#they certainly don’t share more than one brain cell

[lvndrlondonfog]

OKAYOKAYOKAY I’m working on an ineffable 60s wives short comic and want some feedback for designs, what do yall think? These are some concept sketches so not best quality BUT I like the ideas???

Aka Aziraphale gets their fashion from housewives and Crowley from nothing less than directly from Vogue

@crowleysexpressoshot for the idea!!!!!

[dreadsuitsamus]

hi! i’m not sure if you’ve done this before but.. could i please request a vegeta x human!reader who’s heavily tattooed (legs, arms)? i have no real idea for a plot line for it but gather it’s not something he’s seen a whole lot of since coming to earth - if at all! happy for either SFW or NSFW, completely up to you if you don’t mind the idea? have a lovely day!

For Fun | Vegeta x Reader |

author's note: this idea has absolutely made my day. it just begs for a sweet little vegeta learning moment, since normally it's him explaining saiyan culture. i have chosen the sfw path here! it's also funny bc i've been contemplating tattoos lol and a vegeta tattoo has been on the brain for some time now. thank you for your request!!!! 🩷🩷🩷

pairing: vegeta x fem!reader

warnings: sfw, reader has tattoos, some nudity but no smut or anything remotely nsfw, post-namek but pre-androids and cell

You can feel Vegeta's eyes on you as you work on his suit, Bulma's lab being the only place you feel comfortable sharing space with him in— the racket of the tools at the very least would alert somebody of something nefarious happening. Your dear sister just had to have a soft heart (or rather, quite the boner) for the Saiyan, and now it's you that suffers the consequences while you patch up the blue suit with a precise needle and thread.

"I'm not going to ruin it." You snark at him, not exactly happy to be in his presence. He's a murderer! "I've fixed it for you before without an issue." Bulma's doing her best to copy whatever material this suit is made of, but she's having trouble competing with alien technology— though she'll certainly have it figured out soon. She's a petty thing on the regular, but test her intelligence with a challenge like this and she's more stubborn than acne on an asscheek.

"Mm." He never talks much, at least. But as you stretch your arm out to pull the thread taught, Vegeta moves to take your wrist in his hand. While strong and easily capable of smashing your poor bones to smithereens, his touch is on the softer side.

"What in the world are you doing?" Are aliens unaware of personal space??

Ignoring you initially, Vegeta's gloved fingers curiously glide along your forearm, eyes focused on the artwork adorning your skin. "Your tattoos make little sense. What sort of culture is this?"

"Culture?" You repeat the word dumbly, fighting the urge that lingers just under your skin, heart rate picking up as you will yourself not to shiver at his touch.

"These flowers and symbols, what do they represent? I've been on Earth long enough to know the culture here is nothing like these— furthermore, the lab rat has none at all."

The laugh that bubbles from your chest is easy. Perhaps Earth is the only planet, or one of few, with inhabitants that indulge in tattoos for pleasure rather than cultural representation. "They aren't part of any culture, Vegeta."

"Then what are they?" His brow furrows rather adorably, his lips pulling into a pout as you laugh at his ignorance.

"For fun."

"You marked yourself permanently for fun?"

"Sure did. I got tons of 'em. Some of 'em mean somethin', but for the most part they just bring me joy."

Vegeta releases you finally, shaking his head in a way that reminds you of your father when you first started inking up. "Silly Earth woman…"

"Oh come on. Tell me they aren't pretty." You smirk softly, eyes glittering with the twinkles of mischief. This is a new light on Vegeta, one that perhaps drew Bulma's generosity his way in the first place.

"Tch." A blush rises to his cheeks and he looks away, staring a hole into the wall. "They're not ugly."

A not-so-pretty snort escapes you as you resume patching the suit up, tying and clipping off the end of the thread after the hole is closed up. "I got my first tattoo when I was seventeen. I was young and dumb and in love with a guy I thought I would be with forever." You murmur softly, pulling up the leg of your sweatpants to show off the heart by your ankle. It's old and faded by now, but your lips still pull into a smile at it.

Vegeta takes the moment to examine it, brushing a curious knuckle over the tattoo. His curiosity is sweet, and this must've been on his mind for ages now— it's not like him to get handsy or remotely talkative at all. "Saiyans never took part in these."

It makes all the sense in the world; from what you've pieced together by Vegeta's quiet, rarely spoken about tales of home and with the love for fighting that gushes from both his and Goku's hearts, Saiyans aren't exactly sentimental. "Well… You're on Earth now. You could get a tattoo just for the hell of it."

"I have no need." Vegeta looks away again, and you shrug to yourself.

"They're not for everyone, I guess." You hold the repaired suit out, feeling a tad bummed out that the sight of him in a tank top and sweatpants will be gone soon, but a lilt of surprise thrums in your heart when he sets it on the table and looks at you instead.

"Do you… have more of them?"

You laugh and tug at your t-shirt, pulling it off in the face of the blushing prince and revealing several more tattoos, most of which he's never seen before. "You got time?"

"You could certainly warn a man before you start stripping." He grumbles out, forever the prude even in the face of a gorgeous woman and her body.

"So sorry." Your tease bounces off of him as his curious fingers run along the lines on your tummy, sides and just below your breast. You're bare to him almost entirely, as you've never worn a bra at home and certainly didn't intend to start just because a man moved in, though his eyes and touch are calmly curious and genuinely interested in the artwork you're laced with, rather than the perky breasts and soft skin that would have most men acting a fool by now.

It almost has you feeling ugly, though that near-permanent tint of red that dusts his cheekbones reminds you otherwise.

"Don't forget the one on my back." Your murmur is gentle, only there to invite him further into the journey without jostling his concentration too much. And he takes your advice, stepping behind you while tracing the intricate linework of the massive tattoo, pausing at the sight of the gorgeous mural on your back. You've spent quite a bit of money on this, suffered the pain of the needle piercing and permanently scarring your skin to the patterns that'll forever mark you, and the admiration Vegeta has for your commitment alone is monumental.

Even gloved, his touch warms your skin in the lab's cool conditions and that little spot on your back, the one that had you shaking and embarrassed as your tattoo artist that, bless his resilience, dealt with with more care than a fucking surgeon to properly tattoo, flutters against the accidental tickle. You shift, muffling a laugh into your palm and there's a pause before Vegeta drags his fingertips over the spot again, and then once more.

"Your laugh isn't ugly either." He mutters and steps away, the warmth of his proximity erased and goosebumps covering your body now.

Standing ten toes down and looking over your shoulder, your lips twist in gentle glee upon catching his dark eyes with your own. It's taken some time, but you've finally found what Bulma saw in Vegeta that allowed him into your shared home.

He's flustered by such intimacy and he quickly snatches his Saiyan suit up before rushing towards the door. "Put a shirt on, you vile woman, or you'll catch a cold." Vegeta grumbles out, hightailing it towards the comfort of his gravity room and far away from whatever the hell just happened.

"Must be the first time he touched a woman." You snicker, tugging your shirt on and cleaning up the mess, lest your sister properly bitch you out for it later on.

The ghost of his touch remains, and even under the duress of several times Earth's gravity, Vegeta's palms fondly remember the feeling of your skin.

[nightmarerodent]

what do you think the Kombat Kids think of each other? Do they hate their partners? Get irritated by them? Go wild!!!

(Frost can be included if you wish to write for her!)

Takeda and Frost fight like two cats trapped inside a box that’s then shaken violently. The rivalry is encoded in their blood. However, only they are allowed to talk smack about the other. Anyone else is being disrespectful to their brother/sister and they will defend the other’s honor on their behalf. But it’s not like they care about each other or anything. Certainly not.

Cassie and Frost are the disaster couple whose stupidity is so great it has its own gravitational pull. The sheer amount of hair pulling Takeda had to go through to get Frost to realize she had a crush was insane. He is never helping that emotionally repressed lesbian with any relationship issues ever again. (Or until next week probably.)

Jin thought very little of Cassie at first. Just another dumb American that was way too sure of herself but had no idea what she was doing. Now he crashes at her place all the time and they binge Bridgerton together. Times change. They are the gay/lesbian alliance and platonic soulmates and all shall be consumed by their bullshit.

Jin and Jacqui are the two most competitive MFers on the planet. They argue constantly. They love each other but will also turn anything into a competition just to have something to hold over the other’s head. Jacqui is glad she’s an only child because if she had a brother like Jin growing up she would’ve killed him. Doesn’t stop him from being the world’s best uncle to her children though.

Cassie took one look at Takeda and instantly knew she had to corrupt that goody-two-shoes in some way. He wasn’t going to be the little prince of the Shirai Ryu when she was done with him, oh no. He was going to be just as much of a mischievous little shit as the rest of them. Her unwilling sidekick in chaos. She succeeded. It took her two years but she got there in the end.

Frost and Jacqui see themselves as the only competent ones. Everyone else the wheel is spinning but the hamster is dead. They get along surprisingly well. Not best buddies for all time well, but they can hold civil conversation that doesn’t end in bloodshed. A rarity for Frost.

Jacqui and Cassie are BFF4Ls and sisters. Ride or die till the end. Also view each other as a sidekick sometimes.

Frost and Jin talk shit about the others together over iced coffee.

Takeda and Jin know each other more than they know themselves sometimes. They know every tic, every habit, every tell. They are as close as two friends could possibly be. Sometimes a bit homoerotic but that’s neither here nor there. They also sometimes share only one brain cell and it’s a guess as to who has it at any given time.

Jacqui and Takeda are Earthrealm’s most functional couple. They are so lovey dovey with each other that it can rot teeth. That’s not to say that they don’t fight sometimes, because they do, but it’s always resolved quickly enough. They never try to change anything about the other and love every flaw and insecurity the other has.

Conclusion: You are just as likely to find this group of chuckle heads bickering as you are to find them all asleep together in a cuddle puddle. Found family relationship goals right here.

[cbk1000]

@aemelia is standing over me cracking a bullwhip and forcing me to write about two morons having sex on a luxury train, so here's another little preview of that. The other two previews posted earlier can be found here and here.

But Merlin ruined it for him, by anticipating what had been a brilliant plan, and therefore one which ought to have been safely out of the reach of his brain. All morning Arthur avoided him by moving swiftly along to another car when he saw the dark head entering his, and answering Morgana’s Where the hell are you texts with, Sorry, you must have just missed me till she gave up even sending them. 

Then when everyone disembarked at the village, he hurried back to their room, and found Merlin sat on the scene of the crime. He froze. Merlin was fiddling the phone in his hand all round, but looking up steadily at him, with unrelenting eye contact. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Arthur stuck his hands in his pockets. “I just came back for a shower.”

“Yeah, I figured. That’s why I’m here. Thought you might not get off the train with everyone else, considering the fact that I haven’t seen you all morning even though we share a room and we’re on a train with very limited hiding places.”

Arthur shifted from foot to foot. “I wasn’t hiding, I was having a chat with that couple from California.”

“Oh yeah?” Merlin raised an eyebrow. “So you were stationary, in one spot, chatting to this couple, and I missed you every time I went through every car looking for you? That’s interesting.”

Arthur looked away.

Merlin sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look. I can ask Gwaine if he’ll switch rooms. I could stay with him, and you with Morgana.”

“And how are you going to explain why we’re switching rooms?”

“I’ll just say you snore and I forgot my earplugs. Morgana has those earbuds that play white noise or whatever. She’ll be fine.”

“Well, I won’t; I can’t stay with Morgana. We’ll kill one another.”

“Fine, then I’ll stay with Morgana.”

“You’re going to share a bed with Morgana?”

“We’re both adults. We can platonically share a bed.”

“Yes, you certainly have a stellar track record of that,” Arthur pointed out, waspishly. 

“Well, Morgana’s dating Gwaine, and she’s a lot smarter than you, so I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Merlin snapped.

“What do you mean ‘smarter than me’, like it’s my fault, when it was your idea!” Arthur cried.

“Well, you could have said, ‘No, Merlin, don’t suck my dick’ like a reasonable person. I’d been drinking and I hadn’t been laid in a while, so you had our brain cell, and you should have used it.”

Arthur frowned down at him. “So you did it because you were drunk?” 

Merlin rubbed his face with both hands. “I wasn’t drunk drunk, but do you think I would have done that sober? When you said you’d never come from a blowjob, the alcohol took over my mouth, and I just blurted that out, and then when you didn’t tell me to fuck off like a sane person, my dick took over from there.”

“So you’re saying that you, an entire, whole, adult man, are not in charge of your own actions?”

“When I haven’t had sex in over six months and someone offers to blow me, no, I am not in charge, my penis is.” He was striving for a light tone, but must have seen on Arthur’s face that it was not landing as he had meant it to; that he was doing more harm than good: all of which was being done to Arthur’s throat, which felt suddenly as hot, and tight, and tremulous as it had in the dining car. He rubbed his face again. “Look, you have to stop avoiding me. We’ve been mates over a decade, and we’ve never let being dumbarses fuck it up before. So either we switch rooms, or one of us kips on the sofa, but we don’t tiptoe round one another, or duck into another car all week every time we see the other one coming, because we were horny.” He clasped his hands between his knees. “It’s just getting off. Stimulation is stimulation and all that. I mean, it was a bit gay for you to blow me, but other than that, you’re fine.”

Arthur scowled at him.

“You kept your socks on, and that’s the first rule of ‘no homo.’”

“Oh, is it?” Arthur snapped. “Well, you had yours off, so what does that mean?”

“That I’m comfortably bisexual and I don’t have to have a crisis about getting a blowjob from a man.”

“I rather think the problem is specifically which man gave you the blowjob.”

[unnervinglyferal]

so. you have summoned someone who has taken multiple years of biology because you started talking about emotions and animals and they are feeling rather verbose at this hour of the day

the limbic system is associated with a lot of our more primal emotions, and the fuck/flight/fight/feed urges tend to be associated with the hypothalamus, so i’d say it’s fair to link it to anger, at least for the purposes of this conversation. the limbic system is also called the mammalian brain, because we share it with all other mammals

so: mammals probably can experience anger

the part of the brain we share with reptiles is the brain stem, which literally just keeps us alive. they don’t have - at least as far as i was taught in school - dedicated emotional centers in the brain like mammals do, so we can’t localize anger. this means, from an anatomical perspective, we don’t know where they would feel the anger, or if what they’re feeling is anger in the same way we mean it to be

but what we do know is that they experience the fight/flight/freeze response in the presence of a threat (and this is actually impacted by body temperature and sprinting speed). that suggests, from a human perspective, fear

but is not fighting a response associated with anger? what differentiates an angry animal from a scared one? do reptiles actually feel anger because they can fight back? and what is anger, if not based in fear?

and this is where we veer from the realm of the concrete, scientific consensus into the realm of the “i will make a hill just to die on it” philosophical debate. the experiences of animals are often so fundamentally different than ours that it is foolish to try to keep relating everything back to the human experience. bees see ultraviolet light as colors, while we just see it as a cause of skin cancer. whales sing so low we cannot hear them, and in languages of their own. it’s been said that dogs can see in smell, and bats can see in sound

however, hunger? that’s fairly universal

slime molds are unicellular organisms that do wonderful things because of their hunger. they have no nervous system. they cannot think. but they can sense where food is thanks to receptors in their cell membrane and they can move towards the food. you can make them model metro systems to determine the most efficient train routes by placing food sources with sizes that correspond to the number of riders at the locations where the stations are

they have no brains, no neurons, and yet they feel hunger

anyhow, because they have no brains, it’s very easy to fuck around with them and trick them. if you give them two pieces of paper, one soaked in water and the other one soaked in a glucose solution - not a sugar solution, table sugar is not glucose but a diner of glucose and fructose that they can’t detect - and the glucose solution is concentrated enough, the slime molds will move away from the glucose strip. i did this for a grade once in high school

but so, from my perspective: hunger is almost certainly universal, since metabolism is part of what is needed for something to be considered alive, and mammals probably can feel anger, but it gets more complicated the less like humans animals get because we don’t have a good frame of reference to differentiate anger and fear

-flore

I'm going to process this information literally for the rest of the year. Also, "because they have no brains, it’s very easy to fuck around with them and trick them" also applies to some people.

[athetos]

I’ve been trying to figure out who or what Renascent is, and something occurred to me. The way that Hesychast referred to her, implying she may no longer be human, and has been around for a long time, sounds a lot like she is an immortata. I mean, it would make a certain amount of sense, wouldn’t it? Renascent literally means “rising again”, or “rebirth.” She’d be effectively immortal, her ‘soul’ being transplanted into a new host via tumor every time she died. And for someone to have such high power in Falcrest, of course someone who has lifetimes of experience watching the empire grow would be at the highest point of the Throne.

If this is true, is Renascent one of the Cancrioth we met? I personally don’t think so, as I believe she’s been watching safe in Falcrest the entire time, and none of them gave me “cryptarch with a million schemes up their sleeves” vibes. I think the Brain would probably be the most likely if I had to choose, but why in the world would she offer Baru a plague that could decimate Falcrest? Unless she was gambling on the belief that Baru would reject her offer? And if she knew everything about Baru at that point, she’d have more than enough power to dispose of her, or see how ‘compromised’ she was and pick Hesychast to win the war of minds. Lastly, I doubt Renascent is someone who isn’t a Falcrest native, especially if she controls more than just the one cell of cryptarchs we see.

But you know what would make more sense? If Renascent was a different recipient of the brain tumor. Maybe there was more than one line of Incrisiath (I hope I spelled that right). Maybe the tumor was spliced in two, and one half put in one person, and the other half in a different one. She would share some of the ‘souls’ that the Brain has, but also others, that came after the split. And what really makes this plausible in my mind is that Incrisiath sounds an awful lot like “incrastic.” Maybe she even coined the term. And maybe, just maybe, the Brain knows that she has a ‘sister’ in Falcrest, and it influenced her decisions. Who knows, maybe the person who wins Renascent’s favor will be her next host...?

This theory certainly isn’t foolproof, but I think there’s enough in the text for you all to hopefully see where I’m coming from. Either way, we definitely aren’t done learning more about the Cancrioth in the next book.

[levantu]

DO STUDENTS USE PHONES DURING CLASS?

DO STUDENTS USE PHONES DURING CLASS?

(Sinh viên sử dụng điện thoại trong giờ học?)

Dr Le Van Tu-11/2/2024

 

I read “Bans may help protect classroom focus, but districts need to stay mindful of students’ sense of connection, experts say”

With Anna Lamb, Harvard Staff Writer,March 13, 2023. 

Anna Lamb opens the article: Students around the world are being separated from their phones.

In 2020, the National Center for Education Statistics reported that 77 percent of U.S. schools had moved to prohibit cellphones  for nonacademic purposes. In September 2018, French lawmakers outlawed cellphone use for schoolchildren under the age of 15. In China, phones were banned country-wide for schoolchildren last year (2022).

***

The National Center for Education Statistics of the United States, France, and China have their reasons for acting this way. There is no denying the negative aspects when students study in the classroom and watch their phones for entertainment at the same time!

