#so much cat hair to still tidy up

[quietly-sleeping]

When he first started doing Liu Qingge's hair he didn't expect the other man to be so sensitive. Shen Yuan had carefully pulled out the dripping hair pins, the now stained ribbon, and a guan the man usually refused to wear. He thought at first the shivering was due to the sticky sap that still coated most of Liu Qingge's robes, of which he really needed to get out of.

But it continued after Liu Qingge's bath. His shoulders would tense, flinching slightly as Shen Yuan began to drag the comb through his hair. But as it continued, the shivers would return, his shoulders would drop and he began to sway slightly. Shen Yuan knew he shouldn't mess with his shidi like this, but he couldn't help himself sometimes.

It was fascinating to watch Liu Qingge begin to melt as Shen Yuan worked the hair oil in. As he carefully braided his shidi's hair and pulled him towards his awfully Spartan bed, Shen Yuan wondered when he would be able to do this again.

The answer was: less than a week. The Mud Slinging Toad followed through with its name, leaving Shen Yuan, Liu Qingge, and a less than pleased Mu Qingfang covered.

Mu Qingfang left them quickly, citing a lecture he needed to prepare for while Shen Yuan herded his uncooperative shidi towards the Beast Peak. Shen Yuan was delighted to discover that it took less time to make Liu Qingge melt this time around. The man blinking like a content cat while Shen Yuan worked clumps of mud out of his long hair.

His shidi's sudden infliction of loose limbs lasted until Shen Yuan was clean as well. The other Peak Lord gathering his senses enough to stumble over to the bed and promptly pass out. Which Shen Yuan wouldn't have minded, however, Liu Qingge had laid across most of the bed. Leaving Shen Yuan with the choice of either waking his shidi, not going to happen, or adjusting the man enough for Shen Yuan to fit as well.

Shen Yuan certainly wasn't going to be sleeping else where. He liked his bed far too much for that.

That decision caused an unfortunate amount of activity that morning. With his very pretty shidi, clad in his inner robes and flushed down his neck, storming out of Shen Yuan's modest house with Shen Yuan's outerrobe in hand. If he were more awake Shen Yuan was certain he would have called out for his shidi and taken his outerrobe back. However, he was tired, and his bed was so warm, and it smelled sweet like the soap he'd given his shidi to use last night.

He'd simply get his robe back later, Shen Yuan assured himself, he'd have to return Liu Qingge's anyway.

It was nearly two weeks until Shen Yuan got to put his hands on Liu Qingge's hair again. This time they weren't covered in suspicious substances, and Shen Yuan had taken the chance to return Liu Qingge's outerrobe. Despite his shidi attempting to run out the door again, as he had most of the last two weeks, Shen Yuan had managed to coax the man into a cup of tea.

Shen Yuan had found himself staring at a strand of his shidi's hair for most of their talk, it had escaped the braid that lead most of Liu Qingge's hair back to his ponytail. In fact, his shidi's hair seemed softer today, and Shen Yuan could feel his hand twitching slightly. It was a little amusing to watch the tint of red blossom down Liu Qingge's neck when Shen Yuan asked if he could tidy his hair.

However, it was so much more, in multiple ways to have Liu Qingge loose limbed and blinking slowly while resting his head on Shen Yuan's lap. He wasn't entirely sure how they ended up this way, but he certainly wasn't opposed to it. He followed the curve of Liu Qingge's cheek as it pressed against his leg, tracing a line with his eyes down his relaxed shidi's back.

It was a lovely line, and for a moment Shen Yuan longed for the skill to paint or draw the human form. How pretty a painting it would be, his stiff and tense shidi, pliant and soft, permanently recorded for Shen Yuan to study.

He had long finished combing his shidi's hair, simply stroking down his back and shoulders, the man burrowing closer to Shen Yuan the longer it lasted. It left his pretty shidi so relaxed that only Shen Yuan jumped when the door to his home snapped open.

Fighting the heat in his own cheeks now, Shen Yuan tried to smile at his shixiong in a manner that told him I have an explanation for this. Shen Yuan wasn't sure he succeeded when Shen Qingqiu smiled back at him.

"Well," The smile, paired with sharp brown eyes made a shiver of something Shen Yuan assumed to be fear run down his spine. "This is certainly a sight."

[sumiieon]

✦ General & Random Headcanons ノ Random hcs and little things that came up to my mind when it comes to them! ⸝⸝ gn reader ⸝⸝ featuring moze, mydei, dr ratio. ⸝⸝ wc: 1,196 ✦ Note ; the usual "beware of horrible grammar with spelling mistakes because English isn't my first language" ⸝⸝ might be ooc because I've only started writing about hsr characters in general just now ⸝⸝

♡ Moze

⸝⸝ Imagine a cat lover Moze who always yet discreetly tries to pet a kitty when he was lurking at the street but the cats always end up running away because of his scary aura (Jiaoqiu never lets him off the hook when he found out about this.) ⸝⸝ Secretly really likes and collects those tiny adorable plushies that resemble cats. He keeps them sitting near his pillow on the rare occasion where Moze does take a rest out of fatigue. ⸝⸝ Canonically enjoys cleaning and couldn't stand even the smallest of smallest dirt in his presence ever. Wherever he lives or resides in, it's super clean that you can see the light from the lamp on the ceiling being reflected by the floor. His place is super tidy and neat too! Things are placed where they're supposed to place. ⸝⸝ Following the third point, I see him using at least 20 shampoo and/or conditioners in a single shower to ensure his hygiene. Once his work is over, Moze would spare at least an hour and it's all for bath and his hygiene. In the case where he did finish earlier, Moze would use those time to ensure his place is still as clean and tidy as it was before leaving again. ⸝⸝ HATES drinking/consuming medicine due to his past. Due to this, Moze keeps and make sure he's always healthy. (His sleep schedule might be unhealthy though) ⸝⸝ Moze would follow you around from behind to ensure your safety. I know, it sounds a little bit creepy and weird from an objective standpoint, but he's doing that to ensure your safety! Really! ⸝⸝ Say goodbye to giving him surprise hugs from behind on the contrary. Moze's sharp and keen senses can always detect your presence miles away before you even acknowledge his near you. You can unfortunately rarely if not never catch this man off guard. ⸝⸝ Would leave you small gifts with notes on them. Stuff such as a bouquet of flower, or something that reminds him of you ⸝⸝ Moze is so underrated and adorable I love him <3 ♡ Mydei

⸝⸝ Do you think Mydei could braid hair well? I've been staring at his drip marketing for a while now and it makes me think about how he braids that little part of his hair. So yes! Would braid your hair if you ask him to as long as you two are not under the peering eyes of the public.

⸝⸝ VERY discipline and strict about especially his training, and being the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos strengthened this. Mydei would wake up early every morning to train and train.

⸝⸝ Headcanon that comes off very personally that Mydei is actually pretty good at playing chess, he just doesn't show it off all the time because he thinks it's not all that necessary. Mydei grew up in a region/nation that's all about basically war and tech that revolves around them (cmiiw.) Due to this, he pretty much has a strong sense of the strategization needed in chess.

⸝⸝ Dry texter. Like super dry that it's actually funny. Mydei doesn't see the need to use things like emojis and stickers because as long as it gets his messages across then it works for him.

⸝⸝ Good with kids. Mydei canonically had willingly trained a kid in Okhema. He's those typical gruff who's an enormous softie deep inside, except he just struggles or even sees it as vulnerable to express it.

⸝⸝ I could see him as those healthy mama's boys. Mydei had often gotten compliments about his looks, but utter out something like "I bet your mother is sooo pretty for her son to look like this" and he will melt in your arms.

⸝⸝ Has one of those punchable yet cute smug-ish grin. When Mydei managed to for instance get under your skin, he will have that stupid grin on his face that makes you want to punch him, except he also has enough of the charm to not make you want to punch him. (Not like you can anyway man's a beast)

⸝⸝ Probably has a sweet tooth. On a particularly hard day, Mydei will indulge in himself by having a bite from Golden Honeycake, or have a drink of Pomegranate Juice with milk. (Gosh love this man <3) ⸝⸝ Likes chaste kisses. The prince will never say it out loud to your face, but when he wants a small peck on your lips or just wants to be held by you in general, he will subconsciously glance at you and let his eyes linger a little longer on you, be it on the lips, or stare your eyes out. Give him a short small kiss on his lips, and the warrior succumb into your arms.

♡ Dr. Ratio

⸝⸝ Elegant yet horrible looking handwriting. By horrible, I mean they look like those ancient scripts that needed to be translated in order to be read. By short, we call it "Doctor's Handwriting" lmao.

⸝⸝ I like to think he does skin care as a routine. Be it due to his value of hygiene, or even irritable skin. He has a 20 step routine skin care I just know it (source: trust me bro)

⸝⸝ Also another one of a strict and disciplined scholar. Ratio wakes up every morning early to workout and maintain his healthy physique. He never leaves without tucking you properly and sneaking in a small kiss on the forehead however!

⸝⸝ No doubt will invite you over to bath with him. Not in any sexual way, just a cozy escape after both of your own rough and tiring day. Ratio will gladly help you scrub your back in the most gentle way possible. The two of you would end it by him reading a book in the bed while holding you close to his figure <33

⸝⸝ Ratio is a busy man and tend to leave early, but will leave notes at certain places for you (ex. on the fridge in the morning)

⸝⸝ Don't know about you, but Ratio personally doesn't say anything much about your relationship. But, he doesn't deny it either when asked. Once given the opportunity, will subconsciously ramble on about how he's graced with your presence and as your lover.

⸝⸝ Has a habit of eating fruits because he both wants to and keeps himself healthy. Expect the fridge to always have a space for some fruits in there for him to eat.

⸝⸝ Encourages you and makes sure you do eat healthy, following up from the point above. Ratio will remind you when to eat and stop you from work to make sure you remember to take a break. (I also love this man)

© fleuriion �� please refrain from ; plagiarizing, ai usage, repost without credits ― positive interactions are always welcome!

[520-elic]

okay I need nsfw and sfw of masky,hoodie,eyeless jack, laughing jack, and ben drowned

Eyeless Jack headcanons (sfw and nsfw)

Author notes ; sorry I couldn't do everything that you asked, but I will be doing Eyeless Jack! Hope you enjoy it! I love writing headcanons so much

Contains; slightly detailed gore, mention of nsfw things (obviously)

Sfw

Really quiet, he stands like a paralysis sleep demon (no pun intended) at almost every social gathering of some kind

I think he has some vision even though he has no eyes. I think his vision would be very dark and blurry, but if he's looking at direct sunlight it would still be very blurry but it would be somewhat brighter

He definitely has biceps and back muscles (will get into that later hehe)

Absolutely fucking despises the heat. Will avoid it like the plague, even if he's out killing people for his hungry needs

Even though he is a demon, he was human before. So I don't think his teeth would be razor sharp, just sharp enough to cut through human skin and muscle with some elbow grease

Perfers to do everything in silence since he uses his heightened hearing to know his surroundings. Will occasionally listen to some old 70's music if he's not doing anything

Hates touch, but will accept it if it's quick and from his friends or his partner

If you're dating him, he will lay across your lap like a cat. Good luck trying to move for the next 4 hours

Jack is really cold, and I mean really. You could put 4 heaters on him, and he wouldn't break a sweat, but it would be uncomfortable for him (like I said, he hates the heat but will crave it from you if you're dating him)

Tall. I'd say he's around 6'8, so it's to no surprise that someone will jump from suprise if they catch him standing right behind them

Sleeps like a mf TANK. He will be out cold and won't wake up until at least 9 hours later, unless his intuition says there's something wrong

He will eat politely or eat like if it's last meal ever.

He does make animalistic sounds, such as purring, growls.. ect..

Clean freak!!!! Takes atleast one or two showers a day and keeps his room very tidy, probably one of the most cleaned proxies in the mansion. And of course, he keeps his little doctor/nurse/medic corner very sterile

Has scars everywhere since he has a high tolerance to pain and won't really notice if he's hurt until he's showering or something

Very sensitive neck and ears.. 👅

Nsfw

Like I was saying, very sensitive ears and neck. Will let out a groan immediately if you begin kissing his neck and behind his black pointed ears

His main sex positions have to be missionary, mating press, or cowgirl

He definitely knows what he's doing considering he's specialized with the human body.. wink wink

He loves to praise his partner while pounding them hard and fast. Tears filling up their eyes while he licked and kisses them away, saying how good they're being

I agree with the headcanon that most people have of Jack, how he goes into heat at times. So, going off of that, I think he'll stay FAR away from you when he is in heat so he doesn't crush your ribs during sex lmao

Loves to mark you up nice and good, it gets him going whenever you say how you're his. He might have a bit of a possession thing for you..

Speaking of his back muscles and biceps, he loves to flex them subconsciously during sex. He will probably put you in a headlock with one of his biceps when hitting you from the back

He's extremely loud, there's no way to quiet this man, unless you're on top and you bury his face into the pillows (wink wink again)

Muncher to the max. He loves giving more than he receives, but he does love and appreciate whenever you try to give him head

If you're the one praising him, be prepared to walk with a limp for the next few days.

It turns him on whenever you pull his hair or rub his stomach near/on his happy trail. Also if you smell good, he's burying his face into your neck and rutting his hips into you lmao

Speaking of, he's very into dry humping!! Saves the time of taking eachothers clothes off, in his words

A thigh guy

[asterafroditis]

hiii how u doing? (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

if reqs r open, could u do a silver x reader where they make breakfast together or smth like that?

𐔌 . ⋮ soft start to the day .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆ Silver Vanrouge x gn! reader

𓏵 739 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 2nd Person POV, no pronouns used, fluff

I've been doing great, thank you! Imagining this was so cute, hopefully I fulfilled your request! ^^ feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

The kitchen was still half-shadowed by morning light when you walked in, rubbing at your eyes and yawning. The scent of something warm—eggs, maybe—greeted you first. Then you saw him.

Silver stood by the stove, dressed in loose sleepwear and a slightly oversized hoodie. His usually tidy hair was sleep-mussed, sticking out at angles that were somehow both messy and adorable. A wooden spatula moved slowly in his hand as he stirred scrambled eggs with the kind of focus usually reserved for swordplay.

Or, in his case, staying awake.

“You’re gonna fall asleep standing up again,” you said softly, voice still scratchy with sleep.

Silver turned at the sound, his expression brightening. “Good morning,” he murmured. Then, as if proving your point, he yawned halfway through the sentence and blinked slowly, like a cat in a sunbeam.

You smiled, crossing the room and reaching for the spatula. “Okay, hand it over, Sleeping Beauty. I’ve seen people stir soup faster in dreams.”

He blinked down at the pan, clearly weighing whether to protest, but in the end he surrendered the spatula without a word. You took over, cracking another egg and moving with natural rhythm. The kitchen filled with the gentle sound of sizzling.

Silver retreated to the small table by the window and sank into a chair with the kind of slow, deliberate motion that only half-awake people manage. The early sun filtered in through sheer curtains, painting golden stripes across his face and shoulders. You glanced over and caught him watching you, head resting on one hand.

