#and very well expressed op!!

[grenade-maid]

Signalis, Authority, and History

There's a level of nuance to how Signalis presents the violence of the authority of the nation that doesn't call attention to itself but which I really appreciate. Which is basically just, all the officers and cops and spies who make life hell for people like the Gestalt mine workers, Ariane, and the Itou family--we get little glimpses into who they are in Adler and Kolibri's diaries and despite the propaganda and the authoritative tone they take in official communications, for the most part they don't seem to actually be particularly invested in the hard line of national ideology. They uphold it though, viciously, both because things were worse under imperial rule (we don't get hard details on what it was like but it's mentioned in passing enough that I believe it) and because they're scared that if they don't they will be decommissioned and easily replaced. They are literally stamped out of a production line after all. There's a subtext of well, if I don't do it my replacement will anyway and I'm not trying to die so what's the point of rocking the boat?

I think Kolibri stands out to me most clearly on this because in communications from the block warden regarding Ariane there is emphasis put on how it is unacceptable and suspicious that she should be so interested and invested in art and literature that does not serve the purpose of furthering the goals of the nation. But we know that Kolibris themselves are bookworms, Adlers are fiends for stimulating experiences, and both get miserable FAST when deprived of art and puzzles and entertainment and hobbies. Y'know, just like anyone. Far be it from being a paragon of The Nation only interested in productive labor, we are reminded that the block warden, too, hates this shitty town and wants to transfer but is denied. They're hypocrites, but not monsters, nor brainwashed puppets of the state.

The monstrousness at play is not contained within any particular subset of evil individuals, or even an inherent universal force of evil contained in the broad notion of The Nation. There is no cosmic evil force that makes them all do these things to each other. The monstrousness is within the social systems, the mechanisms of how authority perpetuates on a structural procedural level, held in place by fear and tangible threats of violence, each link in the chain restraining the next through those threats out of fear that if they don't, then they'll be next. Regardless how many, if any, of those people in this chain are true dogmatic hardliners, they must act as such because failing to do so opens them up to danger.

Here then I think of the quote that is so prominent, "Great holes secretly are digged where earth’s pores ought to suffice, and things have learnt to walk that ought to crawl", from Lovecraft's The Festival. This is not just a chilling abstract visual that conveniently evokes a mineshaft-- in Lovecraft's story, this line refers to worms which ate the decomposing bodies of wizards whose wretched souls had remained after death, complete with the terrible powers they gained through contracts with demons. Those worms inherited both their power, and also the evil. The Nation, despite having overthrown the Empire, is built on imperial technology, in particular Replikas and bioresonance. So too, then, we can imply that The Nation inherited with those things some of the monstrousness of The Empire as well. There is no end of history, nor clean break with the past, no matter how violently it may seem to be rejected. That which remains from the past--and something inevitably always does--creates the present.

This is a game that is not shy about evoking East Germany. And I think all of this provides a sophisticated picture of repressive authority that we rarely see in fiction of the English speaking world, especially in games. The year the S23 incident takes place is notably 84, but, frankly, I find this to be more compelling and illustrative than 1984 (and I'm a librarian and have taught English classes so I get to say that). Orwell, let's be honest, presents a fairly one dimensional picture of authority, where people seize power and wield it against others out of seeming mustache twirling evil or malice.

Here though we get a more humanistic view. Authority did not come from nowhere and is not wielded arbitrarily out of gleeful cruelty or mindless brainwashed allegiance. People aren't "just following orders". Individuals have rich inner lives. They make decisions, and those decisions are based in the context they're in. Even the decision to carry repressive tools of the past into the present is a decision that was made strategically with the big picture in mind. Nobody woke up and decided to be evil that day. Everyone operates on self interest, and, we must assume, an earnest desire for things to get better. Even the [spoiler] program which served as an inspirational demonstration of The Nation's power, you can imagine the chain of officers and bureaucrats who genuinely wanted the people of the nation to believe in the future, to confidently trust that everyone was working together towards something great and beautiful. And, through a long chain of those people who couldn't say "No" without being decommissioned, we ended up with something unbelievably cruel.

We get to know Adler and Kolibri and the other officers not to say well they're human too, maybe it wasn't so bad that they condemned all those people to agonizing suffering, but to remember that if we keep looking for true monsters we will not find them. There are no monsters and there are no demons. There are only people making decisions. A better world is possible. A better world, where Adler is just a paper pusher who does puzzles after work instead of signing papers to authorize torture, where Kolibris are librarians instead of spies and cops, where EULEs can gossip and play piano and ARARs can do maintenance on facilities that don't contain torture rooms, is one that would not have led to the Ariane and Elster's tragic cycle and ultimate end.

Authority and its attendant cruelty is not contained, radiating forth from The Great Revolutionary and Her Daughter, it is within the social systems of control. When those two women die, that cruelty will continue so long as those social systems continue. Like Lovecraft's worms, no matter how long dead the evil of the past is, so long as it continues to be fed upon, that evil will not only remain, but evolve into something new in the present. A better world can't be achieved through the death of the old world alone, even if violent overthrow is warranted. There is no end of history. There is no clean break from the past.

"Men make their own history, but they do not make it as they please; they do not make it under self-selected circumstances, but under circumstances existing already, given and transmitted from the past. The tradition of all dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living."

Karl Marx, The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

Dorothy being assaulted at 17 and then trapped in a marriage for the next 38 years really makes the queer subtext heartbreaking rather than funny. It also adds a whole lot to how barbed she gets when they discuss her sex life and how vanilla it is or how little sex she had, no wonder it would be a sore subject (and no wonder its consistent that she had very little sex with Stan in her marriage and said she didn't enjoy it when they did).

Yep, that's part of the reason why I think that queer subtext is so insightful!

A queer reading of Dorothy is not necessary to understand the gravity of what happened to her, to be fair. Stan is very clearly depicted as a bad lover in general and an especially inattentive lover to her -- take eg what she says of him in S1E22 Job Hunting:

"It took three seconds. I wasn't sure that we had done anything, actually… until nine months later, when the baby came. Then I figured out that we had."

Which... doesn't seem like a great experience. Add onto it the fact that a) this is a recollection of her first time, b) she was coerced into performing the act either via emotional manipulation or alcohol/substances (as well detailed in this post by @eeblouissant), and c) her situation didn't improve at all during her marriage; if anything it got worse, since Stan was always out cheating on her -- no wonder she has a bad relationship with sex! Actually, I've said before that I think she has a remarkably open and healthy attitude towards sex, all things considered.

Thinking of Dorothy as queer (especially as a repressed lesbian) makes it all even more tragic, though. I think it's very likely, considering that she's a Catholic of Italian origin, that she hadn't even realized she liked women by the time she got involved with Stan -- I myself reached that conclusion in my early 20s! However, by that time Dorothy was already married and a mother; can you imagine how painful the mere idea would have been, for her? Of course she'd never even consider it while still married to Stan, and she'd have a hard time coming to terms with it after her divorce. It adds a thick layer of suppression and self-sacrifice to her whole story that I think is very thematically appropriate for her character (and that personally destroys me lmao. I cannot think about it for too long or I'll cry my heart out).

I think her whole experience with Stan also justifies her enthusiasm for some of her lovers in the show, even in a queer reading. I mean -- after all that, her standards must be on the floor! The bar is so low, she's dancing the lambada with the devil! Even a modicum of attention to her needs would blow her mind, I think -- even if it didn't come from her preferred gender, and especially if she wasn't ready to confront the truth about her sexuality yet. A lifetime of suppression isn't easy to get over -- she'd probably blame her bad experience with sex during her marriage on Stan alone (instead of considering that maybe she'd rather not be with a man at all).

Sorry, anon -- you probably weren't expecting a ramble in response, haha! But yeah, you make a great point; reading Dorothy as queer adds even more depth to her character and greatly enhances the tragedy of her story.

(Just for the record -- I've never thought the queer reading of Dorothy was funny! Maybe I'm reading this wrong, I just wanted to clarify.)

[honeybabymp3]

a celebrity i like: [says or does something i relate to as a gay person]

me and the gay people on my phone: hahaha ok dyke

a member of the straight allies police: 😲🔫 how DARE you [looks at the last memo from the straight allies coalition] cause gay people anxiety by overanalyzing their actions. Jail

[snghnlvr]

come on baby, don’t say that. / park sunghoon

park sunghoon x fem reader

synopsis : you were curious whether or not your boyfriend was a possessive type so you tested it out.

includes: 1.4k words | fluff 4 sunghoon stans (aka me) , suggestive ending oohooolala | VAMP SUNGHOON | zb1 taerae appearance! | sunghoon is a menace but so is y/n… grrr possessive sunghoon … | both are simps but cuties patooties <33

extra: his part in the baby shark movie lives in my mind 24/7, i hear it everywhere anytime and it’s making me LOSE my damn sanity | the ONE fansign video of op asking questions to sunghoon about dating ggggrrrrrrr | literally last minute drabble i had , it was supposed to be posted for my birthday but studies got in the way .. ew studies…:// | en o’ clock reference⁉️

likes, comments and reposts are very appreciated <3

[below the cut]

curiosity perhaps did kill the cat.

you wore your favorite dress (also sunghoon’s favorite dress), styled your favorite into a bun with two strands on each side of your face, wore makeup to emphasize your face features and wore your favorite ruffled socks to put your loafers on.

you dolled yourself so much just for sunghoon’s attention, but on the bright side you felt pretty all dressed up.

you didn’t know what was purpose of doing this to yourself up when you didn’t have any plans.

one day, bored in your living room of both you and sunghoon’s apartment, you came across a video on your foryou page about possessive behavior in someone’s partner. it made you think about your boyfriend’s behavior; curiosity overwhelming your thoughts. you tried to imagine what your boyfriend will do if these scenarios were to happen.

so, you planned out a script - going to the movie theatre with your male friend, eating with your male friend, etc. ; literally spending a whole day with a male friend. heck, you can’t imagine doing those things with a male other than sunghoon. you don’t even have money in your wallet right now.

you’ve always known sunghoon as a quiet yet clingy type of boyfriend. he wasn’t openly expressive with his clinginess he would be subtle. even with that itself it made your heart pound like crazy. but you wanted to take a step further on how clingy he could get.

you stepped out of the room, already seeing sunghoon lying around in the living room couch with his eyes glued to the tv. his eyes immediately diverted to you, getting your loafers out in front of the door.

“where are you going?” he asked, his eyes scanning to your dressed up figure. you knew he was shamelessly checking you out. it made your heart flutter and somehow boosted up your ego. but you shouldn’t be phased by his attractive face.

he wanted to compliment you but he spoke without thinking. he wonders where your gorgeous self is going especially with that little dress you owned that he loves on your body. he wonders what was the special occasion.

you put on a soft smile while adjusting your shoes. you noticed that sunghoon stood up, eyes still checking you out and wonders how such a dress curves your body so well.

sunghoon had a small smirk with his hands on his pocket, abandoning the pillow on his lap. it flopped next to him.

you smelt sunghoon’s signature scent of musk and a blend of roses. he wore his favorite grey hoodie that was stained with his cologne. it was because you would borrow it.

now that sunghoon was in front of you, he continue to look at you as his arms slowly wrapped around your waist. that’s when you spoke. “mhm just going out.” you spoke sweetly to sunghoon but he kept you against the wall as the door was right next to the both of you but you didn’t comment. you knew he was trapping you.

“with who?” you noticed how sunghoon raised an eyebrow and how his expression slowly changed into a sad one that he wasn’t the person you’re going out with.

“just a friend of mine.” you looked up to sunghoon and noticed how your answer didn’t satisfied him so you pushed it further. “a male friend of mine.” you placed a hand on his chest, lightly playing with the strings of his hoodie.

“excuse me?” sunghoon spoke, slightly amused because usually you would hang out with your female friends.

your heart was starting to exhilarate when his voice octaves dropped. “hanbin? mark? jisung?” he started rambling of the guy friends that you had on the top of his head.

you were surprised at how many he remembered. is that a good thing?

sunghoon noticed your eyes widening so he took a deep breath and placed a soft smile that seemed a bit fake from your perspective.

“don’t go.”

what a contrast.

you almost snickered when you noticed sunghoon’s lips twitching, trying to lee his smile still but his hands wrapped around your waist, wrapped further until his hands reached his elbows. you were cold to him, close enough that your hands on his chest was the only barrier separating you two.

you found it somehow adorable to see him pouting.

you copied him. “taerae and i planned to go out and work work on our project for a while now.” you mentally apologized for using your friend’s name on the spot but you panicked to make something new on top of your head.

“where are you guys going?” you couldn’t handle sunghoon’s stare despite dating him so you looked down towards his buff chest. sometime about his stare sparked jealousy and agitated but he kept his mouth shut.

“we planned to watch a movie theatre together then a cafe and then the library.”

“alone?”

“yeah..”

you swore when you looked up at sunghoon, he was frozen, mouth apart as he was speechless. his eyes started to twitch. he then blinked at you multiple times to see if you were joking.

well, you were. but you kept a serious face on which didn’t show any sort of crackling.

“it sounds more like a date.” you can tell his whiny tone with his words, lips pouting that made you want to pinch his cheeks but you held back.

you shook his head. “why would i have a date with taerae when i can have with you?” you tilted your head, chuckling at his remark. “you’re literally my boyfriend.” you giggled lightly.

sunghoon sighed. “then don’t go. i’ll help you with the project instead, heck i’ll go to taerae instead of you.” his eyes were showing pettiness that you can’t help but lightly giggle. you saw sunghoon’s grumpy expression as he kept you close to him.

you poked at his birth mole under his eye. “boop.” were the words you let out but it didn’t phase sunghoon, keeping his grumpy expression on.

“we don’t even attend the same college hoon.” sunghoon’s eyes soften when you easily roll off his nickname out loud. he rather rolled his eyes instead.

“i have to go soon,” you looked at the clock behind sunghoon’s figure. it was 2pm. you were surprised your acting has gone this far and you’re continuing. you thought it was fun to make your boyfriend jealous.

“hoon, let go of me.” your hands flew to his triceps, surprised at how his muscle flexed against your touch. you lightly touched his muscle which broke sunghoon’s grumpy expression again.

you looked at him with an eyebrow raise, hoping he would be persuaded to let you go but he shook his head like a kid.

“come on baby, don’t say that.”

your heart beat started pounding like crazy. you were astonished at the unexpected sentence. you suddenly stared at sunghoon, how a strand of hair was covering his eye so you unconsciously moved it behind his ear, eyes watching your actions. sunghoon stared at your lips, stained with your red lipstick.

“taerae can wait another day.” sunghoon started rubbing your back with his hands, making you frozen and loosing your train of thoughts.

yeah forget taerae.

“it would be amazing to show him how beautiful my girlfriend is but i want you to myself right now baby.” sunghoon started to lean closer, his hand cupping your jaw and slowly easing your cheek with his soft fingers.

you closed your eyes and leaned against his relaxing touch. “you sound possessive park.” you were satisfied with your act, chuckling slightly at how amused you are.

sunghoon giggled as well, his deep giggle erupting in him as you felt him leaning more into you. “mhmm maybe?” he shrugged with a smile.

you opened your eyes and see sunghoon staring at you with love and affection. you can’t help but to plant a lot of kisses to his lips. you saw sunghoon staring at your lips and you predicted what was gonna happen next.

“mhmm yeah.” you smiled mischievously at sunghoon, removing his arms from your waist and turned around towards the door which showed your back to him.

maybe you’re not done yet.

but before you can open the door, sunghoon wrapped his arms once again which prevented you from not moving. your hands reached to the cold door handle but didn’t touch. his hands gripped your hips which indicated a new side of your boyfriend, park sunghoon.

sunghoon’s lips pecked your neck. “not on my watch.” his hot breath contrasted your cold skin, tickling you.

your heart paused at his actions.

you felt your boyfriend’s chest against your back, giving you instant warmth to your cold, clammy skin. his hug was very comforting and at this point you gave up with your little skit.

“possessive and back hugging me? how romantic.” you chuckled. you felt a sharp pain in the side of your neck, “ow!” you shouted in shock when it was sunghoon’s playful behavior of showing his love. you knew sunghoon had fangs and he unfortunately is abusing that characteristic of his by biting you. you rather found it his fangs adoring yet a bit hot that your boyfriend looked like an actual vampire.

you felt sunghoon’s tongue’s slowly soothing that area when he licked your pain away; like a cat. you smiled when he hugged you tighter as his face was dug into your neck as if you’ll disappear.

sunghoon abruptly stopped hugging you but rather grabbed your hand, dragging you across the hallway towards the bed that both of you live in, filled with smiles and flustered cheeks.

thank you for reading<3 hope you enjoyed!

[chaosandmarigolds]

Simon Riley this and Simon Riley what about John Mactavish!!

And yes, John

Because John, Johnny and Soap are three very distinctly different people within your household

Johnny is the guy who has your toddler on his shoulders and running through the backyard at full speed while making airplane noises

Johnny is the one surprises (sneaks up) you with showers you of kisses at the most absurd times, right out of the shower? bam, forty kisses. Getting groceries out of the car? Bam, forty more-

John in the one helps you zip up your dress with an adorning gaze, making sure he’s wearing the right cologne that matches your perfume

John is the one who helps your toddler with their math because you didn’t want to be associated with failing a math class

John is the one who goes up and down the stairs forty times to make sure your coffee is just right and coming back with a soft, ‘taste ‘is one, love, should be right.’ And will not whine when you give him a slightly downturned expression

John who sits on the tile of the bathroom floor as you sit in the bath, happily listening to your day

now soap, now, okay, that’s his work mode. It’s Simon’s Ghost, so soap really only makes a show when you’re out and something slightly pisses him off such as someone trying to grab your ass you’re both shopping for formula

He doesn’t get violent, at first, more of snarky remarks that lacked the usual life within them

Soap is a very calculated man, it may not seem like it but he is- he has to be so he waited, got the license plate and well…he figured he should Ghost finish the op

Soap is the one who will leave flowers for you one your nightstand, he’s also the one who will do damage control if he ever majority fucks up

All together you get your wonderful Johnny Soap MacTavish and well…he can be a handful

(Annnd yeah! If you guys have any comments, ideas or feedback, lemme know!! Toodles!)

[mononijikayu]

blanket kick — fushiguro megumi.

You blinked, momentarily surprised by his sudden and straightforward confession. A smile slowly spread across your face as you took in his earnest expression. “Are you asking me out on a date, Megumi?” His cheeks flushed a deep red, and he nodded vigorously, feeling both exhilarated and embarrassed. “Yeah, that’s what I meant. I know it’s kind of sudden, but I really want to….” Before he could finish, you interrupted with a warm, affirming smile. “I’d love to go out with you, Megumi.”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: Fluff, Romance, First Love, First Date, Comfort, Humor, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Confessions, Mutual Affection, Love, Pining, Cheek Kiss, First Love Panic, Fushiguro Megumi is In Love, Sorcerer! Megumi, Sorcerer!Reader, Megumi and Reader Are A Bit Older, Gojo Satoru is A Father, Genmei Mention Again, I Love Us And Them, I Need To Write it;

WORDS: 8.7k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i adored writing this because megumi come back!!! this makes this future possible where older! sorcerer megumi just has his first date and being able to experience his first love. i am genuinely ahhhhhhhhh, megumi comeback the best thing to me. also i usually write genmei in she/you pov but since reader is in the you perspective, i needed to differentiate. genmei my beloved ily i will write for you and satoru more. but anyway, i love you guys so much!!! i hope you enjoy this!!! 🫶

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kayu's playlist - side 1000;

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IT WAS RARE FOR HIM TO FEEL LIKE THIS. As Megumi stood in front of the mirror, he found himself swallowing hard, his nerves frayed and his heart racing. The reflection staring back at him was both familiar and strange—a young man dressed carefully for his first date, a significant step into uncharted territory. Today was not just any day; it was the day of his very first date, and the anticipation was almost overwhelming.

He adjusted his collar for the umpteenth time, each small movement reflecting his anxiety and eagerness. His normally disheveled dark hair was neatly styled, and his outfit was carefully chosen—a simple yet elegant look that he hoped would strike the right balance between casual and thoughtful.

Despite the preparation, his mind raced with a thousand worries: whether he looked presentable enough, if his nerves would get the better of him, and most importantly, whether he would be able to make a good impression on you.

Megumi’s eyes scanned his reflection, taking in every detail with a critical gaze. He noted how his fingers twitched slightly as he adjusted his tie, how the slight tremor in his hands betrayed his inner turmoil. He had always been confident in his jujutsu abilities, but standing here now, dressed for a date, felt like stepping into a whole new world.