Supporters of these initiatives have cited links between smartphone use and bullying and social isolation and the need to keep students focused on schoolwork.

77%Of U.S. schools moved to ban cellphones for nonacademic purposes as of 2020, according to the National Center for Education Statistics

But some Harvard experts say instructors and administrators should consider learning how to teach with tech instead of against it.

***

That's right, lecturers consider and choose how to teach and learn with technology for students, especially how to use phones during class.

***

And “Returning back to in-person, I think it was hard to break the habit,” said Victor Pereira, a lecturer on education and co-chair of the Teaching and Teaching Leadership Program at the Graduate School of Education.

***

This thinking is true that students cannot quit the habit of using phones and neither will the future.

***

Pereira added: Through their students, he and others with experience both in the classroom and in clinical settings have seen interactions with technology blossom into important social connections that defy a one-size-fits-all mindset. “Schools have been coming back, trying to figure out, how do we readjust our expectations?”

It’s a hard question, especially in the face of research suggesting that the mere presence of a smartphone can undercut learning .

***

Certainly, the presence of inappropriate smartphones will reduce students' learning efficiency.

***

Michael Rich an associate professor of pediatrics at Harvard Medical School and an associate professor of social and behavioral sciences at the Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health, says that phones and school don’t mix: Students can’t meaningfully absorb information while also texting, scrolling, or watching YouTube videos.

“The human brain is incapable of thinking more than one thing at a time,” he said. “And so what we think of as multitasking is actually rapid-switch-tasking. And the problem with that is that switch-tasking may cover a lot of ground in terms of different subjects, but it doesn’t go deeply into any of them.”

***

Pereira’s approach is to step back — and to ask whether a student who can’t resist the phone is a signal that the teacher needs to work harder on making a connection. “Two things I try to share with my new teachers are, one, why is that student on the phone? What’s triggering getting on your cell phone versus jumping into our class discussion, or whatever it may be? And then that leads to the second part, which is essentially classroom management.

***

My point of view is that it is impossible for students to entertain and study at the same time.

I have taught more than 30,000 students. I have commented: STUDENTS THAT SIT AT THE HEAD OF THE TABLE USUALLY STUDY VERY SERIOUSLY AND STUDY WELL.

IN CONTRAST, STUDENTS WHO SIT BELOW CLASS ARE MAINLY SURFING ON THEIR PHONES.

***

If the lecturer just sits or stands fixedly on the podium, the area below the classroom will not absorb the lesson at all, and the students' learning results are often not good.

When starting with the first session, I made a rule and agreed with the students not to use phones during lectures. There must be student consensus.

Of course, to teach, you must be healthy and move regularly to the back of the class. Not all students are 100% self-aware.

***

Pereira continued “Design better learning activities, design learning activities where you consider how all of your students might want to engage and what their interests are,” he said. He added that allowing phones to be accessible can enrich lessons and provide opportunities to use technology for school-related purposes.

***

I also often let students use the phone to find answers to questions that the students and I ask.

Or use the phone when taking tests, taking open-ended exams and during group discussions and presentations, especially real-life examples. There are plenty of real-life examples on social networks.

In short, I still let you use your phone during class when taking tests and open-ended exams; Group discussion and presentation when using the phone to expand knowledge for the lesson.

Hopefully this article will help leaders, educational managers, and instructors on how to let students use smartphones during class. And this is the educational trend of the future.

.

.

DR LE VAN TU, FOUNDER-PRESIDENT

No. 23B/1, Area 3, An Binh, Ninh Kieu, Can Tho

Tel:0989577088  Email: levantu7979@gmail.com

Bans may help protect classroom focus, but districts need to stay mindful of students’ sense of connection, experts say

#Bansmayhelpprotectclassroomfocus# #studentssenseof connection#drlevantu#HoasinhtanHD#CanthoVietnam#closeandlongstandingmember#10years# lecturercollegesuniversitiesCantho

#DOSTUDENTSUSEPHONESDURING CLASS

#sinhviensudungdienthoaitronggiohoc

[lovebiteshqs]

HAS  MATTHIEU MAURENTIACUS  ALWAYS HAD WOLF LOOKING AT THE MOON TATTOO ON HIS SHOULDER BLADE? COULD BE THAT MORE SOULMARKS ARE APPEARING.

welcome to lovebites Cris, Chares Melton is now taken !! please make sure your account is sent in within twelve hours, and give our checklist a read over.

⋆ ⠀⠀⠀࿐ྃ ▸ ; ⠀ [ charles melton. alpha werewolf of the atropos pack. 28/28. heterosexual. cis male. ]  was that just MATTHIEU MAURENTIACUS, I saw coming out of EVERWINTER FOREST? the BAR OWNER is best to be described as + PASSIONATE, but he could also be - IMPULSIVE and can easily be noticed by CLOTHES SMELLING OF LAVENDER PLAGUED BY THE DISTINCT SMELL OF GRASS, WORN SWEATERS UNDER BLACK LEATHER JACKET STAINED WITH GREASE, DARK EYES WATCHING FROM ACROSS THE ROOM WITH CURIOSITY AND KINDESS, as well as HIS WOLF LOOKING AT THE MOON TATTOO ON HIS SHOULDER BLADE. [ cris. 26. gmt. them/they. none ] // a half moon, another wolf on the opposite shoulder, a full moon  

THE DETAILS

⋆ ⠀⠀⠀࿐ྃ ▸ ; ⠀( CHARLES MELTON ) our MATTHIEU MAURENTIACUS is looking for their BEST FRIEND. They would be LATE 20S and would most likely look like HUNTER SCHAFER/UTP. You DO NOT have to contact the player. Description: These two are ride or die for each other. They have known each other since they were children, perhaps this character is part of the atropos pack, and have been inseparable ever since - think scott and stiles vibes. They share one brain cell between the two of them, and are always getting in trouble together. This person could be his Beta, but they don’t have to! 

⋆ ⠀⠀⠀࿐ྃ ▸ ; ⠀( CHARLES MELTON) our MATTHIEU MAURENTIACUS is looking for their AUNT. They would be 30+ and would most likely look like UTP. You DO NOT have to contact the player. Description:The Maurentiacus family are big on staying connected and together, during peace and struggles. His aunt is his mother’s sister, and has always been Matthieu’s favorite one. She acted like a mentor most of the times, and now after his mother’s death, Matthieu relies on her more than ever.

questions — lets take a deeper dive into how your character has viewed whats happened in everwinter so far. 

how does your character feel about their soulmark? for those bonded with vampires, your character would have only gotten the mark back recently  — how has that changed their lives/plans at all? is being soul-bonded something they look forward to?

Soulmarks have always been important to his family. His parents were soulmarked, and Matthieu has always seen them as an example of undying love. His soulmark is an extremely serious business for him, and his Luna is everything in his life. Matthieu had always been excited to soulbond, wishing desperately to feel that connection with his imprint and live a long life together. His intentions about it were serious enough that he barely dated until he met his Luna.

for werewolves — were they born a wolf or turned? how do they feel about pack dynamics? are they close with the pack? what are their thoughts on the other species? how do they feel about the treaty?

Matthieu was born a wolf, and grew up within the heart of the pack. He adores his pack, and would spend any of his free moments with them whenever the chance would arrive. His mother was bitter about the treaty, unable to trust a witch even, and Matthieu adopted her opinions as his own.

given what’s occurred in everwinter so far ( please look at our PLOT and SUMMARIES page for a break down ), how do they feel? has their changed their thoughts on anything like the other species?

Matthieu grew up wary of the vampires and witches lurking about. He isn’t unkind to other species, but he would rather spend as little time around them as possible, if he can help it. It is a mistrust passed down to him by his mother, which was passed to her from her mother, and so on. He certainly can’t see himself being the best of buddies with a vampire, and always thinks they are up to something evil.

explore where you’d like to see your character going arc wise. how would you like to see them develop here at lovebiteshqs.

I would love to see Matthieu grow more confident in his role as an alpha, and learning how to trust the other species as well. He is in a place now where he is very closed off, and I would like to see him opening himself to the world.

background  —  TW: Death

For as long as time existed, the Maurentiacus lived by a very simple principle; family. Extended, adopted, found - It didn’t matter for the tightly knit group; if you were accepted into the open arms of the Maurentiacus, you would find yourself loved and protected ‘till your last days. Their driven force and fatal flaw, one could say; they kill and die for family. Matthieu Maurentiacus wasn’t an exception; born during the late hours of a stormy evening, the boy with dark eyes stole his mother’s heart when placed on her open arms. His father, a man with gentleness beyond anyone’s comprehension, had cried during the entire birth. Mon petit loup, they had called him. Matthieu was the youngest of two children, the youngest of countless cousins, and therefore, he grew up without the heavy responsibility of being his mother’s next in line. 

A respected powerful Alpha, Beatrix Maurentiacus had claimed her eldest daughter for that role. Camille had inherited her mother’s blonde hair and stern eyes, but their father’s kindness and mischief in ways that would, playfully, irritate their mother. Matthieu remembers days where he and Camille would disappear into the woods, playing by the trees when the girl should be attending pack meetings with their mother. The siblings were close especially to their father, Seok, who would teach them all he knew about plants and flowers during warm afternoons. 

Life had been simple, then. The Atropos pack had a reliable leader, there weren’t potential threats the wolves had to worry about, and Matthieu spent his days with cousins and pack members alike, chasing each other through the woods while skipping classes. Matthieu was easy going, charming but relatively shy, captain of the rugby team, a prankster and a good boy. His grades were mediocre, but enough to get him by, and he broke hearts of girls he didn’t know by simply not being interested in dating during his teenage years. He had not met his imprint yet, but the tattoo meant the world to him, and Matthieu had no wish to fool around. 

After graduation, Matthieu hadn’t had many plans for his life; perhaps his carelessness came from a place of soft arrogance, knowing his family was prominent and he would always be cared for. Or perhaps, he really didn’t show interest in any pursuits. He adores dancing, being a skilled ballet student, but he didn’t want to leave his family for an upstage New York school. So he settled with working with his father, administrating the bar the pack could call home and eventually opening up a small flower shop. Life was good. Simple. 

And then, the accident happened. The call came when Matthieu was cleaning up the bar; a drunk driver, a wet road, three bodies for him to identify. His family was gone. Matthieu felt the peace and happiness leave his life in one single night. The night his mother died. His sister too. The night he became the Alpha. Physically, no one dared to question Matthieu’s ability as the leader; big, strong, tall as a tree. But emotionally, many are worried for the boy who now has to lead and grief, and he is tired of their pity.

contact — prior to someone applying to fill your pair, would you like to be contacted, or are you fine with someone applying and figuring out the details of the pairing later on?

It’s up to the player!! I always love to plot, and talk about my blurbos, but I honestly don’t mind if someone wishes to apply first and talk later!!

[mycreativitysblog]

All about ghee: Nutritional worths as well as health advantages of ghee

Do you enjoy ghee? Do you put it in your dal or chapati or rice? If yes, after that, it's excellent! Ghee is only clarified butter made from milk. Although, ghee is healthy for you yet the best variation of ghee is the one which is homemade and least processed. Pure desi ghee is the most effective ghee offered on the market and also everybody ought to have it in their cooking area's cabinets.

With lots of omega-3 fatty acids as well as vitamin A, ghee provides numerous fantastic health advantages, which makes it among one of the most useful foods of Ayurveda. In some houses, ghee is made use of in virtually every possible dish, which is a good thing because using ghee as opposed to polished oils is better for health. Yet, why are we saying so? We are telling you that ghee is far better than any other oils since it has numerous kinds of important nutrients and wellness advantages.

Nutritional worths of ghee

Earthomaya Ghee contains good quantity of healthy fats, vitamin A, E and also D. Although, many of us think that the high material of fat in ghee is bad for wellness but, if you don't understand this, fat is something which is just one of the major nutrients that is required by our body to function effectively. Ghee is full of omega-3 fats, which are good fats as well as are vital for boosting the brain and heart health. It also gives a great deal of energy to the body. So, overall, we can state that ghee is rather nourishing as well as healthy. Now, allow's proceed to its wellness benefits!

1. Ghee treatments cough

Coughing comes with winter months and to treat it rapidly, you would need an effective treatment. Ghee has been utilized for years for the therapy of coughing as it is quite effective. All you require to do is have a tsp of cozy ghee straight or you can mix it with ginger powder and have it.

2. Ghee enhances eyesight

According to Ayurveda, ghee can improve your vision as well as protect your eyes from lots of eye-related conditions. So, if you have more ghee in your diet, you can obtain a far better vision.

3. Ghee eases constipation

If you are dealing with irregularity, just have one tablespoon of ghee at night prior to bed. It can aid your digestion by recovery your digestion system, which consequently relieves irregularity.

4. Ghee has anti-inflammatory residential properties

Studies say that intake of ghee has anti-inflammatory buildings, which can help in treating various kinds of diseases. Ghee can boost the great cholesterol degrees inside the body, which is great for your heart health and wellness.

5. Ghee boosts the body immune system

Ghee is packed with antioxidants, which improves the body immune system by raising the body's ability to soak up important nutrients. When your body properly soaks up nutrients, your chances of falling ill lowers.

6. Ghee offers healthy and balanced fats

Ghee is a superb resource of good fats as well as if you have it daily, your heart health will certainly be improved. Not just ghee boosts heart health and wellness however, it is also valuable for fat burning. Yes, that's right! Ghee helps in eliminating toxins out of the cells, which enhances metabolic rate and also when your metabolic rate is quickly, you lose weight conveniently.

Now that you recognize the dietary values and wellness advantages of ghee, you would undoubtedly intend to include it to your diet! So, do it and do not fail to remember to share this article with your friends and family members. Eat good as well as stay healthy and balanced!

Ghee is a variation of clarified butter that is popular in the culinary customs of the Middle East and also India. It is made from cow milk butter, which is treated with low warm till the water evaporates, leaving milk solids. The solids are skimmed or stressed if needed. What remains is just cleared up liquid fat known as ghee. Since ghee is treated with reduced heat, generally under 100 levels, it retains more nutrients than basic made clear butter.

Ghee is utilized in tandem with herbal medicine as a part of Ayurveda, a centuries-old form of alternative medicine practiced in India. Past its believed spiritual and medicinal residential or commercial properties, ghee has recently obtained grip as a much healthier option to standard butter. Nonetheless, while there is an increase in scientific research studies validating its health benefits, even more research is needed.

Ghee is additionally an outstanding source of Vitamin E. Research studies have actually shown that Vitamin E has substantial antioxidant buildings. Antioxidants like Vitamin E have been connected to decreasing the danger of cancer cells, joint inflammation, as well as cataracts. Vitamin E can also help reduce the danger of heart disease.

Prospective Health Advantages of Ghee

Ghee is an abundant resource of vitamins, antioxidants, and healthy fats. While fat must be consumed in moderation, research studies reveal that eating fatty foods such as ghee can assist the body soak up some crucial vitamins and minerals. Cooking healthy foods and also veggies with ghee might help you soak up a lot more nutrients.

Anti-Inflammatory Impacts

In alternative Ayurvedic medicine, ghee has actually been utilized topically to deal with burns and swelling. While this is not clinically shown, ghee does include butyrate, a fat that has actually understood anti-inflammatory homes. Researches show that the butyrate present in ghee can calm swelling within the body.

Battle Excessive weight

Ghee is a substantial resource of conjugated linoleic acid, or CLA. Studies show that CLA may help combat weight problems. Research study shows that the CLA located in ghee might help in reducing excessive weight gain. It may also help in reducing the mass of body fat in some individuals.

Assistance Heart Wellness

Though ghee is abundant in fat, it includes high focus of monounsaturated Omega-3s. These healthful fats sustain a healthy and balanced heart and cardiovascular system. Researches reveal that using ghee as a part of a well balanced diet regimen can help reduce harmful cholesterol levels.

Healthy Alternate for Lactose Products

Ghee is produced by removing milk solids. Because of this, it contains just trace amounts of lactose and casein, which are milk sugars and also proteins. Ghee is a good resource of fat for people that are lactose intolerant or have dairy allergic reactions.

[johnstonianjansen]

Typically the Automotive Employment Market Is Still an Open Playing Field

In the particular automotive employment industry you may still find very interesting job opportunities obtainable all over typically the world. So if you are in the automotive employment market and wish to create a change you will still find a lot associated with opportunities worldwide. In this modern planet there do exist a huge shortage remarkably skilled automotive technicians all over the world. If you are a highly skilled repair shop you can select where you desire to function in typically the world. By merely applying on a single of the numerous automotive recruitment organizations website pages, and these people will search work opportunity for an individual anywhere in the world. The fact is definitely that the majority of emerging auto markets have opened up up in reasoned years, as a result of strength shift in the automotive industry. This auto employment market is definitely likely to become also bigger later on while all new sort of cars is proceeding to hit the industry. Like all the "EV" cars that happen to be still in the prototype phase. Almost all these cars could have new technology integrated into them, consequently new personnel need to be trained to operate on them down the road.

This will deliver a paradigm shift into this automotive employment market, also the methods to train in addition to the skill sets that must end up being trained need to transform in the really forseeable future. This may cause the manufacturers in order to start running substantial training and produce programs, to possess highly skilled technicians to assist these to establish their brand. Right now there will be approaching new brands and brand into the particular playing field plus these brands will need to still build their particular names in the market place. To build a brand name name you need a powerful post sales service you can assist your buyers with. This will certainly create an innovative automotive employment industry towards the auto business; just imagine an electronic or chemical engineer working at the nearby car dealership. It might sound farfetched nonetheless it is possible as the cars in the particular future will end up being driven with strength plants like gas cells, hydrogen release and electric motors. All of this is going to be able to come to the market industry place in this modern world sooner than many of us perform realize. So the estimations are that a big portion of the current automotive workforce may leave. They will leave this workforce as they are from the old school along with old school rules that will become vanished with this particular new technologies. The human traits are that a person will stay ignorant if you become a member of the old institution club. This just happens as typically the older people had been conditioned that these people can only learn something up to a selected age. All of us realize this is not necessarily true but the particular system wants these people to leave since it is harder to alter and old horses to get rid of his or perhaps her habits The program was created to develop a group of slaves of which would be better to condition, into precisely what this slave system needs and not really the actual workers requires. That is one involving the reasons exactly why the older leading hands in the particular automotive employment marketplace gets removed or even retrenched. The overall modern business conceptions are usually that seniors are resisters to modern business, since they don't desire to change. If all this highly skilled people are taken out in the future the entire automotive industry will suffer a massive skills and brain dropped that may have approved on towards the younger people. Findings are generally that most regarding this seniors within the automotive industry don't want to be able to share their information and skills any more, because they avoid see themselves since resistors for future development in the automotive aftermarket. So the automotive employment industry will suffer fantastic losses in the particular near future, due to this phenomenon.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 1

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for blood, language, brief nudity. Later chapters will be M Warnings: Nah fam Summary: Local vampire finds out she can't kill soft human (because they're soulmates, baby), human becomes insufferable bastard, oops they fuck later. Soulmate AU where if one person gets injured, their soulmate feels the same amount of pain and receives a scar in the relevant area.

