#proofreader needed

[malulurivers]

editing notice

so, with summer hanging around, I'm itching for things to do. since I really like editing and proofreading, I figured I would offer up my services to anyone who needs it!

I'll proofread anything at all, even for a fandom I'm not particularly involved in (though that would absolutely help, I'm willing to research stuff!). as for editing, I'll do it for a fandom I'm accustomed to (which is a lot, even if I don't post about them too much). I'm also happy to help proofread/edit anyone's original content, it doesn't have to be fandom stuff! I've got a lot more experience with that anyway which may come across in my own writing a bit idk.

I'd like to earn a little bit of cash eventually, with emphasis on the 'eventually', so that wouldn't be right off the bat (especially if it's a small thing!). I just genuinely really enjoy proofreading, I find it really satisfying, and I want to be a part of a writing community and help out where I can! as the proofreading-editing part is usually the not-so fun part ':D

anywho, if you're interested feel free to dm me!

~ malu

[luvrrszn]

nasty old dog

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY x FEM!READER

summary silent, broody...how can you resist your mysterious older neighbour?

warnings fluff-ish, age gap (early 20s, late 30s), nsfw (smut), bad brain-rotted writing

a/n heh......send requests pls

masterlist

the first time you meet him, he’s standing at your front door in full tactical gear.

not just a vest or boots—everything. black from head to toe, a skull-print balaclava covering most of his face. there’s a duffel slung over one shoulder, and your parcel in his hand.

you freeze.

he doesn’t say anything at first—just stares at you. and then, quietly, almost too quiet to hear:

“this came to mine.”

you take the box slowly, fingers brushing the gloves he hasn’t taken off. your eyes flick to his—dark, heavy-lidded, with a hint of tiredness that makes something twist in your chest.

“…thanks,” you manage, trying not to sound nervous.

he nods once and turns without another word. just disappears into the apartment across the hall like this is normal. like he’s normal.

you close the door and stand there for a long moment.

“…what the hell.”

—

you tell yourself not to be weird about it. but every time you see him—taking out the trash, coming back from a run, carrying enough groceries for a family of five—you get more and more curious.

there’s something about him. the way he’s always alone. how he never quite makes eye contact. how your cat likes to sit by the front door, ears perked, tail twitching, every time his boots echo down the hallway—like she knows exactly when he’s coming home.

he’s strange. broody. definitely hiding something.

so of course you bake cookies.

and occasionally leave them on his doorstep.

because you're a nice neighbour!

because you’re nosy. and maybe a little reckless.

and because god help you, your mysterious neighbour is hot.

—

at first, it's subtle. a soft nod when you pass by each other in the hallways, and even an occasional gruff "mornin'" from the man.

simon doesn’t exactly do small talk—but he starts remembering your name, starts holding the lobby door open a little longer when your arms are full of groceries. he even helps you carry them once. gruff, silent, but his hand wraps fully around the handle of your tote bag like it weighs nothing.

there’s a moment, that day. where your fingers brush his. and he flinches—not from you, but from himself. like he wasn’t expecting how warm you’d feel. how soft your hands were, untouched by the horrors of the world.

then it’s a sticky note.

you find it one night, stuck on your fridge in all caps, scrawled with a heavy hand:

“FIXED YOUR SINK. STOP USING THE DUCT TAPE.”

you don’t even know how he got in—must’ve used the spare key you gave your building’s maintenance guy. you leave a tupperware of cookies on his doorstep the next day. he doesn’t say anything, but a week later, your broken curtain rod is magically fixed too, and your empty tupperware sits on your kitchen counter.

and somehow, this becomes your thing.

he drops by after missions—always late at night, always quiet. you never ask questions. he never offers answers. but he shows up with oil stains on his shirt and shadows under his eyes, and you let him in, let him rest. you even start cooking bigger portions, just so he'll have some home-cooked food to eat when he drops by at night. you don't ask questions, you don't say anything. you just give him some food as he tugs off his skull balaclava.

sometimes he falls asleep on your couch, jaw slack, brow still furrowed like he’s expecting a fight even in sleep. other times, he just… sits with you. watches whatever’s on the tv without a word. you talk. he listens. and every now and then, when you say something funny or dumb or weird, the corner of his mouth twitches. barely noticeable. but it’s there.

eventually you get comfortable with him. you curl up against him during movie nights, head resting on his chest. his arm rests on the back of the sofa behind you. his hand doesn't wrap around your shoulder. he makes sure there's some sort of distance between him and the little young thing sitting beside him.

you learn he likes his tea strong. that he only takes sugar when he’s had a rough day. that he reads, sometimes, when he can’t sleep. that he has a soft spot for your cat, even if he pretends to ignore her—pretends not to notice when she curls up beside his boots. (you even catch him smiling at her once, but you pretend not to notice)

you start to learn the rhythm of him. the little ways he says “i care” without ever saying it at all.

eventually, you stop pretending he’s just your neighbour.

but he doesn’t.

he keeps his distance, even as he inches closer. never lets himself touch you for too long. never stays the night, no matter how late it gets. you catch the way he looks at you sometimes—like he wants something he doesn’t think he should want.

he’s careful. too careful. because you’re bright and soft and still figuring things out. and he’s lived a thousand lives in the dark, each one heavier than the last.

and maybe that’s why it nearly breaks something in you when one night, after a silence stretched too long, he just says it.

quietly. like he’s scared he’ll ruin it.

“i sleep better here.”

you don’t say anything. just reach for his hand and squeeze. and this time, he doesn’t pull away.

—

and one day, he comes back more broken than usual.

you can see it in the set of his shoulders, the way he lingers in the doorway like he’s debating whether or not he should’ve even come. his jaw is tight. his knuckles are bruised. and when he finally steps inside, he doesn't say a word—just drops his gear by the door, like always, and sinks onto your couch like gravity's finally gotten the best of him.

you sit beside him, quiet. you let the silence stretch.

until you finally ask, “si, are you okay?”

he doesn’t answer right away. just stares ahead, breathing deep, like your soft little apartment is the only thing keeping him tethered.

“had to do lotsa' things i didn’t wanna' do,” he mutters eventually. voice low. rough. “a lot more than usual.”

your hand finds his and you squeeze. your grip is gentle. grounding. “you’re home now.”

he turns to look at you then. and there’s something in his eyes that makes your breath catch—something sharp, haunted. but under it… there’s hunger too. not just for you, but for the comfort you bring. for the peace he only finds in your presence.

and maybe that’s what makes you brave.

maybe that’s why you shift closer, crawl gently into his lap, hands bracing on his broad shoulders. you feel the way his body tenses beneath you, the way he swallows hard when your fingers ghost along the back of his neck.

“let me take care of you,” you whisper.

“sweetheart…” he warns, already shaking his head.

you start grinding down on him a little, just to test the waters. but his hands come to your waist. but they don’t push. they just hold. “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“i do,” you murmur, leaning in so your lips ghost along his jawline. “i know exactly what i want. i want you, si."

his breath stutters. you press a kiss just below his ear. his grip around you tightens into somewhat of a hug.

“don’t do this,” he says, but his voice is wrecked. you notice the slightest tremble in his hands and voice. barely noticeable to anyone else, but you can feel it.

“why not?” you whisper. “i know you want me too.”

“you’re young.” he finally says it. the thing that’s been sitting heavy between you both.

“you’ve got your whole damn life ahead of you. you shouldn’t be wasting it on some old bastard who drags death with him wherever he goes.”

“i’m not wasting anything,” you whisper, pulling back. you look into his eyes and your hands come up to hold each side of his head. “i’m choosing you, you old dog. doesn’t that count for something?”

and it’s like that finally breaks him.

because the next thing you know, his mouth is on yours—desperate, almost angry, like he’s been trying to hold himself back for months and he just can’t anymore. his hands grip your hips tight, dragging you closer, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you in his lap.

and when he kisses you again, it’s not hesitant. it’s hungry.

his lips are hot, almost feverish against yours, and you can feel the desperation in every movement. his hands are everywhere—palming your hips, sliding beneath your shirt to feel the warm curve of your waist, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

and you? you just melt for him.

you thread your fingers through his short crop of hair, tugging gently, and he groans low in his throat. you whisper his name, over and over, like a prayer, like something sacred. and it's music to his ears.

“fuck,” he breathes against your mouth, “you don’t know what you do to me, sweet girl.”

but you do.

you feel it in the way he grinds up into you, slow and controlled, like he’s still trying to restrain himself even now. like he doesn’t want to hurt you. like he wants to worship you.

you pull back just enough to look at him—his eyes are dark, pupils blown, lashes fluttering as he blinks up at you with something close to reverence.

“i want all of you, si,” you whisper. “please.”

his jaw clenches, like he’s fighting every instinct to be good, to be safe, to keep distance. but you see the moment he gives in. the moment he realises you’re not afraid of him. you want him. all of him.

he stands with you in his arms, effortless, and carries you to your bedroom. he lays you out so gently you nearly cry. and when he finally takes off your clothes, it's like unwrapping something precious—his touch is rough in places, but careful where it matters.

“you’re so fuckin’ soft,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth along your collarbone, “so goddamn perfect.”

your fingers fumble with the hem of his shirt, and he helps you pull it over his head. you take a moment, just looking at him—all scars and strength and something broken that only you ever get to see.

“you’re beautiful,” you say, and his breath hitches.

he kisses you like you’re the only thing that’s ever made him feel alive. like the war stops when your mouth is on his.

and when he finally slides into you, it's slow. unbearably slow. you feel every inch of him, the stretch, the fullness, the way his breath stutters when you moan his name. but he fits perfectly. like he's the puzzle piece you've been searching for. like this was meant to be.

one hand toys with your nipple while the other rubs soft circles on your clit.

he’s whispering things between gritted teeth—“that’s it, sweetheart,” “so good f'me,” “i’ve got you”—his voice like gravel and honey in your ear.

and when he finally loses the last bit of restraint, it’s devastating—his rhythm picking up, hips snapping into yours, his forehead pressed to yours as he groans your name like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

"f-fuck si—oh yeah right there—oh!" your moans are almost pornographic, only spurring simon on as he picks up his pace. faster, deeper, and soon you feel the familiar warmth in your belly as your stomach coils.

you fall apart beneath him, trembling, gasping, held together only by his arms around you and the heat of his breath against your cheek. your walls tighten around him, squeezing him. and soon he follows with a low, broken sound and your name on his lips like a plea.

he spills deep inside you, your walls milking him for all that he is.

and then it’s quiet.

his body curled around yours, still catching his breath as he pulls out of you. your fingers tracing lazy circles along his chest. his thumb brushing soft over your waist like he can’t stop touching you, like he doesn’t want to.

you feel his lips press into your hair as he mutters, barely audible:

“don’t know what i ever did to deserve you.”