The gravity of the situation settled over him like a heavy blanket. It wasn’t just a date—it was a meaningful gesture, a chance to share a special moment with you, someone who had become incredibly important to him. He replayed the words he wanted to say, the plans he had meticulously made, and the hopes he carried for the evening. The weight of wanting everything to go perfectly was both exhilarating and daunting.

Megumi took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. He remembered the way you had smiled when he asked you out, the genuine warmth and acceptance in your eyes. That memory was a comforting anchor amidst his swirling thoughts. He wanted to make this first date memorable, not just for himself but for you as well. The thought of disappointing you was the last thing he wanted, and that fear only heightened his nervousness.

As he continued to gaze at his reflection, he caught sight of his own eyes—nervous yet determined. He realized that despite all his anxieties, this was a chance he was ready to embrace. It was his opportunity to show you how much he valued and cared for you, to step out of his comfort zone and into a moment that could change everything.

A soft, self-assured smile began to form on his lips as he made a final adjustment to his outfit. He squared his shoulders, lifting his chin slightly, and took one last deep breath. The mirror no longer reflected just a nervous young man, but someone ready to take a step forward, someone who was willing to face his fears for the chance to be with you.

He could remember the day he asked you out. You really didn’t seem to be interested in guys like him, let alone romantic pursuits. But he wasn’t going to know if he didn’t try. Well, that’s what Yuji and Nobara said to him. He had to ask, he had to know what you felt about him. And just go with the flow. But the thing is, Fushiguro Megumi didn’t know what to do with the flow. And with you? He’s going to fail. He knows he will. Because, when it comes to you, he is always defeated. Because he’s too much into you. And the thing is — he doesn’t want to get out.

He thinks he blacked out when he asked you. But when you finally say yes to a date with Megumi Fushiguro, his emotions surge through him like a flood. He’s overwhelmed, not just with happiness, but with a strange mix of excitement and disbelief. 

Fushiguro Megumi feels as if he’s rooted to the ground, yet his heart flutters wildly, making him feel almost ridiculous, like he’s become something other than himself—like a tree, sturdy on the outside, but swaying with the breeze of his emotions. 

He had to take some time to get his shit together. He could only remember what happened, now that he’s already getting his senses in order. Or at least some semblance of it back. It’s hard to do that too, when it comes to you. 

The usual rhythm of punches, kicks, and curses filled the air. You and Megumi moved through the drills with practiced ease, the intensity of the training casting a sense of focus. You were the only ones here today, since Yuji and Nobara were given separate missions. You both still weren’t, since you both had just come home from one.

So, all the agenda today was training strengths instead. He tries to be into the game, he really did. Yet, beneath the surface of the grueling workout, Fushiguro Megumi's mind was far from the physical exertion. He had been wrestling with his feelings for a while now, and it's been hard on him. 

Because you were everything and he…he didn’t know how to cope. But after a long struggle, he knew he couldn’t let you slip away. You were a marvel in his world and he can’t let you slip away. Not right now. Not ever. And so, today, he had decided, was the day he would ask you out.

As the training session neared its end, Megumi found himself glancing at you more frequently, his thoughts racing. His heart pounded with a strange mixture of excitement and anxiety, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like an invisible force. Would you even consider dating him? His thoughts were bleak about it. But…But what if you say yes? Wouldn’t that be a good thing? There’s always that hope.

Finally, as the session concluded and you both took a moment to catch your breath, Megumi cleared his throat, trying to gather the courage to speak. The casual atmosphere of the gym felt oddly charged with tension, and he found himself fidgeting with his training gear, unable to maintain eye contact.

“Hey.” he started, his voice coming out a bit hoarse. You looked over, wiping sweat from your brow, curious about what he had to say.

“Yeah? What’s up?” you asked, giving him a reassuring smile that made his heart skip a beat.

Megumi took a deep breath, his resolve solidifying. “So, I was thinking… Maybe we could, um, go out sometime. Like, on a date. I mean….If you want to. I just, it can be anything—”

You kept looking at him as his words tumbled out in a rush, and as soon as he finished speaking, he felt an immediate wave of relief and nervousness. His heart raced as if it were trying to break free from his chest, and he could hardly believe he had finally said it. The air around him seemed to thicken, the usual sounds of the training area fading into the background.

You blinked, momentarily surprised by his sudden and straightforward confession. A smile slowly spread across your face as you took in his earnest expression. “Are you asking me out on a date, Megumi?”

His cheeks flushed a deep red, and he nodded vigorously, feeling both exhilarated and embarrassed. “Yeah, that’s what I meant. I know it’s kind of sudden, but I really want to….”

Before he could finish, you interrupted with a warm, affirming smile. “I’d love to go out with you, Megumi.”

His reaction was instantaneous. It was as if a floodgate had opened, and all the emotions he had been holding back surged through him. He felt rooted to the ground, his body rigid with a mix of disbelief and elation. Yet, inside, his heart fluttered wildly, making him feel almost ridiculous, like a tree swaying in the breeze of his emotions.

For a moment, Megumi simply stood there, processing your acceptance. The overwhelming joy and relief made him feel like he was floating, and he couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh. He tried to play it cool, but his face betrayed his excitement, his eyes bright with a mixture of happiness and awe.

“Really?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he couldn’t quite believe his own luck.

You nodded, still smiling. “Really. I’m looking forward to it.”

Megumi’s grin widened, and he felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the post-training sweat. “Great. I’ll… I’ll figure out the details and let you know.”

As you both gathered your things and prepared to leave, Megumi couldn’t shake the feeling of joy that seemed to be bubbling up inside him. He had asked you out, and you had said yes. It felt like the start of something new and wonderful, and as he walked beside you, the world seemed to sparkle just a little bit more.

He’s puzzled by his own behavior. It would have been nicer if he was able to say it properly then. Why is he getting so weird in front of you? Why does he suddenly feel like a child, when he’s far from one? He catches himself making silly jokes, laughing too loud, and it embarrasses him. But when he looks into your eyes, he hopes you can see that none of it is meant to be taken seriously—except for the part where he likes you, and saying it out loud feels like moving a mountain.

He always thought he was too shy to be someone’s sun, so he became a cold, distant moon instead, quietly admiring you from afar. But now, lying in his bed, his emotions are anything but cold. They’re a raging ocean, and he’s caught up in waves of blankets, tossing and turning, jumping around like a madman. He imagines himself in a UFC ring, fighting off his embarrassment with high kicks, jabs, and hooks, trying to punch away the nervous energy that’s been building up.

But even as he lets it all out, pounding his mattress like a punching bag, he wishes for an iron to smooth out the tension in his hands and feet, to calm the storm inside him. You’ve already slipped into his thoughts, into the lyrics of his heart, repeating over and over in his mind. His poor blanket has taken a beating, but all he really wants is for you to be there with him, to share in this moment that feels like the beginning of something new and beautiful.

Megumi Fushiguro paced back and forth in his room, his normally calm demeanor unraveling with every step. His mind raced, tangled with a thousand what-ifs that refused to settle. His hands were buried in his hair, tugging slightly as if that might somehow pull the anxiety out of him. You had already said yes—you had actually said yes to going on a date with him. But now, the reality of it all was sinking in, and he felt like he was drowning.

What if he messes this up? What if he says something stupid? What if—

“Wow, you’re really losing it, huh? I’ve never seen you this worked up, Megumi. It’s almost cute.”

Megumi spun around to see Gojo Satoru sprawled out on his bed, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. His mentor’s carefree attitude only heightened Megumi’s frustration. He was sitting primly, drinking some overly sweet soda that he always likes. It was his day off today, now that he was taking some time to just enjoy his day to day from working. Megumi had been glad for him to just rest, but today was a bad day. He will never see the end of it when it comes to Gojo Satoru’s teasing tones.

“This isn’t funny, Gojo–sensei.” Megumi snapped, his voice tight with nerves. “I’ve never done this before. What if I ruin everything? I can’t ruin it with them—”

Gojo waved a hand dismissively, as if Megumi’s concerns were nothing more than trivial worries. “Relax, you’re not going to ruin anything. Just be yourself. You’re already overthinking it, already. Slow down. I doubt they’ll mind if you make a mistake, hm?”

Megumi groaned, the tension in his shoulders refusing to ease as he dropped down onto the bed beside Gojo. He stared at the ceiling, trying to find some semblance of calm, but all he could think about was how easily he could screw this up.

“That’s easy for you to say. Especially with Gen-san around.” Megumi muttered. “You’re always so confident. I feel like I’m going to freeze up the moment I see them.”

Gojo’s smirk widened as he nudged Megumi with his elbow. “Freezing up isn’t the worst thing that could happen. I mean, you could trip and spill something all over them. Or, I don’t know, accidentally insulting their favorite food or something.”

Megumi’s eyes widened in horror as the thought struck him with unexpected clarity. He was mid-adjustment of his jacket when it hit him—a startling realization that sent a cold wave of panic through him. The possibility of something going wrong, of embarrassing himself in front of you, suddenly felt all too real.

He could almost see the scenario unfolding in his mind: a clumsy misstep, an awkward silence, or worse, a complete lapse in composure that would make the date memorable for all the wrong reasons. The dread of potentially making a fool of himself was overwhelming, and his heart raced as he pictured each disastrous possibility in vivid detail.

At that exact moment, Gojo, who had been lounging casually nearby, caught sight of Megumi’s distress. The sudden change in Megumi’s demeanor, from calm to panicked, was impossible to ignore. Gojo’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he watched Megumi’s struggle with the growing anxiety.

“You’re not helping!” Megumi shot back, sitting up abruptly, his heart pounding even harder now.

Unable to contain himself, Gojo burst out laughing, the sound echoing around the room. “Oh man, look at you!” Gojo exclaimed, shaking his head with a grin. “You’re really losing it over this, aren’t you?”

Megumi’s face flushed crimson as he turned to look at Gojo, his initial shock quickly morphing into a mix of embarrassment and frustration. “Shut up, Gojo–sensei!” he snapped, though the edge in his voice was softened by the underlying anxiety. “I’m trying to get this right.”

“Okay, okay,” Gojo said, still chuckling but with a hint of sincerity in his voice. “Seriously, though, Megumi, they already said yes because they seem to like you. Just talk to them like you always do. You don’t need to impress them with anything fancy or overcomplicated. Besides, you’re already way cooler than you give yourself credit for.”

Megumi took a deep breath, trying to let Gojo’s words sink in. He could feel his nerves still bubbling beneath the surface, but maybe Gojo was right. Maybe he was overthinking this. “Is that what you did with Gen–san?”

“Eh? But my wifey already loved me from the beginning, Megumi. What can I say, I’m a charmer?”

“That sounds like an outright lie.”

“I never joke about my wifey!” Gojo Satoru grinned, raising his soda as though to toast.  Megumi rolled his eyes. “You’ll do great, don’t worry. Well, maybe not as well as me.”

“But what if I say something awkward?” Megumi asked, his voice quieter now, almost as if he was afraid to voice his fear.

Gojo shrugged with a grin. “Then laugh it off. You’re allowed to be a little awkward; it just makes you more human. And trust me, they’re probably nervous too. Just focus on having a good time together. It happens like that, hm?”

Megumi nodded at him. “.....Alright.”

Gojo’s laughter continued, his eyes sparkling with a playful glint. “It’s just a date, Megumi! You’re going to be fine. You’ve got this in the bag.” He put a hand on Megumi’s shoulder, his tone shifting to one of mock-seriousness. “There’ll always be more. Slip on the wet floor sign? They’ll giggle and get you another date. I’m sure they’ll give you another shot. You’re a good kid after all, you know?”

Megumi couldn’t help but feel a bit of his tension easing at Gojo’s infectious laughter and his playful reassurances. The sight of Gojo’s exaggerated gestures and the sheer absurdity of his over-the-top reactions reminded Megumi of how he had allowed his worries to spiral out of control.

“Yeah, well, easy for you to say.” Megumi grumbled, though a small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “You’re not the one going on their first date.”

Gojo’s laughter finally subsided, and he looked at Megumi with a more sincere expression. “Hm, I’m already past that phase. But well, tip from someone who had their first date, don’t be so bothered about perfection. You’re going to do just fine. Just be yourself, and everything will work out.”

Megumi nodded, taking a deep breath as he absorbed Gojo’s words. Despite his continued nervousness, the reminder that he didn’t have to be perfect—just genuine—helped to calm his racing thoughts. Gojo’s light-hearted teasing had, in a strange way, helped him to gain perspective and regain a bit of his confidence.

“Thanks, Gojo–sensei.” Megumi said, his voice softer but more determined. “I appreciate it.”

Gojo gave him a reassuring pat on the back. “Anytime. Now go out there and make that date unforgettable—in a good way!”

With Gojo’s playful encouragement still ringing in his ears, Megumi took one last look in the mirror, feeling a renewed sense of resolve. The horror of his initial thoughts had given way to a steadier determination, and as he prepared to head out, he felt more ready to face the evening with you, knowing that, despite his nerves, he had the support of his friend.

Megumi nodded, feeling a flicker of confidence take root inside him. “Yeah, I think I can do this.”

“That’s the spirit.” Gojo grinned, standing up and stretching. “Now, go knock their socks off. Just… not literally. Not yet, okay? You guys are still not hitting third base!”

Megumi rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Thanks, Gojo.”

“Anytime, kiddo.” Gojo winked as he headed for the door, turning back with a teasing grin. “Just make sure to tell me all the juicy details afterward.”

Megumi grabbed a pillow and hurled it at Gojo, who dodged it with a laugh as he slipped out the door. Alone in his room, Megumi took a deep breath, feeling the remnants of his panic begin to dissipate. He still felt nervous—how could he not? But with Gojo’s words echoing in his mind, he also felt something else: a quiet determination to make this date something special, something memorable.

And maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out just fine.

“Tell Gen–san I’ll be home late.”

“Hm, okay~ Get home safe, okay? Score a kiss or a hug at least!”

“Shut up!” 

“How about no?~”

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EVERYTHING WAS GOING WELL SO FAR. The evening was warm, the kind of night where the air felt like a gentle caress, and the city was bathed in a golden glow as the sun began its descent. You and Megumi had chosen a cozy, quiet restaurant tucked away in a corner of the city, away from the bustling crowds. It was the perfect place for your first date—intimate, yet casual enough to ease the tension that had been building up since you both agreed to it.

As you sat across from him, you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes kept drifting to your face, lingering on your eyes, your nose, your lips. It wasn’t the first time you caught him staring, but tonight, it felt different—intense, almost as if he was trying to memorize every detail. You could tell he was struggling to maintain his composure, his usual stoic mask cracking ever so slightly.

Megumi cleared his throat and looked down at his menu, trying to distract himself, but the slight flush on his cheeks betrayed him. “So, uh, what do you feel like eating?” he asked, his voice a little too casual.

You smiled, feeling a mix of amusement and fondness. “I’m not sure. Maybe something light? What about you?”

He nodded, still avoiding your gaze. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

The waiter came by, and you both placed your orders. When the drinks arrived, Megumi raised his glass to you, his eyes finally meeting yours. “Cheers,” he said, his voice a little softer now, more sincere.

You clink your glass against his, noticing the way his hand trembled slightly. He took a big gulp, almost as if he was trying to steady himself, and for a moment, you wondered if he was nervous. But then, as the night wore on, you realized it wasn’t just nerves—it was something more, something deeper.

Megumi didn’t know how, but somehow, with you, everything felt easy. It felt easy to get lost in your eyes, to be drawn into the sound of your laughter that seemed to erase every worry from his mind. When he was with you, the weight he usually carried so heavily on his shoulders seemed to lift, replaced by the simple warmth of your presence. It was as if your very existence wrapped around him like a comforting blanket, making the world feel less daunting and more like a place where he could just be himself.

The conversation between you flowed effortlessly, each word building a bridge that drew you closer together. It was as if you were weaving a delicate thread between your hearts, a connection that grew stronger with every passing moment. Laughter punctuated the evening, light and genuine, and Megumi found himself smiling more than he had in a long time. The stories you shared felt like precious gifts, each one revealing a little more of who you were, peeling back the layers of the person he was growing to care for more deeply with each passing second.

And through it all, Megumi felt a sense of ease that was rare for him. It was easy to be with you, to let go of his guarded nature and simply enjoy the moment. He didn’t feel the need to put up walls or keep his distance. Instead, he allowed himself to be present, to savor the feeling of being close to you. Each glance, each shared smile, made him realize how much he had come to value these moments with you—moments that felt like they were meant to be, like they were part of something bigger, something that was just beginning to unfold.

“Remember that time Gojo-sensei tried to teach us how to cook?” you said, grinning as you recalled the chaotic kitchen scene.

Megumi chuckled, shaking his head. “How could I forget? He nearly burned down the entire place. I think that’s the last time we'll let him anywhere near a stove.”

“You looked so serious, trying to salvage the meal. It was adorable.” you teased, leaning in just a little closer. “I think I still have a picture from that night.”

He hesitated for a second, his usual calm demeanor faltering as a soft blush crept up his neck. “I was just trying to prevent a disaster.” he mumbled, but there was a shy smile on his lips. “And….can you share that picture with me?”

You grinned back at him. “Of course, Megumi. You can keep it in your wallet. And maybe you’ll think of me, hm?”

The moment you said that to him, it was almost automatic, the way he turned scarlet. You just have that way with him, a power that no one else can truly have. He lowered his face for a bit, as though trying to avoid you seeing how red he was. But he knew how obvious he was being. Hiding wasn’t going to work. But…he at least has to try. 

“......Okay.” He mumbled under his breath. 

You grinned even harder as his hands gripped the glass of wine and drank it swiftly. He was cute this way to you, you were sure. And by the way your eyes were following his every move, you were smitten with him as much as you think he is with you. Well, at least you hoped he was. 

As you continued talking, you noticed that maybe you were right with your theory—an unspoken tension that lingered in the air, almost tangible. It was in the way his beautiful blue–green eyes kept finding yours, lingering a bit too long, as if he was trying to memorize every detail of your face. And every time your gaze met, a flutter stirred in your chest, a warmth that spread through you like wildfire.

Megumi’s voice would occasionally falter when you leaned in closer, a slight quiver that betrayed the emotions simmering just beneath the surface. “You’re really good at this.” he said at one point, his tone softer than usual. “More than I thought before.”

“At what?” you asked, tilting your head in curiosity.

“Making me feel… comfortable.” he admitted, his eyes locking onto yours for a moment before he looked away, almost shyly.

A smile tugged at your lips. “I’m glad. I feel the same way with you.”

There was a pause, a brief moment where the weight of what was unspoken hung between you. Then, almost as if compelled by the invisible thread drawing you closer, Megumi leaned in slightly. His hand brushed against yours on the table, just a fleeting touch, but enough to send a spark through you. You lifted your gaze, looking at him as though he was the only one in the world.

“Is it just me, or does it feel like there’s something… different tonight?” you asked softly, testing the waters.

Megumi’s eyes flickered with something deeper, a mix of emotions that he had been trying to keep hidden. “It does.” he agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. “It feels… important.”

You nodded, understanding what he meant. The connection between you had always been there, but tonight, it was as if it had intensified, become something neither of you could ignore. It was a first date, to be sure. But you’ve known him for a long time, and you’ve liked him for a long time. And the more you think about his words, the more you think that he’s liked you longer than you thought. You purse your lips, letting your smile reign.

“You’re good at this,” you whispered to him, your voice soft and full of warmth.

Megumi raised a brow, his curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?”

“Making me feel good,” you replied, a smile tugging at your lips as a blush, as vivid as a scarlet sunrise, bloomed on your cheeks.

Megumi’s eyes widened at your response, the sincerity in your words taking him by surprise. His heart began to beat wildly in his chest, each thump echoing the growing emotions he struggled to contain. For a moment, he couldn’t find the words to respond, too caught up in the way you were looking at him, your expression filled with something that made him feel lighter than air.

“And that’s everything to me.” you added, your gaze unwavering as you spoke.

Those simple words struck him deeper than anything had in a long time. Megumi felt his heart swell with something indescribable—something that made him realize just how much you meant to him, and how much this moment meant to you both.

Megumi felt a rush of emotions flood through him, a mix of awe and disbelief at the way you looked at him—as if he was the only person in the world who could make you feel this way. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat reminding him that this was real, that you were here with him, and that somehow, he had become someone important to you.

He took a slow, deep breath, trying to steady himself as he searched for the right words. “I… didn’t know,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know I could do that for you.”

“You do.” you assured him, your smile softening as you reached out to gently touch his hand. “You don’t even have to try. Just being with you makes me feel… safe, understood, happy.”