1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring

It’s not that you had expected to survive this- being locked in the dungeon of Castle Dimitrescu, waiting for the day you’re picked to be someone’s meal. Oh no, you had given up on surviving long ago, it was just that… well, you had hoped that someone with a softer touch would do you in. But here you were, too exhausted to cry, hanging naked in front of none other than Cassandra Dimitrescu. Her eyes were trailing you up and down, examining every inch of your skin, every flaw, every unique trait. It was like she was making a mental map of which parts of you would taste best. Goddamn, you wanted to spit in her face, or scream, or say something, anything that might make her feel even an ounce of what you had felt for weeks.

But you know that she’s already planning to kill you, and to make it painful. Why give her any more reason? Why dare her to find a worse way to end your life? There was no good answer, so you stayed still, just watched her move. Maybe if you looked bored enough she’d make it quick, just stab a knife in you and drink you up like a capri sun. Or, maybe, if you kept a straight face, she would admire your courage. Oh, how you longed for people to think of you kindly now, in your last moments, when dying clean and pretty was no longer an option.

Pulling a blade from some hidden sheathe, Cassandra approaches you with a wicked grin. There’s still blood on her lips from her last victim. Had they not sated her? Or had she been like this for some time? When she inevitably drank from you, how long would your blood remain on her lips? You weren’t sure that you wanted to know. In your mind, you picture her cleaning up as soon as she was done with you. It does not make you feel any better. Neither does the way she traces a finger across your chest, left to right, practicing for the incision to follow. She pauses to lick her lips, making direct eye contact as she does.

What happens next passes by so quickly that you don’t process any of it until the whole ordeal is over. The blade’s tip digs into your chest, just below your collarbone, before dragging along half the width of your torso. It hurts like hell, but you manage to keep your misery to yourself. But your pain is soon replaced with confusion; Cassandra screams, loud enough to echo throughout the basement, doubling over herself. In an instant her knife has clattered to the floor, forgotten. Instinct takes over your brain, the default programing kicking in, and you say something that fills you with instant regret.

“Are you okay?” Your voice is a bit quiet, and raw, worn out from lack of hydration. But it is enough, evidently, for Cassandra to hear. She’s rising back up and glaring at you, one hand clutching her chest. Something in her expression tells you that she thinks you’re mocking her. While that wasn’t technically the case, there was a part of you that found joy in this, watching your captor get a taste of their own medicine. The question left in your mind was why she was in pain. “I’ll take that as a no,” you said, again left with regret at your choices.

Now her hand is swiping at your face, nails cutting you open. Once more she hisses in pain, now clutching her head, shaking a little as she does. When she meets your gaze, you see that she’s more confused than anything. More than that, you see the marks on her face, knowing instantly that they match your own. Oh hell no, you thought, grimacing.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Cassandra growled through clenched teeth. Bouncing back and forth on her heels, she seems tense, unsure of how to process what’s happening. You feel the same way, desperately wanting to pretend that this doesn’t mean you’re her soulmate. Maybe the universe had just messed up, crossing some wires, or decided to pull a prank on the two of you. Either way it was better than the alternative. Eager to think about something else, you start considering your options. The first that comes to mind is ridiculous. Stupid, really. But would it amuse you? Absolutely.

“Not gonna lie, I feel better about the idea of you killing me now. Feel free to make it painful, darlin’, I won’t mind,” you snarked, lips curling up into a smirk. Oh boy was it satisfying to watch Cassandra’s response. One of her hands raises to smack you, only for her to freeze before releasing a torrent of swears. Hurting you meant hurting herself. “What’s the matter? Can’t handle a little aching? Haven’t you ever imagined what it’s like to be on the other side of things? Under the blade yourself, blood soaking your skin, eyes too dry for even a single tear? Poor thing,” you purred, tone as teasing as it could get. Apparently it’s aggravating enough for Cassandra to fight through the pain, as she slams her fist into your stomach, leaving both of you gasping for breath. “This is fun-” you pause to cough out a few drops of blood- “really, really fun. Hey, if you kill me, how bad do you think you’ll feel?”

Before Cassandra can react, either to speak or hurt you worse, the sound of approaching footsteps draws her attention. From where you hang you can’t see much, too many cells and hanging bodies blocking your vision. But your “soulmate” seemed to know who was coming. Her face scrunches up a little, and she adjusts her robes, trying to cover the mark on her chest. Had you not still been coughing, you would have sarcastically asked her how she intended to hide her face.

“What the hell is going on, Cassandra?” An unfamiliar voice asked. The footsteps grew louder, and faster, until the new figure stood in the same cell as you. Not even bothering to spare you a glance, she approaches Cassandra, reaching to examine her face. “Did a prisoner manage to get you? I’ve told you a thousand times-”

“Don’t fucking touch me, sis,” Cassandra snapped, pushing away her sister’s hand. Both of them are visibly tense, and for a moment they stand still, staring each other down. Then the sister (who you assume to be Bela, from things you’ve overheard recently) shifts her focus to you. Something tells you that she has no intentions of being gentle.

“Did you do this, you rotten little thing?” Bela questioned, glaring at you hard enough to send a shiver down your spine. But that doesn’t stop you from trying to have some more fun.

“Oh, of course I did! I rattled my chains real good, scared the shit out of her, made her fall on her own knife a few times. You know, like that one musical?” You must look insane as you speak, grin wide but face dripping with blood. If it unnerves Bela, she hides it well, though you doubt it does. As soon as you’re done poking fun she’s pulling out her sickle. Still grinning, you make eye contact with Cassandra, who realizes what’s happening a second too late. Then the two of you cry out in unison, as the blade carves into your shoulder. Instantly Bela pulls back, stunned, turning to her sister with genuine concern. “I might have lied. Rest assured though, it was for comedic purposes.”

The next thing you know the two sisters are shuffling away from you, Cassandra begrudgingly being dragged along by Bela. Though the younger of the two had been adamant about not receiving help, she now had little choice in the matter, skin searing from your blood bond. Even you are starting to breathe harder than you’d like.

“Was it something I said?” You barked, barely able to manage a fit of giggles between your coughing. Bela shoots you a glare over her shoulder, but quickly returns her attention to her sister. They talk, quickly, soft enough that you can only make out a few words here and there. It’s hard to make meaning from it, especially considering their vastly different tones. Cassandra is pure anger, gestures fast and wide, while Bela is oddly solemn, even regretful. When you finally catch a couple full sentences, things start to make a little more sense, though you wish they didn’t.

“We can kill them painlessly, in their sleep. That way you won’t have to suffer,” Bela whispered. She’s doing her best to comfort her sister, despite the tension in the room, gently patting her on the back. Briefly, you make eye contact with her. In that moment she looks equal parts executor and unwilling jury. But she looks away quickly, even shifting her angle to prevent it from happening again.

“No, fuck that, fuck this, I’m… I’m not killing them. Nobody is,” Cassandra growled, daring to emphasize her point by pushing Bela away. Now it’s her turn to look at you, brows furrowed, eyes betraying something more than just anger. Somehow it’s a million times worse than when she first came in. You strain yourself trying to look away, cursing the chains keeping you in place, resorting to closing your eyes and pretending none of this was real. “I don’t care what you think, Bela. They’re already my ‘meal’, might as well get what enjoyment out of this that I can.”

Again, footsteps echo through the basement. Tension locks your muscles in place, and your eyes are still clamped shut, to the point that you don’t realize your chains are being undone until you’ve hit the ground. Cursing under your breath, you finally open your eyes again. There’s blood on the floor, only some of it yours, and you’re suddenly aching for a bath. More than that, though, you’re praying for something to cover yourself with. Certainly Cassandra didn’t need to see everything, now that you weren’t a piece of meat for her to enjoy? As if reading your mind, the middle Dimitrescu daughter flings open a nearby cabinet, messily searching for something. Eventually she gives a hum of approval, then tosses a blanket in your direction.

“Put it on, dipshit, then follow me,” she snapped, already walking away. For a moment you’re tempted to stay there, sitting still, waiting to see how long it would take for her to notice. But one look from Bela sends the thought back to whatever crevice of your mind it crawled out of. So you’re moving, hastily, awkwardly wrapped in a somewhat itchy blanket. Other prisoners eye you as you pass, some shouting curses or even spitting at you. At first Cassandra takes no notice, or simply doesn’t care, but eventually the noise seems to irritate her. Turning back, she takes her sickle in hand and slams the handle into the bars of a cell. It’s loud, making you flinch, but gets everyone’s attention. “Next one to make a peep gets the blood eagle!”

“Is that, like, a sex thing?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop yourself. Laughter rings out around you from the few prisoners capable of it. Cassandra is seething again, looking about ready to kill you. Then she’s shifting into swarm mode, spreading out wide, insects barreling through half the occupied cells. A few cries escape the prisoners, as the flies take bites out of them, cutting a perfect balance between pain and (a lack of) lethality. They’d be suffering for days to come, every movement making their wounds ache. “Not a sex thing, got it,” you muttered to yourself, just as Cassandra reforms in front of you. This time she grabs the blanket you’re wrapped in, using it to tug you forward, sending you towards the exit.

“Shut up for five minutes and I might let you put on actual clothes,” she growled, keeping one hand on your back to guide you. The offer is the closest thing to kindness you’ve seen from her, and you have half a mind to do what she says. Would you actually manage to keep quiet for that long? Well, you were certainly looking forward to finding out...

[amjustagirl]

Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi's heart has always pointed north. He wonders if it's broken when it starts to point inexorably towards her. 

Set in the aftermath of The Astrophile, in the same universe as Storm Chaser.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi / f! reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, romance 

Wordcount: 7.8k 

Masterlist link here

A/N: Dedicated first and foremost to Ami @softsakusa, one of the first people to convince that my writing isn’t shit and that I should keep creating fics. 

This fic is also for all the readers who wanted a happy ending for the reader in The Astrophile (which sets out the backstory of the reader, Iwaizumi and Oikawa), and also follows the events of Storm Chaser (which follows the turbulent relationship of Miya Atsumu and now wife - I named her Kaiyo in this fic to avoid confusion!). 

Hope you like it - reblogs and comments are always dearly appreciated <3

It must be the worst meet cute of all time. 

That is – if he’s using that phrase correctly. It keeps appearing in the god-awful English movies Bokuto and Miya keep playing during team movie nights that makes him want to tear his hair out. 

But yes, he meets her at Miya Shino’s seventh birthday party, the birthday girl the apple of Miya Atsumu’s eye, the princess of his castle, the most perfect angel in the entire heavens - the list of pet names growing longer and longer the more the obnoxious setter prattles on about his daughter. 

And apparently Miya Shino is a chip off the old block, and is as obsessed with volleyball as her father. Which means that he, one Sakusa Kiyoomi, is forced to turn up on a Saturday afternoon for a birthday party to teach a group of children roughly about the same height as his kneecaps how to play volleyball. 

There are plenty of other MSBY players that Miya Atsumu could have rounded up to fritter away a Saturday afternoon. Hinata, for instance - the sunny, fiery headed opposite hitter a perennial favourite with young fans. Or Inunaki - the liberio has an amiable personality that he certainly wouldn’t mind snot nosed children hanging off his arms like a walking, talking monkey bar. But no, Hinata is apparently busy on a weekend meditation retreat, and Inunaki is at his sister’s wedding party, so both of them managed to escape this travesty of a birthday party. 

That leaves him with Bokuto who’s practically a child himself, beaming, bumping balls at screaming children with one hand, the other hand lifting another child above his head. Meian’s here too but his own kid is somewhere in this gaggle of monsters anyway, so he’s here to carry out his parental duties – hopefully his presence might balance the sheer chaos he’s sure he’s about to face.   

‘Omi-omi you made it!’ Atsumu greets him with a slap to the back. 

Sakusa resists the urge to bare his teeth. Is this what hell is? Screeching gremlins underfoot, the nauseating smell of fried food permeating the air. 

And it’s probably because he’s still in a horrified daze at the situation he’s put himself in (which Atsumu is either too dense to pick up on or already immune due to the series of similar expressions he pulls at him on a daily basis), Atsumu manages to snap a party hat on his head, before he prances off in victory. 

Sakusa snarls, ripping off the red paper hat off his head. 

Why on earth did he agree to this again? 

‘Sakusa-san! Thank you so much for coming!’ 

His glare softens by a fraction. 

Miya Kaiyo, Atsumu’s long suffering wife approaches him, careful not to touch him, waving at him instead. He appreciates her thoughtfulness, so he thaws a little, giving her a slight nod in greeting. 

Right, she’s the reason why he’s here. 

He’s always been fond of her - competent, patient, intelligent, far too good for her idiot of a husband. Approximately a year ago, he sought her professional help with his accounts. He graduated with a business degree from Chuo University, so he can tell there is obviously something fishy that his manager is pulling with his finances, but the accounting courses he took weren’t in depth to pinpoint the problem. Miya Kaiyo, on the other hand, a trained forensic accountant with a nose like a bloodhound for fraudulent accounts, nailed down the problem within a week. So when she asked him after a game whether he’d be free to attend her daughter's birthday party, he hadn’t been able to turn her down. 

‘It was no problem’, he says stiffly, already itching to spray the whole place down with disinfectant. ‘I’m glad to be here.’ 

Kaiyo laughs at his obvious lie, tugging at his sleeve to seat him in a corner. ‘You don’t have to go play with the kids if you didn’t want to! I invited you so we could catch up, and besides, I did want to introduce you to someone.’ 

‘Hm.’ 

He doesn’t try to mask his reluctance this time. Kaiyo means well, he knows, but between her and his mother, he’s tired of having to fend off match making attempts. It’s not like he can’t get a date – he can and he has, it’s just difficult to find someone willing to put up with his prickly personality and busy schedule.

‘Well she’s not here yet, so you’ll have to wait. And while we’re waiting, tell me how’ve things been, Sakusa-san?’ 

Grateful that he’s not going to be forced into shepherding children into playing anything remotely resembling an actual volleyball match (he suspects he might have more luck teaching cats how to do the conga), he settles into his seat, mouth stretching into something resembling a smile. He lets her chatter about work, and they’re deep in a discussion about his plans post-volleyball (because he can feel the countdown on his career in his creaking bones, his aching sinews)  when Atsumu swoops in on him again, like a vulture seeking easy prey. 

‘What’cha doin’ with my wife, Omi-omi’, he slips a hand around Kaiyo’s waist mock possessively. 

She swats at him. He ducks, raising his hands in surrender. 

‘I enjoy talking to an actual adult sometimes, ‘Tsumu!’ 

‘Oh come on, I already have to share you with ‘Samu most of the time, now you’re leaving me for Omi-kun?!’

‘Dramatic ass.’ 

‘Please, you chose to marry me.’ He crows, flipping his hair. He looks ridiculous, he always does. Kaiyo seems to agree - 

‘And I wonder why sometimes.’ She retorts, Atsumu squawking indignantly at her response, hair ruffling like an offended chick. But Kaiyo ruins the effect of her words by laughing, leaning over to affectionately peck her husband on the cheek. 

Sakusa should be annoyed by this display of childishness, but for some inexplicable reason, a frisson of longing bubbles in his chest instead. It’s strange. Marriage or even serious relationships have never been something he’s actively sought. After all, it always seemed horrendously illogical to put all your eggs in one basket and hope nothing trips up – but his heart pays his mind no mind, and the strange sensation continues to trickle down his throat into his chest. 

He makes up an excuse to slip to the bathroom for a tactical retreat from this madness. 

Then he takes a breath. 

Rinse. Lather hands with soap. Rinse. Repeat again .

Familiar motions, bred out of a desire to do things right, transformed into an unbreakable habit. Cold water, washing away soap bubbles.

Right. Now he’s ready for another plunge off the deep end . 

He’s a foot past the threshold of the community hall where the party is being held when Miya Shino darts towards him. She’s very clearly her father’s daughter with his penchant for mischief because she dives between his legs, making him stumble in confusion. Then Meian Shugo’s eldest son Makoto barrels towards him, intent on reaching the ball held aloft in Shino’s hands. 

Athletic reflexes be damned in the face of a pair of hell-spawn. 

‘Shino!’. Kaiyo shouts. 

‘Makoto!’ Meian thunders. 

Sakusa flails, decidedly without grace, and in his attempt at not squashing the two little devils, he manages to do something even  worse . 

Much, much worse. 

He manages to trip over his feet and bump right into the woman Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to (this, he finds out later). It’s a lost cause – he’s six foot two of pure muscle, dwarfing her by a mile, and she’s carrying a huge box in her hand. 

He ends up face planting directly into her chest. 

His brain short circuits at the feeling of plush softness and vanilla and – , 

‘Woah - Omi-omi, never thought I’d have to defend the honour of my cousin in law’, Atsumu laughs.  

The sudden flare of irritation at Atsumu’s words kickstarts his brain back into gear. Rearing back in alarm, he promptly topples over onto his butt. 

‘Uncle ‘kusa, I’m sorry’ Shino screeches, distraught. Makoto merely snivels. Kaiyo is evidently the only one with working brain cells, because she rushes over to help them up.  

The-woman-with-the-mysterious-box makes Kaiyo take the box first. It holds precious cargo - Shino’s birthday cake, he later finds out, but because she manages to cling on to it with admirable tenacity, it emerges more or less intact. Then she turns to him, still sprawled on the floor. He scoots away, still dazed. 

She offers him a steady hand. ‘Hello’, she says. ‘It seems we’ve gotten off to rather a bad start.’

There is a hint of mirth in her voice, but her eyes are kind.  

He takes her hand with a rare smile. 

Miya Kaiyo grins behind the cake box. It turns out her daughter is a better matchmaker than either her or (heaven forbid) her husband. 

It turns out that Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to her cousin, newly moved to Osaka from Tokyo. She’s a sports journalist, used to cover volleyball even, but for some reason their paths never crossed. She too, is tired of her cousin’s well intentioned meddling, but asks him if he’d like to meet her for dinner one day ‘if only to get Kaiyo off her back, because she’s persistent’, and funnily enough, he agrees. 

He doesn’t mind making a new friend, he reasons. She seems decent enough. 

They go out for dinner on a Tuesday night. She doesn’t complain when he tells her that due to his diet planned by MSBY’s nutritionist, most restaurants are off limits. Instead, she asks intelligent questions about whether the sources of protein and fibre he’s relying on are varied enough, even suggesting alternatives like tempeh, a Southeast Asian soy product. 

He appreciates that. 

