arrives and you whine about not being able to finish it all. 

“I’ve seen you eat more than that.” It comes out just a hair too harsh and he can see it settle over you as if he meant it as an insult. “It’s just pasta,” he says before you can get too in your head about it. “It looks like more than it is.” You grumble something under your breath, likely something snarky about how he doesn’t have to worry about portion control because you’re always saying how his stomach is a black hole. His physique is a testament to how far the human body can be pushed thanks to his tumultuous upbringing. A chasm of memories that don’t quite fit together, punched with holes like a moth-eaten shirt. Something about trauma and dissociation Shiu had said after a night of drunken oversharing. 

It sounded like he was reading off the first link he found in the search results while he was looking up why Toji was such an abrasive asshole all the time. Realistically, Toji knows he has things to work on just like he knows he doesn’t care enough to put in the effort. It is what it is and as far as he’s concerned the future is far more interesting than the brick wall his brain has built between the present and the past. The future has you and there’s not much he can think of that’s better than that. Not when you’re sitting across from him yapping about whatever pops into your head and happily eating the food he knew you’d like. 

“I mentioned in an interview once that I really liked this one author, and they’re releasing a new book soon. Apparently they sent me a signed advanced copy! There was a little handwritten note and everything!” It’s cute how you’re famous and still getting excited about another public figure acknowledging your existence. There’s something so genuine and humble in your happiness that seems to be missing from most of the big names he’s worked alongside. Toji isn’t always the easiest to work with considering how short his fuse is but he’s not one to take it out on people. He’s more hard stares and gruff one-liners while he’s seen other actors shout at the staff like they’re children needing to be scolded. So far, the egotistical people he’s worked with have enough sense not to snap at Toji directly. The only person that’s ever mouthed off to him is you, and it’s always within reason. He is a dick sometimes and you’re just so preoccupied with pleasing everyone that you’ll bite at him for being a bit too short with a co-star or snapping at a member of the wardrobe staff for taking too long for his liking. You make everything more pleasant for everyone involved. A little ray of sunshine in Toji’s otherwise dreary life. 

He was right about the food. You finish your pasta and two of your cherry drinks before Toji pays the tab, ignoring the waitress’ number written at the bottom of the receipt. He hardly notices the blue scribbles, but you do. It seems to flip a switch in your brain as you stare at it before Toji crumples it and shoves it into his pocket. You’re quiet as you leave the restaurant, going a few paces before you finally find your voice. 

“Are you gonna call her?” Your tone isn’t as playful as it usually is when you tease him about all the attention he draws. He’s gotten free drinks at bars and comped meals at restaurants because some waitress or bartender thought he was handsome. Toji has grown used to women giggling behind their hands as he passes and men peeking at him from the corner of their eye like he won’t notice. There’s a certain allure to his surliness that no one but you seems to be immune to. You and maybe Shiu. Usually the most you’ll give him is a laugh and a sarcastic quip about how he’s a public liability for all the attention he commands. Usually a joke about him stopping traffic. But you seem a bit more serious today, a bit more bothered than usual. For a second, Toji considers that he might be hearing things where you didn’t mean them. But then he catches the slight pout of your lips tinged red from your drink and he knows something’s up. 

“The waitress,” you say when he takes too long to answer, “she gave you her number, right?” It takes Toji a moment to realize this is the first time anyone has been so forward with their flirtations in front of you. Of course there were always the compliments and thinly veiled innuendos, but it never goes too far considering most people just assume the two of you are together like that. This waitress had taken a chance slipping him her number, but it’s not like Toji wants it. He hands you the rumpled receipt without a second thought. There at the bottom, in that same sparkly blue pen she used to take your order, is her name and number. 

“Kanna.” You say, eyes narrowing as you stare at the digits of her phone number. Toji decides to test the waters because there was certainly a hint of disdain in your voice as you read her name. You mumble something about her handwriting being messy and Toji can’t help but laugh. 

“Jealous, baby?” Sunlight dances over your lashes as your eyes snap to his face. He watches you try to hide your expression, your pout disappearing as you hand him back the receipt. He shoves it back in his pocket without a second glance because he knows you’d say something about littering if he dropped it on the ground just to prove a point.

“No.” You say it too quickly for it to be true. 

“Liar.” Toji laughs because you’re so clearly bothered. Usually someone making a pass at him wouldn’t get you so flustered but there’s something different about you today. You’re more openly affectionate. There’s still those moments of hesitation but you’ve been more free with grabbing his hand as you walk and leaning against him when you’re idle. That girl couldn’t have rattled you. She was hardly anything to look at, less so when Toji is constantly surrounded by a plethora of perfectly curated women that fit rigidly into the popular look of the moment. Trendsetting hairstyles and the latest designer clothes. You’re more subdued, less artificial in your style choices, yet he still finds you leagues more beautiful than anyone he’s ever seen before. Certainly more so than that random waitress and her glitter pen. 

Toji has to hold back a smile as you walk ahead of him. Taking three steps for every one of his and still only managing to stay a half step in front of him. He can tell you’re trying to distance yourself, arms crossed and lips pouted as you rush forward. Toji let’s you. It’s not like you’re far ahead and, lucky for him, you’re headed to the same place. The hotel is a few blocks away and Toji takes the time to enjoy the way the sun moves over your hair, golden light settling like a halo around your head. It’s only when you reach the towering silhouette of the hotel that the sun is eclipse and you go dull. Without the shower of gilded light you look more dejected than annoyed. A kicked puppy rather than an angry dog. You make it as far as the elevator before Toji decides he’s had enough of the running. His grip on your arm is as gentle as he can manage while keeping you from slipping away from him. His free hand finds your hip as the floors rush past. Your shuffling lifts your shirt ever so slightly and Toji finds his thumb brushing over the exposed skin above your waistband before he can contemplate the consequences.

Toji touches you all the time. As his on screen love interest, he’s inclined to be physically affectionate when the cameras are rolling. But even off screen he can’t help the way his true desires bleed into his actions. The media eats it up every time a picture of the two of you surfaces, the rumor mills running overtime to concoct a front page story for one tabloid or another. But that’s always been part of the show. The same way you leaned into him when that fan asked for a picture is the way he holds your waist on the red carpet. This is different. There are no cameras. No one to impress or enthrall. This is simply Toji wanting to touch you, and you letting him. The feeling of his fingers dipping beneath the hem of your shirt have gotten you to go still, leaning back into his chest as he watches your reflection in the polished metal of the elevator doors. 

“Let go.” It’s only the two of you in the elevator and yet your voice is no louder than a whisper. Toji scoffs, hands loosening little by little. 

“You want me to?” 

“No.” Your voice is even smaller than before. The quietest admission like you’re unsure of it yourself. Still, Toji lets go and watches you stumble because you were leaning so heavily against him. 

Immediately he can feel the absence of your warmth against his chest, but he’ll let you come back to him. He’s made his intentions clear. From here, the choice is yours. When the doors ding open, you nearly sprint down the hall and Toji assumes you’ve made your choice. He can live with it. He doesn’t blame you for it. The moments you’ve shared together always felt a bit too good to be true, just as perfect as when the cameras are rolling. But you stop in the middle of the hallway. Your room is further down but you don’t move to go any further, as if something has rooted you to that place. Toji sets a leisurely pace in his approach. 

There’s the expectation that you’ll go running off again the moment he gets too close like a rabbit evading a wolf, but you surprise him with your stillness. Even as he recaptures your waist, hands more purposefully dipping under your shirt as he pulls you into his chest. This isn’t the place for it. A picture like this would be a PR nightmare and he’d never hear the end of it from Shiu. But Toji can’t bring himself to worry about that right now. Instead he asks which room you want to go to. His is closer but he doesn’t doubt you’d be more comfortable in your own. You lead the way, swiping your card to unlock the door before pulling him inside. 

After a month of filming, you’ve turned this temporary situation into your own. It smells like you more than any industrial strength cleaner that the housekeepers use. He recognizes the smell of your shampoo and that scented lotion that you love so much. The bed is freshly made and that damn duck that a fan gifted you months ago is propped up against the pillows next to the remote. A bit of tension leaks from your shoulders as you laugh and explain that the housekeepers have been doing this for weeks, setting a cute little scene for you to return to after they’ve straightened up the room. You set the remote and duck on the nightstand as you sit at the edge of the bed, perched as if you don’t want to crease the freshly steamed linens. You look nervous and it stops Toji from wandering further than the little entryway. He’s flanked by a closet and a mirror just like in his room but he can’t take his eyes off you. Your hands are tucked between your thighs and he tries not to focus on the way you’re shifting and squirming, squeezing your legs together. 

He can almost see the heat flooding through your body and he’s more than capable of flushing it out if you’ll just ask him to. He feels like a leashed dog waiting for the command to pounce. He reaches up to brace his arms against the dropped ceiling annexing the entryway from the rest of the room. For all your silence, your body is speaking for itself. Toji’s eyes don’t miss the way your throat bobs as you swallow, eyes focused on the way his arms flex above his head. 

“I can’t tell you what to do,” Toji says even though he really wants to. He knows you’d listen, too. But this isn’t something he can script and direct. You have to decide for yourself, give him the words he’s looking to hear. “You gotta tell me what you want, baby.” He sees the little pet name land, watches how you dip your chin and look up at him through your lashes. Embarrassed and he hasn’t even done anything yet. 

“Don’t make me,” you mumble. It’s so starkly different from the sultry confidence he sees on set, a true testament to your skills as you struggle to find the words to say you want him. Because he knows you do. It’s clear in the way you keep stealing glances at him even as you point your face away, hiding like he can’t see the way your teeth nip nervously at your lip. 

“I won’t.” He agrees. “Won’t make you do anything you don’t want to, so you gotta tell me. What do you want, baby?” 

Toji wants to think he’d be able to turn tail and head back to his own room if you denied him, take a cold shower and forget this ever happened, but he knows it’s a lie. He’s already so swept up in your orbit that denial would feel like a punch to the gut. He’s taken worse, but not from you. It would be like sucking the air from his lungs. It’s gotten so bad that he can’t imagine a day without you. Work was only a pretense. He got to see you everyday because you were contractually obligated. Now you’re far past coworkers hanging around each other because it’s what the job demands. He likes to think you see him as a friend, maybe something more. He could live with just being a friend as long as it means he gets to spend time in your bed. He’s got so few people that he talks to on a day to day basis that Toji imagines it wouldn’t really make a difference what you called him as long as you do call him. 

Finally, you don’t say his name, or anything really, but you extend a hand towards him and he rushes forward like a tsunami swallowing the shoreline. He kneels and tries not to think of how stupid he must look prostrating himself at your feet. You don’t seem to think any less of him for his poorly concealed eagerness. It's a desire grown over years of working alongside you. A sort of desperation that will knock the breath out of your lungs as soon as you give him the go ahead. Because Toji has had women. Countless, faceless. He’s slept with enough people to know this feels different. He wonders if this is what it's like for desire to feel real. Because why else would he be so hung up on you after so long. He’s not a man after a chase. He won’t run after anyone. Unless it’s you. He’s been running so fucking hard that he’s nearly out of breath and here he is so close to the finish line in a marathon he hadn’t realized he was running. And you’re the prize brushing his hair back and touching the scar at the corner of his mouth like he’s something to be gentle with. 

“You scare me.” He hears you say it through waves of blood rushing in his ears. He’s familiar with fear but never from you. From day one you’d been strangely calm around him. Like a deer sitting beside a mountain lion without a care in the world. Toji knows he’s something to be afraid of. He’s lived his life. He knows exactly how dangerous he is, how terrifying he must seem. It was stupid to think you were above that fear just because you smiled at him. 

“I’m scared you’re gonna hurt me.” You say softly. But you’re still touching him. Humans tame predators, he reminds himself. A wolf can be turned into a dog with the proper treatment. He thinks again of how he’s kneeling at your feet. He’s been tamed–whipped as Shiu called it–by you. 

“M’not gonna hurt you.” He tries to work the gravel from his voice, to sound less brooding as he reassures you. It doesn’t work. He’s set in stone. Too old to learn a new trick. If you’ll have him, Toji will be whatever you need, but you gotta take him as he is. Because it’s all he has to give. 

“Promise?” Your tone is so soft he half expects you to stick out your pinky or make him cross his heart. 

“I promise.”

“I’m serious, Toji. I don’t want to be just another girl to you. If we do this, we’re doing this. You can’t use me and leave me. I won’t let you.” He hears the unspoken words. I won’t let you hurt me. So that’s what you meant. Of course you aren’t afraid of him. You’re scared in the way everyone seemed to be of each other. Scared to commit, scared to be vulnerable. Toji loathes to think he feels the same. Rejection would hurt if it came from you. But it hasn’t. You’re still playing with his hair and Toji hears a damning thought surface in his head; I could marry this girl. He shoves it down before it can fully form. It’s too soon, too optimistic. He knows who he is as much as he tries to be better when he’s with you. Toji could hurt you. Get scared and break your heart. He knows if he did he’d never see you again. 

No more stupid videos getting sent to him at 5AM because you’re in the makeup chair at the crack of dawn. No more ordering your food because you can’t ever get the words out yourself. No more shoving you to the inside of the sidewalk because you like balancing along the curb as you walk. He could live without seeing you on set ever again. That had only been a symptom. The root of it was simply you. In any way he could have you. 

It’s pathetic but he’s addicted in a way he never thought possible. Never let himself think it was possible. Not for a guy like him. Movies gave him an outlet for his more violent tendencies. He would’ve done just as well as a boxer or something else where he could get paid to rough people up in a way that was above board. He’d done it the illegal way for years. Got away with it too. You have every right to be scared of him. Every right to leave him. But in this moment you’re here and he’s selfish. He leans up to kiss you. 

It doesn’t feel new. There’s no picturesque fireworks clouding his head. It isn’t new. He’s kissed you a hundred times over by now. It doesn’t feel new, but it feels right. Especially without the motivation of a camera. He isn’t kissing a character, he’s kissing you. And you’re kissing him. 

“Stop thinking so hard.” Because Toji can tell by the way your hands flutter over his shoulders with nervous uncertainty that you’re not all here. You’re thinking about this like someone is going to snap at you for messing up an angle or pressing too close and smearing your makeup. He hears you mumble a feeble apology. 

“None of that. We’re doing this, baby. You and me. Don’t think about anything else.” That gets you to loosen up enough for Toji to work you out of your clothes. He’s never had the pleasure. There’s never been a reason for his hands to be pressing underneath your shirt and it feels like his hands are melting into your skin as they push towards your chest, taking your shirt with them. You’re warm and pliant, softening like butter under his touch. Toji gets you out of your shirt with a bit too much eagerness, ruffling your hair as you squeak at his desperation. He can’t even find it in him to care if he looks overeager now because he is. 

He’s been after you for years and he’s not about to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Beneath your clothes is an endless expanse of skin hidden only by the covering of your underwear. Plain cotton, nothing special, but it has him throbbing in his pants because it’s you. And you have the audacity to mumble about “didn’t know we were doing this, would’ve worn something nicer,” like Toji isn’t practically drooling at the way your pretty blue panties sit on your hips. He thumbs at the elastic, pulling it back just to hear it snap against your skin. It’s like unwrapping a gift and he’s looking to savor it. 