Megumi’s breath caught in his throat at your touch, the warmth of your hand sending a shiver down his spine. He felt a lump form in his throat, the weight of his emotions almost too much to bear. “You make me feel that way too,” he admitted, his voice tinged with a vulnerability he rarely showed. “I’ve never felt this way before… not with anyone else.”

You squeezed his hand gently, your eyes never leaving his. “That’s how I know it’s special, Megumi. What we have—it’s real.”

He nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to keep his emotions in check. But the way you looked at him, with such trust and affection, made it impossible to hold back. “I want to be that person for you,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “I want to make you feel good, to make you happy… because you mean everything to me too.”

There was a moment of silence, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you. Then, without thinking, Megumi leaned in closer, his heart racing as he let himself be guided by the pull he felt toward you. He hesitated for just a second, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation, but all he found was warmth and acceptance.

And in that moment, all the uncertainty, all the nerves, melted away. Megumi closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, hesitant kiss that held all the feelings he had been too afraid to express. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that moment, connected in a way that felt as natural as breathing.

When he finally pulled back, his heart was still pounding, but there was a new lightness in his chest, a sense of calm that he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Thank you,” he whispered, his forehead resting gently against yours. “For letting me be this close… for trusting me.”

You smiled, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. “I wouldn’t want it any other way, Megumi. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

And with those words, he knew—without a doubt—that this was the beginning of something extraordinary.

“Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to say what I really feel.” he confessed, his eyes downcast. “I’m not good with words like Gojo or even Yuuji. But with you… it’s different. I want to try. I want to always make you happy. So, I just….”

You reached across the table, your fingers brushing against his hand. “You don’t have to be like them, Megumi. Just be yourself. That’s all I want.”

He looked up at you then, his gaze softening, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The warmth between you grew, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket, and you felt a sense of belonging, a feeling that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

“You know, I’m not even drunk, but I feel like pretending I am.” He gave you a small, almost shy smile, the kind that made your heart skip a beat. “This….this feels crazy. Am I dreaming?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “And why would you want to pretend? And you aren’t dreaming. This is… this is real.”

“Maybe it’s easier to be a little more… honest that way.” he replied, his eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and something else, something darker, more intense. There was a brief moment where you thought you saw the hint of desire flicker in his gaze, but before you could say anything, he looked away, clearly embarrassed. 

“This is making my heart beat a lot. I’m sorry, if I get quiet,” Megumi said, his voice trembling slightly, his cheeks flushed a deep scarlet.

You blinked at his response, a soft laugh escaping your lips. The genuine, almost endearing awkwardness in his words made your heart swell. “I don’t mind,” you reassured him, your smile widening. “But… I just want to say, I’m really glad I can make you feel like this. It… it makes me happy.”

The sincerity in your voice seemed to wrap around Megumi like a warm embrace. He looked at you, his gaze softening as he took in your words. Your reassurance, your happiness at his nervousness, seemed to melt away his apprehensions. He felt a comforting warmth spread through him, a sense of relief and contentment that made him want to open up even more.

“I… You don’t have to worry about it,” Megumi continued, his voice growing steadier, though still tinged with emotion. “I… I only like you, okay? No one else.”

Your eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and delight crossing your face. Megumi’s confession, so simple and earnest, struck a chord deep within you. The fact that he was expressing his feelings so openly, despite his usual reserved nature, made your heart flutter.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. His declaration, so raw and genuine, held a weight that made you realize just how much this moment meant to both of you. You could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way he was laying his emotions bare, and it made you feel incredibly special.

“Really?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper, as if you were afraid to break the delicate bubble of intimacy that surrounded you.

Megumi nodded, his gaze unwavering. “Yeah. I’ve never felt like this before. It’s just you. Only you.”

Your heart soared at his words, a warmth spreading through you that felt almost like a physical presence. You took a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions that had taken over you. “That means so much to me, Megumi. I feel the same way. I… I only want to be with you.”

A smile slowly spread across Megumi’s face, a rare and genuine expression of happiness that lit up his features. The relief in his eyes was palpable, and for the first time, he allowed himself to fully embrace the joy of the moment.

He reached out, taking your hand in his with a tenderness that spoke volumes. “I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he said, his voice filled with a quiet resolve. “It makes everything feel… right.”

You squeezed his hand gently, feeling the connection between you deepen. “Me too, Megumi. I’m really glad.”

The night seemed to wrap around you both like a warm, comforting embrace. The conversation flowed easily once more, but now it was colored by a new understanding, a shared feeling that made everything feel even more special. With every glance, every touch, the bond between you grew stronger, weaving together the threads of your hearts into something beautiful and lasting.

When you stepped outside the restaurant, the cool night air was a welcome change from the warmth inside. Megumi walked beside you, his hand brushing against yours occasionally, as if he was considering holding it but wasn’t sure if he should. The conversation had slowed, and now there was just the quiet sound of your footsteps and the distant hum of the city.

Finally, you reached your house. You turned to face him, expecting the usual awkward goodbye, but instead, you saw something different in his eyes—a determination, a resolve that hadn’t been there before. He took a deep breath, his hands hovering near your shoulders as if he was about to pull you close. You could see the hesitation in his eyes, the internal struggle playing out in his mind.

“I—” Megumi began, his voice low, almost a whisper. “I’m really glad we did this. And I’ve been wanting to do this for the longest time. I’m glad we managed to do it.”

“Me too.” You grinned back at him, your face tender with warmth for him. “I’m glad you asked me out, Megumi. This was amazing.”

He smiled back just as warmly. “Me too, I really am glad that I—”

But before Megumi could finish his sentence, his phone rang, the sound slicing through the moment like a sudden, jarring interruption. He winced, pulling it out of his pocket with an almost defeated sigh. The light from the screen illuminated his face, which fell as he saw the caller ID.

“It’s… it’s Gojo-sensei.” he said, his voice laced with frustration as he glanced at you with an apologetic look. “He’s asking when I’m coming back home.”

You tilted your head, puzzled by the sudden shift. “Gojo-sensei?” you repeated, trying to suppress a giggle. It seemed that Gojo had an uncanny knack for showing up just when things were getting interesting.

Megumi nodded, his expression a mix of irritation and resignation. “Yeah. I guess he must’ve known I was having a moment. He always seems to show up at the worst times.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Gojo’s impeccable timing. Despite the disappointment of the interrupted moment, you could see how much the evening had meant to Megumi. The mood had been perfect, and the sudden intrusion felt like a cruel twist of fate.

“Don’t worry about it.” you said softly, trying to lighten the mood. “We’ll just have to save the best parts for next time.”

Megumi looked at you, a mixture of frustration and affection in his eyes. “I really wanted to…”

“I know.” you interrupted gently, reaching out to touch his hand. “But we’ve had a wonderful evening, and there’s still so much more time ahead of us.”

He squeezed your hand, a small smile forming on his lips despite his disappointment. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess it’s just typical of Gojo to show up right when things are getting good.”

You laughed softly, nodding in agreement. “He definitely has a knack for that. But don’t let it ruin our night. We’ll just have to make the next one even better.”

Megumi’s gaze softened, his frustration melting away as he looked at you with a renewed sense of hope. “I’d really like that.”

He answered the call, his voice calm but tinged with a hint of annoyance as he spoke to Gojo. You watched as he dealt with the interruption, admiring how he managed to balance his irritation with the warmth he continued to show you.

As the call ended, Megumi pocketed his phone and turned back to you, a sheepish smile on his face. “Well, it looks like I’m going to have to head back soon. But I want you to know… tonight has been incredible. I really appreciate your understanding.”

You smiled back at him, your heart feeling lighter despite the sudden end to the evening. “I wouldn’t have wanted to spend it with anyone else.”

He reached out and gently cupped your cheek, his touch tender and reassuring. “I feel the same way. And I promise, next time, I’ll make sure nothing gets in the way.”

You leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his words and the sincerity in his eyes. “I’m looking forward to it.”

You leaned in, pressing a soft, tender kiss to Megumi’s cheek—a simple gesture, but one that seemed to catch him completely off guard. His eyes widened slightly, and he stood there momentarily frozen, as if trying to fully comprehend the warmth of your lips against his skin. The blush on your cheeks mirrored the deep crimson that had spread across his face, and the way he remained still, caught in the aftermath of the kiss, spoke volumes about the impact of that brief, intimate touch.

As you pulled back, your eyes met his with a proud, affectionate smile. The way his posture remained rigid, his gaze lingering on you, highlighted just how deeply your kiss had affected him. It was clear that the warmth of your gesture had left a lasting impression, one that would linger long after you had gone.

“Goodnight, Megumi,” you whispered softly, your voice carrying a note of sweetness as you clutched your bag. The words felt like a promise and a gentle farewell, your smile reflecting the happiness you felt in the moment. “I’ll… I’ll see you around!”

Megumi’s reply came, his voice low and almost wistful, as if he were savoring the final moments of your time together. “Good night.” he said, his tone tinged with a mixture of reluctance and tenderness as you turned to leave.

You glanced back at him one last time before getting into your cab, the evening air cool against your skin as the door closed behind you. As the cab pulled away, you could see Megumi standing there, his gaze fixed on the retreating vehicle, a look of both longing and contentment in his eyes.

Inside the cab, you felt a flutter of excitement and warmth in your chest, a reflection of the connection you had shared. The memory of his surprised reaction, his blush, and the quiet intimacy of the evening would linger with you, a cherished reminder of the bond you were building together.

Megumi, still standing on the curb, felt the lingering touch of your kiss on his cheek, a gentle reminder of the special night you had shared. As the cab disappeared from view, he took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of wistfulness and anticipation. He knew that this evening was just the beginning of something meaningful, and as he turned to head back home, he carried with him the warmth of your smile and the promise of more moments to come.

When Megumi arrived home, the familiar comfort of his apartment greeted him. He closed the door behind him, his mind still drifting back to the evening’s events. The soft warmth of your kiss on his cheek lingered like a gentle, pleasant ache, making it hard for him to focus on anything else.

Gojo, lounging casually on the couch and flipping through a magazine, looked up as the door opened. His eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and amusement as he took in Megumi’s slightly distracted state. 

“Hey, Megumi!” Gojo called out, his tone light and teasing. “How was your—”

But Megumi barely registered the question. His thoughts were still wrapped around the soft press of your lips against his skin, the way your smile had felt like a promise. He was caught in a reverie, his hand absentmindedly touching the spot on his cheek where you had kissed him.

Gojo’s brows furrowed slightly as he observed Megumi’s distant expression. “Hey, Earth to Megumi!” he said, raising his voice a notch to grab his attention. “Are you even listening?”

Startled, Megumi blinked, slowly pulling himself out of his thoughts. He turned to look at Gojo, his expression a mix of confusion and bemusement. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry. I was… just thinking.”

Gojo arched an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Thinking, huh? You look like you’re in a daze. Did something happen?”

For a moment, Megumi was too wrapped up in the lingering sensations of the evening to fully process Gojo’s question. He simply shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. “It was a good night. Really good.”

Gojo eyed him critically, clearly not buying the vague response. “A good night, huh? So, what’s with the goofy grin and the dazed look? Did something happen with your ‘good night’?”

Megumi’s blush deepened, though he tried to hide it by looking away. “Nothing. Just… had a nice time. It’s nothing.”

Gojo’s curiosity was piqued. He walked over, leaning casually against the wall with a knowing grin. “Nice time, huh? So nice that you’re practically glowing. Spill it, Megumi.”

Realizing he wasn’t going to get out of this easily, Megumi sighed, still feeling the warmth from your kiss. “It’s just… there was this moment,” he said, his voice soft. “It was… really special. I didn’t expect it.”

Gojo’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the reaction he was getting. “A moment, huh? Sounds like someone’s got it bad. I’m guessing it was someone special?”

Megumi didn’t meet his gaze, instead focusing on the floor. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Gojo chuckled, clearly delighted by Megumi’s apparent infatuation. “Well, I’m glad to see you so happy. Even if you’re too distracted to notice my wonderful company.”

Megumi finally looked up, a sheepish smile on his face. “Sorry about that. It’s just… I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Gojo’s teasing expression softened slightly as he clapped Megumi on the back. “It’s fine. Enjoy the moment. And remember, when you’re ready to come back to reality, I’ll be here to remind you how to interact with the rest of the world.”

Megumi nodded, still lost in his own thoughts as he headed to his room. He appreciated Gojo’s understanding, even if he was more focused on the sweet memory of your kiss. As he settled into bed, the warmth of your touch and the promise of more moments like this kept a contented smile on his face, making it clear that tonight had been more than just a good night—it had been the beginning of something truly special.

When Megumi finally made it to his room, he collapsed onto his bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling as if seeking answers from the blank expanse above him. The soft rustle of the blankets beneath him was the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

He groaned, kicking his feet against the blankets in a frustrated display of pent-up energy. “It was so good.” he muttered to himself, his voice muffled as he buried his face in his hands.

The memory of your kiss, the warmth of your presence, and the way you had looked at him—all of it replayed in his mind, mingling with the sting of the missed opportunity.

For a moment, he allowed himself to wallow in the frustration, the feeling of having the perfect evening cut short gnawing at him. But as he lay there, the initial disappointment began to fade, replaced by a quiet, simmering determination.

He turned onto his side, gazing at the dimly lit room with a newfound resolve. The evening had been everything he had hoped for and more, and though it hadn't gone exactly as planned, it had shown him something important. There would be another date, another chance to savor the moments he had missed tonight. And next time, he was determined to make it perfect, to not let anything—or anyone—interfere.

A soft smile touched his lips as he imagined what could be. He pictured another evening, where he wouldn’t have to worry about interruptions, where he could focus entirely on you and the connection you shared. The thought filled him with a sense of anticipation, a promise of something even better to come.

Megumi took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his frustrations lift as he embraced the positive outlook.

“I’ll make sure of it.” he said softly, to no one in particular, as he closed his eyes and let himself drift into a hopeful sleep.

The night had ended with an unfulfilled promise, but it had also planted the seeds for something even more meaningful. As he sank into the comforting embrace of his bed, the thought of you and the evening to come filled him with a quiet, hopeful excitement, making the future seem brighter and full of possibilities. Nothing was impossible with love, right?

________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊

┊ ┊⋆ ┊ .

┊ ┊ ⋆˚         

✧. ┊         

⋆ ★

epilogue 

The sun was setting over Tokyo, casting a warm glow through the windows of the Jujutsu High lounge. Genmei and Satoru were lounging on the sofas, sipping on their drinks and chatting about the recent happenings in their lives. The atmosphere was casual, with Satoru’s usual exuberance tempered by a rare, relaxed demeanor.

“You know…..” Genmei began, looking thoughtful, “I’ve noticed that Megumi’s been a lot happier lately. It’s like there’s a spring in his step that wasn’t there before.”

Satoru’s eyes widened with curiosity. “Really? I haven’t seen him smile this much since… ever. What’s the secret?”

Genmei leaned in with a mischievous smile. “Well….something pretty significant event happened recently. I heard in the grapevine that our little Megumi’s gotten a kiss!”

Satoru nearly choked on his drink, cerulean eyes bulging as he set the glass down with a clatter. “He did what?!” he exclaimed, his excitement palpable. “And you’re telling me this now? What happened?”

Genmei chuckled, enjoying the reaction. “Apparently, things went quite well. And, then boom! A kiss!”

Satoru’s face lit up with wild enthusiasm. “A kiss?! Oh man, you’ve got to be kidding me. I can’t believe it.He didn’t tell me! That kid! So, what kind of kiss are we talking about here? A peck on the cheek, or—”

“Just a simple kiss on the cheek, Satoru.” Genmei said, holding up a hand to indicate the gentle nature of the gesture. “But it seems it made quite an impression.”

Satoru’s excitement was infectious. “No way! A cheek kiss making him this happy? Megumi, of all people, is floating on cloud nine over a cheek kiss! I’m going to have to get the details from him myself.”

“Satoru, you’re acting like you weren’t the same way when I kissed your cheek the first time.”

“Uh, that’s not the point—”

Just as Satoru’s animated commentary reached its peak, Megumi happened to walk by the lounge, catching the tail end of the conversation. The mention of a “cheek kiss” made his ears turn a shade of red as he froze in place, his eyes widening in embarrassment.

“What are you guys talking about?” he asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

Satoru turned, his grin stretching wider as he saw Megumi standing there. “Oh, Megumi! We were just discussing how you’ve been a lot happier lately. Seems like the cheek kiss you got has had quite the impact!”

Megumi’s face flushed even deeper, and he stammered, “W-wait, you heard that? Who told you? Ah, this is…..”

Genmei stifled a laugh while Satoru’s eyes sparkled with mischievous delight. “Yep, we heard it all! And I have to say, it’s good to see you so happy. It’s like you’ve been reborn or something.”

Megumi’s embarrassment was palpable as he tried to hide his face. “Can we not talk about this? It’s… it’s not a big deal.”

Satoru’s laughter rang out, echoing through the room. “Oh, come on, Megumi! It’s adorable. It’s like watching you grow up right before our eyes.  And hey, if a cheek kiss is what makes you this happy, maybe I should start giving out kisses too!”

“Please don’t do that, Satoru.”

“But wifey!”

“Don’t wifey me. Satoshi would say the same thing.”

“Lies, Satoshi would love his papa’s cheek kisses.”

“Hm, we’ll see what he says when he comes from my mother’s house.”

Megumi groaned, sinking into a nearby chair, hiding his face in his hands. “I swear, if you don’t stop, I’m going to find a way to make sure you never hear about my personal life again.”

Genmei chuckled softly, patting Megumi on the back. “Don’t worry, Megumi. We’re just happy for you. It’s nice to see you smiling for a change.”

As the laughter subsided, Satoru threw an arm around Megumi’s shoulders in a rare display of affection. “Seriously, though, I’m proud of you. Even if it took a cheek kiss to get you to loosen up a bit.”

Megumi gave a reluctant smile, finally lifting his head to meet their eyes. “Thanks, I guess. And… just keep this between us, alright?”

Satoru’s grin softened to a more genuine smile. “Deal. But just so you know, I’m always here if you need to talk about anything.”

Megumi had just shrugged off Satoru’s latest comment with a hint of sarcasm. “No, I think Gen–san’s better with this sort of thing.” he said, nodding towards Genmei.

Genmei’s face lit up with a mischievous grin. “A–ha! In your face!” Genmei declared triumphantly, savoring the moment of victory.

Satoru, always the dramatist, threw his hands up in mock despair. “GAH!? Megumi, you tear your father’s heart!” he exclaimed, his tone laden with exaggerated sorrow.

Megumi rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re not my dad, Gojo–sensei” he retorted, clearly amused despite himself.

Satoru gasped theatrically, clutching his chest as if wounded. “HUH!? Wifey, our son hates me!” he cried out in a tone so over-the-top that it had both Genmei and Megumi laughing.

Genmei sighed, a playful exasperated voice echoes, “What a life to live.”

The playful back-and-forth continued, each remark adding to the tapestry of their lighthearted dynamic. Fushiguro Megumi, despite his earlier embarrassment, found himself caught up in the laughter, the tension of the day melting away under the warmth of their happy home.

[rafry]

Euclydia, Cults and Need for Control

Disclaimer: this analysis raises sensitive topics. if you are/were a victim of a cult and the topic triggers you, please refrain from reading further(/seek help). Additionally, I am not a specialist on said topic, nor am I a clinician. But I am a survivor, so part of the narrative may or may not be just me projecting the trauma on a silly yellow triangle. That said, reader discretion is advised! :)

The take: Euclydia is likely to be a cult-like society and the reason Bill, after years of abuse, grows up to be as he is: a power-hungry monster. Let's analyze!

For the starters, The Start. Each state has its own anthem. How lucky that we were kindly provided with the Euclidian hymn (hidden under the code "FORGETTHEPAST")! Lets take a look:

"Two dimensions to and from, You always know which way to go If you're lost, don't be afraid, In Euclydia you've got it made! Run too far too right of frame, You'll appear on left again! Jump too high, don't fry or fret, You'll pop up from the ground, I bet! In this place there is no fear, Roles and rules, always clear, Euclydia, we hold you dear…"

That tells us way more than we could've asked for, really. The most important: Euclydia is a state of Clear Rules™. Everything works perfectly thanks to The Rules and The Roles, and the state is loved by it's citizens. It's might be a caricature 2D utopia, but how it reacts when the rules are questioned?

"Eye doctor of a different kind, who wants to make his patient blind The doctor says: 'three sips a day will make the visions go away' Fussy eater, baby Billy Wouldn't drink unless it's silly..."