She doesn’t also fawn over the fact that he’s a professional athlete. That makes sense, considering she’s probably interviewed dozens, if not hundreds of individuals who are just like him. It’s nice - he’s tired of groupies who start dates off by staring at him starry eyed, but ending it with disappointment in their eyes when they discover that he’s just a guy who practices hitting balls enough to do it for a living. And best of all, she doesn’t mind that their conversation sometimes wanes into silence. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill empty spaces with inane drivel, nor expect him to entertain her like a circus animal. 

He likes that. 

So when the night ends, he asks her whether she’d like to have dinner with him again. ‘Just as friends’, he’s quick to clarify. 

‘Sure’, she nods, and they bid each other goodnight.  

They start having dinner every Tuesday night, subject to their erratic schedules. 

He enjoys her company. She’s thoughtful, bringing him home made baked goods like zucchini cake (low sugar, of course), sneaking him chocolate scones for his cheat days after she discovers his hidden sweet tooth. She’s considerate too, never blinking an eye at his compulsive need to make sure everything is just in order, even if the waitress stands behind them aghast when he insists on using disinfectant to wipe down their table. She doesn’t even call him paranoid when he passes her a bottle of sanitizer. 

Slowly, he finds himself confiding in her about things he’d maybe only tell his cousin, Motoya. Or at least, the things he would tell Motoya if the guy would only pick up his calls. 

‘Sorry’, Motoya texts back after a couple of missed calls. ‘ Practice has been brutal recently. 

In a remarkable display of restraint, Sakusa does not point out that EJP Raijin is below MSBY in this season’s rankings. 

So he tells her instead about how he’s contemplating retirement, how he’s trying to chart out his next steps career wise. She surprises him by listening to him gravely, pointing out that he can lean on his business degree to possibly land an office job in event management or with sports associations, putting him in touch with one overly excited Kuroo Tetsuro. He tucks her suggestions away carefully at the back of his mind.   

It’s nice to have a friend, he tells himself, his lips quirking ever so slightly when her hand grazes his as they walk down the street together. 

He invites her to the monthly gatherings that the MSBY players take turns to host for their family and friends, making the excuse that he needs a human shield in any event hosted by Miya Atsumu. She agrees easily, perking up at the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon with her cousin and niece - ‘ and Kaiyo’ll need help, especially since she’s pregnant’, bringing far too many cupcakes topped with the lightest, fluffiest cream cheese frosting he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. Even Miya Osamu gives her a nod of respect after stuffing his face full of her cupcakes.  He, unlike his twin, has good taste.

Her brow furls into a concerned frown when he quietly sneaks himself a second cupcake. ‘You don’t have to force yourself to eat it just to be polite! I made it, so  I  know it has so much sugar and butter it would make your nutritionist weep. If you want, I snuck some zucchini cake in my handbag for you instead.’ 

He stubbornly shovels a large bite into his mouth. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’ 

She bursts into laughter, leaning forward to wipe away the smudge of frosting on the tip of his nose with her thumb. 

Miya Kaiyo shoots him a knowing look across the room, waggling her eyebrows in an eerie imitation of her husband. He fights to keep his face blank, refusing to feed her satisfaction, but fails, a hot flush rising in his cheeks. 

‘Traitor’ he mouths at her. Her smirk only deepens.

Fortunately, the gathering ends with no further mishaps, either to his physical well-being or his dignity. Makoto is packed off with Meian, the little boy whining for more time to play with Shino. Hinata and Bokuto prance off for some ridiculous buffet on the other side of town.

As for himself, he hangs back with her to help the Miyas put their house back in order, expelling an amused puff of a laugh from his nose when she forces the very pregnant Kaiyo to ‘stay still, for goodness sake!’  on the couch, dancing around the house with a mop, Shino trailing after her waving a feather duster with gusto. He refrains from telling the little girl that she’s more likely to spread  the dust than to actually clear it – at least she’s not causing more havoc this way. 

‘I can’t believe I could’ve ever taken this for granted, y’know’, Atsumu comments from behind him, mouth wide in a tender smile. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world to have a wife and kid who loves ya to the moon and back, welcoming ya home after a long day at work. They make everything worth it.’

He’s thrown for a loop at this rare display of emotional vulnerability from the usually obnoxious setter and for once, does not resort to hostility, choosing instead to acknowledge the blonde setter’s words with a tacticum nod. 

The Miyas’ apartment is far too chaotic for his tastes, with colourful toys scattered on the floor, mismatched picture frames of the little family on the walls, but laughter hangs in the air, and light spills from the windows, illuminating the warmth and love and fondness in every look and word the Miyas gift each other. 

His father gave him a compass when he was a child, as a present to celebrate his first match. His mother clucked her tongue because it’s a strange gift for a child - delicate, fiddly, its gold exterior tarnished with age. But his father chuckled and told him that he’s old enough to appreciate that the compass is his father’s, and his father’s father before that, an heirloom to remind their sons to work hard at everything they do, and to keep their hearts on course, pointing north. 

And Sakusa thinks he’s done that. He’s worked and worked and worked at perfecting his skills in his chosen sport. He’s accepted his solo course, so laser focused on carving out a career in professional sports leaves little time or space for intimate relationships. Not to mention the fact that watching the disaster of Atsumu’s early years of marriage from the sidelines, made him swear off similar heartbreak for himself. 

But there are times when he can’t help but feel a little lonely - when he has to struggle to find a date for MSBY events, when he has no one to celebrate the holidays with, when he goes home every day to his neat, cold apartment with space for only one occupant. 

The compass in his heart creaks. It starts to turn a few degrees just off-course. 

‘Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to get married?’ he asks her as he’s walking her home that night. 

‘I did, once upon a time’, she shrugs carelessly. He misses the sudden strain in her smile. ‘Why do you ask?’ 

He stays silent for a while, the length of the quiet street giving him time to properly ferment his response. He considers the effects of adding splashes of colour to his dull life, weighs it against his long cultivated instinct to avoid the potential chaos of any emotional entanglements. He finds himself suddenly craving the sweetness of cream cheese frosting, and wonders how it’d be like to come home to light, fluffy cakes baked by her hands. 

When they reach her apartment block, she tilts her head at him curiously, obviously awaiting his answer. He tugs his words together, strings his swirling thoughts into a decipherable sentence. 

‘Because Atsumu and Kaiyo seem happy together. And I wondered if we’d be happy together too.’ 

He watches her puzzle over his words, her brow furling into a confused frown. ‘And I wasn’t proposing, by the way’, he feels the need to clarify. 

She snorts. ‘I didn’t think so.’ With a directness that he very much appreciates, she looks at him squarely and asks - ‘Are you asking me out, Sakusa Kiyoomi?’ 

He meets her gaze. ‘Yes, I am. We’ve known each other for a decently long time for me to conclude our personalities are well matched, and we’re both mature adults who respect each other’s work schedules and commitments. And if you don’t mind that I can be overly blunt and quiet sometimes - ‘ 

‘ - which I don’t’, she interjects, with a chuckle. 

‘I think we might be happy together’, he concludes, with a small smile that’s becoming more common in her presence.

He allows her the space to turn his proposition over in her mind. 

‘Alright’, she finally says. ‘I guess we can give it a go’. 

So much for Atsumu accusing him of having a heart made out of tin. Flesh and muscle works overtime to pump blood into his cheeks as she slots her fingers between his and gives his hand a squeeze. 

Being in a relationship isn’t too different from what they had before. 

They still keep to their standing date to meet every Tuesday (schedules permitting, of course). But now he doesn’t have to make up excuses to ask her out on outings that aren’t food related. At first he tries his best to adhere to dating norms, arranging for romantic dates at candlelit restaurants, buying her massive bouquets that make her sneeze. 

‘It’s fine, Omi’, she tells him gently after they spend another uncomfortable evening in a dimly lit restaurant eating off plates too large for the laughably tiny food portions. ‘I’m happy just hanging out with you. You don’t have to go out of your way to impress me, I’m not holding on to any ridiculous expectations of you’. He stops after that, glad he doesn’t have to suffer another night trying to decipher which utensil to be used at which course, or having to put on starched formal wear to yet another stuffy restaurant. 

She’s noticeably happier when they accompany each other on trips to the supermarket, each holding a stack of coupons to take advantage of the latest deals. She shields him from any overly zealous obaa-sans with gusto, throwing elbows and using her grocery basket as a makeshift battering ram before they crowd close enough to him to trigger his anxiety. He helps her reach for things on the top shelf ‘to prevent her from scaling the grocery shelves like an overgrown teenager’ , he snarks. He’s worried his attempt at teasing lands wrong, but she snorts and thanks him good naturedly anyways. 

On the weekends, they develop a habit of meal prepping for the rest of the week at her apartment. His kitchen lacks the fancy mixers and blenders that she has, and in all honesty, his dark, spartan apartment lacks the sunlight and warmth that spills into her apartment from the windows, so it’s only logical that they should spend the bulk of their time there. It’s an oasis of calm for him, chopping vegetables and chicken into small cubes, sautéing them for the week ahead, while she bustles around whipping eggs and flour and milk together to form another delectable cake that they always end up sharing at the end of the day. 

He starts to dread matches away from home a little more than he used to. While hotel rooms are as spartan as his own apartment, he doesn’t have the option of heading over to her apartment to bask in her quiet warmth. His meals come in styrofoam boxes instead of the glass tupperware she stacks on her kitchen counter, and he turns up his nose at store bought cakes that his teammates offer him, only craving for those baked in her oven. He even starts looking up to the stands for a glimpse of her, only to remember that she can’t be there to cheer the team on. 

‘Cheer up, Omi-omi! We’ll have a home match next week’, Atsumu tells him jovially. 

‘It doesn’t matter either way to me’, he mutters resentfully, but the setter only grins.

‘Trust me, it matters a great deal to have the girl ya love cheering ya on, y’know?’ 

He stalks off to the changing room, ignoring the peals of laughter from the blonde annoyance he leaves in his wake.  

The tight coil of loneliness only loosens when he sees her waiting for him at the station when he returns. She ignores his protests to snag his suitcase away from him, the case looking comically large against her small frame, but she uses it effectively as a tank to force a path through the crowd, and drag him back to her apartment in no time. 

‘You need a home cooked dinner to make up for all those industrially prepared food you must’ve been eating this entire week’, she tells him, bustling around the kitchen, only stilling when he takes her shoulders in his hands. 

‘Are you happy?’ he asks, when he cups her face to carefully brush the dusting of flour on her cheek away.  

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She laughs, the sound fond.

‘Just checking in’, he tells her, closing his eyes as she pulls him down towards her for a kiss. 

All in all, it’s a happy, uncomplicated relationship. He likes it that way.

If his heart were a compass, he’d suspect it’s broken because instead of pointing north, it starts to inch inexorably towards her. 

But there are strange quirks he notices about her that niggles at his brain. 

She refuses point blank to check out the planetarium when she attends an event held at the adjacent Art Museum as his date, professing to have an irrational dislike for stars. 

‘They’re just balls of burning gas and light ’ , he points out. ‘What could you possibly have against them?’ 

There’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that he does not miss. ‘I know it’s stupid but just humour me, ok?’ Her tone verges on a snarl, before she storms away, ostensibly to the bathroom to freshen herself up. 

She returns later with an apology for her behaviour. Though he’s confused, he respects her privacy and does not push for an answer. 

He’s at her apartment preparing meals for the week ahead when the doorbell rings and an enormous bouquet of white lilies are deposited into her arms. She stares dumbly at the flowers, their sickly sweet scent permeating the air. 

His brow furls. ‘Today isn’t your birthday, is it?’

His words jolt her out of her trance. ‘No’, she answers, before inexplicably storming to the living room and dumping the bouquet with a vengeance on the coffee table. Pollen flutters to the floor, delicate white petals crushed in her hands. 

‘It’s nothing’, she tells him as he shoots her a questioning look. 

When she disappears to the washroom, he peeks at the card. There’s no name on it, just a simple message - ‘consider it, please?’

He doesn’t question her about it when she returns to the kitchen. She doesn’t offer him any answers either. 

He finds himself wondering about them. 

It was refreshing at first to have a relationship free of any expectations. She never asks for more than he’s willing to give, seems happy enough to slot herself into the pockets of time he offers, only attends his games when he gives her tickets, doesn’t get upset with him when he inevitably forgets to text. 

But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it?  

If she truly likes him, wants to pursue a relationship seriously with him, shouldn’t she be demanding more than the crumbs of affection and attention he shows her? They’re both past the age of thirty, shouldn’t she be looking to get married and settle down, maybe spawn a demon child or two? 

He’s tried raising it with her once, but she responded with confusion. 

‘I don’t have any expectations of you, Omi’, she’d replied. ‘We both have busy lives, so whatever you’re willing to give, I’m happy to take’. 

There’s technically nothing wrong about her answer. It’s wholly considerate and kind - very much her.  

Still, it makes him wonder - if her heart were a compass, would it point towards him? 

He manages to hold his tongue until she gets another delivery of flowers. 

This time he opens the door when the doorbell rings, assaulted by the heady scent of lillies, pollen smeared on his sleeves. This time, there’s a name on the card. 

Oikawa Tooru . 

It takes a couple of seconds for him to realise why the name is so familiar. It’s the same name Hinata and Kageyama used to buzz about every Olympics - the famous Argentinian setter who started his career as a schoolboy from Miyagi, a prodigious setter who never made it to Nationals in high school, refused to give up and forged his way to success in a whole new land, continents away.

‘How do you know Oikawa’? He asks her. ‘And why does he keep sending your flowers?’ 

‘He’s just an old acquaintance,’ she admits. ‘He’s just sending the flowers to persuade me to attend his wedding.’

His forehead crinkles in confusion, and he tries his best not to leap to conclusions, but since she doesn’t seem to be forthcoming with further clarification, he presses her further. 

‘And why won’t you attend his wedding?’ 

Her shoulders slouch in obvious reluctance as she turns away, focusing her attention on the mixing bowl. But Kiyoomi isn’t easily deterred, so he firmly takes the mixing bowl from her and sets it on the countertop. He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly seeking an answer. 

She huffs a sigh through her nose. ‘Because he’s getting married to my ex-boyfriend, ok?’   

He blinks. That was unexpected. 

‘It happened half a decade ago. Ancient history. I’m over it.’ She mutters to the floor. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me about it?’ 

‘Because it’s none of your business’, she snaps, grabbing the mixing bowl again, beating the batter with a vengeance. 

‘You’re going to ruin the texture if you whisk it too hard’, he tugs the bowl away from her again. She refuses to relinquish her grip.

‘Leave me alone!’ she snarls, yanking the bowl back. Confused by her sudden fury, he lets go of the bowl, only for her to stumble back, eyes wide as she loses her balance, knocking her head against the countertop.

He drops down onto his knees, not even noticing the batter soaking into his pants, combing through her hair, scouring the back of her neck for any sign of injury. It’s only when he’s satisfied that her fall has resulted in nothing more than a bruise that should go away by tomorrow that he notices her tears soaking the front of his shirt. 

‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asks, wiping her tears away with a batter splattered thumb. 

She hangs her head, body still shaking from her sobs. ‘I’ve already made such a mess of things – don’t want you to have to listen to my nonsense – am just bein’ stupid, that’s all - ’. 

He patiently waits until her sobs dissolves into mere sniffles before speaking. ‘I want you to tell me what’s wrong. If you’re up to it.’ 

So through more broken sobs and hiccups, he listens to the tale of Iwaizumi Hajime, a boy who was her world, who only realised he was always in love with Oikawa Tooru, a fortnight before she and he were to wed. Her voice wavers as she tells him the full story of the white lilies, explains that her irrational dislike for stars stems from the reminder that she chose to give her world up to a boy-king burning brighter than the stars in the night sky combined. 

He waits until her words run out, and she’s leaning against him, broken and pliant in a way that makes his heart ache. 

‘I wish you told me about it earlier’, he tells her, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘That you would trust me enough to tell me about the things that hurt you in the past. And I wonder about the state of our relationship if you don’t even trust me enough for that’. 

‘That’s unfair. You never asked - ‘ 

‘How could I ask about something I didn’t even know about?’ He takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Hurt and anger and shock simmer in her eyes, each swirl of emotion fighting for dominance. 

‘I didn’t want to expect anything more from this relationship than you were willing to give’, she admits after a pause. 

She’s scared of being hurt again. He doesn’t miss the subtext.  

‘Shall I tell you what I want from you then? I have a list, if you’re willing to hear me out’ he asks, with a smile that’s growing more common the more time he spends around her. 

She nods, but keeps her gaze stubbornly on the ground. 

He takes his time to choose his words. He’s never been verbose - not like Atsumu or Bokuto or even easygoing Motoya, choosing to only say what is strictly necessary, using the precise amount of words, nothing more, nothing less. But this is a situation that requires more emotion rather than precision, so he inhales a shaky breath, letting it fuel the sentiment in his heart as he exhales. 

‘First. I want you to trust that I’ll never hurt you like he did’, he says, and with a self-deprecating smile he adds - ‘I don’t have any childhood friends to be secretly in love with besides Motoya, and I’m hardly going to be pining after my flake of a cousin’. 

That triggers the corners of her lips to tilt upwards, and encouraged, he carries on.    

‘Second. I want you to be open with me about what you want - your dreams, your expectations of me. I want to hear them all because  you’re important to me.’

That makes her flush pink, and she sneaks a glance up towards him. 

‘Third. I want to wake up each morning with you by my side and come home to you every night. I want to watch you fight cranky old ladies in the supermarket in my honour, be the first person to taste test all your baking experiments - even the failed ones that are only fit to feed Atsumu. I want us to be happy together. Forever, if possible.’

He lifts her bodily into his lap, brushes his nose against her cheek. ‘Now that I’ve told you what I’m willing to give, is that too much for you to take?’ he murmurs against her lips. 

Her blush blossoms into a deep scarlet, but her eyes are iridescent pools of startled delight. She doesn’t speak, sealing her answer instead with her lips. 

His heart’s compass is irretrievably broken, the needle melted into place. It doesn’t point north any longer, no  – it’s always going to point towards her. 

They move in together after that. 

He gives up his apartment, professing to prefer the warmth and light of hers. The Miyas help him move in even when he tries to refuse their help, Atsumu helping him to lug cardboard boxes up the stairs, Kaiyo helping him sort out his belongings, sorting them into his allocated cupboards. 

When they’re done, they order pizza and she bakes a cake to celebrate. ‘An impromptu housewarming’ she says, toasting Miya Kaiyo with a slice of pepperoni pizza with a laugh.

Kiyoomi shares a slice of chocolate cake with Atsumu in complete defiance of their nutritionist’s advice, jostling forks over the very last bite. She and Kaiyo scold them teasingly, telling them to behave like they’re actually thirty and not teenagers on the cusp of adulthood. Atsumu pulls at Kaiyo’s ponytail in retaliation. He refuses to engage in similar tomfoolery, reddening instead when she reaches over to ruffle his curls.

‘This is nice’, he remarks to Atsumu later, when their significant others are out of earshot, gossiping and giggling about something or other.  

‘It is, isn’t it’, Atsumu replies, a dopey smile on his face as he stares at his wife. 

