#it just seems like no one else wants to step up

[heich0e]

"can i call you later?"

the wind bites at your cheeks, but the sting you feel is as much from the smile on your face as it is from the chill.

"dunno," you muse, pursing your lips as though you're contemplating the question deeply. "can you?"

rintarou groans, but the sound isn't half as plaintive as it ought to be. you watch as his head hangs down defeatedly where his frame is folded over the railing that lines the front of the train station, his body pitched forward over the barrier like he's trying to reach you on the other side.

you've been saying goodbye for the past twenty minutes—or, you've been trying to. sort of. maybe. the train you'd planned to catch has already come and gone, and the next is set to soon arrive. one more and it will be the last of the night, but not even knowing that fact seems to be moving you closer towards the door to the station—content to stay here, like this, as the wind of the late fall night nips at your cheeks and the two of you muddle through your goodbye with the inelegance of two people who couldn't be less committed to it if they tried.

rintarou lifts his head to meet your gaze.

"i mean it, though." he says. "can i call you tonight?"

your stomach flips when he looks at you this way. when he keeps looking at you this way.

"we just spent hours together," you remind him, but your words are too breathy to make impact. too elated to be reproachful.

you've been on three dates with rintarou now. you think they're dates anyway, though it's never explicitly been stated. his invitations are always casual, sandwiched in between all the other texts he sends to you these days, so you might be reading into things too closely for your own good. but dinner doesn't just feel like dinner when rintarou has this way of looking at you like you're the only person he's ever laid his eyes on.

"i know," he answers. it's not an explanation, or an excuse, or even an apology. it's plain acceptance. a shamelessness you find wretchedly endearing.

you glance back at the station behind you, biting the inside of your cheek to temper your delight.

"my train is coming," you say.

he looks a bit crestfallen. laughably glum, considering the circumstances.

you drag the heel of your shoe back ever so slightly, not quite a step—at least not in any meaningful way—but inching in the direction of the doors at a glacial pace. continental drift seems positively hasty in comparison to your retreat.

"bye," he calls, his tone dejected. you watch as he lifts his hand weakly, still slumped over the railing, and waves at you with only a few fingers raised.

you want to laugh, but your chest is so full of something else—something syrupy and fluttering and good—that it's like there's no space for it underneath your ribs.

you call back to him just before you step into the station.

"rintarou—"

there are other people around, stepping between and around you both—rushing into the station to escape the cold, or moving briskly as they brace themselves and step out into it—but you hardly notice them when your eyes meet.

you smile.

"—call me later."

he calls you almost every night after that.

even as the cool autumn winds change with the seasons; carrying flakes of snow as winter blankets nagano, warming with the spring, turning heavy with humidity in summer, and then repeating the cycle anew.

even as your reluctant goodbyes turn from late nights outside of train stations to early morning words whispered under blankets as rintarou leaves for practice or away games.

even as the uncertainty of whether or not you're getting your hopes up—of whether those meetings were even really dates at all—melts away into nothing more than a memory.

you're not even sure what the two of you manage to spend so much time talking about on the phone. nothing, really. everything in its own right. rintarou's phone calls are something you come to look forward to at the end of a long day. something you anticipate when you have exciting news to share. a comfort when you're missing him and a relief when you need him most.

"is that the last one?" you ask, turning just in time to see your boyfriend—your live-in boyfriend now, officially—flop back on the sofa after he drops the last moving box atop the stack piled near the balcony door.

"yeah," he wheezes, evidently winded from the exertion—from the exhaustion—of moving house. you laugh a bit to yourself as you shuffle over to the sofa, leaning over the back so you can peer down at him where he lays sprawled against the cushions.

"aren't you a professional athlete?" you tease him. "shouldn't you have better stamina?"

rintarou cocks a brow, something sly swimming behind his gaze.

"i need better stamina?" he drawls. "you're usually complaining about the opposite."

you roll your eyes in the wake of his remark, grabbing a throw pillow from beneath his head and yanking it from under him unceremoniously, only to press it lightly against his face.

you shuffle back towards the kitchen where you'd left the box you were unpacking abandoned. you grab a plate from inside the cardboard and turn to place it on the shelf you'd decided would house your dinnerware.

"it's late," you tell him, reaching for the next plate in the box. "you should go wash up first."

you don't get a reply, and that surprises you. you creep over to the sofa again, only to find rintarou staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

"hey," you laugh a little, leaning on your elbows against the back of the couch. "where'd you go?"

rintarou's gaze snaps back to yours. he still looks at you like he did on your first date. like he did outside the train station on your third. he smiles, bit it's a bit sheepish.

"sorry, was just thinking," he answers quietly. he reaches up from where he's lying on his back, brushing his thumb against your cheek. his smile turns a little bit giddy, then. boyishly charming. "can't believe we finally got a place together."

you lean into his touch, huffing a little breath through your nose—halfway to a laugh.

"guess you won't have to call me anymore," you joke, and rintarou's expression changes—falls slightly—but only for a moment. you realize what you've said, or at least think about the implications more, and you sort of understand the shift.

you fell in love through those phone calls.

you'll miss them—the ritual, the familiarity, the comfort—even though you know they've been replaced by something better.

you turn your face, pressing a fleeting kiss to rintarou's palm. "go wash up," you tell him again, heading back towards the kitchen and your (now twice abandoned) box of plates.

he seems to heed your advice this time, peeling himself up off the sofa and shuffling off in the direction of the washroom.

"don't use all the hot water!" you call after his retreating frame, and you hear him reply noncommittally under his breath before the door clicks closed behind him.

you've only got three dishes left to unpack before your box is emptied, but the shelf you'd been organizing doesn't seem to want to accommodate all of your bowls in the way you wanted, so you're left arranging and rearranging them as you try to find a way to get them to fit.

in the back pocket of your jeans, your phone begins to ring. with three plates balanced in one hand, you reach for it with the other—the movement muscle memory now, instinct more than volition, after all this time. you answer the call without even looking at the screen, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you continue juggling the dishes in front of you.

"oop—hello?"

you pause after you answer the call, realizing for the first time that you shouldn't be getting a call at all. not at this time of night. not in this apartment.

the line is quiet, just the sound of breathing that you could recognize anywhere to be heard from the other end of the call.

"why are you calling me?" you ask rintarou, but the words are light. too fond to be reproachful.

you hear rintarou laugh—from the other end of the call and from the other side of the bathroom door.

"just wanted to hear your voice," he answers you (the same way he has a thousand nights before when you've asked him that same question.)

"you're ridiculous," you tell him, completely enamoured.

"i know," he replies.

it's quiet for a moment as the two of you stand on opposite sides of your apartment. on opposite ends of your call.

you shift a stack of bowls a little to the left. it all fits now. just the way you wanted it to.

"y'know, the hot water won't run out as fast if we shower together—"

you hear the bathroom door open, and when you look over your shoulder, rintarou is peeking at you from around the edge of the door—his phone held to his ear, a smile on his face you know is mirrored on your own, and a look in his eye that's never once wavered.

he tilts his head.

"—wanna join me?"

[joelmillerisapunk]

Tastes like strawberries

Dbf!Joel miller x f!reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 6,367 (ma bad)

Summary: after accidentally sending your dads best friend a provocative photo meant for someone else you go to "apologize" in person.

Warnings: 18+, age gap (make it your own), handcuffs, scissors, power imbalance, alcohol consumption, f&m oral receiving, joel wrecks your clothes, unprotected p in v, reader has hair and wears a dress, just two consenting adults

Notes: this wasn't meant to be so long. But here we are. Thank you for reading hope you like it <3 Thank you @syd-djarin @joelslegalwhre and @mountainsandmayhem for beta'ing sending you all smooches! and @saradika-graphics for the divider <3 <3 <3

The soft glow of your phone screen illuminates your face in the dimly lit room. Your heart races with a mix of excitement and nerves as you craft the perfect message to the guy you've been chatting with on Tinder. His name is Joel, and he seems different from the others—charming, mature, and undeniably intriguing.

With a deep breath, you attach the sexy photo you'd taken earlier, one that you hope he'll find irresistible. You type out a flirty caption, double-check the name at the top of the chat, and hit send before you can second-guess yourself.

The next morning, you wake up to a message notification. Your heart leaps, thinking it's Tinder Joel, but as you reach for your phone, a sense of dread washes over you. The message is from your father's best friend, Joel Miller, a man you've known since childhood and who has seen you grow up. The preview of the message from last night is enough to make your blood run cold.

11:58PM: I think you might have sent this to the wrong person, sweetheart.

Panic sets in as you read the full message and your face flames with embarrassment. You type out a flurry of apologies, each one more frantic than the last. Joel's response is swift and unexpected.

8:05AM: It's all good, baby girl. You don't need those Tinder boys when I'm right here for ya.

The message is accompanied by a winking emoji, and despite your mortification, you can't help but feel a thrill at the familiarity and warmth in his words. 

—

Determined to apologize in person and clear the air, you find yourself outside the sleek glass building that houses Joel's wine company Vita Vino: where every sip is a celebration of life. You certainly don't feel very celebratory at this moment as the receptionist leads you up to the top floor, where Joel's office overlooks the city with floor-to-ceiling windows.

You step into the office, where you see the cityscape sprawling behind Joel. He rises from his desk, a smile playing on his lips, his presence commanding the room. "Come in, sweetheart, was hopin’ to see ya," he says and winks.

You manage to find your voice, despite the fluttering in your chest. "Mr. Miller, I can't tell you how sorry I am. I was mortified when I realized - I don't know what I was thinking, it was meant for someone—"

He cuts you off with a gentle raise of his hand to still your frantic words. "Please call me Joel, you know better than callin me that. It's okay darlin. Really. These things happen."

You look up at him, searching his face for any sign of judgement, but find only a calm, reassuring smile. "I just—I never meant for you to see that. I feel so stupid.”

Joel's smile broadens, and he takes a step closer. "You have nothing to feel stupid about. You're a beautiful, confident woman. Ain't no shame in that. Listen, what you sent—it was for my eyes only from the moment it reached my phone. I want you to know that you can trust me. I would never disrespect you by sharing that with anyone.”

His words resonate with you, and you feel the weight of your embarrassment start to lift. "I appreciate that, Joel. I really do."

He takes a step toward you, closing the distance between you two. His hand lifts, and you feel the warmth of his fingers as they gently tilt your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his. "You've got nothing to thank me for darlin. I'm just being honest with you."

The intensity of his stare sends a jolt of electricity through you. He's close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating off his body, and the scent of his cologne fills your senses, making your head spin. But before you can respond, he releases your chin and moves to the side, gesturing toward a large, framed map of the world's wine regions that hangs on the wall. As you both turn to look at it, your bodies are almost touching, and you can feel the subtle brush of his arm against yours.

"I want to show you something," he says, pointing to a very tiny out of the way region highlighted in gold. "It's where we get the grapes for our signature blend. You know, just like those grapes, sometimes the best things in life are unexpected surprises." 

As he explains the intricacies of the wine-making process, his hand drifts to the small of your back, a possessive gesture that sends a shiver down your spine. His touch is light, but the message is clear—he's staking a claim. 

As Joel's hand lingers on the small of your back, his thumb traces small, intimate circles that make it hard to focus on his words about wine. The room seems to shrink, the city outside the windows fading into insignificance as your awareness narrows to the man beside you.

 You swallow hard, your breath hitching as Joel's thumb continues its maddeningly delightful exploration. The heat from his hand seems to seep through the fabric of your clothes, branding your skin with his touch. "Joel," you whisper, your voice barely above a murmur. His name feels foreign and familiar on your lips.

He turns to look at you. "Yes, darlin'?" he replies, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself against the intoxicating effect he has on you. "I -I should go," you say, though the words feel hollow even as they leave your mouth. The last thing you want is to leave this room and the spell Joel has cast over you.

A slow smile spreads across his face, and he shakes his head slightly. "Do you really want to leave?" he asks, his hand pressing ever so slightly into your back, urging you closer.

The question hangs in the air between you, charged with anticipation and the promise of something deliciously forbidden. You know that saying yes will irrevocably change things between you and Joel Miller—the man who is friends with your father—but in this moment, none of that seems to matter. 

The air between you crackles with tension, the weight of your decision pressing down on you. You're acutely aware of the way your heart is pounding in your chest, the way your breath has become shallow and rapid. Joel's eyes are locked onto yours, a silent challenge that dares you to take a leap into the unknown.

"No," you admit, the word tasting like a confession. "I don't want to leave."

The smile that lights up Joel's face is predatory, triumphant. "Good girl," he murmurs, the approval in his voice sends a thrill through you. He steps back, giving you both a moment to breathe, to let the gravity of your decision settle in the space between you. "I've got something special I've been saving for an occasion like this," Joel says. He moves toward a polished wooden cabinet on the far side of the room. The cabinet is locked, but he produces a key from his pocket with a flourish that makes you smile despite the tension coiling in your belly.

Inside the cabinet is an array of exquisite bottles, each one surely holding a story as rich and complex as its contents. Joel's hand lingers over them before finally selecting one with a label that looks older than you are. "This," he says, holding it up to the light so you can see the liquid within, "is a 1947 Cheval Blanc. One of the finest vintages ever produced."

Your eyes widen at the sight of it. "Joel, I can't... that must be worth a fortune," you protest weakly, even as part of you yearns to experience such rare luxury.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head as he retrieves two crystal glasses from the cabinet. "Money isn't everything, darlin'." His gaze meets yours again, filled with an intensity that takes your breath away. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather share this with than you."

You watch in silence as he expertly uncorks the bottle and pours a small amount into each glass, the wine swirling like liquid rubies. He hands one to you and then raises his own in a toast. "To unexpected surprises," he says with a knowing smile.

The wine is velvet on your tongue, rich and complex with layers of flavor that seem to unfold endlessly as you sip it. You close your eyes for a moment, savoring the experience—and when you open them again Joel is watching you with an intensity that makes your knees weak. The atmosphere in the room has shifted, becoming charged with a desire that's as intoxicating as the wine you're sharing.

"You look so beautiful when you enjoy something.” 

As the last drops of the exquisite wine coat your throat, you lower your glass, your senses heightened by the rich flavors and the man standing before you. Joel's gaze is fixed on you, his eyes dark with desire that mirrors the pulsing need growing within you. He takes a step closer, the heat of his body enveloping you as he reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

"I want to show you more than just wine," he says, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. "There's a whole world of pleasures I can introduce you to.”

“Joel, I dont know what to say.” 

“Nothin’, you dont have to say anything pretty girl.” 

As the last drops of the Cheval Blanc dance on your tongue, Joel takes a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. He reaches out to take your glass, setting it aside on a nearby table. His fingers graze yours in the process, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm. You're acutely aware of the warmth of his body, the way his shirt stretches across his broad chest, the subtle hint of stubble along his jawline.

Joel turns back to the wine cabinet to return the precious bottle to its place of honor. As he opens the cabinet door, there's a soft clinking sound, and something metallic tumbles out from one of the shelves, landing with a thud on the plush carpet at your feet.

You both glance down simultaneously. There, gleaming under the soft glow of the office lights, is a pair of handcuffs. They're not just any handcuffs—they're high-quality, with a polished finish that suggests they've been well cared for. Your eyes widen in surprise, and you can feel a heat creeping up your cheeks as you look back at Joel.

"Well, that's not something I expected to show you today," he says with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck in a rare display of awkwardness.

You stare at the handcuffs and then back at Joel, your heart pounding in your chest. "Are those...?" You trail off, unable to finish the sentence.

Joel chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he nods. "Yes, they are.”

You're not sure what to think, you can only imagine how many women he's used those on, right here in his office. The thought sends a thrill through you, a mix of jealousy and excitement at the idea of being one of those women, of sharing in this secret, kinky side of Joel that he's kept hidden from the world. "I didn't peg you for the type," you say.

Joel's eyes lock onto yours, the playful glint in them replaced by a serious intensity. "There's a lot you don't know about me, darlin'," he admits. "And there's a lot I'd like to show you, if you're willing.”

You know that picking up those handcuffs would be crossing a line, stepping into a world of pleasure and exploration that you've never experienced before. But the thought of surrendering control to Joel, of letting him guide you through uncharted territory, is exhilarating.

Slowly, you reach down and pick up the handcuffs, the cold metal warming in your grasp. You hold them out to Joel, your heart racing as you give him a silent nod of consent. A slow, approving smile spreads across his face as he takes the handcuffs from you. 

His fingers brush against your wrists, sending sparks of electricity through your veins. You hear the soft click of the handcuffs as they close around your wrists. The sensation of being bound, of being at Joel's mercy, is both thrilling and terrifying.

"There," he says, his breath hot against your ear as he steps in front of you, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Now you're mine."

The words send a jolt of desire through you, pooling low in your belly. You're aware of the way your body responds to his words, to the dominance radiating off him in waves. "What are you going to do with me?" you ask.

Joel's smile is wicked as he reaches out to trace the line of your jaw with his finger. "Whatever I want," he says, the promise in his voice making your knees weak. "But don't worry, darlin'. I'm going to make sure you enjoy every single second of it.”

He guides you toward the large, mahogany desk that dominates his office. The surface is clear, save for a sleek laptop and a few neatly stacked papers. With a gentle hand on your shoulder, he urges you to sit on the edge of the desk, the cool wood against your skin a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his touch.

Joel steps back, his gaze raking over you as he begins to undress and it's as if time slows down, allowing you to take in every inch of his mature, ruggedly handsome form. Joel's suit is tailored to perfection, emphasizing his broad shoulders and muscular arms. Each movement he makes stretches the fabric across his toned body. With practiced ease, he removes it and then unbuttons his crisp, white dress shirt. His chest is a canvas of sun-kissed skin pulled taut over defined pectoral muscles. A smattering of gray hair dusts his chest, trailing down his toned abdomen and disappearing into the waistband of his trousers. Joel's hands move to his belt, and with a flick of his wrist, he unbuckles it, the metallic clink echoing in the quiet room. He slides the leather out of the loops with a slow, deliberate motion. His trousers follow, pooling at his feet to reveal a pair of black boxer briefs that hug his powerful thighs and leave little to the imagination.

His arousal is evident, straining against the soft fabric, and you can't help but feel a thrill at the sight. As he pushes his boxer briefs down, his cock springs free, thick and heavy with desire. His cock is a thing of beauty, perfectly proportioned to his large frame, with a defined shaft and a bulbous head that glistens with a drop of arousal. It's clear that Joel is a man confident in his sexuality and the effect he has on you.

"Eyes up here, darlin'," he teases, but the heat in his gaze tells you he enjoys your appraisal. Joel's eyes twinkle with mischief as he reaches into the top drawer of his desk, the sound of metal against wood sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. He produces a pair of scissors. The sight of them in his large, capable hands is intimidating. "These," he says, holding up the scissors for you to see, "are going to help me unwrap my present." His voice is filled with a promise that sends a thrill straight to your core.

You swallow hard, your breath hitching as he steps toward you. "Joel, wait—" you start to protest, but the words die on your lips as he places a finger gently against them.

"Shh... trust me," he murmurs, and there's something in his eyes that makes it impossible for you to do anything but nod in silent acquiescence. With a tenderness that belies his strength, Joel takes hold of one of the straps of your dress. The cold steel of the scissors brushes against your skin as he carefully slides the blades beneath the fabric. You feel a momentary resistance and then—snip—the strap gives way, falling limply to your side as Joel cuts through it with practiced ease. The front of your dress sags slightly, revealing more of your cleavage than intended. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks as Joel's gaze darkens with desire. "You are exquisite," he says reverently, his fingers tracing the newly exposed skin along the neckline of your dress.

