#turned into introspection >u>;

[parasolladyansy]

I also want to express my enjoyment with this AU.

I loooooOOOve world mashups/crossovers. Something about yoinking a character from one world and dispensing them in another is immensely intriguing to me. This goes for movies, comics, stories, and games of most kinds. The only requirement is that I must know at least one of the parties.

What would Team Fortress' Demoknight play like as an Overwatch character. How would I make a D&D character out of Terrako? What happens if a Pokemon trainer gets inserted into the world of Zelda. What happens if Link enters the world of pokemon.

That's what makes HoB such a joy to experience. Ingo is already an existing character with a lot of experience in his field. And suddenly most of that doesn't apply anymore.

Same goes for HoB!You. You're an artist with medical history from a world for whom combat training has never been needed and magic is a figment of one's imagination. And you're suddenly stripped from that and placed in a hostile environment in the middle of a cataclysm.

Thanks ^_^ (Lol for that question about “what if Link enters the world of Pokémon” I do have an AU where Link gets isekaied to Hisui after the TotK Prologue if you haven’t seen it XD)

I’m gonna go on a slight tangent here as your Ask brought to mind something I’ve been thinking about for a little while now. >u>;

—

So I’ve been thinking about my self-insert & trainersona’s (trainer Ansy, to a much lesser extent Mizumi). I was wondering if they come across as cringy or Mary Sue (if that’s still a thing) at all?

Things were a lot simpler when all I did was draw Ikrit’s & my trainers running around in Sword x Shield / Scarlet x Violet, where it was just drawing our experiences with the games. With DxP REWRITE, it’s a whole plot with emotional & sometimes more personal stuff.

Then with Hero of Bombs, I feel like I got carried away with imagining that I got isekaied to Hyrule when the AU’s supposed to be more about isekaied Ingo. Lots of self-indulgent stuff. Tried to change that with the most recent stuff I’ve been doing.

I know we’re all the heroes of our own stories, & it’s not like I make my self-insert or trainersona all-powerful or everyone loves her (putting aside the mental / physical health conditions they have).

I hear a lot of positive feedback but sometimes I guess I get scared that it’s actually very cringy? But that could be just insecurity speaking. IDK. Sometimes I feel kinda embarrassed?

What do you guys think?

[poishy]

28 , 29 , n 30 !! :D 🩷

28 do you collect anything?

i wanna collect plushes but i cant yet, id rather live on my own first ! I need a spunchbop plush so bad....

29 what do you do when you’re sad?

i talk to loved ones about how i feel, or i take some care of myself as in i go n shower or try to make a meal i havent tried yet. Basic changes in your routine can help a lot !

This one's a bit harder and i haven't yet mastered it either, but self acceptance is a big one too. Accepting that you can't always feel happy and still have to go out n live life is a big part of becoming an adult. You may feel better as the day goes on, you may not, but whether or not you do, life happens, and you're going to have to live with yourself. Best thing you can do is find balance in everything that you do. Put the screen down every once in a while, eat balanced meals everyday, talk to someone in real life. But if all that doesn't work? There's no shame in asking for extra help.

30 what’s one thing that never fails to make you happy/happier?

Reminding myself of stuff I've accomplished in the past, as well as thinking about all the possibilities this world has to offer. doesn't even have to be anything big, can be all the food you have yet to try, people you'll meet, hobbies you can take up. Whenever I find myself in a bit of a spiral, trying to put yourself back in the right mindset can help a lot. Doing some basic self care to help spur that process along also goes a long way ofc.

Apart from that, allowing myself to focus on what i want to without trying to please someone, whether thatd be playing a video game, taking a walk, drawing and/or writing for a new oc world or something else. Just letting myself be, basically.

[bittcrsuite]

in the seconds it took her manicured digits to wrap around the doorknob, alec was right behind her, pulling her back in. “alec.” her favorite word, her most used word as well — falling from her lips at least once a day, felt wrong. the voice she said it in didn’t sound like her own. no, she sounded like a mess of a girl as her tears spilled over. when she told alec she loved him under the christmas tree, the meaning of her words hadn’t quite sunk in. she was all in for him — if they didn’t work out, she’d swear off men forever. the whole situation with jessica terrified her. there would always be pretty women who wanted a piece of alec. she wasn’t stupid — anyone with half a brain could see how incredible alec was. he was far smarter than he gave himself credit for. observant and attentive in a way she’d never seen before. he was perfect for her, which only terrified her more. her ears perked up at his voice, hardened edges of her heart softening at his please. she didn’t want to leave and she knew it, body crashing into his as alec pulled her back from the door. her arms wrapped around him, head pressed against his chest as she listened to his heartbeat. it was beating so fast — like he was scared. “i feel so silly.” she laughed, a hiccup slipping out as she stained another expensive shirt of his with tears. alec brought out the best in her, despite how shitty things seemed right now. he was the only person that could get her to slow down and take a breath. the only person with the power to make her stay. “i think i’d feel more… i don’t know. secure if we could meet for lunch sometimes. without her.” morgan’s voice was stuffy as she spoke. she felt like a little kid, telling her mom that she’d feel better if she had ice cream after a meltdown. “and please, for the love of god, tell her to stop putting me on hold.” she lifted her gaze, eyes catching his. “i was calling once a week at most, until she made me feel like i was going crazy by never putting me through.”

as though he wasn't already tired as shit, alec could feel himself getting even more exasperated to be having this conversation. he loved morgan more than life itself, would do anything for her, but the last thing he expected was a confrontation. but now that they were having it, he wanted to see things through and come to some kind of resolution. he hated going to sleep angry or questioning where they stood. jessica could not have meant less to him other than her resourcefulness at being his assistant. his brows furrowed when she insisted that it wasn't about her, bewildered at where the root cause would've been in that case. if he was succinctly telling her that he and jess were nothing, then what else could be the issue? it was when she then suggested leaving that his breath faltered, panic rising in his chest. because she never left, not like this. the situation was obviously more serious than he first predicted, his hands trembling as he stopped pacing, eyes wide. noticing the tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks, his hand made a frantic grab at her elbow, pulling her back towards him. "no, we're not gonna leave things like this." alec couldn't even remember the last time they slept apart, even when his nights were long, he always came back home to her. "please, i don't want you to leave. let's figure this out. if she's that much of a problem, i can..." fire her? it was a drastic move, considering he didn't really have grounds to fire her and it's not like she was a bad employee. "tell me what bothers you and i can talk to her."

[stethosc0pe]

like a stone

frank langdon x goth!reader

wc: 6k

content/warnings: MDNI/18+ NSFW, sub!langdon, canon typical gore, smut, PUSSY EATING PUSSY EATING, GET YOUR MESSY PUSSY EATING HERE, oral (f receiving), masturbating (m), possible seed planted for marking kink, landgon being desperate for that thang, eating it thru the panties, excruciatingly dialogue heavy with smut at the end, fluff, yearning, angst?, early established relationship, divorce, Frank has no kids, rehab, alcohol mention, reader is PGY-5, reader has a Buick LeSabre, reader wears all black, reader has black hair, hopefully no exclusionary language (no mention of hair texture, skin color, weight or height) except that reader has a vagina!

a/n: frank langdon is a smug little man and i feel he needs to be humbled by an intimidating woman! that woman just happens to be you, y/n Harker. named after Mina Harker (nee murray) from dracula. all of my previous fics have been about down bad men. i cannot write a dominant man. i just can’t. that is disgusting. #ToMe . reader in this fic is the boss !!!!! and he loves it !!!!

i am a goth so i made this character a goth cuz there’s not enough goth readers inserts! when u click the link to a y/n’s outfit and its like.. i would never wear that baby blue dress you have projected onto me! and i would never stutter and get flustered in front of a man!

though it is mentioned reader has black hair and a vagina, there is no specific image for her in my mind, like, no mention of size, height, or race. goths come in all different forms! oh, and all of my readers are bisexual even if not explicitly stated in the fic.

i was thinking about making a series of this, like harker x langdon. if you guys have any requests for that maybe….. haha…… idk…. bye

7:45 am

Frank Langdon watches you float through the hallways. Around central. In and out of doorways. You peek in on the cases the still-green doctors have asked you for help on. This time, it’s Whitaker. Langdon can’t hear what you say to him, he can only see the back of you and Whitaker’s perpetual, helpless, orphan-like gaze. When you back out of the room you’re leaning in on, you smile at both the patient and Whitaker reassuringly. And once you turn around and they can’t see your face anymore, your smile relaxes and fades, and the familiar furrow to your brow returns.

You have a resting bitch face. It’s chronic. You don’t frown, per se. Your eyes frown for you, slanting and squinting and making perfunctory eye contact when needed. Your eyebrows come over your eyes like rainy clouds, the left one arching up when you’re listening.

You have a darker disposition. You’ve always been that way. A loner in high school. Harder to get close to. It keeps the creeps away, you learned in your youth, so you leaned into it harder. Headphones in and angry looking. It’s habit now.

But for your patients… for the families, for the bright eyed, scared student doctors… you brighten. It’s kind. It’s conscious.

It’s so fucking… sexy.

Langdon should be helping a sickly individual, but god, he’s been distracted lately. The black hair doesnt help. The clean laundry slash faded perfume smell doesn’t help. The fitted black long-sleeve under your scrubs does not help.

He realized some time ago that he wants, so feverishly, to see that brow unfurl when he makes you laugh. To be the one you like more than anybody else.

It wasn’t romantic then. And then he was sent to rehab. He did a lot of begrudging introspection during his stay. And with your semi-frequent visits, he realized things he’d been refusing. He also got a divorce, so. That made things a little easier in some places, a little more painful in others.

You and Langdon had just gotten together. Just put a label on it. A desperate confession from him, not even six months after his divorce was finalized. He was overly tired and wearing thin. Composure lost to the wind. You took him home. Since then, he hasn’t really left your apartment. It’s been five weeks. He’s obsessed.

And now… he wants to see that brow crease again in focus when he’s got his mouth at your core.

He’s going to let the lease on his own shitty apartment run out.

You head to a computer to type something up. He’s uninterested in what. He follows you, and when you crash down into the chair, he drags another one over to you so he can be level with you. You don’t look at him. He loves it when you don’t look at him. He feels like he has to work for it.

‘I wanna fuck you.’ Frank Langdon whispers to you, front completely facing your profile, basically speaking into your ear as you type. Your head jerks, angles towards him at the abruptly vulgarity in your very sophisticated workplace. But your eyes say on the computer. You recover quickly, and that killer poker face comes back.

‘No.’

‘I want to eat you out.’

‘No.’ You don’t spare him a glance. You barely dignify him with a response. You know he’s a smooth talker, and you’ve fallen into bed at many inopportune times because of it.

He knows you a little too well by this point. He’s been with you nonstop; going from work to your apartment, from the apartment to your Buick LaSabre— which you won’t even let him drive once because you’ve seen him make a turn without slowing down— and back to work.

You were friends before, too.

You started working at Pittsburg Medical Trauma Center five years ago when Frank was still an intern and you were a second year resident transfer from a different hospital. Technically, you were his senior, being a year ahead of him. That made him competitive at first. He’d been in this ER since med school and now you show up, what– with your near perfect success rate with patients and your… arresting energy. Pfft.

Quickly, the insecurity wore off, and he stopped trying to deny that you were magnetic, like nobody else he’d ever met. It took some time to get you to friendship status. But he did. And it really, really stuck.

All there was to learn about you that he didn’t already know was how you looked naked, and how you liked your eggs in the morning.

And now, when you go home together, he follows your lead. When you get up to start getting ready for bed, he falls beside you at the sink, brushing his teeth while you pee. You pull your bedding over both of you and ensure it covers his shoulders because you like it colder in your apartment. You ask him if he’s warm enough. You don’t change the temperature for anyone, but you’ll make warm accommodations just for him.

You wake up to a clean set of scrubs set on the counter for you in the bathroom. When you come out, freshly showered, you find him already ready, pouring you both cereal. Walking up close behind him, you press your front to his back and snake your freezing hands up his scrub shirt. He jumps a little.

Getting up from your chair, you beeline for your next case. And of course, Frank bounds behind you, unable to give up. Ambition, after all, is a virtue in this industry.

‘Honey-!’ He stops in front of you so you can’t advance any further. ‘You’re killin’ me.’

Frank puts his hands out before him, palms up, in a pleading gesture. He knows he’s being unreasonable.

‘What do you want me to do? Tell me. I’ll do it.’

‘We’re at work. Your job.’ You cross your arms over your chest. It doesn’t deter him any.