“They’re gonna know,” he says as he kisses along the shape of your breasts peeking out the top of your bra. He could put a mark there. Bite down on the soft skin and leave a print of his teeth in your skin, put a bruise there with his greedy mouth as he licks at the line where skin meets fabric, hiding the rest of you away in the cups of your bra. He could mark you up and they’d know. Everyone would know exactly who did it because Toji isn’t ashamed to admit he’s been after you like a dog, barking at anyone that got even remotely too close for comfort. A co-star could simply be complimenting the outfit wardrobe had chosen for a particular scene and he’d be looming behind them with murder in his eyes. Of course you look gorgeous but only he should get to look that hard at you. 

“Don’t!” You squeak when he noses over your skin, looking for a place to sink his teeth. “Don’t leave any marks!” He almost wants to ignore you and latch his mouth on to you anyway, but Toji resists the urge. You’ve asked him to behave and he wants to be a gentleman for you. Or, at least, the closest a man like him can get to it. He can still tease you about it, though. 

“No?” He mocks you. “You don’t want me to leave any marks? What, you got someone else that gets to see you like this, baby?” You squirm at his patronizing tone, a pout working its way onto your lips. He nips at your bottom lip before smoothing the expression with a kiss. 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” you whine. “Makeup and–” He kisses you again, slipping his tongue between your parted lips, because of course he knows. Makeup would make a fuss if he left marks on your neck, wardrobe would pitch a fit if they found hickeys in a place their designated outfits couldn’t cover. You’d be in the makeup chair even longer as they painted over all the places he’d marked you up. 

“You taste like cherries.” He mumbles against your mouth. The taste has him fumbling for his pants like a fucking virgin because it’s so innate to you. Those little fruity drinks you love so much have him pressing painfully against his zipper. Toji has you leaned up against the pillows as he sits back on his knees to pull his shirt off. He doesn’t miss the way your thighs twitch, pressing tighter together at the sight of him looming over you bare-chested. He doesn’t toss his shirt far because he wants to see you wearing it later. Right now you smell like you. Your lotion, your shampoo. He can’t wait to tired you out and wrap you up in his clothes until you smell like him. 

He wants to mark you up in other ways if he can’t do it with his lips. So everyone knows exactly who you belong to. The idea that you had to make him swear to not let this be a one off kind of thing is utterly laughable when Toji hasn’t wanted to stray away from you since nearly the first time you met. Nothing anyone else has to offer could be better than what you can give him. Although he’s happy that the little waitress tried. You wouldn’t have been so worked up if she hadn’t. He’s been teetering on the edge of insanity being so close to you everyday and it’s nice that he’s finally caught a glimpse of what you’re like when you get so wrapped up in your mind that you start acting out of character. Because Toji hasn’t felt this crazy over anyone and he’s glad he’s not suffering this lovestruck psychosis alone. It’s dumb and childish but he’s got so little in his life that’s sweet and pure that he isn’t about to poison this with toxic hang ups about maintaining his persona.

“Did it make you mad, baby?” He asks as he bullies his way between your legs. You move with him, thighs parting to give him space even as you shrink back into the pillows, brows pinched as you watch him settle his cheek against your thigh. “Did that girl at the restaurant upset you?” He wants to hear you admit it. He smirks at the way you screw up your face, nose scrunching in distaste at the mention of another woman. 

“Don’t say things like that when we’re like this,” you grumble, jerking the leg he’s resting on. He bites at you in retaliation and because he wants to hear you squeak about leaving marks again. 

“You are mad.” He smirks and watches the way your cheeks puff indignantly as you pout at him. He wants to kiss that petulant little expression off your face but Toji can’t bring himself to move even an inch away from where he’s resting. With his face cushioned by the pillowy warmth of your thighs he can see the mess spreading between your legs. A dark spot is forming in your panties, getting bigger with every shift of your hips. Toji slips a finger under the elastic and can practically hear the sound of the fabric sticking to your skin. It makes his mind go blank and all he can think about is getting closer. He blinks and suddenly his face is buried at the apex of your thighs, panting like a dog as he noses against the soiled fabric, tongue chasing the taste of you seeping through the cotton. 

“Wait!” You squeak, and he tries to. He pulls back but only far enough to look up at you. His nose stays nuzzled against the seam of your cunt, brushing against where your clit is throbbing through the fabric. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks even though he can think of a few things as his finger drags through the space between your panties and pussy, making a slick noise that has him grinding against the mattress. So fucking wet. 

“Nothing…” Toji recognizes the face you make in an instant. He’s seen it a hundred times over by now. It always reminds him of a puzzle the way you fix your expression whenever a camera is rolling. It’s always your mouth first. Smile dropped, pout gone, lips pressed into a neutral line. He sees every piece of your face fall into place until it’s perfectly blank. He watches you awhile longer until your composure breaks again and your brows dip into something resembling anxiety. 

“Nervous, baby?” He doesn’t need you to answer but you do anyway, nodding slowly. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. Just lemme take care of you, okay?” You nod again and Toji rewards the loosening of your muscles with a gentle kiss to your stomach. “Behave.” He says and watches the way you tense up again. It’s less nerves, more anticipation as you watch him slink back between your legs. He decides to spare your underwear, pulling them down nice and proper instead of tearing them off of you like he’s so desperate to do. It takes a few seconds longer and gives you a chance to knock your knees together as he sits up to pull the bundle of fabric off your ankles. 

“What did I say?” He asks, loving the way the timbre of his voice seems to send a shiver through your prone body. “Behave.” You don’t resist as he spreads your legs again but you start to squirm the longer he stares. Toji has spent many a night in the privacy of his hotel room fisting his dick to whatever image of you his mind could conjure but nothing could come close to the real thing. 

“S’pretty, baby.” He mumbles, tongue tripping over the words. He’s just lost any semblance of cognitive function. All he can see is you, spread out and dripping on the sheets, and he can’t wait another second to get his mouth on you. 

I’m gonna marry this girl, he can’t help the thought as your lashes flutter and lips part the moment he gets his mouth on your pussy. You’re still nervous, twitching and squirming like you aren’t sure what to do with yourself. Toji decides for you, arms hooking under your legs to hold you still. That still leaves your hands to flutter anxiously, skating over where his fingers dig into the meat of your thighs and brushing across his hair like you’re afraid to touch him. It makes him groan in annoyance, the sound humming against your clit. It makes you go limp, hands falling still. One rests against his head and the other over his hand. Toji loosens his grip on your leg just enough to thread his fingers through yours, pointedly ignoring how intimate the small touch feels even though he has his tongue buried in your pussy. He’s being greedy, tonguing at your hole and nosing against your clit as your cunt makes a mess of his face, but the moment is softened by the way your fingers squeeze around his. 

He feels your nails against his scalp. Not quite gripping, more so petting and it feels like something akin to a reward as he makes a mess between your legs. You don’t tense up again and Toji realizes the idle movement of your hands is grounding you even as your thighs shake around his head. He can barely breathe but he can’t even fathom pulling away when you’re making such pretty noises and trying to grind your hips against his face. You’re slurring something between those soft sighs that sounds an awful lot like “thank you,” and Toji wrenches his mouth away from you because he’s one more head scratch away from cumming in his pants like some virgin. He doesn’t even bother to get his underwear down all the way. He just shoves the waistband low enough to get his dick out and nearly collapses on top of you the second he feels your cunt against his skin. 

Toji braces an arm beside your head, leaning close enough to feel your breath ghosting across his skin. He kisses you to get you to close your eyes, but he keeps his half lidded as he watches you squirm as you taste yourself on his tongue. The mess you’ve left on his face transfers to yours as he rubs his face against your cheek like a needy puppy. It would be more embarrassing if you weren’t acting just as clinging. He can feel the needling sensation of your nails digging into his shoulder. It sends shivers down his spine, lingering just right on the cusp of pain and pleasure. Toji tries to kiss you again but it ends up being more of a heady clashing of teeth and tongue as he presses his parted lips against yours. Still tastes like cherries, he thinks, enjoying the mix between sweet and savory as the taste of your arousal still sticks to his tongue. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he groans as you press a wet kiss to the corner of his mouth, right where his scar is. And because you’re so frustratingly sweet you blink up at him, slow and wide like the little doe eyed beauty that you are, and ask, “Like what?”

“Like that,” Toji groans as you raise your brows and tilt your head, lips pulling into another one of your signature pouts. “Fuck, turn over.” He hooks an arm under your back and flips you fast enough to leave you gasping. Your hand flutters to find him again where it’s settled against your heaving stomach. He can feel your pulse flutter as you catch your breath, body shivering with something softer than anxiety. Anticipation weaves its way through your body. Toji can tell in the way you tense and relax at each minute movement he makes. He decides to tease you as he fists the base of his cock, squeezing hard to keep from cumming on the smooth expanse of your back. His hand moves from your stomach to leave you teetering on quivering arms as he trails his finger up your spine. You bend to match his touch, arching as his fingertip traces over the contours of your back. Goosebumps raises where he touches and you shiver, head falling between your shoulders. 

Toji takes advantage of the vulnerable position. Your hair is usually down during filming and there’s little reason for that to change in the coming days so he feels little guilt about the way his teeth scrape against the nape of your neck. It makes your arms give out and Toji’s teeth tighten on the soft skin as your new position presses you back against his hips. He hadn’t meant to leave a mark but there’s likely to be one now. He pulls away, lapping apologetically at the faint indent of his teeth before grabbing your hips to keep you flush against him. If you move again he’s going to ruin the sheets instead of you, but you’re still squirming like you want him to embarrass himself by coming too soon. It becomes plainly clear that your intention is to kill him as you toss your hair over your shoulder and look up at him through your lashes, mumbling a soft “are you gonna fuck me now?” 

The answer is a resounding yes and Toji can’t bring himself to think of anything else as he guides his dick inside you. This time he does collapse, falling forward before he can catch himself. It pushes him inside in one go and you let out a long whine, grinding against him as Toji rests his forehead against the back of your neck. You’re starting to sweat now with all that wiggling you’ve been doing and he licks along the column of your neck to distract from the way your pussy is choking his dick. He can hear you whining, feel it too with the way his chest is flush against your back. A soft litany of “please,” and “move,” with his name punctuating each little gasp. He can feel you trying to grind against him, held still partially by the weight of his body. He’s got you almost completely pinned and decided to finish the job. You squeak as he presses his knee against yours, spreading your legs until you collapse onto your stomach. 

“Stay there,” he says like you have any hope of moving without him peeling his heavy body off of you. He has no intentions of doing anything remotely close to that as he shoves a pillow under your hips and his arm under your jaw. 

“Comfy?” He asks. He can feel the way your cheeks are squished in the crook of his arm as you try to nod and go back to begging. He nips at the shell of your ear, soothing the sting with his tongue, as he pulls his hips back. You’re close. He can feel it in the way your pussy is desperate to keep him inside, squeezing tight every time he pulls away. It’s got him on the edge, filling the hotel room with the heavy sound of skin against skin. He’s glad the bed is so sturdy. 

There’s no squeaking or knocking headboard as he drives you up the mattress with his desperate rutting. He gets a hand between you and the sheets to pinch at your nipples, rolling the sensitive buds between his fingers. It makes you keen and that’s the only thing Toji can’t be bothered to keep quiet. He wants to hear every little sound you make after giving him so much lip about the waitress. You had so much to say earlier and he’s only too happy to hear you out. Neighbors be damned. It’s likely the floor is mostly if not completely vacant given that two celebrities are boarding here but Toji can’t help but want you to be loud in case there’s anyone to hear. This all feels a bit too much like a dream and he’d relish a noise complaint just to make it all seem real. 

“You feel so good, baby.” Toji grunts in your ear. “So good for me.” Something like a giggle works its way out of your mouth and Toji almost tells you to shut up because the sound goes straight to his dick. His hand leaves your breasts to find that spot between your legs. Your breathing stutters as his calloused fingers find your clit. It’s like lighting a fuse. You start up your squirming again, nails scratching at his arm tucked under your chin like you’re trying to get away. It takes Toji a second to realize that you are. Curling up on yourself, trying to run from the feeling of his body on yours. You’re not saying anything, but you are drooling. He can feel it slicking down his forearm as he loosens his hold just enough to make sure you’re not suffocating under his strength. He can hear those stuttering little breaths and soft mewls that are soon accompanied by a hand pushing blindy at his wrist. 

“Fuck no,” Toji grumbles. His hand leaves your clit just long enough to roll you onto your back. He hears a little sigh of relief as you relax into the sheets for a moment. There are tears sparkling in your eyes and wetting your lashes. Your whole face is shining with sweat and spit and it makes Toji a little prideful to see you so thoroughly ruined because of him. 

“You gonna be good for me, baby? Gonna behave?” He asks once you catch your breath. Before you can answer he’s already gathering your wrists in one hand to press them into the pillows above your head while his other hand slaps his dick against your messy cunt. He grinds the head of his cock against your clit, precum staining your skin as he teases you, asking if it feels good. He huffs out a laugh when you nod. It’s so earnest, so desperate. 

“Yeah it does. You don’t have to run from it, baby. Lemme make you feel good. Want you to feel good for me.” He pants, leaning down until you’re nose to nose as he presses back inside you. The sound you make is lost in the press of your lips as Toji lavishes you with more sloppy kisses. He can feel himself teetering on the edge, balls tightening with each little whine that leaves your lips. His hand finds its way back between your legs and he has your back arching within seconds. He can feel you trying to pull away again, arms tugging at where he has you pinned even as your greedy legs lock around his waist. He can feel your muscles trembling as he draws tight circles on your clit, whole body pulling taut as you get closer to the edge. 

The only words leaving your mouth are his name and soft gasps of “please, please, please,” like Toji is in any position to deny you what you want. He lets go of your wrists if only because he knows you won’t try to run from him now. Instead your arms wrap around him, pulling with enough strength to catch him off guard. Toji nearly collapses on top of you as you pull him into a surprisingly chaste kiss. A shudder runs down his back as your nails drag against his scalp and it’s all just a bit too much. Your pussy milking him like you’re trying to get pregnant–belatedly, he realizes he should’ve worn a condom–and your lips in his ear telling him to let go.

“Wanna feel it. Want it inside,” you whine. It’s so damningly sweet that Toji can’t find it in himself to even attempt to deny you. The thought of pulling out had briefly crossed his mind but your thighs are still locked around his waist and he isn’t above doing something stupid to satisfy himself. The consequences can be dealt with later. He lasted longer than he expected but there’s no mistaking how pent up Toji has been as he cums inside you. He fills you up and then some, feeling it leaking out. The tension bleeds from his body as he curls over you, grip loosening on your wrists enough that you wriggling free to wrap your arms around his shoulders. There’s the prickling heat of your nails scratching at him as you wrap yourself tight around him like you never want him to leave. Toji returns the favor. You shiver, a happy little sigh leaving your lips as he wraps his arms around you. 

“Clingy,” he says quietly, still loud enough for you to hear and he feels the way your arms tense then loosen, trying to pull away like you missed the humor in his voice. “Stop it.” He mutters, sitting back up to pull you into his lap. 

Usually Toji isn’t one to stick around after he’s gotten what he wants out of an encounter but the usual instinct to peel his partner off of him as soon as possible is absent with you. He revels in the way your head rests against his chest, soft breathes ghosting across his skin. Toji’s hands find your waist, fingers sinking into the softness of your skin as he lifts you just enough to pull out. There’s a puddle forming on the sheets from the way he’s leaking out of you and he entertains the thought of plugging his fingers inside you for half a second before remembering how stupid that would be after he already came inside you with no protection. You don’t seem too worried about it and Toji supposes that’s all that matters. He watches the way the mood settles into something less frenzied, more coherent, but the anger never comes. He’s expecting you to snap at him for being so careless but all he gets is a soft smile and even softer kisses. The taste of cherries still lingers. 