It truly is , Kiyoomi thinks, staring at her.  

He takes over most of the cleaning, it clears his mind, he tells her. So to split the chores evenly, she insists on doing their laundry and cooking, and he doesn’t even nag her too much when she forgets to split the white and coloured clothes and stains some of his shirts once in a while. 

Wedding invites printed on expensive cream paper and bouquets of white lilies start to litter their doorstep every day. He tries his best to dispose of them before they reach her sight, but every so often, he comes home too late, catches her wilt as she brushes white petals from their doorstep. 

‘I don’t blame either of them’, she tells him, after he asks if she’d like him to call Iwaizumi and tell him to drown himself in a vat of batter, thank you very much. 

‘You’re too kind to both of them’ he says plainly, as they share a pot of tea, his head pillowed in her lap. ‘I would’ve just set them both on fire and left them to rot.’

‘Hajime loved Tooru for almost all his life - I just wanted to see him happy in the end. Argh  - I sound so stupid and sentimental like an old grandma, just laugh at me already’ she complains, hiding her burning cheeks in her hands.  

‘You aren’t stupid for being kind.’ He hums, quiet and low. ‘It’s why I love you so.’ 

He relishes the soft light dawning in her eyes, captures her whispered affection with careful fingers, spins them into gold. 

He has to turn off the stove to answer the door when some rude lout bangs on their front door far too early on a Sunday morning. 

With his coldest sneer and thinking resentfully about his breakfast, Kiyoomi swings the door open, fully intent on looming over the disturbance with his full height, but takes a step back instead when he finds one Iwaizumi Hajime hanging off the door knob. 

‘Hello’, Iwaizumi looks up at him confusedly. 

‘Hi’, he nods a greeting back at his old Olympic team trainer. They stare at each other. 

‘Eh - I think I’ve got the wrong house’, Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘Sorry about that, Sakusa-san.’

He’s about to close the door in Iwaizumi’s face when her voice chimes in, clear as a bell. 

‘Who’s at the door, Omi?’ 

The shorter man shoots him a look of barely contained rage as he uses his bulk to push his way through the doorway towards her. Kiyoomi tries to stop him, protesting that he can’t barge into someone’s private property without an invitation like that, but it’s as futile an endeavour as trying to block the path of a raging storm.

Iwaizumi reaches her first, raising a hand as if to cup her face by instinct, before letting it fall back limply by his side. ‘You weren’t answering any of my messages or calls’, he says. ‘I was worried about you.’

She stares at him blankly for a moment. Then fire sparks in her eyes. 

‘Well, as you can see, I’m completely fine’, she replies, jaw and fists clenched. ‘You don’t need to do a welfare check on me, we’re not involved anymore.’

The scorching pain in Iwaizumi’s eyes is evident, even from a distance away. ‘Yeah. Well. I thought we were friends. You didn’t even tell me you were dating again’. He shoves his hands in his pockets, tossing another heated glance in Kiyoomi’s way. 

‘I didn’t think I needed to update my ex-fiance about my love life, especially not when he’s trying to drag me to attend his wedding that I already said I’m not going to attend’, she bites back. 

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, then closes it with a resounding snap. ‘I’m sorry’, he says, with heartbreaking honesty. ‘I told Tooru that you probably didn’t want to hear from us, but he insisted and I got worried when I didn’t hear from you for months’. 

Kiyoomi can see her glare soften into molten sympathy. The tension in the air crackles with electricity. He’s neither blind nor stupid – he can sense the years of longing and love not quite lost between them. 

He thinks she loves him, Sakusa Kiyoomi – weird habits, cold disposition and all, but the doubt clogging up his arteries and veins is enough to make his heart seize – and if she’s going to break his heart, he’d much rather she not do it in front of Iwaizumi.  

‘Hajime - ‘ she begins to say, and at this point he jumps in - 

‘I’ll excuse myself so you both have the chance to catch up’, he says, waving aside her protests as he slips on his shoes. Even in his haste to leave the house, he clicks his tongue at the mess Iwaizumi left behind at their  genkan , kneeling down to arrange their shoes, only standing up when he’s satisfied they’re neatly arranged back in place. 

‘Omi, you don’t have to leave’, she says, holding the door open. 

He shrugs his shoulders at her, nose and mouth already obscured by his usual face mask. ‘Let me know when you’d like me to come back’. 

If she’d like him to come back. She doesn’t chase after him, after all.  

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, but the golden sunshine feels more like a taunt rather than a balm to his mood. His stomach growls, making him long for the scrambled eggs he was in the middle of frying before he was so rudely interrupted, but his growing sense of nausea keeps him from seeking out an alternative meal. 

Instead, he makes his way to the park, sits on a relatively clean bench. There are couples a-plenty, strolling around hand in hand, families picnicking merrily around him, compounding the growing chasm of loneliness in his chest. He tries to count the seconds by his breaths, tries not to let the minutes expand the insecurities crawling, inch by inch up his throat. 

He sits alone. Poised, yet short of breath. 

He wonders if Iwaizumi Hajime has finally figured out that stars, for all their brilliance, cannot compensate for their lack of human kindness. And if so, he wonders which direction her heart would point towards if it were a compass - whether it’s as broken as his, and whether it points towards Iwaizumi or him.   

He waits. 

Then his phone buzzes. 

Ah. 

She’s asking him to come home. He does not dare to overthink the meaning of that single word. But he does not hide that his steps back  home are lighter than when he left, though the key in his hand shakes so hard it takes him three tries to fit it into the keyhole. He does not try to suffocate the seed of hope budding in the soft earth of his heart when he realises Iwaizumi’s shoes have vanished without a trace.  

“Omi?” 

She’s waiting for him, slipping warm arms around his waist, tangling her fingers in his curls, ignoring his complaints about letting himself wash his hands first. 

‘Am I silly for missing you, even though it’s only been an hour?’

He refuses to be distracted by the affection in her voice.

‘But what about Iwaizumi?’ he frowns, hesitation still poisoning the well of thoughts in his mind. 

Perhaps it’s a testament to how well they’ve grown to know each other that she doesn’t need to read the silent subtext of his statement. She smiles, bringing his palm flat against her chest, does not answer until his pulse matches the steady beat of her heart.  

‘I love you , Omi’, she tells him. Her heartbeat does not quicken, her smile does not waver. ‘You told me not to long ago to always be upfront with you about what  I  want so I’m going to be honest with you now - Iwaizumi is only ever going to be my past, and I want you from now on’. 

If her heart were a compass, the steady beat of her heart tells him, it would point only towards him.  

‘That is – if you’ll have me’, she adds, a shadow of doubt suddenly appearing on her face. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, he scoffs, burying his nose to breathe in the familiar scent of vanilla in her hair. ‘Who else would I rather have than you?’ 

Who else would he be lucky enough to call his home – a woman with a heart large enough to fit a whole ocean within its depths, with kindness in her eyes and mirth in her smiles. 

She laughs in spite of the salt in her throat and water in her eyes, leaning on her toes in a vain attempt to reach his face. He lifts her into her arms, laughs when she squeals indignantly as her feet only find air, toppling them both onto the couch where he can seat her between his legs, press kisses to her cheeks.  

She’ll tell him later that Iwaizumi came looking for her because he’s never outgrown his overprotective streak, and he’s truly happy for her - for them, because they’ve both moved on with their separate lives. And she ended up agreeing to attend his and Oikawa’s wedding on one condition – that an invitation is extended to him, Sakusa Kiyoomi, to attend with her as his date. 

He’ll tell her later that he’s happy to attend the wedding with her, just not to expect him to smile in any wedding pictures. And more importantly, he’ll tell her in his plain way that the list of expectations he has of their relationship has expanded yet again. 

He’ll lay out his dreams of a pair of matching golden rings to bind them to lifelong companionship, of hellspawn of their own and a dog, maybe two. 

He’ll ask her if it’s too much for him to ask of her.  

She’ll tell him that she’s willing to give him everything he asks for and more. 

It’s Miya Shino’s ninth birthday party. 

He’s retired from volleyball proper, and is thankful he insisted on getting a business degree from Chuo University before going pro, because it comes in handy working alongside Kuroo Tetsuro at the volleyball association. 

Miya Atsumu insists on inviting him to the party, though he supposes he’s invited not by virtue of being a former teammate, but because he’s also Shino’s uncle by marriage now. The thought that he’s related to Miya Atsumu, however distant and most definitely not by blood, still fills him with dread. 

The birthday girl is a little less imbued with her father’s chaotic energy this time, though she still squeals when her birthday cake is unveiled – though to be fair it’s less a cake, more a tower of cupcakes with cream cheese frosting spelling out her name. 

‘Thank you Auntie!’ Shino cries, flinging her arms around her. Kiyoomi flinches at the sight of anyone, even his nine year old niece, coming in close contact with his extremely pregnant wife, but a sharp glare from her subdues any complaint he dares to make. 

He fusses over her the minute he has the chance to corral her away from the clutches of Miya Shino. ‘Are your feet hurting? What about your back? I don’t know why you insist on walking so much when you know the doctor said you should be on bed rest soon’. 

‘Stop fussing, Omi! The baby and I will be fine’, she replies, exasperated. ‘This is the last social event scheduled before I pop and I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.’ Then she scuttles off faster than he imagines her frame allows, leaving him floundering in her wake. 

‘Just let her be’, Miya Atsumu laughs, slapping his back. Kiyoomi is on the verge of pointing out -  pot, meet kettle, reminding Atsumu that the last time Kaiyo was pregnant, Atsumu didn’t stop fretting until she went into labour and delivered a healthy baby boy. But then he remembers the grief etched into Atsumu’s face when Kaiyo miscarried in the stands during a game, so he holds his tongue and rolls his eyes instead. 

‘I’m just worried she’s pushing herself too hard’, he admits in a rare bout of vulnerability. 

Atsumu smiles, genuine for once. ‘Those crazy women, eh? They’re always gonna drive us up the wall, but they’re worth every minute of it.’ 

He looks at her, belly swollen with their first child, peach blossoms blooming in her cheeks. His past self would never imagine that he’d find this much joy and contentment in being a husband and a father, but then again his past self was satisfied coming home alone day after day to a cold apartment. He knows better now - life is so better when he has her, sharing stories of their day of over steaming mugs of tea at their kitchen countertop, listening to her hum as she bakes treats for the weekend, warmth and laughter and love abound in their cosy apartment for two, soon to be three.   

So feeling vaguely drunk though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in the months since she whispered during their anniversary dinner that they were expecting, Kiyoomi laughs aloud. 

Atsumu lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

‘She really, really is’, Kiyoomi says, breaking into an unguarded smile.  

If you wanna know more about the backstory of the reader - check out The Astrophile, and if you wanna know more about Miya Atsumu’s relationship with his wife, check out Storm Chaser. 

As always, reblogs and/or comments are so very appreciated <3

Taglist: 

@snoozless @softsakusa @moondaius​ (yeon i’ll be shameless and tag you cos I know you’re an Omi stan!)

[heauxzenji]

could you do the nsfw alphabet for atsumu please? thank you :)

Aw shit, here we go again...

NSFW Alphabet: Miya Atsumu

gn!reader focused

A/N: She hasn’t written in awhile but you know what I’m proud of it- lol be nice to me or I’ll leave forever jk I won’t but still be nice to me ily 💕 Atsumu is a menace I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Obviously nasty below the cut so if you’re a kid fuck off

𝕬 - 𝕬𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖊

He’s not the best, but certainly not the worst. He will take care of you, but… only after he takes care of himself first. Usually that just means he needs to take a shower. Once he does, he’s free to supply cuddles until you both fall asleep.

𝕭 - 𝕭𝖔𝖉𝖞 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙

He has abs so solid you could make a sharkcoochie board on them. That’s all I’m going to say about that.

𝕮 - 𝕮𝖚𝖒

When Atsumu cums… he cums hard. It’s like having an out of body experience- every nerve cell in his body is firing off as he tenses up, digging his nails into whatever flesh he can grab, and grinding his heels into the surface supporting him. He bites down so hard his teeth grind involuntarily as his face contorts in a strained statuesque vision. One low growl from deep in his chest comes out through gritted teeth as he sputters out mixtures of “that’s it,” and “don’t you dare fucking stop.”

The orgasm face of Atsumu Miya is one of the 7 wonders of the world.

𝕯 - 𝕯𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞 𝕾𝖊𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖙

It’s not a secret per se, but he’s been exposed and clowned for eating ass… so he doesn’t wanna talk about it.

𝕰 - 𝕰𝖝𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊

So contrary to popular belief, I don’t think he’s that experienced... he’s just lucky! (Lmaoooo all of his experience is based on like 2 actual people that he maybe got to second base with (he says third but come on we know he’s lying) and then a litany of porn. Poor thing just wants some coochie I AM HERE KING and he has no trouble finding it, he just never seals the deal. He’s someone who just kind of, knows what to do naturally. He’s able to read someone’s body by touch alone, and so he knows what you like right off the bat based on how you react. He might try a couple of things at the start to see what really makes you squirm, but once he’s got it... holy hell has he ever got it.

𝕱 - 𝕱𝖆𝖛𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝕻𝖔𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

I hate to say how easy this was- but I KNOW Atsumu is a guy who prefers doggy. I see him as a hair puller, so this is perfect for him. I also could see him being into mirrors, and this is the perfect position to make you look at what he’s doing to you, especially while he’s pulling your head back by your hair. He especially likes gripping his thumbs into the smalls of your back (he crosses his arms bc saw it in a porn once and he thinks it makes him look cool), and when he’s INTO it, he likes to smack your ass to encourage you.

𝕲 - 𝕲𝖔𝖔𝖋𝖞

Is goofy by accident. Like will sometimes try throwing in something new with his normal dirty talk that completely throws you off. He hates when you laugh at him for it, but you find it endearing.

𝕳 - 𝕳𝖆𝖎𝖗

I’m gonna… say something so controversial yet so bold:

What hair?

And yes I mean that. Smooth. He waxes. Monthly. No hair. (Besides like… legs and armpits… yah he doesn’t touch those) Naked mole rat dick but fuck it he’s Atsumu motherfucking Miya he can do what he wants.

𝕴 - 𝕴𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖆𝖈𝖞

While he’s not the most... romantic in general per se, he does want to make you feel appreciated. He’s very eager to get his, but he won’t allow himself to unless you have already. It takes restraint, but he cools himself down by having you get on top, or by leaving lingering kisses anywhere he can, saying you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

𝕵 - 𝕵𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝕺𝖋𝖋

When he’s away from you he loves to send you videos of himself or FaceTime you. He gets you worked up enough to join him no matter where you are. He just needs to see you, he needs you to see him stroking his cock to the thought of you- he can’t cum without you telling him to.

𝕶 - 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖐

I have to get this out but I KNOW he’s nasty. I imagine Atsumu as a huge dirty talker and also someone who’s into spitting. Both of those are just clear in my brain... like he would be pundinng you from behind, spit on your back, and then call you a slut all in 3 seconds flat but the way that you would cream? Ugh insanity he needs to be arrested he needs to be stopped

𝕷 - 𝕷𝖔𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Since he’s got money now- he’s a big fan of ordering Uber XLs or even just hiring a driver for a night on the town as a flex. But he especially loves telling his driver to put up the window partition while he annihilates you in the backseat. I just think he’s a fan of car sex in general- it just does it for him.

𝕸 - 𝕸𝖔𝖙𝖎𝖛𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Loves to hear his name. Whether you’re moaning it or screaming it like it’s the only word you know, he’s always going to ask you who you belong to, and the answer is always Atsumu.

𝕹 - 𝕹𝖔!

He totally eats ass. He’s just not gonna tell anyone bc he told Osamu ONCE and now his contact name is ASStumu and he lives in fear of that getting out.

𝕺 - 𝕺𝖗𝖆𝖑

Sloppppppyyyyyy. Loves giving ~slightly~ more than receiving, simply bc he loves the sight of seeing his spit dripping down your thighs while he goes down on you. Loves eye contact when you’re going down on him.

𝕻 - 𝕻𝖆𝖈𝖊

Though I wouldn’t say he’s super experienced, I know he’s relentless. He fucks. Literally just fucks. Not in the sense that he only treats you like a hole bc yikes, but in the sense that he just goes the speeds of fast or faster. There’s no slow with him.

𝕼 - 𝕼𝖚𝖎𝖈𝖐𝖎𝖊

Yeah. Lots of them. Anywhere, anytime. Particularly for him, a lot of them end up being in his car, simply because you’ll be out somewhere and the mood strikes. He’ll quickly take you out to the car for a few minutes, slut you out, and then return to the function like nothing happened. You’ve had many a quickie in a bathroom or closet in a party as well. When he wants you, he wants you, so he’s not afraid to take you.

𝕽 - 𝕽𝖎𝖘𝖐

Not as much of a risk-taker as people think. Mostly because he wants to protect you. He would hate for someone to see you in such a compromising position… but also, you’ve had your fair share of quickies in the bathrooms of various wedding receptions, so he’s lying.

𝕾 - 𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖆

Can last a decent amount of time, if he spreads it out over multiple rounds. I’m general, he can probably go about 2 or 3 rounds without needing a break. More if you draw out foreplay with him. He’s a pleaser, so really how long he lasts is up to you. He’s got the power and control to hold off on is own release until he’s certain you absolutely can’t take anymore.

𝕿 - 𝕿𝖔𝖞

One of those mfs who gets you the mold of his dick as a toy for your birthday for when he’s away because according to him “you’ll be so needy while I’m gone”

I hate him so much but I would use that shit every day he knows what he’s doing I’m so upset

𝖀 - 𝖀𝖓𝖋𝖆𝖎𝖗

Speaking of being needy- he loves to egg you on when you are. He knows all the buttons to push, but he’ll never actually make the move until you’re begging. And of course he loves to turn that around in you, hitting you with that “god, ya just can’t get enough of me, can ya?”

𝖁 - 𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖚𝖒𝖊

He’s more of a talker than a moaner. Not necessarily loud in bed- but very, very vocal. Commanding of you in a good way, and will definitely show his appreciation through praise.

𝖂 - 𝖂𝖎𝖑𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖉

Actually has a Cosmo subscription bc he likes trying all the strange and obscure sex positions in the articles. Also likes taking the quizzes, and will casually have you do them with him at breakfast.

𝖃 - 𝖃-𝕽𝖆𝖞

he’s a little on the thicker side. Its probably a good 7 inches, so it’s enough to fill you, add in the stretch of his girth and it’s a good, mild burn when he first goes in, but he fills you just enough without it being way too much. He’s a shower, so he doesn’t get much longer, but you have a lot to work with. He also has a cute freckle on his left inner thigh.

𝖄 - 𝖄𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌

His sex drive is on the higher end, but really only when he’s in his off season. When he’s actively playing in games, he tries to curb his appetite a bit because he believes in the superstition that sex messes with players’ stamina on the court.