“What?” you asked, amused.

“You’re good at this,” he said, voice low and honest.

“At cooking?”

“At mornings.” He paused, his gaze soft. “At making them peaceful.”

You pretended not to freeze up. “You say things like that so easily.”

“Only when I mean them.”

You turned back to the eggs to hide the way your face warmed, scooping the food onto plates along with toast and lightly crisped vegetables from the pan you’d started before. You carried them over to the table and set one in front of him.

“Here. Eat before you pass out onto your eggs.”

“Thank you,” he said simply, and began to eat without hesitation, clearly trusting whatever you’d made.

The two of you ate in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds the occasional clink of silverware and the faint chirping of birds outside. Under the table, your legs brushed. Neither of you moved away.

“You always get up this early?” you asked eventually.

He nodded. “It’s habit. Father used to have me train at dawn.”

“Of course he did,” you said, smiling. “And now you spend your mornings almost falling asleep onto frying pans.”

“I manage,” he said, eyes amused. “You worry too much.”

You raised a brow. “Someone has to.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he finished his plate and leaned back slightly in his chair, watching you finish yours with the quiet satisfaction of someone content just to be there.

After a few moments, he said, “I’ll probably nap again after this.”

You set your fork down. “Where?”

He shrugged, slow and comfortable. “Anywhere. A couch. The common room. Your shoulder, if that’s an option.”

Your heart thudded once, too loud in your chest.

“You’re lucky I’m weak to your sleepy charm.”

“I know,” he replied simply.

You both stood to clear the dishes. You took his from his hands, brushing your fingers against his, and he didn’t pull away. Once the plates were in the sink, you turned and found him still watching you.

His voice was quiet, but steady. “Thank you… for this. It’s rare to have mornings like these.”

You gave a soft smile, nudging his arm. “Then we’ll make more.”

There was a pause. Then, unexpectedly, he leaned in—just a little—and rested his forehead against yours for a moment. A silent thank you. A promise.

When he pulled back, his expression was soft with something warmer than sunlight.

“I’ll try not to fall asleep while drying the dishes,” he said.

“No promises needed,” you replied, already grabbing a towel. “I’ve got you covered.”

In the quiet clatter of dishes and the warmth of shared morning light, you both understood something without needing to say it:

Being here, together, like this—it wasn’t just enough. It was everything.

[kortac-sweetheart]

i miss my wife i miss him very much

anyway nikto who’s so heartbroken every morning when you have to pry yourself away from his bear hugs to get ready for work. complains and mutters like a petulant child at the loss of your warmth, “so cold without you. why don’t you just quit? we have… enough money already…. i’ll build us a farm… just…stay.. at home…..with us…” before he slowly falls back asleep under the covers warmed with your residual body heat.

nikto who wakes up again, your side of the bed is agonizingly cold and he can only sigh. his eyes then flit over to your pajamas from last night, soft and comfy, they smell like you. your natural scent, a slight twinge of your laundry detergent and a whisper of your perfume, your scent in it’s purest form. he buries his face into it, inhaling deeply in an effort to cling onto the after images of you.

he smiles happily after, nuzzling his face into it. the warmth may have dissipated long ago but it still feels like a fluffy blanket draped over their very soul anyways.

he gets out of bed with a small pep in his step, brewing a pot of tea before tidying up your home, dusting here and there, rearranging that little book nook, and starting dinner. all the while they periodically smell your pajama sweater, sighing happily before ruing and cursing your stupid job for taking you from them, and returning to give your sweater another sniff.

(he becomes the living embodiment of those “i miss my wife” reddit posts when you’re gone for the day)

he’s overjoyed when you’re finally back home, and you are too, tired from a long day at work. he greets you at the door, ever the loyal hound, pressing sweet kisses to your face as he helps you dress down and relax.

your interest is piqued when you take a closer look at him.

“honey, is that my sweater?”

he doesn’t even have the mind to be ashamed about it, why should he? they miss you so it’s only logical that he’d wear your sweater around your home.

“yes. we missed you. and it smells like you.” pulling you into a warm hug and frowning when he smells you. that clingy metallic scent of the outdoors lingers on you like a second skin, dulling your own scent. that can’t do.

after a relaxing shower with him you’re smelling like yourself again, and he just can’t help but to keep sniffing around the collar of your hoodie. warm and sweet, but light and airy, they wish they could drown in that scent.

you can only giggle as he nuzzles his head into your neck like a needy cat, running your fingers through his hair and it’s almost like he’s purring too.

from then on he always goes out of his way to give you his sweaters and hoodies to wear. they look amazing on you, little you all swaddled and comfy in his clothes, and the scent of you lingers on them for days after. (plus you love wearing them too— so win-win!)

(oh and, don’t think that he’s not going to try and convince you to quit, too. he definitely is, he’ll show you that you don’t need that pesky job anymore. want a cozy home near the seaside? done. want to be more self sufficient with a farm? never thought you’d ask. please, he’ll do anything to keep you at home and right next to his side, where you belong.)

[callsign-rogueone]

vigil

Sawyer Henrick x reader (Peach!) words: 2.0k 🏷️: end of iron flame spoilers — our poor boy 🥺 time skip, so they’re back at the school now. descriptions of his injury, mentions of intrusive thoughts / ocd, Ridoc being the sweetest and looking out for his bestie’s girl <3 here marks the end of iron flame for them!! future chapters will have spoilers for onyx storm, whenever I get around to finishing it.

“Come back to me,” you whisper into the collar of his flight jacket. “Please.”

His lips brush against your temple as he speaks. “Always. I will always come back to you.”

You linger there a moment, knowing that this may be the last time you’ll ever hold each other. You aren’t ready to let go. You probably won’t ever be. How many times will you relive this moment? Will it ever hurt any less, or get any easier?

It shouldn’t, really. 

“Hey,” he says softly, pulling back and tilting your chin up to look at him, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “I’ll be okay. We all will.”

You nod, trying to convince yourself that he’s right. He and his friends will stick together -- and they’re all powerful. They can fight whatever’s out there, and win. That’s what they’ve been preparing for this whole time.

“I love you,” you manage, swallowing the rest of your tears.

He drops a kiss to your forehead. “I love you too. I’ll find you when it’s over, okay?”

Another nod.

You don’t know what else to say. There are no words for this situation, nothing that will make this situation any better for either of you.

You stand there another moment, trying to commit the sight of the other person to memory: how the first light of day brings out the red in his hair, the hilt of the sword he wears across his back, and the grooves he made there that fit his hands perfectly, the flight goggles perched on the top of his head… the pale blue of your healer’s robes and how they contrast against your skin, the flower necklace that peeks out from the collar, and the tidy hairstyle you default to every day…

He’s the first to turn away.

It’s agonizing to watch him leave, but it may very well be the last time you see him — so you stand there, until he crosses the bridge back into his quadrant and slips into a crowd of identically dressed riders, out of reach and out of sight.

All you can do for him now is pray. You close your eyes, beginning a silent plea to Amari and her husband — that’s interrupted by a familiar, but irritating voice.

“Look what the cat dragged in.”

You freeze, turning to see Helen, one of the senior healers, who for some reason absolutely despises you. “Ma’am,” you begin, unsure how to continue.

“Is this profession a joke to you?”

“No, of course not,” you answer. “I…”

“Disappearing for a month without as much as a note, leaving all your responsibilities and schoolwork behind to go chase after a boy? If it was up to me, and we didn’t need all hands on deck today, you’d be leaving this infirmary in shackles.”

How the fuck are you supposed to respond to that? Does she want you to beg her to forgive you, or is she content to watch you blink at her like this, too stunned to form words?

“Lowen! I need you.”

You look at her another moment before you come back to your senses, looking in the direction of the voice. “Coming!”

You round the corner, squeaking in surprise when you’re tugged into a supply closet.  

Sarah.

You wrap her in a tight hug, taking a moment to breathe. You hadn’t been too worried about anyone at Basgiath, who were still under the wards, but it’s a relief to see her again after not hearing from her for a month.

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” she whispers. 

“Helen isn’t.”

She laughs. “I swear, she got even worse after you left. I still think you’re absolutely insane for that, by the way.”

“I know,” you answer. “You’ve told me that a few times.”

“Alright. Help me carry these boxes?”

Over the next hour, the already-somber infirmary grows even quieter, as everyone realizes that everything is ready — the beds made up, bandages prepared, surgical tools cleaned… You’ve done all you can do. 

Now you just have to wait.

————————

“I need all hands!” someone calls, and you drop the towels you’ve been folding to turn to the door. 

It doesn’t take you more than a second to realize that the person they’re wheeling in is Sawyer. As soon as you catch a glimpse of his rain-soaked hair, you know.

His eyes are closed, his head lolled onto his shoulder — he’s unconscious, completely limp. You finally tear your eyes away from his face, your heart nearly stopping when you realize why he’s here: half of his left leg is just gone. 

Someone had tied a tourniquet around his thigh, but it’s not enough to stop the seemingly endless flow of blood. The life is pouring out of him, spilling onto the floor and staining it red, and all you can do is stand there and watch. Your boots are stuck to the stone beneath you, your eyes fixed on the shredded muscle and exposed bone, the things you aren’t supposed to see outside of your textbooks. 

You’ve never flinched at any cuts or broken bones, never hesitated to fall into place beside your mother when the neighbors came knocking after farming accidents — none of it ever fazed you. 

But it’s never been him.

“Lo,” someone says softly, a hand settling on your arm, “if you can’t…”

“I can,” you interrupt, “and I will.”

——————

“You should get some sleep, P.”

It takes you a second to place the voice as Ridoc’s. You shake your head, not looking up. “I can’t take my eyes off of him.”

“He’s gonna be okay,” he says softly. “That tourniquet you gave him saved his life, y’know. Violet tied it for him, as soon as she could.”

You’re quiet for a moment, unsure how to explain yourself. “I know he should pull through, I just… I have this thing, that I’ve had since I was a child. I’ll have a terrible thought, and I try brushing it off or forgetting about it like a normal person would, but I can’t. It sticks to me, and I have to prevent it from happening by holding my breath or washing my hands or saying a prayer or something. And right now, my mind is telling me if I look away, even for a moment… I know deep down that’s not how it works, but I can’t risk it this time. I won’t. Not when it’s him.”

“I understand,” he says softly. “If I brought you food, would you eat?”

Another shake no. You haven’t had any appetite since this morning, knowing what could happen — what did happen. 

“Water, at least?”

“Okay,” you whisper.

“Attagirl. I’ll be back.”

A minute later, Ridoc steps into your peripheral vision, careful not to obscure your view of Sawyer as he extends a cup of water toward you. 

Slowly, hesitantly, you let go of Sawyer’s hand, setting it down on the bed and waiting for the worst, but he doesn’t stir, doesn’t show any reaction to the movement. You don’t know if that’s good or bad. It’s both, really; a sign that the sedation is working, but also that he isn’t going to wake up any time soon. 

He might not ever.

You reach up to take it, inhaling sharply at the sight of your sleeve. The pale blue fabric is spotted with rusty brown patches — Sawyer’s blood. You’d scrubbed it off your hands, but it’s still stuck to you, staining your clothes and lining your fingernails. No amount of cold, soapy water would get it out.

Water. Right.

You take a slow sip, realizing how parched you are. The rest of the cup goes down easily, and your voice doesn’t sound as raspy as you speak again. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Ridoc takes it back from you, settling into a chair in your line of sight — on the opposite side of the bed. “How are you holding up? I know it must have been hard, seeing… that.”

“It usually isn’t,” you answer. “But it usually isn’t him.”

He nods, silent for a moment. “Everyone else is safe. Nothing serious.”

“S’ good,” you say quietly. 

Another short silence — just the distant sounds of the infirmary, which has slowed significantly since this morning. Most of the beds are full, if not all of them, but everyone’s been attended to, wounds bandaged and bones set. 

“I’ll be fine,” you say again, trying to convince the both of you that you mean it. “Go be with your girl.”

Ridoc looks at you a moment, thinking about it, before he rises from his chair, leaning down to brush his lips against Sawyer’s temple. “See you tomorrow, dude. Love you.”

You smile for the first time in twelve hours.

Sawyer stirs, his hand moving against yours, and your heart jumps. You and Ridoc both hold your breath, waiting. 

“Peach?” he murmurs.

“Right here,” you answer, squeezing his hand gently.

“S’good,” he mumbles in reply, his eyes still closed — still working off the double dose of sedatives you’d had to give him to keep the pain at bay. “Was worried about you.”

You manage a laugh. Of course he worried about you, even when you’d been safe indoors for the whole battle. You bring your other hand up to brush the hair from his eyes, stroking the backs of your fingers over his cheek. “I’m okay, sweet boy. Get some sleep. I’ll be here when you wake.”

He hums a soft acknowledgment, settling deeper into the blankets. 

Ridoc gives you a gentle half-hug before he slips away, headed back to the rider’s quadrant. 

You take a fresh look at Sawyer, with a healer’s eyes, comforted by what you see: some of the color has returned to his face, and his skin is warm against yours, both good signs that he’s coping with the blood loss. You move your hand down to check his pulse — it’s steady against your fingers, if a little slow. His breaths are even, the bleeding has stopped… he’s out of the woods, sleeping soundly with the help of the heavy dose of pain-reliever.

You turn your gaze toward the window, out into the night sky. “Thank you,” you whisper to the stars. “Thank you.”

You could swear you feel the fleeting touch of a warm hand on your shoulder, but Ridoc has already left. You must be more sleep deprived than you’d thought. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to rest your eyes for a little while, now that Sawyer is conscious again.

You toe off your boots, tucking your legs underneath you and getting as comfortable as you can in the hard wooden chair, resting your head on the edge of the mattress.

You wake to the warm orange light of sunrise, and a gentle hand stroking your hair.

“You should have woken me up earlier,” you chide gently, fighting a yawn, but the sleepiness fades quickly as you realize he’s awake — and he likely has been for a while, judging by the way he’s managed to prop himself upright.

“You needed the sleep,” he says softly, his voice dry and scratchy. “And you looked too peaceful to wake.”

You sit up, ignoring the stiffness in your neck from sleeping in that terrible position, and turn to look at him. “How much do you remember?” you ask in a whisper, taking his hand gently. You look scared, those pretty eyes wet with tears and softened with concern.

“All of it, I think. Are you okay?” he asks softly, squeezing your hand.

You clear your throat, embarrassed that you’re the one crying right now. “Of course I am, why…”

“Is my squad okay?”

You nod — Ridoc had assured you last night that the others were all present and accounted for. 

“Then I’m okay.”

You exhale, more tears slipping down your cheeks. 

“I had to keep my promise,” he says, managing a smile. “I couldn't leave you behind again.”

You rest your forehead against his, closing your eyes. “I love you, Sy,” you whisper. “To the ends of the earth.”

“And I love you, sweet girl. To the South star and back.”

“To the South star and back,” you agree, your voice cracking with emotion.

He brings a hand up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “We’ll be okay,” he promises. “As long as we have each other, we’ll be okay.”