“We should do something about that,” he says, eyes still trained on the space between your bodies. Stained white and sticky from how hard he was fucking you. It streaks up your thighs and shines bright on his pelvis, staining the freshly changed sheets. You blink slow, like a kitten, before finally acknowledging the mess between your legs. 

“Should be fine, I’m on the pill. I’ll stop by the store later if you’re worried.” He’s not. Part of him wishes you hadn’t mentioned birth control. He’s selfish when it comes to you and even though it would be the worst outcome, Toji finds himself wondering what it would’ve been like if he did get you pregnant. Then he remembers your careers and lets the thought slip away into the recesses of his mind. It’s a desire for a later date because you’ve already said this isn’t gonna be a one and done kind of thing. There’s time for things to get more serious, to have a proper discussion instead of letting it happen on a whim. He clings to the idea of a future with you because that’s really all he has. As soon as he set eyes on you, you began to infiltrate his every thought like a weed invading his mind. But you’re not a weed, far too pretty for that. And even if you were, he likes the way you cloud his mind. Gives him something sweet to think about when there’s always been such a lack of nice things in his life. He kisses your neck, tasting sweat and perfume. After a while he gathers you up and makes you decent enough to make the trip to his room. 

“I owe Shiu money.” He groans halfway through his shower. You’re sitting just outside the tiny cubicle, perched on the toilet. Freshly washed and wearing his shirt just like he wanted. 

“You made a bet about me with your manager?” He hears the uncertainty in your voice even over the spray of water and realizes how the admission must sound. He shuts off the water and steps out into a cloud of steam to see you looking crestfallen. There’s a hesitance on your face that makes his stomach churn. Anxiety isn’t something Toji is entirely familiar with and he finds that he hates the way the acidic feeling settles in his chest. 

“Not like that, baby. He just knows how much I’ve been wanting you. He called me on my bullshit years ago.” It would be embarrassing admitting that he’s been pining after you for so long if you didn’t smile and try to hide your face. He hears you mumble, “Thought it was just me,” as you tuck your face into the collar of his shirt to cover your smile. There’s a tremble or hesitance in your voice like you can’t believe Toji would pay you the time of day, like he wasn’t just chomping at the bit to get you in bed. It’s a fair assumption given his usually detached disposition that so few people take the time to see past. You’re one of them but he can appreciate the air of unknowns that lingers around him. Toji is just like he seems on camera. 

Rude, abrasive, volatile when provoked. He acts something like a grizzled guard dog but even they have people they’re gentle for. It’s almost sickening how easily he can see himself with you. Made worse by how easily you accept him. You’re giving him that look again, like he’s your favorite person in the world. 

“What’s that look?” He asks as you watch him get dressed. He brought you to his room so you can nap on an unsoiled bed. He wonders if the housekeepers will tuck your duck in again after washing his cum out of your sheets. 

“What look?” You have the nerve to ask like you’re not looking at him with more softness than he’s seen in his entire life. He decides not to mention it. The need for discretion that Shiu has been trying to drill into him will be lost in the wind soon enough. Toji already couldn’t take his eyes off you and now he has more reason to be with you all the time. Media be damned, he’s gonna be all over you now that you’re his, officially. And you seem to share the sentiment as you curl up on top of him as soon as he gets in bed, humming happily when his arms find your waist. He hears a sleepy murmuring of “I’m your girlfriend,” soft and giggly like you couldn’t be more happy about it. It’s like a final nail in the coffin for Toji. He’s always thought of you as his girl and now it’s finally real. No cameras, no audience. Unscripted and real. 

[capricornlevi]

on the cusp | miguel o 'hara x reader

summary:

Miguel O'Hara is many things: a patron at your bar, an occasional drinking buddy, your not-quite-friend with benefits, someone you barely know.

Or so you thought. Maybe, somewhere along the way, you've gotten to know him a bit better than you'd originally thought.

cw: alcohol consumption, casual sexual relationship, PIV intercourse, oral sex (m and f receiving) praise kink, a teeny bit of biting kink if you squint but nothing explicit and no blood/violence of any description, all consensual & enthusiastic - NSFW, MDNI

word count: 3.5k

You can count the things you know about Miguel O’Hara on just one hand – that is to say, the real things. The important things. 

First of all, you’re aware that he has a stressful job. Not one to divulge any specifics, Miguel’s only description of the aforementioned job is that it involves a lot of late nights and keeps him out of town more than he’d like – you consider that to be just one fact since it all affects you the same. 

You also know that his family life is … complicated, to say the least. He withdraws whenever you bring it up so you’re not even sure exactly where the issue lies; his parents? Siblings? An ex? It could be all of that or none. You learned long ago not to pry, but in your opinion, this still counts as a fact – after all, you’re aware of just how sensitive a topic it is for him. That counts for something, at least, some clue as to what made him this way: withdrawn, headstrong, and at times, a little cold. 

Thirdly, you know that he drinks. Not heavily, mind, and you’d be the one to know since you work as a bartender at his favourite dive bar, the sort of establishment where people don’t try to hide their indulgences. He knows his limits and toes the line on a regular basis, never tipping over it. He is always sober enough to walk home. Which, you have to admit, is more than you can say for the rest of your patrons. 

You met him at that bar - three, four years ago, depending on which one of you is recalling the story - and didn’t make much of him at first glance. He was just a stranger to you then, even more closed off than he is now. All you could judge him on was physical appearance and in that regard, he was - is - beyond imposing, towering above the next tallest person at the bar. Broad shoulders, strong arms, and the ability to make himself seem ever larger if needed – if some drunken pig started pushing you too far or refused to take the hint, Miguel never even needed to say anything to scare them off. Taking a step in their direction was usually enough to do the job. You’re not sure when it started, but that’s how you grew … not close, exactly, but … familiar. 

Miguel knows you can fend for yourself - you’ve both accepted as much - but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t handy to have backup when you’re behind the bar by yourself. You had better things to do than swat away their leery advances all night, and word spread fast that Miguel was likely to step in if anyone tried their luck. It made your life a lot easier.

Now having moved from strangers to acquaintances, you learned a fourth fact about Miguel; that he really enjoyed listening to your stories. It took you by surprise at first since he’s not much of a talker – he still isn’t, but he’ll listen all night long to your rambling tales about the bachelor party who disassembled the bar’s pool table with their bare hands, or whatever new event occurred during your work week. If it’s quiet, you end up talking for hours. 

Part of you felt guilty for taking up so much of his time. It feels strange to talk at length about yourself to someone who never interrupts, never pipes up with information of his own. But you soon learned Miguel likes it this way. He likes to sit at the counter with a glass of subpar whiskey with half-melted ice and listen to you, eyes following your every move, never zoning out. It relaxes him, he said once. It’s nice for him to be able to get out of his head, and if it means hearing about the ninety-year-old deliveryman who dropped off a couch infested with termites to the apartment next door, so be it. 

It’s not that you never gave Miguel the opportunity to share. Every night, you tried to pry some more information out of him:

“So, have you ever worked in a bar?”

“No? Where do you work?”

“So what does that involve? What sort of work do you do?”

And you’d get a non-committal answer to every question. He has a unique talent for talking without revealing too much of himself; he’ll mumble something vague that technically serves as an answer, but you’ll leave knowing little to nothing definitive.

But this setup worked for both of you, so you never objected too much. 

That’s how things were for two years (or maybe three). For the most part, he’d come in a couple of hours before closing on quiet nights, so you were able to talk til last call. It was nice – and it still is nice, because you still have the same routine – for the most part.

There’s just one significant change.

The fifth and final thing that you know about Miguel O’Hara - the most exclusive fact, since it’s a secret between the two of you - is that on the nights when he gets to take you home, he wants to fuck you like you’re both in love. 

And it’s a fact you’re completely sure of since his face is currently buried in between your thighs, whispering unintelligible praise into your soaking folds. 

The ‘in love’ part isn’t actually true, really, you don’t think. You’re not sure it’s even possible to love someone you know so little about. But when he’s like this, tongue swirling your clit with a look on his face as though he could do this all night, you know that this is what he wants.

Intimacy. For just these fleeting moments you share.

And, like the other little things, you’re more than happy to give it to him.

“ F-fuck,” your broken moan echoes around your bedroom, your hands pawing at the covers of your unmade bed, “right - right there, fuck, yes, yes, keep going.”

Miguel’s lying on his impossibly toned stomach, half-naked since he only had time to remove his shirt before setting you down on the bed and spreading your legs open, and he’s more than happy to take instruction. He stays in that spot, flicking it with the perfect pressure, mumbling something about adding a finger.

Your head is swimming but you manage to reply - or make some sound that shows your assent - and you feel him press a thick finger into you, an easy slide with how wet he’s made you, curling up for just a moment before it slides back out. 

Then back in, then out, and all the while, you’re crying out for him.

You think he likes it when you say his name in bed. You don’t count it as a fact since you’re not completely certain, but whenever you do say it, he makes a low, groaning noise deep in his throat and speeds up whatever he’s doing – licking you, touching you, fucking you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was possessive.

Now, with you saying his name over and over and over again, he looks up at you with heavy, lidded eyes, an animalistic desire flashing over them. It’s enough to make you shiver. The power in his body, the strength he possesses … 

He is never rough without your consent, but when his eyes get that hazy look and his grip on your thighs gets a little tighter, you can see how he keeps his impulses on a tight leash.

If you were of a clearer mind, you’d wonder again what he actually does outside of the bar, outside of this, what could get him worked up to this extent.  

Thankfully, your thoughts are very much elsewhere. Right now, they’re focused on how quickly your orgasm is building, low and hot in the pit of your stomach. 

“ Miguel ,” you gasp, voice pitching upwards as he adds a second finger – this time you really feel the stretch, but it’s anything but unpleasant. It makes that ball of heat burn brighter and brighter, your thighs shaking around Miguel’s face, your breaths coming out in short pants. 

“ Miguel, fuck, oh -”

His fingers are hitting just deep enough, just in the right spot, you can hear how wet you are, you can feel how you’re soaking his hand and mouth, how much he’s enjoying this, maybe even more than you are –

When you come, it’s almost blinding. You could feel it building but it somehow took you by surprise anyway, it always does; the intensity, the duration, the way Miguel keeps licking you open until you’re trembling with oversensitivity. 

The waves wrack your body continuously. You’re more than happy to get lost in it, to relinquish control and let it wash over you. 

It’s so much that tears collect at the corners of your eyes, spilling down your cheeks when you eventually regain the strength to sit up.

This is the sentimental part. Miguel sits back on his haunches, wipes his soaked lower face against his bicep, and leans over to wipe the tears away with his thumb. When there’s no trace left, he leans in a little further to press kisses on the apples of your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, your lips that part against his.

It’s enough to make you ache, but everything else is so enjoyable that it keeps your mind elsewhere. You don’t want to overthink and ruin this. That’s the last thing either one of you needs; the loss of this outlet.

You run your tongue against his lower lip and he groans, pulling you onto his lap in one swift motion. You kiss him fervently, tasting yourself on his mouth, and notice how the already-noticeable bulge in his pants hardens even more as you start to rock back and forth against it. 

He kisses back hungrily, strong hands gripping your waist. Every time he kisses you it’s like the first chance he’s ever had to do it, as though he’ll never get the opportunity to do it again. 

Somewhere in the haze, you remember the actual first time; the time you closed the bar early on a particularly quiet night. He helped you lock up, stack away chairs. He laughed at your shitty jokes and toasted the night with a shot of whiskey, and then you two were kissing, he was backing you up against the door, caging you in with his arms as you started to tug his shirt off. 

Though you dispute the exact date, you both agree on the details. How could you forget images of him holding you up against the door, legs wrapped around his trim waist, your bare shoulders pressed against the cold wooden panels but not caring because everything else was burning, so hot and so perfect -

“Help me with my belt?” Miguel murmurs into your ear, warm breath over exposed skin raising goosebumps all over your neck. 

He likes to see you do it, likes to see your fingers scramble to get the loops of his belt undone, so desperate to wrap your hand around his length – as much as you can, anyway, since your fingers don’t meet with you stroke him. 

You manage a little nod before working his belt open, willing your fingers to stay steady, and soon, his pants are pulled down and tossed to the floor with the rest of the clothes, leaving him in black boxer briefs that do little to hide the straining in the front.

He’s the one who takes off his underwear since the sight of you rocking against his thigh is too much for him to keep up the pretence of teasing. Soon, he’s completely bare before you, his thick cock bobbing against his stomach and …

You want your mouth on it. Not just to return the favour, either, you want to hear the desperate grunts that escape him as you suck him off, you want to feel his hand at the back of your head, guiding your movements. 

You want it, so you do it.

“Oh - ah, ah, fuck, you - you’re gonna kill me,” he says, half-slurring as you wrap your lips around the head, lapping at it so you feel it throb against your tongue. “F-fucking hell, oh - oh my god.”

You’re not sure why the sound of him so desperate gets you going like this, but it does. Miguel, for a man so secretive, contains multitudes; he’s animalistic, possessive, but he’s not afraid to show desperation. Maybe even vulnerability.

In bed, of course. Only ever in bed, but you’re fine with that. Completely fine. 

You moan as he leaks onto your tongue, hitting deeper and deeper with every thrust into your mouth. 

A couple of minutes later, you pull your head up and run the tip of your tongue down the prominent veins on the side of his length. The noises he makes have you feeling more than a little self-satisfied, knowing your touch reduces him to this.

You go to take him fully in your mouth again but he stops you, cupping your jaw carefully as he sits up straight.

“Can I fuck you?”

You know that he’s asking now because he’s getting too close with you sucking him off. He doesn’t like the risk of edging before he gets to actually fuck you, and when his voice gets all low and heated and with just a hint of pleading buried deep in you, you know it’s a matter of urgency. 

By way of answering, you climb back into his lap. You kiss him again, sliding up and down his length as you do so.

You look down, but Miguel catches your chin with his thumb and forefinger. He tips your head back up so you’re looking him in the eye.

Your next breath comes out shaky and tattered, your chest rising and falling. 

He’s so close. Of course, since you’ve fucked countless times before, you’re no strangers to closeness. But the intimacy of this, of the eye contact and the embracing and the pretty names he calls you when you ride him … it feels new every time. 

“I want to see your face as you sink down on it,” he grumbles, his throat bobbing between the words. You want to bite him there, sink your teeth into the curve where his shoulder meets his neck — not enough to draw blood, but enough to feel him tense underneath you. You want his body to go rigid, taut, you want him on a hair-trigger, you want him to be free of the thoughts that haunt him and just surrender to this sensation. 

You want him to be able to lose control, for once. He’s earned it. 

You kiss just under his ear, teasing the sensitive skin with your teeth as he gasps - gasps - and cants his hips up, his fingernails pressing into the flesh of your ass so that it’s just shy of painful. 

You smile, lips curling against his throat. He’s just where you want him. 

Moving slowly, inch by torturous inch, you kiss every part of exposed skin you can. As your eyes move further down you see a constellation of pink bruises forming on his throat, and, keeping your unspoken promise, you lift your head to look him in the eye as you lower yourself down on his cock. 

Even after having his fingers inside you, it’s still a stretch; but again, a pleasurable one. You can feel everything, every ridge, the shallow thrusts as he adjusts to the feeling of you wrapped around him. 