𝖅 - 𝖅𝖟𝖟

He’s gonna knock out, but not until he showers. He ALWAYS showers after. The water soothes his muscles and by the time he’s done it’s lights out.

Taglist Starseeds (link in nav to join):  @honey-makki @acciobrooms @sen-brainrot @the-3d-sky-sister @minato-hoe @strawberrymakki @prettyforpapiiwa @arixtsukki @freyafolkvangr @milanapolitana @notjasmin​ @keishinsuke

If ur url is bolded, send me a dm! ✨

[yee-fxcking-haw]

•Cross The Line•

Summary: “And they were roommates” predictable self induldent Denki roommate content lmao. Friends to lovers, pretty fluffy

Pairing: Denki Kaminari x FemReader (both 18+)

Warnings: Itty bitty angst, Lots o’ tension, Unprotected sex, Oral sex (female receiving), Quirk use during sex, Cumplay.

Word count: 6,984

A/N: Y'all I did it I wrote mostly plot are y'all proud of me for not being useless and horni for one fic. I mean it gets horni at the end but there is plot so yeehaw.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Son of a bitch!” You yell as you hurl the eyeliner across the bathroom, at your wits end after messing up for the third time. It hits the door with a sharp crack before it falls to the floor.

You kick the cabinet, successfully stubbing your toe in the process.

“Shit, shit shit shit.” You tumble backwards as you hop on one foot, planting your ass right on the toilet lid with a loud groan.

“You remodeling in here?” A chirpy voice says from the other side of the door.

“Fuck off, Denki.” You bark as you hold your busted toe.

He just chuckles as he opens the door and strides in, he leans back against the counter and crosses his arms while you scowl up at him.

His signature smirk is painted across his face, yellow hair sticking up in every direction. As usual, he’s going without a shirt, leaving him in just a pair of loose basketball shorts.

They hang just a little too low, exposing the waistband of his briefs, framing his defined adonis belt…

“You’re gonna need a bucket for all that drool.” He says, raising his eyebrows as his smirk grows into a smile.

“Oh please, I was noticing how scrawny you look.” You retort, letting your foot drop to the floor so you can stand.

“You got a date?” He nods at your dress, eyes lingering at the slit that exposes just a little too much thigh.

You and Denki are just roommates, that’s it. You’re also both incredibly horny, bisexual disasters. Naturally, there’s attraction, lingering stares, and moments of tension, but it never goes past that.

Just roommates. You can’t cross that line. Kirishima had introduced you two after meeting in class one day, convinced you would hit it off. You sure as hell did. You cliqued pretty much instantly, both full of chaotic dumbass energy.

Eventually, Kirishima moved in with his boyfriend, Katsuki Bakugo. This left Denki with no roommate, which meant you got an invitation.

You were hesitant at first, moving in with somebody after a few months of friendship was a big step, but you and Denki just worked. Neither of you kept a schedule, you shared one brain cell, and you always made each other laugh.

So, of course you moved in. Two years later, it’s still you and Denki against the world. You take care of each other, he’ll bring you candy and a heating pad when you’re on your period, you’ll make him soup and play with his hair when he’s sick.

You’ve seen each other naked, heard each other have sex, and helped each other score hookups. You pick each other up when you’re sloppy drunk, and nurse each other through the hangover the next day.

You have not, and will not, cross the line of a sexual relationship with each other. You can’t afford to, neither of you can lose the movie nights, the screaming bad music in the car together, or the two in the morning waffle house runs.

“I did, but I’m not going.” You huff as you stomp over to the sink so you can wash off the makeup.

“I can’t get this stupid eyeliner right, I’ve tried like a million times and I can’t fucking do it.” You scrub your face a little too hard, turning your skin a bit red in the process.

“Want me to do it?” He asks, he says it like it’s obvious. It kind of is, the kid is wicked good at eyeliner, he does it nearly every day.

“If you pinky promise you won’t make me look stupid and sabotage my date.” You glare at him, hinting at a time when he did in fact sabotage a date.

“That was one time, which you thanked me for in the end, because the dude was a total fuckboy.” He holds up his hands in a defensive posture.

“You’re a total fuckboy, and you did not have to tell him I had fucking herpes.” You throw your wet rag at him, which he catches skillfully.

“I’m a whore, not a fuckboy. Big difference.” He says as he tosses the rag onto the side of the sink.

“What would that be?” You ask as you bend down to retrieve the eyeliner before handing it to him begrudgingly.

He accepts it with a grin, golden eyes lighting up as he pulls the cap off of the felt pen before giving it a good shake.

“Fuckboys are so selfish, they always leave someone wanting.” He shifts so he’s standing in front of you as you lean back against the counter.

He places one hand under your chin so you’ll tilt your face up for him.

“A whore keeps someone satisfied.” His voice drops slightly as he looks down at you.

You don’t look down at his lips, or his collar bones, or his abs…

“You’re such a flirt.” You say, crossing your arms, trying to put something between the two of you.

“Hell yeah I am, now close those eyes for me.” He winks and you roll your eyes before closing them.

His hand slides up from your chin so you can hold the side of your face, his thumb lifts your eyelid slightly.

The feeling of his hand touching your face so gently shouldn’t make your heart rate increase, the feeling of his breath on your face shouldn’t make your knees a little unsteady. Most of all, Denki being this close shouldn’t be making you this dizzy.

You’ve walked in on him jerking it, you’ve even walked in on him balls deep in somebody else. You and Denki are close, you’ve stood this close before, with less clothing, why does it all of a sudden feel so different? No, it doesn’t. It can’t.

You feel the felt tip of the eyeliner press into your eyelid, he moves so fluently. He flicks his wrist at the end of the line, he shifts and does the other eye with the same precision.

“Open.” You do as he says, blinking up at him, raising your eyebrows in question as he looks you over.

A pleased smile creeps onto his face.

“You’re real pretty, ya know?” He says softly, grabbing your chin gently so he can turn your face from one side to the other.

The compliment makes your cheeks grow warmer. Your eyes dart down as you shift on your feet a little bit.

“You’re a sap.” You grumble before turning to check his work in the mirror.

It’s perfect, just a delicate little wing that enhances your eye shape. Perfect for a first date, Denki has always been better at makeup, and it’s always driven you just a little insane.

“What else are you gonna do?” He asks, making eye contact with you through the mirror.

“What do you mean?” You say as you grab your mascara and start applying it.

“Well are you gonna do anything with this?” He ruffles the top of your hair, you drop the mascara so you can bat his hand away.

“Dude, knock it off.” You say, you try to sound pissed, but start laughing when he wraps his arm around your neck so he can put you in a headlock.

“Only if you let me fix the rat’s nest on your head.” He laughs as you struggle to pull his arm off.

“I can do my own hair you sparky bastard.” You reach over and pinch his side.

He yelps and releases you from the hold, he raises his hands up and gives you a mischievous look.

“Oh, you want sparky?” Small snaps of electricity start to emit from his palms.

“Denki Kaminari, if you zap me I will suplex you.” You warn him, looking around for something you can grab to defend yourself with.

He’s much quicker than you though, and his arms around your waist in an instant. He hoists you up into the air and sits your ass on the counter. You feel the little shocks popping at your sides as he pushes you so your back is pressed against the mirror. Your senses are invaded by his warmth and the smell of Axe body spray, a smell you’ve grown to love.

“Denki, no! This shit always makes my hair all frizzy!” You protest as involuntary giggles leave your chest.

“Aw, sweetheart, are you sayin’ you can feel electricity between us?” He wiggles his eyebrows as his fingers stall.

“I will puke on you if you say any more cheesy shit.” You warn him, trying to keep your face straight, but you crack up at the melodramatic expression that crosses his face.

Then he delivers a particularly strong zap to the meat of your hip.

You don’t have time to control the way your body reacts. There’s no chance for you to keep your back arches, or the way you let out a fuck. The way you shiver is a little too intimate, your voice a little too broken. All of which Denki pays a little too much attention to.

You both settle and freeze, his sharp eyes meet yours. You’ve seen Denki Kaminari look serious a grand total of twice in the time you’ve known him. The first time was when you were ridiculously sick last winter, fever and chill with the works. The second time is now.

He watches you carefully, one eyebrow shooting up.

“Did that tickle?” He questions, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“It- yeah- it also fucking hurt, asshole.” You grumble, pushing at his chest so you can hop off the counter.

You try to shove past him with your head down, desperate to get out from under the weighty tension in the bathroom. Denki grabs you around the wrist though, stopping you in your tracks.

Your eyes meet as another wave of nerves washes over your body.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” His voice is steady, but tentative.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Your voice is just above a whisper.

Though, there certainly was.

You both stand there for a brief beat of thick silence, watching, waiting. You must imagine the way his lip twitches, the way his body shifts forward slightly…

No fucking way.

You turn on your heels and make your way out of the bathroom quickly.

You’re in your room with the door closed in no time. You lean against the back of it, catching the breath you didn’t realize you had lost.

What the hell was that? And why did it feel so… good?

No. Fuck no. Not with Denki.

You get ready in a huff, positively full of angst and confusion.

You shove it all down. It’s normal, right? To have a bit of tension with somebody you know so well, live so closely with, care for so deeply. You and Denki know each other. That’s all.

Your outfit isn’t much, but it’s enough for a first day. The colors are flattering against your complexion, the fabric clings in the right places. It’s nice, just nice.

You walk quietly from your room to the living room where Denki is sitting on the couch, legs spread wide with an arm across the back. Looking absolutely delicious- fuck- no not delicious. He just looks like Denki.

“That’s cute.” He says, he motions up and down with his phone, directing his comment at your outfit.

“Thanks.” You say a little too shortly, feeling the guilt immediately.

“I’ll be home later.” You say as you grab your keys from the dish.

“Be safe.” He calls after you.

Fuck.

***

Your date is an absolute disaster, nothing short of a trainwreck. It’s one of those dates that drains you. You politely nod as they ramble on about themselves, laugh at the bad and very insensitive jokes, and indulge in the small talk. Most of all, you miss Denki. You contribute very little, enjoy nothing, and wait for the end of the dreadful two hours you set aside for this.

You pay for dinner quickly, declining their offer for drinks, giving some bullshit excuse about having to work in the morning and being tired. You’re off tomorrow, and you’re wide awake.

You’re itching to get back to your apartment, dying to tell Denki all about your date’s wet cardboard personality. Hopefully, the bizarre moment you shared in the bathroom will be ignored and buried.

Never to be seen again.

You bust into the apartment, shuck off your bag and kick off your shoes. Denki is no longer on the couch, but at the kitchen table huddled over a cup of tea. The lights are all low or off, leaving him in mostly darkness. His posture is odd, slouched, defeated almost.

“Who died?” You try to joke, usually able to earn a chuckle with that line.

Denki doesn’t chuckle though, he sniffles.

“Sparky? What’s wrong?” You’re on him instantly, feet moving on their own.

Your hands are on the sides of his face, pulling up so he has to look at you. Your heart clenches and your chest burns as soon as the small amount of light catches his face.

His left cheek is painted with a deep red and purple bruise. His bright eyes search your face as you take the sight in, and you’re suddenly filled with fiery rage when you see how heartbroken he looks.

“Who the fuck-”

“It was my fault.” He cuts you off, grabbing your wrists so he can pull your hands off his face.

“Denki, what-”

“I told him we would hook up, so he thought we would. When I got there he had a bad vibe so I tried to leave… but he didn’t like that and he-”

You hush him when his breathing picks up, when you see tears well and his lip quiver.

“Hey, it’s ok, you’re ok.” You pull him against your chest, making a mental note to find and throttle the bastard that did this.

But that can wait. You and Denki had both returned from dates fairly busted up. The bruises were always one that were wanted though, never like this. A bad date was always laughed over, never cried over. The very thought of somebody laying their hands on Denki like this… it makes your skin crawl, it makes you want to kill.

His arms are around your waist immediately, hands grabbing as your clothes, pulling you closer. You hold each other for a long while until you feel his leg start bouncing and his fingers start to twitch.

You pull back and look down at him. He looks so displaced, so frantic and caught off guard. He needs something to do. Something to focus on. You can tell he’s not ready to talk, but he’s ready to be distracted, talking will come later.

“Will you help me get this shit off my face?” You ask gently, sliding your hand through his hair.

He blinks hard before wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Yeah- shit- I’m sorry, how was your date?” He asks, doing a shit job as pulling himself together.

“Don’t be sorry. It was awful. All they talked about was their college glory days.” You sigh, thumb running over his forehead.

“That didn’t win you? What’s wrong with you?” He asks, voice dripping with sarcasm.

There he is, or at least he’s trying.

“I missed you the whole time.” It slips out, runs away from you. You mean it though, god do you mean it.

He looks up at you with that same uneasy, distraught look. It almost makes you buckle. You feel pulled to fall into his lap, wrap yourself around him and press sweet kisses into his neck. You can’t, you know you can’t. He would probably be pissed if you crossed that line.

He doesn’t answer, he just nods silently, eyes falling to the ground as he stands up.

“Let’s get that shit off your face.”

You end up perched on the counter again as he wipes your makeup off with a warm cloth. It may seem backwards, him taking care of you, to most people it is. During your time together, you’ve learned that Denki feels useless if he isn’t helping.

When something is hurting him, he’s healed by pouring into someone else, so you let him. You’ll ice his bruise later, bring him water and medicine once you help him scratch this itch.

He takes his time with you, wiping away the makeup he did for you. The dull ache returns to your chest as he works. The soft glow of the bathroom nightlight is your only illumination, giving the room a painfully intimate environment.

He slowly wipes the cloth across your forehead one last time, laying it on the sink before bringing his hand up to hold your chin like he had earlier. You can’t help but glance at his bruise and simply hurt deep inside. You hate that you weren’t there, that you couldn’t stop it.

He breathes for a moment, looking at the planes of your face, eyes lingering in your lips for a bit too long.

“Pretty…” It’s a soft confession, something far too tender for the nature of your relationship.

His admittance settles somewhere deep within you, it wraps itself around your heart and warms it. It’s almost overwhelming and definitely terrifying.

“Do you need to eat?” You kill the building flames immediately, stamp them out with a stubborn foot.

He doesn’t mean it, he’s just vulnerable, he’s just emotional. You’d be an asshole to give into it.

“I could eat.” He sighs.

***

“This is so fucking stupid.” Denki laughs, irritated by the default plot line of the chick flick on tv.

You had ordered your favorite takeout, too much of it, to share as you watch. Slowly, you had pulled him out of his shaken state. With plenty of talk about your awful date, several good laughs, and the occasional soft spoken “you’re okay”. Denki is now settled with his head in your lap as he criticizes the lazy drama of the film.

“Why won’t they just stop being stupid and just… like each other?” He whines, gesturing at the tv with an inpatient hand.

“Dude they can’t. It would ruin the tension for them to like each other right now.” You explain.

He sits up and huffs before grabbing a handful of popcorn.

“But they could work. They could really work.” He says as he stuffs his face.

He seems so genuinely thoughtful, despite his grievances with the quality of the movie, he’s involved.

“Maybe they could.” You say, watching him instead of the movie.

He feels it when he looks at you, squeezing his ribs, trickling down his spine. The overwhelming, almost blind urge to lean in and kiss you. But he can’t, so he doesn’t.

“Could they?” He whispers.

You’re both frozen, trapped in the beam that’s suddenly shining down on you. It exposes every crack and corner of your relationship, leaving you both ripped open and afraid.

He’s leaning in again like he did in the bathroom, closer and closer and closer… until he grabs his damn drink.

Fuck.

A blush spreads across your cheeks, stomach aching with embarrassment. You pull back, shoving yourself under a blanket. You weren’t too obvious, right? You didn’t lean in too much… right?

He takes a long sip then sets the drink down harshly, not enough to make you jump, but enough to make you pay attention.

“Can we stop, please?” He says as he stands up, he runs his hands through his hair and huffs before he starts to pace.

“What?” You ask, trying to sound as oblivious as possible.

“Dude.” He turns on you, looking exhausted, eyes begging you for something.

“Denki- I, you need sleep…” You stand up and start to tidy, not really doing anything though. Just picking up cups and setting them down to look busy.

“I don’t need sleep.” He snaps before grabbing you by the shoulders. His eyes are wild, frantic, searching.

“What do you need?” You ask, hands shaking at your sides. His body sags, hands releasing you so he can hug himself.

“I don’t know.” It’s short and rushed, and he leaves you no time to respond before he storms off to his bedroom. His feet stomp, the door slams, and you fall to the couch in a heap.

This cannot be happening, not to you and Denki. You both just need sleep, you just need to brush it off and start again tomorrow. He’s emotional. He’s just emotional.

You turn the TV off, sneering at the couple kissing on it. You clean up slowly, setting dishes in the sink to be done tomorrow.

It’s ok. You’re ok. Emotions run high after bad dates, after traumatic events. It’s human nature. That’s all, you and Denki will be ok, you always are.

Your shoulders draw up when you hear his door open again, staying busy at the sink as you heard him walk into the kitchen.

“Can we talk about it?” His voice is unsteady, it tugs on your heart as you spin to face him.

“Talk about wha-”

“Please. Don’t.” He sighs as he steps towards you.

He’s too damn pretty when he’s tired. His cheeks get all pink, with glassy eyes and a shiny nose. Even with his busted cheek bone, he’s so… pretty.

Denki’s feelings have always run hot, he loves fast and hurts deeply. You can’t even begin to imagine the tsunami of emotion he must have pounding against his chest. You see it in his eyes though, something is breaking him.

“We could work.” He closes the distance between you even more, giving you no room to hide once your backside hits the counter.

“Denki…” You put your hands on his chest, trying to put something between you two, trying to cling to the line that’s been drawn.

“We could. Just- you don’t have to answer. Just think about it.” And then he’s gone again, away to hide in his room. Leaving you shocked and overwhelmed.

We could work.

You could, and you know it, you’re just not ready to accept it.

***

Sleep doesn’t come well, or even at all. You do think about it, all night. It’s the only thing on your mind as you toss and turn and huff. The sun is already peaking up into the sky, bathing your room in a hazy glow.

We could work.

Just because you could, doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be foolish of you to try. This is a friendship neither of you can afford to lose. You have some confidence that it could indeed withstand an awkward attempt at a relationship… but what if the attempt wasn’t awkward? Denki had told you, drunkenly, how much he loved you. He slept next to you when you cried, held you and talked you down. He knew how many sugars to put in your coffee and how you never bothered to match your socks.

Over time, Denki had memorized you as a person, and you had done the same for him. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to have in a partner? Someone who knows you, someone who makes it safe to be known.

Knock knock

It’s a courtesy knock, something he does to let you know he’s coming in. You never keep your door locked, and he’s always allowed in.

“Mornin’.” He says with a scratchy voice as he peaks into your room.

Fucking hell. Why does he have to be so pretty all the time?

“Mornin’.” You reply

You pull the blankets up around your chest, you realize now you’re in one of his t-shirts, not uncommon, but entirely too intimate given recent events.