‘There’s empty rooms. We could go upstairs.’ He follows your eyes with his whole head as you look around to make sure nobody has heard him and wave him a be quiet motion.

‘Don’t you have patients?’ You poke him square in the chest and start walking again. He walks backwards with you.

‘No, I have absolutely no patience when it comes to you. You smell so good.’ He says the last part as you walk past him. You hear him and break a smile he can’t see. He hopes nobody heard that. He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed once you’re around the corner and he’s thrust back into the sterile white of work again, glancing about and trying to seem busy.

You linger around him. It must be your pheromones. You think you’re ovulating.

But maybe he’s just in love.

-

8:30 am

‘Can you tell your guy to stop moping around like someone took his lunch money? He’s bringing down staff morale.’ Says Dana with a pitying look, peering at you over her glasses. It seems she’s dealt with men like this before.

‘Our staff doesn’t have morale.’ You raise an eyebrow. She chuckles her raspy Dana chuckle. ‘And are you sure that’s not just his face?’

‘Rich comin’ from you, Wednesday.’

-

9:01 am

You stare up at the screen full of patients and ailments, deciding on which one to take. Really you’re just resting a little, leaning against the counter. Frank is next to you, of course, mirroring you, watching the board all the same.

Placing your glasses on top of your head, you rub at your eyes and sigh a little. You’re nursing a migraine, and the hideaway from the fluorescents behind your eyelids is a brief respite.

‘What’s the matter?’ Frank asks from beside you, your arms touching.

‘Just… headache.’

‘I can help with that. I know a remedy for headaches.’

‘Yeah? So do I. You know I’m a doctor too, right?’

‘An orgasm. Multiple, if possible.’ You gawk at him. Your mouth opens in honest shock with the corners of your mouth upturned. You’re thoroughly amused but… he’s getting bold. To be honest, you thought he’d dropped this after the first mention.

‘Relieves migraines, better sleep, helps with cramps, and helps to satiate excited boyfriends, too.’ He goes on… and on…

‘Oh, my god.’ You shake your head in disbelief and huff a single wry laugh.

‘Let’s-’ You cover his mouth with your hand. Well, if there wasn’t enough blood pooling in his dick before…

‘If Dana hears you, I’m never gonna live it down, you caveman.’ He smiles under your hand at the name-calling. You let him go, a little bit of Langdon spit on your palm.

‘I love it when you call me that.’

You point to the board. And he follows your finger.

‘There’s sudden vomiting, diarrhea, and body aches in south sixteen. Why don’t you take that? Could be norovirus. That’s fun!’ You turn to face him and lean on the counter with your hip instead, ‘Have at it, big guy.’ You slap his shoulder with facetious encouragement.

‘It’s gastroenteritis and you know it. Y’know-‘ He huffs, ‘Why are you torturing me? Do you take pleasure in torturing me?’

‘What a stupid question.’ You say as you exhale, ‘Of course I do.’

‘Where’s Harker?’ You hear in the distance, sounding all too similar to a grumpy attending you know.

‘You’re a sadist.’ You stand up to leave and press a smooch to his lips right as he finishes talking, barely giving him time to react.

Langdon makes decisions all day.

Where to cut, when to cut.

Dosage. Pressure. Time of death. Second opinion. Hold compressions. Pull, stitch, cauterize.

How to break a less than hopeful diagnosis to the parents of a toddler.

He notices the way you operate. He trusts it. A lot of times, at home, he wants you to make the decisions. He wants to fold like tissue and collapse in your hands. He’s been an unwavering champion of the ER all day, and he wants to know that when he goes home, or is simply in your presence, he can falter, and it’ll be okay. It feels— you feel— like the safety on a pistol that’s loaded. With one in the chamber.

And, of course, you don’t mind. Because… as a woman, the world as you know it is full of men who want you to be pliant and subservient to them. Just a little dumber so they feel a little smarter.

Not him. You are wanted, badly, just as you are. And that’s offputting and ready and jaded and wry and… oftentimes the most capable person in the room.

‘Makes you a masochist, I guess. I gotta go, baby.’

-

11:31 am

‘Doctor Harker?’ Mel King holds the tablet, looking at your patients chart curiously. You’re palpating a gym bro’s dislocated shoulder. Feeling at the knotted and tense muscles and the misplaced joint.

‘It’s Y/N for you, Mel.’ You smile quickly at her and go back to your task, tongue peeking out the right side of your mouth in fixation on the shoulder. She smiles quickly back. She still hasn’t been able to bring herself to call anyone by their first name, although she insists on it herself. Honestly, you find it nice to know someone who defaults to being respectful. You and Mel have become fast friends, but at work she still gets a little formal sometimes.

‘Right… are you aware that Doctor Langdon has been staring at you for…’ She checks her watch. ‘Four minutes?’

‘Relax at the elbow. Good.’ You guide the patient through. You steal a glance to the outside world for a second and scan for Frank. You see him across the way at central in a swivel chair looking like he’s got nothing better to do. His elbow rests on the desk in front of him and he clicks a pen in his hand. When you meet his eyes, he doesn’t falter. You can’t really tell what’s going on in his head. Maybe he’s zoned out on you, thinking of something wildly different. He could feel threatened by the Skarsgard-looking man you’re working on. Maybe he’s ogling you. But no, it doesn’t feel like a lustful gaze at this very moment. Although, knowing him, it could turn at any second.

You think maybe he just looks for you when you’re not there. And when he finds you, he makes your visage his home. It’s comfortable.

You’ve been independent a long time now. And you haven’t been in a relationship for a long time, either. You hope to settle back into this. Being needed. Wanted. Looked for. It feels good for once.

‘Let him. He’s not bothering me.’ You brace both your hands on the guy’s wrist and shoulder. ‘Deep breath in– and… out.’ You rotate the arm up until the ball pops back into place. Your patient grunts as expected, and you’re sweating a little after holding this dude’s buff arm up for so long. Otherwise, another satisfied customer.

Mel starts to wrap up the affected shoulder to stabilize it for a little while. She realizes that this whole time she’s never actually fully fleshed out your relationship with Frank. She’s been busy. And he was at rehab for a long time. ‘Is he…? Are you guys like… enemies?’

‘While I think he’s a little upset at me right now, unfortunately he is my lover.’

You flash back to this morning. You woke up slowly together for once. You snoozed your alarm, but woke again to Frank pulling you against him and smushing his mouth lovingly to your neck and shoulder. He was steady at half-mast, his hand skated across your skin until it danced its way into your underwear and fell between your lips, pressing and circling with the precision of an ER doctor. And then… your second alarm started to buzz, vibrating the bed.

You bounded out of the bed and away from his attentive fingers. You got ready for work with some urgency now, breaking out of your momentary sex trance.

Unfortunately, Frank never left it.

‘Okay, good. Because I was getting nervous.’ Mel utters to you, a glimmer in her eyes, like she’s able to find it funny now, ‘And… unfortunately?’

“Yeah, have you met him?’

-

12:58 pm

Frank finds you again after you've just led a procedure that had been particularly bloody. You're washing you're hands alone, room cleaned up and ready for another case. You’re the last one out, and you seem to have forgotten to take off your viscera-splattered glasses in your absorption.

You sense the tall, warm presence behind you.

‘Sometimes I wonder how you find the time to always be exactly where I am.’ You don't turn around yet.

’Are you mad at me?’

‘Why would I be mad at you, House?’

‘You’re ignoring me.’

‘I’m not. We just can’t have sex at work. And you know that.' Now you're drying your hands off with the noisy, crinkly paper towels. 'You know, when I started working here, they told me you would blow me away with your big doctor brain.’ You chuck the paper towels in the trash.

He notices that you always seem to be doing something when he's bothering you at work. Being productive in some way. And he can't help himself but be temporarily, fully occupied by your company. You two becoming intertwined has been detrimental to his time management.

‘Oh, I’ll blow ya.’ He nods once and impishly smiles like a little-shit kid. You start making your way over to him from the sink. He has your full attention right now. It feels like a rare occurrence here so, he really feels it. Physically.

In reality, it's not a rare occurrence. He's just spoiled.

‘Is this your first time talking to a girl?’

He ignores you, nipping at your heels to get his next verbal chess move in.

‘I just like to check in. You could be the happiest woman alive and we’d never know.’

‘I am happy!’ You mock offense, hands on your hips.

‘Did you tell your face?’

‘No.’ Your hands drop from your hips in forfeit. You stalk even closer to him. You like to get up close with him. See everything. ‘And you’ll be able to detect when I’m angry.’

‘How?’ He pulls the glasses off your face and chucks them in a bin to be washed.

‘Mmm… for one, I’ll start calling you Langdon again. Like the olden days. And someone once told me that when I’m pissed off, thunder booms in the distance.’

‘Oh, yeah? I’m takin’ notes, see?’ He mimes jotting down your tips on his hand (notepad).

-

1:30 pm

It slows down midday, so while you’re not needed, you decide to take lunch in the staff lounge. You set out two very big red apples in front of you.

Frank saunters in, stripping off his gloves and basketball-ing them into the trash can. He slides into the chair next to you.

‘Can you start this for me?’ You gesture with the first apple.

‘Mhm.’ He bites it while it’s still in your hand, making it easier to bite on the new edges for you. You have sensitive teeth. He takes the other apple and bites it for himself, taking a big chunk.

‘I’m guessing… five-hundred IV with Zofran and sent home with Imodium? For south sixteen?’

‘I didn't take south sixteen. I took fifty-three year old acute arrhythmia and lethargy.’

‘Oh… cardioversion?’

‘…Yeah.’

Pulling out your phone, you open the New York Times app and pull your chair closer to him so he can see. You click on Connections. It’s Frank’s favorite. You personally like Strands, but you like doing Connections more if he’s there. You eat your apples together with noisy crunches and mumble ideas for the possible categories to each other.

While you hold the phone, Langdon pokes at the screen with his index, the rest of his fingers holding his apple. He solves the yellow line with ease. Starting off strong.

answer, fix, remedy, solution (ways of solving a problem)

As you think about the puzzle, you chew on the inside of your cheek and… those brows come down. He loves to watch you. You’re his favorite show. There’s something so… animalistic about you. You’re wholly yourself around him. Free of tension for the moment and elbow propped up on your knee– the respective leg of which is propped up on the seat of your chair.

You don’t fake smiles for him. You rest your face. You’re relaxed. Though you’re happy to do it for others, you don’t have to manufacture a grin around him because he’s always liked you and your angry face. And when he makes you smile, he knows it’s real. Because it’s big and toothy and accompanied by other expressions. When you don’t want to laugh at what he said because it’s so stupid, but you do, and your eyebrows draw together and peak up in disbelief as if to say you’re lucky you’re pretty. When he compliments you and the smile rises to your face slowly like you’re fighting it.

He likes making you break a smile. But he likes the rest too. He loves that furrowed brow. That’s what makes this— you, together— so easy.

You solve the blue line: eraser, eyedropper, lasso, magic wand (photoshop tools)

‘D’you… still have a headache?’

Your mouth cracks open into a big laugh, dying down into little giggles after a few seconds, shoulders shaking. It’s funny to you because it feels like a stand-up comedy call back. It feels like he’s been sitting on that one, waiting for the right time. You took a migraine pill hours ago and it’s since been forgotten, but he doesn’t know that. You sigh with a Hmmmm in the afterglow of the laughter. Your eyes crease hard and your cheeks dust pink, raised higher by your grin. You’re leaning into the moment and its warmth. You rest your head in your hand and look at him for what feels like a long time. You pin him with your gaze like you’re thinking hard. He feels paralyzed.

Looking at him is nice. Usually, on busy days, the majority of the times you see each other are blurry shapes you think are Frank. He’s still and steadfast in front of you now. It helps that he’s pretty. You’ve never been one for blue eyes, but… they don’t look empty on him. It helps that without the obvious sex appeal, you really do love being with him. He was a good friend. He’s a good boyfriend. He’s a great doctor.

It helps that there’s nothing sexier in the whole wide world than a funny man.

It helps that you like him more than anyone else.

‘Go…’ He readies himself for another no, and prepares to pout. ‘…find a room. I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?’

‘Really?’

‘Go.’

He walks out of the room with his fist held high like Bender at the end of The Breakfast Club.

-

1:38 pm

Coming out of the stairwell, you enter the hospitals empty wing. It’s quiet, you knew it’d be quiet, but it shocks you every time. One or two of the lights in the long hallway flickers. It’s kinda setting the mood for you.