If there's anything about cults and the way they make people behave, is that the "wrong" ones in the community are usually ostracized and/or heavily medicated to not cause any troubles. Those people are sometimes called 'heretics', but may as well just be called crazy or insane by their peers. Oh look completely unrelated picture:

"Cipher, Cipher, he's insane Starting fires with his brain"

Honestly, the other time it would be it. Euclydia, if not Is, then sure does Act like a cult in some way. I could've finished here, easily, but there's something missing, isn't?

"The hell do you mean by 'The Need to Control', OP?"

I mean that the BILLVILLE is important.

There's the thing about trauma survivors: some of us, after living a life with no control over ones societal position (ostracization/isolation), body (forcibly medicated) or even mind (feeling of inadequacy), crave for some form of control to be regained.

It can turn toxic very quickly when the only form of control one has ever seen in their life is being The Leader (cult leader/shitty parent/armageddon overlord/you get the idea, it's about becoming an authority figure).

And so, Bill becomes a cult leader! Very possibly covering up the need for control and admiration with what I call "The most inefficient way to build an Interdimentional Portal ever", since, well, he's got to lie to himself every now and then, that's his thing (trauma response).

As for the details:

He uses the dead mans body — the body that wouldn't cause any resistance, thus being perfect for taking under control.

He sees the position of the interviewer as more authoritative than the position of the interviewee — and he swaps the roles. That wasn't enough though, so he demands (politely) to be called "My Lord And Master" for a good measure.

He very possibly recreates some of Euclydia-like order in his own "Town" in terms of expressing individuality. They might've been pretty decent in following scripts, I think.

So, I don't think Euclydia has ever been religious in any way, since that would left some other scars on Bills psyche for sure. But highly authoritative, ignorant, strict in its rules to the point of self-damnation? That checks. That's the place that has formed Bill, after all.

That's the place that he wishes to rebuild.

Maybe not consciously, maybe distorted by his illness and broken memory of a loving-paradise-home that has never actually been that way, but he seeks the comfort of familiarity — most of us do. Familiar stings are better than an uncontrollable too-bright future, isn't?

I hope he does well on therapy.

[bowsnchoso]

Interrupted – Gojo Satoru

➺ synopsis: you and your husband, Gojo, were spending some time together until he got an urgent call for work. will he make it up to you once he arrives back home?

➺ character: Gojo Satoru

➺ word count: 6.9k

➺ cw: married couple, femreader, sweet pet names (cause Gojo is soso cutie) lots and lots of teasing (like always) fluffy, so much loving, shower scene, nipple play breeding, smut, nsfw, aftercare crumbs, did i mention lots of loving? (there's lots!) ^^

➺ note: i can't get enough of my blue-eyed king so here's another little post about him, enjoy!

It was times like these that you relished the most. Your fingers tangled up in his silky white hair, his blue eyes that mimicked the crashing waves of a blue ocean, rolling over your body, drinking you whole.

Your husband, Satoru, marveling at your body, seeing right through your soul. His hands caressed the innate curves of your tempered body, having your figure well memorized under his avaricious and gentle touch, yet he still couldn’t seem to get enough of you. No matter how many times he held you close, no matter how many times he had you wrapped in his arms, snuggled in his chest. No matter how many times he inhaled your intoxicating scent, the inebriated state it left him in never seemed to ebb.

He purred against your intricate touch like a loving kitten would, his hand stroking your waist as you toyed with his hair, brushing the stray tufts behind his ear. His eyelids were heavy, carrying the weight of his equilibrium, but the lubricious gaze in his cerulean eyes remained as vibrant as ever, glistening as the stars would under a new moon.

You two lay side by side, simply gazing at your husband as you two engaged in conversation with one another, sometimes getting sidetracked by your infatuation for one another.

He grabbed your hand that stroked at his hair, and he began kissing each of your knuckles, peppering his soft lips above your skin, tracing them over your hands, drinking you up, as he typically did.

“I miss spending this kind of time with you, Toru.” You whispered, watching the way he kissed at your limb.

He hummed, and the vibrations of his gruff voice ricocheted throughout your body, sending waves of a tempestuous storm in your raging heart, adorned in his love and touch.

“I miss it too,” his voice was like honey against your skin, sweet and smooth, “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy with work, I need to pay more attention to my gorgeous wife, don’t I?” He teased you, reeling you into his figure, gently pelting your face and jaw with kisses.

You couldn’t help but giggle, flustered by his immense attention. “You pay attention to me, it’s just I want more moments like these.” You expressed, accepting his kisses and attention despite how flushed they made you. “I know you get busy, especially with missions, I know how important they are.”

He trailed his lips down your arm now, simply attacking you with his incessant love. “I bet you didn’t think marrying me would also mean you have to deal with my work, right?” He said, now caressing his cheek against the soft skin on your arm.

You watched him, blushing. “When we were boyfriend and girlfriend I was already aware of how busy you were. I figured that getting married wouldn’t push back any responsibilities you have… but that doesn’t mean I regret marrying you, I love calling you my husband.”

He smiled lovingly, staring into your eyes with his blinding blue irises. “You remember our wedding day?”

You chuckled. “How could I forget the day we got married, Satoru?”

It was a very intimate wedding, and considering Gojo had no family, not very many people were invited besides close friends and your family– the very few people that both you and Gojo handpicked by yourselves, sending out your invitations together.

It was a day you would never allow yourself to forget, or grow cavalier to. You stored that sweet memory deep in your soul, it was etched in your heart, locked away for safekeeping, only to be opened upon recollection.

Satoru fell into a pool of sweet memories, appreciating you with his eyes and hands. “It was the best day of my life. I don’t think you understand how happy I am to call you my wife.” He carefully adjusted himself, hovering above you.

You lay flat beneath him, your hands intrinsically reaching up to his nape, massaging his broad shoulders under your delicate fingers, your foot rubbing against his bare leg, tangled up in each other.

He smiled at your affection, leaning down to kiss at your jawline again. “What did you love most about that day?” Satoru questioned as he continued to leave a trail of kisses down your neck.

You hummed, closing your eyes as he focused his attention all on you and your body. “What I loved most about our wedding?” You reflected, to which he murmured in response, still kissing your neck with sweet sounds that parroted off the walls. “Hm, when I said I do~” You tease, kissing his cheek.

He chuckled, and his cheeks slightly reddened before he composed himself adeptly. “Wanna know my favoirte part of the wedding?”

You nodded.

“When we cut the cake together.” He shared with a blissful smile.

You laughed at his revelation. “Of course, you picked the cake out yourself, and you’re a fiend for sweets.”

“Well, yes,” he mumbled, stroking your long hair behind your ear, “but, that’s not why it was my favorite part. It was my favorite because I couldn’t help but just smile at you. Your cute hand over mine as we cut into the cake, it hit me then that I realized we were going to be together for the rest of our lives.”

You recalled that moment perfectly. “That moment was caught on camera, I remember that.” You grinned, remembering the photo of you and your husband cutting into the cake.

While your eyes were focused on the camera, smiling big, your husband had his sights set on you with an ebullient smile tugging on his lips, his beautiful blue eyes washed in adoration.

He kissed your neck once more. “Well, that’s my favorite moment. Besides the night we spent together after~” He winked, teasing you.

You laughed, blushing red at the thought of your wedding night.

He began to trace his lips over your collarbone, slow and sensual against your skin, prompting chills throughout your body. “Wanna recreate that night together, sweetheart?” Satoru entreated, his voice silky smooth.

You blushed. “N-now?” You whispered.

He chuckled. “Yeah. Now.” His hand caressed your side. “Is my little wife nervous?” Satoru teased you with a playful smirk tugging on his lips.

“Yes.” You blatantly reveal, to which he laughed at.

He kissed your forehead. “You’re so easily riled up, huh? Still getting nervous for your husband, hm?”

You had been together for seven years, married for two, and you still got so apprehensive at the thought of sharing intimate moments with Satoru. Which, he adored. To him, it meant that your love for him was humming as chirping birds, still burgeoning and festering just like how it once was when you two first began dating.

You closed your eyes, relishing the feeling of his lips and tongue against your jawline, knowing exactly what to do to get your body warm, his hands trailing your curves, ravenous for more of you.

His hunger for you was insatiable, years could go by, and he would still thirst for your love.

You hummed in pleasure when he nipped at your skin.

“You like when I do that, don’t you, my love?” His voice was but a mere susurration that whisked against your hot flesh.

You nodded, tracing your arms over his biceps, grabbing onto his muscles.

He smirked, reaching up to your ear to kiss your lobe. “I love watching you melt under me, you’re so gorgeous, my wife.” He whispered in your ear, making you blush.

“Satoru.” You mumbled his name as though it were the call of a siren, completely addicted to your husband and the sweet words he never seemed to run out of.

It drove you insane.

“I’m here my love,” He chuckled, nipping at your earlobe. “I’m here.”

“Kiss me, Satoru.” You whispered, almost inaudibly, but he heard you loud and clear.

He didn’t waste a second, his lips finding yours like a strong magnet. It was slow and deliberate, the kinds of kisses you two loved to have, the ones you loved to have with your husband. The sweet sound your touching lips would make, resonating throughout your effervescent chest, making your heart tremble, beating in unison with Satoru’s.

You continued to trace your foot down his leg, while his hand traced down your hip, holding and kissing you as though it were the last time he would ever hold you and touch you again.

You buried your fingers in his white hair, feeling him melt into your hand, aware of just how weak he became whenever you touched his silky locks.

He pressed his tongue against your lower lip, wishing for more access, and you allowed him in, meeting as one, tangling together. Satoru licked at you, humming and moaning to himself, unable to get enough of you.

That’s when you heard the sound of buzzing.

You pressed your eyebrows together in difficulty, however, Satoru didn’t seem to notice as he continued to kiss you, his tongue exploring yours with traces of longing and desire, growing more and more hungry for you by the second– utterly impetuous he was.

The buzzing continued, and Satoru seemed to catch onto the sound, releasing your lips.

“Is that my phone?” He asked, wiping the side of his lip free of shared saliva from your wet kiss.

You pressed your lips together. “It’s not mine, I have my ringer on.”

He huffed, stretching his arm over your body to grab his phone from the nightstand.

“Shit,” he mumbled.

“You can answer it, Satoru.” You encouraged, sensing the confliction in his voice, tempted between you, his wife, and taking the call.

“Higher-ups.” He waved his phone, removing himself from your body to sit at his side of the bed, answering the call.

You sat up, planting your back against the headboard behind you, watching your husband as he took care of the unexpected phone call he received from management.

Or, the people he referred to as annoying and old and worthless.

He had ranted a plethora of times about these people to you.

You watched as he stroked at his hair, trying to focus on the phone call.

His expression was taut, focused, nodding every now and then.

“Now?” Satoru questioned, blinking a few times.

You perked up, tilting your head at the urgency that pooled through his voice.

“Right.” He nodded, lifting from the bed.

You felt your heart sink in utter disappointment, your heartbeat decreasing to a slow and deliberate pace.

You knew the moment he picked up these phone calls, he was either going to be on the call for quite a few long minutes, or he would be getting up to leave to tend to unexpected work that called for him.

This time, it seemed he would be tending to work.

You sat crisscrossed on your bed, watching as he began rummaging through your shared closet, keeping his phone in hand, humming periodically to the person on the other end of the phone.

He set out his work clothes above the corner of the bed, along with the blindfold he invariably wore with his uniform.

“Got it, I’ll be there.” He said one last time before he hung up, setting his phone down on the mattress beside his clothes.

He looked at you with a sympathetic glint in his eyes, almost as though it was his fault that he had to work.

“I’m sorry, my love, I know you were just talking about-”

You shook your head. “Satoru, don’t worry. It’s fine, I was just being overly clingy.” You lift from your side of the bed, tracing back to him. “Like I said, even before I married you, I was aware of how busy your work keeps you.”

His eyes flickered in admiration for his wife’s ability to respect his work and be so understanding and compliant for something he would be upset over if he were in your shoes. 

You reached on the tips of your toes, kissing his lips. “Let’s get you changed?” You offer help.

He nodded eagerly, enjoying things best when you two could partake in the activity together.

You helped him dress, saving the blindfold for the last bits, relishing his blue eyes for as long as you possibly could.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be out,” Satoru informed, zipping up his dark blue uniform, “so I don’t wanna tell you to wait up, I’ll feel bad if you’re waiting all night, sweets.”

You blushed, grabbing his blindfold from the bed. “I’ll try to stay up, not like I sleep knowing you’re out on missions. I worry too much.”

He chuckled. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, wife, I’ll be okay.”

You smiled a small grin, praying that he truly would stay safe. Not that you didn’t have any confidence in Satoru’s strong abilities, but you still worried for his well-being, as his wife, you simply could not turn that switch off no matter how strong and capable he was of taking care of himself and others.

You held up his blindfold. “Ready?” You asked, nudging it toward him.

He leaned over with a teasing smile. “Put it on me.”

You chuckled, shaking your head before carefully stretching the piece of fabric, slipping it over his hair, and carefully placing it over his eyes. His hair naturally spiked upwards as he adjusted it, moving his hair away that got caught in the blindfold.

You smiled, kissing his nose. “Perfect and ready for work.” You muttered, admiring the man who was your loving and hardworking husband.

He grinned, his white canines sharp. “How does your husband look?”

“Sexy.” You teased, placing your hands over his broad chest.

He chuckled, wrapping his hands over your waist before he dramatically tilted you to the side and began pelting you with silly kisses, enunciating the mwah sound as he attacked you.

You gripped onto his shoulders, holding onto him, falling into a pool of laughter at his farcical actions that always had your heart fluttering.

It was those moments that made it hard for you to send him off to work.

You lay awake in bed, waiting on the return of your husband, unable to fall asleep when you were fully aware of the danger he was presumably getting himself into. It was practically torture in its most raw and detrimental form.

You turned in your covers, restless, the drafts from the open windows made you shiver, curling up to gather your warmth, wishing Satoru was there to hold you, and share his neverending series of warmth that you cherished so much.

You sighed, feeling your exhaustion take its toll on you, closing your eyes to sleep away your persistent worrying.

It had only felt like minutes had passed before you felt something caress the small of your back, rubbing and comforting you with slow circles.

Carefully, you opened your eyes, meeting with your husband, Satoru, who sat right at your side, watching you sleep, his hand caressing your body. His blindfold was removed, and slung over the nightstand, but he still donned his dark blue uniform.

He smiled sweetly when he saw you had finally woken up. “Sleepy girl~ I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted to admire you.” Satoru hummed, outlining your figure with his hand.

You couldn’t help but smile, all your exhaustion fleeing your body as you got up from bed to embrace him.

He chuckled. “Did my lovely wife miss me?” Satoru asked, embracing you tight against his chest.

You laid your head against his shoulder, inhaling his musky pheromones that always drove you so wild. “I miss you always. I’m happy you’re home again. How was everything?” Something you invariably asked him whenever he got back home from doing anything work-related.

He shrugged. “The same stuff all the time. Exhausting, but I’m here now with my love, so I have no more room for complaining.” Satoru said, kissing the side of your head. “I have to shower though, so I’m gonna have to leave you again for a few more minutes.” He said, bracing himself for your disappointment.

You pulled yourself from his hold, frowning at him. “Can’t you save it for tomorrow morning, love?”

He laughed at your question. “Tomorrow morning? Well, I hardly break a sweat on these missions sometimes, but are you seriously gonna want me to leave the bed tomorrow morning to shower? I doubt that.” Satoru guffawed, teasing your head with his nestling hand, finding your clinginess to be quite adorable.

“Can we shower together?” You prompted, hope glistening in your eyes.

“You wanna shower together, love?” Satoru asked, tilting his head, wearing an amused grin on his soft lips. “You don’t think you can wait at least ten minutes for me to finish?”

“I can… but I just want to help you get clean.” You expressed, partly lying.

Waiting those five long hours for your husband to return from work had been intense, and for some reason, you were missing him a little bit extra that particular night, unable to get enough of him.

He nodded, wearing a charming smile. “Who am I to deny my loving and clingy wife?” He nestled in your cheek, kissing you. “Come, let's go clean up, sweets.” He grabbed onto your hand, leading you into your shared bathroom to clean each other up.

You followed along, your heart fluttering in your chest, unable to conceal your excitement while your husband shut the door behind you two.

Once he turned over, he approached you with his hungry blue eyes, unzipping the blue jacket that was part of his uniform, unveiling a compression shirt that he had been wearing beneath his uniform.

The shirt embraced the swell of his muscular chest magnificently, his large biceps flexing as he pulled the uniform off his arms one by one, keeping his eyes on you in the process, his anticipation was tangible in the thickening air.

He chuckled, reeling you into him. “My eyes are up here you little minx~” Satoru teased you for gawking at his ostentatious muscles, loving your overt desire for his meretricious body.

You placed your hands against his distended chest, gently running them up and down his broad shoulders. “I can’t help it.” You murmured before stretching over to his lips.

He hummed at your sudden kiss, pressing his hands against the small of your back to keep you in place, savoring how your lips felt against his soft ones. Your longing for your husband was palpable as you kissed him, the pace was a bit quicker compared to your shared kisses before he had left for work. You had been waiting hours for him, and taking it slow was something you were way past, longing for him and his kisses.

Satoru didn’t question it, matching your pace, licking at your bottom lip in an attempt to get you to open up for him, wanting to explore you with a more in-depth desire now that he had you to himself with no chance of work ever reaching out to him again for that night. 

You released him before giving him that opportunity. “We’re getting sidetracked, Satoru, we should be showering, not kissing.”

He groaned, “We can do both, can’t we?” He huffed, watching as you opened the shower door to switch on the water.

You closed the door, turning to him. “You’ll help me undress?” You asked with a saccharine smile on your lips.

He nodded, eager, practically transporting to you to get the job done, lifting at the hem of your shirt, throwing it over your head. You couldn’t help but giggle at his eagerness, tearing away at his clothes as he did the same to you, taking the time to undress one another before stepping inside the shower together.

You shared a few more kisses with Satoru, allowing your skin to gather up the warm water that pelted your two bodies, softening your tense shoulders, simply basking in the affectionate sentiment your husband brought upon your figure with his attentive hands and lips.

He gently kissed your neck, keeping his hands at your elbows, standing chest-to-chest. The feeling of your hardening nipples against his smooth skin driving damn near insanity as he left open-mouth kisses against your hot flesh, getting quiet hums and moans of pleasure out of your mouth, which only further aroused him more than he already was.

He licked at the sensitive skin beneath your ear, down the side of your neck, earning a shiver from you, squeezing against his biceps as he gave you the attention you had been craving, growing more and more antsy by the minute.

He chuckled against your skin. “You like when I do that huh?” He teased you, licking at your skin once more.

You hummed, nodding your head, unable to reply. The thick fog of the tempered water flustered you tenfold, your brain nebulous and powerless against Satoru’s inebriating touch and kisses.

You then pulled back from his close vicinity, grabbing his shampoo bottle to get back on track. “Want me to wash your hair for you?” You offered.

That smile on his lips never diminished, his eyes sparkling in awe at your question. “You know I’d never say no to that.” He chuckled, watching as you squeezed out a generous amount of shampoo in the palm of your hand.

You rubbed it in slightly to get it foamy before you began to work it through your husband's white and wet hair, massaging his scalp as you lathered him, cherishing his closed eyes, his head leaned over, melting in your simple touch.

You loved the sight of him completely weak to your touch, listening to the way he would purr lovingly all due to your attention. 

The way he trusted you– it was something you didn't think you would ever get tired of. You wouldn't. Something you would never see yourself disregarding it. Sure, he was your husband, but knowing he trusted you beyond any sort of words truly brought ineffable pleasure to your fluttering heart.

Once you were done scrubbing his hair, you brought him closer to the shower head, running your fingers through his hair to wash out all the suds. The woodsy smell of his shampoo permeated that shower, mingling in with the steam, savoring the delicious scent that resonated perfectly with Satoru.

He opened his eyes, wiping his face free of water. “It’s your turn, right?” He asked, grabbing your shampoo bottle. “Turn around for me, love.” He instructed, opening up your shampoo bottle.

You didn’t protest, following his directions, showing him your long damp hair that clung to your wet back.

He pressed his body closer to yours, shivering slightly when you felt his hardening self against the side of your hip. Blush tainted your cheeks, and you stood in silence as Satoru began to wash your hair, scrubbing and massaging you.

He washed your hair with one hand, while his other hand followed down the arch of your waist, trailing his long fingers over toward your belly button, tracing it with his middle and ring finger.

Your face was hot, imperceptibly opening your neck when you felt his lips kiss at your shoulder blades, assailing you with all the love and affection he had for the night.