He sits on the edge of your bed, all messy hair and puffy eyes. He offers you one of the coffee cups he’s holding, and it smells divine. You accept it as you sit up right, crossing your legs and clinging to your blankets.

His bruise is darker, yellow around the edges with deep red and purple splotches. It gives your chest the same tight feeling, something helpless and angry.

“I’m sorry, I was out of line.” He says quietly.

“You were right, I was emotional and I needed sleep and I definitely shouldn’t have dumped it on you.”

He fidgets while he talks, leg bouncing as his fingers dance around his mug. You reach out to rub his back, but he flinches. He fucking flinches.

Neither of you speak, but you meet each other’s eyes. He looks sorry, so sorry. He looks embarrassed and scared and guilty.

Slowly, you grab both cups and set them on your nightstand. You open your arms to him, still not speaking, not opening the door for him to apologise for something that isn’t his fault.

He falls into you easily, arms around your waist with his face against your neck. He crumbles there, unable to articulate, only able to cry. You hold him close, rub circles in his back and play with his hair. You let him go as long as he needs to, sitting with him, hurting with him.

“Denki?” You tread carefully, using your softest voice.

He looks up then, with a rosey face and searching eyes.

“You’re safe here. You’re safe with me.”

Something you’ve never seen before flashes in his eyes, something soft and warm, something that makes you want to fall forward into him like he just did with you.

You don’t, though, you stay still.

“Thank you.” He whispers.

Then, with all the caution and care in the world, he places a kiss on your forehead. It’s so simple, it’s been done a million times between the two of you, but it sits differently in your chest this time. It stays there, taking up space, spreading through you. That feeling of wanting to cross a line.

“Do you want to make breakfast?” He asks as he wipes at his face with his sleeves.

“Of course. You want those big ass waffles I make?” You ask, trying to lighten the mood.

His grin is slow to appear, but it does appear, and it’s as dazzling as always.

“I always want some big ass waffles.”

***

The rest of the day is spent in close proximity with each other, not unusual, but like everything else the past twenty four hours, it feels different.

You share you sit with knees touching while you eat your waffles, pee with the door open, he puts the toothpaste on your toothbrush for you. It’s all so normal for you two, but god it feels so different. It feels more important, it feels more… wholesome? Maybe? Not quite, that word isn’t entirely applicable. Neither you to Denki are wholesome in any capacity. Then a horrible thought scrambles into your mind.

It feels romantic. It feels domestic. It feels like a relationship.

It hits you while you’re helping him clean up the mess you’ve made cooking dinner. It’s in the way his hand ghosts over your waist when he slides behind you, the way he gets you more to eat without asking him to, the way makes you laugh so naturally.

Fuck.

You love him, you know this as a fact. You love him more than anyone, he knows you inside and out and you know him. You’re just now realizing in exactly what way you love him. He holds your hair when you puke, he rubs your back when you cramp, he pretends to be your boyfriend to scare off bad dates. He loves you too.

“Denki.” Your voice is quiet, your hands shake.

“Can we talk about it?”

His whole body tenses as he sets down the plate he was rinsing. He turns slowly, as if to avoid frightening you.

“Can we?” He asks gently, hopefully.

You step towards him, twisting your fingers around each other anxiously.

“This… works, doesn’t it?” You ask, awkwardly gesturing between the two of you.

He closes more of the distance, standing only inches from you.

“It does, and it could.” He says gently.

“What If it doesn’t?” You wonder out loud, fear creeping up your spine.

“Then it doesn’t.” He says simply.

“And we’ll be ok?”

“We’ll be ok.”

You stand in silence, keeping an eye on each other as you both process the information. He does that leaning thing again, like he wants to be closer. Then you panic.

“But it would be stupid.” You say as you turn away, wringing your hands around each other while you pace. He lets out a sigh and throws his hands up, exhausted with the back and forth.

“Right, because you and I would never do anything stupid.” His voice is rough, impatient, unfamiliar.

“We can’t afford to be stupid with this, dude. Can’t you see that?” You argue.

“Then we can be careful with it, we can start slow, we can ease into it.” He’s nearly begging, stepping towards you again.

“Ease into what!?” You turn on him, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t play dumb.” He crosses his arms, you mirror him, both skittish, both afraid.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and we won’t talk about it ever again. You have my word.” He offers, but he doesn’t want to.

You stand there, weighing your options, chest seizing as you watch his vibrant eyes search your face.

You can’t tell him you don’t want it. You can’t lie to him.

“I- Denki… I can’t lose you. We can’t fuck this up.” You feel tears prick at your eyes and a tightness in your throat, the very idea of being without your best friend makes you panic.

“You won’t fucking lose me. You have me, all of me. We won’t fuck this up if we just keep doing what we do.” He tries to keep his voice calm, but he breaks a little.

Another moment of heavy silence is spent between you, chests rising and falling rapidly, hands twitching as minds race.

Denying this any longer would be a crime, a horrible waste of time. Something snaps then, something gives in, and the line is crossed.

His hands are at the side of your face and his forehead falls against yours. Breath is hot, hands are needy, hearts are aching.

“Please, god, please.” You grab at his wrists, not to push him off, to pull him in, keep him close.

“I want you, need you, please.” You confess.

And then your soul is in flames. He shudders and his lips are on yours as soon as he can get them there. All at once, and not soon enough, the line you had both been clinging to is crossed. His hands hold your face so tightly as he works his lips against yours, kissing you with all he has left, letting loose all the times he’s wanted to before. It’s all consuming, it’s mind numbing, it’s (no pun intended) fucking electric.

He walks you back as he kisses you urgently until your ass hits the counter, his hands are on the backs of your thighs instantly. He whispers a quick jump against your lips. You do exactly that.

Now seated on the counter, you spread your legs so he can settle between them. He slides in perfectly, lips still hot and greedy against your own. His hands cling to your hips while yours claw at his back.

He breaks from you, panting with his pupils blown wide.

“Can we do something stupid?” He asks between puffs of air.

“Please, Denki, please.” You sigh, grabbing at his shirt. He grabs it by the collar and rips it off, revealing the body you’ve seen so often, but now you get to know it.

“I wanna taste your pussy.” He whispers before pressing his open mouth against your neck.

The words send a shock all the way down your body. The sparks fly and then settle between your legs where you feel his hard length pressing against your heat.

“Haven’t shaved.” You say, slightly embarrassed.

“Like I fucking care.” And then his hands are at your clothes, pulling them off and throwing them away until you’re left completely bare for him.

His skin feels like heaven against yours, warm and dewy and right.

“Gonna make you feel so good, fuck.” The last word is said with a tone of disbelief.

His hands slide up your sides, gathering your breasts so he can tease your nipples with his thumbs.

He smirks against your neck when you gasp and arch against him, pushing your bodies even closer together.

“Sensitive little thing, aren’t you?” He taunts.

“You’re talking too much.” You let out a breathy laugh at his teasing before planting your hand on top of his head and pushing him down.

He gladly falls to his knees, he throws one of your legs over his shoulder like it’s life or death before finally looking at your soaked center.

“Oh my fucking god.” He sighs.

“I wanna tease you but holy hell, I gotta-” He’s on you before you can brace at all, his tongue licks along your slit slowly, almost reverently.

And then he moans. It’s something whiney, something achey, escaping from the back of his throat.

He doesn’t stop, he doesn’t pull away, he finds the spot that makes you jump and sets up camp. He kitten licks your clit until your hands are pulling at his hair as you gasp above him.

It’s all so much, it’s all so good. Especially when he finally presses two fingers into you. He steps a gentle pace, a soothing push and pull that feels incredible. He works and works and works until your thighs are trembling and you’re babbling praises.

“Denki- fuck- there, right there, fuck fuck fuck.” He eats you so sweetly, with so much precision.

You almost anticipated him being more reckless, more sloppy. He isn’t though, he takes his time, learning your sweet spots, finding the angle that makes you crumble.

And he does.

You reach your end when he flattens his tongue and curls his fingers, massaging every part of you. His name falls from your lips in a broken cry, hands tug at his hair as your thighs squeeze his head.

He helps you through it, licking and fingering slowly to ease you back down, letting you feel every last nerve erupt in pleasure.

“Fuck that was perfect, you’re so fucking sweet.” He sighs against you.

You don’t answer, you can’t, you just grab at him until he gets the hint to stand up.

“Need you inside me, please, Denki please.”

“That’s funny.” He says thoughtfully, pulling down his sweats and briefs to reveal his very hard, very pretty dick.

“What?” You ask, breathless as he steps between your legs. He grabs at his length and gives it a few lazy strokes before pressing his head up against your cunt. The action makes you shiver and dig your nails into his shoulder.

“Didn’t think you were one to beg.” He says with a trembling voice, body buzzing with anticipation.

Then he presses in, replacing any smart remark you may have had with a gasp. It’s definitely a stretch, but god it’s incredible. He fills you so well, presses all of the right spots as he slides in.

“Denki- shit.” Your head falls back against the cabinet, your brain turns to mush as you try to fully comprehend how you ended up here, most of all how you went so long without this.

“So fucking tight.” He pants as he bottoms out, his praise makes you clench, which in turn makes his head fall back with a sweet little gasp.

He pulls in a sharp breath through his teeth, his top lip pulls up almost like he’s in pain. You know he isn’t though, he’s just savoring it.

With a frantic hand, you reach up and grab at the hair at the nape of his neck. You pull him back down against you, both moaning into the kiss when he moves his hips back slowly.

Your lips are messy against each other, bodies working together, finally colliding the way they’re meant to. He keeps his hips moving, setting a perfect, smooth pace. His hands settle on your hips as your stay in his hair.

You’re more vocal than usual, moaning out little praises, needing more and begging for it.

“You feel so good, don’t stop, baby- feels so fucking good.” Your lips quiver as you speak, making you sound so weak and needy. That mixed with the affectionate name does something to Denki, something that names him break a little more.

He buries his face into your neck, whispering a harsh fuck that sounds strangled and desperate. His thrusts get a little faster, his hands grab you a little tighter, and all you feel is Denki.

Your whole body buzzes, in your fingertips, the backs of your thighs, you feel him everywhere.

You don’t even consider the mess that you’ll make on the counter, don’t mind the bruises he’ll leave on your hips, it’s all worth it. So fucking worth it.

“Look at me, look at me when I make you cum.” One of his hands comes up to hold your face as he speaks frantically.

His words set off a cloud of butterflies in your stomach, every sensation building, becoming more intense. You nod pitifully as you lean into his hand, chasing your high with each of his deep, filling thrusts.

The feeling of his hand on your hip reminds you of the last time he had you sitting on a counter like this. You remember how he shocked you, how it went straight to your cunt, how much you loved the feeling.

Body jolting with each thrust, your hand falls over his on your hip. You give him one look, and his eyebrows shoot sky high.

“Yeah? You want me to shock you?” His voice climbs as he speaks, so high and pretty and needy.

“Yes, fuck yes, please, Denki.” You plead, you’re so damn close, you just need that final push.

He doesn’t waste any time. As soon as you ask so sweetly, his palm starts to spark, biting at your skin. You cry out and throw your head forward, the electricity drives you up a wall, absolutely hooked on the sensation.

“That’s it, cum nice and hard for me sweetheart.” His other hand moves down to thumb at your clit and that’s all it takes.

“I’m gonna- ohmyfuckinggod- Denki! Shit!” You sob against his skin as he zaps you just a little more. It makes you delirious, you shiver and jolt as your hands claw down his back.

He fucks you through it, moans and praises fall from his lips as you crest. Your walls quiver around him, almost finishing him off too. Somehow, he keeps it together, he holds his pace until he’s sure you’re on your way back down.

“That’s it baby, that’s it.” He coos as his thrust become more shallow, “Oh fuck.”

He pulls out and jacks himself off only a few times before he’s spilling onto your thigh, painting the skin hot white ropes.

Your hand darts down to gather his release on your fingers before bringing it to your lips. You make a show of licking it up, popping your fingers from your mouth as your eyes flutter shut.

“Oh you dirty fuckin’ girl.” He muses, he gathers the rest up with his thumb so he can press it into your mouth.

You swirl your tongue around his thumb, looking up at him with a doe eyed expression.

You never dreamed you two would ever end up here, feeling and tasting each other in the filthiest of ways, but god it feels so right.

You stay there for just a moment, clinging to the high and each other, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

As your breathing steadies, his hands are placed gently around your waist, thumbs playing at the bottom of your ribs.

You share a moment of silence, waiting for the other to make the first move.

“Wanna talk about it?” Denki asks, a smile playing at his lips. You let out a breathy laugh, head falling forward so you can lean your forehead against his collar bone.

You start to press soft kisses across his chest, he hand slides to play with the hair at the back of your head.

“I don’t think we have to.” You kiss up his chest until you’re looking up at him.

“This works, doesn’t it?” He asks fondly, looking as stunning as ever, bruise and all.

“This works.” You confirm.

With that, he ducks down suddenly, arms sliding around you so he can throw you over his shoulder.

“Denki! What the hell?” You laugh, pounding at his back playfully.

“If we aren’t talkin’ we’re fuckin’. This isn’t a one and done deal baby.” He says as you round the corner to your bedroom, he throws you on the bed so you land with a bounce and a giggle.

“I hope you don’t have plans for the next six hours.” He falls into you, kissing all over your neck and collarbones.

“Hey.” You say quietly.

“Hmm.” He responds between kisses.

“I love you, sparky.”

He pauses, looking up at you with his luminant eyes.

“I know.” His face splits into a teasing grin.

You punch his shoulder, pouting dramatically.

He inches up the bed, caging you with his arms so he can cradle your head with his hands. He looks at you thoughtfully for just a moment before leaning down to kiss you.

It’s gentle and careful this time, slow and thought out. It makes you absolutely melt.

“I love you too.” He whispers against your lips.

It does work, it works beautifully. It was a slow and not so steady road, but you two knuckleheads did it. You crossed that damn line.

[opheliawillowbrook]

How the Cookie Crumbles

To say his brothers fought would be an understatement: They warred. That. That was the better word. However, it was Dick who was the peacemaker among them. The mediator extraordinaire, translating all his brothers’ woes and misunderstandings into less doom-pending transgressions. But to say this unofficial, yet very necessary part he played was tasking was yet another understatement of unspeakable proportions. It was a FUCKING LOT.

“I swear to God, Drake. You and Brown are a special kind of stupid.”

“Shut up, Damian! It’s a good idea!” Tim grumbled in reply.

“Yeah! You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first!”

Dick’s face fell upon hearing the argument and considered turning the other way, but he’d learned the hard way that his lack of interference could result in bloodshed. Damian did have a history of stabbing Tim, and Robin had an impressive body count, according to Jason. I’d better  make sure he doesn’t add two more.

“Well, fuck me and my  entire life,” Dick droned in frustration. “What are you three bitching about now?”

“Damian keeps saying our idea is stupid,” Stephanie tattled.

“Yeah!” Tim added with crossed arms. “He says we lack the fortitude for good ideas!”

“You do!” the current robin exclaimed.

“Damian?”

The youngest batboy rolled his eyes and reasoned, “Listen, I know these two brain donors barely have two brain cells to rub between them—”

“That’s not the only thing they rub!” Jason called from the other room.

Damian again rolled his eyes in contempt and continued, “And I’ve accepted, as a member of this family, that everyone gets to act a little stupid from time to time. However, as much as I would like to respect their commitment to their shared stupidity, I feel as if they are abusing the privilege and it needs to stop before one of them gets hurt.”

“Wow, he actually cares,” Jason added from still in another room.

“Have you been sitting there listening the whole time?” Dick asked, near facepalm.

“Affirmative,” Jason confirmed, entering from the hall.

“And you did nothing to stop them fighting?”

“It’s funnier this way.”

“Do I always have to be the responsible one?”

“Affirmative,” all four said with little thought.

“Okay then,” Dick sighed with reluctance. “Damian, I know you find it hard to accept the choices of others, but you need to understand that free choice and expression is about accepting that others may not make the same choices as you, and that’s okay. It’s the same as you choosing not to take my dating advice and ask Raven out because you’re afraid of rejection—”

“Shut up, Grayson! This isn’t about me!!!” Damian spat.

“Damian has the hots for Raven?” Jason teased. “You have good taste, Mighty Mouse. She got a great—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence, Todd!” Dick and Damian ordered in unison.

“I was gonna say personality,” Jason droned. “Get your minds out of the gutter. I mean for fuck’ sake.”

“Sure you were,” Tim replied with a glower.

“Yeah Tim, cause you never stare at her tits while you talk to her,” Jason added, throwing him doubly under the bus.

“Dude, are you trying to get me killed?” Tim said, shooting an elbow into his brother’s ribs as Damian and Stephanie both glared. Spurring Dick into a further mood for murder.

“My point being is, just because you don’t like other peoples’ ideas, doesn’t mean they’re stupid.”

“Tell them the idea, guys!” Jason urged, stirring the pot.

Stephanie and Tim looked at each other and nodded, as though they’d discovered the holy grail itself. “We’re gonna write a series of YA novels and sell them on the web!” Steph sang optimistically.

“Yeah, it’s a huge and diverse market,” Tim added.

“And with established characters, we’ll make a killing.”

Dick’s brow furrowed. “That sounds like fanfiction?”

“It sounds like utter bullshit,” Damian sneered, not single fuck given.

“It’s not bullshit,” Tim snapped. “YA novels make up a huge portion of the market. People love those things.”

“Then name one YA novel that has sold more than a manga in the last 10 years?”

Tim shrugged. “I can’t think of one at the top of my head, but there they definitely exist and sell.”

“Yeah, so does my fanfiction based on this family,” Jason added under his breath.

“What?” Everyone asked.

“Nothing. Continue.”

“So anyway, I told Damian it’s a foolproof plan.”

Dick rolled his eyes with a bit of doubt, but who was he to judge or discourage their creativity. I mean, he dropped out of college after all? “I’m not saying I believe it’s bulletproof, because frankly, nothing is. But I’m curious why you would consider telling Damian? I mean, he hates most things.”

“And Drake. I hate Drake.”

“We’re all very aware, Dami,” Dick drawled in annoyance. “But yeah, why would you tell him anything important to you? Especially that?”

“Well, we kinda needed a loan. I knew Bruce would undoubtedly say no and, well, Damian has money.”

“Because I make good business decisions.”

“I don’t know why I thought of asking you?”

“You didn’t, Jason told you to,” Stephanie confessed, recalling an earlier conversation.

“Jason, really?” Dick tsked.

“Hey, Damian does make good business decisions. Who do you think cleans and invests money? It’s certainly not Alfred.”

“Because Alfred would have nothing to do with your blood money, Jason. And Damian, I’m very disappointed in you!”

“Grayson, I don’t know what high horse you are riding on today, but you better come off it. Father told me if I wanted money, that I needed to earn it and that I should get a job. So I got one.”

“Laundering money for Red Hood’s criminal Enterprise is not a job!”