[joachimz]

CLEANSE MY SOUL

yukimiya kenyu x gn!reader

includes: pro/model yukki. small soap maker reader. flirting. pining. late night encounters. just cuteness idk.

notes: this has been haunting me. i’m gonna throw up.

Staring at your front door, barefoot and half dressed with your robe thrown lazily around you is not how you intended to be spending your Tuesday–is ten p.m. still considered evening?���night. It’s not how you spend any of your nights, really. But there are knocks coming from your door.

You never get knocks at your door. 

You blink, and again. You had just managed to drift off to sleep after a long day of working your second part time job. After all, small businesses never really fund themselves the first year (or the second, it’s looking like..) Then, you’re taking a step forward.

“Who is it?”

No answer. This worries you. Only two things strike fear in your gut: the all high and the IRS. You’re thinking it’s too late for either to be showing up at your door unannounced. So, with all the poise a half asleep human has at ten in the evening, you reach for the padlock and flip it. You regret it a second later.

Because there, in all of his beautiful, stained glass glory, is none other than Yukimiya Kenyu. Hair wet and wavy, laying charmingly messy atop his head, in a button down that’s halfway undone. No coat–even with it being the middle of January. He’s going to catch a cold.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you level, throw a glance over your shoulder just to double check the time on your stove. 

“Oh,” and he’s breaking, now. Finally relaxing out of his poise in just the smallest way; the tiniest bits of imperfection in a showcase you have never seen from him. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. This is so rude of me. I’ll go–”

“No! No, I mean,” you’re fumbling, reaching out a hand as if you’re going to make a move to grab him. Of course you’re not, that’s absurd. It would be inappropriate. Then again, you’re not sure how appropriate it is for him to be here, at ten p.m. You shrug that off. Nuance or whatever. “What do you need, Yukki?”

And it comes out so easily, tonight. The nickname your client told you to use to address him after the second (or was it third?) meeting. He gazes at your hand, then your face. Rubs the back of his neck and smiles and–if you didn’t know any better–blushes, ever so slightly.

“Soap,” he pauses–potentially at your quirked brow, you find tiredness makes it hard to clock yourself–and fixes his broad shoulders squared again. “I’m out. I guess I left my spare at the agency and I had a late shoot and they were locked up by the time I got back and–”

“You came by this late for soap?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. This is so inappropriate to turn up unexpectedly. I should’ve just bribed security to–”

“I’m out of your soap.”

You want to kick yourself for saying it because the defeated look on Yukimiya’s face at your admission is sick. Not in a way that’s necessarily heavy or holds any true weight, but like staring at a kicked doberman. Something that shouldn’t be so easily wounded so it catches you off guard–on edge–enticed. 

“Oh,” he sighs, “Oh, okay. I’m sorry for bothering. I’ll just go–”

“But I could make some real quick!”

What. The fuck. No, seriously, what the fuck has come over you tonight? There is no “quick” about this, none of it is. And it’s ten p.m. and you were already asleep and all of your supplies are put up and–

“Really? You could do that for me?”

I could do anything for you.

“Totally,” you say, instead, and take a step back to open your door wider, “Come in. Pardon the mess.”

You walk further into your apartment and snatch the underwear off the back of the couch, kick a sock out of sight. Curse your cat for poising himself directly in the way of Yukimiya’s path but halfway thanking him because it buys you some time to do some spot tidying before your habitat is exposed.

Not like you can really hide much mess in a studio apartment, but whatever.

“I’m surprised you remembered my address,” you settle on saying, to break the ice, as you pull your box of supplies out from behind a makeshift closet of tapestries and curtains. What can you say you are if not crafty. “You just came by, what was it? Once? In November?”

“October,” he corrects you, slips his bag off his arm and sits in one of the chairs in the kitchen. (Or what you could call it, anyways). “Halloween.”

“Right,” you smile as you carry your box over to him. You place it on a stool by the stove, intent on getting to work. “You had a surprise shoot. You needed it because of all the–”

“Face paint,” he finishes, and you both chuckle. 

You remember him messaging your business page with an urgent request of the soap he likes, saying he needed it right then. And, well, his shoot happened to be close to your apartment and you were waiting on a package to arrive so, yeah. You forked over your address–something you never do–and he came by with his agent to pick it up. He’s always personable like that; makes sure to see you with every delivery. Actually, you’re not too sure why you’re so shocked he remembered.

Or why it has a weird sort of fluttering blooming in your stomach. 

“Right,” you hum, and pull your measuring cup out of the box. “I had you down for a week from now, I usually try to stay stocked for my regulars.”

“I lent some to a friend to try,” he supplies as an answer, but by the faint flicker of a grimace on his face, you think ‘lent’ is more akin to ‘was taken from me’. How funny. “I guess I didn’t realize how low I was.”

“Ah,” you nod, pull out your soap bases and your loaf mold. “I am constantly lending things to my friends as well.”

“So you understand.”

“Perfectly.” 

A comfortable silence tucks itself into the room; like a warm blanket over chilly legs. Something about Yukimiya is uneasy but so easy. Like you’re always on your toes but second nature takes over anyways. Talking to him is nice. He’s nice. Especially considering the difference in status between the two of you.

Are all models so humble?

No, that’s not right; you’ve read his interviews. Humble isn’t exactly the right word to describe him. Charismatic? Charming? Suave? Sure. but he is teetering the line of his ego–you know this. You bite the corner of your lip and start cutting down your bases.

“I’ll pay you extra,” Yukimiya breaks the moment, “For the inconvenience. And I brought some tea with me, as well.”

“You brought tea?” You quirk a brow at him, choosing to ignore his first offer (because, really, you could use the money, but you don’t want to seem greedy; you’d do this for him for free). “You always keep it strapped, or..?”

“No,” he laughs, a beautiful, angelic sort of thing. Your knees feel a little weak at the chimes of it. “But I brought some with me to the shoot today. I’m very.. particular about what goes in my body.”

You could go in my body.

“Ah,” you nod, snap your gaze away, try to swallow down the flush in your cheeks. “Tea is nice.”

That’s all it takes for Yukimiya to stand; something that has the hair on your arms beginning to rise; tickle the skin. He’s walking over to you, next to the stove, two tea bags in hand.

“Earl grey,” he supplies when he notices you eyeing them, “That alright?”

“Yeah. Yes.” You’re so embarrassing. “Love it.”

You’ve never had it.

He smiles again (or has he even stopped?), quirks his lips up in a way that is so devilishly handsome it’s damn near sickening. He pulls the kettle off of your back burner and turns to the sink to fill it up. He knows, somehow.

“Not many people love it,” he wagers, places the kettle back on the burner then turns; leans back against the counter beside you to wait. His strong arms cross over his chest in a practiced sort of leisure. You wonder how one man can exude so much divinity. “An acquired taste.”

You swallow, dart your eyes away. Useless, you find, as they keep trailing back to the broad build of the man beside you. You pray he is not close enough to feel the heat coming from your face; or you could pass it off as the steam coming from the stove. 

“You know,” you tease, pointing at him with the blade in your hand, “I’ve been told that I am an acquired taste.”

“I can see that.”

You gasp, he chuckles, and you smack his bicep with the towel that was over your shoulder. So easy, so light.

“Rude,” you huff, but there’s still a smile on your lips, a tingling in your fingertips. You add your base to your measuring cup and place it in the pot on the stovetop. 

There’s the comfortability again; the ease. You wonder when it became this way. When you could talk to him just so; where the shift was. When he turned from client to.. What, exactly? What is this? What is he doing? What are you doing?

This isn’t professional at all.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Yukimiya speaks up after a few beats. He’s fiddling with your oils, peering through them passingly. You nod. “What made you want to start doing this? Surely it is just easier to leave it all to someone else.”

“Oh, definitely,” you agree through a chuckle, blow it through your nose like a half handed sigh. Now, as you wait for the base to melt you turn to him, move the box off the stool by the stove and sit by him. “But I couldn’t find any soaps that would work for me. My skin is so sensitive and.. Yeah.”

“I see,” he nods, and he’s standing so close, you realize now. He shifts, your knee is touching his hip. You wonder if it feels searing hot to him, too. “I can admire that. Finding a solution for yourself. It’s very respectable.”

“Oh, I don’t know about all that,” you wave off, chuckle nervously. Why does it feel like you are a specimen being observed under a petri dish? “It’s just soap.”

There’s a beat of silence, of understanding. Then, Yukimiya is moving again, pressing in closer. Not enough to be fully inappropriate but more so than any of your other clients have gotten, for sure. (Or anyone, recently, for that matter).

“Well, your skin is beautiful. So you must be doing something right.”

You want to die. You want to curl up in a big, deep, dark hole and die. Right here, right now. What the fuck. What the fuck. The kettle is whistling, you tuck tail and turn your attention to your soap on the stove.

“Well, thank you, Yukki.”

“My pleasure, (Y/n).” 

And it’s soft, sweet; the palm to the small of your back as the man pushes off the counter and goes to search for two mugs. He finds them in the drainer and brings them back to your shared work space. Joins you in tandem like this is what you normally do at ten o’clock on a Tuesday night; like you’ve always done this. How, you ponder, is it so easy?

You stir your oils in as Yukimiya fills the mugs up, places the tea bags in. Your attention is so sparse tonight, so all over the place. You hardly notice your arm getting too close to the pot on the stove. But Kenyu doesn’t.

“Careful,” he warns, grabs your wrist to pull it away from its impending doom. His grasp is warm; stern, but soft. He’s so close, you blink up at him. “You almost burned yourself.”

“Oh,” you mumble, gently pull your arm from his warm clutches, “Wouldn’t be the first time. See?”

You hold out your arms to show him your battle scars; faults of the trade. Working with hot and melted substances isn’t easy, and while your face’s skin may be good, your arms have seen better days. You chuckle, Yukimiya does not.

No, he pouts. “You should take better care,” and he’s reaching for you again, both wrists in his palms this time. He’s observing, cataloging. You want to shrink under his gaze. “I have some scar cream, that would help.”

“Okay,” you aren’t even sure what he said but you don’t care. It’s fine, you can agree. “We’ll call it a fair trade.”

“Okay,” he levels, but you both know full well he is still going to pay you (and extra at that) for your services tonight.

After that, he lets you be for a bit. He takes his seat once again and watches as you get to work. No dyes because Yukimiya doesn’t like that. Extra shea butter because he does. Oatmeal bits to soothe his skin after so much makeup throughout the day. Piece my piece you construct his soap until it is time to pour. And you, well, you’re nothing if not a hospitable host.

“Do you want to pick the mold?” you ask, because he’s here. And this batch is just for him. “I know I normally just use my square one, but if you wanted a change..”

“Flowers,” he says, smiles, “I’d like one with flowers.” 

“I can do flowers.” You pick one that’s still rectangular, but has flowers printed on the top. Something old and something new. A subtle change, something you think suits him better. He doesn’t protest and you think that to be a good sign. You set it on the counter and begin to pour.

It’s always painstaking; this part. Trying to make sure you don’t spill or overflow or pour too fast and get bubbles on the top. It’s even worse when you have Japan’s next top model and top ten soccer pro watching and dissecting your every move. Still, your pour is good and when you’re done you set your measuring cup in the sink.

Usually, you like to clean up immediately after. Now, though, it seems rude to do so when you have a guest. So you discard your things to the sink and come back over, drag your stool and sit across from the Yukimiya Kenyu at the counter. You tug your robe higher over your shoulders, lean forward a little on your elbows. 

“It takes a while to cool,” you bit the corner of your lip, fiddle with your thumbs as you peer through heavy lashes, “I’m sorry, there’s–”

“It’s completely fine,” Yukimiya grins, fingers skimming your arm across the countertop, and you wonder what has happened to that line of professionalism, “I have all night.”

“No shoot tomorrow?”

He shakes his head. And you know–not because you watch every single one of his games or anything, don’t be absurd–that it is the off season for soccer, so there’s probably no practice either. You hum, nod to yourself. You’re doing that a lot tonight, nodding like a bumbling idiot. You can’t help it, you think, not when a man such as this is in your apartment.

Your counter isn’t very wide, the two of you are much closer than either of you think. And Yukimiya is still playing with the hem of your robe sleeve. Toying with it and your heart and the heat in your tummy. You peer at him and he adheres to you and you, well.

You kiss him, because he’s right there.

“Oh. Oh! Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” you’re blubbering, pulling back. Whatever kind of sleepy delirium you're in has really caused you such a deadly demise. You want to keel over right now. “That was so inappropriate, I’m–”

“Completely alright,” he levels, takes your hand and pulls you back in, as much as the counter separating you will allow. 

“You sure?” you’re leaning in again, he’s pressing forward.

“Yes,” he breathes, hot and heavy against your lips and, oh. You’re kissing, again.

His lips are velvet and his skin is silk and you think such delicacies do not belong in your shoddy apartment, but maybe–just maybe–belong in your arms. You kiss him back and revel in it for as long as he lets you. A prince and pauper, in the open kitchen of your studio apartment. 

He pulls back enough to gaze at you, rub his thumb over your knuckles. Reach a hand up to do the same over your cheek. You blink, dumbfounded and dazed.

“So,” he says, finally, after what feels like an eternity, “Does this mean I get to have a soap named after me?”

You laugh, light and airy and warm, and nod your little head again for the millionth time. 

“Yeah, I think we could work something out.”

You do, name a soap after him. And it becomes a best seller overnight. And, suddenly, you can afford much more than a studio apartment on the semi-rough part of town for you and your cat. 

And Yukimiya Kenyu makes you tea every night, and kisses you too. 

likes & reblogs appreciated !

[blueeyedgirll]

Sneaking In - Sal Fisher x F!Reader

a/n: this is something i literally think about constantly :)> sneaking out was sal’s idea not yours there’s no delinquency here. unfortunately this is NOT part two of he’d loooove that because to be transparent i don’t know where to go with it! i promise i started it though it’ll come out soon •3•

this fic includes: boyfriend sneaking in trope, rebellion, sal ITCHING to see you, no use of y/n, for some reason you don’t have a screen on your window but whatever, established relationship, smooching, cuddling

The dark, late night sprawls outside as the twinkle of fairy lights keeps you awake. The chatter from the movie you were watching keeps your ears occupied as you consider texting or calling someone to ease the boredom overtaking you.

You settle on your boyfriend, Sal.

You and Sal had been dating for almost a year and a half. You started dating in the beginning of freshman year, and are still together now, halfway through sophomore year. Dating Sal had been nothing short of wonderful. He has always been such a kind and loving person, and it shows in your relationship. You and Sal are the kind of couple that people call “goals,” or talk about because they “need a relationship like that.”

You pick up your phone to text Sal, but upon reaching his contact, you decide to call him instead.

The line rings once, twice, and then he picks up.

“Hey, love. Are you alright? Why are you calling so late?” He says as less of a question for his sake and more to make sure you were okay.

“Yeah, I just missed you,” You respond.

“Well, I miss you too. I’m glad you called.” Sal pauses for a moment and you hear shuffling.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to move Gizmo off my bed so I can lie down.”