[thephantomsdream]

Let's be real for a second.

Ghost likes you a lil mean. Just enough. To him, to his mates, to everyone. He can fight. He will fuck anyone up who dares to react aggressively to you, so it doesn't matter if you're sassy, snarky, plainly put a little shit. He won't stop you, he's not gonna "tame" you, he's definitely gonna fucking eat it up and tease you, loving your remarks, clever, funny or straight up mean. The man will be smirking behind his mask (or straight up giving you heart-eyes at home). Don't be unnecessarily mean though, it's not a good look on anyone. Oh, god, and if your humor is dark? You got the man snorting and fucking giggling*(1), shoulders shaking and him trying to hold it in as you're plain roasting someone.

Be mean to him. He tests the waters, dropping one of his incredible and fantastic jokes for you to roll your eyes at him and tell him to rather wear a clown mask, since he's such a joke, and I swear he folds. Wants to pin you down and fuck you raw until you're a sobbing mess that knows nothing else but his name? Of course, and know he'd be mocking you, because where's that snarky mouth of yours, hmm? Oh, ya, busy sucking on his fingers. But until then, he's lowkey following you around dropping stupid joke after stupid joke until you're actually angry and amused. He got you smiling somehow? Gets him feeling like a young boy with a crush, silly butterflies and all.

Give him a bitch-face. Raised brow and unimpressed face at anyone and he's just eyes on you. Fucking hell, he's creepy too. Ghost is fucking intimidating as he is but if he just fixates on something, big brown eyes locked onto you and (big, awkward because let's be fucking for real, boy's actually fucking awkward) body frozen. Just 🧍‍♂️. (I'm fucking wheezing, he just 🧍‍♂️👁👁 and you know it!)

"Fuck are you looking at, weirdo?" That's bloody foken lovely!

And!

AND! He just (again, awkwardly) hovers and makes shit jokes but is so helpful to you in any way he can because in reality he's garbage with words but with actions he's much better. Regardless of where you met, he'll find a way in your life because you bring him joy and he just can't seem to let go. Simon tries to convince himself too that it ain't a good idea, that you're better off. Aha. Yeah, then you just look at him in a way when someone else says something absolutely fucking stupid and he just... Yeah, he's yours.

Be mean to him, then let him shove his face in your tits. Pull his hair a little but wrap your arms around him. Bite him and call him an idiot if you want, as long as you call him your idiot. That's Simon to you.

(But when you're nice to only him, he feels special. Make this man feel special, yeah? He needs it.)

(1): I actually imagined him in his barracks, him kicking his feet while he wears a pink robe, writing in his pink diary (with a pink pen with one of those fluffy balls at the end) "Dear diary, my lovie called me an asshole today. My heart is still racing. We shall mary in spring." and drawing hearts around his and your initials together.

[stellamarielu]

did anyone order jack abbot eating it from behind??

jack is typically a soft lover— dominant yet careful. even when he’s rough, there’s still an ounce of gentle deliberation in his actions. but sometimes he’s all pent up from a long week at work, and he gets all needy and impatient.

after days of barely seeing you— his shifts running late, and you having a lot on your plate— he finally has you all to himself. you’re cooking dinner together in his kitchen on your shared day off, and he can barely keep his hands to himself.

he tried his best not to pounce on you the minute you walked into his house, giving you nearly an hour of innocent conversation and sarcastic remarks, only paying a few playful smacks to your ass as you worked together to prep the meal. but as soon as you were leaning over the countertop, attention on the cutting board beneath your fingertips, he wasted no time pulling your body flush against his, his very obvious erection pressing against the flesh of your backside.

he leans in— not even bothering to whisper as he confesses how badly he wants you in the wide open space of his kitchen.

“wanna fuck you right here.” his voice is low and rough as his hands grab harder at your waist.

“could just bend you over the counter while you keep cooking,” you’re trying to focus on the task at hand, but jack’s presence behind you is becoming increasingly harder to ignore.

“see how long you can keep your composure until you have to stop because you can’t fucking see straight.” his words have an edge to them— almost threatening.

you weakly try to pry his hands off your hips, but instead your weight melts back into him, the affect of his words making your body betray your mind.

you need to finish cooking; there’s food on the stove, ready to burn if you get too distracted.

“jack…” his name leaves your lips in a quiet warning, meanwhile you’re leaning further into his touch, your body giving into his words of desire.

“we should eat first.” your eyes flutter shut as his hands run up and down your sides. the final attempt to ward off his advances leaves your lips to no avail.

“you’re right.”

he drops to his knees like a dog following a command. pushing up the little sundress you wore just for him, and yanking your panties down. it almost startles you how impulsively he pushes his face into you, his tongue instantly sliding between your folds.

you instinctively raise up on your toes, leaning forward against the counter, and throwing all previous apprehension to the back of your mind as soon as you feel his mouth on your cunt.

his hands grab at your ass, kneading it in his palms and spreading you open, giving him more access to eat.

and eat he does; licking, and sucking, and fucking you with his tongue like he’s desperate for your release. groaning into you when he hears your breathless pants and whines from above.

oh he’ll eat first alright, and this is only the first course.

[aliteralsemicolon]

Thinking about how Spencer takes care of you when you're too exhausted to take care of yourself.

He walks into your bedroom to find you on the brink of sleep, carelessly curled up on your end of the bed and his brows raise in slight concern as he scans you. You couldn't even be bothered to change out of your day clothes. He chuckles lightly at the sight, as he makes his way to you.

"Baby?" He gently calls to you, rubbing your calf with his hand as he takes a seat next to your legs. You're unable to respond to the sound of his voice despite hearing it. He tries again, this time kneeling on the floor next to your head.

"Angel?" His fingers lightly brush through your hair as he whispers near your ear.

"Hmm?" You reply hazily.

You wait for him to speak so you can go back to sleep but all that follows is silence. He resumes his motions in your hair and it keeps you aware of his presence. He's waiting for you to gain some more consciousness. You rub your eyes, fluttering them open and Spencer's quick to guide your hand away from your face.

Right. Your makeup.

"What's up?" You mumble, stifling a yawn.

"I know you're tired, and I'm sorry for having to wake you up," he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "but you do know why it's bad for you to fall asleep like this?"

This is a topic the two of you have discussed before. You're usually quite meticulous about removing your makeup before bed, but you're also no stranger to nights when you can't find any energy to do so.

"Mhm. Clogged pores, risk of infections, bacteria spread, discomfort…" You trail off, summarising his extensive research.

Getting you up and off this bed is a losing battle tonight and Spencer graciously accepts defeat, sporting an endeared grin.

"Can I at least help you get comfortable? Would it be alright if I took these off for you?" He tugs at your top and waits for your response. You nod, letting out a barely audible hum.

Spencer moves off the floor and begins to remove your clothing. "You're gonna have to help me just a little bit, Angel. Lift your hips for me."

You blindly follow his commands, wanting to get it over with so that he can relax and you can go back to sleep. He doesn't relax, though. As he rids you of the last of your clothing, he mentally fights himself on letting you sleep with your make-up. There are so many risks involved, but hygiene aside, Spencer knows that if you wake up with your pillow stained– or God forbid…a pimple– you're going to be beyond pissed with yourself.

The sudden dip in the mattress slightly startles you, as a cool feeling drags against your cheek and you whine.

"Shhhh, sorry, it's just me." Spencer coos.

"What're you doing?" You groan, squeezing your eyes shut, still in a sleepy haze.

"Just wiping off your makeup, sweet girl. You're going to thank me tomorrow." His finger hooks under your chin and he soothingly rubs his thumb just under your lips.

"Spence…" You begin whining but you're unable to pronounce anything else coherently.

He can tell you're slightly irritated, but he doesn't mind. He knows that it's the exhaustion talking.

"I know, I know." He sympathises with his continually gentle tone. "I'm almost done. You're being so good for me right now."

Your lips pout, but you don't complain any further, his words calming you. By the time he's finished ridding your face of cosmetic residue, you're knocked out again. Light snores can be heard from you. He chuckles to himself at the sight of you. So peaceful. So adorable. He leans in closer and plants a firm, lingering kiss on your forehead before he disappears to get ready for bed himself.

"Spence?"

He turns around at your groggy voice, still half asleep. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

"Anytime, my pretty girl."

I do not consent to my work being used to feed/train AI and/or re-posted anywhere by anybody else

[satorupi]

part 2 of innocentgf!reader asking experiencedbf!satoru how to give him a handjob

sum! - things escalate a little past learning how to give your boyfriend a handjob now that he has you in his lap..

c/w! - all smut, any storyline is in pt 1 (click here !! or ^^)

"gonna make you feel so good."

satoru's words send a proper shudder through you, giving him a shaky sigh against his lips as you dip to return his kiss. no need to even beg when he'd give you all you wanted in a heartbeat.

your hips cant forward in a deliberate grind and your moans sync, mingling in the space between your lips. your movements are a little unsteady, but so what? you'd moved past the silly embarrassment at being on his lap like this, only few layers keeping you two apart.

"you're…you're getting hard again," you breath out, pulling out of his space again just to chance a glance down, catching your lip between your teeth at the sight. satoru's chest heaves just a bit as he watches you, throat bobbing in a harsh swallow. long fingers flex on face as he nods at your observation, still trying to maintain his composure. why does it feel like he's the one falling apart when you're the one with no experience? "doesn't it hurt?"