You continue on, trying to figure out where Frank could be, and he appears in the doorway to your right.

‘Well, hello.’ He says, leaning against the doorway with an endearing, faux-debonair voice. He can barely contain his excitement, a big smile peeking out. You approach him with your arms crossed over your chest, all guarded from the neck down, but your eyes are soft and you’re definitely, visibly in love. You take your hair down.

Once you’re within a foot of him he grabs your hands and pulls you backwards into the room with him. He crashes his lips down to yours in a kiss that you would expect mid-make out session. Not the appetizer. But he's already there. He's been there.

‘You’re so annoying. But I really do love you.’ You say, and he's got his hands cradling your face with barely any pressure at all, but enough to tilt your head up a bit to expose your neck and shoulder. He drags his mouth all along your jaw, and you smile and out comes a broken laugh because it's such a wet, tickly kiss. Your hands cover his where he holds you, squeezing.

‘Mm- love you.’ Says he, with his hands under both of your shirts and his voice dampened by your neck. ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you.’

‘Couldn’t stop thinking about me or her?’ You pointed straight down to your vagina, weeping a little already at the thought of what’s to come.

‘Yes.’ He rushes out, cupping the her you speak of. He feels the warmth of your core and he can’t believe it’s real, that he convinced you finally to fuck him at work.

Langdon drops down to his knees and his hands slide around to the back of your thighs. He opens his mouth and bites the loose end of the bow of your pants drawstrings. He looks up at you like he's being knighted by a monarch.

‘Jesus Christ, Frank.’

He pulls it apart with his teeth until it gives, and when it does he hooks one finger into each side of your scrub pants and drags them down slowly. He looks at you the whole while, your idle hands becoming ambulatory by carding them through his hair. His eyelashes only flutter then.

‘Call me Langdon.’ He’s stopped his ministrations, looking at you expectantly. You stay silent, smiling down at him, and he thinks you aren’t gonna throw him this bone.

‘Fuck, you’re mean.’

‘Langdon.’ You give in, calling to him adoringly. There’s only so much you can deny to a man like this.

Langdon lets out a Mmh, muffling as he presses his mouth and nose over your panties. Those grey, cotton, brief-cut panties. You have a cutesy black lace pair. He’s seen them in your laundry. And even though you’ve been having sex nearly everyday, you still don’t feel the need to put them on. You know he just wants you like this. Comfortable.

Or maybe you don’t care at all. The panties are going to come off anyways.

He licks you through your briefs, making the grey material darker with his wet tongue. He moves against your pussy like he’s kissing your mouth.

‘Lay down.’ Frank says when he can pull himself away, and you find yourself on the forgotten-about hospital bed that comes with the room. You sit midway on the bed, and he tugs you down to the edge by your thighs, leaving you laying half diagonal across the bed. You let an Oof!

Your legs have nowhere to sit until he’s kneeling and plants himself between your thighs. He puts them on either side of his head. He’s been activated, the moment snapped open, and he’s like a dog off his leash.

He's dragging his tongue and teeth up one thigh and down the other, leaving wet trails. You take the opportunity to sit up a little and pull his shirt up his back until he shrugs it off. When he returns to his ministrations on your thighs, he uses his unoccupied hand that's not holding your thigh to his mouth to thumb your cleft, still clothed, top to bottom.

He's had a smile since you took his shirt off. You admire the long, still red scratches that go all the way down to mid-spine. You really did a number on him last night. The thought is abandoned as he starts dragging your panties down your legs, watching them stick to your wet core. Once they're not touching your center anymore, he pulls them off quickly. They are thrown over his shoulder, discarded somewhere in the dusty room.

You thank your past self for always packing extra underwear everywhere you go.

‘How could you just leave me in bed like that? Don’t you have any idea what you do to me?’ He looks up at you from his station, pupils blown wide with lust, ‘How fucked up I am about you?’

‘M’sorry. Didn’t know it was so bad.’

He licks a wide, deep, pressing stripe up your cunt. You sigh in pleasure, a little sound catching in your vocal chords. He lavishes you freely in this. With others, Frank had been known to be a teasing lover, but with you, he wanted it now. He wanted to do it now.

‘It’s really bad.’ He moans out.

One of your hands is stable at the back of his head, one keeping your shirt up above your navel. He takes the latter and places it on his naked shoulder.

‘Touch me.’ He asks of you. He is so fucking horny, cracked wide open and all apart, unable to hold anything in. You start to move. Hands carding through that hair you love so much. Fingers scraping at all the skin you can reach, letting him know you’re there. You have what he needs, and you’ll give it when he truly, wantonly needs it. And when you deem it right. You let your nails drag along him, but you make sure your fingers fall to their pads when you reach his back, dancing with attentive pressure. He’s hurt there. In a good way. Red lines decorate him. Up and down and diagonal and horizontal. They’re only superficial. You won’t leave any scars.

He’ll heal, and he’ll ask for it again.

But for now, you will relent. You will put your claws away.

‘So pretty… oh, my god.’ You purr in pure admiration, unable to resist telling him. He loves, loves, loves it. Keep talking, his actions say. He gathers a good amount of your slick from the depths of your pussy with his tongue and sends it back down his throat, and he looks up at you through his eyebrows, eyes flitting back and forth, looking at you like you're doing something equally vulgar. And he's got a trail of your slick down his chin. You try not to let your eyes close.

The sight of him, the sight of that…

'You're demented.' You whisper. You love it. You love him more for it.

You tug his hair to pull him up and let your legs fall off his shoulders so you can kiss him stupid. Your hands cradle his face, and he braces himself on the bed. You can taste yourself on him. Skin and sweat and salt and highly recognizable sweet.

He gives a clipped moan at your mouth against his. It feels like a reward. And it is, you’re pulling him away from where you need him most just to show him pure and altruistic affection. His tongue goes into your mouth and your spit is mixing. His mouth tastes like pussy. You’ve eaten pussy before, it’s a specific thing, but you can almost see yourself from his point of view right now.

He really is good to you. Like syrup, sweet and stuck to you.

‘More.’ You lay back down and your fingers wrap into his hair and you place him back where he fits perfectly as you arch your back in anticipation. Your heartbeat thrums warmly. He returns dutifully.

There is no complaint from him, only a Fuck, Y/N and pussy-drunk whimpers. Your thighs go back around his head— to where they belong. He lowers back down and gestures back and forth with his head, burying his face and tongue back in where they were before, like he’s making up for the lost time spent kissing you. He licks and licks and licks you. Mouth going deep and then tending to your clit, sucking and circling and covering it fully with his tongue and then nudging it lovingly with his nose when he’s gone back lower.

It’s almost already over for him, really. He’s been strangely tolerant of the straining fabric over his bulge. For a while now, he’s been humping at the air, desperate for friction from his pants. But he dives deeper into the black, chases you there. One of Frank’s hands leaves your thigh and you let it. Because he’s being so thorough and good.

He touches himself rough and harsh. He fucks his fist over and over again. He tears his tongue out of you just to drop spit and slick on his cock and hand. He goes right back to you.

This is a wet, disgusting, sex-addled display of together and us and make me feel good, please.

You call to him, Langdon, quiet but loud enough so you know he can hear it over the wet eating of you. Those brows are coming down hard over squeezed shut, dark eyes, and it’s the nail in his coffin.

‘Langdon.’ Your hips start to move of their own accord and you grip his hair, putting him in the exact right place. Over and over. Nose pressing against your clit and his entire mouth covering the rest of you, lapping and vicious.

Holy fuck, yes. Hold me here. Let me die. Wear those cotton underwear to my funeral.

Touch yourself on my grave.

In between blinks and closed eyes, you try to steal glances of him when you can. And it’s almost too much. He’s started fucking you with his tongue so, he’s buried in there. You can only see that hair you love so much, and those eyes.

‘Oh, god.’ You utter to yourself.

And of course, he's been watching you too. More than you have him. It's what he's been asking for this whole time. He hopes and half-knows that he's the only one to ever make you feel this good. Your hair is splayed out on the bed beneath you and it'll be a fuckin' mess when he's done. He reaches out with one hand and paws at your abdomen, the side of your boob, your sternum, the plush of your belly.

‘Yeah… M’yeah, mmph-‘ He croons against your cunt, voice muddled and dripping in you as he's currently fucking you with his tongue. Under your hands, to can feel his jaw contracting and releasing to swallow you whole.

You feel like you’re being swallowed whole.

‘You gonna come?’ He manages to moan out when he feels your cunt start to flutter like rain. Hoping the answer is yes, yes, yes.

‘You’re so smart, baby.’ You poke at him breathlessly as best you can, voice raspy with pleasure. It only spurs him on.

‘Yeah?’

After that, you can’t make out his words anymore. Some seem to be yes’s and fuck’s and some are just guttural sounds, but they’re in the tone and volume that you’re sure he’s about to make a mess of himself.

You think to yourself that this really feels like love. He’s so deep in your most vulnerable, sensitive parts right now. And you’re not even halfway through a twelve hour shift, rings around your eyes from your sleepless profession. Your hair has been up all day until now and it’s been years since you could be bothered to put on makeup. And he’s in there. It feels like love.

Everyone’s greatest fear, at the end of the day, is that they won’t be deemed adequate. And when you get like this, it’s glaringly obvious that you’re both so far beyond adequate to each other.

‘Stay there- right there-‘

Frank Langdon hopes to a god he doesn't believe in that you'll say his name again.

‘Langdon-‘ Frank comes then and there, aligning your cry with a final thrust into his fist. He moans and raves and grunts into you, the vibrations of his voice sending you over the edge. And you can hear him down there enjoying himself thoroughly, loudly. Which only gets you there faster. You rock yourself over his face one last time, and then you’re finally there, sent swimming into the deep dark behind your eyes, twitching and tensing in bodily elation as you always do. As he always brings upon you.

Frank paints his hand and lower abs in come. Aforementioned abs are stuttering and clenching. Your collective sweat and your slick and his come. Just everywhere.

His face stays stationary as you fuck yourself through your own orgasm, but it’s not like he could easily move away with your climax-induced iron grip on his hair. And he’s still got a hold of his cock, barely stroking now but wanting to eke out the last licks of pleasure he can.

You're both panting and wracked with aftershocks. Becoming still after an orgasm tears through you while your heart still pounds hard is a hell of a feeling.

He stays on his knees, not wanting to move yet. He rests the side of his face against your knee, back hunched in relaxation, tension gone and forgotten.

There’s a close, warm moment. Like you’re bound together by a heavy blanket that covers you both. There’s heat from bodies and cool air from the vents. You both feel like you could fall asleep right now. And that makes it all the more intimate, knowing that when you go home, you will fall asleep together.

‘I’ve never had anybody go down on me so much.’ You speak into the quiet, caressing the back of his neck.

‘Anything to say about the quality, or just the quantity?’

‘You’re the Pitt’s leading cunnilinguist.’

‘Thanks.’

-

You straighten yourselves up to go back to work, a little hazy but satisfied. You look over to find him wet from nose to chin.

‘You’ve got pussy all over your face.’ You try to wipe the bottom half of his face off with your hand, fussing over him, and you barely get to his bottom lip.

‘Stop! That’s mine, I earned that!’ He protests, shooing you away.

In your house, I long to be

Room by room, patiently

I'll wait for you there like a stone

I'll wait for you there alone, alone

my requests are open!

[edenspoem]

jackson!ellie falling for the girl with spectacular music taste. what does she think when passing by your open window? shit, is that the sick habit? rad. but it has trickled into a myriad of genres, now having an eclectic accumulation of records thanks to you, and your midday music sessions. on patrol, she thinks about you. in those abandoned record stores, she thinks—and dedicates time to you, fitting a couple inside her backpack she had graciously made room for. either to listen to them while daydreaming in psychedelic hues, or to give them to dina so she can deliver them to you. darkening your doorstep unannounced feels a bit invasive, and besides, you know dina way better than ellie knows you. confrontations are daunting; what would she even say?

she had no time to figure, since dina—in all her matchmaking glory—thought getting ellie out of her garage for something besides patrol duties for a change, and into your place, would ease her up to you. the path that leads there is precipiced, crowded with nerves. her cheeks are lovingly dimpled when you nudge her in the shoulder. “you never told me you play guitar!” ellie never expected you to be the epitome of romance poetry: all smiles, warming up in no time, so punctual in the eyes, she wonders what details you like about her. “u-uh, yeah. not too serious about it though,” she humbles herself. hand concealed behind her head.

yet, of course, dina never lets ellie be so soft-spoken. “come on! nobody, who isn't serious about music, writes their own songs. play something for us!” nudging with her voice from across the room.

ellie so badly wanted to punch her friend in the shoulder then. god, she shuddered at the encouragement. but, she couldn't deny you; when it was you, handing her the guitar long forgotten about from your closet, she had to indulge with a soft smile. thereon, when ellie was consumingly focused on tuning that hollow body of wood, she missed all your subtle stares of her face, or her freckled hands, whatever intrigued you to contemplate. after she played one of your favorites—receiving compliments from you for even knowing that song—you had to tell her all about your introspects. fortuitously, dina left by then.