You laugh at the thought of Sal trying his hardest to gently move his very large cat off the bed.

“Just pick him up,” You say, realizing that it’s in his nature to be gentle so he likely wouldn’t.

“No, he’s comfortable.” You hear him scoff in frustration and the thunk of him hitting the bed. “I give up.”

You laugh and change the subject.

“Well, what were you doing before you decided to evacuate Gizmo?”

“Honestly… I was trying to study for my history test, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. It was really hard to try to remember what years the American Revolution took place when the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen kept crossing my mind.”

His sudden compliment made you smile.

“Why, thank you. Luckily I wasn’t doing anything productive, because I promise you I would’ve been in the same boat…” You think for a moment. You both really miss each other, so why not make plans for the weekend?

“Sal, I want to see you. Want to hang out tomorrow?”

He pauses before he answers.

“Why wait?”

“What?”

“Why wait until tomorrow? I miss you now.”

You consider his point. You missed him now, too. But the thorough punishment that awaited you if your parents found out hung over you like a storm cloud.

“Sal, my parents will kill me if I sneak out.”

“Then let me.”

“My parents will also kill me if they catch me sneaking my boyfriend in my room in the dead of night. Can’t you hear how bad that sounds?”

“That’s why they won’t catch me. Please, baby? I can be sneaky, I promise.”

You pause for a moment.

You consider.

You decide the reward outweighs the consequences.

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few then?”

You can hear him silently cheer. “Yes you will. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The phone beeps after the call ends. A rush of adrenaline and emotions flows through you as it fully processes that you’re sneaking your boyfriend in, but the risk just made it that much more fun.

A few minutes pass that consist of you switching between pacing your room and tidying up. You realize that Sal needs to get in somehow, so you turn to leave your room and unlock the back door. Before you could leave, however, you hear a tap on the window.

You throw open your curtains and it is none other than Sal. His electric blue hair illuminated by the moonlight, he stares up at you, eyes visibly crinkled through the eyeholes in his mask.

You open the window to let him in. He smiles up at you and hoists himself onto your windowsill before jumping silently onto your floor. He stops to look around for a moment, then pulls you into his arms.

“We have a door, you know,” You say teasingly.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You smile at him and draw your hands around his neck, pulling his face closer to yours. You reach to the back of his head and unbuckle his mask, and he bows his head to let you.

You pull the mask off of his scarred face and he looks at you longingly with his bright blue lovesick eyes. Before either of you can speak, you both lean into a kiss. His lips meet yours in a unification powerful enough to make your knees tremble. He wraps a hand around your waist and pulls you deeper into the kiss, allowing you to run your hands through his soft hair.

"Wasn't this worth it? And, hey, I bet your parents are still sound asleep. They don't have a clue!" Sal drags out the last few words of his sentence in an excited whisper.

"Yeah, it was. Thank you for coming over."

"No problem. I missed you and it made me really want to see you."

"I can tell."

He smiles at your comment and moves to sit on your bed. You set his mask on your bedside table and follow his lead by propping yourself up on the headboard, patting the spot beside you to urge him over. He sits right next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. He's so close that you can feel how warm he is through his sweater and smell his body wash.

He turns his head to give you a kiss on the cheek. You wrap your arms around his waist and fit your head into the spot between his neck and his collarbone, listening to his heart steadily beating.

"I love you," Sal whispers. "I love you, too."

[mayhemspreadingguy]

@magnusbae, not expecting I'd follow through, suggested to sketch Anakin but with cat fangs... Things got out of hand.

Also, look! Magnusbae gifted me with a most lovely fic inspired by my art (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) (fic under the cut, 3,800+ words).

That’s it. Anakin had resisted long enough. 

All through morning, noon and even dinner. He had done his Katas, had finished his chores, even went through his studies, all without so much as a single comment. He deserves to be commended personally by Master Yoda for being an exemplary Jedi. He deserves to be knighted right this moment seeing how he never even mentioned just how force karked awful his Master’s hair looked like for the past week. Sticking in all directions, it grows in uneven patches, the addition of a beard is somehow making his elegant Master look like a beggar from the streets and that, that is intolerable. 

Anakin growls quietly, muscles tense. He knows his Master most likely can feel him staring holes through him, and yet he simply continues reading his datapad, not asking nor looking, radiating calm in the force. Anakin wonders if he could tidy that mess with the power of thought alone. Would that be considered a frivolous use of the force? Even if done in the service of the republic? After all, his Master’s good looks are the cornerstone of the… 

Obi-Wan scratches at the back of his head, clearly bothered and Anakin can’t tolerate this anymore, cannot accept this anymore. His tongue is itching something fierce, his hands are sweating, he cannot sit still like there’s fire ants filling his pants and crawling up his spine. He cannot tolerate this. If not for himself, he must do this for his Master. If not for his Master, then for the order. If not for the order, then for the Galaxy. If not for the Galaxy, then for the Force itself. For he can swear by all that he holds dear that the Force itself is embarrassed by his Master being so unkempt, so ungroomed. 

Unacceptable. This is absolutely unacceptable. His Master has to always look neat and nice and put together, smelling fresh and looking proper. That’s the only right way for his Master to be. Anakin will not stand for it being any other way. He will not. He will make it right. 

His Master ignores the first lick. He often does that, pretends to not notice in the hopes of Anakin stopping after catching himself at his instincts. Oftentimes it works. Oftentimes it is an accident. But not this time. This time it’s very much on purpose and very much intended to continue until Anakin is satisfied with the results. All Anakin needs is for his Master to continue pretending to not notice long enough for him to fix this mess. 

Two more licks, lower neck up the scratchy beard and—

“Anakin—” his Master stops pretending so suddenly that Anakin’s tongue moves over his jawline and across the beard in a way that tickles funny. Anakin likes how it feels, rough and interesting, makes him curious about how it’ll feel like to lick across the jawline, where the beard is the thickest.

Knowing he does not have much time before his Master attempts to stop him altogether, Anakin leans in with renewed urgency, tongue ready, mouth starting to water— “Anakin, stop!” a strong hand pushes against his shoulder, moving him a distance away without being as rough as to push. 

“Mrrphh!” Anakin protests, pushing against the hand but not fighting it actively. His Master can be so bossy when he gets like this, so unreasonable. The only way to win is to use his words, otherwise his Master might just walk off and hide in his rooms instead. Or worse, go meditate in the halls, where everyone will see this shameful disaster.

“You need the grooming, Master!” Anakin starts with the foundation and heart of his objection. His Master always teaches that it’s important to be able to pinpoint the problem early on and address it quickly so as to not let it fester and become bigger than it must be. Granted his Master spoke of interpersonal disputes however it absolutely does apply here. His Master simply cannot deny this reasoning, ergo, will not be able to dispute it as untrue. “So just let me!” Anakin adds, before his Master could somehow find a way to object.

Can’t his Master see that Anakin is offering him a service? Out of the kindness of his heart, no less. Him enjoying the way his Master’s flavor sits on his tongue, the way it makes all the small hairs on his body stand on end, how it fills him with excitement— His Master’s scent, rich and spiced and safe— how he favors it above all else even when the exotic teas make him sneeze and sneeze— the way a single point of contact would narrow his senses into a single point of focus, clear his mind of all worries— the way his vision relaxes, the way his nostrils flare and he inhales and inhales and inhales— the way his heartbeat peaks and then slows, the way his mouth goes dry and he feels thirsty, hungry even— all that, all that has nothing to do with his altruistic motivations. He’s just looking out for his Master. Obviously, duh. 

“Master.” He can hear his own voice, can hear how it takes a whiny note his Master often teases him for. It’s hard to care when he has a goal bigger than his own ego. “Just let me.” He demands, he can hear it and he still doesn’t stop himself from reaching for his Master’s flowing robes, claws catching on the material and making him shudder. Maybe he does need trimming just like his Master insists each time they spar. Maybe Anakin will allow it, if his Master is good and allows him this. Maybe he’d even let his Master groom him too.

The bewilderment in the force clues Anakin on the fact that yes, maybe he did forget to shield, again. He huffs through his nose, wrinkling it. He really doesn’t know what the big deal with this is, doesn’t understand the obsession everyone and especially his Master, has with hiding every single urge and instinct and thought they have. It’s not like he thinks anything he wouldn’t also say out loud. Maybe if the Jedi used less of those shields, it would have been much easier to communicate with them, to bond with them, and maybe then he’d feel less like an outsider, like an odd bird out of its cage.

“Oh Anakin..” Obi-Wan sighs, the tension loosening from his hold against his shoulder, rather than scolding, there’s the hints of the sadness his Master expresses each time Anakin feels alienated in this place. It is not his fault no one understands him, it is not his fault he is different than everyone. 

“Master.” Anakin chirps back, rolling his eyes. His Master has the oddest of tendencies to get hung up on the most particular of topics. Anakin not having enough friends, per his Master’s opinion, is one such topic. Nevermind the fact that Anakin had never seen his Master ever share a true conversation with a single person. Other than himself. Of course. His Master does talk to him.

His Master will get fixated on him instead of thinking about himself and nag him to half death. ‘Anakin get more friends’ and ‘Anakin don’t spread the droid parts all across the quarters’ and ‘Anakin I’m a grown man I can groom myself.’ And while some of those things might be true, obviously, the last one is not. “You look like a mess.” Anakin says it to his face, because he and his Master are real friends.

“Thank you Padawan.” His Master answer, no longer sounding sad, instead his voice is dripping with sarcasm. Anakin doesn’t like it, but he supposes it’s better than sadness. “I do not recall asking for your no doubt impeccable sense of— Ahnakin—!” his ranting stops mid warming up when Anakin uses the opening to dart forward and lick him again, from the lowest exposed spot of his neck, up the smooth skin, his rough tongue making a satisfying ‘shh’ sound as it catches at the hair of the beard and smooths it up with his lick. The flavor is… is… 

Obi-Wan had used some sort of balm… some sort of synthetic musk that makes Anakin’s brain swim funny and eyes to close and mouth to water even more. He has to swallow down the saliva lest he drool like a hungry Tooka. It’s hard not to, when his Master is so, so, so karkin yummy. He slams his shields up with a clumsy thud in the force, but maybe just a moment too late to cover up that last thought.

“Anakin!” his Master sounds properly scandalized, voice raising to a tone that always makes Anakin’s ears ring uncomfortably and the following lecturing tone is no better. “Cease this nonsense immediately, you must not—" 

Anakin licks again. The side of his neck and up to the point where skin meets ear. “Master.” He says there, voice dropping into a purr that morphs into a warning growl he didn’t even think of making, there’s no aggression, only the frustrated warning to not stop him in the middle of something so damn important. Grooming, is important. More than Katas or studies or meditations. Maybe even more than sparring. And Anakin loves sparring. 

All Anakin wants is for his Master to sit quietly and let him take care of him. The way he ought to, the way he was meant to do. It’s his job, after all, is it not? He is Obi-Wan’s Padawan, it’s only natural he would tend to his Master, that he would care for him, that he would help him. That just makes sense. That rings true in the force and that’s all Anakin needs to know.

"I will.” He declares, it is no longer a request nor a plea, it is a declaration of intentions. A declaration of intent. He presses his nose at the soft skin under his Master’s ear and inhales, deeply, the scent making him Master-stupid so he says what’s on his mind with no filters, with no thought. “Unless you hate me.” His voice drops softer, he can’t breath, having inhaled too much of the strongest drug known to him. “Then I won’t” he trembles, he waits, if his Master rejects him, if he does hate him for his care, he will, he

“Anakin, this is hardly related, I do not think that—”

The force between them sparks and Obi-Wan’s mouth snaps closed with an audible click of the jaw. There’s a tension and a heating of an eruption that is halted with the calming breeze of spring air, Obi-Wan’s Force Signature covering his own, soothing, embracing, calming. “Very well, Padawan.” Obi-Wan speaks with a voice of a man who’s been worn in battle, sighing out in exhaustion.b “Since you cannot resist your nature, I’ll allow it.“ He pauses, sounding not a little doubtful as he adds the obligatory “Just this once, Anakin.” A final form of giving in, one Anakin is familiar with. 

There’s an ‘You should be old enough to know better’ goes unsaid and so Anakin ignores it. It wouldn’t have mattered even if Obi-Wan did say it. He had before, many times, and it never mattered. Anakin somehow doubts it’ll matter even when he grows taller than Obi-Wan. And he will, he just knows it. He will grow tall and strong, and he will always take care of his Master, and Obi-Wan would not be able to argue with that. Because it’ll all make sense. It always does. Everything about them does. 

If only his Master understood him better, he’d know that one doesn’t just grow out of wishing to groom those he cares and…loves. This is something that is forever and always. That is something that only grows and deepens, something to be shared and relished. Something he will always give to his Master freely, even if his Master maybe doesn’t…. Really share it in the same way as him. Which is fine. He had decided a long time ago. It is fine. 

It is enough that he gets to care for his Master. So he smiles instead and purrs out a sweet “Thank you, Master.” In that respectful manner he knows his Master enjoys hearing. He giggles when he feels his Master’s breath hitching, giggles more when nuzzling against the neck tickles his nose. “This is so horrible.” He complains, wanting his Master to know how strongly he objects to this change, and yet he cannot stop giggling. “Master!” he doesn’t even try to hide his joy from his voice, nevermind from the Force.

His Force Signature is a slow pulse of contentment, securely tucked beneath Obi-Wan’s still. When he licks small licks under Obi-Wan’s ear, he can feel his Master’s breath catching, can feel the way he stops breathing entirely and the soft gasp when Anakin licks at his ear directly, once, twice, a few more times just to test how committed his Master is to this session. Very, it seems. His Master doesn’t object even when Anakin grows bold and nibbles at his earlobe, tugging ever so gently. His Master is always so sensitive around this area, always so jumpy if Anakin stays too long at this spot. It always makes Anakin want to lick there until Obi-Wan loses his composure entirely.

He never does. 

At least not too much.

He does want to groom Obi-Wan after all, not only bully him into squirming because he is so damn ticklish there. That is not to say that he is above wanting to see his pristine Master squirming a little. So he licks there again, and when his tongue dips only a little into the ear, his Master finally jumps and moves away, breathing harshly and looking redder than his hair.

“Anakin I do believe that my hair is not located in that particular spot and—” his hands close on Anakin’s shoulders when he makes it to the ear again, wanting to nibble just one more time, just one last time… “Anakin.” His Master’s firm voice snaps him back into focus, tells him gently through the force to not overdo it. Fine, fine. He will not overdo it. This time.

"Just relax, Mastah.” Anakin pouts, the word slurring in the way his Master always corrects. Always, but not now. Anakin reaches for his Master’s wide shoulders and waits a moment until his Master’s grip loosens enough for him to actually move. It’s easy enough to shift to his Master’s lap. One knee over and sitting down in one smooth motion that has a practiced finesse to it. You either get to Obi-Wan’s lap swiftly, or you don’t at all. There is no room for hesitation for his Master will do enough hesitating for the both of them. So he sits down and nudges closer, right away. Inhaling, inhaling deeper.