"not yet, no." his voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks, “you’re doing great, keep moving just like that. nice and easy.” he said he'd make you feel good and he's never been all talk no action. satoru's hands lower to grip your hips again, gently spurring on your movement back and forth on his lap. not enough to overwhelm but enough to have your abdomen curling in the best way, pressure to your clothed heat against him increased tenfold it seems. your breathing shudders, glancing up at him again, hands hugging tighter around his neck, keeping eye contact with him.

not having sex doesn't mean you don't know how an erection works. you press your weight down into his chest to get him on his back, hips lifting off just enough to let his erect cock spring closer to his stomach with a gentle smack before you're seating yourself again -- against the underside this time with a shudder, "t-there. don't wanna..break it or something."

he snorts under his breath, hand sliding up the softness of your tummy, slightly rough fingertips toying the top hem of your little sleep shorts, looking at you in silent question. you're so sweet and soft when you whisper your confirmation that he has to take a long breath, fingers gliding under the band of your shorts, tips exploring new skin reverently.

he doesn't push past the other layer of fabric, merely slides his hand down the front of your shorts, your own hips tilting to make it easier for him to touch you like this. he can feel the heat of you as he cups you through your panties — the slick, soaked press of fabric that sticks right to your skin, face getting all hot in his arousal when he feels how wet you already are, soaked straight through. "all this for me? got my pretty baby all worked up from watching?" he sounds breathless, more than you maybe, shifting his hand to cup you fully.

your face burns hotter, nodding anyway. your expectations for how you'd feel having him finally touch you doesn't come close to the reality. his thumb eases down onto your sensitive clit through the sodden fabric slow and easy and you barely bite back a cry, softest circles drawn against the bud.

“I know, baby. feels good, yeah?” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded. your own eyes flutter, forehead dropping onto his shoulder, hips shifting to get closer, to get more almost greedily. "grind on me just like that, I got you." so you do. you keep up with your grinding on his lap. satoru’s going slow as you he can, thumbing your clit over your damp panties, murmuring little praises in your ear. his wrist is wedged all awkwardly, angle all wrong -- but neither of you can bring yourselves to care.

it's everything and nothing all at once. perfect but not completely at the same time and you just want to feel more, finding yourself needing exactly that. "satoru, please.." it's like he already knows what you need -- both of you actually. his hand pulls out from where it's shoved down the front of your pants and you barely go a moment without his touch before his hands are on you again. thumb hooking at the side of the fabric of both the shorts and the gusset of your panties to bare you properly with one hand, other dragging two digits through the slick mess of you easily.

you jerk with a choked sound, clutching at his broad shoulders, lowering onto his chest to press your face in his neck. "fuck," he groans, breath catching. "you're so…god." he sucks in a long breath, counting in twos in his head to keep himself from blowing like a virgin at the sight of you bare. it's hard not to when he's never seen you like this, this intimately.

it's almost too much, the way he parts your folds so gently, like he's trying to coax you open for him. "ooh, 'toru." your hips jerk, little pants warming the side of his skin as you twist and shift -- he doesn't have a free hand to even try to keep you still. one swipe of his finger along the sensitive underside of your clit has you bucking into him with a gasp, rolling directly onto the lengthy shaft of his cock. bare this time, completely different from doing it clothed.

it's almost hilarious how you both tense up, how his stroking halts.

"baby—" satoru rasps, and you're sure you feel him stiffening even more under you. your laughter comes airy, not from humor exactly but from how caught off guard you are. your hips roll again just to test the feeling out, breath skipping at the heavy press of his dick against where you're most sensitive. you can feel everything. the weight of him. the pulse of the vein you'd ran your tongue along earlier. how hot and solid he is. "ooh…my fuck.."

he seems to catch himself when you moan against him, fingers keeping your folds parted, your own hips not halting for a second. arousal smears down the girthy length of him, puffy folds so slick he's practically gliding between them. your hands plant near the sides of his head for more leverage as you chase a feeling you didn't know you needed badly till now, chasing the rapidly rising heat in your belly.

"oh shitshithshit--" not quite eloquent but you can't put into words how good it feels. so close to being inside you but not at all -- but your body reacts like he is. all he is is just thick and heavy dragging against your cunt, head barely catching on your entrance and you're already losing your head.

your hips roll again, dragging your clit right along the underside of his cock and it takes everything in him not to grab your hips and rut upward into your warmth. takes all self control he has left.

“satoru,” you moan, all reedy and sweet.

scratch that. apparently he doesn't have that much control left. not much at all.

he groans low in his throat, keeping you spread against his shaft. the now freed hand slides up to your hip, around to cup your ass. "gonna make it feel better. gonna make you cum.." then he's spurring you into motion. moving you harder along his cock, pressure enough to have you moaning into the air, squeezing his shoulders. "that's it..grind on my cock." the light squelching between you is almost obscene, but satoru doesn’t seem to mind — not with how he’s groaning through clenched teeth, with how he's subtly bucking his hips up into the paced movement of your hips.

you’re flushed, breathing hard between moans, trying so hard to keep your composure. but your thighs are shaking now, coil pulled taut in your abdomen. and it's painfully obvious to him. satoru only pulls you harder back and forth against his shaft, letting your soft clit rub all over him, letting you rut faster. "feels so weird. so weird.."

"yeah?" he hums, face in your hair, memorizing your scent your sounds. "good weird or bad?"

“good. good,'toru.” you whine, broken. “i—i think…”

"i know, i know. y're doin' so.." his hand squeezes the fat of your ass where he has you held, hips bucking up a little harder, cunt slippin' and sliding against him, "so good. be good and cum on me, hm?" his grip is greedier now, no more pretending that he has any bit of control right now. not when you're slick and messy on his dick, making noises in his ear. his balls feel like their drawing tighter by the second and all he can do is pseudo fuck you harder and whisper filth in your ear. if grinding feels this good, he can't even begin to imagine what sex with you--

he kills the thought immediately, harsh throb at the base of him spine a clear warning.

no thinking of sex with you while he's minutes from cumming, got it.

but it’s already too much. you’re panting, shaky in his hold, whining softly each time your clit drags just right along the underside of him. every catch of your entrance on the bulb of him only makes things worse. your fingers slide up into his hair as you quiver, kissing along the side of his face, practically babbling as your entire body tightens up with your impending orgasm.

in one, two beats, an angled grind against your core, your hips stutter -- lips parting against his flushed skin as your breath punches out of you in sob. the pressure in your abdomen bursts like a supernova, orgasm crashing over you like it’s trying to drag him under with it.

“oh fuck—look at you,” he groans, pulling back a little to watch you fall apart with wide, reverent eyes, pupils blown so wide it’s like they’re swallowing the blue.

satoru stands no chance, really. you're still rocking like you don't even realize that you are, looking the way you do…

"baby--" his head drops back, jaw clenched as he cums just seconds after you, hips bucking up once, twice, as his release spurts hot and glossy on his abs between you two. he shudders beneath you, riding it out with slow, involuntary jerks of his hips, groaning against the side of your head like the familiar warmth of you is the only thing keeping him grounded.

you stay like that for a second, both of you trembling, stuck in that suspended daze post orgasm. “…holy shit,” he mutters finally, voice hoarse, nose brushing the side of your cheek as he nuzzles in close. “you okay?”

you manage a jerky nod between all your shaking, face pressed up in his neck. "d-didn't think it would.." feel that good? be this messy? you're not quite sure. a slight unconscious shift of your hips has you whining in your overstimulation, hands grabbing at him. it feels like air would be too much against the flesh right now.

"I know, let me just.." he eases the fabric of your panties and shorts back over your heat to help with the sensitivity, thick arms banding around you to keep you to his chest. "did so good for me. made me lose my mind, baby."

you both know you should clean up -- everything's sticky between you, rapidly cooling against you. but it feels so nice to just lay here post…well, pseudo sex. or maybe this counted as the actual thing, you're not quite sure where the line is. neither of you make any moves to get off each other yet, though.

satoru's head tilts to kiss your temple again, hands smoothing up and down your back under your tee. "guess we're a officially past the make out stage." you flush with his comment, breathing out a laugh into his neck. maybe a little past making out, yeah. you're far too sheepish to meet his gaze currently, face remaining pressed into his skin.

you don't take count but it feels like ages before you're sitting up off him, climbing off his lap on wobbly legs. "let's just…we did this already so maybe we can shower now," you pause, chewing your lip as you mull over the words bouncing around your head, "together. now."

as if he'd ever so no to that. he's rolling out his spot immediately to scoop you up with enough ease to make your breath catch. "shower it is, then."

sena's note: took a little but here we are! 😼 wasn't quite sure how to escalate but I don't think this is too bad.