Before you can respond, he's moving again, this time cutting away the other strip of fabric that hold up the rest of your dress. The material falls away from your body like petals from a blooming flower, pooling at your waist and leaving you feeling deliciously exposed under his hungry gaze. 

"Joel!" you gasp, both startled and exhilarated by his boldness. "My dress—" 

He silences you with a kiss—a deep, searing kiss that leaves no room for doubt about how much he wants you right now. "Don't worry about it," he says when he finally pulls away, “I'll buy you ten more just like it.”

With your heart pounding in your chest, you watch as Joel's attention shifts to your bra. The scissors glint in the soft light of his office, and you can't help but hold your breath as he positions the blades against the delicate fabric of your bra strap.

"I've been wanting to see these since the moment ya walked in baby," he confesses, his voice a low growl that sends a shiver down your spine. With a swift, precise movement, he snips through the strap on one side, then the other. The bra loosens around you, but it's still held in place by the underwire and your modesty is preserved—for now.

Joel sets the scissors aside and hooks his fingers under the remaining fabric of your dress and bra. He tugs gently, peeling away the layers of clothing that separate you from his touch. You lift your hips to assist him, and with a final tug, he frees you from both garments. You're sitting before him now in nothing but your underwear, feeling more vulnerable and exposed than ever before.

Joel's eyes roam over every inch of exposed skin with an intensity that makes it clear just how much he appreciates what he sees laid out before him on his desk like some kind of erotic feast prepared just for him. "You are absolutely breathtaking," he murmurs appreciatively as his hands follow where his eyes have just been caressing every curve along its way. Joel's hands continue their exploration, his fingers skimming over the soft fabric of your underwear. You can feel the heat of his touch through the thin material, and you can't help but arch into his touch, seeking more.

"Eager, aren't we?" he teases, his fingers tracing the edge of your underwear before dipping beneath the fabric. His fingertips graze your sensitive flesh, and a gasp escapes your lips as pleasure courses through you. "I like that," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

Your body responds to his touch with an eagerness that surprises you. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. "Lift up for me, darlin'," he instructs. You do as he says, lifting your hips so he can slide the underwear down your legs. Once they're off, he tosses them aside carelessly, as if they're nothing more than a bothersome impediment to what he truly wants—you. Now you're completely exposed to him, sitting on the edge of his desk with your hands cuffed and your legs spread slightly. You feel vulnerable like this, but there's also a sense of empowerment in knowing that you've driven him to such lengths of desire.

Joel steps back to appreciate the view, his eyes darkening with lust as they roam over your naked body. "You are a masterpiece," he says reverently, his gaze lingering on the apex of your thighs before traveling up to meet your eyes. "And I am going to worship every inch of you."

Before you can respond, he drops to his knees in front of you, his hands gripping your thighs as he buries his face between your legs. His tongue swipes across your sensitive flesh, and a moan escapes your lips as pleasure shoots through you.  Joel's tongue delves deeper, lapping at your folds and teasing your clit with gentle flicks. You gasp, arching into his touch as he explores you with a skill that leaves you panting for more. His hands squeeze your thighs, holding you in place as he devours you. You feel the world around you melt away as his attention focuses solely on bringing you pleasure.

As he works his magic between your legs, Joel's other hand travels up to cup one of your breasts, tweaking a nipple gently before rolling it between his fingers. The sensation sends shockwaves of desire coursing through you, heightening the pleasure he's already coaxing from below. Your hips buck against him in response to the exquisite torment and ecstasy that overwhelms you.

You can feel yourself growing wetter by the moment under his ministrations, and when Joel finally takes your clit into his mouth with a soft suckling sound that echoes in the quiet room, it's almost too much to bear. He sucks gently at first before increasing the pressure until your whole body tenses and shudders with release.  As the waves of pleasure crash over you, Joel's mouth never leaves your sensitive flesh. He laps at you with long, languid strokes, drawing out your orgasm until you're left trembling and gasping for air. Your body is still pulsing with the aftershocks when he finally pulls back, his lips glistening with your arousal.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with lust. "You taste as sweet as I imagined," he growls, his voice rough with desire. He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a groan of satisfaction. The sight of him tasting you is incredibly erotic, and you feel a fresh surge of arousal at the thought of him enjoying your pleasure so thoroughly. "Come on now, be a good girl and follow me,”  he says, rising to his feet. He reaches for the chain between the handcuffs, using it to guide you off the desk and toward the plush leather couch that sits against the far wall of his office. 

You stumble slightly, still dizzy from your orgasm, but Joel's strong arm wraps around your waist, holding you steady. He positions you on the couch, your back against the soft leather and your hands still cuffed, placing them above your head. He kneels beside you, his body looming over yours as he captures your lips in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you dizzy. "Spread those pretty legs for me, darlin'," he murmurs against your lips, and you comply without hesitation, eager for whatever he has planned next. He reaches down to stroke your inner thighs. "You're so wet for me, so ready," he says, his voice filled with approval.

He positions himself between your legs, the tip of his cock nudging against your slick entrance. You look up at him, your eyes meeting his in a silent plea for more. He responds with a slow, deliberate thrust that fills you completely. The sensation of him inside you is overwhelming, and you can't help but cry out in pleasure.

"That's it, such a goodgirl, aren’tcha?" he groans, beginning to move inside you with a rhythm that quickly has you panting and writhing beneath him. "I know baby, s'big but you can take it darlin. C’mon take me inside that pretty pussy.”

His thrusts grow more urgent, more demanding, and you meet each one with a desperation that matches his own. The sound of skin on skin fills the room, punctuated by your cries of pleasure and his low, guttural moans.

Joel's hand snakes between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in time with his thrusts. The added stimulation is almost too much to bear, and you feel another orgasm building within you, stronger and more intense than the first. "Come for me, darlin'," he commands. "Wanna feel you make a sweet mess on my cock."

His words push you over the edge, and you explode around him, your body convulsing with the force of your release. He continues to thrust through your orgasm, drawing it out until you're left limp and boneless beneath him. 

Just as the waves of your orgasm subsides, Joel slowly withdraws from you, leaving you feeling empty and exposed. He stands before you, his cock glistening with your arousal, and there's a predatory glint in his eyes that sends a thrill of anticipation through you.

"On your knees, darlin'," he commands, his voice a low growl that brooks no argument. You scramble to obey, the handcuffs clinking together as you shift your position on the couch. He steps closer, his cock at eye level, and you can't help but lick your lips in anticipation.

Joel's cock is a sight to behold—a testament to his virility and raw masculinity. It's thick and long, with a prominent vein running along the underside that pulses. The shaft is smooth and warm to the touch, the skin soft yet taut over the steel-hard erection beneath. His girth is substantial. The head of his cock is a deep shade of pink, almost purple with engorgement, and it glistens with a bead of precum that entices you like the sweet promise of a popsicle on a sweltering summer day. You can't help but lean forward, extending your tongue to taste him. The salty-sweet flavor of his essence dances on your taste buds as you lap at him, eliciting a deep groan of pleasure from Joel that vibrates through his body and into yours.

"Open wide," he instructs, his hand fisting his shaft as he guides himself toward your waiting mouth. You part your lips obediently, and he slides inside, filling your mouth with his impressive girth. He tastes musky and salty, a heady combination that makes your head spin.

"That's it, baby girl," he groans, his fingers threading through your hair as he begins to thrust gently into your mouth. "Take it nice and deep."

You relax your throat, trying to accommodate his size as he sets a steady rhythm, fucking your mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts. You can feel the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat, and you fight the urge to gag, wanting to please him, to show him that you can handle everything he gives you.

"Such a good girl," he praises, his words spurring you on. "You look so fucking beautiful with my cock in your mouth."

His praise washes over you, filling you with a sense of pride and arousal. You moan around him, the vibrations making him hiss with pleasure. His grip on your hair tightens, and he pulls you closer, pushing deeper into your throat.

"Fuck, yes," he groans, his hips jerking as he hits the perfect spot. "Just like that. Don't stop."

You can feel the tension building in his body, the way his thighs tremble slightly with each thrust. You know he's close, and the knowledge that you're the one bringing him to the edge fills you with a sense of power.

Suddenly, he pulls out, his cock leaving your mouth with a wet pop. "Not yet," he says, his voice strained. "Wanna come inside ya baby, make a mess in that tasty cunt."

He helps you to your feet and guides you back to the desk, bending you over it so that your ass is in the air and gives you a light smack to one cheek. He reaches between your legs, his fingers easily sliding into your soaked pussy. "Goddamn baby, you're still so wet," he marvels, his fingers pumping in and out of you with a rhythm that quickly has you panting for more.

Without warning, he pulls his fingers out and replaces them with his cock, slamming into you with a force that makes you cry out in surprise and pleasure. He sets a brutal pace, his hips slapping against your ass with each powerful thrust.

"You feel that, darlin'?" he growls, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "That's me claiming what's mine."

His words send a jolt of desire through you, and you push back against him, meeting each thrust with one of your own. You can feel another orgasm building, the pressure coiling low in your belly.

"Come for me one more time," he commands, his hand reaching around to strum your clit with quick, expert strokes. "Wanna feel you milk my cock."

His words push you over the edge, and you come around him, your entire core pulsing around his girth and with a final, powerful thrust, Joel buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he finds his own release. You can feel him filling you up, the warmth of his seed spreading through you as he groans out his pleasure.

Spent, he collapses on top of you, his body heavy and sated. After a moment, he pulls out and helps you to stand, his hands gentle as he uncuffs you and massages your wrists.

"You are somethin’ else that's for sure babygirl," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

You smile up at him, "I'm glad I could make you feel good," you reply with a soft voice.

Joel chuckles and gives you a quick, playful swat on the ass. "Make me feel good? Baby girl, you blew my mind."

He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a sleek, black whip. "Next time," he says, holding it up for you to see, "we can play with this. But for now, I think we've both had enough excitement for one day."

You stand there for a moment, still reeling from the intensity of your encounter, and then you remember—your dress is in tatters on the floor. You gather the remnants of your clothing, holding them up in front of you like a shield. "What do I do about this?" you ask.

Joel looks at you with a mischievous grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "What size are you, darlin'?" he asks, reaching for his phone on the desk.

You tell him your size, still feeling a bit flustered as he dials a number and speaks into the receiver. "Hey, Lexi? Yeah, I need you to pick up a dress for our guest here.” He looks at you questioningly, and you repeat your size for his benefit. "Got it. And make it something nice—surprise me.” There's a brief pause as he listens to his assistant's response before hanging up the phone with a satisfied nod. "Lexi will take care of everything," he assures you with a wink that sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach once again despite yourself.

True to his word, less than twenty minutes later, there's a knock on the office door. Lexi, Joel's assistant, enters the room with a professional smile and several shopping bags from high-end boutiques. "Here you go, Mr. Miller," she says, setting them down next to where you're standing, like this is completely normal. "I hope these will suffice."

"Thank you, Lexi," Joel responds with a nod of appreciation. "I'm sure they'll be perfect." Lexi exits the room as quickly as she came in, leaving you once again alone with Joel. He gestures toward the bags with a playful smile. "Go on, darlin'. Pick your favorite."

You rummage through the bags and find an elegant black dress that looks like it would fit you perfectly. It's sophisticated yet sexy—just like the man who bought it for you. With a shy smile, you hold it up for Joel to see.

"Perfect choice," he says approvingly. "Why don't you try it on?"

You slip into the dress, feeling its soft fabric hug your curves in all the right places. When you turn around to show Joel, his eyes light up with appreciation. "You look stunning," he murmurs sincerely while walking over towards where you were standing before wrapping an arm around your waist then pulling you closer so he could whisper into your ear "But then again I knew you would." His words send shivers down your spine causing goosebumps to form all over your skin despite how warm it was inside his office at this moment.

 As Joel takes a moment to drink in the sight of you in the new dress, you can't help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction. The way his eyes darken with desire, even after everything you've shared, is intoxicating. It's clear that his interest in you isn't just a fleeting attraction—it's something much deeper and more intense.

You smile at him, your heart fluttering in your chest. "Thank you, Joel," you reply softly. "For everything."

He chuckles and shakes his head slightly. "Don't thank me yet, darlin'. The day's still young. Now what do you say I get ya home safe."

With that tantalizing promise hanging in the air between you, Joel helps you into your coat—a thoughtful gesture that makes you feel cared for. He escorts you out of his office and down to the parking garage where his sleek black sports car is waiting. The ride back to your place is filled with easy conversation and shared laughter, the chemistry between you two undeniable and electric.

When he pulls up in front of your building, he turns off the engine and turns to face you. "I had a great time with you today," he says sincerely, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "I hope this isn't the last time I get to see that beautiful smile of yours."

You look up at him through your lashes, feeling bold despite the vulnerability coursing through you. "I don't think that will be a problem," you say with a playful smirk. 

Joel grins back at, “that's my good girl.” 

As you step out of the car, the cool  air wraps around you. You turn to say goodbye, but he's already getting out of the driver's seat, coming around to your side of the car.

"Let me walk you to your door," he says, offering his arm with a gentlemanly charm that belies the fiery passion you've shared. You accept with a nod, and together, you walk toward the entrance of your building.

The silence between you is comfortable, filled with the unspoken knowledge of what transpired between you two. As you reach your door, you turn to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. "Thank you again, Joel, for today," you say softly, "for everything."

Joel smiles at you. "The pleasure was all mine," he replies with a wink and leans in close enough that his breath ghosts over your lips when he speaks again. "But I have a feeling we're just getting started."

With those words hanging in the air between you like a promise of more incredible days to come, Joel takes a step back and heads back toward his car parked by curbside leaving only echoes behind him.

As the door to your building clicks shut behind you, you lean against it. The memory of his touch, his kiss, his words—they all send shivers of delight coursing through your veins. You can't help but smile to yourself as you replay the events of the day in your mind, each moment more thrilling than the last.

You're startled out of your reverie by the buzzing of your phone in your purse. Fishing it out, you see a notification on the screen - a new message from Joel. Your heart skips a beat as you open it, curiosity and excitement mingling within you.

1:07PM: Can't wait to unwrap that pretty little package again." 

The words alone are enough to send a jolt of desire through you, but then you notice an attachment—a picture. With trembling hands, you open it and find exactly what you were hoping for - a photo of Joel's large burly hand wrapping around his even thicker, larger cock, hard and ready for you once more. You realize he must have taken that in his car.

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the sight of Joel's arousal, so potent and vivid on your screen. The knowledge that he's thinking about you, that he's hard and ready again so soon after your encounter, sends a thrill of power through you. You type out a quick response, your fingers flying over the keys with a boldness that matches the newfound confidence he's awakened in you.

1:10PM I hope you're not driving and texting that picture. Keep your eyes on the road, Mr. Miller.  you tease, adding a winking emoji for good measure.

His response is almost immediate, a testament to his eagerness. 

1:10PM Don't worry, darlin'. I'm parked outside your building. Couldn't resist sending you a little something to dream about tonight.

You can't help but smile at his words, your body already aching for his touch once more. But before you can respond, another message comes through with an address.

1:11PM Tomorrow, 8 PM. My place. Wear something comfortable and easy to take off.

1:12PM Yes sir.

1:13PM Oh baby you're walking Into whole new territory calling me sir. I'm going to put that pretty mouth to good use tomorrow.

Just as you're about to put your phone down a last message comes through 

1:13PM And leave the underwear at home.

[writingsbychlo]

SPIDER | tom riddle

summary; tom riddle has a peculiar way of showing his affection, but he's nothing if not protective.

word count; 1625

notes; I woke up this morning with inspiration and I grabbed my laptop and banged this out before even getting up. if you hate it, I literally don't care <3

The flames of the fireplace flickered soothingly, the last warmth spilling out towards you in a subtle glow, hiding the reflections of the lake that danced around the room. Several other students were also still milling around, the Slytherin common room was never truly empty, not unless it was the summer break. Pulling the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders, you snuggled down a bit further, only stilling when the cold sense of someone else crept down your neck. 

This was a familiar chill, though. You were aware of someone else’s presence, and yet no part of that was threatening. A familiar cologne reached your nose, and before you’d even turned, you were greeting the man who stood behind you, “Hello, Tom.”

“Why are you down here?” He cut right to the point, never one for formalities, and your lips flickered up at the edges as he walked around the edge of the sofa and into your view. “You’re never up at this time.”

Always so observant. Your smile formed a little more every time he revealed something extra he’d noticed about you. That you liked a particular table in the library, that your favourite biscuits were chocolate hobnobs, that you didn’t usually stay up this late. Tom Riddle had a peculiar way of showing affection. Most people assumed he was cold, unfeeling, harsh. They couldn't be more wrong. 

Tom Riddle was a walking, talking, bleeding heart. He was an open wound, snapping like an injured animal when anyone came close. Tom Riddle was full of emotion, it just happened to be hidden behind a thick stone wall. But if you were allowed close enough to look through the cracks, the true Tom Riddle shone like golden light within. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” You teased, and he rolled his eyes, taking half a step closer to you and perching on the arm of the couch elegantly. 

“You know I go for walks at night.”

��And where do you go for these walks? What do you do on your oh-so-mysterious nightly walks?” You turned your body further towards him, the blanket slipping down from its place around your chin, and those calculating brown eyes tracked its fall along your arm.  

“That’s none of your business, and you’re avoiding the question.”

“You’re avoiding mine.” You retorted, and he simply gave you a dry look. Reaching out, Tom lifted the edge of the blanket back up and over your shoulder, securing it back into place. 

“Answer me.”

“Fine,” You sighed, head rolling across your shoulders and back towards the fireplace, watching the growing flames once again, “I saw a spider in my room. It crawled down the edge of my bed right before I could get in, and now I don’t want to go to sleep.”

You could feel Tom’s stare on you, the silence stretching between you both as he let the confession settle. There was half a chance he’d scoff, and half a chance he’d simply walk away now that he got his answer. He seemed to be debating between which one to go for. “Why didn’t Pansy get it out for you?”

Another question, not an option you’d considered, but not a surprise from him. “She’s not here, she’s at Luna’s tonight.”

More silence, and you took the chance to observe him instead. Tom Riddle was not one to cower away from a stare, and so as you watched him, he watched you too. Finally, he broke the silence, “I’ll get it for you.”

Now, that was a surprise. “You will?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

“Does it matter?” He shot back, standing once again, making it clear to you that you were to do the same, or he’d leave without you. Dropping the blanket down to the couch, the enchanted item folded itself back up and into the storage trunk you’d taken it from, as you smoothed out your jumper and followed Tom’s already retreating steps.

“It doesn’t matter, but I’m curious. Humour me.” You caught up with him, and he cut you a glance from the side of his eye. “You should also know that I’m very grateful, whether you choose to tell me or not. Thank you.”

The rigid lines of his shoulders softened a little at that. Should you know how to, Tom Riddle could be played like a fiddle. You smothered a snicker at the rhyme in your head as he let slip a small sigh. “I don’t want you to sit in the common room all night when I can perfectly easily take care of the problem.”

Your smile was full now, following him silently through the halls as he guided the way to your dorm. Opening the door, he was respectful enough to ignore the piles of mess on your roommate’s side of the dorm, looking straight towards your untouched bed, and the mug of now cold tea sitting on your bedside table. 

“Which side?”

“The far one.” You mumbled, tension creeping back into your body. What if it wasn’t there anymore? What if it had crawled elsewhere, and was now hidden somewhere in the room, ready to strike, or—

The screech of your bed frame moving snapped you from your thoughts as Tom pulled it away from the wall. It moved again, jarring along the wooden floor. Tom remained still, eyes moving for a second, two, before he suddenly strode forwards, ducking down and his hand shot out. He straightened a second later, with his hands cupped, and turned to you. 