Oh how he wants their scent to become one. They’re already nearly inseparable, living as closely as they do, using the same soaps, eating the same foods. Anakin wants more. Anakin wishes that they could smell and feel like one. United. Clearly bonded. Even more than they are through the force. He wants it so much that his fangs itch, itch, itch to bite and bite and bite. But no. No he is here to groom, to care. Not to bite, not to… mark. His cheeks are warm with it, knowing that he has, and is, constantly considering this. Wondering about this, curious about this. About marking his Master in a way that will be known, in a way that will be understood. He thinks about it, always. Luckily his Master has no clue. Luckily, Obi-Wan does not know. Or he wouldn’t let him sit here so carelessly, surely, he wouldn’t. 

“It’s part of it, duh.” Anakin says without truly knowing what he speaks of. The grooming, the licking, the biting, the sitting on the lap? He doesn’t know. He only knows of the happy, loud purr that fills his lungs when Obi-Wan doesn’t stop him from leaning back in, back to his neck, nuzzling, smelling, licking up that rough, funny tasting beard and to his hair, spiky and significantly softer than the beard. He giggles again, and purrs. It’s an odd combination of sounds he does try to stop but doesn’t manage. He is too preoccupied for dignity, or decorum, or class. He’s too karking pleased. 

When he licks at his Master’s neck again, the man tilts his head up and away, exposing his throat for him. Good. Good. Good, great, awesome.

His Master couldn’t have displayed his trust more plainly than this. No words could have conveyed the same level of commitment, of confidence and belief. Exposing one’s throat, Anakin thinks, is a universal sign. Even if his Master is less inclined to instincts as Anakin is, it still counts, it still matters a whole lot that he does it for him. His Master does it because he knows it matters to him and that— that matters more than all else.

His own purring is deafening, drumming in his eardrums and filling his chest with sound, he used to try to hide this in the past when he realized that most Padawans did not purr at every one of their Master’s compliments or gestures of kindness. He no longer bothers. He pulls and licks and purrs some more. He takes his time, licking small, measured licks, taking care to put that awful messy beard into something much neater, dignified.

“Maste-rrr.” He draws the ‘R’, nuzzling again under the ear and grinning when his Master shudders but doesn’t pull away, he always gives him a chance to be good. So he will be good. He does not nibble, instead he wraps his lips carefully around the bit of skin where no hair touches. Oh he wants to suck, to mark, to taste. Oh he does, so much. But he doesn’t. He will be good, because his Master believes him to be good, and proper, and nice. So he will be. 

His cheeks are fire hot when he thinks about what else he would have liked to be doing instead of the promised grooming. That is not something he should be thinking of, nor something his Master would ever permit, but…

Thinking is not illegal and he is not good at not thinking. 

So he imagines it. Imagines how his Master’s hands would feel on his hips, imagines his Master yanking him down to sit properly on his lap, Imagines his Master wanting him to lick elsewhere and—

“Ahnakin—” Obi-Wan protests, so strongly it rings in the force with his words. He feels and looks scandalized, even more so than before. He looks like he is considering all his choices and decisions. He looks like he’s about to call quits. He looks like he’d push Anakin away, he— places his hands on Anakin’s hips and pulls him down, to sit properly. 

The whine that escapes Anakin’s lips is nothing short of mortifying. It’s a needy, surprised thing, he feels like a proper youngling, confused and shy. He seeks the refuge of his Master’s neck and hides there, nuzzling while whining again, complaining, scandalized too by his Master’s audacity to follow his dreams up like this. He can’t mean it, he simply can’t! It is a mere coincidence, his Master would never follow his fantasies, he didn’t even hear it, his shields are up and proper, he’s sure of it, he’s sure of it, he’s… 

“Sorry…” Anakin murmurs out, because if he’s honest, he is not sure if his shields are worth anything with how excited he had gotten. Maybe his Master did hear, maybe his Master did feel something. Maybe he did push a little too hard. He doesn’t want to push too hard, he knows that sometimes his Master gets nervous because of his thoughts. Not angry, never angry.

He doesn’t want to make his Master nervous, he can feel the tell-tales of it in the force. Despite his Master’s secure hold on him, despite his Master’s unmoving frame. He can feel the building up hesitation. He does not want his Master to feel that way with him. 

“I’ll stop.” He promises his Master, assures him. He’ll try to, anyway. For his Master he’d try to go against his nature, even if his nature does tell him to think and do all sorts of things. Sometimes, in the quiet of the night when he can’t sleep and he thinks of his Master and every word they had ever passed, he does wonder about this. Is this truly his nature, his instincts that drive him to act as he does, or is it simply how he is with his Master? He suspects he knows the answer to that, but it’s easier for the both of them to call it instincts and be over with it, so he never disputes it. “Really.”

There’s a charged silence and then, blessedly, his Master says the two words Anakin loves more than anything else in the world, the two words for which he, not jokingly, thinks he might be willing to die for. 

“Good boy.”

The Coruscanti accent is thick and rolling, he sounds almost distracted, he sounds… 

Anakin shuts his eyes and bites his tongue, fangs digging into the soft flesh. He must not think of exactly how he imagines his Master sounding. He should not think about how his hands feel warm and human on his hips. He should not think about the lingering flavor on his tongue nor how his lungs are full of Obi-Wan, of his Master. He should not, is not allowed to. Promised not to. Instead he wraps his arms around his Master’s neck and hugs him, pulling the larger man to himself, having his head against his chest for a few long moments in which he is sure Obi-Wan hears just how fast his heart goes. He surely can feel it through the bond, it’s going crazy, ba-dum, ba-dum. 

He can feel a distant echo of his own heartbeat, almost imperceptible to his senses, and yet there. An answer. Thoomp-thoomp.

When he leans back, he moves his hands to cup his Master’s cheeks and makes him tilt his head up, to face him. “You look good now,” His fangs stretch at his lips as he grins wide enough to hurt. “Master!” he adds, cheekily.

His Master’s eyes are a bright blue, the deepest, calmest pond. He rolls them shortly, then looks directly into Anakin’s own eyes and smiles at him, sarcasm dripping with fondness as he says “Thank you. Ah-nah-kin.” With the most accented tone Anakin had ever heard. There’s so much black in his Master’s eyes, a beautiful, wondrous thing that makes him itch all over and want to see more of that soft darkness no one else gets to see. 

No one else, but him. 

[songbirdseung]

pink roses / park jongseong

you were used to the toxic side of love but now that you were dating park jongseong, you realize love isn't that bad at all genre fluff, budding relationship, slice of life

the sky was still dark, the rain was pouring down hard, and the voice in your mind was telling you just stay home. but then again, the alarm clock on your bedside table reminds you that work cannot wait and it's time to get up and get ready. whoever invented starting work at 7am? curses.

you begrudgingly toss the blankets off your body and plant your feet on the cold floor. staring into the dark of your room, zooning out until your far in deep to the point where you think the coat on your door is a scary figure. groaning as you get up from your comfy bed to get the day started, not knowing a little surprise was waiting for you in a few minutes.

after a while, as you were tidying up your uniform, the scent of waffles and bacon hit your senses. if it wasn't for the smell, you'd probably be freaking out and thinking you're losing your mind and hallucinating. but you damn well knew who was causing this, smiling as you made your way into the kitchen and proving your hypothesis. it was him.

park jongseong, your lover.

"hey beautiful, you've been up for a while?" plating the food so prettily and turning off the stove, even cleaning after himself. "yeah...you've been here for a while?" "mhm, i came in with the spare key you gave me...hope that's alright" he comes closer to you, giving you a hug and a kiss on your cheek. nodding at him, reassuring him that it was fine. "you practically live here anyway" he laughs and smiles, and God damn. that smile and laugh, it makes your heartbeat faster and your knees weak. "i guess i am here often, huh?"

"why don't you just stay home with me, pretty doll?" bringing you to the table, pulling the chair and pushing it in back in after you take your seat. "besides, the weather is pretty bad" taking his own spot next to you and tucking a strand of hair away from your face to get a better look at you. "i wish..." the thing with jay is; if he wants something, he gets it. he's a major green flag but can be a little greedy when it comes to you. you've noticed that since the very start of your relationship that started 6 months ago. the bare minimum? he goes beyond that, giving more than you think you deserve and whenever you tried to stop him and whine that he's doing too much, he'd usually shut you up with a kiss, telling you that whatever he was doing wasn't even his best.

love bombing? that ain't him either, he knows the limits and your boundaries that you set up. trust him, he knows what he's doing, thank his mother for that.

"your boss already called" "what?" he chuckles at your confused expression and points to your phone that you left in the kitchen. "he called telling you not to come into work, the weather is getting pretty dangerous to go out. maybe an online meeting later or something" smirking as he wipes away the syrup from the corner of your lips. "so, you're telling me, i got dressed in my work clothes for no reason?" sighing as you shove another forkful of waffles in your mouth causing jay to chuckle at you. "wear the top part to your meeting later and wear those comfy cat pjs you like to wear"

later in the day, jay was minding his own business sitting on your living room couch working on his own paperwork when you suddenly came and hugged him from behind. "well, hello to you, pretty baby."

he tilted his head to look at you, asking if you needed anything. you shook your head and just continued hugging him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder. jay smiled softly, taking one of your hands and kissing the back of it. "meeting over?" he asked, gently pulling you around to sit beside him on the couch.

"yeah… was hoping to spend time with you now," you said, a small pout forming as your eyes fell on the scattered documents and laptop on the table. the work seemed to mock you with how much it was keeping jay occupied. he caught your gaze and chuckled, pressing another kiss to your knuckles. "just a few more, then i'm all yours."

you nodded with a sigh, but after a few minutes of waiting, your patience began to waver. jay was still deep in concentration, his brows furrowed as he typed. unable to sit still, you leaned closer, resting your head on his shoulder and tracing invisible patterns on his arm.

"babe," jay said softly, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips, "you're making it hard to concentrate."

"good," you replied, eyes twinkling with mischief. "you've been working for hours."

"i know, i know," he said, chuckling as he glanced sideways at you. "just give me a bit more time, okay?"

but you weren't done being needy. your hand slid down to lace with his, giving it a light squeeze, and you pressed small kisses to his shoulder, each one more distracting than the last. jay tried to stay focused, but the playful huff he let out told you he was struggling.

"you’re trouble, you know that?" he teased, finally putting down his pen and turning his full attention to you. before you could react, he scooped you up and settled you on his lap, making you gasp at the sudden move. your face flushed as you looked at him, wide-eyed.

"jay!" you exclaimed, trying to regain your composure, but he just grinned, eyes crinkling with amusement. "what? you wanted my attention, didn't you?" he teased, fingers trailing up your sides, making you squirm and giggle.

"stop it, you're not playing fair!" you protested, laughter bubbling out as he leaned in, nuzzling the crook of your neck.

"i thought you liked it when i didn't play fair," he whispered, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. you felt your heart race as his hands stilled, holding you close, the laughter replaced by a soft, contented silence.

"okay, okay, you win," you admitted, resting your forehead against his. he smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

"good," he said. "because i'm finally done, and now, i'm all yours."

[lunaekalenda]

first day of school!

warnings: reader is refered as mom and gojo as dad, dad!gojo, baby daughter!

"Give dad a kiss before leaving." Your husband kneels, making his 1'90 meters accessible for your toddler, who presses a kiss on his dad's cheek with a huge smile. When Satoru asked for the kiss, his eyes were full of love and pride towards the little girl, as they keep shining when he looks back at her. He kisses her temple softly, as he has been doing since she came to your life. "I love you, sunshine. I want all the details of your first day at school when you're back!" She nods quickly before running towards you, hugging your legs. You caress her hair with softness, fingers taking the locks she already took away of the bun to fix them. "You're gonna love the school, I'm sure. Make a lot of friends, yeah?" Your daughter looks at you from her small height. Kneeling softly, you kiss her cheek and she hugs you in return. "Dad and me will come to pick you up later, alright? We'll go have dinner at your favorite place with Megumi." The girl's big blue eyes shine with happiness as she nods, before the bus monitor asks all the kids to sit inside. Almost crying and hugged by your husband, you wave your hand towards your daughter, so little yet so grown, before letting her go. Satoru sighs and starts walking with you towards home. He hands you a tissue, walking at a slow pace towards your home.

"She was so little..." you murmur. He nods softly, his hand searching yours before tangling his fingers with yours. "Feels as if it was yesterday when she would show up in diapers on our bed to get cuddles from her dad." Satoru smiles luminously, as his dad ego gets boosted with your words. Your daughter loves him beyond anything, she's such a daddy girl, and he loves her as much. It's common for you to find both of them spending time together, and even when you join almost every time, there are still those tiny moments you adore finding, such as a sleepy baby on top of your husband, as he reads a book and caresses her back to keep her calm, or how he always puts her on his shoulders so she's able to see everything from his height.

"Will she be alright?" You find yourself wandering in silence what your husband just put in high voice. Will she be alright? Will she miss home as much as you miss her? Will she cry, will she feel overwhelmed by school? Will she adapt to the teachers, to her classmates? She's your very first child, and it's normal to feel that way about it. You smile at Satoru, finding his blue eyes looking worried at the floor, before facing him.

"She'll be alright. She's the strongest, after all." Your husband lets a smile brighten his face as he takes your cheeks on his hands, getting close for a kiss.

At home, you both take the time to clean, tidy up and do the chores, before it's time to wait for your daughter again. You put her drawings in order on the fridge, making room for more, and put her favorite plushies back on her bed. Her fluffy white cat feels raspy under your hands, too used over the years. You need to put her to wash urgently. Satoru got that kitty for her on one of his long trips with the Jujutsu School, one of those days when you feared your husband wouldn't come back home, although he always does, before Megumi took his place as teacher and sorcerer, taking most of the missions, what still leaves both of you on sleepless nights.

The drawings fill also her walls, draws of your family, the dogs, drawings of her, of Megumi, of Yuji and Nobara by her side. She loves them a lot, and you're happy to see how the three young pupils of your husband merge so well on your little family, making friday nights way more fun and happy. Her shelves are full of books and gifts she got from everyone, a cow figure Nanami bought for her when she was two, a fairy house Megumi helped her to build on her third Christmas, a pair of sunglasses matching with his dad. She's so loved by everyone that you feel like your heart might explode.

And him.

The man that looks at you from the corridor door with a side smile, body resting against the wooden surface as his intense blue eyes follow your movements on her room. He takes a couple steps in, touching the girl's bed with his fingertips. "The crib was here." He murmurs, smiling lovingly. "We spent so many sleepless nights by her side, we always ended sleeping cuddled on that brown couch Geto bought for us. Always alert in case she cried. And now, she asks us to read her a tale and sleeps soundly all night on her bed." He looks at you from all his height before sitting on her bed. You take a seat by his side and he kisses your forehead lovingly.

"Believe it or not, I kinda miss that. Watch our tiny baby sleep, feel as if all tiredness disappeared as soon as she called us for the first time." Satoru puts his arms around your shoulders. His grin tells you he's gonna say something.

"Well, you know, if we both liked the experience that much, we can always repeat." you laugh against his body before tangling your hand on his. He kisses it sweetly.