[minkieater]

who in nct 127 fucks ⛓️ & who makes lurrrrv… 💕

A 127 ASK AHHHH JUMPING AROUND MY ROOM DOING CARTWHEELS SCRRAMING CRYING TNTOWING UP i know u said detailed but this what my brain give u

FUCKS: freak bitches

1. johnny

u cannot tell me this man don’t Fuck. maybe u might have sweet nice time sex on like anniversaries or if u had a bad day and need him to be mister nice man but on the regular he’s Fucking. he’s straight dogging your shit. he’s bending you over the kitchen counter and fucking you within an inch of your life, folding you into a pretzel in the backseat of his car until you’re damn near concussed from your head hitting the car door, he’s breaking your bed frame like the sex scene in twilight. sex with johnny is never calm and casual it’s always gonna have you wondering whether or not you’re making it out in one piece (one piece mention) i need to fuck him like i need to breathe air

2. yuta

this freak bitch OH MY GOD he’s the type to have chains and rope and handcuffs in a box under his bed always ready to whip it out. dildos and vibrators in the bedside drawer type shit. blindfold and nipple clamps on hand SUE ME he’s the type to call sessions ‘scenes’ and thats honestly exactly what they are. he’s the sex is art type, always pressing on boundaries, seeing how far he can go until you’re safe wording, just to see where the hard line stop is, until you cant take it anymore. he expects you to do the same to him too, and you DO until he’s a crying whimpering mess, and he still doesn’t want you to stop until HE cant take it, playing with him through a chastity belt or edging him with a cockring on YEAH! i said what i said hes so hot

3. haechan

hyuck a diff kind of freak he’s the type to pee on u. bro is cumming on your stomach and licking it up, spitting it on your mouth, the type to have you sitting on his face or laying you out spread eagle, fingering you until you’re squirting, licking every OUNCE of it up. he’s nasty, his mouth is filthy, he’s whispering the most vile shit in your ear, shit that should NOT make you as horny as it does. he’s the type to fuck you in public, make you walk around with cum sliding down your thighs, laughing at you when its so clearly visible to anyone who decides to look down. im actually fucking feral writing this i need him so badly

MAKES LOVE: sweet angels

1. doyoung

if you try to pull any kind of freak shit w doyoung i think you’d scare him off or flat out give him the ick. he’s the sweet type, kissing you while he fucks you, fingers locked, praising you for how pretty you look, how good you feel, sex is meaningful to him and if you treat it like anything other than that he’s not gonna feel good about it. quickies will not be a thing unless either of you is truly desperate, even then he tries his best to make it special, taking you in a dressing room while whimpering in your ear, tears lining his eyes because he doesn’t want you to feel like he’s using you awwwwwww he’s so cute

2. markie

Grade A Whiner, mark might fuck but it’s in a pathetic way, in a submissive way, in a i cant stop because you feel so fucking good kind of way. he’s bringing you flowers to each date, a handwritten card hidden between petals, poems he’s written himself, song lyrics too special to be publicized. then he’s taking his sweet time after each date, kissing every inch of your skin, coaxing you to orgasm through concentration on all of your reactions, the way your breath hitches when he curls his fingers a certain way, how your eyes roll back when his cock hits that spot. not even worried about his own orgasm. could prolly cum untouched just from watching you cum. pathetic but in a hot way. #Needthat

3. jungwoo

THE BABBYYYYYY THE FUCKINF BABY sex with him is honestly probably so fun. all giggly and soft, innocent in a way, never serious or desperate, much like two people in their first relationship having sex for the first time but its like that all the time. it makes it special, light hearted, no pressure at all, just the two of you exploring each other, finding out what feels good, how to make it feel better. I <3 JUNGWOO

SOMEWHERE IN THE MIDDLE: both ways

1. taeyong

taeyong could go either way i think he’s mad versatile. when the situation calls for it i think he can be really really submissive, but i also think u could work him up into a lil fuck machine. bro got stamina and with that navy body LAWDDDD hes fucking you into the mattress and flipping you around like youre a FEATHER. if he’s feeling particularly needy tho i think he’s very pliant for you, super vocal, whiney, telling you how good you make him feel, how much he loves you, how good you are to him, he doesn’t know he got so lucky w someone like you. he’d def call u mommy. he’d also fuck you like he’s turning you into one

2. jaehyun

gonna try not to lose my mind writing this 😁

jaehyun is sooo go with the flow i think he can be super sweet, he’ll go at your pace, would never think of taking things farther than what you set. always asks permission, asks how you’re feeling, if what he’s doing is still okay, super cautious and aware of his partner. he’s a fucking angel. on the other hand if u been together for awhile and u piss that man off he’s destroying your shit genuinely he’s ripping ur panties off ur body and fucking into you no prep. degrading words spat in your ear, a hand wrapped around your throat, using your ponytail to guide you through a bj at HIS pace. gagging you til you’re crying then laughing at you cus its your fault this is happening silly! he’s definitely edging u or fucking u until HE cums, denying you of an orgasm completely. FUCKKKKKKKKKKKK i actually beed him so bad Jaehyun please come home the kids miss you

anyways that’s my take on 127 hope u enjoyed and hopefully i did mark and yuta right 😛

[kunasthiast]

“do you ever question my decisions?”

you said… calmly and randomly. on a rainy day, wearing your husband’s oversized hoodie, like you were asking if he wants takeout. it’s that casual.

his eyes flick up, sharp and amused because who isn’t??? you were just stating at the raindrops on the window while sipping tea and ask that out of nowhere.

“every day,” he says, voice laced with that signature brand of arrogance.

and continued (which he shouldn’t have but really thought was necessary), “especially when you picked that weird lamp for the hallway.”

you don’t respond right away. you just sip your tea. you let the silence stretch a little. then, without even looking at him, you said…

“you shouldn’t be questioning them. you were one of them.”

aaaaand bAAAM.

sukuna’s mouth opens. stays open. words attempt to form, but get caught somewhere between ‘wait what the fuck’ and ‘holy shit you’re right.’

you looked at him. he’s frozen. phone still in hand. brow furrowed just a little like his brain hit a blue screen of death.

you stood up from where you’re from, walked towards him, and patted his head like he’s the confused lazy, black (i think he’s more of an orange cat for me) cat he is, and walked past him toward the kitchen.

there’s just silence.

and then… he faintly, sincerely said:

“…fuck, baby, that was hot.”

———————————————————————————

a/n: lol just thought of this lil drabble after my brain was fucking fried for the whole day with my thesis orz i need sukuna in my life plz

[erwinsvow]

you'd never really put this much effort in at other houses. while you're scrubbing the countertops to remove every last bit of evidence that someone—anyone—had made a mess there, you think about the other houses you used to babysit for.

used to, since there was no need to babysit anymore. mister cameron, who will always remain mister cameron—no matter how much he reminds you to call him rafe—actually pays you double what your other families did. he's a busy guy. you know this for a fact—single dad and some big business guy that people in town used to talk about all the time when you used to listen—so he'd have last minute emergencies and random business calls all the time.

his exact words had been something along the lines of "don't wanna share you with anyone else," but even thinking about that encounter makes your face burn with so much intensity that you think you're going to collapse. that's not what he meant, obviously, he was trying to tell you in nicer words that it was annoying when you replied to his texts explaining how another family had booked you already for that night. so when he upped your rate and said that he'd even pay to say no to others, just in case, you would have been really stupid to say no.

you don't hear much about him anymore, when you're out and about. you spend so much time at the cameron house that your own little apartment seems like nothing more than a bed and a place to get ready before leaving. you practically eat three meals a day with the baby, so even your grocery shopping is in that part of town—all organic, expensive places where you talk to the baby and try to get her opinion on which vegetable puree she'd like to try this week.

it's kind of like playing pretend. no, it's really like playing pretend. you used to dress in the normal, comfortable clothes that were sufficient for babysitting every other family—overalls and sneakers—but now you don't fit in unless you're in a pretty dress and nice sandals. you stay in one outfit from when you show up before mister cameron leaves to when you drive home at the end of the night.

that's the other thing—your car. you've made it work with the same one since you could first drive. it's a little rusty, a little dinged up, but safe as can be. it's nothing fancy but it got you around. but now you do other things for rafe that you never did for other families—grocery shopping and errands and the occasional doctor's appointment if rafe really, really can't make it. you don't mind at all—it's fun to play pretend and you love her like she's your own, but mister cameron tries to make it to every appointment himself, because he really cares about his daughter. it's admirable because you don't see it in every single household.

you hadn't thought there was anything wrong with your car until one day you couldn't get the air conditioning to work, and the back window got jammed and the baby looked so uncomfortable that you had to skip out on whatever you were supposed to do that day. when mister cameron came home that night you apologized so much that you started crying—because really, you never thought there was something wrong with your car and you didn't want to make the baby drive in the heat, just in case. you think he'll be mad, there's no groceries and his suit is still at the cleaner's, and the lotion that you use every night after bathtime has ran out and there'll be none for tomorrow—but he's not.

he's not mad at all. he seems... tired. he seems worried. the first thing he asks that night is if you and the baby are okay. when you nod, afraid that this is the calm before the storm, he sighs.

"good. that's all i care about," and the way he says it—you believe him right away. maybe that's the night your little crush on mister cameron started forming. it'd always been there in the background, you'd be an idiot of massive proportions to deny it. but it felt different somehow, watching him roll up his sleeves and pulling out whatever ingredients there were left over to make dinner with, something that you normally tried to have done every night for him, while telling you to take a seat.

that night he asks about your car—how old is it, when'd you get it, how many miles. do you like the model? would you want bigger, smaller, a different color? it's just conversation—he probably likes cars with the way there's a really nice in the garage under a sheet and a nice but safer one that he takes to work everyday.

(while he's cooking pasta and cutting vegetables, you try to get up and help, but he meets your eyes and shakes his head. wordlessly, you obey and sit back down.)

that's the first night things felt different. you drove home a little giddy, later than normal, stomach full and heart a little too happy that you found it in yourself to finally have a real, nice conversation with mister cameron. you're as shy as they come but your interactions with him are limited—before work, a phone call at lunch (though recently, his first question hasn't been about the baby... it's been how are my girls?), and after work before you leave.

it feels good to know that you're doing something right, that you're good at this even on your bad days. you make a point to leave your place extra early that week, stopping at the pharmacy and picking up the lotion so it's one less thing to worry about. your window still won't roll down and you'll have to figure out how to get the groceries delivered, crossing your fingers that it doesn't cost that much more.

you show up a couple minutes early and go inside to sort out the stuff for the baby before she wakes, when you find mister cameron in the nursery.

"good morning," you say quietly, though it comes out a little above a whisper. she's still sleeping, even though you haven't glanced in the crib, you know her schedule like the back of your hand.

"hey, kid," he says, and your heart starts to thud a little faster. mister cameron's nicknames for you don't make an appearance everyday but for some reason, it has today. he hovers over the crib, watching the baby's chest rise and fall with each breath. you go over to join him, placing the lotion on the dresser. he notices the bottle and turns back to you. "you didn't have to do that."

"she needs it," you reply quietly. "it's the only one she likes. and i was up early anyways."

"thank you." it comes out with such sincerity that you're a little taken aback.

"of course, mister cameron. it's nothing," you smile up at him. he glances back at you, smiling and then turning to his daughter again. "i'm gonna go start on her breakfast."

you make your way to the door when he says your name.