“you're really good at it,” you said, gentler than the music of wind, with your head in her criss-crossed lap, and satin-shine eyes locking hers. anyone could tell she has been waiting for something as transient and calming as this. “you should write me a song, hm?�� laying her palms on your face so delicately, afraid this moment could shatter. “would love t—i mean, yeah. sure.” still doesn't even know what to say!

the moment lives forever in the song she wrote that following night. it had to be captured; you need to know how much she fucking cherishes it.

this was meant to just be a little something something but i turned it into something i'd cry to. #kms.

[theresatzu]

Hello girlie

Could u please make a part 2 of the blue lock boys protecting u. With Sae Kaiser Aiku and barou🙂‍↕️🩷

Of course! Thank you for your sugestion! :)

----------------------------------------------------

Blue Lock characters and the way they protect you - part 2

Featuring: Sae, Kaiser, Aiku & Barou

Prompt: You're at a party, and you're getting bothered by some guy.

Disclaimer: I don't know these characters well, so their introspection might be off, just a heads up in advance!

Warnings: slight harassment, cursing, name calling, implied NSFW, but no real NFSW!

-----------------------------------

Itoshi Sae

Nonchalant intimidation but clearly overprotective.

You were boredly staring out at the crowds, suppressing a yawn.

"This party is great, isn't it?" A man said with a saccharine voice, appearing seemingly out of thin air.

You raised your eyebrows, slightly taken aback at his sudden appearance.

"...yeah."

An awkward silence fell.

You then turned around, not in the mood to be conversational.

However, the man was ostensibly irked at your dismissal, he stepped in closer, placing a hand on your hip.

Alarmed, your head snapped in his direction, lips into a thin line.

"What do you think you're doing?" Your eyes narrowed.

Your eyes travelled to his hand, snug on your middle, disgust making your lips curl up snidedly.

The man leaned in, breath heavy with alcohol, his eyes half-lidded. "Just having some fun, babe. You should come dance with me, pretty lady."

He then looked you up and down, lewd intentions clear in the reflection of his shrewd eyes.

"No thanks." You said coldly, stepping away, as you tried to suppress a convoluted shudder.

The man's jaw tensed. All flirty pretentions slipping from his face. He stuck out his hand, fingers curling tightly around your wrist.

Now you've had it.

"You let me go now," you threatened, eyes spitting fire, "or I'll--"

"Or you'll what?" The man snickered, "Cry like a weakling?"

"No. She'll call her boyfriend."

An icy voice cut through the atmosphere, as a figure stepped in.

His steps were sure and precise, hands tucked into expensive designer pants that snugly hugged long, fit legs.

An air of confidence and self-assurance hung about him, leaving people stunned and intimidated in his wake.

Frosty, cyan-coloured eyes bored straight through the man's, who let out a surprised gasp when he noticed with whom he exactly was messing with, cowering underneath the newcomer's imposing eyes.

But they softened, imperceptibly so, when they met yours.

"Sae..." You spoke, relief pooling into your chest.

Sae nodded at you in acknowledgement, before stalking towards the man, a mask of cold indifference slipping onto his face.

His eyes flicked then to the man's hand, still clutching your wrist. Even though Sae's expression was impassionless, a frigid irritation and blazing protectiveness shone through.

He turned to the man, eyeing him up and down, his looks spelling unimpressed.

"Why don't you listen to her? She said to let her go." Sae spoke, voice chilling.

"You... you're Itoshi Sae..." The man said, amazed.

"And you're an idiot who decided to mess with my girlfriend." Sae retorted in a bored tone without missing a beat.

"I..." The man instantly let go of your hand, as if burned.

You wringed your hand, pain flaring up from the spot where his fingers had dug into your skin.

Sae's eyes flitted over to you, the barest hints of worry and petulance flickering in his eyes at the sight of your being hurt.

Striding confidently towards the man, Sae was ever the image of the ruthless genius footballer the media made him out to be.

The man was trembling now, eyes flicking frantically all over the places, taking stumbling steps back.

"She jumped me!" The man yelled in a shaking voice, pointing an accusing finger at you.

You let out an indignant scoff.

Sae raised an eyebrow, "Really? And why would my girlfriend settle for lukewarm trash like you?"

"W--wah?" The man was positively baffled, shrinking into himself.

Sae sighed, his irritation finally shining through. "If you haven't picked up on the hint yet, quit harassing my girlfriend. Where do you work?"

"I... uh, am a footballer at FC Barcha." A trace of pride gleamed through his tone.

Sae did not hesitate to completely crush his haughtiness.

"You're fired."

Then, after delivering that humongous bomb, Sae walked up to you.

His hand came up to yours, soft finger pads caressing the blossoming bruise. His eyes narrowed in frustration, before he took your hand in his and stalking off.

"Sae? Where are we going?"

"Home." He simply answered, briskly walking in the pathway that the gaping people had made for you.

"I... are you sure?" You hesitatently faltered in your steps. "This was an important event, your agent--"

"Will handle it." Sae firmly but gently cut in. "We're going to get you patched up. I don't want you anywhere near those amateurs."

Warmth filled your chest at Sae's determination. A small smile grew on your lips.

"...alright. Thank you, Sae."

Sae didn't say anything, but his thumb rubbing a reassuring circle on the palm of your hand was telling enough.

The next day, the papers were streamed full with headline-breaking news.

News of a footballer being fired and Itoshi Sae protecting his girlfriend was all the papers were talking about.

"Sae?" You lightly called, sheets falling off of your uncovered shoulder.

"Mhm?" Sae turned around, messy bed-hair somehow making him still seem pretty.

Tch. Pretty people and their stupid pretty privileges.

"You're in the papers."

You showed him your phone. Sae lazily squinted, before grabbing your phone and tossing it away.

"Wh-- Sae!"

"Don't look at those papers, they're all shit. You can look at me instead, okay?"

Sae slung an arm over your middle, dragging you until you were pressed against his warm body.

His hand came up to your wrist, thumb circling the new bruises blooming there.

Bruises, courtesy of Sae, who pressed a lazy kiss against your cheek.

You let a gasp as Sae placed a hard kiss on your neck, hard enough to bruise.

"Sae! Everyone's going to see that!"

The man in question hummed, not at all deterred.

"Let them see it. I won't let anything like this happen to you ever again."

----------------------------------------------------

Michael Kaiser

Public degradation and fierce possessiveness.

"Can I get one glass of red wine?"

"For me a cognac and this lady's number, please."

You turned to the side, a baffled frown on your face.

"Ah, please put the red wine of this sweetheart on my tab!" A man with the few upper buttons of his dress shirt undone, showing an inordinate amount of skin, called out.

"Oh. No, I can pay for myself--" You stepped forward, but the man was faster.

"Woah, pretty girl," The man positioned himself against the bar, both his hands coming to grip your shoulders. "Let me pay for this round, yeah? You can... pay me back in another way."

He then reached out, his arm coming to lay around his middle as he pulled you flush against him.

A disgruntled expression crossed your face, disgust evident in the curl of your lips. You pushed yourself off of him, taking several steps backwards.

"I'm not interested."

"Oh? Are you sure?" The man shot you a salacious look, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips, as he simultaneously leaned in, his grimy fingers coming closer and closer--

Until a red liquid was thrown over the man's head, drenching his hair and soacking his white dress shirt a bloody red.

The man gasped, eyes blinking frantically to see through the red haze, before he was thrown against the bar, eliciting a pained yowl out of him.

It suddenly became dead quiet. The chattering of guests faded away, the bartender stopped his cocktail making, and every pair of eyes was now directed at the spectacle occuring.

"That's enough, you worthless pig." A low voice taunted.

"What the hell--" The man's outrageous yell faltered away at the sight of the interluder.

A murderous look on his face, strong hands crushing the fingers in his hold, and broad frame empoweringly towering over the man.

Who else could it be but Kaiser?

The man opened his mouth, but a hand was swiftly clamped over it.

"Shh, mutts like you don't talk." Kaiser clacked his tongue, leaning in, cerulean eyes staring straight into the other's eyes, his lips pulled into a wicked grin.

Kaiser then lifted him up, tattooed hand crushing the man's windpipe.

The blond then got closer, his voice barely above a whisper, so only the people in the direct vicinity were witness to his next words.

"Here's what's going to happen, you lowly clown. I'm going to dent your face, and then you'll never show your ugly mug to me or my girlfriend again, okay?"

The man hastily nodded, fear evident in the way his eyes were screwed shut and his severe trembling.

Kaiser scoffed, "Otherwise, it'll be such a shame if you never played football again." He kicked lazily at the man's leg, a nefarious glint in his eyes.

The man swallowed, eyes as wide as saucers. "Yes, yes! Just please, let me go!"

"Tsk. How pathetic." Kaiser rolled his eyes, before dropping the man with no further ado.

A loud thud reverberated in the silent hall, as the man landed like a sack of potatoes face-first on the ground. Noticing everyone's eyes on him, the man, now sporting a bloody nose, quickly scrambled up, fleeing the space.

Sighing, Kaiser wiped his hands off on a tissue, as if the whole ordeal just yet was just a walk in the park for him.

He then turned to you, but instead of the iniquitous disposition he'd been donning before, his eyes were softened, though tinged with worry.

He cupped your cheek, fingers undeniably gentle, making you grow pliant under his enchanting touch.

"Are you alright, Schatz?" He tucked a stray hear behind your ear, the low murmur reverberating against your earlobe.

"I... am alright." You managed to say, a warmth pooling in your chest.

Was it getting hot in here, or was it just you?

"That's good, love." Kaiser encircled your waist with his arm, all the while pressing a tender kiss against your nose.

You let out a surprised huff, the noise making Kaiser's heart beat just a little bit faster, his smile just a little bit wider.

His nose pressed against your shoulder, his eyes flashing threateningly at the still stunned onlookers.

If you'd notice Kaiser's arm tightening around your middle, you didn't say anything.

And if you had discerned Kaiser pressing a long kiss against your shoulder, long enough to make the people in the vicinity embarrassedly avert their eyes, you didn't say anything about that either.

Some things were just left better unknown.

Except for the fact that you were Kaiser's and he was yours.

And no one would ever doubt that fact again.

Not if it came to Kaiser.

----------------------------------------------------

Oliver Aiku

Faux-polite conversation, but trust, inside he's fuming. Will wrap an arm around you, or unabashedly kiss you to ensure no one will get the wrong ideas.

You were lightly swaying to the music, talking to some acquintances, when suddenly, you felt yourself being spinned around by the waist, face to face with a stranger.

"Come dance with me, pretty lady." The man winked at you, his hands on your hips as he forced you to sway in tandem with him.

Your mouth turned into a frown. You stepped back, the hands of the stranger falling off of your hips, but not before tentalisingly tracing your skin.

"No thanks. I have a boyfriend. And even if not, I wouldn't be interested anyway." You coolly spoke, hands crossed.

The man slowly moved his head left to right, raising an eyebrow. "Where's your boyfriend, then? Leaving such a lovely lady unattended like that..."

A shudder went along your spine at the lewd tone he was using.

"He's busy."

"Oh? But you and I are not, so why don't we..." The man stepped into your personal space anew, hands travelling from your shoulders all the way down until they were resting on your waist.

He then abruptly pulled you closer until you were chest against chest. You let out an offended snarl, struggling to push him off of you.

"...have some fun together?" He smugly smiled.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" You fumed, yanking your hand back, but his fingers were ironclad around your wrist.

The man ignored your outburst, twirling you around as he dipped you, his face mere inches apart from yours. Your heart halted when his eyes dropped to your lips.

You frantically tried to push him away, but his face was still nearing, his breath comingling yours, lips almost brushing yours--

You were yanked abruptly away, so abrupt, blood rushed to your head.

Hands settled among your hips, but the callouses on the fingertips felt familiar against your skin.

A warm breath hit the side of your neck, the overwhelming scent of mint and petrichor filling your nostrils.