The only light in the room is from the lamp at your bedside, but you swear you can see his pupils dilate – no, you definitely can, they darken so much his irises go almost black. Hungry, like before. Somehow tender as well, as though you’re his favourite prey.

And he’s yours, too. 

You start to lift up and down, balancing yourself on your left knee and the ball of your right foot as you ride him, the pace gathering a momentum of its own. 

Both moaning with every thrust, you still hear the sound of skin-on-skin bouncing off the walls around you. Your bedframe creaks, your sheets crumple underneath; you don’t care about that, only focusing on riding him so well that praise spills from his pretty lips. 

“Beautiful, beautiful, so fucking perfect for me,” he whispers, the words sounding almost torn, “you were fucking made for me, d’you know that?”

“Hm?”

You ask only because you want him to say it again. He’s happy to oblige. 

“You were fucking made for me, made to ride my cock, made to have my tongue in your pretty cunt,” he says, voice bleeding into a low groan. “So … so perfect, I could fuck you for the rest of my life.”

You know you’re both only hooking up with each other, nobody else. You had that conversion before, right when you went on birth control and started forgoing condoms, but the words sound different now. Like they carry a weight even Miguel doesn’t realise.

It sounds reverent, adoring. In the deep, dark, fantastical part of your brain that you only occasionally indulge, he’s saying he only ever wants you. He needs you and only you, always, and this is the only time he allows himself to admit it.

But that train of thought will lead to overthinking, and, as you noted earlier, this isn’t the time for that. Right now, Miguel’s words are having other effects too; you’re throbbing around him, wet, more turned on than you ever remember being. Your clit grazes against the thatch of dark curls at the base of his cock, and every time you take him fully, the sensation has you choking out weak-sounding mewls of pleasure. 

Keeping one of his hands on your hip, Miguel lifts the other up to play with your breasts, biting his lip so hard you think he’ll draw blood. He tweaks one of your nipples and you tighten around his length, and you know by the way his brows furrow that he’s close.

You love this moment the most. Seeing Miguel lose control, surrendering to the pleasure, it’s gratifying in a way that you can’t put into words. For the weeks when he doesn’t have the time to go home with you, because of work or responsibilities or whatever it is that keeps him away, it’s this image that you picture in your mind when you lay in bed, touching yourself.

His strong jaw tenses, his features twist with pleasure, and you come undone just looking at him. 

He bucks up into you as he comes, pulling you against his chest while you writhe helplessly, boneless in his arms. 

It’s good, too good, better than the first. It radiates throughout your whole body. Every limb, every muscle, every nerve is bathed in a warm glow that doesn’t pass until the sweat starts to cool on your skin, until Miguel’s breathing has slowed back to normal. 

You stay like that just a moment longer, head resting against his chest, listening to the thrum of his heartbeat.

You savour it while you can – you think you were wrong earlier. There’s a sixth fact you know about Miguel, and it’s this; after you’ve finished fucking, after he kisses you another time and helps you get dressed, he always, always leaves afterwards. You stopped taking it personally after the third time and now, it’s just part of the routine. It doesn’t sting quite like it used to, but it’s not exactly something you look forward to, either. It’s just another unanswered question.

You pull your head back and give Miguel a lazy smile, one that he returns. He kisses you, soft and slow, unaware of how it’s messing with your mind – but you don’t stop the kiss, either. 

When you eventually break apart, you sit back on the bed and smooth down the covers as best you can, distracting yourself as you await the inevitable.

Miguel doesn’t move. Ten, twenty, thirty seconds pass, and he goes nowhere. 

You stop your fidgeting, throwing him a curious glance. Another beat passes of surprisingly weighted silence. Miguel opens and closes his mouth a few times, seemingly having a tough time getting the articulation just right. 

You don’t say anything, but you don’t need to – for the first time since you’ve known him, he eventually answers your unspoken question.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

The words are delivered plainly, devoid of a deep sentimentality, but you know the significance of him asking them. His expression is earnest. He means what he’s asking. 

It’s not like it’s life-changing. It doesn’t mean the routine is disrupted, it doesn’t mean that he’s your boyfriend or that you’re in love or any of the other nonsense that forbidden part of your brain filters in every now and then.

But it’s something. It’s a start.

Your routine has changed before, it can stand to be changed again. Maybe you’ll learn something new.

“Yeah,” you answer after just a moment spent thinking it over, heart quickening in your chest for reasons you can’t quite explain, “yeah, you can stay.” 

[m4tthewmurd0ck]

IN EVERY UNIVERSE

── Azriel x Fem!Reader

(i try to be as non descriptive as possible but do use she / her, and mention reader being shorter than all the guys.)

CHAPTER ── INTRODUCTION

Ever since you were little, books have been your escape. Whether it was needing to get away from a bad day at school or an immature fight with a friend when you were a kid, or a rough day at work as you got older, reading allowed you to temporarily forget all of that.

You imagine what the characters might look like, you dream up scenarios for them that don’t happen in the books. And like so many others who do the exact same thing, you can’t help but wish characters were real so that they could sweep you off your feet. Ugh, what you wouldn’t give to have a certain one-armed super soldier call you doll.

You thought the MCU was where you wanted to exist the most… and then you were introduced to ACOTAR.

It didn’t take long at all for you to become another one of the many girls to fall for Azriel. You dreamt of what he might look like. And of course, knew he’d fall in love with you. Would you guys follow the enemies-to-lovers trope? Childhood best friends turned significant others? Or would it be a love-at-first sight moment for the shadowsinger, who would do everything in his power to get you to notice him? The answer depended on your mood, of course.

As much as you loved to fantasize, you also knew you had to be realistic. Azriel didn’t actually exist, at least not in your world.

One night, you even go so far as to convince yourself that all the hopeless dreaming had to stop. From that moment on, you’d still enjoy books, but you wanted to do your best to stop imagining a life for yourself in worlds you’d never get to visit.

It’s definitely easier said than done, but you go to bed that night confident that it’s the right thing to do.

Only, when you wake up the next morning… something is off. This isn’t your bedroom. The clothes you’re wearing, you’ve never seen before. And why does the man that has just entered your room look exactly like how you pictured Azriel?

TAGLIST FOR THIS SERIES ONLY ── if you requested to be tagged and your name isn’t clickable, it means i wasn’t able to tag you! also sorry to anyone who might’ve gotten their hopes up thinking this tag mean i posted it, but i promise it’s coming sometime this week! this is just so i’m able to keep track of who asked to be tagged.

@namelesssav | @cinnamoodles | @orphicmeliora | @flowerprincezz | @blushingfawnsposts | @kylaisra | @princessbelleinthetardis | @msoldier | @ccacotartoglover | @vickykazuya | @thecourtofnightmaresanddreams | @mirandasidefics

TAGLIST FOR ALL THINGS AZRIEL ──

@bakananya | @thisiskaylin | @saltedcoffeescotch | @melmo567 | @chelsiemp | @lilah-asteria | @r0sluvs | @imagoddessinmystories | @sandramalikstyles-blog | @minnieoo | @durgenyx

IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED TO THIS SERIES TAGLIST, LET ME KNOW! (you can specify just this series, or all things Azriel)

[jethrowest]

let me see you stripped down to the bone…

- stripped by depeche mode

congratulations! you’ve been hired as homelander’s entire glam squad! what an opportunity! now let’s try real hard not to let the fumes get to you, okay?

pairing : homelander/afab reader

word count : 5.6k

warnings : homelander in and of himself, toxic workplace environment, something akin to stockholm syndrome, fingering, smut. 18+, mdni

special thanks to @blindmagdalena @sehtoast @homeb0ys and @clockworkzeppelin for letting me scream at you about this!

writing tag

gif credit

divider credit

Homelander is an asshole.

That doesn’t bother you much. You’ve dealt with plenty in this field, which means you’ve learned how to make life easier for all parties. That particular learning curve includes when to stand out and blend in, at times concurrently depending on what variety of asshole they happen to be.

As a whole, the makeup artists and hairstylists at Vought take care of The Seven and go where they’re needed. And as a cosmetologist, you were hired to provide both services for Homelander and Homelander only, which you consider to be one of the most prestigious stamps one could add to their professional passport.

Before you became official, you were colorfully threatened by a Ms. Ashley Barrett, who, after the fact, had no qualms throwing you into the lion’s den to figure your own shit out.

In no uncertain terms were you told that if you fucked any part of this up, your sparkling resume would look best as something to sit her smooth, bare ass on while getting fucked on top of her desk. No lube or protection. It would then be tossed exactly like her salad.

Not an image you could have ever predicted crossing your mind. Honestly, you should have stopped her right there and walked your happy little ass out of her office toward pastures that might have not been greener (you were being handsomely compensated), but certainly not as toxic. While the red flags were a color you couldn’t quite ignore, you were also curious about why they stood out so much more than they did regarding previous employers.

None of this is to say you live under a rock. Anyone who has access to the internet is ambushed daily by these Supes’ personal lives. Homelander’s track record as far as choice in partners went hadn’t been ideal, so you understand that made him less popular at the time. That of course has nothing to do with you or your capabilities.

You opt to wear gray-colored glasses, seeing everything with a neutral blend of black and white. As much as possible anyway.

Nevertheless, curiosity killed the cat. But hopefully not your career.

The first day was awkward to say the least. Immediately, you knew you weren’t going to like your coworkers.

Glints of sympathy changed how they perceived you. A target, whether they intended for this to happen or not, was nailed to your forehead, and it made them buzz around you like avid, greedy wasps keen on seeing how rapidly the honeybee will be brutalized. You didn’t much care for going cross-eyed while staring at that target whenever you crossed paths. They didn’t know you, yet because of who you were working under, deemed you helpless. They didn’t give you a chance to establish yourself before branding you a victim.

Why should you respect them?

Small talk wasn’t entertained either, as their judgment tarnished any future encounters. They ostracized you once you showed no interest in engaging with them. That didn’t disappoint you. You weren’t here to make friends.

You do wonder how those before you fared: if they were jaded when they arrived or if they couldn’t help but succumb to the pressures of being at the top rung of a very unstable albeit sought after ladder.

Ms. Barrett quickly introduced you to Homelander, her parting gift before leaving the two of you alone.

You weren’t completely nervous in his presence. He wasn’t any different to you than the other celebrities you’d worked on, except he could rip you in half like a piece of paper if he was so inclined. But he’s the hero of this country’s story, so really, you should have nothing to worry about.

His demeanor, you noted, suggested arrogance, annoyance, and boredom. All things you’re used to. So you offered your hand to shake, which he eyed with a slightly upturned nose before grabbing, told him it was a pleasure to meet him and got straight to business.

Looking back, he was clearly expecting more out of you. Maybe not a display as excessive as getting on your knees and professing your undying love, but close enough. Somewhere in the middle, perhaps.

Part of you believes he might have also counted on fear. To you, he’s not anything or anyone unknown. Another big name in a fancy suit with impossible demands.

You were given a routine to follow and products to use. You did as you were instructed and found the process to be simple and, as Homelander’s expression revealed, uninspiring.

While you were utilizing a face brush to apply powder, he must have decided he was done enduring your lack of enthusiasm, because he suddenly asked, “What are you wearing?”

You stopped for a split second, no longer than, and continued. “The name of my clothing designer, you mean?”

He scoffed, waving his gloved hand at you, almost knocking the applicator you held to the ground. “No, your perfume. What are the top notes?”

You laughed and that seemed to confuse him. “Why, you want a bottle?”

“I don’t like it.” He sniffed sharply and cleared his throat. “Smells like you should be on the corner selling your used body parts.”

Ding ding ding. Alarm bells and red flags galore. You enjoy a challenge, however, and are a bit of a masochist, so you persevere.

“Well, what doesn’t smell like a cheap hooker to you? I’ll start wearing that instead.”

He cocked a brow, studying you. Trying to figure out if you were being serious or mocking him.

“It’s your first day.” A warning. “Are you on your best behavior, or can you do better?” He leaned forward in his chair, forcing you backward. “You should be working harder to prove yourself. Prove your worth.” He sat back again and shrugged. “Or maybe you really are worth as much as that dumpster juice you doused yourself in.”

At this point, he more than likely envisioned your happy little ass getting offended and storming out of the room. Breaking down, sobbing. Questioning why he was being so rude. One of those or, better yet, a nifty combination.

You’ve heard worse, unfortunately for him. Not always directed at you, but that doesn’t matter. You can handle it.

“You’re absolutely right,” you stated calmly, folding your arms across your chest. He looked at you with pretentious, petulant intrigue. “It is my first day, and I want to make a good impression. Which is why I’m asking you what you would like me to wear so I can continue to keep that good impression intact and, as our professional relationship develops, stay on top of it.”

Homelander’s mouth twitched. He sighed deeply and slouched in his seat, staring at the wall to the left of him. Then he deigned to cast his gaze back at you, resting his cheek on his index and middle finger. He tapped the arm rest with his other hand.

“Ugh, fine. Whatever.” A pause followed that lasted longer than necessary. Were you meant to guess? “Just wear something, I dunno, less. If you would have done your homework like a good little peon, you’d know I have super senses. Highly developed. Can you even imagine what that entails?”

Finally, he freed the canvas you were nearly finished with, and you flicked the soft bristles across the bridge of his nose. You smiled, more to yourself than him.

Felt rather on the nose, as the saying goes.

He didn’t comment on your grin. You didn’t give him time to. But he did huff like you were being obtuse on purpose.

“I can try. And my imagination is giving me some less-than-ideal scenarios,” you replied. Another pause. At least he was letting you do your job again.

You don’t know what compelled you to keep going, but something about his lack of a real answer made you carry on. “Do you have a favorite flower or baked good? Maybe a spice?”

Homelander almost glared up at you. You say almost because, for whatever reason, it didn’t seem like he was directing that harshness at you, though former words and actions proved otherwise. Something inside, perhaps. Or outside of this enclosed space.

“I already told you what to wear. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You took the hint and remained quiet the rest of your session. Soon, you were done.

As you were packing and tidying up your station, he took it upon himself to stand behind you. He lingered over your shoulder, watching the scene play out like he was director and star and you were barely an ant on the sidewalk he acknowledged before squashing.

The heat radiating off of him was impossible to dismiss, a wall of it barricading your backside. He clasped his fingers underneath his cape and inched closer. You thought he was as close to you as he could get without touching you. He was that warm.

When you glanced up, he was staring at you through the mirror. As absurd as it was, you managed to get chills. Goosebumps broke the surface of your skin.

“Fresh chocolate chip cookies. Straight out of the oven. Like mom used to make.” He flashed an unnerving smile before turning to exit.

From there on out, even after you bent to his will and found a gourmand scent that matched what he described, Homelander tested you. Your work ethic, clothing choice, eating habits, and most of all, patience.

Your parents would ask how you were liking your job, how it was working alongside the Supes- not to mention the most famous of all- and you’d lie through your teeth. You felt you had no choice, Ashley’s threat ringing in your ears.

Resume, bare ass, tossed salad...

Oh yeah, it’s going great! They’re all super flexible. I couldn’t be happier!

At least that pun made you feel a little better about hiding the shame of what you’ve allowed yourself to take on.

This was all in the first few weeks. It started to get a little easier after that, which is surprising considering more was added to your to-do list.

You should have moved on before starting. But, for whatever asinine reason, you didn’t.

Every time you go back to your apartment and assess your appearance in the bathroom mirror, you wonder who’s making who up here. He’s changing your looks more than you are his. You’re like his human doll.