"there's keys on the kitchen counter, and the car's in the garage. i'd like it if you started using that car instead."

and really—how are you supposed to respond to that? you stammer out an 'of course, mister cameron' and go downstairs, crossing your fingers that he made a mistake, or that he wants you to drive his car until you fix yours and he'll take the nice one tucked away in the garage.

but when you make it to the counter, and then head to the garage, your eyes nearly fall out of your head. a brand new pair of car keys, to match the brand new car in the garage. your arguments fall on deaf ears—this is way too much for anyone. yes, you're pretty much throwing money away by still paying rent and the cost of getting your car fixed could probably be enough to start paying for a better one, but this is too much. way too much. it's not normal. right?

but you have no one to ask. the baby's not old enough for playdates, and the girls who replaced you at your old houses are pretty much all high school seniors. on mister cameron's side of town, there's only nannies and au pairs, and they'd probably think you're crazy for turning down such a nice gesture.

and it is a nice gesture. mister cameron listens to every word you say, even when you're not paying attention to your own sentence. the car is exactly how you described—the color you wanted, the size you said would be nice one day incase there's ever a playdate or another baby or whatever the case may be. it's shiny and brand-new and completely undeserving of you. but he doesn't listen.

somewhere along the next month, you realize you could get really used to this. mister cameron does have a point—you're taking care of his daughter every day, so it only makes sense to make sure she's as safe as can be. you make a mental note that if you ever—for whatever idiotic reason—choose to leave this perfect job, you'll make sure he gets the car back.

there comes a point where the relationship... makes its way to the next level. at the end of every week, you have to settle the bills. co-pays at appointments, grocery receipts, the invoice from the gardener that didn't go through so you had given him your own cash so mister cameron wouldn't have to deal with it from work. it adds up, so once the baby is asleep on saturday night, the two of you eat dinner and go through everything.

but this time, he hands you a card instead. a shiny black credit card that spells out his name on the back.

"makes it a bit easier, right? just use this instead. we won't have to settle every week anymore."

"right," you agree, your smile fading quickly. you try to put on a front, a false expression so he doesn't notice your disappointment. saturday nights with mister cameron—him with his beer and you with a glass of wine—once the baby is asleep, sorting out bills and making conversation that almost felt like you belonged here, had unknowingly become your favorite part of the week. sometimes it would go until midnight, talking about things that were neither here nor there.

it's how you learned why he's a single dad, what he does for work, how he feels about his job and how much time it takes away from his daughter. it's why you started sending him photo and video updates everyday so he wouldn't feel like he's missing out on as much, it's why you make sure to craft the baby's bedtime routine around him coming home, so they have their time together.

"somethin' wrong?" he asks, after taking another sip of beer. you're snapped out of your thoughts, focusing instead of how rafe looks today. tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, fingers curled around the beer bottle.

you don't know how any woman on earth could have walked away from this.

"n-nothing. no. thank you, mister cameron, this is great. i'll make sure-"

"it's rafe from now on—remember, kid?"

"yes. sorry, i-"

you couldn't get out of there fast enough that night. it's almost a subtle reminder from the universe—you're not part of that family. you're the nanny who got too attached, who pretended that she fit in too much to a family that's not hers.

you still wear your nicer clothes, you still drive around his nice car. but you try to remind yourself every now and then that this isn't your real life.

the next day, it's like the universe has decided that it's mad at you for coming to this conclusion.

pouring rain the second you get into the car. your raincoat and umbrella and a sensible pair of shoes remain inside your apartment, and if you sit in idle any longer, you're going to be late to mister cameron's. he'll want to leave early since it's raining, so he's probably expecting you any minute.

the roads are a mess—it's monsooning for no reason and people forget how to drive. you honk no less than three times at idiots on the road before getting scared that someone will road-rage you. when you pull into the garage—because yes, mister cameron insists that you park inside and that he can park outside— you're frazzled and sweating and your day hasn't even started yet.

rafe's almost ready to leave, which is another damper on an already bad morning—if he has time, the two of you eat breakfast together. you tell him to drive safe and apologize for being late when he rushes past you, leaning in to kiss your cheek and telling you that he might he home late today, and to have a good day. you don't realize what's happened until he's gone, the door closing behind him.

you stand in the foyer with your mouth open until you hear the baby monitor. from that point on—it's one thing after another. the baby is fussy today, which is the most unusual part of the day. she's never like this, and you conclude that she must be getting sick or something. it's just as well, because there's no reason to go out or to take her out in this weather. she cries, and you try to help, even cave and put on some episodes of little bear to see if something would distract her. but the poor thing just doesn't feel good, and has no way to tell you how.

the hours fly by, and your head even hurts a little from the crying and the overthinking about the kiss from this morning. in all the rush, you eat about two bites of lunch before the baby needs something else.

and then at the end of the day, right around when rafe should be coming home, he doesn't.

you feed the baby and rock her to sleep. she fusses ten minutes later, and spits up all over you and your hair, and then knocks out. you even spend twenty minutes hovering over the monitor, making sure she's okay while drying your hair. rafe's still not home, so you get dinner ready and warmed for him, eating yours alone in the silence. and as if you could handle another thing, you spill sauce all over your dress while trying to put away the leftovers.

you were going to wait until you were back home, safe in your tiny apartment to cry and shower and scrub your skin raw from the day you've had, but it can't wait any longer. you take the monitor into the bathroom with you at full volume, and decide to shower in the bathroom closest to the baby's room just to be safe.

it's not until you're naked, wrapped in a soft towel and waiting for the water to get scalding hot, racking your brain for the location of the extra clothes you had once brought here that you realize the shower closest to the baby's room is the shower in rafe's bedroom.

you haven't been in here before—looking around at the expensive cologne on the counter and the dark blue towels and the hamper full of yesterday's dress shirt. it's not a good idea to be in here, but you need to shower and you can't wait another minute. for all you know, mister cameron could come home in another two hours. your dress is spinning in the washer—and your plan is set. throw it in the dryer, find something to wear for the next fifty minutes, and leave as soon as he's home even though you can hear the raindrops on the roof and the thunder outside.

the shower is what you have been needing all day. you wish you had your body wash and shampoo, but his aren't too bad. you inhale deeply, realizing you're submerging yourself in his scent. you could stay in there forever, but you don't—he's gonna be home any minute or the baby could start crying, and you need to go home.

but he smells so good. you've noticed it before, it just feels amplified now. the towel you wrap yourself in is his, meaning he's dried himself with it before. all the clothes smell like his cologne, and the house is a little cold and your clothes are still washing, and though it's probably the worst idea you've ever had, when you get out of the shower, you head to his dresser and pull out the first clean t-shirt you can find.

it's big on you, you knew it would be. it's soft and warm and smells undeniably like mister cameron. you're completely clueless, exhausted because the baby barely napped and you barely got any sleep yourself, and it's way past your own bedtime right now. he might not even come home, you think, with how the storm sounds. you check your phone but there's no messages, just a flood warning.

yesterday's socks and underwear are still spinning in the machine—how long does this thing take? what setting had you put it on?—and you begrudgingly leave rafe's warm bedroom with the baby monitor in one hand, and his navy blue towel in the other, drying your hair. you turn on the television, watching whatever's on while you pat your strands dry, bending over to wrap your hair into the towel so you can sit for a couple minutes, when you hear the door open.

you snap back up, looking at rafe's face stare back at you—he's drenched, hair wet and suit dripping, wiping his forehead with his hand when he looks you up and down. oh god, you don't even know what he just saw, you were bent over and-

"is that my shirt?"

[aashidoodles]

Domestic Shiguang Yingdu edition: Part 2

(Except every time Lg makes an error in the timeline something chill happens)

[pupkashi]

green is definitely not jinwoo’s color // jinwoo figures out he’s a jealous boyfriend

a/n: thank u to the person who requested this i <3 this little micro trope mweheh ,, let me know was u guys think feedback is very appreciated :3 !!!

warnings: alcohol mentions (reader takes shots and is drunk), slight manhwa spoilers (beru mention + his aura being purple instead of blue :P)

sung jinwoo never knew if he was a jealous boyfriend, he’d never been in a relationship long enough to figure it out. sure he got jealous of other hunters, but that’s just because he envied their strength. but now? there was nothing for him to be jealous of, he was stronger than any of them could’ve dreamed of becoming. he had more than enough money, he had his family and of course he had you.

“you sure you don’t wanna come with?” you ask your lover one last time, looking at him through the reflection of the mirror. jinwoo was watching you with a loving look on his face, humming as if in thought before shaking his head.

“baby you do remember i can’t get drunk, right?” a chuckle leaving his lips. you can’t help but roll your eyes at him.

“yes i know, but that’s doesn’t mean you can’t have a good time!” you turn and look at him, taking a couple steps closer to him and intertwining your fingers with his. “it’ll be fun! my friends have been wanting to actually meet you.”

“I have actually met them” jinwoo retorts, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“you said hi and then teleported away like two seconds later” the serious look on your face is enough for him to sigh in defeat, letting his head rest on your shoulder. “plus they’re gonna be bar hopping we can just stay in one spot or come home when your battery is drained.”

“okay fine I’ll go” he mumbles against you, smiling when you let out a small cheer.

an hour later and the two of you are arriving at the bar, music blasting in your ears and a smile on your face as you meet your friends and a couple of their partners. the night goes smoothly, with jinwoo even joining in for a couple shots just for the hell of it, smiling when you bat your lashes and beg him to get you some water.

jinwoo is more than happy to, squeezing your waist and heading to the bar. he was gone for three minutes at most, turning around and finding some guy chatting it up with you. his grip on the water tightens, one of the cups being crushed in his hand. his eyes glow purple for a second before trying to calm himself down, beru appearing for a second and asking if his liege would allow him the honor of cutting down the enemy.

he would be lying if he didn’t contemplate it, gobsmacked as to why some random man would think he was deserving of you. the thought of the stranger even-

you give the man a small smile, laughing at whatever joke or pick up line he told you. jinwoo feels a pang in his heart as he sees you laugh, was he funny? did you think he was attractive? was he jealous? if you were to look at him in that moment he’s sure you’d see green around him rather than the usual purple aura.