"Hey, princess. Having fun?" Aiku said in a charming tone, but his eyes threateningly darkened when he looked at the flummoxed man.

"Lovely night, right?" Aiku casually spoke to the man, whose eyebrows creased in confusion. "Lovely night, with my lovely lady."

A hint of a threat could be detected in Aiku's otherwise modest tone, but the message came in loud and clear.

The man went pale, looking incredibly small next to Aiku.

"Well, I'm going to steal her from you, otherwise I might just get a bit jealous. And we wouldn't want that, do we?" Aiku carried on in his forced polite tone.

"Or... I might just do some things you'll regret." The threat hung in the air, tension so thick it was almost tangible.

But god... his voice.

You swallowed arduously, his silky voice making heat pool into your stomach.

At your flustered reaction, the corners of Aiku's lips twitched upwards. Twirling you around, your hands ended up on his shoulder, your back to the man.

Your heart raced in your throat, flush appearing on your neck at the proximity.

Aiku chuckled, kissing the reddened skin, as he slowly but surely dragged you away until you were out of eyesight of the other man.

His hands were slewn around your middle, fingers lightly squeezing as he rested his forehead against your shoulder.

"You're even more beautiful now." Aiku's voice rumbled against your skin.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "More beautiful?"

Aiku chuckled. It was filled with solely mirth.

"More beautiful being in my arms."

----------------------------------------------------

Barou Shouei

Nitpicking and degrading the whole person.

You were in a desolate corner, taking a temporary break from the incessant buzzing of the crowd, and the slide of sweat-slicked bodies in a tight room.

Placing your wine glass down on a table, you rested your hand on the wooden structure. The smooth lacquered tiles a refreshing cold against the pads of your fingertips.

However, a clammy, sweaty hand placed itself on top of yours, interrupting the cold flow.

You grimaced, feeling irked at the slimy sensation of his skin against yours.

Hastily pulling away your hand, you refrained from snarling, instead you took a big step back.

Sending a tight-lipped smile at the man, you began to make your retreat, however, the man clamped his hand on yours, insisting and compelling.

You stood still, lips properly downturned now. "Can you let go?"

The man pursed his lips, contemplating for a moment as you fumed impatiently.

"No."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Let go." Your voice was harsh. But the man was unrelenting.

"I'll let you go if..." The man trailed off, a suggestive glint in his eyes as his gaze landed on the area beneath your face.

Feeling disgusted, you snatched your wrist back, quickly backing up.

"Leave me alone, you goddamn pervert." You hissed.

The man's eyebrows drew near each other. Sick amusement fading from his face.

"What the hell did you just say, you bitch?"

Your nose scrunched in disgust at the insult, eyes narrowed. You opened your mouth to say something colourfully back, but another voice spoke up.

"She said to leave her alone, you dumb donkey."

A well-built figure stepped in, muscled arms crossed as he imposingly looked down on the smaller man.

"Shouei." Your eyes widened.

He gave you a quick nod before turning to the man once more. The man in question seemed to shrink in himself at the furious look in Barou's eyes.

"You think you're good enough, huh?" Barou stepped in closer, consequently, the man backed away.

"N...no. Not at all!" The man waved his hands frantically, his forehead gleaming from sweat.

Barou tsked. "Do you think you have what it takes? You fucking smell like a trash can, and your posture's horrible than my grandma's. Stupid donkeys like you shouldn't even be here. Least of all harass women."

"I... I'm sorry!" The man pled, back hitting the wall.

The people in the near vicinity were now openly perusing the spectacle. Some of them looked baffled, others pitying at the pathetic man.

And indeed he was.

Just moments ago, he was acting all cocky and smug, but now, he was reduced to a tragic, trembling mess.

"Well, now? What's your answer? Answer, you goddamn mutt." Barou snapped.

"I... I apologise!"

"Not to me." Barou grumphed. He gestured with his head at you.

You sent the guy a disgusted glance.

The guy turned to you. It was almost pitiful how pathetic he looked.

"I'm sorry! Please let me go! I won't bother you again!" He yelled, face writhing.

Barou rolled his eyes, but stepped to the side, leaving the man leeway to flee.

Which he did. Embarrassingly fast if I must say so myself.

Barou sighed, muttering something along the lines of, "coward" underneath his breath.

"Well, what are you looking at?" He spoke loudly, directed at the people still gaping at him. "Don't you know its bad manners to stare?"

At his imperious tone, the people hesitatently averted their eyes, but it didn't cease their occasional weary looks.

Though, Barou remained undeterred, steadfast in his confident and aloof demeanour.

However, his face was still reminiscent of the gruff expression he wore earlier, but it had transformed into a more mellowed out disposition as he turned to you.

"You okay?" His eyes roamed along your figure, searching for any injuries.

"Yes, I am. Can't say the same for him, though. I don't think you left his ego intact." Amusement was evident in your tone, as a laugh threatened to burst out of you.

"Well, he deserved it." Barou declared. "Talking to women like that, and especially to mine. Tch. I hate types like that."

"Oh yeah?" A smile wormed its way on your face, heart warming at the thought of Barou referring you to his.

"Yeah." Barou took your hand in his, pulling you away from the crowd.

"Dumb donkeys like him shouldn't even be allowed near you at all."

[tteotlma]

Sugar and Skin

5. Unspoken Proximity || Previous - Next

A grocery run leads Bucky straight into familiar territory except this time, outside of the café, outside of routine, she feels different. More real. More tangible in a way that unsettles him.

TattooArtist!Bucky x Baker!Reader (8kw)

tw: 18+ MDNI; 18+ MDNI; mild language, subtle tension, implied attraction, slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of alcohol, drinking, lingering touches, close proximity, unspoken intentions, introspection a/n: omg sorry guys... i didn't know what to write for this chapter and idk if u can tell LOLLLL i also kinda got lost a little bit writing and rewriting so.. if u can tell just pretend u cant ty. anywhoo enjoy 8k words of writing!!

“Thanks for coming so quick guys.” Steve sat you guys in his waiting area, allowing you and Sam to sit on the loveseat against the window display, while he sat on the armchair resting against the wall perpendicular to the sofa. The coffee table in the center was littered with papers, and folders. 

“No problem, I’m just glad we’re able to finally talk.” You sat on the side closest to him, and he gave you a small smile. 

“What’s all this?” Sam gestured to the mess scattered in front of you. 

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk about.” Steve’s tone suddenly changed, and his eyebrows drew together. A sudden wave of anxiety was building in your stomach, but before you could say anything he continued. 

“Well you see, somehow things have sort of shifted,” The words come out of his mouth slowly, as if he’s trying to think of what to say as he’s saying it. “And well…” He rubs his palms on his jeans. 

“Oh my god Steven, just spit it out!” You accidentally barked, the wave in your stomach finally crashing into an ocean of apprehension of all the things that could possibly come out of his mouth. 

He jumped in his seat. 

“It’s just becoming a lot more than I anticipated, I’m worrying it’s becoming too much.” The words fly out of his mouth. 

“I’m…” You pause to look at him, his eyebrows are still knit together, ”Unbelievably underwhelmed.” You deflate in your seat. Sam lets out a laugh. 

“What are you talking about?!” Steve panics moving closer to the edge of his seat to pick at the loose papers. 

“What are you talking about?” You sit up watching him scramble. 

“Betty—you know the one from that crafts store down on Narrow Blvd.—“

”Knotty by Nature.” Both you and Sam speak at the same time. 

“Right, well she heard what was happening and decided to take it upon herself to invite all these groups she’s somehow affiliated with,” He grabs a paper off the table and begins to read it aloud. “Filthy hands club, Pounded Clay Association, Neon Noir, The Indigo Hour Society—“

”Jeez, who didn’t she invite?” Sam scoffed, whether he was being facetious or not was unknown. 

“I’m more focused on what it is these clubs actually are.” You said, repeating the groups names he’s listed so far. 

“It doesn’t matter, what matters is that her sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong has now turned something small into something drastically huge.” Steve put his head in his hands. 

You watched him for a second before giving a small side eye to Sam, who quickly returned the look. 

“Let me get this straight,” Sam started, “You’re upset because you’re going to be getting potential customers?” 

A second passes, no sound is made save for the air conditioner softly whirring. Steve lifts his head. 

“You think I’m an idiot?” He suddenly gets serious and you take in a deep breath to mask your laugh. 

“I think what Sam means is that shouldn’t you be looking at this like it’s a good thing? Why are you freaking out?” 

“Because I had planned for this to be a simple thing you know—a few close friends, a handful of walk-ins, some drinks, some music. But now, thanks to Betty it’s turning into a whole-ass networking event.”

“Isn’t that sort of to be expected?” Sam asked. Steve narrowed his eyes at the man beside you. Before Steve could say anything you spoke up. 

“What he means is.. what’s the big deal?” You try to dig your friend out of the growing hole he’s finding himself in, but it turns out you dove headfirst beside him instead.

Steve huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back on his seat. “You two are so damn helpful, really.” He shot you both a look before rubbing a hand over his jaw. “The big deal is that Betty’s list of groups didn’t just bring in a few old people—it brought in everyone,” He lets out a panicked sob (definitely on the brink of a tantrum) “Now instead of a chill small thing—which I wanted—I’m now anticipating artists, painters, curators, and god knows who else all expecting some kind of official event.” 

You and Sam exchanged another glance, but this time you held your tongue letting the grown man pout and whine. 

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. “And thanks to the flyer she made, people are expecting food.” His gaze flicked to you pointedly.

You blinked. “You mean… more than just desserts?” 

Steve nodded, exhaling sharply. “Yeah… and I know I already asked for your help the other day, and I hate to ask for more, but—“ 

“You should hate to ask for more,” Same cut in, crossing his arms. 

Steve shot him a glare before looking back at you, his expression softening just slightly. “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t trust you, and I know you love a challenge.” He gave you a weak smile. 

You pressed your lips together, pretending to consider it, even though your excitement had already begun bubbling under the surface. It was true, you did love a challenge. 

It had been ages since you got to flex your actual culinary skills—pastries were your specialty and of course your passion, but you couldn’t lie that savory was always a tempting mistress. 

Steve saw the shift in your expression and immediately leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Oh, come on. Don’t pretend like you’re not already swimming with ideas.” 

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. “I hate you.” 

“You adore me.”

”Debatable.” 

Sam scoffed. “Unbelievable. I hope you know she’s about to carry this entire thing.”

Steve lifted a hand, grinning. “And that’s why I asked.” 

You started grabbing the strewn about papers. “I keep forgetting under all that ink and jewelry you’re just a baby at heart.” You joked, replaying his dramatic behavior in your head. 

Steve rolled his eyes, but the grin didn’t leave his face. “Yeah, yeah. laugh it up.” 

You smirked, stacking the last of the papers into a neater pile. “I’m just saying—big, bad tattoo artist panicking over a party? You’d think you were planning a wedding.” 

Sam let out a loud laugh, slapping his knee. “Damn, she’s got a point.” 

Steve narrowed his eyes at both of you but didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. “I just want it to be right.” His voice was quieter now, more honest.

You softened slightly, patting his knee. “It will be.”

For a moment, the three of you just sat there, the weight of the conversation finally settling into something manageable. Sure the event was bigger than what Steve had planned but with the way things were coming together, it was starting to feel real.

You tapped your fingers on your chin. “Okay, if we’re doing this, we should do it right.”

Steve sat up again, nodding eagerly. “Agreed.”

Sam raised a brow. “What’s the plan, boss?”

You bit your lip, thinking. “Well, for one, we should probably have more than just pastries. If people are drinking, they’ll need actual food too—something yummy and more than just a bowl of chips and a cup of dip. 

Steve’s eyes practically sparkled. “God, I knew asking you was a good idea.”

You grinned. “You owe me, Rogers.”

Sam whistled low. “Man, he’s getting off easy. If it were me, I’d be negotiating for free ink at this point.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t have any tattoos in mind yet, but maybe I should start thinking about it, huh?”

Steve smirked. “Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll take care of you.”

Sam gave you a pointed look. “See? That’s a good deal.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “I’d want the tattoo to mean something, though. I can’t just get inked from here for the first time for the sake of it.” 

Steve smirked, “Oh come on, just a tiny one,” He suddenly grabbed your forearm, angling it straight up, and with his other hand he lightly grabbed your wrist. “Right here.” He taps delicately at the soft skin of your wrist, absentmindedly thumbing your pulse as he continues to talk. 

Sam leaned in slightly, his tone casual—too casual. “What about a rolling pin? Or maybe a piping bag?” He smirked. “Right here.”