You’ve put up with a lot over the years, but this takes the cake and shoves it in your face. As fucked as it is, the flavor is growing on you. Like a fungus. Growing, nonetheless.

You can’t stop thinking about him.

It’s innocent enough, you try convincing yourself. Making sure you have the right outfit laid out the night before, the right lunch (no onions or fish or anything “freaky”!), etc. He is your superior, after all. You shouldn’t be viewing him in any other light.

He’s the most frustrating aspect of your existence these days, but he’s also the one you’re around the most. His penchant for workplace gossip and how unintentionally funny he is tends to make him palatable, which has regrettably become an understatement.

Months go by. You’ve witnessed how alone he truly is. How he has nothing outside of performing his tricks on Vought’s all-encompassing stage. And when he begins asking for your input, starts doing things for you that are so blatant it’s perplexing, you find your stress and vexation melting into cumbersome fascination.

It’s embarrassing. You don’t have the courtesy of enough time to dwell on your feelings toward the situation either, from beginning to whatever end you might be met with. You suppose that could be beneficial in the long run.

It also hits you when you least expect it; when you really don’t want it to.

Your body doesn’t wait until you finally have a moment alone. It decides, while you’re helping Homelander with his skincare routine that he insisted upon because you know more than these vacuous corporate douche-bags, to heat up without warning and slither from your head to your heart until it grasps you unfairly between your legs.

You try not to step into momentary paralysis. You understand to what extent his powers reach. It’s not like he doesn’t go on and on about them. About himself.

Whatever he notices, it’s not right away. A palpable tension fills the air between the two of you eventually. But it takes a more significant amount of time than you would have anticipated to permeate the natural flow of things.

Fuck, you can’t even be safe inside here, where your thoughts, whatever they may be, are yours. You can’t even have yourself. He has every part of you, and you are willingly relinquishing that control.

Your evening, once you can have it, consists of combing over every decision you’ve made leading up to this strange, disorienting space you find yourself occupying. All it does is leave you exasperated in a much different way than before and with an unsettling observation (or hallucination):

Was that the tail end of the American flag outside your window?

You are unacceptably late.

Rushing around, you throw on the first top and bottoms you see from your closet and spritz some perfume on your neck and wrists. You don’t check your phone. You’re afraid of what will pop up on your screen. And, frankly, you don’t have the time.

Your only option for transportation is the subway, as you’re sure the special vehicle from Vought is long gone. Why would they wait for someone like you, even if you’re practically Homelander’s personal assistant? One of his only friends. You doubt he has more than Black Noir, and that isn’t as perfect as it appears to the casual viewer.

You dread what kind of explosion you’re without a doubt walking into once you show your miserable ass up. You’re going to smell like everyone on this train. He’s going to go ballistic.

The question remains: why are you continuing to put yourself through this? It’s not your circus, yet somehow, the monkeys have become your liability.

You know, deep down, what keeps you going back. It’s simply too ridiculous to admit aloud.

Making your way past security, hurriedly presenting your badge, you realize you forgot to brush your teeth, or at the very least, gargle some mouthwash. You thank your lucky stars when you open your purse to a pack of gum tucked away in one of the compartments.

It will have to do.

When you open the door to Homelander’s dressing room, you see a couple of employees standing near the counter where the bag of supplies has been opened and rifled through, looking like they might soil themselves, a frantic Ashley, and an extremely pissed off Homelander in the middle of it all.

Reflexively, you cringe. You attempt to wipe any trace from your features, but it’s too late. Ashley is glaring daggers at you and Homelander can hardly bring himself to look in your direction. The others don’t matter to you. They never did.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I know there’s no excuse-”

“You’re goddamned right, there’s no excuse! I don’t give a shit if god and his whole fucking choir of angels came down from heaven and divinely called you to give them a makeover! What were you thinking?!”

You’re about to answer, though you comprehend her query is more or less rhetorical. She interrupts your slightly open mouth while gesturing wildly, proving your point.

“Oh, that’s right! You weren’t thinking at all, were you?! But I do believe you’ve thought long and hard about what’s at stake here. And you know damn well we at Vought don’t tolerate this kind of sloppy behavior. Not to mention the way you’re dressed! It’s adding insult to injury!” Her hand swipes at the air, the length of your outfit, and you glance down, recognizing how comically mismatched you are. Her correct observation affects you more than it would have months prior, stinging your ego- one of the many things that’s been shelved in order to accommodate the person who won’t even grace you with a glance.

A dramatic groan cuts short any further commentary from the redhead, perpetually stretched thin between her absurd duties.

“Jesus Christ, Ashley, why are your big fucking horse gums still flapping?” Homelander’s booming voice slices through your mind like a jarring, dense migraine. He pinches his brow between middle finger and thumb, eyes closed. “I want you and Tweedledee and Tweedledum t’get the fuck out. Now.”

Ashley is plainly dumbfounded, struggling to see where she went wrong (a pattern when it comes to dealing with the volatile leader of The Seven), mouth agape. She shakes her head. “But sir, are you-?”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about or doing. Clearly.”

Ms. Barrett turns a shade paler, staring at Homelander and blinking owlishly before snapping herself out of her stupor. She hurries her lackeys out of the room, shooing them along like a pair of misbehaving toddlers. She doesn’t give a final look, no further warning. She merely shuts the door behind her.

You also hear it lock.

What the hell does she think is going to happen?

You should have stopped this while you had the chance. You should have never taken this job. You should have stood up for yourself and walked out. You should have you should have you should-

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

His caustic tone sends shivers down your spine. It’s unlike anything you’ve heard come out of him. And you’ve heard enough.

Again, you open your mouth. It fills with blood, thick and metallic and more potent than the mint from your gum. You’re silenced by it.

He stalks toward you and grabs you hastily by the shoulders, swiveling you around so you’re face-to-face with the choices you’ve made. Your mirrored image is reflected back at you, exhausted and searching for any last shred of who you might be beneath his heavy palms.

“Look at yourself! Do you even recognize who’s staring back at you?” No.

“What kind of game are you playing, hmmm? Is this… humiliating spectacle you’re putting on for the money? Your pathetic career? Like it’s goddamned rocket science to pick up a can of hairspray and use it. Monkeys have hands.” He makes a noise that’s akin to a snorting horse, exhaling forcefully past his nostrils. “I mean, did you really think you could pull a fast one on me?” He clutches your jaw, squeezing it between middle and thumb. Every muscle in your body tenses, your heart picking up rhythm.

“Spit that fucking gum out. Don’t think I can’t hear you grinding it between your molars like a dumb animal. You aren’t a mama bird, are you? Y’don’t have cute little baby birds t’force-feed your regurgitated leftovers, do you? Eugh, gross.”

You take a deep breath and exhale through your nose. It presents you with a false sense of security. You do as you’re told, and it lands on the floor in front of your shoe, saliva dangling on a thread as withered as your sanity.

Suddenly fresh breath seems like the most insignificant issue, when Homelander himself once made it out to be something earth-shattering.

You’re such a fool.

He leans in and sniffs your throat. Your fingers lengthen and bend.

You’re so many things at once. Confused, angry, nervous, scared. And, to your dismay, warm. God you’re so fucking warm. He’s heating you up from the inside out. You clench your jaw, still held in place by a firm bind.

“Get rid of those ugly clothes. I don’t care what you have to do. I can’t stand the sight or smell of them.”

You shut your eyes. When you open them, all you see is red. The other emotions are smothered in favor of that brand of heat. What happens next is a blur. You temporarily leave yourself.

“Fine. Have it your way, Homelander. You always do.”

Breaking free of his fluctuating hold, you start tearing at what you’re wearing, tossing everything- including your bra and underwear- to the ground. Your shirt winds up with the gum sticking to its loose fabric. You even take your shoes and socks off, not paying any heed to where your belongings go. Just that they’re gone.

You don’t process the glaring fact that you made yourself naked in front of your boss. In front of the most powerful man this country, and possibly world, has known. You don’t care that things have escalated this far. That they shouldn’t have. They shouldn’t have. But guess what? They did. And these are the consequences you both have to deal with.

“You wanna know what game I’m playing?” You turn around, forcing him backward. “It’s funny, I thought you’d be able to answer that for me, considering all the hoops I’ve had to jump through to not only save my ass, but make sure you had someone to talk to at the end of the day! Who on your team can you say goes above and beyond like that for you?!” He blinks at you now, eyes wide. Features fall to the floor where your clothes reside. You have his full and undivided attention.

An impressively dangerous thing to have.

“What more do you want from me, Homelander? I practically live with you without any of the benefits that usually includes! You’re really going to stand here and berate me like I haven’t given you fucking everything you’ve ever asked me for? Because I made one mistake? I gave up my entire world, which I know doesn’t mean shit to you. But it does to me.”

You fold your arms over your chest. Nothing covers it. You have to know before you lose all dignity. So you ask once more, hoping it won’t get lost in this bizarre mess.

“What do you want from me?”

Nothing. He can’t stop staring at you. You aren’t aware enough to be ashamed, but you are aware enough to be upset.

His infuriating silence compels you to bend down and gather what was a barrier between the two of you. You are no longer needed if he can’t do what he does best, which is spout off, leaking bottled words everywhere like a broken faucet. It’s a pretty simple question, you think.

That’s when the glass behind you shatters.

You flinch, pause what you’re doing and slowly stand. Cautious in whatever your next approach will be.

Surveying the aftermath, you’re relieved to find that you’re far enough away from the mirror so no injuries were inflicted.

When you finally lock eyes with the source, you see red. The atmosphere surrounding you heaves like the distended belly of a rotting corpse; hisses like an overflowing tea kettle; pierces you like lightning.

Homelander’s expression is rigid. His jaw quivers. Irises are a bright, shining scarlet. If you try anything rash, you might be next. But, having been around him for so long, you’re more inclined to believe he’s having trouble processing his own emotions. And that might have been one of the only ways to release them.

You drop the top and pants you managed to reclaim. Your brain hasn’t fully recovered from the constant devastating hit it’s taken, so you don’t want to put a name to what’s pushing you forward. You don’t stop until you’re directly in his line of vision.

Swallowing, you carefully extend your hand. The ruby color begins to crumble and give way to the vast ocean you might have drowned in one too many times. You lost track, blocking what you could out. Too real and intimate to accept for a realm that thrives off of inauthenticity and misfortune.

Homelander inhales harshly and you retreat, pupils hooking themselves to his. Searching for any sign you shouldn’t be right where you are.

Of course there are several; unfortunately, you are currently blind to them. Blind to everything but him.

That’s how it’s been for awhile, hasn’t it?

He has a habit of not granting you the luxury of time.

Quickly, he snatches your wrist and brings your palm flat against his cheek. He exhales, eyelids fluttering, nuzzling into you.

It’s so simple, yet it disarms you in ways you aren’t accustomed to.

Homelander basks in this chaste display of affection, and so do you, in awe of how enraptured he appears. Soaking you inside of his pores.

In turn, your cognizance reappears. You nearly topple over, realization infiltrating every part of you.

You’re not wearing a stitch.

A knock at the door startles you both. You glance over in that general direction and hear from the other side, “You’re on in fifteen, Homelander, sir!”

Gazing back up at him, you witness that same fire expand at a rapid rate. You use your other hand to bring him back down to reality, to ground him. It rests against his chest, delving into and cracking his ribs, flaying him open.

What strikes you is how vigorously his heart is beating. How you can feel it through his uniform.

This is how much you affect him. (Can you fathom that you’re only privy to a fraction?) Having evidence of the tiniest reciprocation drains you of any unwanted discomfort.

His fury subsides. You breathe out. He does, too.

“Go sit in your chair. I came here to do my job, after all.” The tenderness with which you speak seems to ease him further, his shoulders deflating with each word.

That aside, you’re playing with a lit match. You’re unsure who’s going to set who ablaze, but you’re willing to go down with this entire building to find out.

He does as he’s told, watching you the whole way like a mutilated mixture of a snarling cornered animal and a man fervently in love. He almost trips into his seat, not an ounce of grace in his gait.

Sacrificing his entire image just to get a glimpse of you.

Whipping his cape to the side, he sinks into the cushion. You get things ready as you typically do, your movements a bit jittery from the adrenaline sending haphazard jolts to your limbs. Despite this, you’re focused. You are more focused than you remember ever being.

You work efficiently, keeping in mind the limit that’s been put on your time.

Homelander bores holes through you. He doesn’t need lasers for that. You’re exposed and vulnerable and he pries what he fostered apart until it’s distinguishable by no one else but him.

You relearn his perfectly manufactured features. Different lights shape shadows you either haven’t seen before or feigned ignorance of. You commit to memory how he looks, smells, feels, the side of your hand grazing his cheek and hanging on.

He’s invigorating, your excitement building to a crescendo you can’t neglect. The heat in your core disperses, most of it congregating low in your belly and behind your expanding rib cage. His pupils drink you in, urgently and violently.

Your arousal is heady. He licks his lips. A hint of a whine caresses your ears and it makes you dizzy.

How could you have ever denied yourself?

You decide to take further control, testing the waters to a greater extent.

It’s your turn to watch him the whole way down. You straddle him, easing yourself atop his taut thighs.

After a few moments of humoring yourself, of pretending to concentrate on your work, dusting his nose with powder, you straighten. Eye contact has not been severed.

You motion toward his hands, balled into tense, repressed fists at his sides.

“Take off your gloves.”

Initially, it feels like maybe you said the wrong thing, or said it the wrong way. He doesn’t budge. You’re patient, however, so you wait like you’ve always done, the warmth from your cunt mingling with the hardness beneath you. Your mouth waters.

At last, Homelander nods and removes his gloves, tugging on the index of each. He places them on the armrests and transfixes himself to you once more.

“Do you want to touch me?” you ask, voice and body staying impossibly still in spite of your nerves.

Immediately, he shakes his head, “Yes,” the first time he’s spoken since your outburst, and without hesitation, reaches for your chest. You close your eyes, falling into his snooping lifts and tugs and squeezes, giving yourself permission to become possessed by the inhibited imaginations of how selfish, how rapacious his touches might be. How smooth his bare hands are, how ardent each digit is.

Leaning into you, he sucks one nipple into his mouth and palms the other, moaning and vibrating against your flesh. He digs his fingers into the pliant softness of your hip, steadying you with disciplined pressure. You squirm, attuned to every minuscule shift.

The lit match is tilted toward you now, swift and stunning. Your fingers release the brush you’ve been holding. It aligns with the slit of the cushion, forgotten and purposeless.

You wrap your digits around the hand on your curves and guide him toward your throbbing center. He doesn’t fight you. Doesn’t stop your movements. Doesn’t scold or challenge you. Instead, he curls his fingers in a way that makes you unabashedly moan, cupping your folds and pinning his thumb to your clit, adapting to your anatomy.

Your wants.

It seems like breaking away from you is a daunting task, but he does for a moment, brow furrowed, more engrossed and invested than you’ve ever witnessed.

“Fuck.” The curse sounds downright edible, your new favorite flavor. Your name tumbles from his lips like he’s been practicing, a sweet, rich icing on top. You gasp, his tongue adhering to you again, swirling around your peak before lightly biting it.

Rocking your hips back and forth, side-to-side, you grind hard into his palm. He strokes you like he’s studied what pace you prefer, how much friction you crave. You’re so wet, even you’re thrown off by it.

Once he’s finished with your chest, he’s back against the seat, unable to peel his gaze from you. Your full, swollen, glistening breasts.