His gentle touch brought you to your very own Arcadian, a paradise sufficed with vehement love. One that gently plucked at the chords of your heart, overtly singing a tune that described your bliss and lascivious thrill.

Carefully he moved your head under the showerhead, running his long fingers through your hair.

You nearly felt yourself drifting off in a reverie, closing your eyes, swayed by the warm water that caressed your head and body.

He chuckled, observant of the exhaustion in your heavy eyelids. “Don’t fall asleep on me just yet, baby. We still need to wash our bodies, hm?”

You opened your eyes, smiling at his comment.

You got hold of his loofah, mixing in his musky body wash to clean his body.

You scrubbed at his chest, first, receiving a content sigh from your purring Satoru, responsive to any little touch you planted on his large body.

You giggled. “Feels good?” You whispered, scrubbing at his shoulders and arms.

“So good.” He muttered, watching you work against his body. “I love the way you touch me, sweetheart.”

You laughed once more. “I’m just cleaning you, Satoru, it’s nothing special.”

He shook his head, still watching you clean his body. “No, that’s where you’re wrong, sexy. Every little thing about you is so special.”

You blushed, never quite used to the way your husband would openly flirt with you, and his sweet nicknames that still got your heart racing.

You pressed your chest against his body, reaching over to scrub at his back, wanting another excuse to get closer to him.

He instantly snaked his arms around you, pulling you even closer to him, unable to resist you, staring at your breasts that were smooshed against his stern body.

You directed him under the water, letting all the suds fall off his figure.

He grabbed your loofah off the shower rack next, tending to your cleanliness.

He gently scrubbed your stomach first, squeezing the loofah to get your body extra sudsy, hooking his arm over your hips while scrubbing the rest of your body.

Your legs, your breasts, your thighs, your shoulder blades. He cleaned just about every inch of your body.

“You look so sexy like this, all clean and soapy~” He muttered while cleaning you, loving to tease you.

He turned you over, your back facing him to direct you toward the shower head, rinsing the soap off your body. You laid your back against his chest, allowing the water to rinse the soap off your body while Satoru had his arms wrapped over your figure, keeping one hand over the side of your thigh while the other fondled against your breast, outlining your areola with his long fingers, squeezing your hardened buds between his slim fingers.

You moaned at his dexterous hands, laying your head back against his shoulder, enjoying his efforts and attention to get your body warm and hungry for him again.

His other hand trailed down toward your heat that had been aching for his attention all night, pulsing each time his hands trailed against the skin on your bones.

He toyed with your opening for fun, teasing you, watching the way you melted against his body under the hot water, your chest rising and falling, your nipples hard against his hands as he got himself full off you.

“Satoru,” you muttered under your breath, staring up at him.

He looked down at you with his blue eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. “What is it love?” He asked before he began circling his fingers against your pulsing clit.

You huffed, biting your lower lip, already so worked up.

“You like when I play with your clit huh?” He enticed you further, running slow circles around you.

You sighed, nodding your head, keeping yourself adhered to his body.

He laughed at your willingness to admit such naughty things to him before he released you. “Why don't we get out of here, huh?” He proposed, turning off the running water.

You disguised your utter disappointment, a tense knot forming in your gut while you continued to pulse, aching for him in ways you had been craving him all day.

The both of you exited the shower, drying yourselves off before leaving that hot bathroom.

Your cheeks were flushed, digging through your drawers to find your clothes for the night before sitting on your side of the bed, preparing to dress yourself.

That was until Satoru towered above you, his towel draped lazily over his torso, that brawny v-line teasing you, glistening under the iridescent moonlight that peeked through your window. The white hairs of his happy trail made your heart twirl in excitement.

“You’re gonna get changed?” Satoru asked, watching you set out your panties and a bra.

You laughed at his silly question, “yes?”

“Why?” Satoru tilted his head, his voice expressing his genuine curiosity. “Then I’ll just have to undress you again when I fuck you.”

Your eyes widened at his crass words, your cheeks tainted in a hot blush once more, flustered.

You kept yourself composed, releasing the strong grip you had on your towel. “When you fuck me?” You parroted, caught off-guard.

He smirked. “I was thinking about you all day, sexy, you think I was just gonna let you brush up against my cock in that shower and get away with it?”

You wore an impish grin, lying back in your bed. “I can’t help that he wants me.” You refer to your husband's dick, carefully opening up your towel, and revealing your naked body to your husband who watched you with parted lips. “Besides, I know you secretly like it when I tease you, cause you’re such a naughty boy.”

Satoru was lost in the artwork that was your body, his hungry blue eyes feasting upon your figure as a famished animal would, his cheeks imperceptibly tinted a bright pink for a quick moment at the name you gave him.

“Naughty boy, huh?” He asked, his hands on the fold that kept his towel together over his waist. “You haven’t seen naughty yet, baby.”

You enjoy the dirty talk, bending your right knee into the air, opening up your legs slightly, and showing yourself off to Satoru who huffed at the sight. “I haven’t? So then… come show me.”

Satoru took that head-on, as a challenge, hovering above you, the towel still wrapped over his waist.

“You’re such a damn tease, you know that?” He muttered, a smirk on his lips as he drank you whole with his blue eyes. “Like I wouldn’t fuck your pussy into next week.”

You lifted your foot, rubbing it against the hem of his towel. “Fuck me, Satoru~ I’ve been thinking about your cock all day.” You made your voice extra whiney, caressing his large pecs with your peckish hands.

He dragged his lips down your chest, circling your hard nipples with his teasing lips. “Thinking about my cock all day?” He repeated, licking your nipple with his warm tongue, making you whimper. “Who knew my innocent wife could be so crass? So dirty.” He muttered against your skin before he kissed your nipple, taking it in his mouth, and sucking on it.

You moaned at the sensations he brought upon your body, placing your hands against his shoulders, squeezing him, already so antsy with how much he had been making you wait, teasing you.

If you were a tease, then what did that make him?

He focused on your chest and breasts, kissing your body, his dick poking at your leg through the towel, making you extremely restless.

“S-Satoru, please.” You muttered, reaching your hand down, and tugging at his towel.

He chuckled against your breasts, second waves of vibrations throughout your body, causing you to shiver in reply. “Someone is eager~”

You didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care to beg, and you definitely didn’t care if you appeared desperate. This man was your husband, and you had been teased and edged by the mere thought of him all day when he had promised you his time.

“I’ll give my wife what she wants, okay?” He settled, reaching his hand down his towel, making you hum in anticipation. “Since you’ve waited long enough.”

With that, he finally removed the towel from his bottom half, his dick jerking forward, slapping against his abdomen, making him grunt in response. Precome had already gathered on his tip, he hadn’t anticipated himself to be so turned on, the shower he had with you was enough to bring him to his edge.

You marveled at his size, never getting quite used to how big he was. “And I’m the eager one, huh?” You teased, running your hand down his chiseled muscles. “Looks like you’ve been tormenting yourself just trying to keep him contained.” You reached low enough to grab his dick, gently squeezing him.

He groaned at your movements, dropping his head in your chest. “Y-You don’t know how fucking sexy you looked when we showered together. How sexy you look right now. I could just fuck you senseless right now, and I wouldn’t stop, even when you’re whining and begging me to stop.” 

His words had you chewing your lower lip, the knot in your gut tightening.

You released him, bringing both your hands up to his cheeks. “Satoru. I need you.” You voiced your desires, unable to wait anymore, you could practically feel yourself spilling over the towel that still lay under you, soaked.

Satoru shushed you, kissing your neck and cheeks. “I’ll give you what you want, okay?”

You hum, nodding in excitement, taking his kisses while you feel him position himself at your entrance, distracting you with his moving lips.

He spread you open himself, his hands pushing your thighs apart, prepping you for him. You worked with him, opening up, slightly adjusting your hips.

“That’s it, baby, open up for me, okay?” Satoru praised, something you loved when you two had sex.

You moaned when you felt his tip slip against your folds, slightly tensing up.

He kissed your forehead. “Relax baby, okay? For me. You’re okay, you always take me like such a good girl.”

You moaned in reply, keeping your grip on his shoulders, your eyes open, never wanting to miss a moment of such a blissful moment with your caring husband.

You relaxed your shoulders, and that’s when he pushed part of his dick inside your wet self, slipping inside you so easily when you were already so wet and turned on for him.

You gasped, digging your nails into the skin of his shoulders. “S-Satoru, I-I need all of you in me.” You requested, knowing he wasn’t fully inside yet.

Satoru hummed, his eyebrows pressed together, focused on pleasuring you and giving you what you wanted most. He followed your orders without a second thought, fully entering you, the sensations of your tight walls against his tumescent dick always left his brain clouded. It was always him who needed time to adjust, focused on not releasing his load so fast with how your walls contracted against him.

It also allowed you to adjust, too. It had been a while since the two of you had sex. With how busy Satoru had been, it had nearly been three weeks, which was quite a while considering how eager and ravenous the both of you constantly were for each other daily.

He kissed your lips, then your cheeks and jaw, smothering you while he remained stagnant inside you, simply taking in this moment, the moment he loved most. After a few lingering kisses that left your skin hot, he began stroking himself against your walls, slow and gentle at first.

You wrapped your arms over his nape, tangling your fingers in his hair, sharing your breaths, inhaling one another, keeping your eyes on his.

That glossy look in his blue eyes, the look you’ve memorized to be a look of pure love and desire. There was never any hint of disrespect in his eyes, admiring you, and loving you thoroughly with all his heart, cherishing every moment of lovemaking with you– his wife. 

His cheeks were red, thrusting into you with passion, his voice brittle against his pace as he spoke. “Y-You look so gorgeous whenever you're full with my dick. I-I don’t think I could ever get used to it.” He lowered toward your ear, kissing your soft lobe. “It’s- It’s been so long since we last had sex, I don’t know how I’ll keep up today.” He chuckled, removing himself from your ear.

You mumbled nonsense under your breath, practically inebriated, gasping quietly when you felt him pick up the pace just a little bit.

Satrou watched as your breasts would bounce with the pace he set, looking back and forth between your boobs and your trusting eyes. “You’re okay, love? Y-you’re not saying much.” 

You hadn’t realized how quiet you had been, simply moaning and sighing under his muscular body, occasionally mumbling something under your breath, scratching your nails over his back, watching the way his expression would wince at your scratches, yet he allowed you to, not stopping you from it.

 “I-I’m just focusing on not finishing so fast.” You revealed to your husband with blush-stained cheeks, to which he laughed at your revelation. “It’s been so long, Satoru.”

He agreed, humming, caressing your wet hair behind your ear as he continued to thrust inside your walls, hitting every right spot, the knot in your gut coming undone each time he pounded in you with such passion and force. “Oh, baby I know it’s been too long. I miss the way your pussy feels against my cock, the way your walls stretch against me.” He began describing, earning pleasured moans from you, his gruff and unsteady voice was enough to make your finish.

You rolled your head back, shutting your eyes.

Satoru grabbed your leg, clutching it over his torso. “No, baby, keep your eyes on me.” He instructed.

You looked up at your husband through blurry eyes, wrapping your other leg around his torso, your lips falling open as he thrusts his twitching dick inside you.

“Oh, Satoru.” You mumbled his name, unable to stop words from flooding your open mouth, being fucked senseless, beyond any coherent words.

Satoru chuckled, keeping his eyes on you. “I’m right here sexy.” He reassured.

You listened to the sweet sounds your touching skin would make, the noises reflecting and bouncing off the walls, along with your breathy moans and whines and the groans that fled Satoru’s sensual lips, watching how dizzy and drunk you were off his pounding and restless cock.

“F-Faster, please.” You requested, feeling the tension in your gut coming to relief with just a little bit more pushing. “I-I want to come all over your dick.”

“You want me to go faster?” Satoru repeated incredulously, laughing. “Alright, my wife.” He heeded, moving one of your legs off his torso and onto his shoulder, readjusting himself so that he had a better angle that granted him more speed, just for you.

You moaned at the stretch it caused, letting your leg dangle off his shoulder, your foot moving in the air against his fast thrusts.

You felt yourself coming to your edge, the knot in your gut unraveling quickly. You rolled your foot in the air, curling and pointing your toes, gripping the sheets with your hands as you shut your eyes, focused on your rising climax.

Satoru knew that look on your face. “Ooh, there it is, baby, come all over this hard cock, be such a good girl, and come for your husband.” He cooed, hitting your g-spot over and over again with his aching tip.

You moaned in reply, gasping and whining beneath him. “Ah, ah~” You cried against his powerful thrusts. “S-Satoruuu.” You moaned his name with hot desire lacing your tongue, your heartbeat hammering against your chest, nearly breaking out of your heated body.

Satoru groaned. “That’s what I wanna hear, this cock has you senseless doesn’t it? Can’t even form words can you?”

You hummed, taking a few more last hot breaths before you felt your body tremble, your climax hitting you like waves of a tempestuous storm on a salty ocean shore, shuddering and gasping, as you released your sacred juices onto your husband's throbbing cock.

Satoru moaned at the warmth enveloping his dick, the sight of your reaching your edge was just enough to bring him to his own, still fucking you, speeding up his pace to catch up with you.

You were unable to form words, unable to form thoughts, overstimulated as Satoru only pounded into you with more force after your reached climax, pain, and pleasure stunting through the core of your flushed body as he used your limp body for his finish, throwing your other leg over his shoulder now, giving him more access to fuck you harder.

You let him, whining and gasping beneath him, your breath caught in your tight throat as you listened to him curse under his breath, feeling the way his cock would spasm inside you, granting more moans out of you as he reached his own pleasure.

He finished with a loud groan, hovering over your body as he stopped his set pace, releasing his warm fluids inside you, dressing and coating you with his love and warmth, breathing out shaky breaths, his body trembling above you.

You adored the way his come would wash over your womb, how warm it was, how full he would get you, practically spilling out your wet cunt.

With meticulous hands, he set your legs down, huffing as he pulled himself out of you, his dick wet, leaving a string of come and shared fluids as he pulled himself out of your distended entrance.

Satoru collapsed at your side, not wasting a second to bring you into him, smothering you with his love and affection, not at all tired of having you attached by his hip despite spending passionate minutes inside your body.

You embraced him, panting against his chest, still slightly trembling as you recovered from your impactful climax.

He stroked your hair, kissing your sweating head with his pure lips. “You’re okay, my love?” He whispered delicately, his voice laced with purity and concern.

You nodded, gripping onto his shoulders. “I-I’m okay.”

He sighed in relief. “Good, I was afraid I lost you there.” He expressed with a chuckle.

“You did.” You replied, laughing.

He ran his fingers through your damp hair. “But, you’re okay, sweetheart. Aren’t you? You were so good.”

You blushed at his praises, nuzzling in his chest.

Sex was good.

No, it was always amazing with Satoru.

But, Satoru’s aftercare was an arcadian in itself, always making sure you felt so loved and so appreciated.

“I love you.” He whispered in your ear, planting more kisses on your forehead with his wet lips.

You hummed, holding him tightly against your naked body. “I love you, Satoru.”

[tropes-and-tales]

Dyin' for a Taste

Day 11:  Face Sitting (Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 

CW:  Idiots in love; pining; smut (oral, f!receiving); 18+ only.

Word Count:  4096

AN:  This was requested by an anonymous person!

AN2: When I say this is not edited, please know it is NOT EDITED. Full of typos and sloppy typing. Tropes is a fat-fingered old crone.

It starts with a joke.

The 141 is on a covert ops in the mountains.  It’s cold—the sort of cold that burns, that makes the bones ache.  You’re posted up in a perch, your sniper’s rifle at the ready if shit goes south.  The rest of the team is in the square below, waiting for the drop.

“My bollacks are gonna freeze off,” Soap complains over the comms, and you snort at the whining tone in his soft Scottish brogue. 

“Shoulda dressed for the weather,” you reply.  “Ghost probably has a spare balaclava.”

“And cover this handsome face?”

“Won’t be so handsome when your nose turns black from frostbite.”

You hear the tsch noise he makes over the comms, the very Soap, very Scottish noise of dismissal. 

“You’ll have to sit on my face then, hen, and warm me back up,” he says.

You’re rarely stunned into silence—you and the guys are always making off-color jokes—but when you open your mouth to reply, you only gape wordlessly.  The silence over the comms grows, expands, until Gaz—fucking Gaz—chimes in.

“I think she’s into the idea, bruv.”

And you can’t respond to that fast enough either, which leaves another long beat of silence over the comms, which likely seems like enough of an answer.

-----

The mission goes smoothly.  The team splits up as planned to avoid drawing attention.  You don’t see Soap again until a few days later when you regroup at HQ.

You think, perhaps, that he’s forgotten.  Maybe that’d be better.  You and Soap get along well, and sometimes he flirts with you, but he flirts with everyone.  It means nothing. 

And yet…

And yet, it’s Soap.  You might be able to lie to others, but you can’t lie to yourself:  you’ve spent many a lonely night with your thoughts drifting to him.  Turning him over and over in your mind. 

Soap MacTavish.  Handsome, almost unbearably so.  He could be a cocky asshole, be the sort of man who knows he’s hot and be insufferable about it, but he’s gregarious.  Friendly.  He’s a happy-go-lucky sort of man—or as much as someone in the One-Four-One can be.

-----

“Been avoiding me.”

It’s a statement, not a question.  Soap corners you in the mess hall, his blue eyes peering at you without guile.  He looks almost concerned.

“I haven’t,” you reply.  You try to shift past him, but he puts a hand out against the doorway, bars you with his arm.

“You have.”  He peers at you closer, his blue eyes somber.  “What’s wrong?”

“Why would anything be wrong?”

You thought, perhaps, that he’d forgotten…but those somber eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, then smooth out as he schools his expression.

“Maybe you think my offer was wrong,” he says.

“I never said that.”  You duck under his arm, but he lays his hand on your shoulder and stills you again.

“You’ve never said anything about it.”  You don’t look at him, but you hear his gentle snort of laughter.  “Your silence is deafening.”

You feel your face start to heat up because he’s not wrong.  Too much time has passed now to address that moment in the mountains.  You should have said something then, spat out some rejoinder to signal that it meant nothing to you, that it was just another dumb joke between you and Soap.  But something about that dumb joke conjures up the mental image of you and Soap, and your face burns in embarrassment.

So you duck from his light grip on your shoulder and it makes him laugh again, then call out to your retreating form, “the offer still stands, hen.”

-----

A month passes, then another.  You get leave for a few weeks and go someplace warm, a beach with golden sand and soft breezes where you can relax and forget the horrors of what you see every day.

Then you’re back on base, then another mission.  Over and over, the same routine.

Through it all:  Soap MacTavish, the team’s Golden Retriever.  Always with an easy grin on his handsome face, a laugh, a joke.  He teases Ghost, he does a passable impression of Captain Price.  He gives Gaz a hard time about their rival rugby teams, but it’s always good-natured. 

He jokes with you, but that joke—the one about sitting on his face—becomes just a joke between the two of you.  You don’t know if the other men have forgotten it, but Soap only brings it up when you’re alone now.

At the barracks, in the rec room, he’s sprawled out on the couch and half-dozing, half-watching a rugby match.  When you walk past, he notices, sits up.  Beckons you over, tells you to have a seat…then thoughtfully strokes his face with that damned smirk and comically waggling eyebrows.

“You’re a jackass,” you call out as you leave the room, but by now, it makes you laugh…and it lightly stokes that ever-burning flame low in your belly.

-----

Another time, he sidles up to you at the range as you study your targets with their tight formation of bullet holes.  He points out one shot, high in the corner of the paper, off of the concentric circles of the bullseye.

“Missed one,” he says.

You scoff.  “One out of….many.”

He matches your scoff with one of his own.  “Might be losing your edge.”

“I’m not.”  You know he’s winding you up, but that missed shot galls you. 

“Maybe you’re stressed out.”

You set the target down on the wooden railing.  “Maybe you’re stressing me out, MacTavish.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.  His blue eyes light up in glee, and he only gets out the first part of his retort—You know what’s good for de-stressing—before you drop to one knee and start disassembling your sniper rifle, ducking your head and hiding your burning cheeks from him.

“…nothing wrong with it,” he finishes as you shut the rifle’s case, and you realize you’ve missed part of what he’s said.

“There isn’t,” you agree.  You stand up and lean a bit on the courage that sees you through each mission.  You look him square in the eye and add, “but you’re just flirting.”

He gazes back at you, a soft smile on his face, only a little teasing.  “Not just flirting.”

“Sure.”  You roll your eyes.