Before you could react, his fingers brushed lightly over the side of your neck, just beneath your ear. His thumb dragged against your collarbone as he tugged gently at the neckline of your shirt, exposing a little more of your skin.

“Or a knife.” He teased.

You let out a breathy laugh, rolling your eyes. “I am not getting a knife tattooed onto my collarbone.”

Sam grinned, leaning in to “inspect” you. “Or,” he continued, “the side of your neck.” He joked, grazing his finger down the side of your neck. 

Before you could retort, the bell above the door chimed.

The shift was immediate.

Bucky stepped inside, the shop’s soft lighting casting shadows over his sharp features. His eyes flicked toward you first. Then to Steve’s hand still wrapped around your wrist. Then to Sam, whose fingers had just grazed your collarbone.

His stare was unreadable. Blank, even.

You felt the heat creeping up your neck as Sam casually dropped his hand, but Bucky wasn’t looking at him anymore. His gaze had flickered back to you, his jaw set.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t acknowledge anyone.

Didn’t even pretend to.

Instead, he walked past the three of you without so much as a nod, his steps slow, deliberate, carrying him deeper into the shop without a glance back.

The silence he left in his wake stretched.

Sam exhaled sharply through his nose, muttering under his breath, “Dude’s got a weird fucking vibe.”

“Sam,” you warned, shifting slightly where you sat.

Sam just raised his brows, leaning back against the loveseat. “What? I’m just saying.”

You shot him a look.

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t weird.”

Steve, patted your hand before letting go and flipping through the papers in front of him, barely bothering to look up. “That’s just Bucky.”

Sam let out a dry laugh. “Right. Just Bucky.” His fingers tapped idly against his knee. “Dude walks in, looks like he wants to murder someone, doesn’t say a word, then disappears into the back like he’s some broody action movie character.”

Steve smirked. “Jealous?”

Sam’s expression turned flat. “Of what?”

Steve shrugged, grinning now. “He’s got that whole ‘mysterious, quiet, probably dangerous’ thing going for him.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and I’ve got the whole ‘charming, personable, actually fun to be around’ thing going for me.”

You snorted. “Sure.”

Sam turned to you, feigning offense. “Wow. That was uncalled for.”

Steve chuckled, finally setting down the papers. “Look, Bucky’s just—” He waved a hand. “He keeps to himself. That’s how he’s always been.” 

Sam scoffed again, shaking his head. Then, his gaze flicked toward you. “And you? What do you think?”

You hesitated, pressing your lips together.

You thought about the way Bucky’s stare had lingered for just a second too long. The flicker of something behind his eyes before he shut it down completely. The way his shoulders had tensed before he turned away. The other night still weighing heavily on your mind.

“…I think he’s just quiet,” you said finally, though you weren’t sure why it came out softer than you intended.

Sam’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind his expression. Then, with a scoff, he leaned back against the loveseat again, shaking his head.

“Quiet,” he repeated, like he was testing the word.

Steve, oblivious to the shift in energy, reached for another paper from the pile in front of him. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

You didn’t respond. Instead letting out a deep breath, shifting where you sat. 

“We should probably head back,” you said finally, smoothing out your pants. “Peter swears he can be left alone for long, but we know he worries.”  

Steve frowned slightly but nodded “Yeah, yeah, of course.” 

“Don’t worry, Steven. I’ll come to you soon with more ideas.”

Steve’s face brightened at that, his worry giving way to childlike excitement. “You mean it?”

You grinned. “Of course. You know I can’t resist a challenge.”

His responding “awe” was warm, genuine, and before you could react, he was grabbing you.

It wasn’t just a hug—it was a Steve Rogers hug. A full-force, rib-crushing, lift-you-off-the-ground kind of hug that had you letting out a startled yelp before melting into it.

“Steven—oh my god—”

He just squeezed you tighter. “You are the best.”

Your breath came out in a short laugh, face half-smushed against his shoulder. “Okay, okay, let’s not break my spine.”

Steve finally set you back down, but before he pulled away completely, he pressed a firm, affectionate kiss to your temple.

It was nothing.

And yet, as you stepped back laughing, hands smoothing over your hips where your shirt had ridden up, something in the air shifted. It wasn’t anything tangible, nothing obvious, but it was there—lingering, humming beneath the surface like the faintest static charge.

Like the temperature had dropped just slightly, like the warmth of the moment had dulled by a fraction, like something had changed without you quite knowing how or why.

You laugh died as you turned and saw him.

Bucky stood just beyond the threshold between the back of the shop and the main floor, his presence still and quiet, but impossibly heavy. He wasn’t just lingering, wasn’t just standing in the background like he usually did, half-invisible, watching the world move around him. No, this was different. This was something else.

His stare was unreadable, his expression impassive, but there was a weight behind his gaze. And for a fraction of a second, so brief you might’ve imagined it,  you thought you saw something flicker there but then, just like that, it was gone.

Bucky blinked, his jaw shifting almost imperceptibly before his features smoothed into something neutral, carefully blank, as if he hadn’t just been looking at you at all. And without a word, without so much as an acknowledgment, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the back, leaving nothing behind except the distinct, unmistakable sensation that something had just happened.

Something you weren’t entirely sure how to name.

You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of the lingering press of your own fingertips against your sides, the rise and fall of your breath, the faint, inexplicable feeling that whatever had just passed between you had been fleeting but significant.

Sam let out a slow, deliberate exhale beside you, arms crossing over his chest as he tilted his head, his gaze sliding from you and Steve, completely unaware that Bucky had returned for a moment.

“You two are so damn affectionate.”

——

Bucky wasn’t in a bad mood. Not really.

He was just… irritated. Restless. Something he couldn’t quite name but had been sitting on his chest since this morning, tightening like a vice, making everything feel just a little too sharp. The kind of feeling he couldn’t shake, no matter how many times he rolled his shoulders, no matter how much he tried to push it aside.

And coming home to a mostly-empty fridge sure as hell didn’t help.

Bucky stood there, one hand braced against the fridge door, staring at the contents like they might magically change if he looked at them long enough.

They didn’t.

Eggs. Bagels. Three cans of beer.

His jaw ticked.

With a sharp exhale, he swung the door shut, perhaps with more force than necessary, before dragging a hand down his face. He was not in the mood to go grocery shopping. He wasn’t in the mood to do anything, really. But he also wasn’t in the mood to deal with the hunger clawing at his stomach, so he grabbed his jacket and keys before he could talk himself out of it.

The store was quiet. At least there was that.

The fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead, buzzing in that way that always made his temples ache. He moved through the aisles without much thought, grabbing things at random, barely registering what he was throwing into his basket.

Pickles. A loaf of bread. Canned fish.

Something about the selection in his basket felt wrong, unsatisfying in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was too easy, too thoughtless, just a collection of things he grabbed on autopilot because the idea of putting in actual effort—of standing in front of a stove and making something that required patience—felt exhausting. He hadn’t realized until just now how little he actually cared about what he was eating, as long as it was quick, as long as it was simple, as long as it was enough to shut his body up and get him through another night.

So he kept walking, moving without thinking, scanning shelves without really seeing them, mind drifting in that restless way it had been all day. An older couple stood near the dairy section, murmuring to each other as they checked expiration dates, and he adjusted his grip on the basket, his fingers curling tightly around the handle, jaw flexing as he exhaled sharply through his nose. The feeling hadn’t left him—the unease, the static hum beneath his ribs, something unsettled and stretched thin.

And then—

He saw her.

His body went still before his brain could catch up, every thought in his head grinding to a halt as his muscles locked up, as his pulse fumbled mid-beat and his breath caught somewhere between inhale and exhale. It was an instinctive kind of reaction, one he wasn’t prepared for, one he couldn’t immediately shake.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about this moment before. He had. Not in any real, intentional way, but in that vague, distant way you think about things that seem inevitable. They lived in the same area, worked just down the block from each other—of course they were bound to run into each other somewhere, at some point, in some random, mundane setting.

He just hadn’t expected it to be now.

Not when his head already felt too full, his patience too worn down from a morning spent pacing between his fridge and his couch, knowing damn well he had nothing to eat but still refusing to do anything about it. Not when he already felt off balance, like something was pressing in at the edges of his mind, something he couldn’t quite name, something that had settled under his skin ever since he’d walked into the shop earlier and seen her under the weight of Steve’s hands, under the warmth of his laughter, under the kind of casual, easy familiarity that had no business making his stomach twist the way it did.

And certainly not when he was standing in the middle of a grocery store, clutching a basket full of things he didn’t even want, looking at her like he’d forgotten how to function.

She wasn’t behind the counter this time, wasn’t tucked into the space he had unconsciously confined her to, the setting where he had let himself believe she belonged. She wasn’t sliding receipts across a register, wasn’t greeting him with her usual knowing look as he grumbled out his order, wasn’t framed by the soft glow of café lights and the scent of coffee beans and sugar.

She was here.

In the same dim, soulless grocery store, under the same too-bright fluorescents, in the same aisle, in the same moment.

And Bucky had no fucking clue what to do with that.

His stomach tightened, something low and unfamiliar coiling behind his ribs, and he hated it—hated the way his feet stayed glued to the floor, hated the way his hands curled a little tighter around the basket, hated the way his chest went tight at the sight of her outside of where he was used to seeing her.

Because she looked different here.

Not in any way that actually mattered—she was the same, same soft curves, same warm expression, same quiet confidence in the way she carried herself, like the weight of the world had yet to leave a mark on her. But without the buffer of familiarity, without the safe, predictable rhythm of their usual routine, she felt different. More real. More tangible in a way that unsettled him, in a way that made something inside him pull taut.

And then—

She turned.

And her eyes met his.

His stomach lurched, fingers twitching where they gripped the basket handle, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

The world continued around them, carts rolling past, the faint murmur of an old pop song crackling through the overhead speakers, the butcher handing off a neatly wrapped package to another customer—but everything else seemed to pull back, like the static had narrowed to just this one moment, just this one stretch of space between them.

She hesitated, just for a beat, just long enough that he could see the flicker of consideration in her expression, the weighing of options, the silent question of how she was supposed to react to this just as much as he was.

And then—

She smiled.

Small. Almost hesitant. Like she wasn’t sure if she should, but was doing it anyway.

And Bucky—Bucky fucking Barnes—panicked.

Not outwardly. Not obviously. But something inside him jolted, something in his chest pulling tight, something hot and uneasy rushing beneath his skin before he could stop it.

Because the last time he’d seen her—really seen her—she had been staring at him in that same quiet way, that same careful, lingering gaze that had almost felt like it should have been followed by something else. A touch. A brush of fingertips. Something. She had stopped herself then, just before she left. He had, too. But for one stupid, fleeting second, Bucky had wished she’d followed through and touched him.

And now she was here, smiling at him, soft and tentative, like she was still figuring him out, still testing the edges of whatever this thing was between them. And Bucky? Bucky was still an idiot, still standing there, stiff and rooted to the spot, still gripping the handle of his basket like it might somehow sprout wings and fly away, taking him with it.

His grip tightened, his jaw flexing, something sharp settling behind his ribs. He felt—fuck, he didn’t even know what he felt. Off balance. Too aware. Like his body and brain were moving at two different speeds, tangled up in a static hum that had been following him since this morning.

Since he had walked into the shop and seen her under the touch of Sam and Steve, her laughter bright. Since he had seen Steve grabbing her, her shirt rumpled beneath his grip, with the man’s lips pressed to her temple. Since something in his gut had twisted in a way he didn’t like, a way he refused to name.

And now she was here, standing under the same too-bright grocery store lights, watching him with an unreadable expression. She quickly bid the butcher a quiet goodbye, slipping the neatly wrapped package into her basket before shifting it in her grip. Then, she turned and took a few light steps towards him.

Bucky had to force his legs to move, to meet her at the last step, though every muscle in his body locked up at the effort. His usual instinct was to turn the other way and pretend he didn’t see anything, but this time, he found himself wanting to stay. And yet, despite everything, he still couldn’t move.

Instead, he just stood there, too aware of the way his pulse jumped slightly at the sight of her approaching.

“Hi,” she said quietly, looking up at him, the soft curve of a smile still on her lips, and Bucky swore he felt some of the tension in his neck loosen just a little.

He blinked, his grip tightening on the basket, the plastic straining under the tension of his hold. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the way she was looking at him made his thoughts slow, made his brain stall like an old engine caught on itself.

She looked… the same. Of course she did. But something about seeing her here, in this mundane, everyday place, without the scent of coffee curling in the air, without antiseptic clinging to the walls, without flour dusting the edges of her sleeves or the tips of her hair, made her feel different.