He nodded his head towards the window, and you scurried across the room ahead of him, flinging open the window and backing far away as he neared. That made him scoff, rolling his eyes at your behaviour once again. He held his hands out of the window, shaking them off and letting the spider fall through the air, before pulling back, and clicking the catch back into place. He double-checked it, before casting his eye over the rest of the room. 

“Let me check for any more.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Your words fell on deaf ears, as Tom shifted your bed back into place, before peering behind both desks, your dressers and the wardrobe, and finally, the bathroom. He methodically checked each and every space within your dorm for you, leaving you to sit in the centre of your once again safe bed, watching him with a soft smile. Before leaving the bathroom, he washed his hands clean of the creature that had been crawling within them, before returning to you. 

“No more.”

“Thank you, Tom.” You whispered, his chin tucking in a single nod, but a frown on his face. 

“You already thanked me.”

“There’s no law saying I can’t thank you twice, or as many times as I please, for that matter.” Your smirk made him press his lips into a line, but he had no comeback and hated not having the final word. He was calculating, something else to say, something to spin this back onto you—

“Your tea is cold. You should reheat that, so you don’t waste it.”

Your gaze flickered to the mug, and back to him, shrugging. “I don’t feel like having it now.”

His sigh sounded frustrated, and he took a few more steps into the room, towards you, instead of the door. His voice had softened once again as he took you in, looking down at you with a gentler gaze than most ever saw. “Will you go to sleep now?”

“Soon, I think I’ll just read for a while, I’m not too tired yet.” 

He nodded. His jaw clenched as he glanced towards the door, but made no move to leave. The clock in the corner ticked, seconds passing by loudly in the space, and then, “Would you like to join me on my walk?”

His words were fragile, a rare show of vulnerability from him. Uttered quietly into the air that hung between you both, and your gasp almost startled him. “Really?”

He glared, answering your question with a fitting answer. Tom never said things he didn’t mean, and you knew that. Everyone knew that. But he’d never let anyone go on his walks before, it was a hotly debated topic and a running joke within the group about what exactly took place on these walks, and what nefarious things he likely got up to. 

“I’d like that.”

“Then put on some proper shoes, and quickly.” You did as he had, rather gruffly, commanded, swapping out the comfy slippers for some boots, and throwing on another jumper for extra warmth. Tom waited for you at the door, holding it open for you to step through. “Do you like the lake at night?”

“I’ve never been out to the lake at night.” 

He made a quiet sound of acknowledgement, a hum under his breath. “Then that’s where we’ll go. You’ll like it. It’s… peaceful.”

His hand flexed at his side as you walked together, and after clearing the common room and entering the silent corridors, you slipped your hand into his own. 

He stiffened, for only a second, before his fingers wrapped back around yours, and a smile pulled on his lips as he ducked his head. You and Tom had been dancing this line for years now, something more but not quite enough. 

Not yet. 

But you’d get there, someday. His actions told you enough. Enough to know that he felt what you did too, that you were certainly headed somewhere, on a collision course together. You belonged to Tom Riddle as much as he belonged to you. 

So, for now, holding his hand as you walked the lake, and letting him chase spiders out of your room was enough. 

[ceoofyearning]

All I Want - Cassian

Pairing: Cassian x Bestfriend! Reader Summary: When Nesta Archeron dropped into Cassian’s life with the cataclysmic force of silver wildfire, you took one look at them and knew you missed your chance. There’s no fighting against a mating bond. But that hasn’t stopped the memory of him from haunting you since.  Except there he is, decades later, just across the room, watching you watch him. Rating & Warnings: T/M | Hurt & Comfort, angst to fluff, PAST Nessian, recreational mirthroot use, alcohol, suggestive but nothing explicit (lmk if i miss anything else) Word Count: 4.4k Links: Masterlist

A part of you had always craved to see the rest of the world, and when you got the chance to work in the Day Court three decades ago, it seemed like the perfect opportunity. With how things were, it seemed like the perfect excuse to leave. After all, it’s not as if you had a reason to stay. The mating bond between snapping Nesta and Cassian had made sure of that. 

In many ways, leaving felt like the easier choice - to shed your past and start anew in a court where no one knew you - a clean slate. Mother knows you needed one. 

Your work for Helion involves acquiring ancient texts and artifacts for the One Thousand Libraries of Day. It required you to travel all over Phythian, even as far as the continent to procure these items yourself. You adore your job and enjoy the freedom it affords you, but when you were given the opportunity to go back to Velaris to manage the satellite division connected to the Great Library, a part of you had been reluctant to agree. Coming back meant facing your past. And that, more than anything, was terrifying. 

It has been a few weeks since your return to the City of Stars. Although you didn’t have much time outside of work, you do try to maintain a semblance of a social life. Mor made sure of that. When you first met her a few centuries ago, Mor had taken one look at you, a broken, wingless half-Ilyrian female, and decided that the two of you must become friends. Perhaps she saw a piece of herself in you, in your defiance against a world that was out to get you. 

You had been close friends with Mor in the past, and the moment she heard you were back in town, she reached out to reconnect. You appreciated it immensely, of course. Going back and having to build a life for yourself in Velaris after all these years of being gone seems less daunting with a friend by your side. So when Mor asks you to go out, you try to go whenever you can afford to, desperate to grasp at chances to belong, despite yourself. Tonight, Mor practically dragged you out of your apartment for drinks and to briefly attend a ball in the Moonstone Palace. 

“I don’t understand why Emerie is allowed to pass,” you grumble morosely as you peer up the warmly-lit exterior of Rita’s. 

“Because Em hasn’t been hiding out in the library for the past week,” Mor counters blithely. 

“I was busy,” you retort in vain, knowing full well that all resistance is futile. 

“You’re always busy,” Mor retorts, throwing an arm around your neck. Your friend is clad in her usual skin-tight red dress, exuding self-confidence with each step she takes. You shoot her a look of sheer betrayal, and she laughs, raising her hands in mock surrender. “It’s for your own good. You deserve to have fun too, you know?” Mor says with exaggerated gravity, which has you rolling your eyes. 

You sigh, and pad after her, knowing there is no use trying to argue now that she has already dragged you here. You practically trip over yourself on your borrowed heels, as you try to adjust the straps of the dress Mor had squeezed you into. It’s a resplendent satin dress with a terrifyingly low neckline and an even terrifyingly high slit up your left thigh. To her credit, however, the black dress fits you like a glove, a testament to Mor’s eye for fashion. With much effort, you banish the thoughts of all your responsibilities and deadlines to the void. Fine, you’ll try to have fun tonight, at least. 

You would've been happy enough with a simple dinner, maybe even some wine, but of course, Mor idea of fun rarely coincides with yours. The initial plan is to have just a few drinks at a nice, quiet bar - catch up a bit, and have a good laugh. But as the night progressed, Mor had piled you with more and more alcohol, and you became more amenable to going along with her unhinged plans. 

It starts with you moving to another bar, then another, until you finally find yourselves right in the middle of the overcrowded dance floor in the Moonstone Palace. To call this gathering a ball would be far too generous. Sometime in the night, the party had devolved to the very picture of debauchery. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, spilled liquor, and bad decisions. It’s a good thing you were drunk enough to not mind the overwhelming press of bodies against you. You could even admit that there’s some comfort to be had in being just another face lost in the crowd - free to enjoy the music, to simply be. The beat seems to reverberate throughout the whole room, through your bones, pulling you and everyone else into movement, like a collective heartbeat. Amidst the sea of nameless, gyrating bodies, that’s where you catch a glimpse of him - a slip of darkness, flickering in and out of view as the kaleidoscope of colors shifts overhead. 

Cassian.

Your attention doesn’t go unnoticed for long. His hazel eyes catch yours, and for a moment, the world stops existing. There is only you, and him and the weight of all the love, heartache and desolation between you. A blink, and reality returns to its normal unrelenting pace.

His muscled frame is evident even from a distance, the outline of his strong shoulders and defined arms visible beneath the blank long-sleeved shirt he wore. Intricate tattoos peek through the opened buttons of his shirt, their dark lines running from his neck, chest, down to his forearms. 

You knew Cassian back when you still lived in the Night Court, fancied yourself in love with his charming smile and penchant for mischief. More than anything, you admired him for his kindness. He had been the one to help you escape the camps, even helped set you up here in Velaris. As a half-Ilyrian female with no wings or any significant Ilyrian power, you don’t doubt that staying would have been a death sentence. Or worse. 

Afterward, the two of you had spent the better part of the last two centuries circling one another. You didn’t know the name of what you had with Cassian, but the two of you had preferred it that way, not wanting to risk your friendship. You never had the courage to ask for more, not even when you desperately wanted to. But when Nesta Archeron had dropped into his life with the cataclysmic force of silver wildfire, you took one look at them and knew you missed your chance. There’s no fighting against a mating bond. But that hasn’t stopped the memory of him from haunting you since. 

Except there he is, decades later, just across the room, watching you watch him. 

You heard from the grapevine that, seven years ago, after a failed explosive engagement and years of falling in and out of each other's beds, he and Nesta had finally called it quits. The eldest Archeron sister, Lady Death, had moved to the ruins of Dusk to seek her own destiny, to carve the story of her glory onto the earth. Cassian, on the other hand, had decided to remain here in the Night Court. 

A glint of recognition burns in his hazel eyes. For you, Cassian had always been the one that got away. Despite yourself, you find comfort in the thought that it might not have been easy for him to forget you, too.

You can feel your heart beat violently against your chest, threatening to break free from your ribcage. You can’t tell whether it's from anticipation, or a deep-rooted instinct that this? This is very dangerous territory, not unlike walking back into a battlefield you just managed to escape. Regardless of your better judgment, a smile makes its way to your lips, because, in the end, you’re happy to see him.

And Cassian smiles back. 

Throughout the night, you watch Cassian from the corner of your eye, and you feel his gaze on you in return. Sometime in the evening, you lose Mor in the crowd, covertly swept away by a gorgeous Ilyrian female in black. You, in turn, are left precariously perched on a stool, nursing a glass of water. You swallow your disappointment while contemplating the logistics of winnowing home whilst being utterly tipsy, and conclude that you’re more likely to be spliced across time and space than to reach your destination. 

Instead, you give yourself a few minutes to loiter by one of the palace’s expansive balconies, trying to get sober enough to depart. You’ve lost your shoal sometime during the party, but the crisp night air feels great against your heated skin, helping clear your mind. You recline against the chaise, before crossing your ankles and shutting your eyes. You stay like that for a few minutes, just enjoying the muted music and the blessed solitude. 

Your peace doesn’t last long, however. You hear a familiar set of footsteps approach, followed by the telltale groan of the chaise beside you. 

“You’re back,” he sounds breathless, disbelieving as though he hasn’t quite figured out if he’s dreaming. You’d know the calming cadence of his voice anywhere, in the dreaming, even in death. 

“Cassian,” you sigh, just as breathless, just as dismantled by his presence. Finally, your eyes flutter open to peer up at him. You swallow the lump in your throat, and he watches the movement, transfixed. 

You drink in the sight of him like you’re lost in a desert, and he’s the only oasis to be found. His long, wavy locks of midnight-black hair cascade over his shoulders, half pulled back into a disheveled bun behind his head. Loose curls frame his rugged features. He looks sharper, hewn from the toughest steel, but there was a familiar warmth in those hazel eyes.

“I thought I saw you,” he smiles, and your mind nearly implodes at the sight of the dimple on his right cheek. Memories flash, and you remember languid afternoons spent pressing kisses over the same dimple, your nose buried in his neck, your hands tracing shapes over his chest. The moment his hand lands on your knee, however, you snap out of it.

“I’m not sleeping with you,” you notify him pointedly because you are done giving pieces of yourself to this man, no matter how charming he can be, not without anything tangible in return.

He raises his hands over his head, as if in surrender, all the while giving you a crooked grin, “Hey, my intentions are pure, Sunshine. I just wanted to catch up.”

And that statement would have been perfectly fine, you think, if he hadn’t just called you that. Sunshine. God, how you used to love every time he said it, how your heart soared every time he spoke those two syllables. It made you feel special, seen. Now, all it leaves is the scent of smoke in your lungs and the taste of devastation in your tongue

“Cassian, Please,” and you hope to The Mother you sound casual, light, sarcastic even; and not like you’re about to swallow your own damn tongue. “Your intentions are as perpetually black as Azriel’s shadows.”

“I resent that,” he huffs petulantly. “I’m perfectly capable of having a chaste conversation.”

“Right.” You laugh, a real one this time, and Cassian holds his chest in feigned offense. “I just got back, and the first thing you do is lie to me? For shame, Cassian, for shame,” you tease, and a lovely shade of pink invades his cheeks, much to his chagrin. 

As you settle further into the cushions, you ask, "What have you been up to? Those Illyrian Warlords still giving you trouble?"

Cassian leans back, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "I hardly involve myself in the military anymore," he admits, his tone tinged with an equal measure of relief and exhaustion. "I'm tired of the battlefields, the bloodshed. I’ve seen enough of it for several lifetimes. I want to build, not to destroy; to something new, something greater than myself."

And that’s when you see it - the weariness from the weight of all that violence, from the stains those lost lives have left on his hands. They may have called him the Lord of Bloodshed, and he may have been good at it even, Cassian - at his core - has always had a kind and tender heart. You don’t blame him for wanting to leave that life. 

You nod in understanding. “What are you going to do?” you ask, curiosity piqued.

A spark lights up in his eyes, and his smile returns, softer this time. “I’m not entirely sure yet,” he confesses. “But I want it to be something that helps people, that brings more good into the world. The Valkyries were a great start, but I want to build a place for people like us, my mother, the outcasts - a safe place for all the females, the children and the bastards brutalized by this world. I want to give them a chance for a kinder life.”

Your chest aches, and you reach out, taking his hand in yours. “That sounds wonderful, Cassian.”

He squeezes your hand gently, his eyes full of gratitude. “Thank you.”

He studies you for another long moment, hazel eyes taking you in like he’s seeing you for the first time, as if you held the answer to a question he’s spent a long, long time asking himself. His gaze softens.

As the evening stretches on, you and Cassian talk about everything and nothing, the conversation flowing effortlessly like the constant ebb and flow of the Sidra. Despite what happened in the past, this thing between you two feels natural, almost as if no time has passed. Sitting there with him, you realize how much you've missed this, missed him. Cassian had been your savior, your family, and your closest friend before everything went wrong, and perhaps, that’s the one thing you mourned the most: his presence in your life, regardless of who he was to you. Reconnecting with him now felt like being ripped apart and remade all in one breath. 

Then, he pulls out a pipe from his pocket, and promptly sticks it in between his teeth. You watch, half mesmerized by the way he lights it before taking a slow, steady drag. He breathes it in with practiced ease, before releasing a truly remarkable cloud of smoke. He must’ve noticed you staring because he looks at you and wordlessly offers you a puff. “Remember this?”

You eye him dubiously, “How could I forget.” It’s the same gem-encrusted pipe you had given him as a joke all those years ago, knowing how much he hated unnecessary finery. He had stared at it in horror when you first presented it to him years ago. That he kept it surprised you. 

Memories of the two of you locked in his room come into mind. Your lips on his, bodies entwined as a bowl of mirthroot burns at the bedside table. 

“What? Don’t tell me you don’t do mirthroot anymore?” He asks, his grin growing wider. “What is it? Forgotten to have fun?”

Refusing to give him the satisfaction, you retort instead, “I haven’t.” 

“Prove it then,” he challenges, as he taps off some of the ash that has accumulated in the mouth of the pipe. 

You shouldn’t, really. But it’s been a shitty night, and an even shittier month. Mor was right. You’ve been running yourself ragged. And, in truth, you just needed a night where you could forget the rest of your life, even if it’s only temporary 

“Well,” you say as you take the pipe from him, “If anyone needs a bit more mirth in their life, it would be me.”

Cassian chuckles, “And me.” The two of you mime clinking glasses as a show of commiseration, before bursting into raucous laughter. 

You toy with the pipe for a few seconds, turning it over your fingers. It may have seemed like reluctance, but in reality, you were trying to remember the last time you allowed yourself to relax. You realize that it has been a very long while. With one deep breath, the earthy smoke fills your lungs, and you let it linger before you breathe it out. Not without being hit by a coughing fit though, much to Cassian’s amusement. 

“Don’t,” you warn him. 

And of course, he doesn’t heed you, and instead says, “You’re adorable.” 

Before you can say anything else, he takes the pipe and squeezes himself beside you onto the scant space left on the chaise. You let him. It is as though the two of you can’t help but gravitate towards each other, twin stars pulled together by the same cosmic force; even after everything, even after years of silence, of insurmountable distance.

The chaise makes an impressive effort to hold the both of you, and it takes some truly impressive maneuvering for the two of you to fit. He’s turned towards you while you lay half-sprawled across his chest, your leg thrown over his thighs to lock around his calf. His wing curls over you, encasing you within his warmth. Your hand is over his chest, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heart echoing your own. It's comforting to know that, even after all that has happened, the two of you still fit together like long-lost pieces of a single puzzle.

“Here, let me,” he takes another hit, easily inhaling and exhaling the silvery smoke as if that alone is enough instruction. He hands it to you once more.

You give him a withering look, but take it from him anyway. Once more you try your best to take the smoke in, but it elicits another coughing fit when you breathe it out. 

“Mother’s tits,” you mutter between coughs. Meanwhile, Cassian looks far too delighted at watching your miserable attempts to get high. 

“Do you want me to help?” he cryptically proposes with a hopeful look on his face, and you see the question for what it is. “You can say no anytime,” he assures you. 

In lieu of an answer, you inch closer, your face angled to fit with his, and you wonder if this is how a sunflower feels when it turns to face the sun. He only gives you one of his unfairly dashing smiles, before he takes another long drag. But this time, he keeps it in, as he cups your face and presses his thumb down your lower lip to coax your mouth open for him.

“Like this,” he whispers, his lips a mere centimeter away from yours. You’re practically vibrating with want, counting the infinities between seconds before you can taste his lips again. The smoke escapes his lips in languid swirls as you pull him down by the nape into a kiss. 

Cassian smiles against your lips.

The world is gradually shifting around you, like tectonic plates converging to recreate the world anew. The both of you shudder at the contact. This isn’t a cataclysm, not a world-ending explosion, but a realization, an answer to an overdrawn question. Cassian kisses you like he’s got all the time in the world to spare. It’s a languid back and forth of shared breaths and the seamless glide of his chapped lips on yours.

The feel of him is familiar and foreign all at once. The taste of rum lingers on his tongue as he licks into your mouth, swallowing the moan that comes out of you unbidden. You don’t know how long you stay in that hazy bliss, reacquainting yourselves with each other, just breathing the other in. 

But when he pulls away, he tugs on your bottom lip as if to make a final point. And what a totally valid point it is. You are convinced - so convinced, in fact, that you decide you aren’t going to smack him over the head for ruining you completely. The smug smirk on his face, by all means, would normally piss you off, but you find yourself smiling back instead.

“Was that better?” He inquires, batting his doe eyes at you innocently like he hadn’t just obliterated all rational thought in your head with his touch alone. 

“I can’t tell…” you trail off in feigned consideration. “I think you’ll have to do it again, just to be sure.” 

His nose scrunches in the most adorable way as he scoffs. Nonetheless, he humors you, lifting the pipe to his lips and inhaling another long drag.