He makes his Soap-branded tsch sound, then he loops his arm around your shoulders to pull you in close.  He smells like…well, he smells like soap, clean with a hint of something herbal.  It’s nothing he hasn’t done a hundred times—in safe houses after a mission, walking out of a bar on a night out with the team—that companionable way he pulls you against him.

“It makes me sad when you don’t believe me, hen,” he chuckles, and it’s low, right by your ear, his warm breath fanning over you. 

You’re not sure what spurs your next move.  You’re a natural-born sniper; you take the measure of everything around you—the curve of the earth, the speed and direction of the wind—before you squeeze your trigger.  You’re the same with people, cautious and feeling out every angle of their intentions before you make a move.  But you know Soap, and the question around his joke is the only uncertainty.

Something makes you act without much thought.  Your rifle case in your hand, your other hand tucked in your pocket, and Soap’s arm slung around your shoulders…the moment is crystalized, will be an easy memory to recall in the years to come because this is when everything between the two of you changes.

“You know what?” you ask, and you don’t allow him to hazard a guess.  Instead, you gaze at him levelly, straight into those bright blue eyes of his and add, “alright, let’s do this.”

It’s comical, how the smile drops from his face, how his mouth makes a little “oh” of surprise.  His eyes scan your face, quick, like he’s trying to find the joke, trying to find proof you’re just having a laugh at his expense.

“Bonnie,” he starts to say, and his voice has a rough edge to it.  His voice is missing its usual teasing edge, and he pauses to study you.  You don’t know if he realizes it, but the tip of his tongue darts out, licks against his lower lip, like he’s really thinking of it now that it could be a reality.

“Bonnie, are you just…are ye fer real?”  His voice is lower and his accent gets thicker, and it sets a frisson of heat shimmering through your lower belly.

You refuse to blink.  Refuse to look away.  “I’m for real if you are.”

“I was never joking about that.”

“Then I’m not joking either.”  You swing your rifle case towards the barracks, playing at bravery but willing the fluttery feeling in your stomach to calm.  “So let’s go.”

Soap—gregarious, convivial Soap—says nothing else on the walk back.  He keeps his arm around your shoulders, though, and his hand settles against your bicep, rubs you briskly before gently holding you there, like he’s proving to himself that you’re real, that the moment is really happening.

-----

Your nerve wobbles a little when you get back to quarters.  Soap’s nerves must have a similar wobble, because he turns to you and his usual boyish grin is gone, replaced by a grave expression.

“You dinnae have to do this,” he says, “if you don’t want to.”

Part of you wants to back out, chuck him in the arm and say it was just a joke.  You could still back out.  Soap is flirty and gregarious, but hooking up would irrevocably change your easy relationship with him.  It could change the tenor of the team.  And yet…

…don’t you both face death every day?  Don’t you see the absolute worst of humanity?  Don’t your bodies bear the scars of your hard, unrelenting lives—countless scars, visible and invisible both?  Don’t you all operate in your own bubbles of loneliness, sleeping alone night after night but crowded out by the ghosts you all haul around?

Is it too much to ask for even a moment of connection, of not feeling alone?

You gaze back at him.  Sweet Johnny MacTavish.  Handsome but not vain, smart but not aloof, funny without being cruel about his teasing.  Is there anyone you’d rather be with?

“I want to do this,” you tell him, and there’s no hesitation in your tone.  “If you do.  If you really were just joking around, then no harm, Johnny.”

His somber gaze softens at your use of his real name.  “Wasn’t joking at all.”  Then he opens the door to his quarters and turns to you, invites you in with a sweep of his hand, and when you walk past him, he lays his palm on your lower back to guide you.

-----

In truth, you’ve never actually sat on anyone’s face.  It’s one of those funny sex acts that you joke around about but have never gotten around to, like sixty-nine (always seemed more complicated than necessary) or food-play (always seemed too messy). 

Soap, it turns out, has never actually had his face sat on.

And it’s adorable, how he sheepishly runs his hand through the longer stripe of his short-shorn hair and admits as much.

“Figured it cannae be that complicated though,” he says.  He huffs out a breath, and you realize how nervous he must be, and it gives you courage to take charge.

“Kiss me first.  Then we can figure it out from there.”

The tame command makes his face light up and he murmurs, “yes, ma’am” in his brogue, and then he does as you say.

If Soap MacTavish is generally the team’s Golden Retriever, bouncing around with a wagging tail, he kisses with far more finesse.  He cups your face gently, reverently and leans forward, brushes the lightest of kisses against your lips like he’s testing the waters.  Like he’s waiting for you to pull away, and when you don’t, he kisses you again.

It’s awkward at first, but only because you’re both so tentative.  It’s uncharted territory.  He must be aware that you’re crossing a line in doing this, you think, and he must not care either.  But the awkwardness melts away quickly because Soap is a damned good kisser, skilled in how he moves his mouth against yours, his tongue against yours.  One of his hands stays on your face, cupping you gently and steering you, but the other hand touches your waist, your hip, slides around to squeeze your ass gently before returning to the dip of your waist.

He tastes like something warm and spicy, like cinnamon or nutmeg.  Everything about him is warm, really:  the way he cups your face but runs his thumb over your cheekbone, the way his other hand holds you steady as he kisses you.  And the way he looks at you when he breaks the kiss, the almost-shy way he tugs at the hem of your shirt and asks if he can take it off.

He’s warm too—his body, his skin as you bare it with each article of clothing shed.  You strip each other in tandem, and the sight of him leaves you breathless.  He’s like something carved by a Renaissance sculptor, but when you smooth your palms over the dips and swells of his muscles, you find that he’s warm to the touch, wonderfully so, and a wave of lust almost takes you out at the knees by how much you want to feel his body against yours, under you or on top of you, every inch of you pressed against him.

Soap must feel the same way about you—he touches you just as gently as before, almost reverent, but his goddamned eyes practically shine when he looks at you, then groans out, “fuck, but you’re stunning, hen.”

He maneuvers you both towards the bed, and then he stretches out across it, and this is precisely why your sexual repertoire has always been lacking:  when a brutally handsome man is stretched out in front of you like a damned buffet, your mind singularly focuses on one thing, and you rarely remember that there’s other, more adventuresome things you could do.

You’re already turned on.  Ever since the two of you walked back from the range, you’ve been on a low simmer of lust, and the desire has ratcheted up with each kiss, with each little grumbling groan of Soap’s, with each sweep of his big warm hands along your body.

So you’re already turned on, so why sit on his face when his beautiful cock—perfectly sized for you, the ruddy tip already leaking precum—is also an option?

And Soap is no dummy.  He must guess at your internal battle because he says your name softly, pulls your gaze back to his face where he smiles that brilliant Soap-smile at you.

“Alright then?” he asks.  He pats his upper chest.  “You can sit right here, to start.”

It hits you all at once how intimate this is.  Fucking, hooking up—that’s one thing.  But sitting on your teammate’s face feels like you’re taking a further step into the unknown.  Oral sex, to you, is already more intimate than regular ol’ intercourse, but sitting on his face feels…even more intimate.  There’s a lot of trust on both ends:  he has to trust you not to hurt him, not to put too much weight or force on his face or neck.  And you have to trust him too, since you’re basically smothering him you with your pussy, and many men are precious little babies about eating pussy.

“I could just…”  You trail off and gesture vaguely at where his erection strains and bobs against his belly, and Soap snorts before he replies, “we could do both, hen.”

When you don’t say anything, when you don’t move, he adds, “c’mon, sweet girl.  I’m dyin’ for a taste of ye.”

The accent is unfair, you decide.  The accent is not fighting fair.  Soap’s Scottish brogue is charming in the best of times, but his bedroom version is thicker, at a slightly lower register, and it’s entirely unfair.  It easily dismantles the rest of your meager defenses, so you nod and then kneel on the bed.  But when you start to awkwardly clamor on top of him, he stills you for a beat and taps his mouth, says, “give me a kiss first.”

And the kiss is unfair too because it reminds you that it’s just Soap, one of your dearest teammates, a man who often holds your life in his hands and whose life you hold in your own.  His now-familiar taste of spicy warmth on your tongue, and his lips curving in a smile against yours when he whispers, “climb on up, hen  Don’t keep me waitin’ anymore.”

There’s no sexy way to climb on top of him.  Do you just kneel by his chest and throw a leg over him?  Do you straddle him lower and scoot up?  You split the difference, try to straddle him on his lower chest and scoot up, but then his one arm gets pinned.  Any other man?  It might be a deal-breaker being so clumsy, but Soap laughs underneath you—a genuine belly-laugh full of warmth that makes you giggle too.  He wrangles his arm free, then lays both hands on your hips and guides you the rest of the way.

This is unbearable intimate too, being so exposed to his bright blue-eyed gaze. You probably have tons of issues around previous men who didn’t eat pussy, who were grossed out by it, but Soap’s eyes practically glitter black with how blown his pupils are.  His face rarely hides its emotions very well (he’s a shitty poker player), and there’s no disgust in his expression at all.  There’s only desire, naked and apparent.

“Tell me,” he says, and his voice is a low growl that sends that frisson of heat straight to your core.  “Tell me what is working for you, yeah?  Don’t go quiet on me.”

You nod, and you wish you could think of something cool or funny to say, but Soap lifts his head a little and presses a plush, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, where both are splayed in front of him, and before you can even beat yourself up for failing to think of something cool or funny, his mouth is on you in earnest.

Soap, a damned good kisser.  It translates to this, his skilled tongue and lips licking at you, suckling at you, swirling against you before he breaks up the pattern with an outright kiss, then resumes his routine.  He traces the tip of his tongue around the firm bud of your clit, the perfect amount of pressure before he snakes it lower, lapping at the arousal leaking from your entrance.  He’s unabashed about it, groans against your feverish skin, and you love him in this moment—love that he wasn’t joking after all, love that he had led you here, where you sit perched on him while he feasts on your cunt and seems to genuinely enjoy it as he does. 

Any other position, you’d lean down and kiss him, or pull him to you and kiss him.  Now, as he groans against you again, you reach down and run your fingers through the longer stripe in his hair.  He must like that, because he groans a third time, and his grip on your hips spasms tighter.

You remember what he asked of you, so when he purses his lips and suckles against your clit, you gasp out a startled “oh!” but then add, “fuck, Johnny.  Just like t-that.”

“Good?”  It comes out muffled against you, and he pauses his mouth long enough to gaze up at you with a smile.

“So good.”  You shift your hand, cup his stubbled chin slick with your arousal—a gentle movement that makes his smile soften too. 

“Like when you call me Johnny, hen.”  Now he sounds a little shy, like he’s edging close to something beyond a random hookup with face-sitting.

“Keep using your mouth like that and I’ll call you Johnny all the time,” you tease.

“Deal.”  And then he’s on you again, laving your sensitive folds with his tongue, his bit of stubble raising a warm burn against your inner thighs.  His hands on your hips pull you closer, and he encourages the slow, careful rhythm when you start to actually ride his face—a languid back-and-forth, mindful of his need for oxygen, while he eats your pussy with the fervor of a starving man.

Your orgasm approaches faster than you thought; you thought you might have to fake it, since you rarely come from oral alone.  But there’s something about this position.  You feel powerful in a benign way, in charge, but mindful of the man underneath you.  You run your fingers through his hair and Soap preens at the touch, just as he preens when you pant out praise for him, tell him how good you feel. How good he is making you feel.

He must sense it because his grip tightens on your hips, but his tongue moves faster and focuses solely on your clit—teasing with the tip of his tongue, then laving it with the flat of his tongue, then wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

“F-fuck,” you choke out.  “Johnny…fuck…I’m gonna…” but you don’t finish the sentence, you keen out a garble of nonsense as you come.

The heat in your belly pools over, spills over in a brilliant wash that courses through your veins, into your trembling legs and up through your body, makes your vision shimmer and crackle with sparks.  Your heartbeat, your panting breath are loud in your own ears, and you hear Soap groan but he sounds faraway.  He teases your orgasm, prolongs it by licking against you until you grip his hair tighter and hold his head still while you clumsily dismount, then flop gracelessly onto the bed beside him.

You feel boneless.  You feel heavy, sleepy, like you could sink into the mattress and sleep for days.  You close your eyes and feel the bed shift, and Soap disappears for a moment.  You hear running water—he must be cleaning his face, you think—but then the mattress dips again and he’s curling his warm body around yours, wrapping his arms around you as he pulls you to him, then settles the blanket over both of you.

“Good, yeah?”

You laugh.  “Yeah, that was good.  Especially for someone who’s never done it before.”  A beat.  “Give me a moment to catch my breath and then I can help you out.”

Soap chuckles above you, and you feel him press his lips to your forehead before settling again.  “No need.”

“But I—”

“Already came.”

The gears in your head turn slow when you’re sated from sex.  Coming makes you stupid.  “Huh?  When?”

Another chuckle, another kiss to your head.  “When I was eating you, hen.”

You turn your head and try to peer up at him.  He looks comfortable and sleepy too, content and sated.  “Seriously?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Told ye I was dyin’ for a taste.”  He shifts a little, pulls you closer to him.  He tugs the blanket more securely around your shoulders.  “If ye want a second round, I’ll need a few minutes.”

You appraise the situation:  the warm scent of Soap, the feel of his naked body pressed to yours, the warm little cocoon he’s created here in his bed.  Of course you want a second round, but you’re sleepy too, and the thought of sleeping with Soap doesn’t seem nearly as terrifying as it might have seemed before he had his mouth on your pussy.

“Or we could sleep,” you offer.

“Sleep,” he agrees.  “Round two tomorrow.”

The doubts from earlier start to surface in your mind, but they seem tiny and inconsequential when you’re wrapped up in Soap’s arms.  You feel sleep tugging at you—he’s already asleep, you think, breathing deep and even against you—so you chance to brush your lips against the bit of him you can reach and whisper good night to him.

But he’s not quite completely asleep yet because he kisses you back, another press of his lips against your head, and he whispers back, “g’night, hen.”

[bunnys-kisses]

mille-fuelle (idk how the fuck to spell it) with a side of vodka shot pls! make it verstappen pls!

the bakery menu!

there is still tons of sweet treats on the menu at the bakery! submit your own order!

mill-feuille (“that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.”) + vodka shot (rough sex) served to you by max verstappen (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, rough sex, praise kink, (loosely) translated dutch, handcuffs/bondage, (low) doggy style, (slight) dom/sub

the off season was tiring. despite it being the off season. most used it as a chance to catch up on much needed sleep or go on a vacation. some even just laid in bed for the first week of the off-season to just relax.

you and max had different plans.

after the first week of the off season, max had turned of his phone and put it on the dining table, to be left there for a day or two. you did the same, telling your friends and family that you and max were going on a boat trip for a few days.

you didn't want anyone to worry, especially when you knew that you'd be limping by the end of your little escapade. sparse visits over the year have left you both painfully pent up, it felt like over the season the only time you two saw one another was for cute photo-ops, there was very little room for intimacy between your career and his. so the off-season, nothing else mattered except for scratching that itch.

max made sure that you got a meal in you, he wasn't going to neglect your needs because he needed to get his cock wet. he even took the lead and made you breakfast (he really did miss you). While the eggs were perfect, the bacon was a little more crispy than you liked it.

"it's amazing." you giggled as you took another bite. max lingered against you like a shadow, his arm slung around you as he kissed at your neck a little. you turned your head to look at him and he kissed you on the lips.

"i'm excited."

you reached to him and cupped his face, then looked into his blue eyes, "well, hold your horses, i have a surprise for you." and then let go of him so you could quickly finish.

you didn't see max's curious expression at the surprise you had for him. he still followed you while you cleaned up, those large hands on your hips and his lips on your neck. you could feel his clothed erection up against your backside,

"so what's the surprise?" he asked as he held you as you put the plate in the drying rack.

you looked over your shoulder and leaned in to kiss him, then said, "surprise, verstappen." once you were done cleaning up, he followed you into the bedroom.

you apologized to the cats as you closed the door to the room. you could tell that max was getting antsy, why wouldn't he be? he had another stellar season but at the cost of being away from his woman.

"mooi meisje, waarom laat je me wachten?" he asked softly as he sat on the bed you two shared. his cock was pressed against the front of his loose shorts.

you turned away from him and went to your underwear drawer, as you dug around in it you responded, "omdat sommige verrassingen de moeite waard zijn om geheim te houden."

he sighed through his nose, his cock throbbed in his pants. dutch may not be the most sensual language, but he cursed the day that he decided to painstakingly teach you the language. it was almost like second nature to you, and it made his heart beat faster. he leaned back on his hands and watched you pull out a pair of Velcro wrist restraints.

using handcuffs seemed a little cliche, and the idea of losing the key and having to figure out how to get max out of them wasn't something you were interested in. they were softer around the wrists and easier to get out of.

"liefde?" he asked with a bit of concern.

you approached him and placed them in his lap, "if you don't want to try it, then say it. if you want to, tell me." you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

his face felt hot as he said, "i'm guessing you're wearing them?"

you smiled, "next time you can wear them." and could feel your boyfriend's burning gaze as you got out of your sleeping clothes. which was honestly just a ratty red bull t-shirt and slightly too big sleeping shorts. your sports bra and panties were off as well and when you looked at max once more, he had his shirt off and his cock in his hand. his shorts were pushed down and his gaze was heavy.

"you look good." he said, his words heavy on his tongue.

you came of and straddled his waist for a moment, his cock brushed against your pussy but you never sank down on it. you could see his jaw tense.

you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into a tender kiss. you felt his hands on your hips, he was threatening to pull you right down on his cock. the kiss quickly parted and you got up from his lap and onto the bed. max was close to you once more with teh cuffs in hand.

"i guess we need a safe word."

you were already one step ahead, "red bull."

he got you onto your hands and knees on the bed and slowly got your arms behind your back. it was then secured by the cuffs. max could've lost it in that moment, the site of you was erotic. his naked girlfriend with her arms tied behind her back. he couldn't wait any longer, it was driving him up the wall.

he got his shorts full off and his hand on your hip. it wasn't hard for him to sink his entire length into your aching cunt. he held the chain that connected both of the cuffs to the center of your back, you weren't going anywhere.

you groaned when you felt his cock deep in your cunt, the stretch was amazing. while it left you a little tender for days after, it was the type of ache that stirred your stomach.

the sex was rough, there was little tenderness. and max at least tried to be romantic when he pleasured you, but this carnal need was driving both of you. your heart thumped in your chest, the rush of pleasure made your head throb.

his pace was quick and feral, his grip was tight on you. he wanted to make sure you didn't go slipping away. as if you ever would. he ran his fingers through his hair while he still held you down. he could feel the sweat on his body begin to form as the bedroom became hotter.

the morning light shined through the open window as the two of you fucked with a hot passion. it felt like striking hot iron with the sparks that scattered as a result.

"that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl." he panted heavily in your ear as he kissed your temple. you moaned in response and he pressed his nose into your hairline for a moment as he had you practically bouncing on his cock.

you whined, "shit, max, ah!" each thrust felt like a short circuit to your brain. his words were filthy, his voice was hot and low. you could feel him rearrange your guts.

the bed creaked against the wall and you felt the air leave your lungs. sometimes it drove you crazy how intensely max's cock made you feel. before sex was just a fun past time with a partner, but with max is made you ache inside and out.

he rutted up into you, his cock gave a small twitch inside of you. he could hear you sweet little pants and moans into the covers. you looked like a fucking dream, his beautiful girl.

"you're so good for me, my love." he groaned, "you feel so fucking tight around me and i don't know what to do with myself. you drive me mad. i want you all the time." he panted heavily, "it was all i could think of during the races, your tight pussy around my cock. i always wondered if i could get you to fit in the car with me, bounce you on the my cock while the engine rumbled. you'd like that, wouldn't you, slet."

you swallowed, while the idea was probably unrealistic, the thought of it was rather erotic. the almost claustrophobia of being so close to him in a tight space.

you didn't have to respond for him to say, 'i know you'd hate it, right? because you're my good right, correct?"

you nodded and moaned a little louder as you felt the thrill of lust climb through your body. you squirmed under the restraints, it was a little bit of tension on your shoulders but it did make you core ache. you panted dumbly against the covers as he fucked you with a heavy heat.

"pretty fucking little thing." he growled as he pushed your top half further into the soft mattress. the angle gave him the best place to cram his heavy cock into your sweet cunt.

you felt the moans fold off your tongue as you felt the pleasure capture you whole and climax crashed down on you. it felt like your earth was shattered when it grabbed hold. you whined, "holy shit, max."

he chuckled and felt the wetness between your legs only grow more, he doubled down his thrusts and left you totally pinned under him. he rutted into you like an animal in heat, even as your pathetic little moans rang in his ear.