More real.

More… something.

“I didn’t know you shopped here,” she said after a second, glancing around as if taking in the store for the first time.

“I don’t shop much,” he admitted, and immediately hated how stupid he probably sounded.

She glanced down at his basket. Bucky could practically see her take it in, scanning the sad collection of groceries before her gaze flicked back up, something unreadable playing at the edges of her expression.

She gave him a weak, knowing smile.

“I can see that,” she murmured.

Bucky felt something twitch at the corner of his mouth before he shut it down, the faintest urge to smile pressing against his cheeks.

There was a beat of silence. A moment where they just… stood there, in the middle of the grocery store, and Bucky realized how little he actually knew about her outside of their usual routine. Outside of the coffee, the ink-stained counters, the pastries.

And she didn’t know him either.

It should’ve been as simple as that.

But then she shifted, the light rustle of fabric pulling him from the thought, and he hated how acutely he noticed it.

“I just stopped to grab some stuff for Steven’s event,” she said, adjusting the weight of the basket in her arms. “Or, I guess… the both of yours’ event.” She chuckled lightly as she corrected herself.

Bucky’s brow lifted slightly, but he quickly shook his head. “No, it’s totally all him,” he said, scoffing under his breath. “I just work for him.”

She stared at him but gave a small nod, lips pressing together as if committing the response to memory.

“But I thought that wasn’t until next month?” he asked.

“It is, but… after this morning, I had a few ideas I wanted to try out right away,” she admitted, fingers lightly twisting the plastic handle cover of her basket.

Bucky hummed in acknowledgment, watching the way her fingers moved—twisting the plastic tube against the metal like she was already thinking ahead, her mind already somewhere else.

The silence stretched again, but this time it felt heavier. Not exactly uncomfortable, but there.

She shifted on her feet. “Um, I’m about done here…” She glanced around, then back at him, eyes flicking over his face for a second before settling.

Bucky felt his grip on the basket tighten. “Yeah. Me too.”

Her gaze flickered to his basket again, hesitating for a second.

“Um—d-do…” She bit her lip, exhaling softly before trying again. “I can—”

Bucky just watched her, something stirring in his chest at the way she fidgeted slightly, the blush creeping up her cheeks, her lips rouge from biting them.

“I can make dinner,” she suddenly blurted out.

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together, but he stayed quiet, just watching.

“I—I’m not gonna be able to eat everything I’m making tonight,” she continued, stumbling over her words slightly. “If anything, I probably would’ve given you guys the leftovers anyway—” She was thinking out loud. She shook her head, trying to get back on track. “I-I mean… only if you’d like.”

She trailed off, shifting on her feet, and Bucky could see it—her grasping for a way to save herself from the awkwardness of the offer.

So he saved her instead.

A small smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah. Sure.”

Relief washed over her features so quickly, he almost chuckled. Instead, he just nodded, keeping his expression cool—at least, he hoped he looked cool. He honestly felt a little dumb, standing there trying not to look as thrown off as he actually was.

They made their way to the registers, and as he went to set his basket on the conveyor belt, she reached out.

“Um, you can leave that here,” she said, motioning toward his items.

Bucky blinked. “What?”

She nodded toward his basket. His brows furrowed slightly, about to protest, but she cut him off before he could. “There’ll be leftovers you can take home.” She reasoned, giving a small shrug.

Bucky sighed through his nose but didn’t argue. Instead, he stepped past her and let her unload the basket.

“If anything, I’m probably doing you a service,” she teased him lightly.

Bucky let out a scoff.

As she scrambled in her purse to find her wallet, Bucky reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and swiping his card before she could react.

Her eyes widened. “What? No, Bucky—”

“It’s fine,” he said simply, grabbing the receipt from the cashier. “Consider it a trade.”

She stared at him, lips parting like she wanted to argue further, but then she exhaled, shaking her head with a soft huff. As she reached for the bags, Bucky once again made sure to move before she did, and he grabbed the bags and made his way to the exit.

They stepped outside, the cool air against his skin as he walked her to her car. He helped her load the groceries into the trunk, shoving his hands into his pockets when they were done.

She hesitated for a second, then reached into her bag, flipping the receipt over and scribbling something onto the back.

“This is my address,” she said, handing him the receipt.

Bucky took it, fingers grazing the paper before slipping it into his pocket, the ink warm from her touch. His gaze flicked over the street name, barely processing it before she stepped back, giving him one last look. Then she climbed into her car.

He stood there for a moment, watching as her taillights disappeared down the street.

And then, with a sharp exhale, he turned, heading toward his own.

The drive wasn’t long enough.

It wasn’t long enough to sort through the static still buzzing in his head, wasn’t long enough to shove this thing—whatever this was—into a neat little box where he didn’t have to look too closely at it.

He hadn’t exactly realized what it meant when she offered to cook for him. Hadn’t let himself think about it, not fully. But it finally clicked when his car rumbled to life beneath him, when the city blurred past his window in the glow of passing streetlights.

It wasn’t just a meal. It was something else entirely—something Bucky wasn’t sure he wanted to name.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as he switched lanes, grip tightening on the wheel. She was cooking for him. Not just for Steve, not just for the event, but for him. And for what? Because she was just nice? Because she had extra food and didn’t want it to go to waste? Or mayb—

No. That wasn’t it. Couldn’t be it.

He was making this into something it wasn’t. Overcomplicating it. This was about work. That’s all. Just food. Just an exchange. One that benefited her, too. He should think of it like an investment—something that helped his best friend’s event, something that made sure Steve’s business kept thriving. That was it. That’s all this was.

So why did his fingers tighten around the wheel? Why couldn’t he shake the way she had bit her lip, looking almost nervous, her voice trailing off before she had finally blurted out the offer? Why did it feel like there was something between the lines he hadn’t been ready to read?

His jaw flexed as he turned onto her street. The tension in his chest hadn’t eased, hadn’t faded, even as he pulled into a spot near the curb. He shifted the car into park, fingers drumming idly against the wheel before finally looking up.

She was already waiting.

Standing under the glow of the streetlamp, bags in hand, rocking slightly on her feet. She wasn’t looking around, wasn’t checking her phone she was just standing there, like she was waiting for him. Just him.

For a second, he stayed put. Gripping the wheel too tightly, trying to ignore the restless pull under his skin. Trying to remind himself this wasn’t a big deal. Just dinner. Just a thank-you. A friendly gesture.

But it felt like something else. Something heavier. Something he wasn’t sure he knew how to handle.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, grabbing the receipt she had scribbled on, tucking it into his pocket before stepping out of the car. The cool night air hit him, but it didn’t do much to settle the tightness in his chest.

His gaze flicked across the street. Just a glance. Then another. Something about the sight made his stomach pull tight, but he pushed it aside and forced himself to move.

His boots were loud against the pavement, the sound muted by the quiet hum of the street. She must’ve heard him coming, because she turned, adjusting the weight of the bags in her arms.

“Everything okay?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Bucky blinked. Realized, belatedly, that he’d been staring across the street again. “Yeah,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Just—” His mouth pressed into a line. “Just thinking.”

She watched him for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. But she didn’t push. Instead, she reached for the door, and Bucky stepped forward, grabbing the handle first, pulling it open for her.

She gave him a small, amused look before stepping inside. Bucky followed, feeling the weight of something settle in his chestr.

Not yet.

Bucky followed her into the elevator, the doors sliding shut with a quiet whump, sealing them inside a space that suddenly felt too small, too still. The silence settled heavily between them, thick and suffocating, pressing in from all sides. The hum of the fluorescent light overhead and the faint whir of the elevator climbing floors should have been nothing more than background noise, but right now, it was deafening.

He could hear everything—his own breathing, hers, the almost imperceptible rustle of fabric as she shifted beside him. The steady flicker of the numbers above the door marked their slow ascent, each floor clicking by in excruciating increments. He clenched his jaw, adjusting his stance, feeling the weight of his own awareness pressing down on him. This was awkward. Too awkward.

She stood next to him, hands curled tightly around the straps of her bag, fingers flexing slightly, like she wasn’t sure what to do with them. He could feel her presence in a way that made his stomach clench, too aware of the way she smelled—warm vanilla with something deeper, richer, something that curled in his chest and made it impossible to ignore just how close they were.

It shouldn’t have been this unsettling. But there were no distractions here. No counters between them. No clinking coffee mugs, no scent of roasted beans, no bustling grocery aisles. Just them. And that realization sat heavy on his chest, a weight he wasn’t ready to examine too closely.

He cleared his throat, the sound sharp against the quiet, a weak attempt to break the tension. "You, uh…" He glanced at her bag, then flicked his gaze back to her. "You cook a lot?"

She turned to him, blinking as if she hadn’t expected him to speak. For a beat, she just looked at him, like she was weighing something, trying to decide what to say. Then she shrugged, shifting her grip on the bag. "Not as much as I’d like," she admitted, her voice softer now. "I mean, I bake all the time for work, obviously, but… cooking? That’s different."

The elevator doors slid open, breaking the moment before it could stretch too long. She stepped out first, leading the way down the hall with Bucky following at a measured pace. He could feel his own pulse in his throat, unsure why this felt so... significant.

Her apartment was small but warm, the scent of something citrusy lingering in the air, mixing with vanilla in a way that made his chest tighten. She set the bags on the counter and glanced at him over her shoulder, a question in her eyes before she exhaled, like she had decided not to ask it.

“You can sit if you want,” she murmured, pulling out a few ingredients, her fingers deft as she began unwrapping the steak.

Bucky hesitated for a beat before pulling out a chair, his hands resting on his thighs as he watched her work. She was comfortable here, in her own space, moving with an ease he found almost hypnotic. He realized then that he hadn’t actually seen her outside of the café before, hadn’t really let himself think about what she might be like beyond the soft glow of pastry cases and the scent of coffee beans. But here she was, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, and still, something about her made his chest ache.

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, watching as she carefully sliced the bread, her focus trained on her task. “So, what are you making?”

“Steak crostini,” she answered, glancing up at him briefly before going back to her work. “With hollandaise.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, lips pressing together as he nodded. “Fancy.”

She huffed a small laugh. “Not really. Just something I like, that can feed lots.”

“You do this often?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the cutting board, at the careful way she seasoned the steak.

She shrugged. “I cook for myself, but mostly… I just like feeding people. It’s nice. Feels like a way to take care of someone.”

Bucky’s throat tightened. He didn’t have a response to that, didn’t know how to put into words the way those simple sentences made something in his ribs press uncomfortably against his lungs. He wasn’t used to people like her—people who did things just because they wanted to, because it made them happy.

And maybe that’s what made this feel different. Because she wasn’t asking for anything in return.

He cleared his throat again, fingers tapping against his thigh. “You uh… you grew up around here?”

She shook her head, a small smile playing at her lips. “No. Moved around a lot, actually. But this place? It’s the first one that’s felt like home.”

Bucky studied her, the way she said it like it was something she had fought for. And for some reason, that struck him harder than it should have.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. “Yeah. I get that.”

She watched him for a moment, then turned back to the counter, her fingers deft as she reached for a bottle of wine from a small rack beside the counter, tilting it toward him in question. “You drink?”

Bucky blinked, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

She smiled, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet before pouring a deep red into each. “Figured it’d pair well,” she murmured, handing one to him before picking up her own.

He took the glass, feeling the weight of it in his palm, and hesitated before taking a small sip. The warmth of the wine spread through his chest, and suddenly, the tension inside him felt a little less sharp.

She let out a soft sigh and turned back to the cutting board and then slid a small bundle of asparagus toward him. “Why don’t you prep these?” she asked, her tone light, teasing. “See if you remember how to hold a knife.”

Bucky let out a dry scoff, shaking his head as he reached for the bundle. “I think I can manage.”

She smirked. “I don’t know. You don’t seem like the vegetable-chopping type.”

Bucky snorted. “What type do I seem like?”

She shrugged, eyes twinkling as she leaned against the counter. “The kind who survives off black coffee and whatever takeout doesn’t require talking to anyone.”

His mouth quirked, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he focused on trimming the ends of the asparagus, his hands surprisingly steady. He hadn’t done this in years—not since before everything—but muscle memory kicked in, guiding his hands with careful precision.

She moved closer, leaning just past him to reach for a saucepan, the faintest brush of her arm against his shoulder making his breath hitch. She didn’t acknowledge it, but he felt it, the warmth of her body so close that for a moment, he forgot what he was doing. He forced himself to keep slicing, though his movements slowed, as if suddenly hyper-aware of every tiny motion.