“Actually it is. Mighty Mouse made us an LLC and everything. I own several Wash & Folds, all legitimate! Thanks to Hell Spawn here! I’m actually considering making him a partner.”

“So will your LLC fund our YA Novels?”

“Oh fuck no!”

“Come on, Jay! We have a solid business plan,” Stephanie pleased.

“You’re business plan is a bunch of meaningless numbers written on the back of a napkin and poorly illustrated versions of us,” Damian said, holding up the napkin in question.

“Okay, so it’s not the final draft, but we’re working on it!” Tim said pointedly.

“Yeah, as tempting as this all sounds, I didn’t make my money making half baked business decisions,” Jason reasoned

“No, you made it by taking over Gotham’s drug trade,” Dick clarified with disapproval.

“Which was a solid business decision.”

“Why do I even talk to you?”

“I don’t know why I talk to any of you,” Damian scowled, arms crossed, grateful there was no shared genetics between him and his adoptive kin. “I don’t understand what father saw in any of you.

“I can’t answer that,” Jason replied. “However, I can tell you, from personal experience, what he saw in your mom.”

“Do you wanna die, Todd?”

“Do you wanna not have a job?” Jason wanted. “Also, been there done that. But hey, if I died twice then I’d have buffy status so don’t threaten me with a good time, kid.”

“On that note, I’m leaving,” Damian grimaced. “I have to meet Raven, anyway.”

“Oh,” Dick sang. “You have a date!”

“It’s not a date.”

“Bet you wish it was a date,” Stephanie teased. “Y’know, if you just stopped acting like a dick all the time, I bet she’d go out with you.”

“Shut up, Brown.”

“Oh no,” Dick smiled. “I know it’s hard to believe, but he’s nice to Raven.”

“Hey keep that shit up,” Jason added. “If you’re nice to her, she’d be nice to you!”

“I hate all of you,” Damian proclaimed and stormed away.

“Fuck you too! See you at work Monday! Jason called, earning a tiger middle finger.

“He might be an asshole, but he’s a good kid,” Jason nodded with a sense of pride, causing to Dick to silently scoff. “Still needs to get laid though.”

“Bruce is gonna be so pissed when he finds out you pulled Dami into your bullshit.”

“You’re using Raven’s pet name for him now?” Jason mocked. “And fucker’s gonna have to prove it first; there’s a reason I hired ‘Dami’ for that job.”

“Dude, fuck you; dig your grave,” Dick lamented. “And don’t come at me with one of your tired ass death jokes, they’re getting old.”

“Suit yourself,” the Outlaw glowered as silence set in.

“So Dick,” Tim dared sheepishly. “You, um, wanna invest in--”

“Absolutely not,” the elder hero replied.

Leaving Jason to chuckle. “And that’s the way the cookie crumbled.”

If you enjoyed that feel free to leave me kudos 👉 here on Ao3 lol. If you have any remdom prompts send them my way; maybe I’ll feel inspired 😘

[kiame-sama]

Could you do a Yandere Silva where the reader is getting hit on by a butler with a death wish and Silva freaks and it ends with rough sex where reader won’t be able to walk👀🍵

Warnings; lemon, rough behavior, yandere relationship, yandere behavior, mentioned non-con, reader gets threatened, reader has female parts, oral (female receiving), oral (male receiving), 69, peak into the yandere mind of an assassin,

~~~~~~~~

You sat quietly in your room, relaxing back on the large couch and idly listening to whatever was currently on the TV. It had been a fairly quiet day, but most days were quiet (other than when Silva decides he needs attention). You were rather bored, slightly considered taking a nap or even calling for Silva just for some kind of entertainment.

Just as you were in the middle of deciding what to do, the door slowly began to open. This immediately put you on guard since the only ones who would enter your room tended to fling it open despite how unbelievably heavy the door actually was. You were quick to retrieve your panic button, a distress alert Silva had given you just in precaution for someone getting to your room. It only happened once that some fool decided to kidnap you without anyone knowing until you were already gone, but he made certain it would never happen again.

You fiddled with the small device nervously, watching the door with great anticipation for whoever it was on the other side. You were surprised to see a man you had never met before. He wore a suit identical to that of the butlers that worked in the manor, but all of the butlers should know better than to even come within twenty feet of your room.

"So you're the famous Zoldyck treasure. I can certainly see why."

He looked you up and down, making you feel far more exposed than you actually were. The man was blond and had bright blue eyes that seemed to glimmer in the light of your cell. He was fairly tall, though not as tall as Silva, and he had sun-kissed tan skin. The way he looked at you like a piece of meat made your skin start to crawl, so you subtly pressed the button and hoped that this man wouldn't have the time to do anything to you.

"You're quite the big mystery. Most here don't know what's in this room, and It's even one of the most enforced rules; don't go near this room. I can see why you're considered a treasure, a lovely thing like you would attract a lot of attention. But, I don't see why you're kept away from everyone like this. Can you tell me?"

"..."

"It's okay, I don't bite, unless you want me to. You must be such a fragile little thing, being locked up like this for your safety."

"I'm not locked up for my own benefit."

"Oh?"

"I'm here because my husband doesn't like sharing."

This, instead of making the man back off like you thought it would, the man only seemed to become more interested in you due to your words. He began a slow approach towards you, making you retreat until your back was pressed against the wall and he was mere inches away from you. You tried to turn your head away from him, keeping as much distance as possible between the two of you, knowing just how Silva will react.

"He doesn't have to know... Isn't it exciting, though? Sneaking around like this."

"No."

"Oh come on, live a little, sweetheart."

"Leave me alone."

"Nah, I don't think I will. In fact, no one even knows I'm here, so no one will come check on you. I could do so many things to your tight little body with the time I have... And no one would even hear you cry for help."

"Stop- Stop it."

"So scared. Good. I like 'em scared. You're gonna be so much f-"

He was suddenly cut off by the door slamming open with enough force to make the walls shake, him turning on his heel to confront whoever just arrived. You were quick to slide past the stunned man as he turned away from you, hurriedly making it to Silva's side and hiding behind him. The man had a look of pure terror on his face, clearly not expecting the terrifying assassin to appear.

You gripped tightly to the back of Silva's shirt, pressing your forehead against his broad back as you hid from the intruder that had threatened you so gleefully. The small glimpse you got of Silva's expression was enough to tell you everything you needed to know. He wasn't just mad, he was furious. Luckily, none of that fury was directed towards you.

Not only were his burning blue eyes filled with pure hate, they seemed to glow in the light of the room with a predatorial glint. He never really seemed to smile anyway, but his expression wasn't his usual scowl, it was akin to the stone-cold expression of a wild animal ready to kill. There was a palpable hate in the air that made it quite clear Silva had no intention to let the man live.

"Did he do anything to you?"

"He threatened me."

A low hum that sounded more like a growl rumbled from his chest, clearly displeased. The man had yet to move from his original spot, frozen in terror at the intimidating visage of your furious husband. Had the situation been different, and had the man not threatened you, you would have felt pity for him, but you felt no pity now.

"Explain."

"Wha-What?"

"Explain just what you are doing in my wife's room."

The man had already been terror stricken, but now all of the color disappeared from his face as he realized just how stupid his decision had been. He had assumed you were just another family member, maybe a sister or daughter. He only began to now realize just how fucked he was. Even though he was a relatively new butler, he knew of Silva's infamous temper and he also knew to never talk about Silva's wife, lest he wish for the most painful death possible.

He had seen Kikyo around, and since Kalluto was always trailing behind, he had assumed that she was Silva's wife and did his damndest to stay away from her and stay out of her path. He had heard stories about what would happen to anyone who took any level of interest in Silva's wife, but he had just figured it was meant as a basic warning about the woman herself. Yet here he was, staring at the most terrifying man he had ever encountered after just having threatened and attempted to force himself onto the very woman he was warned to never speak of.

"Well?"

"I- I didn't- I hadn't- but-"

"You've already exceeded my patience, filth."

"I'm- I'm sorry! I didn't know who she was! I wouldn't have said those things to her if-"

"Said what 'things'?"

"..."

You pulled away to look up at your towering husband, seeing him glance over his shoulder at you, his eyes far more gentle and loving. The glance was a clear prompt to speak, and you'd rather not push Silva's buttons at that moment, given his unyielding rage about to overflow.

"He threatened to rape me and said no one would hear me scream."

There was a sudden change in the entire room the moment you finished your sentence. It was a crushingly heavy pressure that seeped into every corner like a rolling miasma, consuming everything. The pressure quickly lifted from you, allowing you to breathe though it was clear the intruder did not receive the same kindness as he choked and dropped to his knees.

If you thought Silva was mad before, he was as tame as a kitten in comparison to the rage that now consumed him. You were well aware of Silva's knowledge in ways to kill a man, but it seemed more like he was interested in a slow drawn out slaughter. He never once looked away from the terrified man, even as he spoke in a gentle tone to you.

"(Y/n), go wait in our room. Don't come out until I tell you to."

"Alright..."

Quickly scrambling to the room you two shared, you caught a glimpse at Silva's expression and felt your heart drop into your stomach. Even though you knew he was not angry with you at all, that look alone sent fear running down your spine and into your very being. You closed the door and sat on your bed, hearing a sudden shrill voice begin screaming.

It wasn't hard for you to guess the kind of mood Silva would be in once he was done dealing with the man. There was no doubt in your mind he was going to be rough as well, knowing how he got when jealous. You also knew he would be jealous as all hell due to the man being in your room. It may not have been your fault and the man may be dead, but with Silva, jealousy didn't fade away.

There were few things you could do at that point to soften Silva's mood, and honestly him being rough wasn't that bad (so long as he doesn't break your bones). Given how terrifying just a glance at him was, you figured you'd do something that should brighten his mood and help soothe his jealousy a bit. You dug through your clothes picking out your white and blue lingerie- Silva's favorite for obvious reasons- and waited on the bed.

The screams had yet to stop, though they certainly took on a more gurgling tone the longer it went. You shivered slightly, wondering just what Silva was doing to the man, since he was an expert at torturing people. Though he has hurt you in the past- most being accidental- you know just how strong he is and just how deeply his few emotions impact him. Looking from the outside, he feels nothing, but with you he is extremely expressive in everything he does.

You lay back on the bed, thinking about how much you truly impacted him and how much your wellness meant to him. Hell, the man would move heaven itself if you wanted him to. He was the dominant partner, but he was also a slave to your every emotion.

While you let yourself get lost in thought, you slowly slipped off to sleep with Silva's pillow cuddled in your arms.

Movement on the bed drew you out of your peaceful slumber, letting out an upset whine at being woken. You were slightly disoriented from your sudden awakening and blearily blinked the sleep out of your eyes. As your brain began to fully wake as well, you realized that Silva was right above you, his large hands on either side of your head.

There was a faint feeling of surprise as you noticed not a speck of blood on the giant man. You figured he would have been soaked in the blood of that idiot butler, but not a single fleck of red marred his flawless skin.

"Trying to cheer me up?"

There was the slightest of smiles pulling at his lips as his eyes slowly dragged over your barely covered figure, letting out a low hum of pleasure and licking his lips slowly. He seemed almost too calm at that moment, but you knew the beast that dwells within would easily come forth once he began.

"It certainly does help..."

"I thought it would be nice to surprise you... but I guess I fell asleep before you came back."

"You are a wonderful creature, (y/n), did you know that?"

"Well, there has to be some reason you keep me around."

"Sassy thing."

His tone was teasing, but you knew he wouldn't be teasing you for very long, not with the way his sharp blue eyes roamed your body. He sat up, now letting his hands roam your soft body and squeezing every few seconds. No matter what mark may be on you- be it a scar, a birthmark, a mole, didn't matter- he adored you and held such reverence for you. Even when you gain or lose weight, you are a Goddess in his eyes, and he made sure to treat his Goddess well.

"Mmm, you do know how to rile me up."

"Lots of practice."

You reached up to run your fingers through his hair, watching his eyes narrow in bliss from your gentle touch. When you suddenly tightened your grip and tugged on his long hair, that calm expression changed in an instant. He was now less of a man than he was a beast, moving you suddenly so your legs rest on his shoulders, your back against the pillows.

He didn't say a single word as he gripped the lacy panties you wore between his teeth, pulling back in one smooth motion and ripping the delicate fabric with ease. You were about to whine at the destruction of his favorite set but you didn't even manage to get a single word out before he buried his head between your thighs, tongue easily sliding through your soft folds. He didn't bother with being slow in working you up, he just slid his tongue as deeply into you as he could to slurp up your juices.

The noises coming from him were obscene as he sucked on your soft pussy, low moans vibrating against you as he gripped your legs tighter, pulling you closer to his mouth. You ran your fingers through his hair, gripping tightly and tilting your head back with breathy moans. He held your hips still, making it so you were unable to do anything other than writhe in the pleasure he gave you.

It was clear that him holding you still was more of a dominance thing to reassure himself and soothe his burning jealousy more than it was to show his dominance over you. He was using your presence and your sweet moans as his own validation of being your one and only. Reminding himself- and in some ways, you- that you were still his and he had no intention of sharing you in any way.

You truly have only had honest social interaction with three people on a consistent basis and your five children on the odd occasion for more than twenty years. If that didn't give you a good visualization of how deep his jealousy runs, then it would be the contempt he has for his own children. As far as he was concerned, you only truly needed him in your life and no one else would have the chance or ability to get between the two of you.

He was much like a religious zealot with how fiercely he coveted you and everything about you. His tongue was as deep in you as possible while his large thumb rubbed your clit, blue eyes closed in bliss as if he truly received deep pleasure from taking care of you and pleasuring you like a wild animal did its mate. You were his everything, and he wanted your everything desperately enough he had you kidnapped only days after meeting you, already in deep obsession and fanatical adoration for you.

Continuing with endless stamina, he brought you up to mindless pleasure and kept you there, every whining cry you made only served to fuel his desire and increase blood-flow to his achingly hard cock. In typical Silva fashion, he completely ignored his own needs to not only ensure your pleasure, but to test himself to see how long he could listen to you moan before snapping and giving in to the starving beast within him. He was quite the dominant masochist when it came down to it, always adoring every scratch and mark you make on his fair skin but also making sure he was the one on top and in control.

With a loud sucking sound, he pulled away from your soaked pussy, licking his lips with hazy bliss filled eyes never leaving your shaking form. He was completely lost in his desire to possess all of you, and he gently trailed his warm hands up your soft front until he lightly gripped your chin, holding your mouth open. You were faintly worried about what he planned on doing while in such a blissed out state, yelping when he moved you down the bed with both hands before moving so his muscular legs were on either side of your head.

He slid his large cock slowly into your mouth, your jaw stretching a bit further to accommodate the rock-hard length. A deep moan rose up from his chest as he thrusted his hips a few times before returning to digging his tongue into your slick heat. He did the majority of the work to pleasure you both, ensuring to keep himself from making you deep throat him just yet. You reached up to rest your hands on his hips for your own sake should he unintentionally begin to choke you, but to Silva the contact of your gentle hands on his pale skin was overwhelmingly intense.

He was extremely touch starved when it came to you due to his distant and cold upbringing despite how much physical contact he actually had with you on a regular basis. Just another reason for him to be obsessed with the touch of your skin and the feel of your body against his. Each small brush of your hand anywhere on his body sent intense sensations running through his very being. To feel not a hint of affection during the critical developmental beginning years of his life left him distant and made him believe all outside touch would bring only pain.

Of course, when he met you, his entire world changed drastically. Your touch was gentle and brought no pain with it, only the sweet sensation of honest care and empathy. He had to have you, and only you. Only your touch brought him such calming pleasure and consuming affection. Even as he bucked his hips into your warm mouth, he was past cloud 9 in absolute bliss, sinking his tongue into your extremely wet pussy and almost desperately trying to bring you the same level of pleasure that he felt even when simply in your presence.

That's what he always tried to do.

He felt so much from and for you that he couldn't help but attempt to reciprocate that pleasure any chance he got. His addiction to your touch was likely why you two were still so sexually active even after decades together, that and Silva used that intimate connection to soothe his own mind consuming anxiety. It was why he became so irritable whenever he is away from your side for more than 24 hours. His mind drowns him in anxiety with every outcome of you being attacked while he is away.

It would destroy him to know something hurt you or you were unwell in some way while he was gone. He would feel like he failed you as your husband and that he failed you as your protector. He refused to fail. The cost would be too great.

You, on the other hand, happened to be lost in the feelings of pleasure running through your veins, to the point you didn't honestly notice much other than the warm cock in your mouth and the hot tongue on your pussy. Every moan you made only made that large length twitch and throb, feeling the slide of your tongue against his flesh as you let your fingers slide over his hips. It was clear he enjoyed it as he let out deep moans and growls of pleasure, holding himself back as long as possible.

Just when you felt the pulse of his heartbeat flutter, he pulled away from you, leaving you confused and slightly dazed. He was watching you try to collect your thoughts, proud he made you so delirious with pleasure that you needed time to return to awareness. His movements were slow and methodical as he positioned himself between your legs, raising your hips up so he could slide through your soft folds.

"Look at me, (y/n)."

His deep voice drew your scattered attention, staring up into his intense blue eyes in an almost questioning way. There was a moment of silence as he stared at you in adoration, not looking away from you as he slowly slid his firm length into you, watching the way you gasped and writhed on the bed. He gave you only a moment to adjust to his size once more before he began to thrust into your welcoming body, drowning in the tight embrace of your warm insides.

You moved up and down on the bed with each rough thrust, clawing at the sheets beneath you. Silva pound into you with such intensity you could barely draw in a breath before it was being forced back out with another rough thrust. He leaned over your writhing and mewling form to start pressing open mouthed kissed against your neck, biting down a few times to hear you yelp and whine. You wrapped your arms around him and let your nails bite down on his fair skin, shivering from his rumbling moan directly against you ear.

As you felt your orgasm creeping up with alarming speed, you reached up to his hair and gripped on the long locks, tugging hard enough to remove his lips from your neck. You had to stop tugging on his hair and just cling to him as his thrusts became rougher, pressing one of his hands against your soft stomach and feeling the way he moved inside of you. The increased sensation of his large cock rubbing against your tight walls practically made you scream in delight, your pleasure overwhelming and consuming you as your orgasm flooded your body.

"So tight..! You are mine. You will always be mine. I'll never let you go. I'll never let you forget."

You barely registered his crooning words due to your overstimulated nerves sizzling in your brain. He adored the hazy look in your eyes as you were consumed by the pleasure he provided you. That sweet expression on your lovely face was enough to push him over the edge, his hot cum painting your soft insides with every intense pulse.

When he finally pulled out of you, you were still trying to catch your breath and clung to his body with all of the remaining energy you had. The low humming chuckle that came from him was a soft and soothing rumble that was quite like the purr of some feral beast. You curled close to his warm body, snuggling down into his grasp as he pulled the blanket over the both of you, kissing your forehead gently.

"Mine."