"honey, ah. that's a good girl. fuck you're mine." he groaned as he bottomed out into you. his cock nudged against your cervix and spat cum against it. while made your back arch.

"fuck." you panted.

he pulled out and quickly, without much through took off the cuffs. he took you in his arms and laid down beside you, spooning you. his larges hands massaged your wrists. even though they didn't hurt.

he peppered the back of your neck with kisses. so loving, so kind despite how rough he was moments earlier. max worshiped you, praised you like the sun.

"my beautiful girl." he sighed contently.

"the cuffs felt good." you responded, your legs tangled in his.

he kissed under your ear and said quietly in your ear, "maybe next time i need to tie you up fully." he chuckled a little as he held you in his arms.

it was good to be home. <3

[maxlarens]

I got a lot to say so it might be long,

starting with, thank you for the Charles smau and the Lando fic <3

it took me time to choose an emoji lol but I've been doing an internship and time goes by way too quickly, but I decided to go for the strawberry one 🍓

and since you said you wanted to write for driver! reader, and that she was very intense about driving, maybe you can write something about her racing while she's sick/not feeling well but she still wins the race

woo hi again!!! literally no big deal! i hope ur internship is going well, it’s awesome that you’re doing one!! but yeah literally real life is always the priority as much as i’d also like to spend all my time on here lol. but anyway yay the strawberry is super cute 🍓🥺

and YES lol driver!reader is consuming my thoughts right now. i have other things i should be writing instead of this but i smashed this out in a few days😭 i decided not to make it a win because i have a thing brewing for driver!readers first win and i didn’t want to use up all my ideas for that. anyway!!! as usual thank u for the ask and pls enjoyyy 🤗

OP: extraordinary machine

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: you push yourself to your limits. (also sorry i simply don't know enough technical terms about racing for this to be fully accurate but i hope it works)

word count: 3.4k+

Here is a fact— you’ve got a fever of 39.4 degrees.

Here is another, indisputable fact— you’re racing in Imola today.

The fever had come on overnight after a persistent tickle in your throat all weekend. A mildly sore throat had turned rapidly to a snotty nose, full body chills and sweat pouring off you like you’d just run a marathon. You’re wearing a puffer jacket over your racing suit and it’s twenty-nine degrees out. You feel freezing, you feel delirious, and you’re eating Sour Patch Kids by the handful to keep the sugar rush going. Your race engineer, Rachel, keeps telling you that it’s okay if you can’t race. George can step in, I promise. You keep telling her I’m fine. I’m fine. I can race. But the expression on her face says she doesn’t believe you.

You’re telling practically everyone who’ll listen that you’re getting in that fucking car today. Rachel, George, your mum who keeps calling. Lewis keeps looking at you like you’re about to keel over and die and you want to scream at him you did this! Brazil 2015. You had a fever. You got on the podium. If I can’t do this and you can, what does that mean? But you don’t because that’s your 39.4-degree fever talking and this isn’t about being better than Lewis. It’s about knowing without a doubt that you can still get in that car and race your ass off.

Your phone keeps buzzing with texts from Susie that reassure you that you’d be disappointing no one at all if you had to let George take over this race. You’re not letting down women everywhere and you’re not letting down the team. I know Susie, you keep saying, but I’m still racing.

You know you’ve got to convince Toto when Rachel starts a hurried conversation with George and he starts grabbing his fireproofs like it’s a sure thing he’ll be driving in your place. Bundled up in your coat like it’s the middle of winter, you stomp over to Toto’s office and barge in.

“I’m racing,” you tell him without any preamble.

His head snaps to look at you, expression only mildly surprised— not that you would even notice if you didn’t spend so much time around him. He gives you a once over, eyes lingering pointedly on your jacket and then he raises his eyebrows, “It is twenty-nine degrees outside.”

You suck your teeth in frustration, “I know. The car will be hot. I can race.”

He frowns.

You plead, “Toto. Do not take me out of that car. I can do this.”

He shakes his head, “I can see you sweating from here. You’re not well.”

You shake your head frantically, ignoring how your vision starts spinning, “Let me race. If I fuck up you can put George in the car for Monaco. If I fuck up you can even replace me. I don’t care. Just let me drive today.”

Toto’s face pinches in the way it does when he’s considering something, you can see cogs turning in his head as he evaluates what you’ve said and decides if he should listen to it.

He sighs, “I am not putting that kind of ultimatum on you,” your heart stutters and stops in your chest, and you hold your breath, “Okay. Against my better judgement, I will let you race today.”

You let out an audible breath, it edges out into a sob that makes your aching body curl into itself. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes for a moment to suppress the urge to give in to your fever. It would be easier to give up, it would be easier to let George take your seat for the race so you could crawl into bed and cry the fever out. But none of this has ever been easy for you. You’ve fought tooth and nail to get here, you won’t forfeit a race and let people say you took the easy way out.

You look up. Toto looks concerned.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“You won’t.”

You practically stumble onto the asphalt before the national anthem, passing your coat off to Rachel while your trainer wipes your forehead with a towel as if you’ve just finished a full-body workout. Your shoulders feel tense, you can’t stand up straight without shuddering so you’re hunched over awkwardly hoping it doesn’t come off looking too strange.

People are still milling about, setting things up while the drivers assemble. You don’t really notice on account of the fever state you’re in, but you end up standing between the McLaren boys. You must brush against Oscar because he looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed, mouth set in a line and his eyes wide like a puppy dog. You get lost in them a little— because of the fever. Definitely.

“Dude,” Oscar says to you, “You’re really hot.”

On your other side, Lando breaks into a fit of laughter. You frown, your brain trying the puzzle through the sentence. You feel foggy, your eyes feel heavy. You need more Sour Patch Kids, or a shot of espresso, or five Red Bulls. Max could swing it for you.

Oscar leans past you and swats at Lando’s shoulder, “She’s burning up, stupid.”

Lando’s laughter pauses, and he says seriously, “Oh shit.”

Suddenly, you’re being twisted around and you’re wincing at the contact on your shoulder that makes it ache even more. Lando puts a hand on your forehead and then immediately rips it away.

“Eugh. You’re sweaty.”

The back of Oscar’s hand replaces it. You twist away, brushing it off.

“You’ve got a fever,” he tells you, his voice thick with concern for you, “Have you told anyone? Does Toto know? Lewis?”

Instead of answering you press a hand over your eyes and crack your neck, trying to work through some of the stiffness in your back. You roll your shoulders and stand up as straight as possible, pushing through that aching, sickly feeling that runs through your whole body. When you finally drag your hand from your face— a thin sheen of sweat coming with it— Oscar is staring at you with a deep-set frown on his mouth. At his shoulder, Lando looks at you with a markedly less severe, but still concerned, expression.

“I’m fine, Oscar,” you insist.

You’re not. He knows you’re not. It doesn’t matter, you don’t want to seem weak. Not barely thirty minutes before the race. You can’t have either of them thinking you’d be easy for an overtake or that you’ll back out of a fight first. Off the track, fine— you’ve been vulnerable and honest with both of them at times. On the track is a different story. This is Formula One. You’re not here to make friends. They are not here to make friends.

“Mm,” Oscar hums, “Pretty sure you’re not.”

“You’re sweating bullets,” Lando adds, “Can see it from here.”

Something white-hot and pissed off flares up your spine. Oscar is not this kind of person, even on track; but the suspicion that he’s just trying to eliminate you as competition rises anyway. You think it because if the situation were flipped, you’d be weighing the pros and cons of having a sick driver on the track. Their weaknesses, what it means if they’re distracted. It doesn’t make you a good person, but you’re already pretty sure you aren’t one.

“I am fine,” you bite.

Oscar’s expression drops. Into something not quite offended… accepting, maybe? Resigned? It closes off to you, is what you mean. That’s fine, you’re trying to close yourself off to him. You’re re-drawing a line that you’ve been crossing without a thought for at least two years now. You’re not here to make googly eyes at Oscar and let him put his hand on your fever-ridden forehead and have him reprimand out-of-line, so-called professionals for you. You’re here to get in that car every Sunday and put your life on the line for a shiny trophy and fucking glory. Even if you’ve got a fever. Even if you’ve got a weird crush on Oscar Piastri.

“I’m racing,” you add in a different tone, feeling as if you’ve been a bit harsh on a well-meaning Oscar, even if you mean what you’re thinking.

Oscar nods, and says, “Okay,” in a way that really means, ‘If you say so, then it is’.

In the car, on the tarmac, sitting in your starting grid position, you’re shitting bricks.

Your cheeks are squeezed tight into your helmet, you can feel sweat, slick and soaking through your balaclava. Your arms hurt, your legs hurt, your ass hurts where it’s pressed into the seat. You’re not crying, but your mouth— hidden away by your helmet— is open like you’re about to. Set into a grimace that you breathe raggedly out of. Toto says something over the radio before the lights go out, you don’t hear it. You’re too busy regretting how earnestly you’d begged him to let you race. It would have been better if George had taken over. It might have been better if you’d passed out during the national anthem so you really had no choice but to sit it out. No one could say you weren’t committed to this sport if that had happened. They’d have plenty to say about women and their weak constitutions though.

You’re on autopilot when the lights go out. One second you’re freaking out like it’s your first time in a car, the next second everything is fading into background noise and you’re fighting a Ferrari and a McLaren for your original grid position. Twenty of you tear down the straight to turn two and you find yourself slotting easily into what you think is P4. Ferrari— not the same one— in front of you. Your mirrors reveal the McLaren behind you. It’s Oscar, you’re sure. You can tell by the way he sticks to your ass. Every nudge of the car you make he makes with you.

You press the radio button, “That Piastri behind?”

Crackle, “Yeah.”

“Knew it. He’s up my butt, Rach.”

“Okay. Go faster then. Not sure what to tell you.”

You make a face. You weren’t looking for sarky advice, you were trying to commiserate. You press the button and make a vaguely mocking neh-neh noise that gets a laugh and then radio silence because you’re supposed to be fucking concentrating. Which, okay, fair.

You press the throttle, done with trying to manage your tyres for the moment and taking Rachel’s comment as permission. You tear away from Oscar, stopping his fight to overtake you through the chicane in its tracks. You start slowly gaining on the Ferrari in front of you, its red rear wing growing closer and closer.

“Sainz in front?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yup,” Rachel confirms before rattling off some lap times when you ask for them.

By lap thirty-something, you’re on Sainz’s ass like Oscar was on yours. You’re fighting him through every chicane, threatening him on the straights and generally behaving in a way that you know for a fact is putting him on edge. But Carlos isn’t giving up P3 without a fight.

A safety car goes out around lap forty, and you pit. Everyone ahead of you does as well. Oscar doesn’t, Oscar is lucky to have gone in earlier. Rachel tells you he’d made up four places after being forced to box for some tyre issue. You feel a strange mix of pride and jealousy swirl in your chest as you all file into a discordant line behind the safety car.

Verstappen leads the pack, as per usual. Then Oscar, Sainz and you. Leclerc is behind you, then Lando. You’re in P4, right where you started and right where you’ve been fucking sitting the entire race so far. twenty-five laps to at least make it onto the podium. Then you’ll be happy. Or not quite happy, you’d need pole for that. Content. You’d be content.

Max starts weaving. The safety car goes off and Max keeps you all ready and waiting until the exact millisecond that he decides the race can properly begin again. You hate when he does this— you know that’s exactly why. Eventually, finally, he gets going.

You have to run defence like crazy for a few laps to keep Leclerc behind you until everything is warmed up. The gap widens as you drive. At some point, you stop worrying about the Monégasque so much and focus your attention on car fifty-five like your life depends on it. The laps fly by as time ticks on. Twenty-five to go, twenty, fifteen, ten. You’re back on Sainz’s rear wheel, a gap of 0.2 to 0.3 that’s been consistent throughout this last stretch of the race. You’re watching him like a hawk, waiting for the smallest slip-up to take advantage of. Somewhere you can push, somewhere he’s weak. It’s hard— he’s covering all his bases. Not giving you an inch so you can’t take a mile.

You’re closing in on sixty-four laps— with only three to go— when he gives you that fucking inch. It’s in the first chicane. His wheel locks up, and he jerks the car slightly the wrong way, something like that. You get in his space and you push and he backs out first. You press down on the throttle and rocket past him, shouting FUCK! FUCK YES! to yourself.

P3. P3. God, you hope it’s P3.

You press the talk button, “Rach?”

“Yes, P3,” she barks, “Fucking, focus. Three laps to go.”

Those last three laps of Imola are some of the hardest of your life. Defending against Carlos is a task, of course, but it’s not even that. The sickness starts to creep back into your awareness as the adrenaline that had hit its peak during the overtake starts to subside. Two laps to go and you’re remembering the fever again. The sweat soaking your hair and streaking down the back of your neck. Your whole body is on fire and it aches everywhere. It feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer to the inside of your skull. You want so badly to close your eyes and drift away to sleep, but the car is flying through the air demanding your attention with the way it thuds against the track. You’ve got one lap to go and Carlos is on you like white on rice. You can’t afford to make a mistake until you’re firmly over that finish line.

So you don’t. You grit your teeth and you refuse.

Carlos is downright reckless in the last chicane, he tries to bait you by moving to one side and pushing but you’re not going to fall for something like that even if you’re near delirious from the 39.4-degree fever. Though surely it’s higher now, the car temp can’t be helping. You hardly realise you’ve crossed the finish line because you’re thinking so hard about how lightheaded you feel. On instinct, you slow down to a safe speed as Oscar’s McLaren enters your vision, but you think your toes have pins and needles and there’s some feeling tingling up into your shoulders. You blink hard and take a long sip of water so you can make it to the pits before your head starts to spin.

Crackle, “Where are you going? That was P3.”

“Huh?” you realise you’re following the other drivers instead of heading into the pits where you’re supposed to go, “Shit. Sorry.”

You edge back as carefully as you can, avoiding other cars that pass by, lucky you’ve not overshot too far so you can turn into the pits and park your car in front of the P3 sign without going around the entire track. That would be embarrassing. Or that would be more embarrassing than how disgusting you’re going to look when you take your helmet and balaclava off.

Toto, Rachel and a few of your engineers are there to meet you at the barricade when you clamber out of the car, unsteady on your feet. Rachel’s eyebrows are furrowed as she tries her best to smile at you, trying to put on a brave face even though you can tell she’s concerned you’re going to keel over. You brace yourself with a hand against the gate and tear your helmet off, then your balaclava. You’ve never been so fast to put a cap on your head, trying to cover the sweaty mess that is your hair right now.

“That was phenomenal work,” Rachel says, reaching to put a hand on your burning hot bicep, “You look fucking terrible, though.”

You suck in a ragged breath and you nod in agreement, trying to keep the black tinging your vision from taking over completely. 

“Get her something to drink,” you hear Toto bark, though it comes to your ears, muffled and staticky.

You’re fine. You’re fine. Until you’re not and your sweaty hand is slipping against the guardrail and your vision is fading into darkness and you’re falling face first into a metal railing. And, and, someone’s got their arm around your middle and you’re not on the ground with your face in the asphalt. You blink, hot tears— from what you assume is exhaustion— burning your eyelids. The arm around your middle is covered in something orange and black… Oscar. It’s Oscar who’s got you propped up, held firm into his body so your legs don’t collapse underneath you. The two of you sway and stumble for a second as you gain your footing back, your vision returning to normal, the buzzing in your ears going away.

“You’re good,” he breathes, “I’ve got you.”

You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine, you attribute it to your current state.

You remember the cameras that are on all of you right now. You try not to look panicked as you step away from him. You try to do it calmly and not frantically like you so want to. Toto has some electrolyte drink held out right in your face and you take it, chugging half of it straight away while you swivel around to face Oscar. You nod, feeling slightly better, but gripping the guardrail tight so as not to repeat earlier.

“Thanks,” you try a smile, but it’s just turning into a grimace because you feel like shit.

Oscar shakes his head, “Don’t mention it.”

“Great driving out there.”

His eyebrow goes up, touching the curl of his hair that peeks out from his cap.

“You’re kidding?” he says, tone laced with amusement.

You frown, which is much easier, “No. You drove great.”

He makes a face like ‘yes, obviously’, but somehow does it in a humble and endearing way that you find you like a little too much. It leaves you confused as to his point.

“No,” he scoffs, “Okay, yes. What I mean is that you just got P3 with a raging fever.”

You purse your lips, countering, “You don’t know I have a fever.”

His tongue darts out to wet his top lip, hiding the small smile that threatens on his face.

He shrugs, “Bit obvious, unfortunately.”

You roll your eyes. You think what he means is it’s a bit obvious because you look like absolute death. There’s probably sweat rolling off you in buckets, your cap is jammed on your head and your hair is probably sticking out at crazy angles. There were dark circles under your eyes before you left for the track this morning, they’re probably ten times worse now. He might also mean it’s obvious from the way your skin is burning hot, like touching a radiator in the middle of winter. Or, perhaps, the way you’d passed out into his arms a few minutes earlier.

You suck your teeth, “Well. I told you I was racing today.”

Oscar nods, biting the inside of his lip, “Yeah. You did.”

There’s more that neither of you are saying. A conversation that you’re trying desperately to have with prolonged eye contact, small little smiles and breaths out through the nose. You think it might be ‘I’m proud of you’ or ‘You’re very impressive and I’m going a little bit crazy about it’. That’s how you feel at least, somewhere in between the fever chills and the urge you’re suppressing to curl into a ball on the tarmac. This is okay, you think. You don’t have to be Oscar’s sworn enemy just because you’re both chasing the win. You can let him worry about you, but make sure he understands he can’t stop you from taking the things that you want. You can say things that mean other things and Oscar can smile at you like it’s something private for just the two of you.

You can be happy with that. Or not quite happy. Content.

🏎️ song inspo (fiona apple my Beloved) -> https://open.spotify.com/track/5h9Iek7Hp9wayRt7fBp7Ab?si=9PnuH5CDSC-qTurLPGiTwg

💫 fill out this form if you want to be added to my tag list: @clowngirlsstuff @leclercsluvs @c-losur3 @mael1pastry @papayamusha @mvk1ma

[stariekis]

ops ... just got caught !

pairing : idol!ni-ki + fem!reader . genre : fluff . cw : kisses and i think that's all <3 . wc : 2.3k

— synopsis : you must be very careful confessing your feelings, that said person might hear you ...

— notes : i love my silly lil awkward ni-ki 🤲🏻 i really hope you guys like it <3 as always reposts are very welcomed here ! ~

— 'Oh my god yes I do have the biggest crush on her can you guys like leave me alone'. the other six boys that were sitting on the table right in front of ni-ki were in complete shock.

For a bit hit of context ; Ni-ki and you are childhood best friend, both of you traveled together to Korea wanting to be idols. But some years later you found out that maybe the idol life wasn't for you and decided to stop training and started studying again. Both of you kept in contact, even though he have the busiest scheduel ever he always makes sure to save some time of his day to talk to you.

Because of your studies you've been living abroad for some time now so you and Ni-ki haven't seen each other after the day you move to your current city. This lead us to the current situation.

You were standing behind his tall figure, your mouth hanging open as you heard what the boy just said. Today was the last stop of their 'fate tour', which happens to be the city where you where currently living, and you decide to surprise him at the restaurant where they planned on eating after the concert ended.

When Ni-ki saw all of his friends looking behind him with such expressions he turned around slowly. That's when his eyes met yours.

He didn't know what to feel, he was happy obviously but when he realized that you might have heard what he just said he felt a wave of awkwardness taking over his whole body.

He turned around as fast as he could and tried to hide his face in his hands, wanting to avoid your gaze. — 'Well hello to you too big boy' you said giggling a bit, you came closer to him and gave him a back hug while he was still sitting on his chair.

While hugging him you took his hands out of his face and gave him a quick peck on his red tinted cheeks — 'You heard that didn't you?' Ni-ki asked, tilting his head to the side a bit to look at you, finally able to look at your eyes.

You nodded, your hands intertwined with his as you play with his rings — 'And if you want an answer, i also have the biggest crush on you' and right after you gave him your answer to his confession he turned to you and got up from his chair.

He stood in front of you, his hands holding your face. He looked at your eyes and mouthed a silent 'are you serious?', as soon as you nooded your head he closed the gap between the two of you, kissing you softly.

— 'You two, this might be a private area but we are still here, save it for later' said Sunghoon. Ni-ki pulled away and look at his older brother with the most terrifying gaze he has ever give them.

All eight of you spent the rest of the night together. They kept asking you about your life there and you gladly told them, all of this happening while Ni-ki looked at you with the biggest loving eyes ever while listening to you.