“This is purely for science,” you inform him, running your thumb tenderly over his cheekbone. 

He nods in mock seriousness, before adding, “An experiment of sorts.” 

“Exactly,” you agree, as you tug on the curls on the back of his head to pull him down for another kiss. 

Cassian offers to fly you home, and you accept despite the both of you knowing that you’re perfectly capable and sober enough to winnow back on your own. Cassian scoops you up in the cradle of his strong arms, and you can’t help but let out a small gasp as the massive shadow of his wings unfurl. With a few beats, you’re in the air, soaring high above the mountainside. You barely have the presence of mind to erect the barrier for the two of you to keep the cold at bay. 

The flight to your apartment takes longer than it should because Cassian can’t keep his damn hands to himself long enough to take seven consecutive wingbeats. You indulge him, of course. With your arms around his neck, his lips find yours time and time again. Below, Velaris is a spread of starlight, like a reflection of the night sky overhead. You’ve got no viable defense for your actions, only that you missed him immensely, and deep in your soul, you know you still want him. You’re afraid that you always will. 

But as you arrive at your apartment, the both of you walk up to the door. Cassian tells you he’ll see you tomorrow and moves to leave you with one final peck on the lips, but you maintain your firm grip on his collar.

“You’re leaving?” You ask, your brows scrunched and your mouth agape. 

He chuckles at your confusion, his lips once again to that signature crooked grin you adore far too much.

“Oh? Did you want me to stay?” he asks, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear with a painfully gentle touch.

You huff out an exasperated breath, giving him a pointed look. “Cassian, if I didn't, you wouldn't even be here,” you retort, trying to mask the warmth his gesture ignited. 

“Why?” He presses further. “What did you have in mind, pretty girl?” 

That truth is this: you don’t think you could bear parting with him again, not when you just got him back. You don’t think that losing Cassian is something your heart can survive twice. 

His hand makes a slow descent from the back of your head, to your cheekbone, then to your jaw before gently tipping your face up to meet his gaze. A shiver runs down your spin at the intensity of his gaze. 

Cassian languidly leads you against the wall, pressing his body against yours. You can feel the evidence of his want against you, while he begins to leave butterfly kisses on your neck.

“Hmm?” He urges again, in between kisses. “C’mon, tell me.” Then, he tugs on your lobe lightly, before whispering against your ear, “Tell me all the lovely thoughts running through your pretty little head.” 

A shuddering breath leaves your lips in response, your body reflexively arching into him. He slots his muscled thigh in between your legs while keeping a firm grip on your hips. Cassian, it seems, is as intent on keeping you as you are him. 

“Cassian,” you plead, “stay.” Your chest feels like a supernova on the verge of extinction. Fear and longing grip you in a hurricane of emotion, threatening to swallow you whole.

For a while, Cassian just watches you, completely laid bare for him, his to keep or his to break. 

“Cassian,” you repeat, the desperation in your tone palpable. 

He raises his hands in mock surrender once more, reminiscent of earlier that night, before saying, “Say please.” 

“I hate you,” you retort, but your body tells a different story. Without your approval, you realize your hands have slipped under his shirt, reflexively exploring the familiar terrain of his skin, while your lips press against the sensitive skin of his neck. 

Cassian sighs, melting beneath your touch, his playfulness giving way to a look of pure adoration. With an expression that leaves no room for doubt, he whispers, “Liar.” 

“Guilty,” you confess. 

He matches it with a confession of his own, “I love you.” Cassian's gaze is unbearably soft, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. His voice is raw with sheer sincerity. "I've never forgotten you, never stopped thinking about you."

The weight of his words hangs in the air, and for a moment, the world pauses, forgets what it is to breathe. You search his face, seeing the truth reflected in forest eyes. A mixture of relief and joy washes over you, like a stream of cool water over scalded skin. Every moment you’ve shared, every glance, every touch, each joy and regret - has led to this moment.

You lean in closer, your forehead resting against his. "I love you too, Cassian,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I never stopped.”  At that moment, you’re certain that The Cauldron had made a mistake because every part of you is perfectly aligned with his, fitting together in a way that no one else ever could.

“Stay,” you implore him once more, your voice soft but earnest.

“Only if you promise to go on a date with me,” he says against your lips. 

You blink blearily up at him, your mind still lost in the moment. “A date?” you ask, almost in wonder. There was a time when the two of you spent everyday together, back when you were in the purgatory between best friends and something more. But in retrospect, you’ve never gone on an actual date. Despite everything you’ve done so far, the thought of going out with Cassian is what sends your heart racing.

“Okay,” you finally agree, your voice barely above a whisper.

Cassian’s smile is radiant, a bright light in this wretched world. And for the first time in a long while, you look forward to the future. 

Author’s Note: Hello! I’m new to this fandom & I’m so down bad I started writing fics again. I’d love to hear your thoughts 💙

+ This was literally supposed to be just Cassian + shotgunning but now there's plot so here we are.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬

Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

Summary: You want to catch your husband in the act.

Warnings: Pure Fluff

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

You always wake up to a fresh bouquet of flowers by your side, no matter the day. It’s a sweet gesture that always starts your day off on the right note. It’s been happening since you got married, though Sukuna claims he’s not doing it.

But who else would give you flowers if not Sukuna? He’d kill anyone just for looking at you, anyone leaving flowers next to you each morning is asking for a death sentence. What truly makes you curious is if Sukuna handpicks the flowers himself or if he orders someone to do it. You giggle at the mere thought of your giant husband hand picking flowers for you. 

You have the perfect plan, and you execute it. You wake up just as Sukuna does, sneakily following behind him as he starts off his day. 

He wakes up just as the sun rises, and immediately goes to eat the breakfast that’s hot and fresh for him. Sukuna loves to eat his meals with you so much so that in the beginning of your relationship he’d force you to wake up to eat with him. Now, he gives you the grace to wake up at whatever time you want.

After a long fulfilling breakfast, he stands up and heads outside which makes your excitement grow. You try to be like his shadow, and even though you make some noise it appears to be working. He hasn’t noticed you yet at least, and Sukuna seems to notice everything. 

He’s walking to the garden, and you’re grinning. He really does pick the flowers for you, a sweet gesture that he wouldn’t do for anybody else. You want to watch him pick them, decide which flowers are the most suitable for his wife but you know you have to go back before he catches you. You think you’re safe– Until he stops in his tracks, and glares at you. 

“I heard an annoying bug flying around.” He comments, and you purse your lips together. He has such a way with words, it’s definitely why you got married. He steps toward you, looking down at you in disappointment, “I told you I don’t pick the damn flowers.”

“Because you certainly would allow someone else to give flowers to your wife.” You point out, and he sighs. He can’t argue with that… Well he can, he’ll decide not to. “Guess I’ll go back to bed and wait for my secret admirer to show up then. I’ll wait for him, then ask him to marry me because he loves me so–”

“I’ll kill him.” He can’t even listen to the end of the sentence. “Fine, it’s me. I wake you up with flowers, happy?”

“Very.” You smile at him, wrapping your arms around him. He hugs you back, kissing the top of your head.

“You better not brag about this. Can’t have anyone think less of me.” He tells you, picking you up and bringing you with him so you can pick your own bouquet this time around. 

You have to admit, it’s hilarious to watch him pick something so small with his giant hands, but your heart mostly flutters. Sukuna loves you enough to personally pick up flowers for you each and every morning.

“Stop staring at me.” He orders, but that goes one ear in, out the other.

“You’re so cute.” He hates that word, especially when it’s referring to him, but he can’t really argue with you.

“Call me cute one more time, and I’ll stop.” He warns you, and you chuckle. He rolls his eyes hearing your laugh, since it isn’t a joke to him. He knows it isn’t true, and you know too which is why you don’t protest at his warning.

No matter what you do, he won’t change his morning routine.

[gglitch1dd]

I love that we’re getting to know more about Koda, so I have a question. Does he ever get mad at the fact that he’s sick and can’t do everything his brothers can? Does he ever get mad at his mom? Kinda like when a little kid says I hate you after being told no, I doubt he’d mean that but most kids don’t think about it when they say it.

REMEMBER YOU ARE LOVED AND IMPORTANT ‼️‼️❤️❤️❤️

aww thank you anon. You are important too<3 always know that.

Honestly, Koda is my new favourite out of all the brothers, that and Hero. Cause Hero is just say to say some unhinged comment and vanishes to mind his own business. But to answer briefly, he does. And it breaks Reader's heart.

Why can't I go outside?

You stood in the kitchen watching from inside as your husband talked with one of the Ministers outside. It was an unexpected visit that was only found out an two hours before, but it was one you quickly managed to salvage.

Your husband and you had strict rules with visitors and one of them was if your visit is unexpected, you're sitting outside (unless cold of course or weather didn't allow it). You wanted to keep your house as germ free as possible and you could only do that by managing your own family and friends that understood. With acquentenaces it was harder. But you smiled as Hero seemed to be playing ball with the Minister of Defence's son.

"Mom." You turned around to see Kane walking over to you with a serious look on his face.

You smiled as you put down your glass of juice. "What's up, sweetheart?" You asked.

"It's Koda."

You paused as a small trickle of fear and anxiety washed over your body. You stepped forward, your eyebrows furrowed. "Is he sick? Is he running a fever again?"

Kane shook his head making you drop your shoulders in relief. "No, he just won't let me give him his medication. He won't sit still for his IV. He's..." Kane hesitated. You could see the conflict in his eyes. "He's upset."

You hummed, knowing that it was one of those days. You motioned for him to follow you as you headed upstairs. Koda was a sweet boy, with a heart of gold and ever so sensitive and often than not, he understood that he got sick easily and didn't mind all the adjustments in his life.

However, he was only just turned five. So naturally, he would get fed up with the accomodations needing to be made in his life.

You walked through the door with Kane. The interim room was set up as a sort of barrier between the outside world and your son. It's where you took the necessary precations before walking in. You washed your hands thoroughly, making sure to nearly scrub them till they felt tender. You let the air around you become still and cleaned as you slipped off your shoes, putting on new ones as you walked into Koda's room, Kane following inside.

Your son sat on his little dinosaur carpet, playing with his legos, building something with a frown on his face. The cabinets on the left hand side were clearly touched and opened, showing that Kane had been there, trying to help give Koda his medication. You saw the IV next to his bed that was untouched. His room, although decorated and stuffed with toys and all the things he loved, reminded you a lot like a hospital pediatric room than it did a bedroom, with its sterilised air and constant clean smell.

You took a breath, before crouching down to your son's height, going down on your knees. "Koda, my baby, Kane told me that you aren't allowing him to help you with your medicine." He nodded his head but didnt say anything else. "Can you tell me why?"

"I don't want it."

"My sprout, you know you have to take them. It helps keep you stronger." You reminded him. "Remember, big strong dinosaurs need to take their medic-"

"But why can't I go outside now!" He raised his voice at you turning to you with frustrated tears in his eyes. You tried not to show pain on your face. "I don't like them! I have them everyday! Why can't I play outside with Hero and the other new boy outside!" He pointed out at the windowseil, where he could sit and see the bunnies outside if he wanted to.

You took his little hand. "Koda, you know that other people can sometimes make you sick, and until daddy and I know that they won't, we have to be safe for you."

"Then why can't I go to school!" He shouted at you. "Like my brothers. Like Kane and Toshi!"

You swallowed down hard. You and your husband had agreed to keep Koda out of kindergarten. It was a hard decision to make but considering the risk of possibly losing your son over one kid who might end up giving him a cold, you took the risk. You made the efforts to have him play with friends and other young children like him who also often get sick, you made sure to always spend time with him and when your friends were over, you always asked them to make sure they were as healthy as possible and not to come over if they were sick and then Koda could spend time with everyone else.

But you knew, regardless, it would be suffocating for him.

"Koda, until you're just a little bit older and stronger, then we can talk to the doctors about getting you into school, but right now, your body can't handle being sick so well."

Koda frowned, folding his arms away from you as tears weld up in his beautiful eyes. You saw the pout on his face as he started to cry in frustration. "It's not fair!"

"I know, baby." You said trying to fight back emotions that you were feeling yourself. You moved to grab a hold of him but he started to fight back.

"It's not fair! IT'S NOT FAIR!" He screamed. "I hate it! I hate it! I hate you! Why can't I be normal!!" He shouted, sobbing as you held him in your arms.

You closed your eyes, feeling tears slip down from them no matter how hard you tried. You swallowed down hard as you tried not to let out anymore. You didn't want Kane to see you like this, you didn't want Koda to see you like this. But no matter how many therapy sessions and talking to Izuku, it never got any easier.

Giving birth to a child with primary immune disorder was something that you felt as though was entirely your fault. You knew it wasn't, but it never felt true.

"I WANT TO GO OUTSIDE!"

"I know. I know, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." You held him as he cried in your arms, screaming and sobbing in your chest. You held him tightly, making sure that he knew you were there. "I'm sorry."

Kane walked over to you, grabbing a fluffy blanket from Koda's bed to wrap around you. You gave him a sad smile as you held Koda. Kane was quiet on his feet, working fast as he quickly stuck the needle in the bottle, drawing out liquid and walking to the IV to push in the medication. He moved fast and quietly, reminding you of his father as he moved around shuffling in his slippers.

Koda had relaxed in your arms, tired and crying in your arms softly. Kane crouched down with the needle connected to the IV. He wiped Koda's arms with a disinfectant wipe before expertly putting in the IV in his arm. He put a dinosaur band-aid over it so it wouldn't come out.

You sat with Koda till he was fast asleep. At some point, Kane had left and grabbed dinner for you and Koda, however Koda was still very sleepy so he barely ate. His medication making him drowsy as he slept in your arms.

A hand came onto your shoulder, making you look up. Your husband looked down at you with a sad expression. It was just you and him with your little one in your arms. Izuku carefully moved down to sit down next to you. He easily moved to pick you up, despite you holding your son in your arms and he put you into his lap.

You leaned back against his chest, a tear slipping out of your eye as you stared into space.

"Kane told me what happened." He spoke softly as he rested his head on yours. He rubbed your arms as he held you in his big embrace.

"Izuku." You let out weakly as you titled your head to look up at him. "I... Have I failed him?" You asked softly as you turned to look down at Koda. "I'm his mother. I'm supposed to protect him. I was supposed to give him a healthy body. Why- why couldn't I-"

Before you could break down, your husband wrapped his arms, pulling you to face into his chest as he held you and his son in his large arms. He shushed you as your face broke into a sob. You felt a large hand move to wipe away your face.

"It is not your fault." He reminded you. "It is never your fault and it will never be your fault. It's no one's fault." You felt a kiss to your forehead. "Our son just needs a little more help and precautions than others and that's okay. He's going to be okay. He is okay." You nodded your head, wanting to believe in his words and not your own.

Your husband tilted your head up to look at him. Your eyes moved up to land on his face. Tears were in his beautiful green eyes as he looked down at you, a sad smile on his freckled face. You saw pain in his eyes as well. He leaned down and put his forehead against your own, making you close your eyes with a stuttered breath.

His eyebrows furrowed as he held you tight, a hand brushing your arm and Koda's. "We're doing this together, okay?"

You nodded your head, softly. "Okay."

"I'll take tomorrow off." You opened your eyes to look up at him, surprised. "Lets spend sometime with him together. I can pull some strings and..." Izuku hesitated, "If you agree, I can book out the aquarium tomorrow. We can take out all the boys and just focus on Koda. I think it would mean a lot to him."

"But... but what about work?" You asked him softly. "Didn't the minister ask you to-"

He shook his head. "It isn't urgent. It's just feedback on an diplomatic meeting, nothing more. Besides, nothing matters more than you and the boys." You gave him a grateful smile as that. Izuku smiled, before looking down at your youngest boy. He brushed his hand through Koda's soft green hair. "You know despite everything..." You saw him smile as he looked down at his son, a sort of pride that you always saw whenever he held his sons for the first time. "I don't regret a thing."

You paused, turning to look at Koda who slept in your arms. You smiled gently. "Yah. Not a thing."

-Glitch1d

[lavidavacomoverstappen]

im in NEED of a cute fluffy fic of the aftermath of charles' win, just something cute and domestic with reader!!

thank you for asking :))

1,163 words 6,115 characters

Charles LECLERC was many things, but being a Monaco Grand Prix winner was not one of them. Unfortunately for him each year brought greater dissatisfaction and disappointment to him and to the entirety of Monaco.

Her relationship with Charles was undefined, were they friends yes were they more than that yes but were they in a relationship no. She wanted more but didn’t want to risk what she already had.

There was something about this season though, already seeing Carlos and Lando take their wins you knew it would be Charles turn soon. It was almost like you could feel it in the air, the whole atmosphere seemed to be in his favor. You stood there in all red rocking the his CL16 cap as a slight hint to who you were supporting.

His eyes widened with each step you took, unsure as to why he finally saw you as the way you were. Bold beautiful and someone he wanted as his not just as a friend but as a lover. He swore that if he won the Monaco Grand Prix he would grow the balls to ask you to be his girlfriend. It was kind of a flunk on Charles’s end, he knew he was playing it safe with tying up him wining to asking you out, but whatever floats on his boat.

He almost lost it when he found out he was on pole with max long behind and the McLarens right behind him. When he saw her cheering and hugging his mother he knew that she was sent to him by his father, having someone like her in his life was nothing less then a miracle.

Charles was praying he’d make the win, he couldn’t wait to ask her out, he knew how he’d do it. He’d call her into his drivers win prior to the race ( really risky but hey no risk no reward right??) he’d drop major hints and just before joris would knock on his door to let him know it’s time to race he’d kiss her on the cheek, to some it may seem small and innocent but it would be out of their comfort zones. Charles remembers when both of them were drunk out of their minds and were watching a Disney movie where she expressed how intimate she found cheek kisses, from family it was innocent but from a potential lover a cheek kiss seemed so close yet far. Knowing that a slight slip in balance would result in a whole kiss. She found the thrill of not knowing where her lovers lips would land exciting, always wondering if she would be lucky enough to experience that in her life. Little did she know ;).

The next day rolled in, bringing hope and anxiety with it. Charles knew he had a two massive tasks to complete, winning the Monaco Grand Prix and winning over the girl of his dreams. He swore he wished time could speed up when he saw her enter the paddock in a pretty pink outfit her waist being accentuated with the help of the outfit he wanted to wrap his hands wound her waist and twirl her around. She found it strange the way Charles was breaking eye contact with her constantly, she brushed it off as the immense pressure he was put under, having the hopes and dreams of not only yourself but your whole country was intense. Charles swore he saw her eyes lit up when he called her into his drivers room, something that small made him want to sacrifice the whole world just to see it again.

He was whipped and she didn’t even know it. Charles had opted for a different strategy he’d end up getting her a charm bracelet with his race number as well as her favorite movie character, her eyes held shock and happy tears when he put on the bracelet on her. Something felt special about this as if this was him initiating something else?? her mind was so preoccupied and clouded with doubts and questions that she almost missed how close Charles was getting to her. It was her nose that snapped her back into reality, she was hit with a fresh wave of his perfume he always smelt divine but today was something else. When his lips hit her cheek Charles swore that was the hardest thing he’d ever done, he saw how shock registered on her face almost worried she didn’t appreciate his move. What he didn’t expect was her hands around his neck and her lips on his cheek. They were so close that one could say there wasn’t even an atoms space between them.

Both their eyes held anticipation. God only knew what would happen if Joris hadn’t knocked on the door, alerting the budding couple that their time was up. Charles has a bigger task to complete now. His mind was hopelessly wandering back to her and how fucking soft her lips felt.