His mouth hangs open, obscene, desperate whimpers slipping from it. Pupils are like whirlpools that drive you under. Drive you mad.

Homelander adeptly slips two, three digits inside your sopping cunt, unrelenting in his intentions to make up for lost time. The voracity of his actions propels you forward, balancing against his chest. He grasps and pulls at your other hip, groaning loudly in your ear, confirming his approval of how close you are to him.

It’s still not enough.

Pulling you even tighter to his blinding sun of a body, he encloses his free arm around you and desperately bucks his waist. “I want… I want… I want…” he chants. Your nails drag up his neck and along his scalp, overwhelmed by his warmth, his scent, him. Your lips ghost the sliver of skin above his collar, making him growl.

You anticipate and dread and yearn for what’s been building for so long. You clench and release, clench and release, clench and release, body chanting with him.

You’re intuitively thankful for the chair’s sturdiness; however, if it would have collapsed, you’re honestly not sure you would have noticed. Or cared.

You hear him come first. Feel the temperature rise temporarily. It’s so sudden and all-consuming that you naturally follow, his name an instinct you can’t help but divulge. You haven’t come down from the turbulent emotions rushing through you earlier, and that combination catapults you over the edge.

Your orgasm draws more deliberate, vehement grunts and sighs of satisfaction from him, as if your pleasure is inexplicably the same or worth more than his.

You can’t crumple into a boneless heap like you want to. You just can’t. You have to look at him. Look at his bliss; the glazed, barren-yet-so-full-of-you expression, of what these months of working in close quarters have done to him.

What you uncover is not what you were picturing. There’s a mixture of that haze with something almost apologetic below the teeming surface. Clouds of red to skies of blue. Destructive in and of themselves.

Sliding his fingers from your wetness, he wraps his lips around each one that was inside of you and spreads them apart. Your slick sticks to his glossy skin and stretches between digits, a generous amount. You whimper at the loss- the emptying, hollow feeling- and watch, mesmerized and delirious as he savors you.

Swallowing you whole, Homelander sweeps his knuckles across the apple of your cheek and presses his lips hard against yours. He wastes no time inhaling your gasps and moans, licking your mouth and the faint taste of mint, stealing it from you. You ingest what you can of him as well, exploring what was open to you longer than you realized.

He then seizes your wrists. It’s a rough gesture that evaporates into gentle circles along your pulse points. Still, you know you’re going to bruise where he turned the key and locked you into place: wherever he is.

A visible sheen coats his lips.

“I want you to tell me I’m good. Great. The best.”

His breathing is labored. So is yours.

He kisses the inside of the wrist smeared with perfume, your fluids, his saliva; ends with your hand and rests his cheek against the slope of it.

“I want you to be mine. All mine. Mine alone.”

You’re shaking. He moves forward and pets your hair, twirls it; grabs your nape and holds his thumb to the front of your throat. Securing you. Keeping you there.

“You have to stay. Be mine and stay.”

You thrum with an ache he forced upon you. He’ll claim you were starving and he was the only one who could satiate.

You nod. You were never going to leave to begin with.

Homelander made you his. And you thanked him for it.

[zoeykallus]

Hi, Zoey! Are your requests open? I had an idea after watching Kenobi.

There’s a scene in Kenobi where the Inquisitors show up to a market place in search of Jedi. They throw a knife at the shop owner knowing that the Jedi hiding among the patrons will stop the knife from harming him. It would be interesting to see that with Hunter.

Maybe Hunter and Cid’s bartender have a relationship. Bartender was weary of the clones at first but warmed up to them and liked Hunter. They just started dating when Inquisitors show up. They use the knife trick on someone (maybe even Omega) and bartender is forced to expose themselves as a former Jedi.

I’d love to see how Hunter would react to that.

oh oh oh oh... I got something in my head!

*Running in circles*

I actually had a scene like this in my head for a while now, I put the whole batch in there but focus on Hunter as a love interest.

Hunter x Jedi/Reader - One-Shot - The Things We Do For Love

Warnings: Angst/Canon Typical Violence/Blood/Fluff

No one knows about your past with the Jedi order. You are forced to drop your cover, when you try to save Hunter's life.

_______

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

_______

It's strange, life after Order 66 - hiding, pretending to be someone else. And it doesn't get any easier every day as you'd hoped, at least not at first. Cid's Bar, that's where you ended up at some point. You work behind the counter. You serve all kinds of strange clientele. Cid's Bar is like a meeting place for all kinds of scum in the Galaxy. Life has changed, a lot. Priorities change. The code after you've lived so long is nowhere near as important as surviving and belonging somewhere so you're not completely alone in this universe. But you can't open up to anyone, not exactly the most decent people come and go here. So you keep a low profile. You even flirt here and there to keep up appearances, but at the same time, you keep everyone at a distance. And then, to make matters worse, these clones turn up. Automatically, every alarm sounds inside you. Order 66 flares up in your memory, sharp and painful. It takes so much willpower to stay calm, to not let anything get to you, so much trauma hangs in every thought of clones. No one knows who you are, no one even suspects that you were part of the Jedi Order.

And yet these men surprise you, especially one of them who leads the group. He is so thoughtful, so serious. Hunter always seems to be lost in thought, trying to keep everything under control, to ensure safety. He rarely leans back and really takes a breath. He's almost always worried and tense, you can feel it in the Force. But eventually, he thaws out, you somehow strike up a conversation, and you quickly learn how much depth and kindness lie beneath that brooding, skeptical exterior. Hunter can even be funny, very observant and above all else, he's decent, probably one of the most decent people to ever come and go in this bar. You catch yourself admiring him. Your eyes meet more and more often, you talk to each other more often, even flirt. But this flirting is different, it's not fake, it feels real, exciting and for you, with your past, completely new and almost reckless. You are both obviously interested in each other, just as you are both shy and cautious in a certain way. Weeks, even months go by before your hands touch for the first time, and he asks you out.

You can see it in his face, he can hardly believe it himself, hidden behind his smile is a nervous boy who is incredibly afraid of being rejected by you. The big, brooding leader has a great weakness, you. Of course, you say yes, you can hardly resist this special man, clone soldier or not, Hunter has so much good in him, he attracts you like a magnet, not to mention his good, bold looks do the rest.

It starts like any other evening. More or less. After your first date, Hunter usually comes into the bar smiling, automatically seeking your gaze as soon as he walks through the door. You can't help it, you smile back every time, accompanied by a warm tingling in your stomach, warmth rising in your cheeks and ears.

But something is different today. There is a presence in the room, dark, determined, hard as stone, surrounded by sharp edges. You sense this presence in the Force, its intransigence. You look around in alarm. The bar is a little busier today, your gaze wanders more or less inconspicuously around the room. Then you see him. You meet cold eyes, eyes as blue as sapphires, their gaze steely and sharp, so intense that you automatically lower your own gaze and distractedly clean a glass. But you know this person has already noticed you. Right now you're feverishly thinking about your next steps and how to get out of here alive without putting anyone in danger. Hunter frowns worriedly, watching you. He can tell something is wrong. Tech is talking to him, but he is focused on you right now. He leaves the table where he was sitting with his brothers and is about to come over to you when he hears a voice say clearly and distinctly, not shouting but loud enough, "CT 9901"

You feel hot and cold, a shiver runs down your spine, you're sure Hunter feels the same way, you can see it on his face. All the heads at the Bad Batch table look up in surprise, shock and alarm. Hunter turns to the voice that seems to be coming from one of the other tables a few meters away. A man suddenly stands up, slowly, unhurriedly, confidently. Like a predator who is sure of his prey, who has no reason to be afraid, no need to hurry. Neither you nor Hunter like the body language. What surprises you, however, is that this man, in his strange, dark uniform, is not looking for you as you expected, but obviously for Hunter and presumably his brothers. "All 99ers in one room, this must be my lucky day. And not only that, I feel like I'm getting a little something extra on top of that," the somber stranger says, his voice deep and clear, almost melodic.

The room falls silent, as if the presence of this man demands it. With a confident little smile, the man pulls a knife from his belt, the first movement is slow, almost sluggish, but the throw comes so suddenly that you barely have time to react. It has become so quiet in the bar that you could hear a pin drop. But when the blade suddenly seems to stop in mid-air barely a centimeter from Hunter's eye, a murmur goes through the room. You're sure you can hear someone whispering the word Jedi.

Hunter only lets out a quiet, "What the hell", he can't help but stare at the blade for a moment. He should be dead, he realizes, that vibro blade should have drilled into his skull, but there it is, hovering right in front of his face. Out of the corner of his eye he sees your outstretched hand, your concentrated gaze, and he begins to understand. You stopped the blade from killing him, you stopped it in its tracks. The stranger's cool voice draws you both back to him. "I knew I sensed a Jedi in the room, and I knew you couldn't resist to show yourself" In the next moment everything happens very quickly, there is no time to think, to process, to make plans. The man reaches out his hand, and you feel his grip on you in the force. You are swept over the bar counter, with a pull on your body, trough the force, knocking over two tables on your way to the floor. Everything around you happens in a haze, you hear Hunter cursing angrily, blaster shots, the distinctive buzz of an awakening lightsaber, screams from the other patrons. A red glow fills the room. The smell of burned flesh.

Your left side hurts. You landed hard on the tables when the Sith Force-wrenched you over the counter, maybe you cracked a few ribs. There are shards on the surrounding floor from the glasses that went down. As you try to pick yourself up, you accidentally reach in and cut your right palm. The pain is sharp, clear and distinct, bringing you back to reality from your surprise. You jump to your feet, skillfully, supported by the force that flows through and envelops you. It's been a long time since you've used the Force and your abilities in this way, but it's as if you've never let it out of your fingers, the lightsaber sliding into your hand, its blade glowing blue with its characteristic hum. Blood runs down the hilt of your weapon from the open cut on your hand, it burns, but you ignore the pain. You feel Hunter's gaze, he is still confused. He knows what you are now, but he certainly hasn't processed the news yet. At the moment, you all have other things to worry about. Did the Sith come alone? Are there Stormtroopers waiting for you outside the bar?

You concentrate on the force, on the intentions of your opponent. Everything you feel emanating from him is sharp, dark, glowing hot. He is driven by rage, and the moment your lightsabers cross, you feel all the hatred in his attacks, which are admittedly much stronger than you expected. You've never fought a real Sith before. The first touch of your lightsabers is like an electric shock, an incredibly hard impact, a wave of fury that seems to roll over you from your opponent. The hilt of your weapon is slippery with your own blood, you have to grab it hastily with both hands so that the sword doesn't slip from your grasp or your opponent will decapitate you. For a moment, Hunter's concern penetrates your perception, but you shut him out and have to concentrate. A quick exchange of blows follows, attack, parry, retreat, attack, parry... The handle of your weapon becomes increasingly slippery with your own blood. Then it happens, another hard blow, you parry, the impact of the blades causes your weapon to slip away.

You hear Hunter yell out, hear the shock in his voice, the terror in that simple word, "No!" His blaster lies on the ground, sliced in half by the Sith's blade. Hunter has pulled his knife from his belt in a split second, lunging in the Sith's direction. The blade of your attacker hovers just in front of your neck, you hold the Sith and his weapon in this position with all the strength you can muster with body and force. Your heart races, adrenaline flows through your body. There are only millimeters between your life and death. Millimeters before the red lightsaber could sever your head from your shoulders. Hunter reaches an arm around the Sith's neck and jabs his knife into his side. The sergeant's voice is dark and smoky as he rasps, "Not on my watch"

The red lightsaber goes out and falls to the ground. Hunter kicks it aside, away from the Sith's hands, and lets the mortally wounded attacker slide to the ground. You see Hunter's chest rise and fall, still electrified, while your adrenaline suddenly subsides and your hands begin to tremble a little. You concentrate on the force, your center, and banish the trembling from your limbs. With a sigh, you look at the man on the ground, who is taking his last breaths, his cold, sapphire eyes still looking up at you with hatred, but there is also reluctance in them, surprise, defiance. Echo kneels down next to him, feels his pulse. "Quite dead," he says dryly, and with a glance at your extinguished lightsaber, he asks, "Care to explain?" "Take it easy, Echo. I guess it's obvious why we're only finding out now, it would have been dangerous to reveal the truth," Hunter says calmly and steps closer, carefully grabbing your hand and looking at the cut.

"That needs stitching," Tech says with a sideways glance and adds, "I can do it when we get to the Marauder, we should get out of here, more will come" The others lead the way, Hunter and you follow at a slight distance. You can't quite believe it yet. CF99 accepts you into their midst, no ifs, no questions, yet. Admittedly, Echo is still a little skeptical, but he always is. But you're part of it now, you're no longer alone. The thought spikes a feeling of euphoria in you. "Looks like Clone Force 99 has its own Jedi now," Hunter says with a wry smile. You crack a smile, liking the idea, forgetting for a moment your bleeding hand and the drops of blood that fall to the ground and on your tunic. Crosshair, who is walking ahead of you, casts a jaunty glance over his shoulder and says dryly, "Just don't expect me to follow your orders, General." He says it with a wink, even if his words sound a little hostile, he is friendly to you, you sense his intentions in the Force.

You say quietly, "I wasn't going to give you orders, you have a working system as a group, I wouldn't dream of changing it" The Sniper laughs softly, "Clever Jedi" Hunter drops back a little, and you do the same, sensing that he has something to say to you. After a little while, on your way to the Marauder, he says seriously, "You gave up your cover to save my life, thank you" You chuckle and say softly, "The things we do for love" Hunter listens in surprise and asks, "So our dates aren't part of your cover?" You've opened up to him in the force, feeling his pulse, the tingling under his skin as if it were your own. "I would never play with your feelings, not even as a cover," you say seriously. Hunter breathes a sigh of relief and asks, "So nothing will change between us?" "I'd like us to continue our relationship and see where it takes us," you reply with a warm smile. You feel his relief, his affection, and you breathe a sigh of relief as well.

"That's what I want too," he says, carefully grabbing your hand and taking another look at the wound. "That looks really bad," he says, frowning. Wrecker comes rushing up and murmurs, "Now hurry up, or our Jedi will bleed to death!" Impatiently, he grabs you and lifts you off your feet to carry you to the Marauder. You make a small, startled noise. "Wrecker," Hunter says softly, admonishing. "What? The little Jedi got hurt!" Wrecker returns unperturbed and carries you to the Marauder. "It's just a cut on my hand," you say, waving it off. "It's bleeding a lot," Tech comments as Wrecker sets you down next to him and points at your stained tunic. Tech already has medical supplies ready, including a needle and thread, but first Echo cleans the wound. You grit your teeth, because the cleaning stings a lot. Echo says knowingly, "Don't worry, it'll be done in a minute"

Wrecker asks curiously, "Is the Jedi officially with us now?" Hunter sits down opposite you and watches as your wound is taken care of, he says, "I think so" "But I'm not really a Jedi anymore. There is no longer a Jedi order and I haven't been following the code for a while now, at least not to the letter," Hunter's eyes meet yours at the last words. Your heart beats faster as a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. "We're not really regular clones either, we're not really soldiers anymore," Tech says lightly. Crosshair sticks a toothpick in his mouth and mutters, "Welcome to the defect squad, I have a feeling you'll fit in perfectly here"

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

________

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaw

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

@pb-jellybeans

@antishadow2021

@sleepycreativewriter

@projectdreamwalker

@1vlouds

@clonelovr

@bandnerdlevel43

[ohtobeleah]

Way Down We Go // Jake Seresin

Summary: Burnout isn't an academic exercise. No. It's an all-consuming, systemic condition. It's your entire body sending you one clear message. Something has to change and it has to change now.