"Let's experience her growing up before, should we?"

He leaves another kiss on your forehead before standing up. Satoru takes your hand and the car keys, since the restaurant it's quite far from the bus stop to go walking, especially, since your daughter will probably be tired after the very first day, before leaving.

When you arrive to the stop, where more parents are waiting for the kids, Satoru holds your hand firmly, checking both sides of the street, to see if he can spot the bus, and his blue eyes shine with emotion when he sees the vehicle. Your daughter runs towards you, your arms and your husband's open for her to hug. Her smile warms your heart as your family hug makes you sigh.

"How was school, sunshine?" Satoru asks, and your daughter smiles excited.

"It was fun! There are a lot of kids in my class!" You smile when you hear her words, before standing up. Satoru cleans a tear that falls down your cheek slowly before taking your daughter's hand on his, and you do the same on the other side, walking towards the car hand by hand. Your husband sits her and puts her belt on, before sitting on the driver's seat and, with your hand between his and the gear level, he starts driving softly towards the restaurant, as your daughter's happy memories of the day fill the car on her sweet voice.

[omiomi-kyun]

00:58 a.m. — good morning!

kozume kenma was a force to be reckon with. from the moment he bump into you while walking the streets as he plays with his switch, to the day you became part of nekoma boys' volleyball team's manager; kenma never, not even once, failed to frown at you.

“why does he hate me so much?” you asked kuroo while tidying up the towels they used during their practice. “i never nagged him whenever he's playing while walking—which is dangerous, by the way.”

kuroo chuckled before ruffling your hair. “he doesn't hate you.”

“but he doesn't like me either?” you asked while fixing your hair.

“he's just not used to other people that much. it'll take time, but don't worry too much. he'll eventually approach you like the cat that he is.”

and for some reason, the next day, kenma finally acknowledged your existence!

“good morning,” his smooth voice shook your entire being. it was the first time he spoke directly to you. “are you okay?”

“yes? no!” flustered, you shook your head rapidly. “i mean, i'm fine! thank you for asking.”

he snickered. you thought your mind was probably playing some tricks on you, but when you turned to him while slightly covering his lips, you knew that what you heard was real.

kozume kenma just snickered. at you. for a silly reason, yes. but still! you'll take it as a win!

you both walk towards your classroom while he plays with his switch. “um, good morning to you too, kenma-san.”

“just kenma,” he said in a quiet voice. “we're in the same year.”

your mind stopped functioning for a few seconds before a grin appears on your lips.

“kenma...” you repeated while your heart continues to race. but he suddenly stopped walking.

he turned to you before looking up at the sign above the doorway.

“oh...” you muttered, disappointed for the short-lived moment.

“i'll see you later,” he said with a smile.

your breathing hitched.

“see... see you later!” you responded.

you quickly entered your classroom before sprinting towards your seat.

[delirious-donna]

As Sweet As A Grape [Gen Narumi]

an: as confident as Captain Narumi might be on the battlefield, he's not the same man behind closed doors. Not at least until he's got you on your back with his mouth exactly where he wants it...

pairing: Gen Narumi x female reader

warnings: pussy eating, Narumi being pussy drunk, he's a little bit nervous, a true wet cat boy imo

Masterlist

He was nervous, that much was evident. His smile was strained, the corners wavering enough that there were times it was more of a grimace than a smile. It was unusual to say the least. This was Gen Narumi, the famed Captain of the Defense Force, and nothing hinted at insecurities if you were just to look at his social media presence. Of course, you knew better than that. You had spent long enough by his side, although in the shadows, to know that most of the time, it was a clever façade.

Your… lover? The term felt wrong, but given the yet unnamed status of your relationship, it would have to do for now. Your lover was a little nervous at times, but that only made him all the sweeter in your eyes.

Yes, it was rather thrilling to know that behind closed doors, the man famed for his unrivalled prowess on the battlefield was a softie who wanted to be snuggled and wrapped in affection. The media would have a field day with that information, making it all the more special that he was willing to share that side with you. Narumi felt no need to masquerade for you, he was comfortable in his own skin despite his current bout of nerves.

You watched as his pink tongue peeked out to swipe a path across his suddenly parched lips, chuckling in delight when his eyes dipped to your body. The hunger was more than obvious, his pupils dilated and focused on every curve and dip that you knew he wanted to touch and more. It was kinda sexy… kinda empowering to bring such a powerful man to his knees.

Narumi was the poster boy from the Defense Force, his image meant everything to him and here he was on his knees in damn near supplication because you had decided to surprise him with an after-hours visit in the hopes of finding a slice of bliss. The heart he kept behind lock and key was offered on a silver platter, and he could only hope you would be careful with it.

“Good evening, Captain. I believe it is well past your bedtime, why ever are you still awake?”

Stepping into his quarters, you draped your arms over his shoulders with a pleased purr. He’d tidied up hastily you noticed, duvet messily shoved atop his bed and a haphazard stack of manga leant against the small desk. His gaming consoles were all powered down and you hummed your approval whilst stepping into his body.

Offering a saccharine smile, you reached to your toes and deposited a small kiss to his pursed lips at the same moment his hands found your hips. His broad palms eased beneath the excess fabric of his sweatshirt hanging loosely on your frame, smoothing over your supple skin until he reached the edge of your underwear.

A strangled noise sounded from his throat, fingers flexing stiffly, and his cheeks warmed to a pretty pink when he realised exactly why you were here and the state of dress—or undress—you had traversed the corridors to reach him. Just the thought alone of his subordinates catching sight of your bare legs and bedroom eyes was enough to have him kicking the door shut with such force that the frame rattled.

“I-I wasn’t expecting visitors at…” He glanced at the clock, struggling to maintain your eye contact and thankful of the short reprieve. “… 1am. You should be in bed. I should be in bed.”

Your fingers carded through his mane of hair, pushing back the silver strands that hung across his forehead to reveal eyebrows pinched in concentration. He was so pretty like this, shy but yearning.

“I’m here because I need something… or someone, but I get the feeling that you too need something.” You toyed with the collar of his t-shirt, lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “Tell me, what do you want, Captain?”

A shuddering breath fell onto your ears before he spoke, vermillion feline-like irises crackling with electricity studied your features in reverence. You were like a wet dream come to life, a walking fantasy wrapped in his clothes and purring at him like only he had the ability to fix your every problem.

“I-I want to… to taste you,” he admitted. You rewarded his honesty with a scratch at his scalp, fingers curled around the darker roots and tugging until his hips bucked forward.

“Anything for you, Gen.”

He groaned at his softly uttered name, finally letting go of his restraint to paw greedily at your backside. Narumi filled his palms with the meat of you, squeezing and spreading you apart while he shoved the erection flush against his thigh between your parted legs. This was more like it. Manoeuvring you towards his bed, he let you tumble down first. You could only watch through low-lidded eyes as he grabbed the neck of his shirt from the nape and tugged it overhead.

You moaned into his plush mouth, letting your tongue tease at the points of his teeth and indulging in the vanilla taste that infused upon your tongue. Divested of the sweatshirt, you arched into the palms that groped at your breasts. Nipping at his lips when rough fingertips pinched and rolled your taut buds. He was everywhere, hands and mouth decorating your skin until you were scent-marked and bruised by his eagerness. Then, and only then did he crawl down your body, all panther sleek and rolling muscles along his shoulders and back.

His confidence was growing the longer he remained between your thighs, a leg draped over his shoulder and finger marks on the sensitive inner thigh to keep you open to his indulgencies. This was what you wanted, what had you scrambling out of bed in the dead of night, the ache in your belly deepened and pulled taut. Shivers rippling over your exposed body, vulnerable to him but completely safe in the knowledge that he would rather die than hurt you in any way.

Gen glanced up, his mouth dripped with a mixture of your arousal and his saliva. It pooled over his tongue, dribbling to his chin as he slurped you down messily. Your eyes rolled over at the decadence of it all. He was a messy eater, the sound of smacking lips utterly lewd in the otherwise hushed room. Every thrust of the strong muscle of his tongue into your tight little hole slurped and slicked, it dulled your senses right down to only the feel of his mouth on your hot cunt.

“—taste so good… gonna drown in you. Do not resuscitate,” he whimpered, eliciting a bubble of laughter from your chest.

Your thighs tightened, the hold he had slipping until you trapped his head between them, and he moaned into the depths of you, delighted and honoured if he were to die right here, like this. Holding him in place, you whined a pathetic mewl when he tongued your clit and let his lips wrap around the engorged nub. Gen shook his head from side to side, letting your fingers tug and pull at the mixture of black and silver hairs until he thought he might cum in shorts. The way your hips were rutting against his mouth, his nose bumping at your clitoral hood and the shameless display of your free hand tweaking your pebbled nipples was proving too much for the poor man. His self-control was slipping through his fingers much like the strands of silk pouring from your pussy.

“Gen! Oh fuck—do it again,” you begged, rolling your hips and locking eyes with carmine lust-blown irises. “Please…”

That sweet breathless please was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Unbeknownst to you, Narumi rutted his achingly hard and throbbing cock against the sheets and each time he caught against the folds in the rumpled mess, he whimpered into your cunt. His thighs pressed tight together, the pressure building in his gut close to bursting.

Again, he repeated the action of shaking his face like a damn dog between your swollen, blood engorged folds. Soft lips suckled your puffy clit, rolling it carefully between his teeth and attacking it with the pointed tip of his tongue. As you exploded beneath him, bliss flowing out you from every pore at the crescendo of pleasure hitting like a truck, the sight of your spine arching high, the gush of your nectar crashing against his awaiting mouth and the clenching muscles of your cunt spasming around nothing but his tongue was his ultimate undoing.

Gen Narumi, Division One Captain of the Defense Force moaned and writhed like a worm caught on a hook. His body jerked into wild convulsions as he spilled hot ropes of his spend against his messy sheets—completely untouched.

[writingdevil]

Stray Affection (STP Fic)

(So I've been plagued by thoughts of a STP Human AU, and now I finally get to share it with you all. These fics won't have a linear plotline- it's more like glimpses into their lives and their issues. All of the characters are young adults either in college or working, and I don't know how many of these fics I'll make in the end- but enjoy them all the same, and what better way to start, than some fluffy Skeptunist?)

Opportunist- Oscar (Ozzy), Skeptic- Shéamus

Witch- Winnie, Smitten- Sebastian

Oscar loved Shéamus very much.

He found it surprising still, that he managed to find somebody who was in love with all of Oscar's soul.

But then again, it didn't take long for Oscar to fall head over heels in love with the dreamboat known as his boyfriend.

Shéamus, for some reason, saw something within Oscar worth taking a closer look at, and treated Oscar with so much patience and care, that he couldn't of stopped his feelings for the other if he tried, and oh boy, he tried.

But it was that same soft, skeptical nature that made Oscar fall in love with Shéamus in the first place, and now they were sharing an apartment together, both studying their last years in college- and Oscar couldn't be happier.

The idea of living with someone used to scare Oscar, but with Shéamus, every day was just-fun.

They would study at the same time, asking each other for advice and questions, and helping the other with any problems they had.

Oscar was studying to be a lawyer, so they would come up with fake scenarios for Oscar to argue and win the case for, and Oscar would do a similar thing for Shéamus, who was studying to become a detective.

Dinner was always a fun time of the day. Neither of them were the best at cooking, but they always loved coming up with meals to try and make, and it was always a coin toss whether it would be edible or not, but getting to learn and experiment with his boyfriend was always a fond moment.

Oscar could bake, though. Baking sweet treats was almost always a guaranteed way to get on somebody's good side, but nowadays, he just liked to bake for his greedy friends whenever they came to visit- and to satisfy Shéamus' sweet tooth.

They were both very organised and tidy- Oscar moreso than Shéamus, but they both took care of their home. They made it a home, and every night felt perfect as Oscar fell asleep in Shéamus' arms.

-

"Ozzy!"

"Yeah, babe?" Oscar called from the kitchen, tapping his pen against the table as he read over his next school assignment.

He heard the front door open and close, and when Shéamus left two hours ago, he said that he was going out to buy some things he forgot he needed.

But when Oscar looked up at him, he hadn't thought that a cat would be one of those things.

Immediately, Oscar shot to his feet, feeling a familiar itching sensation crawling up his back, but he forced it to the back of his mind as he took in his boyfriend.

Shéamus was standing in the hallway with the biggest smile he's ever seen, dark brown hair with curls falling just over his eyes. His deep, oak coloured eyes were lit up in excitement, not unlike how he'd be after figuring out the solution to a particularly tough problem.

Water dripped off the edges of Shéamus' black trench coat and of the cardboard box he was holding, of which the cat was poking its head out of, taking in their apartment curiously.

"Sweetheart! Welcome home!" Oscar tried to keep his voice upbeat and light, but his eyes being drawn back to the dirty feline in his home. "Um- quick question- why do you have a cat?"

Shéamus quickly walked further into their home, placing the box on the table, his eyes never leaving the cat, who's fur was a deep brown, almost identical to Shéamus, and with big, shiny hazel eyes that were busy taking in its surroundings.

"I was on my way to the shops, when I heard this little guy meowing from inside an alleyway," Shéamus explained, shrugging off his coat. But instead of hanging it up, he bunched it up in his hands and offered for the cat to climb into it.

Oscar scrunched up his face in disgust as the cat tentatively patted the coat bundle with a paw, before slowly climbing into Shéamus' arms. But when Shéamus looked back up at him, Oscar was all smiles.

"I brought her to an animal shelter immediately to make sure she wasn't sick or anything, and they said that they actually recognised this little guy."

"Really?" Oscar asked, more concerned with the smell of wet cardboard that was filling up the room.

"Yeah," Shéamus said softly. "They said that they had given her away only a week ago to someone, so she must've been abandoned pretty quickly."

Oscar 'awed', even if he knew that was just the circle of life. He tried to remain calm and collected as he asked, "So you decided to bring it home here? Why not leave it at the shelter?"

Shéamus sighed, and looked down at the cat with a tenderness Oscar hadn't expected from him, for a cat no less. He shrugged and said, "I don't know, I just felt like I couldn't leave her. She sounded so heartbroken."

Alright, Oscar felt a twinge of sympathy for the cat, but not enough to like its existence. "I just didn't take you for an animal lover, is all."

Shéamus chuckled in amusement, scratching underneath the cat's chin with a finger, smiling softly at how the cat leaned into the touch, and Oscar wanted to roll his eyes at the content expression of the animal.

"I wouldn't of thought it myself as well, but when your brother has a habit of bringing in any animal he finds and nurses them back to health as a kid, you get a soft spot for them."

Oscar needed to throttle Sebastian, Shéamus' twin brother, the next time he saw him, for giving his boyfriend such a caring heart.

The more Oscar watched Shéamus pet the cat so lovingly, the more the reality sunk in for him.