He couldn’t wait to win this race and kiss her lips. He was hoping to taste all the flavours of lip balm that she had to offer. 76 long and gruelling laps. Each lap held a different feeling. The first few were focused on keeping McLaren’s behind them. The following few were replaced by images of her, and the remaining three laps were focused on his father, Jules, and Monaco.

As his moment came, Charles crossed the finish line, leading the entire race from start to finish. This fabled race had finally been won by one of their own. Charles had tears streaming down his face as he watched the crowds erupt in joy. He saw the cameras slowly pan into his family and eventually her. He knew what he had to do.

He was going to kiss her right there and then. He saw that her eyes welled up with unshed tears. Each second felt as long as an hour. their secret moments in a crowded room, they had no idea that this moment would alter their relationship forever. She saw a change in his eyes; she didn’t know why he looked so desperate to bring her to the barriers, but when she reached there and found his lips crashing with hers, she finally understood why.

All her tears and pain that she carried from dating the wrong guys just to get over Charles all felt like water under the bridge. She had simply gotten a taste of the man she craved for so long, and she knew she didn’t want to stop anytime soon. They were falling fast and hard and had no way to stop. Charles put the last of his energy into that kiss with her and found himself grinning from ear to ear when he saw how flustered she was.

The kiss sealed their fate.

Later in the evening, Charles did end up asking her formally to be his girlfriend, but that’s a story for another time.

[angel-sweets666]

Cast me a spell

barbarian! Bakugo x witch Afab! reader one shot

A barbarian needs a spell to cause the downfall of his enemies, he found just the witch to do it

warnings: smut

chapter two here

a/n bro I just freestyled this 😭😭 btw I made it afab cuz it’s smut and I probs can’t write gay sex rn but everything else is gender neutral trust. Also this is my first time writing smut so please don’t judge 😭

Bakugo is aged up to 20

Bakugo groaned as he walked in forest, dry leaves and twigs snapping under his boot. Bakugo had been sent by his tribe to find a witch, a witch who would rig the war they were in and beat the other tribe. Bakugo didn’t know why he had to go, there were so many barbarian men who would go! Why’d it have to be him! The elders found him the strongest clearly, that’s got to be a good sign. Maybe he’ll inherit the chief title from his father…. Bakugo shook the thoughts away as he looked around for some kind of cabin, some sort of suggestion to show there is a witch out here like the elders say, maybe they’ll see bakugo is strong and worthy if he manages to make the witch come with him back to the tribe. Bakugo whistled while looking around, suddenly a fox came up to his legs and sat by him “what..? What do you want you pest” he tried to kick the fox, but the fox dodged it and used his head to tell bakugo to come with him “I’m not going with a fox forget it.”

bakugo continued walking before the fox yelped out and four more foxes appeared, all different colours. What stood out to him was how one fox seemed to have a light purple almost lavender colour, the sun made it difficult to see however “huh..? No I don’t trust no fo- OUCH!” Bakugo yelped as all 5 foxes bit him and tried to drag him too the other way “fine! Fine! I’ll follow you..” bakugo grumbled, seemingly annoyed. The foxes let go and began to lead bakugo down a pathway, he began to see fruits and vegetables being grown on a sort of farm. Bakugo at first thought that the foxes were leading him to a farmer and this was some sort of advertisement but he was proved wrong when he saw a fairy dust like powder float above the crops and then be placed ontop, making the crops grow almost twice their size and look healthier. Then he noticed the clearly unnatural cloud of rain water the plants, it was so close to the ground that there was no way it was natural. It just hovered over the crops in a neat line. Then the natural sun seemed to do some good. Bakugo noticed that the creatures seemed to look more mythical the further he went, once black birds were now beautiful shades of blue, pink, yellow ect. Cats and bunnies around began to come up in more colourful shades too, bright blue and green eyes watching. Now the flowers had a glow, they were all gold and sparkling. Everything looked unnatural and non normal…mythical, almost fairy tail like… he began to hear the humming of a person he was preparing for a ugly hag.. but no, a beautiful person with a equally as mythical look to them! You! A fox went up the To you and you got on your knees to “hear” what it had to say, then… you looked up at bakugo

“what are you needing…?” You asked him as you raised to your feet “I.. Uhm… I need something, my tribe actually. My tribe needs something” he informed you “needs… needs what?” You began to walk towards bakugo “a bad luck spell.. something like that. We’re at war and…” “you want me to rig it..?make ‘em loose?” You interrupted him “how’d you know…?” Bakugo was shocked “I know this stuff, now.. do you want them to loose..?” You asked softly and he nodded “I think.. I think I have just the thing, come inside” you used your finger to motion him to come inside. You began to mix up a potion, full of that gold flower, the fairy dust like powder, a couple fruits, some other unknown ingredients ect… you put it in a bottle that while it looked small, could fit a whole tribes worth of water. Then you stepped towards a book shelf, looking through the spell books available to you. You made a “ah” sound and then pulled a dusty book, blowing the dust off. “Do you have anything of the uh.. other sides” you asked him “like their hair or some shit?” He asked aggressively “that could work, clothes, arrows they shot, accessories, blood. Anything that come from the other team”

Bakugo thought for a moment, “uh… I have a piece of one of their swords��� he pulled a bloodied peice of metal out from one of his pockets, dried blood falling off and onto his fingers “that works!” You grabbed the piece of metal and placed it by an unlit candle, grabbing a match and lighting it. You reached over to light the candle and then sat by the candle and began to whisper something, like a prayer. “What are you doing?” He asked, you ignored him and continued your whispering “answer me” he grumbled, you looked at him then closed your eyes again. Once again continuing your whispering, after a couple of minutes you finished and slowly stood back up “doing a spell, as per you asked.” You grabbed the glass bottle full of the potion “you feed these to your armies, you’ll be strong enough and the war will be over in a day or two” you said quietly to him as you placed the bottle into his hand, and closed his hand for him. “What would it taste like?” He asked “like water, what do you think?” You leaned your weight onto one hip “I don’t know, like shit?” He rolled his eyes “don’t get an attitude with me” you got up into his face “who are you talking to like that?” He grumbled “you obviously” you chuckled then walked off. Grabbing herbs and other stuff, clearly organising stuff “what you just going to stand there?” You asked, wondering if he was going to leave anytime soon, looking over your shoulder at him. “Could you come back with me? To my tribe?” He asked with his typical rough deep voice “why would I do that?” You placed books in a wooden book shelf “we need your help” “I’ve already helped you haven’t I?” “Just do it.” He grumbled at you, grabbing your shoulder “mmmm no” you said

in pure frustration with you bakugo picked you up and threw you over his shoulder “oi! Why’d you do that!” You kicked in an attempt to get away from him “get over it princess” he chuckled as he pushed the door open with his body and then walked you in the forests back to his tribe, holding your body over his shoulder and your legs down with his arms to prevent you from kicking him “out me down put me down!” You screamed as you yanked at his hair, he didn’t notice nor did he care. “Will you be good and not walk off? You’ll follow me?” He asked as his ego got larger and larger “ughhhhhh fine!”you agreed, he leaned down and placed you down onto the ground “you owe me, I rigged a tribal war for you” you said with a obvious attitude “oh yeah? What do I owe you? A animal? Weird ingredients for your freaky potions? A quest? Sex? A man from my tribe once had to sleep with a witch for potions” he listed off his ideas “why would I sleep with you? Your egos probably bigger than your dick.” You crossed your arms in frustration “someone’s got an attitude” bakugo playfully shoved you “don’t even.”

you went back to bakugos tribe, he gave his tribe the potion you gave them, the war just like you said was over in a day. You ended up having to follow bakugo around because you didn’t know anyone else as well, you eventually had gotten used to the change, by the sixth month of living there you were considered one of them. I’ve had atleast 50 people come up to me asking if your my spouse/wife/husband” he said while you two were going for a walk “well lucky I’m not” you chuckled “maybe you should be, I’ll need a wife/spouse/husband when I become chief” you blushed deeply “w-w-what..?”you stuttered “it’s true, they don’t let people who aren’t married be chief. I’m next in line to be chief and I’m not married” he informed you “are you trying to propose to me? You’ve known me a whole of 6 months!” You said in surprise “my parents got married after 3” “is that like a cultural thing?” You asked “yeah… the other tribes get married after a later time, I guess this is what we’ve always done, we done need to love each other, just so I become chief.” He says “so this is a proposal?” Your eyebrows raised “yes I suppose it is.” Bakugo grumbled “I’ll think about it”

you laid in bed that night as you stared at the roof of your hut, thinking about what bakugo said. You slowly rolled out of bed and put some shoes and stumbled out of your wooden hut and looked towards bakugos hut, the light from his windows suggest he was still awake. You slowly walk towards his hut, the sound of grass beneath your feet. Most huts were dark, a way to say the people in them were asleep; not bakugo though. Bakugo stayed up late training. You knocked on bakugos door, you could hear him put something down then walk towards the door; he opened the door and he looked down towards you “oh.. hello” he said in surprise “I Uhm…whatcha doing?” “Working out, your supposed to be asleep” he furrowed his eyebrows “yeah I know but I can’t sleep” you said as you walked into his hut, flopping onto his bed “don’t get too comfy there” he sat down next to you “your beds comfier then mine though….” You whined and got yourself buried into his bed sheets, he sneakily wrapped an arm around you “what are you doing..?” You asked him “nothing..” he said with a smile “your really trying when it comes to this whole getting married thing..” you whispered to him, his hand reached for your hips “maybe I am…. Maybe I’m not” he sighed and rubbed your side. You rolled over to lean on his chest a bit, you used light magic to make fire flies appear, having a sort of light show appear. Bakugo watched it and smiled “have you always been able to do that..?” He asked “since I was around 8 maybe…” you replied, bakugo reached into your shirt, softly rubbing your chest. You whimpered softly, he smiled and leaned down to kiss your neck. “Do you want me to stop?” He asked softly “no…” you replied.

you slowly wiggled out of your bottoms, he watched you do it from above. He smiled softly at the sight. “Should we just get straight at it?” He asked softly as he unbuckled his belt, an obvious buldge in his pants. He grabbed you by your hips and pulled you towards him “just be a good girl him?” He grumbled and managed to pull his pants down and pulled his member out “tell me if it hurts bub” he says softly “okay.. yeah I can do that” you nodded, you felt him slowly push inside of your body. He let out a slight grunt, you bit down on your bottom lip. He eventually bottomed out which didn’t take long due to the size of his length. “C-can I uh… mmph.. m-move now..?” He whined softly “mhm..” you whines and spread your legs a little bit wider for more access to your body. He slowly pulled out almost all the way only for him to push back in, you yelped and wrapped your arms around his neck. Burying your face into his neck while he thrusted into you, stretching you out. It had been a while since either of you had done something like this so it was obvious why he was so needy. He gripped your waist softly and eventually found a pace that both of you found pleasurable. You let out a moan as he began to go a bit faster with you, the tip of him tapping against your cervix, the knot in your belly began to tighten suggesting the fact you were getting close “mmph..” he whimpered as he buried his face into your neck, you reached up to pet his hair. You moaned and whined. Eventually his thrusted became sloppy and more like he was chasing his own climax, the knot in your tummy threatened to burst and eventually… it did. The warmth of his cum going inside you was a comforting feeling

“you know maybe I will marry you…”

[1for5]

TO ALL THE GIRLS I’VE LOVED BEFORE

paige bueckers x uconn student!reader

with caitlin clark, aubrey griffin, nika muhl, and emily engstler

───────── ⋆⋅🏀⋅⋆ ─────────

CHAPTER 3: Somebody Elses

prev next

Playing: Somebody Else by The 1975

Y/n was greeted by the blue mood lighting accompanied by house songs as she steps inside the joint dorm of the UCONN Huskies. Everyone was either dancing or laughing around with their companions.

Y/n headed to the kitchen, looking for either Ice, KK, or Paige (and she hopes she does not see Paige first). Unfortunately for Y/n, the latter came to life. Paige saw Y/n and approached her, along with the Shirley Temple she had been drinking.

“Hey baby, I have been waiting for you, you didn’t seem okay after the game.” Paige held your hands, and brought you to a more quiet corner of the dorm. “No, I am okay, don’t worry Paige. We’re here to celebrate your win.” You gave her a weak encouraging smile, which the basketball player reciprocated.

After a quick small talk with the “couple,” Paige was approached by a group of friends, and to no surprise, Mia was part of that circle. They all seemed to have fun, creating jokes and sharing stories. A while after, Y/n excused herself.

Y/n felt suffocated, not being able to talk to Paige genuinely and alone. She wanted to spend more time with her.

As she was passing by all the people dancing and drinking, Y/n got stopped by none other than Ice and KK. “Woah woah woah, what’s wrong?” Ice asked, knowing how Y/n looks when she is not feeling the best. “Oh no I’m alright, just looking for Paige.” Y/n stated the white lie, actually wanting the opposite of what she said—staying away from Paige.

“Then we will look for her! Follow us Y/n.” KK grabbed Y/n’s arm on her right, while Ice’s arm on her left. “No no no no no no, it’s okay! I can do it myself.” Y/n panicked.

“Girl, we are already here, it’s okay. Let’s look for your girl.” KK said, starting to walk around dragging Ice and Y/n alone. Y/n just nervously chuckled as a response.

After about 15 minutes, they all still haven’t seen Paige. The trio was about to give up (thank heavens, Y/n thought.) “Where is your girlfriend, I swear we have been looking for her for a whole hour!” KK exaggerated, getting quite annoyed that they have not found their teammate yet.

The trio then headed to a more quiet corner, near the doors to the bedrooms. “You guys I swear, it’s okay that we don’t find Paige.” Y/n sighed, but Ice cut her off when she started to hear the voice of the person they were looking for.

“Mia, I don’t know what you want. You broke up with me for someone else then you come back running?” Paige was heard complaining from the other side of the door, her and Mia were talking inside Paige’s room.

“But why the hell are you with someone who hurted me?” Mia was heard shouting. “I didn’t even know you guys were friends! You are the one dating someone who I then cared about from another basketball team!” Paige said, having a fuming tone.

Ice and KK were both looking at Y/n, both with concern and surprise. “Damn, Mia is after your girl!” KK stated. “Hey what’s up Y/n? Are you and Paige okay? Why is she even talking to Mia?” Ice asked and held your arm.

“Guys it’s okay, I think we should go, it seems like a private conversation.” Y/n shrugged, just wanting to get out of the dorm. “It is not okay! That’s your girlfriend!” KK felt shocked that those words even came out of Y/n’s mouth.

Y/n felt defeated, she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t feel great even from the start, and it was all suffocating her. “Guys, can we go back to my dorm? I have to tell you guys something.” Y/n asked, which the two basketball players nodded to. The trio then left Paige and her somebody else alone.

-

When they headed back to Y/n’s dorm, the two players sat and waited for Y/n to speak. Y/n got everyone a cup of water, and started to explain what’s going on.

“Please do not get mad at me, but.. Paige and I’s relationship isn’t real. It’s all fake.” Y/n started. KK and Ice screamed. “WHAT? What do you mean?” The basketball players were surprised. The relationship felt too real.

“It was just a way for us to get something we want. It was never serious.” Y/n continued, “Paige wanted her ex back, and I wanted Emily to stay quite far.”

“Oh honey, I can’t believe you both made me believe so hard! I thought you guys were actually into each other.” KK stated. “True! The hugs, the nicknames, and all the small sweet gestures to each other? That can’t be not real.” Ice added, agreeing to what KK said.

“Well surprise! Felt too good to even be true.” Y/n chuckled. What Paige was showing to her was too good to be true.

“And unfortunately, something has eaten me up. The whole night actually since the game.” Y/n started getting the same feeling as to when she was thinking whether her feelings for Paige were real.

“I’m quite done with this relationship. Emily doesn’t really bother me, I mean she messaged quite a lot before, but it lessened recently. And to add.. I think I’m starting to fall for Paige, but she’s close to getting Mia back. I just want this agreement to be gone because my feelings will become unbearable everytime I see her.” Y/n started to cry.

“I’ve always felt something weird whenever I see Mia, however, acknowledging that I like Paige now, seeing Mia will hurt me at least a hundred times more.” Y/n further explained. Ice and KK hugged Y/n, rubbing their hands on Y/n’s shoulders.

“Oh gosh, Paige is messing you up.” Ice started, “We are so sorry Y/n.” KK followed. The basketball players then hugged Y/n, which brought all of them comfort.

“Y/n, what do you want to do about your situation?” KK asked after the three of you got out of the hug.

“To not make matters worse, I would have to stop the arrangement now.” Y/n said. “You are right. But before that, I don’t know anything about Emily, however, you should have closure with her first before cutting the arrangement off with Paige. She was the reason you said yes from the start.” Ice explained, which Y/n nodded to.

“Ice is right you know, since Paige is already talking to her ‘somebody else,’ maybe it’s time to clear up the air with your ‘somebody else’.” KK nodded at Ice.

Y/n is now to face Emily, her “somebody else” in her and Paige’s (fake) relationship.

[fumifooms]

Namalin

Namari x Falin

Easy short rarepair spotlight post for prosperity~ This one I didn’t think of on my own for once, I don’t know if it’s just I forgot the decided-on ship name or what but I remember seeing really nice art and a couple posts about it that I can’t find again 💔 Namalin warrior you are out there and not forgotten ty for making me see the light

I like that Namari’s critical of Falin! I have a whole character analysis on Falin if you’re interested, but it’s generally well noticed that people around Falin idealize her a lot. Laios, Marcille and Toshiro all put her on a pedestral of ultimate goodness in the world, a saintess if nothing short of perfection. Sounds like Chilchuck felt sort of creeped out by her vibes, uncomfortable because he couldn’t read her, so unlike Namari it seems he preferred steering clear of her rather than debate opposed ideologies like he usually does. Makes sense if unlike Namari his issue is with her cryptic aura rather than the stances she does show. "… The dungeon is no place for soft hearts" my ultimate namalin scene <333 It’s fun because while this scene is there to show us a lot of things, mostly to establish Falin’s characters better as it’s the first flashback of her we get, the conflict in it is more than anything else Falin vs Namari in how they contrast and clash and approach situations differently. Namari wants security in swift effective violence and thinks Falin too soft for her own good when she prefers a pacifist approach and promotes compassion even for the "undeserving" in Namari’s eyes. Falin steps between the battle ready Namari and the ghost, fearless. Falin effortlessly gently exorcises the ghost without one step back, quickly. Falin proves someone wrong. Falin proves someone wrong.

I love thinking of Namari being surprised when she learns new aspects of Falin. I like Falin having the power to shape people’s views on her. With Falin ships the most fun part for me is usually that point where Falin/the relationship becomes a clean slate: the person realizes they haven’t been seeing all of her, realizes there’s more of her they hadn’t noticed or that she hadn’t shown, that there’s change, a shift in the views on each other and the dynamic a bit.