“you come here alone? I could show you a great time” the guy winks, its makes jinwoo want to gouge his eyes out. your boyfriend wastes no time in walking over to you, announcing himself as soon as he was in ear shot.

“sorry i took so long sweetheart” he says, emphasizing the pet name and staring down the man talking to you. you were too drunk to notice the daggers jinwoo was sending the man, instead smiling up at your boyfriend and wrapping your arms around him.

“jinny! this is- what was it again?” you mumble, giving the man a confused look, “anyway i think he was trying to flirt with me” you say, turning to your boyfriend and watching as his jaw clenched. you could feel his muscles flexing even underneath his shirt. as shit faced as you were, the sheer anger and jealousy radiating off of him was enough to make you sober up a bit.

jinwoo snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him and squinting his eyes at the man. “oh is that so?” he hums, you just giggle.

“see? i have a boyfriend, you don’t need to show me a great time” you grumble, jinwoo’s ears perking up at your statement, sheer rage coursing through his veins.

“you said that?” his voice low and angry as he kept eye contact with the man, who was now trying to find a way out of the situation. the space around jinwoo seemed to be warping from his anger, causing the man’s eyes to widen.

“n-nah man i was joking! im sorry” he laughed nervously, taking a couple steps back and profusely apologizing before running out of the bar.

jinwoo huffs after the man is out of sight, focusing back on you and pulling you into him by the waist. the action makes your heart flutter, smiling widely when jinwoo crashes his lips into yours.

your inebriated state doesnt stop you from moving your lips against him, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him closer to you, a small whimper leaving your lips as he bites down on your bottom lip. you giggle into the kiss and pull away, smiling wider when jinwoo chases after your lips for more.

“easy tiger, nothing to be jealous ‘bout” you tease, swaying slightly and stumbling as you took a step back. jinwoo catches you immediately, helping steady you and leaving his arm around you (both out of support for you and the possessiveness control his body.)

“not jealous” his cheeks are flushed red and he doesn’t even believe himself as the words leave his mouth, “who does the even think he is” he growls, knuckles white as he clenches his fist.

you can’t help but get flustered, the sight of a jealous jinwoo making you swoon. “how ‘bout we get home” you mumble, resting your head on his chest and closing your eyes for a second to try and make the room slow down a bit.

a couple seconds later the room seems to go silent, making you open your eyes and look around you. the thumping bass and crowded floor was gone, replaced by the comforting silence of your living room.

“god i love you” you sigh, clinging onto jinwoo as he helps you to the restroom, a drunken smile on your face as he helps you change and brush your teeth.

the two of you are in bed in no time, and you’re talking about something you won’t remember in the morning. jinwoo is relishing in it, his eyes tracing your every feature and committing every inflection in your voice to memory.

“and you said you weren’t a jealous boyfriend” you tease, laughing louder than you expected to, making you bury your face in jinwoo’s chest. your comment makes his face flush, a sheepish smile making its way onto his lips.

“i didn’t think i was, but seeing another guy talk to you-” jinwoo pauses, calming himself down and looking at you, “you’re mine, only mine.” the statement makes your stomach flip, a giggle leaving your lips as you hum happily.

“only yours my woo woo bear” the nickname makes you burst into a fit of laughter, jinwoo can’t help but smile at you, chuckling and holding you closer. “you’re too hot when you’re jealous, can’t have anyone else looking at what’s mine,” your words catch jinwoo by surprise.

he opens his mouth to speak, stopping when he realizes you were already out cold. he lets out a small sigh, smiling and pressing a kiss to your forehead before letting himself close his eyes and sleep.

sung jinwoo realized he is a jealous boyfriend, a certain degree of possessiveness coming to life when it came to you. anytime the two of you went out, no one dared to flirt with you, not when the worlds most intimating 6’3 man has his arm around you and anyone who thinks of making a move on you gets a bone chilling glare from glowing purple eyes.

you pretend to not realize it, knowing damn well you weren’t any better when it came to jinwoo.

[rueclfer]

party 4 u // touya todoroki

when it's not a party unless he's with you.

a/n: hi 😀😀😀 written portion kinda pornographic but also kinda not lmaaoooooimsosorry

the click of your bedroom door barely wakes you from your fever induced haze. you fall in and out of consciousness for a minute to the rustling of keys and clothes until his voice draws you awake.

"m'sorry, baby." the slurred words slipped out of touya's mouth.

he's too loud for this hour- too loud for your condition. you almost let yourself believe that you're dreaming until the cold bedroom brings goosebumps to your bare skin as the comforter is pulled away from under your nose.

before the groan could escape your parted lips, you feel his swollen lips meet with the temple of your forehead, trailing down to the side of your jaw.

"you said you wouldn't bother me," you mumble, turning on your back and finding the silhouette of his figure standing beside your bed and bent over you.

"missed you too much," he lowly says, matching the volume of your whisper.

touya reaches down and cups your cheeks in his hands, swiping his thumb back and forth against the tender skin under your eyes. "and you're burning up. what kind of a boyfriend would i be if i didn't come take care of you?"

"the kind of boyfriend that lets me sleep." you whine.

touya shakes off his jacket and tosses it onto the floor, ready to crawl into bed with you until he's stopped by your palm lying flat against his chest.

"no outside clothes in bed." you groan, rubbing the crust from your eye with one hand, and using the other to prop yourself up. "why do i always have to remind you?"

he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he peels his t-shirt up over his head, building onto the pile of clothing he started on the floor beside your bed.

"such a fuckin' princess even on your deathbed."

"you wish i was on my deathbed." you croak out, shooting him a side glance once your eyes had adjusted to the dark.

after stripping himself down to his boxers, he crawls on top of you, pulling the comforter over your bodies with him.

"you're so fucking warm," he purs against your neck, gently pushing you down onto your back and peppering your skin with hot kisses.

"i hate you," you mutter, accepting the heat absorbing through your front where you two made contact. "how much did you drink tonight, huh?"

"wouldn't you like to know?" he huffed a chuckle, letting the exhale of his breath brush against your collarbone. "lost every drinking game though, if that answers your question."

"figures." your voice falters into a faint whisper as your eyes fall shut.

touya lets his cold hands roam the skin under your pajama shirt. he knows you hate when he warms his freezing cold appendages against you, but between the sickness fogging your brain, the light suction of his mouth against your neck, and him trailing his flushed palm up and down your waist with his thumb stopping just millimeters short of your chest, you could barely focus on being annoyed.

"touya,” you breathe out. “it’s late. go to sleep.”

he removes his face from the crook of your neck and prop his elbows up beside your head, caging you in under him. your eyes open to see him illuminated by the streetlights seeping in from the crack in between your blinds.

cerulean eyes- bloodshot, lidded, and staring down at your own.

“i haven’t seen you all day.” he pouts, the rasp in his voice cracking in between his words.

“i saw you in class this morning.” you roll your eyes.

“i haven’t kissed you all day.” he corrects.

“my body hurts, my throat is killing me, i have a fever, i have your dumbass texting me and breaking into my apartment in the middle of the night, and you’re sad and pouty that you haven’t gotten a kiss from me all day?”

“exactly, but don’t forget,” he smirks, leaning in to press his lips onto yours, “i was a brave boy for you tonight.”

touya kisses you with fervent desire- a day’s worth of missing you was enough to disregard the sickness that would surely have him bedridden like yourself within the next couple of days.

“so brave, touy,” you huff in defeat. "so brave for willingly getting sick for the sake of getting your dick wet.” you tease in between kisses.

“and don’t expect me to take care of you when that does happen.” you say once he breaks away, pressing open-mouthed hot kisses down the column of your neck, your collar bones, the valley in between your chest, and then to the middle of your abdomen where your t-shirt had ridden up.

touya moved further down- kicking the comforter off to the side and leaving you with goosebumps crawling across your bare arms and stomach.

“you taking care of me?” touya almost laughs.

he glides a hand down to your pajama shorts, giving your inner thigh a harsh squeeze before hooking a finger through a leg hole and out the other, pulling it to the side.

"fuck," he whispers under his breath.

with a slow exhale hissing between his teeth, he finally looks up to meet your eyes.

“be brave for me, okay? you know i'll always take care of you.”

-

touya tag: @kaldurahms-lover @moonchild701 @themultifandomgirl @devilslittlehelper @porusuniverse @ratatellie @katbug37 @ggriwm @moonlitmorganite @touyas-wife @bitchyfestivalbouquet @haruhi269 @celtyshiftingrealitiddies

mha tag: @lotuslovers @babylambdietcoke @0skullyard0 @kaldurahms-lover @commonmisery @moonstonejpg @twoplayergaymers @simp-plague @xvilluis @haruhi269

[dustisus]

Imagine you are Erik Klose. You get an exchange student who is obviously not doing alright, but you and your family show him that there is nothing wrong with him. Over the year he comes out of his shell and you are so in love with the vibrant person who has been hiding in there all year so you tell him you love him and he tells you he loves you too.

He goes back home but he returns (for you) when there is nothing left for him there, and your family is so ready to embrace him as one of their own. You catch him and your grandma in the kitchen, and she's teaching him the family recipe for Spätzle and he's teaching her the ingredients' names in Spanish. When the winter comes he is always the first one to volunteer to shovel snow with your father. When warmer temperatures come you wake up to his voice streaming in from the window where he always has breakfast with your mother. Your family loves him, so when he decides to move away again to take care of his own family (we are your family, too, you tell him, and he just smiles) they cry just as much as you do. The night before he has to wake up early to catch his plane you ask him to marry you, in the future, when it's legal, and he says yes. Still you wake up from his alarm early in the morning and his kiss goodbye.

At first you speak on the phone every day but then a job takes you across the country and takes all your time, and when his first job doesn't make him enough money for a three-bedroom house, he gets another one, and then another, until you have to schedule calls days in advance and most days you just text. But he tells you again and again that those boys need him, and from the sound of it, they do need someone to love them. And who will love them like your fiancé will love them? You have never met a person so capable of love, of engagement, in your life.