"So you want to keep it?" Shéamus winced at Oscar's flat tone, looking up at him with guilt in his eyes. "Sorry, I know I'm springing this on you all of a sudden, but you like animals, don't you? You're always petting Bee's pet whenever we see him." Yes, because it would be rude not to- and fine, yes, maybe they were very adorable and Oscar was very weak to their little face, but-

"I'm not really a cat person." Oscar hated being blunt, but he also couldn't beat around the bush with his partner, not when Shéamus can read him like a book so easily.

But at the same time, even just seeing Shéamus' face fall for even a second, had him folding instantly.

He quickly forced a happy smile on his face, gesturing towards the cat as he said, "But if you want to take care of it, it's fine!" Oscar swiped his books off the table, avoiding Shéamus' concerned gaze. "I doubt the thing will get much in my way, so feel free to keep it!"

He quickly walked off before Shéamus could even think of a response, shoulders tense and his back crawling with long forgotten memories.

-

Oscar tried to avoid the cat like the plague, but that also meant avoiding Shéamus, which was the last thing he wanted to do. So he made himself tolerate its existence for the sake of his wonderful boyfriend.

When Oscar noticed tins of cat food popping up in their drawers, he just smiled and asked Shéamus what he wanted for dinner. When he spotted a cat toy or two, he kicked it away and went to nag his boyfriend into taking a break from studying. When he saw the cat lounging on their couch, Oscar would shoot it a quick glare before cuddling into Shéamus' side more.

He could ignore the animal. Oscar could easily not let this creature ruin his life. It was a dirty cat, after all.

But then the cat started to follow him.

Oscar had no clue as to why- he hasn't given the creature a sliver of attention, whereas Shéamus apparently smothered the cat in affection. It was only a little bit endearing because it proved how similar Shéamus was to his brother after all.

But back to the dilemma at hand- the cat, for some unfathomable reason, had started trailing after Oscar wherever he went in the apartment.

In the kitchen, in the bedroom, even the bathroom- that little feline would be behind him, just staring at him, and Oscar knew better than to try and shoo it away himself, so he did the next best thing.

"You're setting that thing on me," Oscar casually accused one day as they were studying, pointing a pen at the cat purring in Shéamus' lap.

Shéamus chuckled, giving Oscar an amused look. "Setting her on you? What do you mean?"

"You're telling it to follow me, for whatever reason." Shéamus kept wincing whenever Oscar referred to the cat as 'it', but there was no way Oscar was going to get friendly with that creature- he couldn't afford to get attached.

"Why would I do that, when you told me you don't like cats?" Shéamus calmly asked, and Oscar shrugged, tossing his light orange hair, that was in a low ponytail, over his shoulder.

"I don't know, but it's starting to become my shadow, and I don't appreciate it very much, dear."

Shéamus' smile was nothing short of kind and caring that it made Oscar want to scream. "Maybe she's curious about you," Shéamus suggested with a shrug, but Oscar rolled his eyes at the thought.

"Doubt it, love. I'm not interested in the thing at all. Besides, you give it enough attention for the both of us." Oscar couldn't stop the bitterness from leaving his voice, and he quickly looked down at his notes to avoid Shéamus' worried gaze.

There was an awkward silence between them, before Oscar gently felt a foot nudge against his own from under the table.

"Hey," Shéamus' voice came out soft and delicate, and Oscar bit his lip, but still looked up.

Shéamus reached a hand across the table, and Oscar couldn't fight the urge to meet in the middle, interlinking their hands, feeling Shéamus rub circles into the back of his palm.

"You know I'm not replacing you, right Ozzy?" Oscar flinched, but stayed silent, feeling his cheeks heat up, and he kept his gaze on their intertwined hands.

"I'm not jealous of a cat, babe," Oscar insisted, and he felt Shéamus grip his hand tighter.

"I know, but it's clear you don't like her. If she's truly bothering you, we can find her another home."

Yes, was what Oscar was dying to say. Then he could go back to feeling safe in his house and not have to feel like his boyfriend was slipping away from him.

But then he would remember how softly Shéamus spoke to the cat, or how Shéamus' usually tired face would brighten up at a single purr from it, or how Shéamus just seemed lighter with the cat around.

Oscar may despise the cat, but he would never deny Shéamus happiness.

So he sent Shéamus a sweet smile, one that his partner immediately narrowed his eyes at in suspicion. "It's fine, handsome." Oscar tried to draw his hand back, but Shéamus held on tight. "Really, I'm fine! Keep the cat- it'll get bored of me eventually, and I'll forget it even exists in no time."

Shéamus didn't look satisfied with that response, but there was only so much Oscar was comfortable with lying around him. He couldn't hide his disdain for the cat, but he also couldn't be honest and say that the cat made him feel on edge everyday.

Shéamus stared at him for a few seconds, before softly asking, "Why don't you like cats? I wouldn't of taken you as the type to hate them- they actually seem like right up your alley for pets."

Shéamus had no idea how close he was to the truth, and Oscar looked down at the cat in his lap, the feline blinking and staring at him innocently. But Oscar knew what that thing was capable of- he remembered.

So he just shrugged and said, "Can't stand the hairballs."

-

Another place that the cat had soon invaded, was the bedroom.

Shéamus had bought the thing a perfectly nice bed to sleep in, but Oscar would wake up every morning to find the pest sleeping on his spot- Shéamus' chest.

Oscar glared at the two of them one morning, sitting up in a bed that was quickly being overrun with cat hair.

He straightened out his pyjama top, which was just one of Shéamus' t-shirts that he had stolen.

Oscar's irritation was only growing worse with the way his hair kept itching his face. He's told Shéamus to stop taking the hair tie out in the middle of the night. He knows his hair is gorgeous, but still.

He messily wrapped his wavy hair up into a bun for the time being, figuring he'd do a bit of reading while he waited for Shéamus to wake up. Once he was done with his hair, he put his reading glasses on- a fact that he would rather die than let the rest of the world know- and picked up his book, Shéamus' snores filling the silence.

Half an hour later, he heard some light grumbling to the right of him, and then he felt a finger twirling a loose strand of his hair.

"Morning, gorgeous," Shéamus mumbled, voice still heavy with sleep, and Oscar's stomach flipped and his face burst into flames at the sound.

Oscar smiled softly in the hopes of hiding his embarrassment, turning his head to press a kiss to Shéamus' finger, mumbling against the skin, "Morning, handsome."

Shéamus chuckled, and the noise made Oscar gulp with a need to kiss his partner silly- but there was a creature in the way.

Shéamus trailed his hand down, fingers grazing Oscar's cheek, then his neck, and then down to his collarbone, before Shéamus dropped the arm, and seemingly fell back asleep.

Oscar stared at him, his head swimming with passion and want- until a different pair of eyes were staring at him.

Instantly, all the heat in his stomach vanished, as the cat sat up and looked at him quizzically. Then it took a step towards him.

"No," he whispered, snapping his book shut and glaring at the animal. "No."

The cat took another step forward, its paw sinking beneath the mattress.

Oscar scooted away, trying to swat it away with his arm without waking up Shéamus, but the cat was persistent. He kept inching away, until he reached the edge of the bed and was forced to stop, and then his entire body froze up in fear and tension as the cat silently walked up to him, and then snuggled into his side.

That's all it did. It just laid down next to him, and cuddled.

Oscar could feel the warmth of the animal seeping into his own body, its fur soft against his skin, and the cat closed its eyes in relaxation, as if it liked being around Oscar.

Oscar couldn't relax, though. It may have been sweet to Shéamus, but that didn't mean it couldn't turn on Oscar, merely playing along until it had taken Shéamus' heart from Oscar, leaving him in the dust.

But then he felt a soft vibration against his side, and he looked down, shocked, as the cat started to purr.

Oscar was in disbelief. Did the cat really feel safe enough around him to do that? When he's done nothing but avoid and glare at it? Did the cat actually enjoy his company?

Maybe this cat was different. Maybe it actually was a sweetheart, and Oscar was being unfair to it. Maybe he wasn't as detestable as he thought.

But then flashes of screaming and yelling crashed into his mind, of sharp pain and venomous words hurled around. He remembered how it felt. He remembered the laughter at his pain, how he deserved this.

Oscar quickly shot out of bed and abandoned the confused cat.

-

Later that day, Oscar found that he couldn't do anything to take his mind off the past, and nothing he did silenced the phantom pains on his back.

He sat on the floor of the sitting room, staring down at his lap as he waited for Shéamus to finish studying, to give Oscar something to distract his miserable thoughts with.

As if on cue, he heard the now familiar sound of paws walking up to him.

Oscar sighed, too tired to be hateful anymore, and he looked up as the cat walked up to him, not a single fear in its eyes at him.

"Go away," he said softly, resignation heavy on his tongue. "Go away from me, before we both hurt each other."

But the cat didn't listen. Instead, it walked almost confidently up to him, and sat right in front of him, as if waiting for pets and attention.

Oscar stared at it. It stared at him. Then, Oscar sighed, lowering his head, and looking down at his lap.

"I know what you're like," he whispered. "You're like me. You'll attack me the moment I let my guard down. You'll sniff out all rottenness within me and hiss and yell and-" Oscar cut himself off, squeezing his eyes shut to try and block out the painful memories.

"Meow." The sound of the cat made him flinch, how sweet and innocent it sounded, as if it could do no wrong. But Oscar knew better than anyone about deception.

"I know what you'll do, but as long as you're good to my Shéamus, I don't care. Hate me all you want, but let's just agree that Shéamus' happiness comes first." Oscar finally looked up at the cat, searching for anything cruel in its eyes, just like he's seen in the past- but he saw none of that.

The cat lifted a paw, and Oscar tensed up, and his body didn't relax as the cat put a paw on his lap, tilting its head curiously. The cat lifted another paw, and then pushed itself onto Oscar's lap, its two front paws on his chest.

Oscar's face scrunched up in distrust, but the cat just continued to meow in his face, clearly demanding pets. Shéamus had definitely been spoiling it.

Oscar's fingers twitched, and there was only so much loud meowing he could take. Besides, maybe if something bad did happen, then Shéamus would instantly take his side and throw away the annoying feline.

"If I pet you once, will you finally leave me alone?" Oscar gritted out, and the damned cat instantly shut up then, making Oscar sigh in defeat.

He eyed the cat warily as he lifted a hand, waiting for the trick or the sudden burst of violence from the animal- but none came, and Oscar cautiously placed his hand atop the cat's head.

At first, he just held it there, but then the cat started to squirm impatiently, and Oscar instinctively started to rub its head.

It felt- nice.

It was as if petting the cat was making Oscar feel better. The fur was soft and fluffy to the touch, and the way the cat tilted its head to direct Oscar's hand was pretty cute as well.

Before he knew it, a small smile had formed on Oscar's face, and he even let a giggle out as the cat leaned closer, and then he was petting the cat with both hands, one hand scratching its head while the other rubbed up and down its back.

His smile grew wider as he watched the pleased look in the cat's eyes, as if this was all it wanted from him- his love and attention.

"I knew you'd come around to her."

Oscar looked up, finding Shéamus leaning against the wall, watching the scene fondly with a smile. Oscar ducked his head in embarrassment, and Shéamus chuckled, before coming to sit down next to Oscar on the floor.

"I take it she charmed her way into your heart?" Shéamus said in amusement, and Oscar chuckled, still staring down at the cat who hadn't hated his guts from the first meeting.

"You could say she changed my mind on felines in general," Oscar said, scratching a particular spot behind the cat's ear, making it let a pleased noise out that Oscar giggled at.

But then they fell into silence, and Oscar could feel the question in the air between them, and he decided that he didn't need to keep this in anymore- and more surprisingly, that he wanted to tell Shéamus.

"Winnie had a cat," Oscar revealed, feeling the way Shéamus tensed at his side at the mention of Oscar's ex. Their relationship had been as disastrous as a forest fire, and they both left that relationship with burns.

"The thing hated me from day one," Oscar quietly said, never taking his eyes off the cat on his lap. "It never relaxed around me, it either ran away from me or hissed anytime I was near." His face fell as memories resurfaced in his mind. "It was like it knew how awful I was, whenever I would lie or trick Winnie. It knew and it would let me know that."

Oscar sighed. "It was right to hate me, but it's not like I did anything to it personally. Sometimes Winnie and I would just be genuinely hanging out, and it would hiss at me."

He could feel frustration boiling up within him, but it was only because of the feeling of the cat purring in his hold that he managed to keep it together, and he also felt Shéamus press up against his side in silent support.

"Winnie and I would fight all the time, and it was like the cat just followed her lead. It would- it would pounce on me."

Oscar took a shuddering breath in, made himself rub the cat for comfort, then continued. "It would bite and scratch at me whenever it felt like it- it was a monster." Oscar threw Shéamus a bitter chuckle. "Winnie even named it Beast- which was more than a fitting name. There were times where I wouldn't even be doing anything, but it attacked me all the same, and Winnie would just laugh at me."

Oscar scowled as if Winnie was in the room with them now. "I know our relationship wasn't perfect. I know we both hurt each other- said things, did things, behind the other's back- and don't get me wrong, I'm glad that I'm getting better, that you saw something better in me."

It was directed at Shéamus, but as he looked down at the cat in his lap, he realised that he meant the feline as well.

"But that fucking Beast," Oscar sighed. "It just would not stop attacking me." He turned slightly to face away from Shéamus. "That's how I got the scars on my back, by the way- from that damned cat shredding it up."

He felt a hesitant, soft hand touch his lower back, fingers slipping beneath his shirt to gently trace the faded scars along his back, and Oscar could still remember the way it stung in the moment, not just Beast's claws, but everything from that period of his life just hurt- and he's truly glad to have moved on.

"That's why you hated her," Shéamus quietly muttered, before saying, louder, "You thought she was gonna think you were awful and attack you." Oscar just nodded.

They sat in silence for the next few minutes, letting Shéamus digest everything, and then eventually, Oscar felt an arm wrap around his waist. "Thank you for telling me this, and I'm sorry if I've brought up any sore memories for you," was what Shéamus ended up saying, and Oscar shrugged. "Don't feel too bad, handsome. A lot of the time, I deserved it."

"Nobody deserves that," Shéamus firmly said, with no room for arguments. "Nobody deserves to be attacked like that, and I'm all the more glad that you ended that relationship."

Oscar just hummed in response, but then the feeling of Shéamus pressing a kiss to his cheek, stubble scratching his skin, was enough to pull a small smile from Oscar, and he giggled and twisted his head to face Shéamus.

Shéamus looked relieved to see him smiling, and he brought a hand down to pet the cat as well, and then said, "You know, the main reason I decided to bring this cat home was because she reminded me of you."

Oscar froze. "What?"

"Yeah," Shéamus continued, "when I found her, she hissed at me for over half an hour, before realising that I wasn't gonna hurt her. Reminded me of how you were- hurt and abandoned, but not willing to let anyone in easily."

Oscar could feel his face burning, at how sweet and adorable and unfair his partner was. What did Oscar do to deserve Shéamus, who looked at him like he was actually worth something good, who was worth all the time and patience in the world? Oscar didn't know how he had gotten so lucky, but he sure as hell wasn't going to fuck this relationship up.

"Well then, if she's just like me, then she must have an amazing name just like mine." Oscar sent a playful look to Shéamus. "So what is it?"