Namari often feels like an external view looking in to me… I need to make a proper analysis on her but like. I made a lamari post once (analytic more than personally invested rip sorry) and I go with the same Namari take here, I think she’s someone who tends to have an outsider view on people and relationships if that makes sense, she’s a coworker before anything else and she’s content staying at a distance, she’s not objective per se but she tries to keep feelings out of her choices and how she sees people (her lil arc on not staying to save Falin despite the existing camaderie but in the end asking to work for the Flokes more because she wants to stay with them). She’s serious no nonsense on the job but friendly off the job and likes having casual friends, but she’s not… She doesn’t really feel connected to the group. She’s so focused on doing her job, even if she does get impulsive and passionate and too assertive for her bosses’ tastes, so focused on working her reputation and life from the ground up that that professionalism and attitude limits her social life. It doesn’t help that her reputation makes her widely judged, so she probably enters social spaces on the derensive. The closest person she was to pre-canon as far as we knew was Chilchuck and even they have a very "coworker I get along with" dynamic more than friends, with a similar sense of boundaries, humor and world view. Also like canon says a few time, the party didn’t really try to get to know each other well pre-canon, didn’t hang out after work often no one knew where Marcille was from and no one thought that was weird (also how no one had the instinct to ask about Senshi’s past) etc, the notable exception is we’re shown Namari and Chilchuck hitting taverns together and having a grand time. Everyone’s fine with things as they are, they get along decent even if not everyone considers each other friends exactly. Where I’m getting at is that to me, it feels like she tries keeping emotional distance. Emotional distance from people in general being something which in my interpretation of Falin is also present, which would make it a theme and common thread interesting to explore imo. But yes like, Namari looking at Falin, and how everyone treats her, and being more skeptical, seeing her for what she is a little more, maybe even uncharitable. "Why is everyone treating her like she’s all that? She’s gentle sure but seems like a doormat to me" and then one day she comes running up with her mace ready to cave in someone’s face to protect Laios. So yeah… Keeping her distance but one day Falin offering her some gentleness that feels very too personal for someone who’s not used to being genuine and simply showing that they care… Them talking a bit which leaves her stumped and mindblown in a quiet way when Falin defies her expectations. Namari growing on Falin when she stays and decides to open herself up more, or when Falin ends up reading her really well like she’s shown to do with her parents and Marcille’s worries. She’s very attuned to worrying and why and when different people do it especially when it comes to when they worry for others, perhaps because she does a lot of that too, so I think she’d nail down how Namari does care for the rest of the party and it’d make Namari feel seen both in a warm validating way and in a scared naked way.

We see in the tentacles chapter that she’s someone’s who’s very protective and looks out for her peers in a tough love way. She’s overbearing but it’s because she wants everyone to have the best chances. I like that she’s very confrontational and somewhat pushy and rude, but it’s tough love, it’s protective care: asserting herself to better protect and defend. The opposite of Falin’s type of care, quiet and self-sacrificial devotion. They’re barbarian x healer but they’re also bodyguard x bodyguard in their attitude and role. … What I want for them is slow burn slice of life of being coworkers and slowly getting to know each other better, pretty fluffy, but god, put this way they’d have the potential to be such a hot layered mess of insanely mutually devoted codependence… Falin taking a hit for Namari and Namari being scarred by it forever, lots of arguments about it, my god.

I like that she’s the fighter to Falin’s healer. I looove thinking of scenes of Falin healing Namari, necessitating touch and like, a moment of slowing down and sitting together in silence, too intimate, the perfect opportunity to connect that neither truly want to take until one day they do. I love how onesided I imagine the relationship would be at first. Again, as per my interpretation of Falin, I think Namari would have all these little observations and opinions on Falin meanwhile Falin really doesn’t think of Namari much at first. So Namari thinks a lot about Falin and thinks she’s got her pinned down but hasn’t (not that she’s fully wrong, she’d have credit and confront Falin on some of her flaws like the doormat thing), while Falin is very passive about Namari and doesn’t think deeply about her or anything but she read Namari’s insecurities and logic well. Not unlike how Laios was the one who seemed to understand Namari’s way of care the best in the party in the tentacles episode, and how he was very understanding of her choice and reasons. In Falin’s case it’s more like, the objectivity of passivity… She cares about Namari less than Laios who generally seeks to form bonds, so her lack of investment allows her a neutral perspective. In that way another parallel with Namari that I’m drawing, except Namari lets feelings from her opinions seeps in more… Onesided beef my beloved. I’m going insane save me this post was a mistake. I think Falin takes the crumbs of friendship and love where she can without expecting or asking for anything more than what’s offered, and I think her relationship with Namari (or anyone really) would start out the way it did with Marcille: the other takes the initiative and they end up spending time together, Falin is friendly but unattached until the bond gets gradually and wordlessly strenghtened through regularly spending moments together. So! I think Namari would need to take a lot of the first steps, which since again she’s confrontational & argumentative and doesn’t hold herself back on that front that could spark a lot of conversations I think. Ooor since Falin cares about Namari less than Laios and Marcille she allows herself to be bolder herself lol. Or also circumstances force them to spend time together like dungeon party getting separated shenanigans.

I think their personalities match cutely, I think falin would try to protect namari like she does others but also Namari simply doesn’t need protection, just support. And I think they’re complementary in that way that Namari’s friendly but also won’t sugarcoat things, and I think if she takes an interest in Falin it could go from there and she could develop some understanding of her and idk like an intrigued crush….

Namari wants stability & security & to, like, not be judged and rejected and exiled lol, to find her nest her pack the place where she feels good and wanted in. I think having a fitting partner would help in that (similarly to how the found family with the Flokes seemed to. Oh another parallel, Falin’s top priority is protecting Laios her brother and what Namari are a family figure) and I think Falin would fulfill that cozy protection and that warm ‘being seen and not judged’ feeling. But also Namari would run up to her and yell about her trying to sacrifice herself ever.

Another fun thread to explore: post-canon guilt for not having gone to save her. Sure, they weren’t close, but they had some nice memories, didn’t they? Namari cares, and it stings despite herself when it feels like people think she doesn’t. Oh it wasn’t a lost cause after all, oh it’d have worked out, oh I could have stayed loyal and it wouldn’t have compromised myself in the end. Wanting to apologize to Falin, or just ahnging out with her and sharing a moment after she wakes up. And tangent but that’s interesting to think about… Narratively, I think the purpose of Namari and Toshiro in the story, beyond strenghtening the theme of "seek to understand what is different from you and promote unity despite them" and fleshing the cast and worldbuilding, is Toshiro’s purpose was being a foil & tool in Laios’ arc (trouble connecting with people) while Namari’s was being and a foil & tool in Marcille’s arc (standing up for ideals without being out of touch with harsh realities and needs). They are the conflict that push our protagonists to grow— and they explore different ways of dealing with a situation or topic, different ways of growing into themselves on that end: Laios needing to listen to others more and Toshiro needing to focus on voicing himself more to be able to connect, Marcille needing to learn ideals sometimes cost too much and Namari needing to internalize that ideals are sometimes worth risks (not only to be able to find a reasonable but fulfilling life balance, but also to get in touch with their compassion: Namari restricts her own too much and Marcille is too harsh on people she deems to be breaking values, like Namari not risking her life and career for a friend with no promise of success, or even like how Namari is harsh on Falin’s way of doing things : too gentle, too soft, too idealistic) (similarly to Chilchuck’s arc with Marcille too, and he also plays a hand in advancing that arc in the Namari chapters). We are getting far from namalin sorry ummm preview for future analyses like Toshiro’s contrasting approach to grief and accepting loss.

More post-canon namalin! Thinking about a timeline where… Namari is fond of Falin finding herself and going off to do her thing. "Finally!" she thinks. If she’s still for hire, maybe Falin would want her to come along, either as guide or bodyguard <3, she knows Namari has a lot of good avice on a lot of things to give, plus they’ve worked together before. She hires Namari and they travel for a bit. Travel would do Namari good too I think, even if her end goal is to settle and I think Falin’s would be too eventually. Seeing sights that light her wonder for the world and going places where people don’t know her story, don’t recognize her face or her name. Them, feeling free. Finding a companionship that feels uplifting instead of stifling or charged. Namari having been too in her head about reputation and social games and money that they hit the roads and spend time in nature and it’s like, woah. I’ve been living in a small world with made up rules.

Ahh yes romance, Namari and Falin kissing after 3 years of not really knowing each other despite seeing each other every day then 2 months of wanting to spend more and more time together until they’re an inseparable duo! Workwives. I want them to stand next to each other during campire time and Namari cracks little jokes and Namari laughs. I want Namari to gift Falin a bug caught in amber and for it to be their wedding/promised to each other thing.

TLDR

Rowdy but levelheaded barbarian x gentle healer that will also cave your face in with a mace I like it…… They’re an interesting duo of mixed stuff. Protection being your purpose and what you’re worth for, literally being a meat shield (Laios, Tansu), finding your individuality recognized and validated through a growing bond with the other. Sticking around as a love language. Also bug immortalized in amber and it being beautiful.

Nevermind this wasn’t short. Um! Anyways.

[hitlikehammers]

Steve Harrington: The Boy Who Never Belonged Anywhere

🖤steddie🖤 — and yeah okay it does kinda start out w a little emotional whump (also please let me emphasize the TEMPORARY character death that MIGHT NOT EVEN BE REAL IN THE FIRST PLACE 👀)

To say Steve’s never felt like he belonged, like he ever really fit anywhere, would be inaccurate.

Because he’d have to know what it meant to fit somewhere at all, in order to know that he was failing at it, like, specifically.

Failure in general, though: that Steve is more than accustomed to. That is all his in fucking spades—and not for lack of trying for better. He watches the other kids at the piano recitals; he cannot perform sufficiently to escape his mother’s exasperation. He listens to his classmates, the ones from families his parents approve of, tries to learn their phrasings, their flippance, their disdain for things Steve doesn’t understand as deserving of the hate his parents show: still his father rages, still Steve weathers his disappointment as a rule. So he does try: less to fit, maybe, and more to blend. To be inoffensive. To maybe just…be forgotten. To fade into the backdrop.

Everything in his life, really, he does to this end: match them. Be like them. Be good but not too good. Don’t draw attention. Fit in, finally, if you’re lucky—someday.

Don’t aim to belong, lest you set yourself up for disappointment.

He knows enough of disappointment; he’s not interested in making any more.

So Steve swims where he stays in a lane, and he dribbles a ball in the confines of a court. Shoots it even, though he’s not always sure why it matters, but he chalks it up to the truth of ‘most things’: he doesn’t understand it because he doesn’t quite fit, and that’s probably explanation enough.

He sits at the table at lunch with the people from the families with names his parents don’t frown at. He makes his hair look like the actors in the magazines, the ones that enough people seem to like to merit a place on the cover, to earn the right to make money for a company because money is important—another thing Steve doesn’t wholly comprehend, but his father screams less when there is more money and screams a lot more when even a little bit of it is lost so Steve adds it to the list of things he’ll never understand because he doesn’t fit.

He dates, because that’s what everyone else does. It isn’t unpleasant. It’s more just a thing. He dates Nancy Wheeler because his father mentioned once that a prize hard won was a prize tripled in worth and Steve wants to do things that are worth something. Steve thinks maybe enough worth will mould him into the right shape. To fit.

He’s wrong, in the end.

But it ends up with him being confused instead, in gradual steps in the middle: he ends up being confused by wanting to protect.

He’s never really felt that urge before but it feels natural, and it feels stronger than other feelings do; than other ones have. Stronger than winning. Stronger than dating. Stronger than pleasure. Stronger than wanting.

He wonders—only briefly, but he does wonder—if this is what they mean when they talk about ‘fit’. If this is just another word for ‘belonging’. Like a…a cinnamonym. Or whatever it’s called.

It isn’t, he does ultimately realize, but it fills something in him anyway. It doesn’t make him fit everywhere, but it moulds him like Play-Doh, or silly putty, to fit…here. Maybe not perfectly. Maybe not as he’d dreamed or hoped. Maybe not like he imagined from all the stories and movies and shit. But.

It’s a kind of fit. Protecting is a type of belonging, he thinks. Yeah

It’s good. It’s a good thing.

But it really does cement the simple fact that everything in Steve’s life—whether it landed him closer or farther away from the idea of belonging in any of it, of being able maybe to live itself at all: but everything he chooses, everything he tries, everything he does and makes of himself, brings into being as proof that he’s here?

Is only ever for anything and anyone but himself.

He considers the kids as anomalies, as proof against the rule: they provide no social clout—in reality they damage his standing with the people his parents deem worth courting for opinion. They fill up Steve’s chest, though, but: it’s protection, first and foremost. The belonging of keeping safe.

Then there’s Robin, and she’s the closest he’s even known to something that could be other, something that could be new. Sometimes it feels like her cells are made of the same ill-fitting star-stuff that Steve’s cursed with but no part of Robin is a curse, Robin Buckley is only a gift and that makes it confusing, so confusing—

He still needs to protect her, above nearly all things, but the way she doesn’t merely fill his chest but comes to live inside it? That is new. And maybe Steve still doesn’t fit, or belong, but: Robin fits under his ribs, and he belongs inside hers just the same and…that might not be what anyone wanted from him. But it’s something.

And yeah, maybe circumstance chooses it for him first, but: he holds on of his own volition. It’s his own whole-ass choice to never ever let her go.

So it’s something.

Though: after—not long, but still after, long enough after that Steve knows a little what he’s looking for, the full-feeling that makes his ribs like a breastplate, that…that he protects with all that he is but maybe for the first time, also protects him. Make an armor of his chest and holds him close, makes him laugh and feel light, and see colors he didn’t know existed; makes him feel weightless like the ground’s no longer beneath his feet.

It’s this…undeniable taste of what it means to belong, and he knows that for reasons he cannot point toward or give a name to. But he knows. This is belonging.

Belonging, inside the one and only thing in Steve’s whole life that he has ever chosen for himself: the beautiful man with eyes beyond nighttime, elusive and enchanting, selling him something that might take the edge off, the sting of still failing to fit.

When he finds, over days, and then weeks, is that fit is exactly the word for how he falls into Eddie Muson’s arms, how his dick disappears between Eddie Munson’s lips, how Eddie’s slicked-up cock slides between the cleft of Steve’s ass—close, close but not yet, baby, not yet, let’s savor the journey there; this.

This is what it means to belong, with absolutely no reasons pushing him toward it, toward them; in fact maybe more reasons pull him back, even, because Eddie Munson is the opposite of the family names his parents approve of, Eddie Munson is the opposite of maybe anything that anyoneapproves of, at least among the people who care about approving at all and that’s…that’s maybe the most amazing thing Steve’s ever learned and found, this freedom, this beauty, this man and the soul of him like champagne if it were soda pop, common maybe but only on the surface, hidden from view and so so sweet, so so rich in ways that really matter but bubbling always, a constant carbonated effervescence in Steve’s heart and his lungs and his bones and his veins, it is something—

It’s one of the best and most incredible somethings Steve could possibly imagine.

And Steve chose it all for himself. Steve clings to it, savors it just like he’s asked—loves inside it, all for himself.

He thinks he wants to offer his heart to Eddie. He’s already lost it, he’s pretty sure of that, but…he thinks there’s something in giving it, in finding a tiny break in the fullness of his ribs to reach inside and cradle it like an offering.

And then the universe, or whatever makes certain that his world, his life, is shaped not-to-fit as a rule: it reminds him.

Because Eddie sees a cheerleader snapped in half. And Eddie’s on the run, but not into Steve’s arms. And Eddie’s separated from him, for no good fucking reason when his soul’s hurting, aching for in; when his heart’s ready to be offered, Steve found the crack, he’s reached in and he’s reaching out with it cupped in his hands, just, just please—

And then Eddie’s gone. Eddie’s dead. And nothing belongs. Nothing fits. Moving’s not made for here. Breathing’s anathema.

Steve’s heart falls to the ground, untended. Insignificant.

And when it’s all said and done, Steve looks at the sky, knows that’s not where the cause of any of this lies if there’s a cause to it at all, but he blinks, and he cannot cry because he’s drowning in the tears on the inside but they don’t fit here either, so all he can do at all is blink and he lets go: of the wanting. Of the trying. Of the pushing to be anything but what he is, and was always meant to be. Will never be anything other than.

I get it. I see it. This world is not for me. I will never find my place. I tried, I asked for more and I lost. I understand.

I won’t make the same mistake again.

Secretly, though, where he drowns in his tears inside the breastplate of ribs still so full even if the protection’s turned rusted, leant into decay: secretly—

He cannot let go of Eddie Munson. He may be lost, and he may be as much the provenance of soil and dust, of the creatures there begging to consume without any care or concept of all that he meant; all that he means: Eddie may be no more than bound to the same fate as the heart Steve dropped to that same dirt, let it get ground into the earth to decay with his beloved, to be there with him always the only way that’s left, but—

Steve does not fit, will never belong, yet despite everything: he cannot let go of Eddie Munson.

He can’t yet comprehend that might be for a reason, let alone a reason that might just fit.

...part 2? 🧚‍♂️

For @vthx, who requested a fusion of 'Character-Has-Powers / Changelings' and A Dustland Fairytale—The Killers at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher

divider credits here

💫 ao3 link here

[oleander-nin]

For the sentient bot au (rottmnt)

How would they react if their darling was able to crochet? Like every time they we’re watching the show, they’d be a little distracted with making a plushie or a piece of clothing. Would they be jealous that they aren’t paying attention, or if they bring them to their universe would they ask them to make something for them?

A/N, not important: This was super cool to write because I do a *lot* of needle work lol. I knit, crochet, sew, embroider, etc. I did headcannons for this, mostly because I didn't know how to write this as a proper fic and it's easier to get back into the groove. Apologies for my absence(and the fact this was requested back in September of 2023). Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me. - Ollie

CW: Stalking, being watched without your knowledge, sentient show characters, obsession, yandere themes, dark themes

Words: 849

Summary: You crochet, oblivious to the constant eyes on you.

Mikey:

He thinks what you do is absolutely charming. Whenever the screen flickers and they can gaze back, he loves to watch you work. He admires the deftness of your craft, even going so far as to see if he could pick it up too. He sees it as a great way to bond. Whether he succeeds or not in picking up the needle work as well doesn’t matter much to him. He’s just delighted you’re a fellow artist in your own right.

He loves to design patterns for blankets or create his own unique stuffies for you to bring to life. He wants to bring his own touch into your work, to try and intertwine the both of you as much as possible. What better way than to combine your hobbies?

Obsesses over what you make to see if he can figure out what you like. He’ll take note of the colors you use, of whether you kept what you’ve been working on or gave it to a friend, or even sold it. He’ll see if you make more stuffies or sweaters, whether you prefer blankets or hats. He’s internalized every choice you’ve made, from the yarn fiber you prefer to where you most often work on your hobby.

Donnie:

Watches you in interest. He finds your hobby interesting and calming. He loves seeing your fingers curl around the yarn and how your hook moves so smoothly. It’s almost soothing to him, so much so he’ll do anything to keep watch. Home security system? Donnie can find a way to weasel his access from just your streaming devices to every electronic in your vicinity. He wants to keep an eye on you, and see what else you create.

Keeps a lot of knitted and crochet works for you to try and match what you have in your home. He’ll collect sweaters, blankets, stuffies, pillows, and anything in between that happens to be made via needle craft. He wants to make the lair seem more at home to you, and what better way then to find every sensory pleasing work he can?

Glad you have a hobby so you’re distracted while they work on bringing you ‘home’. Having you so focused on your work, while at times hurtful, makes their plans to cross the interdimensional barrier a lot easier. The less you pay attention to them, the more they can plan. Of course, once you’re actually in his arms that’ll change. He’s not fond of being ignored.

Raph:

He’s ecstatic about it. He thinks it’s incredibly cute and uses it to solidify his image of you being some soft, fragile soul. He’ll internally coo and croon over you whenever they’re able to look back at you, eyeing your newest project with interest.

Raph has a lot of respect for your craft, especially since he’s tried to knit before. He hopes you’ll be able to teach him and let him work with you. He can hardly wait to snuggle next to you while you explain the steps to him.