The call comes one early morning and he says that one of the twins has been arrested, that he has gotten into a fight, that it was to defend him, and doesn't mention until several minutes into the frantic call that it was him that he was defending. He says he has a smarting rib but is okay but what will happen to his cousin? I don't care, you don't say.

Finally the twins turn 18 and you start a countdown until they graduate in the spring, but come March he calls you and says they have all been offered full-ride scholarships, on the term that they all play Exy. The coach says he needs to keep an eye on Andrew, and maybe that would be for the best? he asks, and then when can start a life together I'd have a degree, and... and... By the time the call ends, he's convinced, and you could never step on his dreams.

Over the first year he calls you and tells you about his asshole teammates, and of how he answers on Andrew's beck and call to make sure things run somewhat smoothly within the team. You hear him pause slightly before choosing his words, consciously choosing the most innocent ones for his twins and the most incriminating ones for himself.

In the summer he comes home to you, but the summer is too short.

The next year, his texts dwindle and on your calls he sniffles but says he's not crying. He calls and says he did something bad and whatever comes to him it's his fault, but won't elaborate. This sounds like what he was saying when he first met you, so you comfort him and says it isn't. It's just been difficult, he says, when a teammate's died. You want to tell him it's so simple here, so simple to you, but you don't. It's not what he needs to hear.

The next few months are a shitshow that you only hear about from his calls and texts, and then eventually some news articles that reach you from the other side of the world. It worries you to know that he is distantly involved with some of the people that are not mentioned by name in the articles, but that you recognize from his stories. Once again, you tell yourself that he knows how to manage it, has always been able to manage it.

The chaos culminates at the championship finals and you are there to see it all go down. He turns his head to you, shouts your name as you spot the opposite player come close to killing your fiancé's friend. He lives, but the opposite player doesn't, and there are no loud celebrations for you to take part in. That night you and your fiancé celebrate quietly, on your own. You have not seen him in almost a year, and it's as if some of the vibrancy has run out of him. His eyes lack a glint, his hair a shine.

You stay a week and you meet the twins in person for the first time. Andrew is more subdued now than in past stories, Aaron feistier. You don't care much for them, but they are important to Nicky, so you make an effort. Neither will talk to you.

It only takes two days until Aaron catches you cuddling on the sofa in the dorm and you overhear an ew. It bewilders you but Nicky is falling asleep so you just continue running your fingers through his hair. The next day all of the Foxes have gathered for a film night, and Nicky has talked about how excited he is for you to meet them and introduces you to them with a joke and a flourish. They tell him to shut up, and Nicky laughs it off as a joke. Maybe you just did not get it. The rest of the night they try to pull you into also harping on Nicky, and get bored when you just say that you love him.

A week into your visit, Andrew pulls a knife on Nicky, and all the moments you have shared with him, all the ones you have planned, flash before your eyes. Nicky doesn't even seem scared, and the Foxes around them watch you curiously instead of the crime before them. Before you know what you're doing you have grabbed Andrew to pull him off, pull him away, but you're quickly overpowered.

Nicky cries as he patches you up. You understand he had not wanted you to see that, and you don't know what to say. You pull up the edge of his shirt to find small scars patterning the bottom of his abdomen, and for the first time you see them as what they are and not as a result of the game. You ask how often this happens, and he says only when I deserve it. He says it and you watch yourself transported, sitting in Berlin with a boy who said I deserved it, and once again you tell him he has never deserved this. You tell him he needs to leave, to please go back home with you, that they are not his family, but he says he can't. You have not seen him so grey in years.

He sees you off at the airport when you leave. Once again you plead for him to come with you, and once again he says he can't. You know you can't force it, can only say that you'll wait as long as it takes.

[teddybeartoji]

neighbor!toji finds you sitting in front of your apartment door late at night as he's coming home and at first, he's really not planning on saying anything. he still doesn't know you, he hasn't talked to you – the most you've gotten is a look and a nod whenever you happen to take the elevator with him or when you just bump into him on your way out. and he really isn't the type to make small talk but with your knees pulled to your chest and your head rested on top of your hands, you look miserable and toji finds it very hard to ignore you.

he keeps stealing glances at your curled up figure as he searches for the keys in his pocket and it's only when he's got the door open, he swallows the weird lump in his throat.

"y'wanna come inside?" his voice is raspy, tired, but it does the job of luring you out of your little bubble.

there's a moment of silence.

toji isn't stupid, he knows the dangers of the world and it doesn't take him long to realize how strange his offer might sound. his eye twitches out of sheer embarrassment as he averts his gaze, rough fingers fidgeting with the keys in his hand.

"that would be really nice actually, yeah."

there's no suspicion in your tone, nothing that would indicate that you're thinking what he's thinking. toji's mossy green eyes meet yours and he's met with a look he knows all too well.

exhausted.

"just so i can charge my phone?" you're already trying to apologize for yourself. to tell him that you'll only stay for as long as you need, afraid that you're bothering him.

but he just gives you a hum, patiently waiting for you to push yourself off the ground. for a moment, you stand next to him in front of the door, waiting for him to step inside first but when he gestures to go in before him, you don't argue with him. your hushed 'thank you' doesn't go unheard.

his apartment is tidy. probably even more so than your own. it looks surprisingly cozy – the light isn't a big, bright one but a dimmed down one instead and the sight of his big couch makes you let out a soft sigh. from the corner of his eye, toji observes you. he hasn't had anybody over in a long time and now here you are.

he tells you to take off your shoes and to take a seat while he goes to look for a charger, giving you the perfect opportunity to take a better look around the place – dvd's, old magazines and newspapers, a few movie posters and one singular plant. it's not a lot but it still feels like a good home.

at the sound of his voice, you snap out of your thoughts. your fingers brush against one another as you take the charger from him with another 'thank you'. a

"you're not going to kill me or anything though, right?"

...

for a man his size and his age, he feels a bit small under your gaze. you're blunt more than anything and he's just a little caught off-guard by your question.

"no."

"that's good."

you break the eye-contact to look for a place to plug in the charger and he feels relieved. "you feel safe."

you say it like it's nothing.

"i wouldn't've accepted the offer from anyone else, i think. well, maybe from the lady across the hall but then again, she'd just scold me for being up so late and i'm way too tired for that."

the words slip from your lips as if they're light as air while toji needs a second to really hear you, to know that he isn't making you uncomfortable. that in your eyes, he isn't scary or threatening in any shape or form. perhaps you're just naive for putting your trust into a stranger like this but toji still can't help but feel a little warm inside.

he doesn't say anything and you don't mind his silence. you do thank him a third time and let your lips curl into a proper smile when he almost unintentionally raises his brow at you – like it's weird that you're doing that.

he ends up bringing you a glass of water before joining you on the couch, both of your eyes set on the tv screen and the show that plays on it as you eakt for your phone to come alive again.

it doesn't feel wrong to just be with him like this.

it's right enough for you to let your exhaustion sneak up on you. your eyelids grow heavy without you even realizing it and then you're already dozing off on your neighbor's couch.

your quiet snores are so unfamiliar, the mere idea of somebody being able to fall asleep in his presence so surreal that he's left sitting there dumbfoundedly. regardless, he reaches for a blanket before throwing it over your body ever so carefully and turns down the volume of the tv as to not disturb you.

a stranger, a neighbor. somebody, who makes him feel a bit more alive. a silly comment, a blunt reply. a smile and a thank you.

a push to keep on going.

[somebodys-babyy]

"I Don't Need a Veil to be Your Wife"

Summary: Elijah is back in Clarksville after the war, and much to Annie's annoyance he is insisting on making her a proper wife. But he's never told her no before, and she plans on shortening their engagement.

Contains: Non- Coogler timeline, brief teenage Smoke and Annie, slight sexual frustration, brief teenage flashback!! Takes place before Smoke and Stack leave for Chicago. Slight angst but Smoke's an angsty ass man so... PART ONE OF TWO

Annie’s grandmama Odette had always said that Elijah couldn’t fathom how to say no to her, and Annie never could dispute that. It had been that was since their meeting, when Annie was newly eighteen and newly up in Mississippi from Louisiana when she  approached three boys who looked around her age sat on the side of the general store asking about where Ms. Hazel, a woman who her grandmother met at church, lived so that Annie could deliver an envelope to her. Instead of telling her, the tall, reedy and somber boy stood up and told her that he would escort her on the way, interrupting whatever he was doing with who looked like his twin and what was most certainly the store owner’s son, walking elbow to elbow with her until they arrived at the home of the woman her grandmother had befriended. After handing Ms. Hazel the folded paper, Annie expected to part from the boy who had told him his name was Smoke and then told her his name was Elijah after she pressed. For him to take his watching eyes and his silent demeanor and at the very most walk back to that store where she could find her way back home, but he had insisted on taking her back to her house, which he did, slowing his walk to match her pace and inquiring in his low, rocky voice about where she was from and how she had ended up in Clarksville. 

             Annie had felt something deep inside her, a knowing place that she had a hard time expressing to anyone but her grandmama, that the boy would mesh in her life somehow, but she didn’t know that immediately after their chance meeting he would become her man, her first relationship ever. She didn’t know how much time they would begin to spend together, with him showing up at her house in the evenings after they both had long, hard days just to pull her tired feet into his lap and rub them until she shook with laughter. And she didn’t know that the distant talks of conflict and war that felt so out of step with their lives deep in the South, and the pain that they all knew all too well,  would pluck both her Elijah and his brother out of the only home they ever knew and over somewhere across the ocean and anything like the life they had. Like most unexpected things, it was hard. Annie’s fingers had a constant soreness from her ministrations, and her knees were raw from prayer, but as abruptly as he was taken from her, Annie’s Elijah appeared back at her grandmamas' house. Older, taller, broader, with he and his brother each lugging a metal trunk with them and a new sharpness that they didn’t speak about. 

  And if everyone thought that Elijah indulged her before, it was nothing compared to when he came home. He moved her out of the crowded house that her family shared, and he ended up at her door everyday, with European magazines, some of them with words that she could pick out because they resembled the Creole that was her first language, and with rich candy that he had carefully wrapped to survive the long voyage over the ocean so that it made it to her. And even with all that, when Annie offhandedly commented that she was craving pralines in the afternoon, by the evening Elijah was handing her a fresh warm bag filled to the brim. It felt like what they shared was even stronger after the time and distance, like he hung the moon just for her, like he would have done anything to make her happy. The only thing that Elijah wouldn’t do, no matter how much Annie asked, was drop the idea that he had thought up that they should be “properly wed.”