Shéamus was momentarily surprised, before chuckling awkwardly. "Well, I haven't named her yet. I was waiting for you to warm up to her, so that we could pick a name together."

"Really?" Oscar looked back at the cat, picking her up to hold at eye level. "Well, if she's ours, then she needs to have a worthy name. Something regal, and that demands respect. Something starting with Lady. Lady Divine? Lady Harmony? Lady-"

"Coffee!"

Oscar's brain fully stopped working in that moment, and all he could do was give his boyfriend an incredulous look. "What?"

"Coffee!" Shéamus exclaimed in joy, scratching underneath her chin. "Her fur reminds me of coffee, and I love that as well, so let's name her that- Lady Coffee."

Oscar stared at his boyfriend, stunned. But he couldn't help but notice the twinkle in his eyes as he lovingly gazed down at the cat, how Shéamus was normally so serious and put together, but he was letting himself relax and be silly with their cat.

Oscar's heart couldn't help but melt at the sight of it.

"Lady Coffee it is, then," Oscar murmured, and then they locked eyes, and the next thing Oscar knew, his eyes were fluttering shut as he leaned forward, until he felt Shéamus' lips against his.

Oscar sighed into the kiss, feeling every thought in his head turn to pure love for his partner. Their kiss was soft, and it made Oscar feel safe, surrounded by all the things that genuinely made him happy, that made Oscar feel like him.

Shéamus pressed closer to Oscar, but before the kiss could truly deepen and be driven completely with desire, they were interrupted by a loud, "Meow!"

They both separated with fright, and Lady Coffee glared up at them for daring not to be given attention. Oscar giggled and cuddled her against his chest. "Looks like you're gonna have to share us, baby."

"That's fine." The pure affection in Shéamus' voice made Oscar look at him, and he felt his heart explode with warmth and need for the other at the enamoured look Shéamus was giving him. "I think I have enough love for the both of you."

[ingreibusa]

Okay, so I've been gone for a long time and here's what had brewed in my exhausted brain:

We all know and love tall and gothic dom girlies, but how about dom short girls with a cute pink aesthetic?

Imagine a short girl with light pink jacket with a matching color tight skirt. The hem of her skirt and the sleeves of her jacket has these fluffy white fuzz. A white shirt that reveals a little bit of her cleavage. Long cat thigh highs with pink platform heels. She also has cleanly done make up, glossy pink lips and a sharp but short eyeliner

Now now you might say that I'm just describing a generic barbie girl wirh a poodle but get this: Instead of a poodle, she has a cute boy to drag around by his hand (or leash~)

This little cutie is always tidy and proper for his short owner. His nails are always manicured and spotless, hair always smooth and brushed, skin always soft and smells like vanilla, clothes carefully chosen by his sweet owner to fit him. He's just like a poodle, he's there to sit still and look pretty for his girlfriend! ˗ˏˋ꒰♡꒱ˎˊ˗

And whenever his girlfriend is feeling down, she can just snap her fingers or call out to him by his nickname and he'll immediately kneel in front of her, eagerly waiting for her order. Whatever her order is, he'll do it without hesitation, he just wants to be a good boy for her 🥺

He loves it when she collars him with a silk leash tied to it. When she gently tugs it while whispering praises into his ear, telling how much of a good boy he is and that he deserves a special treat because of it; Poor thing immediately melts into her hands.

In bed, he's miraculously even more obedient. Whining and pouting just like a puppy while looking into his gilrfriends' eyes. And almost everytime, he averts hiz gaze from shyness only for his sweet girlfriend to tilt his chin to face her

"Puppy, why do you keep looking away from me? Aren't I pretty?" she says as she gently tugs on his leash, pouting her pink lips with a playful gesture

"N-no miss, I'm sorry I-I didn't I... Miss pleaseee~" he'll cry out as little tears start welling in his eyes, overwhelmed by his girlfriend's teasing and toying. But can she blamed? He looks oh so cute when he's needy and desperate like this

But our little Barbie dom girl is also a softie, after a while she won't be able to resist her pup's pleas and reward him for being such a good boy. If she's feeling like in a punishing or teasing mode, she'll gag him up with her fingers by them down his pretty mouth so she won't hear his whines and pleas

His favorite way of being rewarded is of course getting to touch and taste his miss! If he behaves so well (in which, almost everytime); she'll reward him by sitting on her plush bed, letting her skirt roll up as she opens her legs and pulling him close to her heat by his collar. And he'll almost immediately set his cute tounge to work to please his girlfriend, holding her thighs apart as he swirls his tounge on her cunt, kneading the flesh of her thighs as he slowly grinds on her leg.

His girlfriend's moans of pleasure would only rile him up more, whimpering against her folds as his tounge works even faster with his hip movements growing more fervent. "Miss... A-ahh~ please miss mmhm!♡♡ Come on my tounge miss pl-pleaseee... *sob* I wanna taste you hahh~"

*sighhh* A girl can dream ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

[sadhours]

blue sunday

chapter two

billy hargrove x fem!oc (daisy way)

masterlist

cw: 18+, minors dni, smut, nipple play, p in v, unprotected, talk about babies

summary: the day after the first night Daisy spends in her new home with her new husband.

She hit the jackpot. He’s got a job, he’s got a sick ass car and he owns a house. Trailer. Whatever. It’s better than the fucking Starlite Motel. He’s the hottest man she’s seen in this shit town— Hell, he’s the hottest man she’s seen, ever. So maybe she manipulated the situation to get what she wanted. She doesn’t care. Daisy feels the same magnetic pull Billy does, she feels justified in using her body to get here.

Billy’s trailer is tidy. Not like a clean freak tidy, but like he doesn’t spend all that much time here. He barely has belongings. There’s furniture. A used and abused couch, definitely owned by cat people before Billy got his hands on it. Daisy thinks he might’ve found it on the side of the road. A coffee table from the 60’s, with rings and stains on it. It’s covered in papers and receipts and empty cigarette packs. Two big glass ashtrays and several empty beer cans. His room is interesting. A mattress on the floor, sheets that used to be white but have been tinged yellow by sweat and a big, scratchy brown blanket. The closet has plenty of room for Daisy’s clothes and Billy helped put them in there.

Helped is a stretch, considering that Daisy just sat on the bed and admired him as he did all the work. Because holy fuck, is he gorgeous. Dirty blonde mullet that’s outgrown but he has curls and he obviously takes pride in them but hasn’t bothered to get a haircut in a while. Daisy likes it, though. He was wearing a white muscle tee and denim jeans that he cut into very short shorts. She stared at his thighs until she couldn’t help herself. Crawled over to him and sucked his cock as he leant against the doorframe of the closet.

Billy is the prettiest man Daisy’s ever been with. And she’s been with a lot of men. She did have to have an awkward conversation about how she made money. But it wasn’t as bad as he thought. Daisy’s a stripper. Or was, until she was fired for fighting a particularly drunk patron who grabbed her ankle while she was on stage. Daisy’s got a mean left hook and broke the fuckers nose. He deserved it. But now she has no income.

Her new husband told her not to worry, he’ll take care of her. Daisy’s pretty certain he was relieved she wasn’t a prostitute and he did ask for a lap dance. Which she owes him.

The first night sleeping next to him was so exciting that they barely got any sleep before Billy had to wake up at five to get ready for work. Then Daisy slept the day away.

“Baby,” she hears, warm and deep against her ear as she feels a large hand on her hip.

As she blinks awake, she’s met with a dirty Billy. His shirt is covered in dirt, his curls not as defined and he reeks of sweat. An incredibly arousing smell that has her gripping his shirt and pulling him into a kiss.

“Fuck, you smell good,” she mumbles into it.

Billy laughs, it feels good and lovely against her mouth and she’s spreading her legs under the covers, “I fucking reek. I need a shower.”

“You need to fuck me,” Daisy challenges, kicking the blankets off her legs.

“Do I?” he asks, raising an eyebrow and he has that stupid and gorgeous smirk on his face.

“We both need it,” she insists, pulling him on top of her.

They don’t even undress, just enough shuffling to get Billy’s cock out and Daisy’s pussy exposed. He still has his work boots on, dirtying up the sheets as he slips his cock into her. They’re like animals in heat. It’s a bit ridiculous. But he ruts into her like he’s earned it and Daisy’s wrapping her legs around his waist and begging for it.

“Fuck,” Billy curses, face so close to Daisy’s she can feel his scruff against her cheek.

“Yeah, fuck me, fuck me, daddy,” she whines, pulling on his dirty hair, “Feels so good…”

“You always want it,” he mumbles, “You’re like a fucking dream…”

Daisy nods, “Need it… need you all the time, give it to me.”

Billy holds her thighs up, pounding into her relentlessly, “You take it so good… such a good girl for me.”

She feels feral for him, in a way she’s never felt for another person. Maybe their relationship is completely built on sex, hell it’s so new but she doesn’t care. All she knows is she wants Billy. And she’ll do anything to keep him. The chemistry is heavy though. He’s easy to be around, she knows if she wasn’t asleep the whole time she would’ve missed him like crazy and they just met. And he’s her fucking husband. That realization has her tightening around him and crazy enough, she’s close to cumming. At the simple thought that this sexy man is her husband.

“I’m gonna cum,” she confesses, “I’m gonna fucking cum, don’t stop!”

Billy pistons his hips, driving his cock deeper into her. Over and over until she’s screaming and melting on his cock. It’s delicious. But Daisy’s insatiable with Billy. Doesn’t want this to end. Billy does good, doesn’t explode the second she does so she gets to hold onto it for longer. Clutching onto him desperately as she revels in the feeling of pure ecstasy he gives her. Reaches up and tweaks her own nipple to draw the orgasm out longer. Her legs are shaking the longer it goes on until Billy huffs, flips them over so she’s straddling him and he grabs her hips.

“What? D’ya get tired?” Daisy teases as she grinds down on him, eyes threatening to roll back as the tip of his cock brushes over her sensitive spot.

Billy rolls his own eyes, a smirk playing at his pretty pink lips as he replies, “I was just building a fucking house for eight hours and you slept all day. Think it’s only fair if you do some of the work. Get your workout in. Make me cum.”

Well, she can’t exactly argue with that. Daisy bounces up and down, her legs burn from earlier though. The way he had them pinned up wasn’t the most comfortable position but he’s given her a challenge. And Daisy doesn’t shy away from those.

She works for it, mouth hanging open in concentration as she rides Billy. His mouth mirrors hers, open for a different reason though. She places her hands on his chest, using the leverage to bounce a little higher and a lot harder. But while her hands are there, her pinky swipes against Billy’s perked nipple and he gasps, his hips jerking up from the sensation and Daisy’s eyes widen, her plush lips quirking up into a shiteating grin.

“Oh,” is all she says before pushing his dirty shirt up over his pecks. Daisy lightly grazes her thumbs over his nipples and a beautiful moan tumbles from Billy’s lips. She keeps on, moving her thumbs in circles and occasionally pinching his nipples as she rides him all slow and deliberate.

“Faster,” he grunts, “so close.”

“Wanna feel you fill me up,” she tells him, voice all breathy as she picks up the pace and keeps toying with his hard nipples. With each drag of his pulsing cock against her walls, Daisy feels herself ramping up towards a second orgasm. Which is insane to her. It’s rare to cum once, it’s unheard of to cum twice and this fucker makes it happen almost every single time.

And it’s like he knows or something, because he moves his hand from her hip down to her cunt and presses his thumb on her aching clit. It sends shockwaves all over Daisy’s body and he laughs as she bends forward a little bit. She lets him have it, though. Works her hips faster and harder even though her thighs are screaming at her to slow down. Billy’s thumb moves in quick circles and Daisy’s a goner. Her hands grab onto Billy’s pecks, nails scratching at her warm, tanned skin as she writhes against him. A string of moans falling from her lips as she’s washed in a second wave of ecstasy. Then Billy’s grabbing her hips again, holding her steady as he thrusts up into her, hard and fast. And he finishes, filling Daisy up as they both go limp, clutching onto each other and panting heavily.

“I think I like you,” Billy mumbles against her temple after a beat, his thick fingers squeezing her bum.

Daisy giggles and rubs her face against his, “Good. ‘Cause you’re stuck with me.”

“I like being stuck to you,” he replies easily, thrusts his hips up weakly for emphasis but Daisy can feel him softening quickly inside of her and she has to push away the insecurity that brings. They literally just had sex, she knows she’s being dramatic. Billy spanks her butt softly and says, “How’s about you go start us a shower. I’m gonna throw these sheets in the wash.”

“Whatever you want, daddy,” she kisses his cheek before lifting herself off of him. She feels his cum leaking down her thighs as she walks to the bathroom, leaning into the shower to turn the faucet on. Waits a bit with her fingers under the stream to feel the temperature before she sits on the toilet, using toilet paper to wipe up the mess on her thighs as she waits for the rest of it to drip out.

By the time Billy makes his way into the bathroom, Daisy’s under the spray of the shower. He strips and enters behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her against him. Lips against her ear he asks, “So what do you think? It ain’t so bad here, yeah?”

“So far,” she teases, turning to catch his lips in a kiss. One that turns heated quickly and Billy pulls away laughing.

“My dicks gonna fall off at the rate we keep going,” he tells her.

“Ooh, wouldn’t want that. It’s one of your best assets,” Daisy replies and turns back towards the spray of water, wetting her hair and then switching spots with Billy so he can wet his. She reaches for the shampoo, squirting a bit in her palm before setting it back down and lathering her hair up.

“Speaking of that… you on the pill?” Billy asks, eyes closed under the water.

Yeah… about that.

“No,” she says softly.

“Well, shit,” he huffs as they swap places.

As Daisy rinses out her hair, she offers, “The trailer is three bedrooms…”

“Should we really jump into having kids, though?”

“You don’t want kids?” Daisy asks, watching as Billy thoroughly shampoos his hair. They swap again.

“Hadn’t ever really thought about it,” he says, eyes closed again as he rinses. Daisy’s eyes wander down his chest and stomach. She thinks he’d look really cute with his belly button pierced. “I mean, I’m open to it, but that’s moving pretty damn fast.”

“We’re married.”

Billy opens one eye to look at Daisy. He smiles though. Finishes washing his hair out and again they swap.

“I think I should buy some condoms,” he says as he coats his curly ends with a conditioner and then reaches for the body wash.

“I hate condoms,” Daisy whines, “they smell so bad and they’re just icky.”

Billy cackles at that, starts lathering Daisy up in body wash when he says, “You sound like a man.”

“Oh and you love them?” Daisy raises an eyebrow.

“God, no,” Billy makes a face of disgust but steadies it quick, “We just… probably should be safe. For now, at least. I mean, fuck, Daisy, we don’t even know each other.”

Daisy swaps places with him, runs her hands up and down his chiseled body and says in a seductive tone, “I know I can’t ever give up this gorgeous body.”

“We should make sure this’ll stick before we go making babies,” Billy tells her.

“And how do you suppose we do that?”

“Get to know each other. We’re starting tonight. I’m taking you out,” Billy smiles all big and pretty at her.