What a better way to end such a successful tour than this ?

tag list (open.) : send an ask if you want to be added <3

[lancermylove]

Not Good Enough (HC)

Fandom: Obey Me

Pairing: Demon brothers x gn!Reader

Warning: Reader with low self-esteem.

Prompt: You don't think you are good enough for him.

———————————————

Lucifer found you alone in your bedroom. One look, and he could tell something was very wrong. "Why so pensive, my dear? You seem troubled. You know you can confide in me. What's on your mind?"

You hesitated to tell him the truth, not knowing how he would react to your words. "It's just... sometimes I feel like I'm not good enough for you. You're so accomplished and strong, and I'm just..."

"You are just what?" He asked, crossing his arms. But when you didn't reply, he continued in a stern voice; however, his expression was soft. "Let me tell you, it's your humanity, your kindness, and your unwavering spirit that I find truly captivating. You challenge, inspire, and bring light into my life in ways you can't imagine. You are more than enough, and it's high time you see yourself through my eyes."

Lucifer sat down beside you and took your hands. He met your gaze and spoke in a warm voice. "I vow to you, on my honor, that I will spend an eternity proving just how extraordinary you are to me. You are not just 'good enough'; you are everything I could ever desire."

The Avatar of Pride pressed his lips to the back of your hand before whispering, "Never doubt my feelings for you, my dear. You are my chosen one, now and forever."

Mammon walked into your room unannounced and saw you sitting on the bed, staring down at your lap. "Oi, what's with the long face? You didn't lose any Grimm, did ya?"

It's nothing, Mammon... Just some personal stuff."

"I'm your boyfriend, y'know, so your personal stuff is my personal stuff. Come on, spill it. 'Sides, I'm the Great Mammon. I can handle it!"

You weren't sure if he would be upset with you for thinking you were not good enough, but you decided to come clean. "I just... sometimes feel like I'm not special enough for you. I'm just... too ordinary."

"What?! That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard! Listen here, ya got it all backward. I'm Mammon the Great. I wouldn't hang around someone who ain't worth my time, got it?"

His words drew a smile to your lips. "So, you think I'm... worth your time?"

"Yeah, but that ain't a big deal or anything. Look, I feel like a total loser sometimes. But you...you make those times less crappy. You're important to me, y'know? And if anyone makes ya feel less, I'll make 'em pay for it."

Mammon plopped on the empty spot beside you and wrapped his right arm around your shoulders. "You're amazin', so don't ya forget it."

As you leaned against his shoulder, Mammon nuzzled the top of your head.

Levi saw you sitting in the corner of your room and froze in his tracks. He knew well what was going on in your mind but decided to make handle the matter with a touch of lightheartedness. "(Y/n), did someone spoil the latest episode of your favorite anime for you?"

Without looking at him, you quietly asked. "Levi, do you ever feel like... like you're not good enough for someone? That's how I feel about being with you."

Levi didn't expect to hear that, and for a moment, he didn't know how to react. "I mean, I'm just a shut-in otaku. If anyone's not worthy, it's me, not you. You're like the special event SSR card, and I'm just a common R card."

His references made you chuckle slightly, but you also disagreed with him. "You're not a common R card."

"(Y/n), how do I," Levi started to say but struggled to get his words out. He couldn't figure out how to put his feelings into genuine words. "(Y/n), in my eyes, you're the ultimate co-op partner. I wouldn't want to face any boss battles with you...s-something like that..."

His cheeks turned red, and Levi struggled to make eye contact with you as he continued in a shy voice. "So, um, I promise to be your player two, always supporting you. And... maybe we can help each other level up in confidence and stuff, 'kay? So, don't look so sad..."

Satan saw you in the library room of the House of Lamentation, and while your eyes were on the pages of the book in your hand, it was evident you were not reading. "You seemed trouble, (y/n). Would you accept my offer if I say I will lend you an ear?"

"Satan, how are you so smart...handsome..and amazing?" You asked without moving your eyes from the book.

Initially, the Avatar of Wrath thought you were complimenting him and blushed. But it didn't take him long to realize there was something more to your statement, so he remained silent, hoping you would share your true feelings with him.

"It makes me wonder if I'm good enough to be with you."

And there it was—something Satan hoped you wouldn't say as a follow-up statement: "Your worth isn't defined by how much you know or how you handle your emotions. It's your curiosity, love, and the way you view the world that I find invaluable. You are someone irreplaceable in my life."

When you moved your gaze to him, Satan's expression softened. He walked close to the sofa chair you sat in and leaned down to place a kiss atop your head. "I'm here to remind you of your significance. Not as a scholar to a student but as one soul to another. If I lose you, I will lose myself."

Asmo saw you sitting on your bed with slumped shoulders and figured you needed a pep talk. "Why does my precious diamond look so down? Did something say something mean?"

Shifting your eyes to him, you studied his flawless face, silky hair, perfect body, and radiating beauty. You lowered your head again, feeling worse than before. "I...can't even match up to you."

"Match up to me? What are you talking about?"

"You are just so dazzling, charming, beautiful...and perfect. I am nothing..."

Asmo was stunned at the way you perceived yourself and felt like shaking your by your shoulders. Taking a deep breath, he sighed. "Oh, sweetie, why do you think such things? They are absolutely not true!"

The Avatar of Lust walked up to you, held your hands, and helped you up. He cupped your cheeks and smiled sweetly. "You must see yourself as I see you: utterly irresistible and enchanting. There's no need to match up to anyone because you shine so brightly on your own."

He gently pressed his lips to your forehead and whispered. "Let's have a little pampering session, shall we? I'll show you just how breathtaking you truly are."

When Beel saw you pushing around your food with your fork, he knew something was wrong. Putting his fork down, he looked at you, concerned. "(Y/n), you're not eating much. Is something wrong?"

"Beel, you are so strong, caring, loveable, and...deserve better. You deserve someone better than me."

Your words nearly made his heart stop as just the thought of losing you sent a shock through his heart. "(Y/n), don't say that. I like sharing meals with you...hearing you laugh...and hugging you. When I'm with you, I don't feel hungry for food. I feel hungry for your love. You fill up a part of me that I didn't even know was empty."

His words made you blush, and before you could argue or make another statement to hurt his heart, Beel stood up and walked to your side of the table. Scooping you up in his arms, he held you close to him and nuzzled the side of your face.

"You make me happy just by being you. I don't want you to change because you're perfect to me. I'll always be here for you - to protect and support you, just like I know you're here for me."

Belphie saw you lying on your stomach on the bed with your face turned to the side. He studied you for a moment before walking close to your bed. "You look more tired than me for once. What's bothering you?"

"Belphie, do you ever think I am not interesting or special?" You mumbled after a moment of silence.

"Hmm, that's a strange thing to worry about. Why do you ask?" He asked, raising his eyebrow. When you didn't reply, he sighed and sat down on your mattress. "You know, I don't spend my time with just anyone. If I'm with you, it's because there's something about you that's different, something peaceful."

Opening your eyes, you looked at him with tears in your eyes. His gaze softened, and Belphie rested his hand on your head. "You shine brighter than any star I know. You are interesting and special. If you need me to say this nonstop, I will say it...and mean it every time."

Belphie lay down next to you and wrapped his arm around you, giving you a soft smile. "With you, I always feel like I'm exactly where I need to be. You're enough, more than enough for me. Remember that."

———————————————

➣  Obey Me Masterlist: [1][2][3] ➣ Main Masterlist

➣ Buy me a Ko-fi? ➣ Commission: Open ➣ HC/Scenario Requests: Closed || Quick Ask Requests: Closed || GIF Requests: Closed

[astradyke]

Phil Lester, the romantic you are. (or, some of my favorite "Phil loving Dan" moments in the last few years ft. actual timestamps, since i'm not artsy enough for web-weaves yet)

❧ "Thanks Dan-" "Thank you... for tolerating my presence." "-for treating us with your presence." (What Dan and Phil Text Each Other 2, 20:50)

❧ The cooing at Dan's outfit at The International Academy of Digital Arts and Sciences Award event, including putting a hand over his heart. (ROASTING DAN'S 'FASHION', 11:11)

❧ The edited segment at the end of this video in which Phil does an additional promotion of Dan's book; "I've just seen how happy he's been since he's found all this stuff out..." (I TRY TO GIVE DAN A HAIRCUT!!, 19:10)

❧ "Oh look, we're together!" (Dan and Phil Chained Together, 12:40) -- volume warning for this one.

❧ Every time during this video in which Phil expresses excitement that his character is with Dan's again, or stress that him and Dan will be separated (Dan and Phil are Getting Divorced - It Takes Two #1, non-exhaustive list of timestamps 17:50, 22:20)

❧ “Here’s where that’s fine. I would shape-shift into you, you would shape-shift into me… no, we know each other so well, it wouldn’t be that different." (Phil Pushes Dan's Button for 18 Minutes, 10:47)

"op you forgot-" a lot of these are just recent clips i've mentioned in the past since i was asked to give time-stamps, but please add more in notes! i know most folks know these but in case anyone doesn't :3 (honorary mention both mukbangs & every baking video)

BONUS: my personal "roman empire", AKA a selection of pictures Phil's taken of Dan that I think are particularly loud -- warning in advance these do not have IDs but when i get a chance i can add them into an RB! all under cut <3

EXTRA BONUS: i made a post compiling some of my favorite pictures of Phil wearing the "We're All Doomed" merch hat because this is something i think about a lot too. these have IDs! my actual post isn't important i just didn't want to recopy over the pictures.

phil lester loving via photography in a very non-exhaustive list because it's not like this has been his birthday tradition or anything... i hate romance. <3

[lubrumalis]

konig headcanons! (realistic)

tw: nsfw

all of these are realistic hc! dont expect a normal konig

hes NOT a shy awkward pushover, just because he has social anxiety??? we can see through his voice lines hes a very cocky person and speaks rather agressively

“lets be honest, its better off in my hands.”

i hc that just because konig has social anxiety, he doesn’t express this through bring soft and shy, he expresses it through his bluntness

konig wanted to be a sniper but did not because he couldn’t stand still, has social anxiety, i hc he has some form of adhd

his very cocky and blunt shouting isn’t because hes mean, but he just doesnt wanna be seen as that bullied kid he once was

hes doesnt have horrible EQ, but the kind of guy to be incredibly unfiltered

also, this guy was literally assigned as a human battering ram, you think hes all soft and sweet???😅😅😅

no he won’t get angry or cry if his mask is taken off. just annoyed.

its not actually canon that konig is a colonel (correct me if im wrong, i couldnt find anything on the official wiki) but lets assume hes one anyway

even if he isnt, gets paid well. really well.

private military companies that deploy soldiers in areas of active conflict can pay up to hundreds of thousands for one soldier

considering konigs age (late 30s at least) and skills, probably 400-500k a year.

chose to join the military because he had an obsession with tanks and guns as a kid

a lot of hc’s say hes 6’10. i disagree, simply based off of chances and the fact thats wayyyy too tall for the military

but he was described as a mountain, so id say his height is around 6’5-6’8

very very intimidating. hes tall big and has the mask of an executioner in the 15th century. who wouldn’t be scared?

definitely will say some random german word in a situation where no one else there knows german. he doesn’t give a damn lol

hates americans (thinks theyre all obese, mannerless, and bad at geography)

brings up the most random topics. again i really think konig has adhd.

konig was not good at school and hated it, mainly due to the anxiety and how he couldn’t pay attention

also why he chose the path of a soldier

drinks lots of beer, high alcohol tolerance, this guys a true european.

loves austrian or german food. loves schnitzel and pies.

konigs breakfast is literally sausages, toast, eggs, and sometimes beer

BIG APPETITE. he could eat for 3 people.

a little insecure about his appearance, not confident in his looks :( also why he hid his face

but as he grew older he uses the mask for actual purposes of concealing his identity, he is a special ops soldier after all

kind of a cheapskate. he chose to hide his face with what, polyester? chose a piece of cloth over everything else.

has very conservative beliefs. not to the point where he hates abortion and votes far right, konig is just a little confused about some things certain liberals believe in

pretty political person lmao

not enough info to conclude whether or not konig was abused as a kid tbh

he was definitely miserable for a period in his life. hes in the military living a monotone life, barely any contact with others, and constantly living in fear he’d die

i dont think hes as traumatized as ghost tho🙂🙂

konig appreciates his dna and how it makes him big and tall, but sometimes gets incredibly annoyed at it

mainly because well, he got bullied for itas a kid

because he specializes in hostage rescue a lot of hostages (especially kids) are scared of him and refuse to leave the area with him

takes a lot of convincing 🥲🥲

has a lot of intrusive thoughts

cannot use social media properly

also texts like an old grandpa. uses 😂 and 🤣 unironically.

“Can we have burgers 🍔 tonight🌃?”

probably uses a blackberry or reallyyyyy old iphone

relationship hcs:

konigs voice actor (jim boeven) stated in a livestream that konigs wife would ideally be a mix between maria pedraza (actress) and rachael from blade runner (character from movie).

both are 170cm ish and brunettes

i can actually see that—konig is massive and he probably prefers someone on the tall side

first thing you did that led to your relationship with him? you tolerated him that is. listened to him ranting😃

i can see him with a civilian or someone whos in the military tbh

finds you pretty at first

enjoys bickering, he needs someone to simulate his mind

you know those stories where his s/o is 5’2, clingy, soft af, and neeeeeeeds konig? haha you won’t be getting that from me.

unlike ghost, who really takes his time to get to know someone and opens up slowly, scared to have his trust broken again

konig charges in like the human battering ram he is😁

if he has a feeling you’re trustworthy you are trustworthy.

horrible at flirting. he doesn’t know how to talk to women smoothly

needs someone equally as weird and funny

s/o needs to be someone with very firm boundaries and can stand their ground, i think konigs a really stubborn person, so for a healthy relationship to work, s/o can’t be the generic bimbo

konig wears the pants in the relationship

doesn’t let you pay. he has a enough money and believes men should always pay

(im sorry to break your delusions) konig does not strike to me as someone who likes a docile homebody. thats ghost (if you remove the word docile).

he doesn’t like extremely dominant partners either

imagine someone who is a listener, accepting yet blunt, shares his quirks, and has a very elegant feel to them

also someone very independent

also gonna get killed for this but konig would realistically not go for a girl in her early twenties. he prefers elegance and sophistication over being cute and jumpy

hates one night stands.

values relationships more than you think. he can come off as strong at first, but hes trying his best

ecstatic when you tell him you wanna learn german (hes not a good teacher)

doesn’t like play fighting, he thinks he’s gonna accidentally hurt you

admires you a lot. he knows hes not the best looking person and doesn’t understand the makeup skincare dress up thing.

isn’t paranoid, but definitely doesn’t say he has an s/o

if you ever get mad at him, konig will tighten all jars in the kitchen so you have to ask him for help :)

extremely unfiltered. he hates your cooking? he will say it. that dress looks better than the other? he will say it.

[essektheylyss]

One thing that I feel is really interesting and often forgotten about Essek is that fundamentally, his characterization has been from the start based upon his desperation for external perspectives and connection, which, along with much of his narrative and mechanical positioning, means that he actually has an extraordinary and almost (but not actually, as I'll show) counterintuitive capacity for both growth and trust.

(Buckle in. This is a long one.)

In particular, I would argue, knowing now that many places where the plot touches Ludinus have long been marked for connecting back into the current plot, that he was quite possibly built as a prime candidate for radicalization by the Ruby Vanguard. He felt isolated from his culture, he was desperate for other connection, and he was certainly of the type to believe he was too smart to be drawn into such a thing, given his initial belief that he could control the situation and the fallout. If things had gone any other way, he easily could've been on the other side by now.

As such, he has been hallmarked by being fairly open to suggestion, perhaps for this reason, but the thing about that kind of trait is that it is both how people are radicalized and deradicalized. This is certainly true of Essek, who experienced genuine kindness and quite frankly strangeness from the Nein and was able to move from the isolation the Assembly had engendered to meaningful and genuine connection, largely propelled by his own internal reflection. By the time Nein are aware of his crimes, he's already begun to express regret to an extent and, furthermore, doubt in the Assembly, including explicitly drawing a line against Ludinus, even in a position where he was on his own and probably quite vulnerable.

Similarly, when the Nein reach the Vurmas Outpost some weeks later, he has moved from regret for the position he's ended up carrying a heavy remorse. This makes sense! He's fairly introspective, seems used to spending a lot of time in his own head, and was left with plenty to mull over. It's not some kind of retcon for him to have progressed well past where the Nein left him; it just means he's an active participant in the world who has done his own work in the meantime.

This is another interesting aspect to him. I've talked about this a bit before but I cannot find the post so I'll recap here: antagonists in D&D have significantly more agency than allied NPCs. Antagonists are active forces, against which the party is meant to struggle; allies are meant to support the PCs, which means they tend to be more passive in both their actions and their character growth. Essek was both built as an antagonist, in a position that gives him significant agency, and also was then given significant opportunity to grow specifically to act as a narrative mirror for Caleb's arc. Even when he becomes a more traditional D&D ally, he still retains much of that, though he occupies a supporting role.

I believe that this is especially true because of the nature of Caleb's arc, which I've already written on; the tl;dr of this post is that Caleb is both convinced that he is permanently ruined and also desperate to prove that change is possible. Essek is that proof, because he is simply the character in a position to do so. But this also means that his propensity for introspection and openness is accentuated! He has to do the legwork on his own, for the most part, because that's where he is in the meantime.

But he still ends the campaign necessarily constricted; he is under significant scrutiny, he's at risk from the Assembly, and he goes on the run fairly soon after the story ends. He spends most of the final arc anxious and paranoid, which is valid given the crushing reality of his situation. It would be very easy to extrapolate that seven years into this reality, he would be insular, closed off, and suspicious of strangers, even in spite of the lessons he's learned from the Nein and their long term exposure.

So seeing his openness and lightness now is surprising, but at the same time, given this combination of factors in his position in the narrative over time and his defining traits, it's not by any means unreasonable.

But one thing that I found so delightful is how much trust he exhibits, which is obviously a wild thing to say about Essek in particular, given much of what he learns is both earning and offering trust, which was something he says explicitly in 2x124 that he's never really experienced: "I've never really been trusted and so I did not trust." It makes up much of the progression of his relationship with Caleb, and the trust that he is offered by the Nein in walking off the ship is the impetus he needs to grow.

But I think it's easy to talk about trust when it comes to people who have proven themselves to you or to whom you've ingratiated yourself, and that's really the most we can say about Essek by the time he leaves the Blooming Grove. There is this sense in a lot of discussion of trust (not solely in this fandom) that it is only related to either naivete or love, but there's far more to it. Trust at its best is deliberate—cultivating an openness to the world at large is a great way to combat cynicism and beget connection instead. It allows a person to maintain curiosity and be open to experience, but it can be incredibly difficult to hold onto.

It is clear that the Essek we meet now is a very pointedly and intentionally trusting individual. He trusts Caleb and by extension Caleb's trust in Keyleth, as he shows up and picks up a group of strangers from a foreign military encampment and walks in without issue. He trusts the Hells to follow his lead moving through Zadash and to exhibit enough discretion so as to avoid bringing suspicion upon all of them. He trusts that Astrid will respond well to his entrance, but he also trusts himself and the Hells enough to execute a back-up plan in the case that she doesn't. In the end, he even trusts them enough to give them his name and identity.

He doesn't scan as someone who has spent half a dozen years living like a prey animal, afraid of any shadow he runs across in an alley, withdrawn into himself and an insular family, which would've been an easy route for him to take. He scans as someone who has learned the kind of trust borne of learned confidence and a trained eye for good will and kindness, which are crucial weapons one would need for staving off cynicism in his circumstances—as if he has survived thanks more to connection and kindness than paranoia and isolation. (If we want to be saccharine about it, he scans quite poignantly as a member of the Mighty Nein.)

So it is easy to imagine this trust and openness as a natural progression of his initial search for perspectives external to his own cultural knowledge. Though he makes those first connections with the Assembly to try to vindicate his personal hypotheses, he finds in them exposure to the deepest corruption among Exandrian mortals, which could've—and did, for a time—turned him further down that same dark path.

But it's also this same openness to exposure from the wider world that allows the Nein to influence him for the better, and in spite of the challenges he's certainly faced simply surviving over the past seven years, he seems to have held onto this openness enough to move through the world with self-assurance and a willingness to extend the kinds of trust and good will that he has been shown.

(I would be remiss not to mention that I was reminded about my thoughts on this by this lovely post from sky-scribbles and their use in the tags of 'light' to describe Essek's demeanor this episode, which is really such an apt word for it.)