                 Annie had told her Elijah that she would be satisfied to jump the broom like the old folks did, so that when their feet landed on the ground they would be forever paired. After he rejected that idea, Annie had suggested that if he was worried about propriety they could  ask his uncle, who was always heavily suggesting that she attend the church anyway. It would be an annoyance, but one that she could bear to marry him. Elijah turned to her, his eyes intent on her, serious. “After the Armistice, Stack and me had some business to take care of before we came home. We went to places I never even heard of, couldn’t hardly pronounce let alone pin on a map. Places in the French hills, and the German woods, London and Italy; making some things right and talking to all kinds of people. The one thing I noticed for sure, across all those different places is how them men kept they women. Them women got kept soft- hands soft,skin soft, dresses made of satin and silk and lace. And they all got wed proper. Not like horses in the back of a barn, or in no church that’s barely standing. Them women showed us pictures of they weddings before war broke out and they was grander than anything you or I probably ever seen. They walked in these big churches, with fancy dresses they boxed away for they daughters one day.” Elijah explained to her, his gaze mostly fixed on her, some of it far off somewhere that Annie could not follow. She felt the hurt shimmering off him hot and prickly, and Annie pushed through that stinging layer and laid her hand on his arm, bringing him back. 

“I love working, I wouldn’t be myself if I didn’t do the work that my mama and her mama and her mama all taught me. The people we love would be worse off and I would be less of me. And my hands already how they gonna be, Elijah. They feel like your hands, and there ain’t never been nothing wrong with that. If you and Bo and Stack carrying on with all this for me, I don’t need it and don’t really want it. I just want you. We lost so much time, that war took so much time from us and all I could do was pray that you would come home to me whole. And here you are, my miracle. And I don’t want to lose no more time with you.” Annie said softly. The words filled the small room, adding weight to the room. There was so much that they didn’t say about the war, and right before, the war that he and his brother had been fighting at home. They had both left quick; travelling up to St. Louis and adding two years to their age to put distance and time between their evil snake of a daddy and what Elijah had done to protect his brother from him once and for all. Annie didn’t need to bring it all back up, she saw the weight on Elijah’s shoulders- the things that pulled him out of his sleep shaking, his jaw clenched biting off a scream or a cry until she laid his head on her chest and held him to her until sleep took him again. He had that look as he stood in front of her now; his brows lowered, his gaze hot and heavy and full of new pain and old pain, his pain and her pain and his brother’s pain too. 

There was a long stretch of silence before he spoke, his voice strained but steady, like he was fighting against the tide in some deep water and struggling to not have it pull him under. “Annie, I need to do this.” Elijah said, pulling her into the water with him. It was cold and clinging, and drove Annie closer to Elijah's warm insistence. “I hate that I had to leave you, when all I wanted was to be the man that you needed. I spent my days seeing you in every rock and bird and everything around me, and I spent my nights seeing you and hearing you and feeling you in my dreams, just out my reach. It was torture, Annie, and I knew that when I came home to you I would be the man that you I always wanted to be for you.” Annie inhaled, ready to comfort him as he that hot and spiking pain radiated off him in waves, a shocking feeling against the cold of the memories surrounding them. But Elijah pressed on- “I know what kind of man you deserve Annie, a man who will care for you and love you and see how beautiful and precious you are. And this is that for me, Annie. I dreamed about it, poured over the details whenever my mind wandered back home to you. And I know that all you want is to have me, but I want to start our lives together as the man you deserve.” There was so much Annie wanted to say; Elijah was the man that she wanted when she met him gangly and sharp eyed at fifteen, and he was still that man now. She would never be those women in the photos that he saw, and he would never be those men, but she would be his and he would be hers and that was all that mattered to her. But that wasn’t true. The thing that mattered most; more than making up lost time that could never be recovered. More than starting their lives when the life that they were living was a new kind of beautiful, was Elijah. Standing in front of her, his heart wide open to her. So instead of pressing him, Annie agreed. 

So, newly committed, Annie leaned into Elijah’s plan for their wedding.  She showed up to Bo Chow’s store after hours to let his fiance Grace pin all types of scrap fabric to her so that the actual dress remained a surprise. She endured the sly smiles that Stack and Bo were always tossing at her like cats who ate the canaries, and the curiosity of the people of Clarksville who saw the SmokeStack twins running around secretively with that wiley Bo Chow in tow; dodging the questions of people who stopped her during her errands or lingered at her counter or her porch, thinking of ways to get answers out of her. And it was true, she always knew what them boys were up to, and out of the 3 of them she was the least likely to shoot the question asker, but this wasn’t moonshining or numbers running or anything that they had wrapped her up in the times before, it was her wedding and she was determined to have it be as special as Elijah wanted. So Annie cut people with cold stares and non-responses, or she tucked the truth behind her smile, and she let Elijah be her bridegroom the way that he wanted with no more push back, except in one way that was just between them anyway. 

Since he came back, Elijah had not touched her. He would kiss her, chastelike and noble, and when she would lean into him or let their touches linger, Elijah would get that firm set to his jaw that he got when something was absolutely going to go his way. When, after almost 2 weeks of wedding planning with no end in sight and no break in the tepid misery that Elijah was inflicting on her, Annie asked him flat out to give her a little kindness and please take her to bed, he fixed her with a stare so steady that it did not help her current condition, he said “I want to do it right, darlin’. Please keep being patient with me. It won’t be much longer.You know I want you too. But I want you as my wife.” And like with so much else, Annie agreed because them laying together felt all wrapped up in Elijah’s idea of her wifeliness and his love and care for her. They had done it once before he and his brother left; both of them in her grandmama’s house while everyone in her family was at a church revival the town over that Annie had gotten out of through extreme planning and much convincing. Elijah showed up at her door at dusk, biting his bottom lip with all of the words that he couldn’t say. Two Black boys traveling alone in between plantations was dangerous, enlisting when they barely tolerated Black men, even  as cannon fodder was dangerous. Staying here, with the rumours of what he’d done swirling and beginning to catch the ears of white men who were ever present with a punishing hand when they got drunk or bored enough, was dangerous. And they both knew it. 

When Elijah showed up the night before he and his brother were set to disappear into the new violence of war, Annie had pulled Elijah over the threshold and into her arms, and he was on her like a man possessed, chanting her name like it was enough to bring him with her through the power of his desire. “Annie, my Annie.” he breathed, his hands on her shoulders, his eyes on her like they always were. “Elijah.” she responded, needing no other words. Elijah laid Annie down on the quilts where she slept every night and dreamt of him, he kissed her mouth soft and reverent, his words spilling out “I love you, Annie, you know that. I love you more than anything. Annie, my Annie. My only. Only you.” Elijah said in a voice barely above a whisper that was raspy with feeling and want. He felt at home between her legs where he had situated himself, his arms braced on either side of her as he laid soft kisses on her mouth and on the skin of her neck and throat that practically throbbed with a heavier want than Annie had ever felt before. “I’m gone miss you everyday. Think of you everyday.” Annie breathed as Elijah kissed her throat with his mouth open and hot. “Yes.” he said firmly, sucking on the column of her throat in confirmation, making Annie buck up into him, her open hips connecting with his. They hadn’t discussed this; it was laced in their every interaction, especially after Elijah had told her him plan to go to war; and every woman in her life had begun eyeing her for new signs of womanhood because everybody saw how ‘that surly twin’ had taken to her, but the two had spent most of their time discussing ways to keep him and his brother together and safe with the little knowledge that they could both gather about the matters of warfare.

But as the dusk settled into the night where her love was leaving for who knew where and for who knew how long, Annie knew that it was right. That as slow and steadily as she fell in love with Elijah before she really knew what all that meant, this was the only next place to go.That everything that they had shared was always leading her here. To give her body over to him just like she had her heart. It was all his from the day that he had walked alongside her to Ms. Hazel’s, walking on the outside of her to shield her from the road, his hat in his hand. “Annie, I need you.” Elijah said, his low voice twinged with a whine Annie never heard before, the need in his voice making her feel powerful and shaky and like a swirling ball of need so hot that she knew Elijah could feel it rolling off her. “You always have me.” Annie said, walking her fingers up his straining forearms, feeling goose pimples in her wake. 

They made love there on her floor, tangled in each other and the blankets that she had laid on since she was a little girl, that she had bought up from Louisiana and patched a thousand times over. Braced in between her past and her future, Annie felt Elijah ease her skirt up over her thighs, his hands sweaty, slightly trembling, but sure, and then they were together. Like neither of them had ever been before, like both of them needed to be more than they needed to breathe. Annie watched Elijah’s face, that stony focus that he always had breaking up to something else, like the sun breaking up storm clouds. she watched his bottom lip between his teeth, watched his eyes on her, roaming from her face to her chest and back up like it was all too much to take in. She felt her body adjust to Elijah like that was where he belonged. They didn’t speak, the moment was too momentous for something like words to interrupt. The sound their union made was their shaky, hilted breaths, and the shifting of everything around them. 

Even though they didn’t speak, Annie heard that night for years after; the conversation between their bodies. She dyed the quilts, she she washed them with the soap so strong and water so hot it stripped her hands for days, but every night after, after Elijah woke up that morning and pulled himself away from her with all of the effort in his body, Annie could still hear the conversation of their bodies as feverish and needy as ever, insistent in her ear. And she heard it now, as her Elijah denied her for the first time, and for the thing that she wanted more intensely than she anything in the world now that he had come home to her. And just because Annie had agreed to let Elijah become her husband in the way that he wanted, that didn’t mean that she still wouldn’t try to get him to give a little too, and give into her the way that she wanted.Elijah had told her that they were only waiting on one more element, something secret and necessary that would take around a week and a half to arrive. And with the time of their union set, and all of the other details settled, Annie went to work getting her sweet, steady man to break.