Warnings: Angst. Mental health talks. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Friends to Lovers to ex’s to enemies to friends to lovers trope.

Word Count: 3.5k

Author Note: Based off my own recent experience with Burn Out. Writing this helped me process some of my pent up frustration with accepting the fact I experienced my first real major burn out at 24.

In 2019, the World Health Organisation officially recognised “Burnout” in its international classification of diseases. Studies show that aviators who report signs of burnout have enlarged amygdalas. The area in the brain that regulates fear and aggression. 

But burnout isn't an academic exercise. No. It's an all-consuming, systemic condition. It's your entire body sending you one clear message. Something has to change and it has to change now. 

Put simply, Burnout comes from a deep imbalance. Too much stress with too few rewards. You're exhausted. Depleted. You no longer have patience, pleasure of serotonin. This is the end unless–

You turn it into something else and find your path to recovery. Pick the pieces you want from your life and find a new way forward. But sometimes it isn't all that simple. Sometimes the all-consuming is just that, it's all-consuming–

And sometimes it's easier to drop the deadweight than to try and carry it on your shoulders.

“Anyone see Rouge today?” It was Hangman's tone that sent a shiver down Roosters spine as he scoffed down the turkey sandwich he had slapped together this morning in the rec room. “We’re on the schedule together after break and I haven't seen her all day?” Rooster knew exactly where you were. At home, probably in bed under a plethora of blankets just trying to catch up on some sleep. 

“I uh–” Rooster was raised by an intelligent and loving woman who had always told him not to talk with his mouth full, but in times like these where every second mattered, that rule seemed more obsolete with every day that passed him by. He did however, make an effort to cover his mouth as he chewed and spoke. “Actually I think I’m with you this afternoon, Mav just hasn't had a chance to change the schedule.” It wasn't technically a lie. 

“Is Rogue not in today?” Jake frowned as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Or is she just avoiding me or something?” You and Jake Seresin had a complicated history. On again and off again romantically, on again off again friends, but these days it seemed to be that the two of you were more off than on. To the point where if you could avoid it, the two of you would ignore each other's existence completely. It was easier that way. 

Which meant Jake didn't know just how bad things had gotten for you. He didn't know you’d decided to take an extended leave of absence from work until you could figure out just what the hell was wrong with you. He didn't know that Rooster had been at your house last night on a welfare check mission. He felt it was his responsibility, after all you were his uncle's daughter. 

“Kerners decided to take some time off work.” Rooster explained the best he could without giving too much detail about your personal problems away. “After yesterday's mishap, she got spooked and asked Simpson for a few days to collect her thoughts.” 

Jake swore his heart left his body when he saw you lose control for those few seconds. All he could do was watch on in pure horror as you tried to regain control of your fighter jet after getting caught in his jet wash. You panicked, something that was completely out of the ordinary for you which led to you losing control of your F-18 for those brief moments in time. 

Jake wanted to talk to you after you landed, but within seconds of touching down you were heading straight for the locker room to grab your things. Unbeknownst to him it was your final straw. He hadn’t seen you since. And now Bradshaw was telling him you weren't in at all and wouldn't be for a while? Things weren’t adding up. Not to Jake. This wasn’t like you at all. 

“What aren't you telling me, Rooster?” Jake pressed as he paced up and down the rec room with his arms folded. He cared about you, he just didn’t know how to convey that care. He’d never not care about you. 

“I’m not not telling you anything.” Bradley replied, he looked like a deer caught in Jake's headlights. “We should get ready for our next hop man.” Bradley tried his best to change the subject, the subject being you and your mental stability. “I’m sure if Rogue has something to say she’ll say it.” He shrugged as he stood, knowing that Jake was probably the last person you would ever want to come clean to about being so vulnerable. “We better get going.”

“You’d tell me if she wasn’t alright, wouldn’t you?” Again, the tone Jake used sent a shiver down Bradley’s spine. He knew how tramaltious your relationship was. “If Kerner wasn’t alright you’d let me know?” Jake didn’t need Bradley to reply, his silence spoke louder than any excuse he could make up on the spot. “Dammit Bradshaw—“ 

“She didn’t want you to know!” 

“Know what!?” Jake hissed. He didn’t raise his voice in fear of bringing any sort of unwanted attention to the situation, but he was worried. Worried about what he didn’t know, worried about you. The best friend he couldn’t talk to. The love of his life he couldn’t admit to. You were the only woman in the world who knew how to take his breath away, in more ways than one. “God Rooster, just tell me what’s going on!” 

“She’s afraid to burn in—“ Bradley sighed as he held the bridge of his nose and hung his head in shame. You trusted him like an older brother and yet here he was, spilling your dirty mental health laundry to the only person you begged him not to tell. Jake Seresin, the love of your life that drove you insane. Your best friend who you couldn’t confide in, the only man who made you want to shoot for the moon and capture all the stars too. “She took an extended leave, told the Admirals they either needed to sign off on the paperwork or they’d be signing her death notice.” It was hard to hear because to Jake this was coming out of nowhere. “She just needs time.” Jake didn’t know how to respond, but most importantly he didn’t know how to react. 

“I don’t have time for all this melodrama, Rooster.” Jake shook his head in disbelief. “If Rogue wants to throw her career away because of a few bad days so be it but I’m not sympathetic.” It was the only response Jake knew how to give, but he was panicking on the inside. “I’ll see you for pre-flight checks.” 

“I think it’s more than just a few bad days, Hangman.” Bradley wasn’t going to say when he saw you last night he hardly recognised you. “She’s hid it well.” In all the time Bradley had known you, he’d never seen you this bad before. It was serious. He’d experienced his own burn out a few years back just after the Uranium mission. Before you joined the Daggers. It had taken its toll on him a hell of a lot more than he was prepared for. “She hid it so well I didn’t even know something was up until she was on the edge already.” 

In that very moment Bradley came to realised why you didn’t want Jake to know you were struggling, you didn’t want him to know that if given the chance you’d quit tomorrow because the burn out you were in was so entirely consuming that it made it hard to even get out of bed. When was the last time you ate? 

“She hid it so well it’s almost hard to believe, don't you think?” Jake snapped over his shoulder as he left the rec room, completely in denial about the fact you didn’t let him in. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

The entire day had passed you by before you even contemplated the idea of getting out of bed. The idea in and of itself seemed exhausting. Expending any kind energy other than the minimal amount to breath seemed like a chore. 

Your stomach grumbled as you sat up and looked out the window that nestled itself beside your bed—pushed up against the wall just the way you liked it. It was dark, the day had passed and even though you couldn’t be bothered doing anything, the idea you’d wasted a full day in bed made you feel like shit. Plain and simple. You felt like crap and there was no one else to blame for that intense feeling of disappointment than yourself. 

As you climbed over your mess of linen and covers, a not so subtle knock began to echo out through your apartment. 

“Rooster!” You groaned, pressing your forehead into your mattress as you slumped in defeat. “Go away! I told you I’m fine!” You weren’t fine, you just didn’t want anyone worrying about you. You had this under control right? Even if you didn’t know what was happening to you. 

When the knocking persisted you knew you had to let Bradley in, he’d camp out in the hall before he left without seeing you. 

“My god I told you I’m fine!” You groaned as you made your way down the hall. Still in the same clothes you went to bed in yesterday afternoon. “I don’t need you doing welfare checks on me every dam—“ As you opened the door, it took you a second to register that it wasn’t Bradley standing out in the hall. “Jake?” You frowned, suddenly feeling a hell of a lot more vulnerable than you did six minutes ago. “What are you doing here?” 

“Bradshaw said you’re on leave?” Was all Jake said as he stepped into your apartment, it still felt like home despite the fact he hadn’t been over in months since your last bust. “What gives Rogue?” He was still in his flight suit, usually Jake showed before leaving base. But you were the priority right now. He just needed to see you. See for himself what the hell was going on. 

You watched as Jake made his way into your home, into your sacred space without so much as an afterthought that he may be intruding. He never did think his actions through if he wasn’t inside an F-18.

“Is that your way of asking me if I’m alright?” You rolled your eyes as you shut the front door, making a note to lock it behind you in case any other nosie aviators with callsigns that belonged to the flightless bird community came knocking. 

“It’s my way of asking what gives—“ Jake made sure to correct you. “So what gives? It’s not like you to take a break, you’re as good as they come—don’t actually get any better if you want my personal opinion.” It wasn’t a secret that you and Jake rotated as ‘The Best’  like a rositery chicken. He was on top one week and suddenly it was you by just a few points. But the sentiment remained, you were the only one who ever came close to matching Jake Seresin. It was just in your DNA. 

“Yeah I don’t remember asking for it.” You hissed, pushing past Jake as he stood in your hallway like a fungus you needed to get rid of before it had a chance to infect you. “Just because I’m the best doesn’t mean I don’t deserve a break from time to time.” 

As you made your way down the hall toward your bedroom, Jake noticed the way your shoulders slumped just the slightest bit. He noticed the way you looked as if you hadn’t been out of bed all day, the way your hair looked like a bird's nest atop your head. And he wasn’t sure why you were wearing the T-shirt he thought he’d lost three weeks ago but as it turned out you had it all along. 

“Y/n—“ Jake sighed as he watched you disappear into your room without so much as an explanation. “Wait.” 

“I need to shower.” It was the toneless way you explained yourself that sent warning signals off in Jake's mind as he followed you. 

“Hypothetically if I were to ask if you were doing okay would you tell me the truth?” You and Jake hadn’t always been so short with one another, but it was just the way it was now. It was the dynamic you were used to but loathed so much. You just wanted him to love you the way you saw in all the Disney films that were crammed down your throat as a kid. 

But Jake couldn’t. It wasn’t in his DNA. 

“Probably not, but like I told Bradshaw last night, I’m fine, just needed some time off work.” You shrugged as you fished through your dresser for a fresh pair of socks. Jake just stood off to the side, unsure of what to make of the mess that was your room. Usually you made it a note to keep your space clean and tidy. But when Jake looked around all he saw was complete chaos, a quick look into the inside of your mind looked like. 

“Isn’t that what weekends and annual leave is for?” He mumbled just loud enough for you to hear. 

“Couldn’t wait—I’m taking this unpaid and uninterrupted, so if you’ll excuse me, I need to shower.” 

“Don’t lie to me.” It came out more like a plea than a demand but it still didn’t sit right with you. You knew Jake Seresin didn’t care about anyone but himself. You’d known him long enough to know that he was selfishly egomaniacal. He didn’t care, not about you anyway. “Don’t lie to me Kerner—“ 

Jake had stopped you from moving any further towards your ensuite, with a gentle hand wrapped around your forearm. 

“I’m. Fine.” You had grit your teeth together to stop yourself from breaking. The force was enough to make your jaw ache. “Let. Me. Go.” 

“Really?” Jake challenged. “Because I’m standing on a pile of washing that smells like the inside of Fanboys locker.” 

“What has that got to do with anything!” As you ripped your arm out of Jake's grip he was quick to follow you into your bathroom. “I’m behind on laundry, big deal.” 

“It’s a big deal for you!” You could feel yourself crumbling the more Jake pressed you for the truth. “I don’t know what’s going on but—“ 

“Oh what exactly do you want me to say Jake? That I get up and then all day I'm tired, and that I wanna take a nap all day?” Everything you had been trying to hold in and deny was finally bubbling to the surface. “Do you want to hear me say that I have no motivation? That I don't wanna do anything.” 

“Y/n—“ Jake tried to interrupt as you threw your stuff on the bathroom floor in a heap. “It’s—“ There wasn’t a single thing Jake could say that could comfort you once the damn had been broken, you had held it all in for so long. 

“That I don't want to work, I can’t Jake because if I’m not in my own mind than I could kill myself up there or even worse–I could kill one of you!” 

All Jake could do was to stand there and listen as you let him know everything you had been struggling with for the past few months, slowly losing yourself day by day. You didn’t know what was wrong with you, why you felt this way, why all the enjoyment and all of the life had been sucked out of you. 

“I don't want to talk to anyone, especially you!” It was then you shoved at Jake’s chest, completely fed up with your emotional turmoil. He didn’t fight back, no. Jake simply held you close to his chest as he pulled you into a warm embrace that you so desperately needed. “I don't want to hang out with anyone, I don’t wanna watch TV or read a book or even go on my phone but at the same time as all of that I'm so bored! I don't care about anything because all that I care about is just surviving.” 

“You’re burnt out Rogue—“ 

“I’m not!!” Jake swore black and blue that was what you’d been trying to get at. “I can’t be burnt out!” He was even more confused than he was when Rooster had tiptoed around the situation earlier that same day. “My dad burnt out when he was at the height of his career and you know what he did?” Jake knew, he loved your dad like his own. Ron Slider Kerner was one of the best men Jake had ever had the pleasure of knowing. “He became a goddamn airline pilot!” There was anger in your voice, a deep sadness that Jake didn’t understand, what was so wrong with being an airline pilot? 

“Y/n, Y/n—“ Jake held you as tight as he could. He hadn’t held you like this in what felt like forever. “You’re gonna be okay.” Your head dipped just perfectly under his chin as you broke, there was nothing worse than crying into the arms of the man you loved and hated all at once. “I’m here, you’re gonna be fine.” 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” It was the sadness in your cry for help that broke Jake's heart the most, how long had you been dealing with this by yourself?  How long had you been telling the people closest to you that you were fine when you really weren’t. “Why can’t I just—“ You couldn’t breathe. “Why can’t I—“ You couldn’t finish your sentences without nearly gasping for air. “I—I can’t—“ 

“Okay, you’re alright, come with me. Something about Jake Seresin that surprised you the most was the way he dealt with panic attacks. For a guy as level headed as him he sure suffered in silence for the longest time. But you knew—it was one of the reasons you thought Jake couldn’t stand you half the time. 

You knew his biggest weakness. Himself. 

“Sit.” Jake led you over to the side of your bed as he knelt on his knees before you. “Now just breathe with me alright, I’ve got you.” It was the calming tone in his beautiful voice that had you giving yourself entirely to him. You didn’t want to be trapped inside your own head anymore. “There’s nothing wrong with you Rogue, everyone goes through burnout, it’s a part of life.” Jake wasn't diminishing your feelings, but from his own experience he knew that there was a weight on your shoulders you needed to rid yourself of. “And it’s real, and it’s valid and it doesn’t mean you aren’t incredibly good at what you do.” 

“I can’t handle the pressure—“

“No, you put too much pressure on yourself, that’s what you can’t handle.” 

“Oh what do you care Jake!” He’d never seen you like this, so lost and so broken. “Why are you even here right now!” 

“Because I care about you! Why else would I be here, huh?” Jake cupped your cheeks gently as he wiped away the tears that streamed down your supple cheeks. “I care about you and when Bradshaw told me you took a leave of absence I knew something was up. This isn’t you.” It was the truth, it wasn’t you and that’s why it scared you so much. You didn’t feel like yourself. “Baby, this isn’t you.” 

All you did was cry in Jake's slightly rough palms as he kneeled before you and tried to do what he could to just be present. He hated seeing you like this, so out of your mind and dealing with an existential crisis. But Jake knew what it was like to experience burnout. 

“I can’t be burn out—“ 

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s not real?” That was probably the stupidest thing Jake had ever heard you say. “My mum always used to say that being burnt out was just an excuse for not being good enough, it was a cop out.” 