He can’t help but hope for you to make him something when you’re finally able to come ‘home’. He wants to add your personal handiwork to his collection of stuffed animals. He’ll put it on his top shelf where no one can mess with it, only taking it down to cuddle on special occasions. It’ll be his pride and joy, something for him to treasure immensely.

Wanting to make it easier on you, he’ll start looking for patterns to give to you, some for when you’re finally with them and some for Donnie to nudge in your direction online. He’ll find yarn and hooks, creating a giant collection just for you. He wants to show you his love, show you that he can give you everything you need and more.

Leo:

Thinks it’s sweet. He can’t help but view it in a cutesy way, no matter what you make. He sees it as part of your charm, knowing you at least have a hobby to keep you busy when he’s away. He just can’t help but wish you wouldn’t do it when you’re supposed to be watching him.

Leo wants you to pay more attention to him. As much as he adores your hobby, he despises how you only seem to do it when you’re watching them. You never give him your full attention, never have your eyes on the screen for the entire time he is. It makes him seethe inside. He’ll make sure to fix that habit once he has you in his arms though.

He always feels a bit bitter when you give something away in front of them, knowing he’d never be able to hold that piece himself. He wants nothing more than to hoard what you make. He can’t help but assume whoever you gifted something to is taking advantage of you. You shouldn’t give away your handiwork, especially when you could save it for him! He plans on finding everything you’ve made when they’re finally able to break the barrier between worlds to take you.

Tag list: @f1oricide @itsyagurlchip @lordfreg @acutiewithagun @rottmnttmnt2012 @lixnininotnay @lexiechr @ssak-i @rottmntsimp

[corollaservant]

Introspect // Dabi x f!reader (18+)

Synopsis: The past never dies. But it can often be forgotten. (3.4k)

Warnings: yandere, obsessive behavior, captivity, stalking, violence, noncon/at best dubcon smut, jealousy, delusion, denial, implied PTSD, deterministic and nihilistic philosophical paradigm, Dabi's POV—stream of consciousness type fic

A/N: wrote this in 3hrs. majorly inspired by (and dedicated to) my fave tumblr writer, new magic wand by tyler the creator and this dabi art 🖤

Happy. You looked happy, that’s what he thought when he saw it.

Not in a way you’d been with him anyway. He didn’t know whether that was for the better. The first thing he thought was you posted him. Of course you would. He was not patched, burnt or looking like someone who escaped the psychiatric ward. Without proper clothing, jumping out of a window, frantically running towards the opposite direction. Was it a matter of appearance? Or did you just not like him enough? He wouldn’t know, you hadn’t spoken in a month. And some days. That’s when you told him you needed space. Seriously, people needed to come up with better excuses, this one was over-saturated. Was it bad he clung onto you? It’s not like you had many friends, all he had asked was more of your time. Your stupid job wasn’t even that important—he never bothered finding out what you did exactly, it’s not like he didn’t care, he just wanted you there. The rest of your whereabouts were none of his business as long as you were not conversing (excessively) with anyone else. Because even then, why would you need to do that? He could do it for you.

He had no actual job, well, classifying as a villain doesn’t get you far in life, he called himself a freelancer. Freelancer in murder and theft, maybe. But he felt like he had a share in serving divine justice. A modern vigilante so to say. Any accidental death was a misfortune, a predetermined fate. He didn’t want to pretend to be integrated in society for you to like him, he was lucky because he didn’t have to. Which then reminded him of how he met you.  

Petting strays at night wasn’t careful of you, especially with the crime rates in the city. But you had done so regardless, he remembers it vividly: You in an alley, on your knees, not caring about the dirt coming in direct contact, extending your hand. The cat was barely visible, he could only make out its yellow eyes. But then, the cat saw him, he knew cats had brilliant vision and it left you, perhaps in thought he had food you didn’t. You turned your head only to take a step back. Not smart, you landed on your ass as you opened your mouth. Did he scare you? Of course, what a stupid thing to ask. Under other circumstances he’d leave. Making fun of strangers wasn’t really his thing, not unless they deserved it, but the cat seemed to take a liking to him. Animals loved him, his mom used to tell him not to trust people who repelled them, it was a bad sign. Animals had instinct, animals could tell. He decided to pet the little guy (or girl?), as he kneeled down and softly touched its head. That was another thing about cats. They didn’t give a fuck about the staples or burnt odor, they just wanted food and the occasional touch. He liked cats. He could see himself in them. Something in the domesticity of the situation must've calmed you down because you fixed your posture and to his surprise approached him. It was still dark, you were still a woman and alone in an alley. 

‘’He likes you.’’ You told him. Had you already figured out it was a male stray? Dabi must’ve underestimated you. Your voice hid a whine, a soft protest but it was not annoyance and he shifted his gaze.

‘’Yeah.’’ was all he said. 

‘’Can I?’’ You asked. Why were you asking for permission, this wasn’t even his cat. 

‘’Sure.’’

You were so close, trying not to scare the cat and also touch him, he noticed. Your finger tried to avoid his but the cat’s head was unfortunately not that big so you eventually grazed a digit over him. You hadn’t flinched back then, hadn’t even scrunched your nose, were you not afraid? Didn’t the smell and appearance repel you? Apparently not, you seemed so invested in getting the cat to like you. It wasn’t like it didn’t. The stray ended up loving you, purring at your touch and looking in your eyes, like a man in love. And maybe it wasn’t just the cat. 

-

Within three days of your first encounter he had you on his chest, in your apartment of course, where else could he have you? He wanted to fuck you the first time he saw you, but the urge wasn’t that violent, which had taken him by suprise. You also did not seem like the type to give it up easily. He’d have to do some mental jumping jacks to get you, he didn’t worry about revealing too much though; he didn't have a lot to say, his old identity long buried away with his sensitivity. He still didn’t feel like hurting you. The first night he told you his name, Dabi, and it was so convincing, he too had believed it. You exchanged trivial information neither cared about and he offered company on your way back. He scolded you for being alone in the neighborhood, like some good samaritan, he laughed as he guided you through dimly lit alleys with zero traffic. 

‘’Want to come inside?’’ You had asked. Already? Were you that easy? But who was he to say no?

Your place was small, as expected, neat and tidy, with a few clothes on the bed, nothing bad. It smelled nice too, he noticed a small plant on the coffee table. How gullible to let him in like that. Dabi imagined how many times you must’ve been wronged in life. But you being you—it was probably something that flew over your head daily. You’d call it compromise, he’d call it stupidity.

He had fucked you in missionary that night, a true gentleman, easing his way inside and slightly towering, making sure the stapled skin under his sternum didn’t touch your sensitive one. You were soaking by the time you stopped making out and he slid a finger inside, warm and enticing, his cock hardened in primal ways. He had softly thrown you on your bed (his definition of soft wasn’t exactly soft, you had let out a groan, was it bad?) and climbed on top. You were looking at him expectantly, your eyes glassy, was that pain or excitement, Dabi would bet bucks on the latter. The way you had shyly parted your legs, not for his cock, but to fit him in between was sickeningly pretty, he could swear he was almost…nervous to slip his cock inside. And he was right, trying to fit it inside failed him two or three times while he pretended to toy your clit with his cockhead. You didn’t seem to mind, his act must’ve been convincing, you were softly moaning and your eyes dared to look at the sight of his swollen tip against your lower lips, was it pretty? He had fucked you as hard as he would allow himself—your body could take it, he had to be honest, the more he stuffed you, the more he needed to drive his cock further into your soft walls, there was no room for play pretend romance here. But you seemed to like it too, wrapping your arms around the bare part of his back, fingers accidentally trailing the stapled skin and groaning near his face. ‘’Fuck.. right there.. D-Dabi! More!’’ More? Sure, you could have more. A patched arm strongly pinned a leg above your head, touching the bed frame, as his stiff and pained cock violated your cunt, he could feel how deep he was and constantly fought the urge to spill already. As for you? Tears from your eyes fell down your now stained sheets as you screamed. Pleasure, pain, honestly he didn’t care much about what it was, your pussy clamping down on him the last thing he felt before he bit down your neck, almost ripping out the skin tissue. His cum slowly trickled out, while both of you panted, each exhale synchronizing with the clock ticking in the kitchen. 

There were no voids you could fill, he knew it, interacting with others proved to be a daily reminder. But there were voids you soothed, pain you healed just with your head resting where a heart used to be. Heart beating irregularly, like his feet in his childhood, with excitement, with a different type of eagerness. These weren’t thoughts he made that night and that’s how he knew he liked you. That night his mind was blank for the very first time, carefree from reality, from the ugliness of living—you had sex with some stained villain, who hadn’t only stained your cunt, but your sheets too, your morals indirectly and heart along the way. These thoughts came to him when he saw the photo. Space. You said you needed space. There wasn’t any relationship established, what the fuck you needed space for? Because now, he had found something to give waking up a reason. Someone to regularly satisfy his cock with, someone to take away his thoughts and halt his aimless wandering. And you needed space. How lame. You know what? He could give you space. Indirectly of course. He’d still follow you around, check the whereabouts and conversations, sit outside your house and watch you get undressed. But you looked happy. And he couldn’t decipher in what way. Was he a friend? Who gives a fuck about the guy anyway, why were you smiling like that? You never posted him, that's for sure, you knew in the three months of irregular hanging out (to call it dating would be a joke) that he hated it. And so you never did, even though he wanted you to deep down. Something small. A grocery store visit, one you made when he said he’d cook dinner (he had burnt it). But you never did and now here you are posting with someone irrelevant. 

Murder wasn’t the answer. Stupidly enough it was always associated with morality. But you’d think Dabi would have none of that. He thought murder was stupid. No second of his time ought to be wasted for the next guy. Though he had to admit, he often contemplated whether you’d want this. You didn’t know shit about him. But a sudden murder would definitely have you crawling for protection. And who better than the one who committed it? He honestly wouldn’t go out of his way to do all that. He wanted you organically. It had been a long time since he wanted someone. But you sufficed. You were enough. You never asked, never complained, not even when you’d come home from work, exhausted and dirty and he was waiting at your door. Not even when you were shoved against the cupboards and fucked without remorse—you still wrapped your legs around him and whimpered on his neck. And fuck if that didn’t feel good. He hugged you in your sleep. You’d both sleep in opposite directions, you first of course, so you’d never notice he switched sides and brought a leg over yours, resting his head on your throat, feeling each breath, each pulse. You’d wake up confused at the position, he’d say he didn’t remember. These were the few nights he could reach REM state. No vivid dreams of course, a shipwreck maybe and some elevator descending, lack of control or whatever bullshit he read once. He could still dream though, a miserable reminder he was still human. 

He was always mean. The world didn’t care to mold someone into being nice. What would that even be? He thought nice meant exchange. Be nice and you’d get a pair of shoes. Act nice and you’ll get to watch TV. Treat others with respect and you’d be the family’s topic of discussion over Christmas. Sure, there were selfless people, he wasn’t crazy to think there weren’t a few of them left. You’d be his prime example. And you weren’t even stupid. But your willingness to help and give bordered exploitation. It hit him like lightning. You needed to get away, the real world was doing damage to people like you. If you were with him, you wouldn't have to think twice about being taken advantage of. He’d still be mean, you wouldn’t change that. But at least you’d sleep assured knowing that he’d never, ever demand something from you. Well…besides your presence, though he’d take you as you are, so in retrospect you’d come to appreciate him for the service. 

When he came to pick you up (abduct sounded rough—you’d also want this eventually) you had just finished work. To others you seemed fine, to him you looked exhausted. No need for mask, no need for clothes, he had everything arranged. You hadn’t objected much, he tried the kind approach first, he had only asked you to go for a ride with him in a car he stole, something you’d never know. The place was a dump, a couch covered in dust and a rusty kitchen, but you’d both make it work. It wasn’t like he couldn’t find money. He would, eventually. He remembers the way your eyes widened, what were you expecting, a trip to the countryside for some mimosas? You should’ve known better. ‘’What are we doing here?’’ You had asked, looking him in the eyes, you seemed frightened like the first time you saw him in the alley, it all ends in the beginning of the cycle, such a paradox, he thought. ‘’This is our new place.’’ He cooed as he approached you, you took a step back. There really was no reason for you to be scared, you’d grow to understand the only thing scaring you would be losing him. 

He had tried to kiss you but you protested, pushing him away, a shame really and he wanted to continue with the nice approach. Well, then again nice didn’t really exist so it wouldn't have worked anyway. He kissed you, your mouth was closed but not for long before it was forced open, arms snaking around your waist and pinning you to a wall collecting condensation since god knows when. He was on your neck, kissing, biting, frenzied moves really, he needed you more than he needed whatever kept him alive. Three months ago, he stopped thinking. Now, the only thing he thought was you. He dragged you to the dusty sofa, he thought of using his quirk to burn the fabric, but ripping it out came naturally. You were laid out naked and shivering, his hands grabbed your waist—was this warm enough for you? You whispered something, maybe it was louder than a whisper, stop or whatever but he couldn’t listen. He found your cunt immediately, he was almost drooling at the sight, when was he that hungry ever again? Something about your life. People behind. You said something, he didn’t listen. You weren’t that wet like the first time, he understood. Women, they need emotional connection. Maybe a sloppier kiss to get them going. He found your mouth again, forcing you to kiss him back while he gorged on yours, a small movement in your hips, a pad of his finger back on your cunt. Wetter, perfect. He slid up a finger, curling it while his thumb grazed over your clit, you whimpered. That was a sound he could finally register. He’d bring back that smile, but it’d be for him only. One finger turned to two and eventually three, he needed to stretch you out to take him, nothing had changed since the first time, just his eagerness. His cock throbbed in his black pants, he wanted to taste you. 

You moaned and attempted to touch his hair. He didn’t mind but this wasn’t the time. He moved his head lower, spreading your thighs open and spitting on your clit. Spittle dripped down your slit and his index finger trailed it along the entrance, earning him a moan. See, you already enjoyed this too much. This would be your life now on, he’d fuck you till you wouldn’t want another thing. Captivity had a good side after all. He’d treat you so well, he wouldn’t even have to force all that domestic bullshit on you. You’d do it willingly. He eats your cunt out like it's the most sacred meal, sloppily and without coordination, pushing his tongue inside and gripping your thighs forcefully and what is this? You buck your hips up, wanting more, needy little slut. Perfect, so perfect for making him stop thinking. Making him forget. His cock must leak precum, it feels uncomfortable and he wants you to coat his tongue, he really does, but please understand, he needs you. Now. To bother removing his pants fully would be hilarious, he has neither time nor desire to do so, they’re slid down half way, his cock jumps on his abdomen and he gives it an impatient stroke—looking at you always. Let me go. You say, what? Were you stupid? Right before the best part? Right before the start of a new life? Of a life you should be living years ago? Delusional, you’re delusional. ‘’You love me, baby.’’ He tells you and lets his cockhead slip in your entrance, bit by bit until he’s bottomed out and you wince, he doesn’t move just for a second, this should be enough and then starts thrusting without consideration. Like it’s an incentive, like you’re a hole that needs filling, a mere means to an end. You protest a bit more, if you get louder he might have to get violent on you, please understand he doesn’t want this. You’ll get it, eventually. He can’t decipher the look on your face, it certainly doesn’t scream happy like in the photo. 

And then he’s reminded of the photo and a rage is born. ‘’Did he fuck you this well?’’ He spears his cock inside, you are hitting against the arm of the couch, your mouth contracts and you dampen his cock, so he must be doing something right. ‘’Tell me, did he fuck this cunt?’’ He asks and you just moan—are you dumb? Why aren’t you answering? His arms envelop the throat, pressing on the carotid artery as your muffled moans get even more constricted, he spits on your face and demands an answer. Dirty. Slut. Dirty. ‘’N-o’’ comes out your mouth. He hadn’t tainted you? He hadn’t touched you. ‘’I’m sorry.’’ He wipes the saliva off your cheeks, it’s so...wet? Are you crying? Why are you crying? He hates it. ‘’I’m sorry.’’ He kisses you while he plunges deeper, you groan and try to avoid him, stop doing this, you’re his now, it’s final. ‘’I’ll make you feel better, alright?’’ He breathes out, he knows you like his fingers, he knows. His thumb circles achingly, longingly even on your puffy clit while you clench around him, your breathing is labored, you have to cum—cum now! On his cock, show him how much you love him. A few more strokes and he has you clamping down, more tears, so many tears and you moan out his fake name, with anger maybe or an orgasm high, he can’t tell and he doesn’t care either, it’s enough. He needs to steal a kiss one last time and feel the way you squeeze and soak all around to let his load paint you white, maybe he is like a woman after all, longing for emotion, even when he has to fulfill plain instincts. You don’t talk after it, you don’t even blink, you aren’t passed out, are you? He wasn’t that hard, come on now. He has to remove himself, clean you up, the couch and he the least of his priorities. You need to get accustomed. You’ll love it. 

You never ask. About the photo. About your family. About anything prior. But that’s not something he dwells upon, he doesn’t like to look back. You still sleep next to him, well, there aren’t many other options available, yet you do. You still breathe softly in your sleep, he still hugs you from behind. You’ve become a sedative, a very much needed one. He dreams some days, an elevator falling, a shipwreck. Only, you’re there this time. 

The few days he remembers the dream, he appreciates the company. He can only hope you do, too. 

[katszumi]

silence immersed the room as the door clicked shut behind you. the ticking clock a reminder of how little time you have.

“you’re such an asshole, you know that?” you spewed to the male in front of you, your features displaying a look of anger.

katsuki rolled his eyes. “well, it’s not like i get called a ray of fuckin’ sunshine. what else did you honestly expect?” he crossed his arms over his chest, taking a seat atop of the long metal table.

“not much, yet you still seem to subceed my expectations.”

“subceed? seriously?” katsuki paused to let a scoff escape his lips. “you’re upset because i’m actually selling this story? the only one, might i add. this was your shitty grand idea!”

unknowingly, you took a step forward.

“the idea was to make it known we disliked each other. not for you to publicly shame and insult me!”

you, katsuki and a few other heroes were invited to attend a press conference. while the original topic was to discuss about the mission you all completed the day before, the topic began to stray away and focus on the relationship between you and katsuki.

japan knows of the hatred you and katsuki shared between each other, that was no unknown fact. the media described you two as fiery rivals considering both of your quirks contained fuel.

you two despised each other. or at least that’s the lie you fooled everyone with.

you were unsure when katsuki started to look appealing to the eye, how attractive he was when he was drowned in sweat, how you began to long for the small but noticeable glances he sent you in public. you couldn’t tell when it happened. but before you knew it, a small pool of desire that had katsuki’s name printed on it began to fill every minute of the day.

“which is no different than what we used to do. you want them to believe it? then don’t take my shit. suck it up and be a bigger asshole than i already am.” he was right. you know he was right. but it was so difficult to pretend as if you hated him.

even if you called him a bitch, or a cunt, maybe even call him out for having a small dick—which you know is far from the truth—that still wouldn’t deny the peace you felt whenever you were with katsuki. how the world seemed to stop still on its axis. how there were no rain, wind or time. just pure bliss.

fuck.

out of everyone, it just had to be him? his captivating, intense ruby irises. his brash, abrasive demeanor. only his words that could seem to sway you. the man the world deemed you to abhor.

instead of admitting the truth, you twist his words. “well, i’m pleased to know it’s so easy for you to do.”

“jesus fuck, y/n.” now, katsuki rose from his position, never once breaking eye contact with you. “you think this is easy for me? you think i like getting up there and lying through my teeth? doing this is the one of the hardest things i’ve ever done.”

he walks closer and even closer to you, minimizing the distance you established for good reasons. this is how it always happens; one of you forgets about the space you two have to maintain until words don’t seem to work anymore. instead, your lips weave together, forming a new way to communicate.

but you don’t move. you don’t want to.