“Something tells me that’s a reason why your parents divorced huh?” You couldn’t hold back the small chuckle that escaped through the sobs. “Y/n, what you're experiencing right now is so real it’s not funny—burnout is real and I reckon once you accept that? It’s going to be easier to overcome than to fight off.” 

“You seem to know an awful lot about this for a guy who’s as confident as ever.” 

“Contrary to popular belief Rogue, I wasn’t born the best.” Jake winked as he leaned in to kiss your forehead. “How about you go have that shower and I’ll order some food and we can talk about it, all of it.” 

“Is this your way of trying to get in my pants?” 

“Mmm—it usually would be, but no, not this time.” Jake admitted as he graciously helped you stand as you sighed out a deep breath. “I’m here to help, can’t leave my wingwoman behind.” 

“I love you Seresin.” You smiled softly as you pressed your lips together in a fine line. It was hard to admit, but you’d never not love Jake. “Thanks for showing up.” Jake mimicked your smile before his lips pressed into a fine line of their own. He nodded softly before you turned on your heels, heading into the bathroom before shutting the door behind you. 

“I love you too.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

[nicksbestie]

hi :3333

maybe johnnie looking after his autistic gf [fem reader] after a hard day at work, like shes overstimulated/overwhelmed n tearful & quiet? and maybe asking jake for advicebc johnnie isnt sure how to help[?]

u dont have to stick to that exactly, feel free to swap their roles around or change a part if it makes it easier to write :3

i loved this prompt <3 i hope i did it justice!!!

Work Day

warnings : none!

pairing : jake/reader (platonic) johnnie/reader (romantic)

word count : 1141

There were a lot of hardships that came with being disabled, and nobody knew that better than you did. It was even worse when it was a disability that wasn’t always visible to the naked eye, because outsiders would doubt the struggles that you faced every day, as if they weren’t real because they couldn’t see them. However, this didn’t mean that nobody saw your hard moments, they were just reserved, as much as possible, for the closest people in your life. 

Like tonight, when you had just sped home from work, desperate to be back in a familiar setting, and had nearly stormed in the door, unintentionally slamming it behind you. You had been through what was possibly your worst day in a long time. Everything had bothered you, even the things that you were normally fine with. You had forgotten how to do some of the work that you needed to know how to do to finish a project which had a fast approaching deadline, and you had piles of other things to complete which had fueled you being incredibly stressed. That had been the start to you being incredibly overwhelmed, and every little thing that piled on after that had made you feel like sobbing and screaming in frustration at the same time. 

Finally getting home, you threw yourself down on the couch, screaming into the cushion before going completely quiet, the tears that you couldn't let out at work coming out of your eyes now. Had you known that your boyfriend was home, and no more than one room away, you would have skipped the screaming part, but you couldn’t take it back. You noticed that he ran out of his room as soon as he heard you, eyes worried when he spotted you laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, but not really seeing anything. 

“What’s going on?” 

The concern was evident in his voice, but you just didn’t have the energy to talk, so you just slowly shook your head, crying. Though your relationship was relatively new, you knew that Johnnie understood what your silence meant, and you knew you probably wouldn’t be speaking much for the rest of the night. Luckily, the couch was wide enough for two, and he laid down next to you, quiet as well. 

“Awful day?” 

You nodded, not really moving much else of your body, despite him being so close to you. You would’ve normally immediately curled into his side, and the fact that you didn’t was really a testament to how bad you were feeling. Not having the same struggles, Johnnie often felt rather helpless when it came to your bad moments, but he was always there. He just didn’t always know how to help. He was learning, and he was taking in every new part of you with stride, and doing everything he could. However, sometimes, you just needed someone who fully understood you, and Johnnie knew that too. There wasn’t any jealousy there, simply understanding and love. 

“Do you want me to call Jake and ask him if he can come over for a little while?” 

You nodded again, knowing that he was going to ask that, and being incredibly grateful for it. You loved your boyfriend, more than you could put into words, but there were times when you needed someone that didn’t need you to fully explain what was going on for them to understand. Plus, you weren’t feeling very verbal, so it would be a lot easier for someone who could relate to verbalize your feelings to Johnnie. Johnnie gently laid a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, pulling his phone out of his back pocket to make the phone call. Due to the fact that Jake and Johnnie don’t talk on the phone all that often, Jake picked up quickly, immediately concerned. 

“Hey, is everything okay?” 

“Not really, but I’m okay. It’s her, she’s struggling today and I don’t really know how to help.” 

You could practically hear Jake’s expression, knowing it was one of empathy. You’d seen it in person too many times to count. 

“Oh no. Do you want me to talk to her?” 

“She’s not speaking right now. Do you mind coming over? Are you busy?” 

Jake laughed down the phone line, but there was no cruelty behind it. 

“Of course I’m not busy. Even if I was, I’d cancel. I’m on the way over. Am I on speaker?” 

“Yeah, you are.” 

You could hear the sound of Jake getting into his car, and knowing that the two closest people in your life that you cared the most about were willing to drop everything to help you made you want to cry and smile at the same time. As he drove, he asked various questions, having a general idea of what was going on, but still wanting to fully understand before he attempted to help. By the time he arrived at your house, you were wrapped up in your weighted blanket, curled up next to Johnnie, noise canceling headphones over your ears. Johnnie gently tapped you, alerting you to Jake’s arrival without scaring you because you couldn’t hear the door opening. 

You knew they were talking to each other because you could see Johnnie’s lips moving, and you could pick up a lot of the words, but didn’t really care too much to insert yourself into the conversation. A lot of it was Jake explaining why you had shut down, why you didn’t want to talk, because it felt like it cost you too much energy, and how both of them could help. After a couple of minutes of speaking to Johnnie, Jake moved more into your eyesight, waving, and offering a gentle hug. Taking him up on the offer, he wrapped his arms around you, squeezing tightly for a little bit of deep pressure therapy before letting go and sitting down on the opposite side of you. 

A fact about your relationship with Jake was that due to the often moments of you both becoming nonverbal, or semi verbal, each of you were fluent in ASL. Johnnie was learning, but not completely fluent yet, and you and Jake began having a conversation of your own. Upon learning that you hadn’t eaten since breakfast, he asked Johnnie if he would mind getting up to get you some food and he could continue talking to you, which, of course, he didn’t mind at all. He immediately got up to get your comfort foods, and you and Jake continued to talk about how you were feeling, and what they could do to help. At the end of the conversation, all three of you ended up just spending a lot of quiet quality time together, watching some shitty comedy on TV and making a bad day a lot better.

[theogonies]

what they look for in a partner ft. the cast of touchstarved

characters: ais, mhin, vere, kuras, & leander

word count: 2k

content warnings: some suggestive elements but nothing explicit, mentions of corruption kinks (ais), brat taming (kuras), and light exhibitionism (vere and leander), leander is a little emotionally manipulative

AIS.

Considering his relationships with MC and Vere, it's not exactly a secret that Ais has a thing for brats. He loves teasing, and wants a partner who can keep up with him, giving as much as they get. He's all about the thrill of the chase, learning exactly which buttons to press to get you flustered--so don't make it too easy on him.

Surprisingly, he's not usually the one to make the first move. He'll flirt, but struggles to take initiative when things start to feel too real for his comfort.

He finds people who can find a cool head in moments of crisis insanely attractive. Whether it's pulling him back when he's about to pick a stupid fight or constructing a perfect alibi on the spot when you find yourself in trouble, the contrast between your self-control and his impulsivity always gets him itching to push your limits even further.

Humans and Monsters alike, he's grown accustomed to the absolute devotion of his followers. So being around someone who isn't constantly bowing and scraping to him is a refreshing change of pace.

He still greatly values loyalty, and it's something that he's more than willing to return--he's a ride or die type of guy. What he's not interested in is empty flattery; telling it like it is is, in his eyes, a much more valuable kind of devotion than total obedience.

I definitely think he's got a bit of a corruption kink, and is drawn to people with a more innocent, even naive personality--easier to get them flustered that way. More importantly, though, he enjoys the interplay between his impulsivity and his partner's willingness to stick by their personal code of ethics, no matter how impractical. For all the teasing he does, he has a very deep and genuine admiration for people with strong moral principles and sense of self.

The only thing he loves more than drawing out your hedonistic side is knowing that he's the only one who can do it. It's a very specific, psychological kind of possessiveness, knowing that you want him enough to show him the greedy, impure side of yourself that you hide so carefully from the rest of the world.

On the other hand, narcs are a major turn off. It's one thing to tell him off for fucking up, and another entirely to get others involved. He fantasizes about a Bonnie and Clyde, us against the world type of love.

MHIN.

Another one who isn't particularly subtle about what it takes to get them heated. Mhin loves it when you can keep up with their acerbic personality. Even more than sharp tongues, they're drawn to people who are physically assertive enough to follow through on their threats.

Mhin is all bark and no bite, a fact that they're very much aware of. Deep down, they desperately want to feel safe and protected. It's not exactly that they're insecure; they don't have any hang ups about their own strength. But it's exhausting to keep their guard up all the time. So, they figure that their perfect match is their perfect equal--and 90% of their bluster is just that, a test so see who's willing to break past their emotional barriers and strong enough to keep up with them.

They're a switch, and definitely have a thing for size difference. One of their biggest fantasies is dominating a partner who's bigger than themself.

One of Mhin's most immediate turn-offs is people who look too clean and polished all the time. They're enamored by scarring and callouses--basically, the physical traces of a person's life, especially those associated with hard work. They're not particularly interested in fashion or flashy clothes, either; rather than being with someone who's always up on the latest styles, they admire those who know how to make things last, and who would rather underdress than overdress.

It's not hard to get them flustered. Put them in a good ol' fashioned kabedon, whisper simple praises in their ear, and they'll absolutely melt (not that they would ever admit that to you, of course). Mhin's affection is very subtle, blink and you'll miss it (they're big on acts of service, and usually quite sneaky about it), but they like partners who are more forward than themself, whether verbally or physically.

While they are a loving partner (once you break past those oh-so-strong emotional walls), Mhin isn't a super relationship-oriented person. They have goals of their own outside of romance, and would prefer to be with someone who feels the same way, supporting each other in the pursuit of their own, independent dreams.

VERE.

It's not exactly that Vere is a commitment-phobe. When he falls for someone, he falls fast and hard, and he's never been one to be secretive about his feelings. But he views relationships of all kinds--platonic, romantic, sexual, even antagonistic--with a kind of levity that can be offputting to many. Love, to him, is a game, and he has zero interest in dropping out of the race the moment he takes the lead, so to speak.

Even in a committed, monogamous relationship, Vere is a flirt and a bit of a player--with his partner and outsiders alike. In his eyes, it's not a sign of disloyalty, but rather, a way of keeping the spark alive. Possessiveness is an immediate dealbreaker for him (although he's not opposed to a good ol' jealousy fueled romp in the sheets--that's half the fun of teasing).

Vere tends to bottom more often than he tops, but he's attracted to switches far more than he is fully dominant types. He likes having dynamic interplay in a relationship, especially sexual, and wants to be with someone that isn't content with always falling back into the same old routines.

Physical attraction is very important to Vere, although he doesn't necessarily require that his partner is conventionally attractive. He's especially drawn to unique senses of style and physical traits--a particularly intense look in a person's eyes, a scar or blemish that gives their face an interesting character, even an interesting tilt to the way they hold themself. The only thing he loves more than standing out in a crowd on his own is hanging off the arm of someone who does the same, intentionally or not.

He likes to imagine himself and his partner as a power couple--the two most powerful personas in the room, the ones that everyone else wants to either fuck or become.

While he is very attracted to confidence, there's a bit of a feedback loop here, because he's also extremely good at psyching up his partner's self-image--stick with Vere long enough, and it's hard not to see yourself as someone powerful and desirable.

Massive tit guy. 'nuff said.

KURAS.

Kuras is also attracted to oddballs and quirky types, although unlike Vere, he's not super interested in physical appearance or their ability to stick out in a crowd. He's much more drawn to interesting personalities: people with unique tics, speech patterns, responses, and the like.

His favorite part of relationships (sexual, romantic, and otherwise) is gradually learning what makes the other person tick, so unless he gets the sense that there's something interesting lingering under the surface, it can be hard to get his attention. He needs to feel like there's some kind of puzzle to be solved, and a tricky one at that.

On the other hand, once his curiosity has been captured, he's an incredibly attentive partner--even if it's not entirely unlike the kind of attention an entomologist would give a bug under the microscope.

He's also drawn to outspoken, forthright personalities to counter his more polite and subdued persona. There's something he finds incredibly amusing about a person who speaks their mind even when they know it'll get them into trouble.

For that reason, Kuras is, much like Ais, attracted to bratty types. Unlike Ais, he expects them to learn the rules at some point down the line. While his form of discipline is a gentle, cool-headed one, he still views himself as more of a teacher than a playmate.

He very much prefers to feel in control of a given situation (even if that isn't immediately obvious in the way he presents himself). It can make him stubborn, to the extent that he'll reject the advances of a person he's interested in just because he wants to be the one to confess.

While this characteristic can make him come across as rather clinical in his approach, it gets its chance to shine when paired with his detail-oriented nature. From a grand confession of love to a simple weeknight dinner date, he's extremely methodical about preparing the perfect romantic atmosphere for his partner's tastes, from the locale and decor to the scent of his cologne.

While his partner needn't necessarily come across as kind at first impression, it is deeply important to Kuras that they have a good, generous heart. All the better if he gets to be the one to make them feel safe showing it to the world.

He likes 'em a little clingy and needy, too. Independence isn't necessarily a turn-off, but he needs to feel like all the effort he puts in is appreciated, or he'll move on to some other curiosity.

LEANDER.

We all know that this man loves to flirt, and in a much more grandiose, romantic sense of the word than Vere or Ais at that. In the same way that he gets a bit of a rush putting his strength to use in a fight, he likes using his charm and good looks to get a reaction out of people.

That's not to say his teasing is ingenuine; Leander comes on strong because he knows what he's looking for, from his partner's looks and the way they carry themself in a crowded room to the way they respond to his advances. He wants to be with someone who'll fall as fast and hard as he does, and as manipulative of a tactic as it may be, he's willing to put on the mask of a romantic until he finds the one that responds in kind.

Leander doesn't play games. Once he commits himself to a person, that's it. His absolute devotion is yours, and he expects that loyalty to be returned. Some of his biggest turn-offs are people who don't seem sure of what they want, or who won't express their feelings to him straightforwardly. He'll put up with some level of shyness, but too much beating around the bush and he starts to feel more like a therapist than a partner.

Total ass man. He has no compunctions about grabbing it in public to get a rise out of you--not to mention how utterly shameless he is behind closed doors.

He also really likes long hair. He has a lot of restless energy and tends to fidget when forced to stay still for long periods of time, so playing with your hair is one of his favorite ways to calm his mind. Braiding it and running his hands through it if it's straight, or spiraling your curls around his fingers--he doesn't mind either way, just wants it silky-soft and long enough to play with. (He also loooooves helping you wash and care for it.)

He's very physically affectionate in private, and even more so in public. He likes showing his partner off, and being shown off by them. To some this might make him come across as rather shallow (his favorite date nights involve going to bars or out dancing--anywhere that gives him the opportunity to turn some heads), but to him, it's a way of demonstrating that no matter how many may want him, he's decided you're the only one deserving of his attention.