“is it? all those insults feels like it comes pretty smooth to you.”

katsuki pauses as he takes a second to analyze you. his eyes scan your body then leading right up to your face.

“because those are the words i wish i could mean. every time, it burns me to say those things about you when i’d rather be up there claiming every single part about you.” he lowered to a whisper, but his voice maintained a fervent tone.

his hand raises, slow and steady. he cups your cheek, gently swiping his thumb across your cheek. instinctively, you lean into his palm, your eyes softening as you gaze into his eyes.

“you think i enjoy this?” you watch his jaw tighten, his hand dropping to your hip. “think i like watching you talk with those eager men? it takes everything in me to not beat them shitless for daring to come across you. do you know how hard it is to fight the urge to pull you in and show them that you’re not available?”

too captivated by his words, you didn’t notice how katsuki lowered his head. you could feel the heat of his body from how he gave you no room to breathe. he placed his lips on your soft skin, slowly kissing the side of your neck.

no. resist him. your mind was screaming. this couldn’t go on forever. at some point, you guys had to stop.

“what will make them back off? if i mark you up? think they’ll understand then?” he proposed the question, but to you, it seemed more like he was asking for permission.

you didn’t know what effect katsuki placed on you to have you like this. but in this moment, you didn’t care about the rumors, the consequences, your image. it was all pushed back in the back of your head. so, you slightly tilted your head upwards, giving him more leeway to continue.

katsuki gripped your hips. not too strong to leave a mark but strong enough to squeeze a small moan out of you.

“don’t you fuckin’ understand, y/n?” he leans away to look in your eye.

“what?” you meekly responded.

“i go insane when it comes to you. i’m not the kind of guy that drools over any woman’s attention. but, you… fuck.” he stops himself, from what you can only assume was to control himself with whatever he was about to say. “not being able to have you only makes me crave you more.”

you stay quiet.

“you know how many times i’ve tried to resist you?”

“how many?” finally, you spoke.

“too many fuckin’ times. i’m done fighting it, y/n.”

confusion struck your face. “what do you mean?”

“be mine. forget the press, forget our pr managers. be with me.” katsuki brings you closer with the hand placed on your hip, the action drawing you to one conclusion.

he leans in and interlocks his lips with yours. immediately, you drown in the feeling of his soft but chapped lips that you couldn’t seem to push away. somehow, you find the strength to pull back from him.

“not here. not in pub-”

“yes here.”

with his tone, you could mistake him to be aggressive in this moment. but over the months, you managed to be able to read his eyes from the forbidden glances he’s sent your way; how he really felt through the way he wore his eyes.

katsuki’s eyebrows were slightly furrowed, his soft ruby eyes shifted from your lips to your e/c irises.

there was a look behind his eyes. there were more watchful, more tender than usual. almost as if he was pleading with his eyes. like he was begging.

so, how could you say no to him in this state? him being so vulnerable with you?

but that was always the problem.

you could never say no to katsuki bakugou, no matter what.

your arms wrap around his neck, drawing him in with your eyes. he inclined his head and laid his lips on your mouth. the silence that did wrap the room ten minutes ago was replaced with the noise of sloppy kisses, your mouths powering over each other.

you can feel your heart rate increase from the action, even more noticeably so when he entangles a fist in the back of your shirt. he needs you closer, maybe within his skin if possible.

following his action, you guide your fingers through his ash blonde strands, sending a shiver down his spine. he nibbles on the bottom of your lip, pulling it just slightly.

“we really shouldn’t be doing this.” your murmur, yet his ears catches it. “this would be the hottest topic for the media.”

a snicker parted his lips. “we just can’t be caught. but the day you stop being scared, i’m ready.” his words vague and simple, yet still holding so much promise.

“i hate you.”

and you did. you hated that he was too enticing. too irresistible.

“thought it was hard for you to say things you don’t mean?” he referred from earlier. of course, that was just like him. the same him you mistakenly fell for.

“just shut up.” was all you replied with before leaning back in to connect his lips with yours, choosing to help him with your statement.

this was supposed to be like a forbidden love trope but i think i just revealed how thirsty i am😔

[kymerawrites]

Addicting

Just tension writing

"Smoking kills, y'know."

Ghost's voice floats over to you from just beside your ear, a hint of irony coating his tone. While his words sound like a genuine warning, he huffs a chuckle when you roll your eyes. He's relaxed around you.

He inhales deeply and exhales slowly, blowing the smoke in your direction. It's strangely tantalizing, like stepping out of the shower on a cold day. Maybe it's just his natural magnetism, or the way his gaze burns right through you. Either way... it's working.

"And yet, you're still doing it."

With a smirk tugging at his lips, Ghost takes another drag while he eyes your cigarette. It's almost like he's studying it.

He exhales deeply once again, letting the smoke linger in the air between you like a veil of mystery. It feels intimate, almost as if you're sharing something forbidden together.

"You could at least get a better brand, y'know."

Ghost mutters as he glances at your cigarette carton, his eyes flicking back up to yours as he takes another slow drag.

He leans back casually against the wall, taking in the sight of you. It seems like he's enjoying this moment more than he should... as if he knows how much this is affecting you.

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers.

"Those things taste like ash, honestly."

His breath sends a shiver down your spine, and his proximity is enough to make your heart skip a beat. He's never this close on missions, never this... casual.

Ghost takes another drag and leans back again, studying your facial expressions.

He seems to be thoroughly amused by your reactions to his words and actions, his eyes glinting as they linger on your parted lips.

"Guess I could give you a taste of something better."

He speaks again, his voice lowered to an almost sinful whisper.

He holds out his own cigarette, offering it to you with a smirk. His gaze dares you to take it, to try something new. To play along with this little game he's playing right now.

"Go on. You know you want to."

His invitation is almost taunting, but there's a hint of challenge in his eyes. He wants you to give in, to take the bait. And it's driving him absolutely crazy.

Before you can respond, Ghost leans in even closer so his lips are just beside your ear again. He's so close, you can feel the heat radiating off his body.

"Just one drag."

He breathes the words against your skin, his breath sending another shiver down your spine. His tone is still playful but edged with something else... something darker and more intoxicating.

With an almost wicked grin, Ghost holds the cigarette against your lips. His touch is gentle, almost reverent.

"Open your mouth."

The command is as smooth as silk, and it takes all your willpower not to oblige immediately. But you do as he says, parting your lips slightly.

He slides the cigarette between your parted lips, his free hand coming up to cradle the side of your face. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, almost possessively as if he's claiming you just with that simple touch.

"Inhale."

He whispers the instruction, watching you closely.

Ghost chuckled softly as he watched you inhale the smoke, his hand still cupping the side of your face.

"That's it..."

He murmured, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the way your lips wrapped around the cigarette. His thumb continued to move gently across your bottom lip, almost as if he can't resist touching you.

"Now exhale."

He breathed the command, his eyes locked on your mouth. He watches as you exhale the smoke, his gaze growing warmer and darker. It's like he's trying to memorize the way you look right now...the way you submit to his commands.

"Good..."

He whispers, his thumb still tracing your lip.

He takes the cigarette away from your lips and flicks it away before he turns his full attention back to you. One hand remains on your face while the other moves to your hip, pulling you closer to him.

"You taste better than tobacco, y'know."

His voice is lower now, more seductive. He's clearly enjoying this, the way you're responding to him...the way he has you exactly where he wants you.

His hand on your hip tightens, pulling you flush against his body. He's so close now, you can feel the heat radiating off his skin, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

"I could get addicted to this."

He murmurs, his voice so low and rough that it sends a shiver down your spine. He leans in even closer, his breath hot against your neck...

His lips graze your skin, leaving a trail of heat and desire in their wake. He starts at your jawline, slowly moving down to your collarbone. He takes his time, savoring each moment as he explores your body with his mouth.

"You're so damn addicting."

He breathes between kisses, his words and actions driving you wild.

His hand slides under the hem of your shirt, his touch burning your skin. He pulls you closer, his body pressed fully against yours now. The contact is overwhelming, and you can feel the tension building between you two.

"I want more."

He whispers against your neck, his teeth scraping your skin as he leaves a trail of kisses down to your shoulder.

He moves with purpose, his grip on your hip firm as he steers you backwards until you're pressed against the wall. He traps you there, his body caging you in as he continues to explore your skin.

"I could have you right here, right now..."

His words are almost a growl, the primal desire in his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

His hands start to move under your shirt, his touch rough and demanding. He's not gentle, but you don't mind...you want this, this raw, primal connection between the two of you.

"Say yes."

He whispers, his lips hovering just millimeters from yours. You can feel his breath mingling with yours, the heat between you almost unbearable.

There's a tension in the air as he waits for your response, his body still pinning you to the wall. His eyes are locked on yours, burning with desire and need.

"Say yes, and I'll give you everything you want."

His voice is a low, rough whisper, his words leaving no room for debate. He's not asking, he's demanding.

“Yes..” I whispered

He moves one hand up to your face, his touch gentle now. He cups your cheek, his thumb tracing small circles against your skin.

"Tell me you want me."

The words are a command, spoken in a tone that leaves no room for doubt. He needs to hear it from you, he needs to know that you want this just as much as he does.

“I want you si.”

His eyes darken even more at your words, a low growl of desire rumbling deep in his chest. He's been waiting for you to say that, longing for those words to leave your mouth.

"Say it again."

He whispers, his voice rough and commanding. He wants to hear it again, to know that you really mean it.

“I want this.”

He shivers slightly at your words, the primal need within him growing stronger with each passing second. He leans in, his body pressing even closer against yours.

"I'm gonna take you, right here, right now."

His voice is hoarse, the words growled against your neck as he moves his lips down to your pulse point.

[grimm-writings]

HI ITS BARD ANON I MISSED YOU!!! insane request but what about a situation where the party + kabru + chil’s family orchestrate a date between chil and reader? like setting them up… i think that’d be so cuteeee

for the dancing and the dreaming

…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, post-canon spoilers, chilchuck’s wife remains nameless, i love chilchuck's family can you tell

…wc! 1887

…notes! BARD ANON I’M BACK FROM WAR (burnout) !!!! these two requests are similar so i decided to make ‘em a wombo combo!!! enjoy my loves!

The woman gives you a kindly smile as she waves you off, you and her ex leaving the tavern.  She sighs and leans back, crossing her arms.

God, Chilchuck is more stupid than she remembered.

How could he possibly miss the affection in your eyes when he called out to you both before you left?  Or how you clearly wanted to ask if you can stay with him longer?  He’s just going to ignore that and consider it all platonic?

What an idiot.  Do I really have to step in for him again?  Just like old times, huh…?

The half-foot taps a finger against her cheek in thought.  Maybe she can push you to confess?  No, you’d probably wave your hands around and insist against having feelings for Chilchuck in the first place.  A heavy sigh escapes her.

Looks like she has to do things the old-fashioned way.

Step 1 – Family

The quickest way to alert someone is to see who the people closest to you know.  Flertom is rather in-the-know about any gossip.  Usually, as a mother, the half-foot really doesn’t want to encourage such things, but for now…

“What’s trendy in dating circles nowadays?”  She asks offhandedly, eyeing a bouquet Flertom bought to gift a possible suitor.  “Is the man still expected to be the one to initiate everything?”

She could nearly scoff at her own words.  Only reason she and Chil got together was pure happenstance.  Practically a blur by now.  He’d be hopeless at actually trying to start anything with you.

The younger woman hums in curiosity, before stopping to think.  “Not really nowadays, no…  If you have enough charisma, you can charm any man into taking you out for a drink.  Why do you ask, Ma?”

Flertom squints as she watches her mother laugh and shake her head in response.  “Oh, I just think your old man might need some… encouragement with a new flame is all.”

Just as she expected, Flertom was immediately on the ball with planning, rushing out to the town in order to visit her sisters and inform them of the operation.  She practically commanded her old mother to see if she could look for any clues about Chilchuck’s possible beau.  With a knowing smile, she remarks that she’s very happy to pay a visit to Melini.

Step 2 – Friends

“You really think something that elaborate could work?!”  Marcille Donato leans forward in her chair.  Her eyes shine with a certain kind of joy at the idea of playing Cupid that amuses the matured half-foot significantly.

She nods.  “I don’t see anything else coming close to pushing them.  Force might be the only way.”

A female tall-man, Falin if recalled correctly, squints and hums, tapping her finger on her chin as she tilts her head.  Her brow furrows.  “From what I know, Chilchuck seems to be more open, but… I don’t know if he has the courage to be truly vulnerable in front of someone like that.”

“No need to tell me twice,” his ex scoffs.

“Oh!”  The king, of all people, seems to have an epiphany.  “We could hold some sort of ball, encourage him to invite a plus one.  That can work, right Kabru?”

All eyes turn to look at the advisor standing to the side, clearly enjoying the conversation but not wishing to intrude.  He startles at the sudden attention, before clearing his throat behind his fist.

“It will take some time to plan, but it could work…  You mentioned having three daughters, ma’am, you can take one as a plus-one, and the two will take each other.”  He’s calm with his conclusion, which the half-foot woman can definitely respect.

“A banquet of all their favourite foods,” the dwarf Senshi, as food-brained as ever, sighs in daydream.

Kabru takes a step forward.  “Though I have to ask,” he enquires, “is it really necessary to call upon all of the king’s advisors and himself for a Cupid scheme?”

Silly boy.  He doesn’t yet realise the stakes.

If Chilchuck and you don’t say something soon, then you may stay silent forever.  This idea might be the best shot they have.

Step 3 – The Preparation

“What’s even the occasion…?”  Chilchuck sighs as he adjusts the sleeves of the formal outfit he’s wearing.  He’s definitely unused to something so high-class.  Being invited as a guest of honour certainly isn’t doing any favours either.

Not to mention, Laios was stupid enough to not even bestow upon you a guest of honour title!  Chilchuck has to go through the means of inviting you as a plus one due to some ‘organisational issues’, as Kabru put it.

What a load of crap.

“I ‘unno!”  Puckpatti peeks her head around the corner to look at her father.  “Royals just seem to like their balls!”

“This isn’t one of your period romances…” Meijack’s voice rings from the other room too.

You sit with them, talking amongst one another.  Flertom’s plus one remains a mystery to you, though she assures you that you’ll meet with her when you get there.  You can only assume it’s the girls’ mother but you have no clue why she’s so giggly and secretive about it.

“On the contrary!” Flertom announces.  “I think it’s exactly like a period romance.  Maybe one of us will be swept into a dance so beguiling, you forget there’s a whole ballroom of people!”

You squeal in surprise when Flertom takes your hands and pulls you out of your chair.  You dance together in a fit of giggles.  You only barely miss Chilchuck walking out to meet with you all, a fond smile on his face.

Little do you know, he’s thinking about what it would be like if joy like this could be shared in a household with the two of you.

“Come on now, settle.  Apparently there’s gonna be a carriage taking us to Melini.  I couldn’t fight against the theatrics, according to Marcille…”

“Oh Papa!”  Puckpatti sighs blissfully.  “We truly are living like nobles now!  Maybe you can… ah…”

Both you and Chilchuck spy her eyes darting towards her sisters with unsureness.  How strange.

“You can find… someone nice there!”

“No, Patti.”  Chilchuck shakes his head with a sigh.  “I’m not gonna marry some rich dwarf.”

“You are too cruel, Papa,” Flertom points out with a pout.  “No one will want you if you just keep saying no.”

As the three bicker, Meijack spares you a sympathetic glance, and she rolls her eyes.  Her sisters hardly know subtlety.  Finally she stands up and walks to your side.

“I’m glad you’re here with us,” she says with uncharacteristic softness; she’s similar to her father like that.  “Papa has good taste.”

You go red just as much as Chilchuck.  For a moment, Flertom and Puckpatti wonder if their less romance-focused sister has some secret charisma she’s been hiding up her sleeve this whole time.  It seems to work though, as they chorus their agreements loudly.

“Very good taste!”

“Their formal wear matches yours fashionably well!”

“Just as pretty as Ma too!”

“If not prettier!”

The entire carriage ride to Melini was full of this type of chatter, asking questions about you and Chilchuck’s time together the whole way.  A few times you had to clarify that you are only as close as the rest of your old party were close, but were only met with a few smug “mhms” and “sures”.

Chilchuck can only roll his eyes when he gets the chance to comment on it privately with you.  “I have no idea what’s up with them.”

“Oh, cheer up!”  You laugh softly.  “I’m flattered that they like me.”

Chilchuck can’t help but hear your laugh and chuckle along – music to his ears.  “...Yeah, I’m glad they like you too.”

“Come on!  Ma is here to greet you two!”  Flertom’s voice calls out.

The mastermind has been watching you and Chilchuck the whole time you approach.  Her expression remains neutral, with the smallest sliver of a smile.  Seems like the proximity has been lending itself quite well.

“Well, aren’t you two a pair,” she greets you both.  “Ready to take the ball by storm.”

“Your jokes haven’t gotten any better,” Chilchuck replies.

“And you’re still wearing the same shabby suit from sixteen years ago.”

Chilchuck flushes red once again and you can’t help but laugh, patting his shoulder sympathetically as he hooks his arm through yours.

The watching half-foot knowingly grins.  Yes, you two are definitely going to take it up a level after tonight.

Step 4 – Profit!

The ball came and went.  It goes as typical as the dark-haired half-foot expects.  What really is supposed to be a high-class noble event is a mask for foodies, romantics, and those looking for a fun time.

Senshi’s food was as wonderful as promised, and even if this was all done in the name of romance, Flertom and Puckpatti had to be held down from trying to approach the dwarf with lowered eyelids and twirled hair.  Chilchuck doesn’t need more heart palpitations than he already did.

She did her best to encourage Chilchuck to drink.  She knows better than anyone that his tongue only loosened when he got enough alcohol in him.  It hurts just a little, knowing that this is one of the only ways Chilchuck can be open with someone romantically.

The temptation did cross her to ask how Chilchuck views her now, but she stood against it.  It’s not the night for that.

By the time the party drew to a close, people were exhausted, drunk, in a food coma, or all of the above.  The King had to be dragged over to his quarters, and Marcille had since passed out on Falin’s shoulder, who’s bidding farewell to guests.

The dark-haired half-foot swirls the last of her wine in a glass as she stands outside, making small-talk with the tall-man.  It’s not until you stumble out with Chilchuck clinging to the fabric on your hip that she looks up.

“Do you—”

“No need for help!”  You reassure her with a grin.  “He always seems to get clingy with me when drunk, so I’m kinda used to it at this point!”

Your laughter meets a knowing smile, not knowing exactly what she’s so smug about.  “Yes, he seems to really like you.”

“I sure hope he does, considering he’s accepted my request to go on a date with him.”

Falin perks up enough to wake up the elf on her shoulder.  “A date?”

The half-foot across from you is stunned into silence.  It actually worked.  The atmosphere and passion of it all actually egged you both on!

“Congratulations.”  You’ve seen more emotion from the dark-haired woman than ever before.  Her smile relaxed but her eyes shining, the lines underneath crinkling with happiness.  “Treat him well, okay?”

“Of course,” you reply, and you lean forward a little.  “Thank you for your help.  Kabru couldn’t help but gossip to me.”

You wink and lean up again.  Chilchuck at your side whines for your attention and you laugh, walking towards a carriage.

Safe travels were promised, and the dark-haired half-foot turns to the two blonde women.

The elf blinks slowly, red-faced from drink.

“Did we win…?”

The two other women laugh.  Stories must be exchanged the next time you all meet – especially on your end of things.