A quiet hum left her lips as she stirred something on the stove, the rich scent of butter and herbs filling the air. She turned back to him, spoon in hand, and lifted it slightly. “Here, taste this,” she said, stepping closer.

Bucky blinked, glancing between the spoon and her, hesitating for just a second too long. “Uh—”

She huffed a small laugh, shaking her head as she nudged it toward him. “C’mon, it’s just sauce. Don’t look so suspicious.”

Still, there was something intimate about it, the way she had just tasted it herself, the way her fingers barely brushed his when he finally took the spoon from her grasp. He swallowed before bringing it to his lips, the warmth of the sauce settling on his tongue, rich and velvety with just the right hint of lemon.

He exhaled slowly, nodding. “Damn. That’s good.”

She grinned, pleased, before turning back to her station. “Good. Because I’m not taking criticism from a man who probably lives off instant ramen and black coffee.”

Bucky smirked, shaking his head. “I know good food when I taste it.”

She raised an eyebrow, turning back to stir the sauce. “Oh? And here I thought you only ate out of convenience.”

Bucky huffed, shifting his weight as he reached for another asparagus spear. “I didn’t say I don’t eat well.”

The words felt defensive in his mouth, so he covered them up by focusing on slicing. He wasn’t about to admit that he had a taste for things beyond quick meals and coffee. After all, he had been the one slipping extra pastries into the bag every morning, using Steve as an excuse. He had been the one peeling them open later, in the quiet of his own kitchen, savoring them more than he’d ever let on.

She moved around him again, this time slower, closer, like she wasn’t in a rush to put space between them. The warmth of her body lingered in the air between them, and Bucky could feel it, could feel her. The scent of her perfume mixed with the buttery aroma of the sauce, something delicate and grounding all at once.

“Can you hand me that?” she asked, pointing at the cutting board beside him.

Bucky grabbed it, but as he passed it to her, their fingers brushed again, a fleeting press of warmth that neither of them acknowledged aloud. His stomach twisted, unfamiliar and slow, something far too careful for what he was used to. He swallowed, exhaling softly as she took the board from his hands, her fingers lingering a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

She turned back to her work, moving with the ease of someone comfortable in her space, but he caught the way she bit her lip, just for a moment, before letting out a quiet breath. Like she felt it too.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It was thick, charged, but not tense. It was full of something else entirely, something that made Bucky want to keep talking just to keep her looking at him the way she had been all night, soft, curious, a little amused.

“You always cook alone?” he asked, watching as she plated the crostini, careful and precise.

She paused, just slightly, before offering a small shrug. “Most of the time. It’s nice, you know? Therapeutic.”

Bucky nodded slowly. He understood that. The solitude of a routine, the way something as simple as cooking could feel like control in a world that never quite slowed down.

“Don’t mind the company?” he asked, quieter this time.

She glanced at him, then down at the plate she was finishing. “No,” she admitted, almost hesitant. “I don’t.”

Something shifted in his chest, something that made his fingers twitch against the edge of the counter. He didn’t know what it was, didn’t know what to do with it.

She reached for two plates, carefully arranging the crostini before sliding one toward him. “Here,” she murmured. “Try it.”

Bucky hesitated, then picked up a piece, taking a bite. The crunch of the toasted bread, the richness of the steak, the smooth tang of the hollandaise...it was damn near perfect.

She watched him, her lip caught between her teeth. “Well?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “You’re good at this.”

Her shoulders eased, a quiet smile tugging at her lips. “I know.”

A beat of silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt… natural. Easy.

She poured another splash of wine into his glass, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky let himself linger, let himself enjoy the moment. He wasn’t in a rush to leave. He wasn’t looking for an escape.

Instead, he just sat there, across from her in the quiet warmth of her kitchen, feeling something settle inside him that he still didn’t quite have a name for yet (or maybe he was acutely aware).

Eventually, the night had to end. The plates sat empty, only a few stray crumbs left behind, and their glasses carried the last traces of deep red wine. She stretched her arms above her head, a quiet sigh slipping past her lips, the movement so casual, so unguarded, that it caught him off guard. He swallowed, forcing himself to look away, to focus on the slow, inevitable rhythm of the night winding down.

She walked him to the door, her steps unhurried, as if she wasn’t quite ready to break the spell either. Bucky shrugged on his jacket, the warmth of her apartment still clinging to his skin, seeping into the fabric.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said, voice rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “It was good.”

She smirked, leaning against the doorframe, her arms folding loosely. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

Bucky let out a breath of a chuckle, shaking his head. “Nah. Just haven’t had something like that in a while.”

Something flickered across her expression, something soft and unreadable, but she didn’t push. Just nodded. “Well… goodnight, Bucky.” She said softly, leaning against the door frame.

He nodded back, lingering for half a second longer than he should have. “Goodnight.”

The door shut softly behind him, but the air in the hallway felt colder, emptier. He let out a slow breath, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck before stepping toward the stairwell.

Outside, the night air hit him, crisp and grounding, but as always the warmth from her still hadn’t fully faded from his skin. He let out a breath and—without thinking, without hesitating—he jaywalked straight across the street, his boots striking pavement in an easy, familiar path.

And when he reached the other side, when he stepped up to his own building and turned toward the door, something made him glance back.

His stomach twisted as his gaze flicked up.

Right at her window.

His lips pressed together, breath catching slightly as realization settled in his chest like a slow ache. That was why he had felt the pull earlier, why something in his gut had twisted when she’d given him her address. Because now, standing in his own place in front of his window, it clicked.

He could see her window from his.

And if he could see hers, then she could probably see his too.

--

a/n: again thank you so much for your patience again huhuhu~

please reblog to support! I also love feedback, and comments :)

Literally your comments are hilarious

taglist (lmk if you want to be added!) : @cheezemanz @shirukitsune @miharuwrites @multifandomkid @violetpassionfruit @sapphirebarnes @grilledcheesewithjalapeno @angelbabyyy99 @theendofmaterialgworl @venuslovey @blackhawkfanatic @lazyneonrabbitt @singsosworld @danzer8705 @xamapolax @otterlycanadian @that1geek06

[itsnesss]

hiii, can u do some thanos head canons? sfw or nsfw whichever you’d like i love your fics btw <3

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ᡣ𐭩 | thanos (player 230)

warnings | explicit content, nsfw, mention of drugs, power dynamics, toxic relationship?

Being with Thanos is like living under a constant aura of greatness. It makes you feel small in comparison, but not in an unpleasant way. It's as if he were teaching you to look at the world from his perspective, with his ideas.

He is always attentive to your well-being, ready to intervene at any moment to ensure you are not in danger.

It's not easy to win their approval. Every step you take is under their critical gaze, but that forces you to be better.

The effects of the drug sometimes make him more introspective, and in those more vulnerable moments, he shows you unexpected gestures of tenderness, as if he were seeking comfort in you, even if he doesn't admit it.

Being with Thanos is an emotional rollercoaster. Sometimes, his spontaneity is what attracts you the most; you never know what to expect. He makes impulsive decisions, but that gives him a unique energy, even though it can be a bit exhausting.

He can go from the height of euphoria to a state of deep sadness in a matter of minutes. While that can be confusing and complicated, it makes you feel closer to him because you know his vulnerability is there, even if you don't always understand it.

He defends you from everything that threatens him, even if sometimes you are surprised by how strong or unpredictable he becomes.

When the drugs have him in a calmer state, he approaches you as if he needs you to feel balanced. He hugs you, looks at you intensely, and in those moments you know that all that really matters to him is you.

He is not afraid to take risks and, although sometimes he makes you feel insecure, he drags you along with him on his adventures. Even though his impulses scare you, you always have the feeling that in the end, everything will turn out fine.

Thanos is unpredictable even in intimacy. Sometimes he is incredibly passionate, while other times, his emotional attitude makes him more distant or even indifferent.

Under the influence of drugs, he becomes more raw and direct. He is not interested in playing games; he just wants to feel something genuine, something that makes him escape from his emotional confusion.

He takes you in an almost ferocious way, as if he needs to make sure you are completely his, although his desire is uninhibited, it is not always gentle. There are moments when it seems like he marks you, and he enjoys it.

Sometimes it pushes your limits, seeking something new or different. It can be risky, but the tension it creates between you both is palpable, leaving you in a state of total vulnerability.

He is a man who wants to know all your desires, your most hidden fantasies, and he encourages you to express them without fear.

If he wants it, he gets it. You can't resist his kisses, his caresses.

He's a beast in bed, but outside of it, he's a sweet man who only thinks about your pleasure.

And no matter what you wish for, he always fulfills it.

Do you like oral sex? Great. It will leave you trembling with pleasure as it licks you clean.

Do you want me to whip you? He knows exactly the point where you need to be.

Would you like to be fucked animalistically, without any reservations, just feeling? Perfect. He'll make you feel his cock and his teeth on your neck.

Do you want to be possessed like a slut, without him letting you breathe? He will. He will fuck you without stopping to caress you, without stopping to kiss you.

If you just want to feel the pleasure of being with a man, for him to caress you, kiss you, and speak sweet words to you. Well, he can do it too. He will do it gladly.

And if there's something he doesn't know how to do, he'll learn it just for you. Because the only thing that matters to him is your pleasure and your orgasms.

But he always takes care of your feelings. If something scares you, if you don't want him to do it, he won't insist.

And if you don't want anything else, if you just want company to talk and do something, that's fine too.

But... Don't be surprised if on a normal night, without thinking, he grabs you by the arm, takes you to the bedroom, and fucks you like an animal.

Not even during the day, he approaches you from behind and slaps your butt while whispering in your ear that he's going to fuck you as soon as you get home.

[wttcsms]

as it was ; suguru geto.

pairing suguru geto x f!reader  word count 4.2k  synopsis suguru comes back, only to find that you've been waiting and wanting this whole entire time. content contains modern no curses!au, gojo's sister!reader, brother's best friend, creampie, pet names (good girl, baby), most of the fic is geto's introspection, possessive sex, mutual pining/longing author’s notes im not even horny for geto like that, but i wanted to write angsty smut abt spreading ur legs for a guy that left u & who else is better for this than geto <3

First words are always a bit tricky to get right, especially whenever he has to take into account that he essentially ghosted you a couple of years ago, after taking your virginity no less, and now he’s back in the godforsaken city he swore he was never coming back to, and he’s just at a loss about what to say and more importantly, how to say it. 

He supposes an apology, for starters, would be a good first move. And maybe it would be, could be, should be, if only he wasn’t him and you weren’t you, and the two of you were not something so confusing and intricate that it’s hard to put into words and harder still to describe with emotions. The two of you are something raw and painful, both of you taking turns playing both sadist and masochist. 

Even to himself, the extent of your relationship sounds twisted, but there was always an underlying purity to it, something that justified its existence. To this day, Suguru Geto is certain that you’re the only person who ever loved him for him, with a love so pure and just that he tries to hide it from everyone else before they can get their filthy hands on it and taint it, twist it into something it’s not. 

Sorry I left won’t cut it, and Geto doesn’t even bother trying to come up with any other variations of apology because it’s not necessarily your forgiveness that he’s come back for. The opportunity to say “I’m sorry” and have it actually mean something has long since passed. All that’s left to say is the truth for why he left, which for some odd reason, seems even harder to do than his original disappearing act.

I missed you — that’s a slight improvement. It’s the truth, if not an understatement of it. He doesn’t regret leaving Tokyo, he just regrets leaving you. Which he could say, if you would actually open the door to face him. 

He figures it’s what he deserves. He deserves worse, if he’s going to be entirely honest. He deserves a slap to the face, or a kick to his balls, or for you to tell him that you hate him, that you never want to see him ever again. 

He knocks on your apartment door, harder this time, as if it’s something urgent. And maybe it is. He’s felt more like himself than he ever has after moving, but the solitude of the countryside got boring soon after, leaving him only with the ghosts from his past to keep him company. He thinks if he doesn’t see you, in the flesh, he might actually go insane. 

He knocks again, only to be met with more silence and a door that’s starting to become more of a familiar sight than he would like. Fuck, what is he even doing? Showing up here was a bad idea to begin with, and it’s only seemingly getting worse by every agonizing second that ticks by. Even if you do open the door, there’s always the chance that you won’t let him get a single word in — that’d be the smart choice, anyway. 

And you’re a bright girl, don’t get him wrong. Something about the Gojo bloodline makes your family incapable of producing anything less than prodigal sons and daughters. If you’re not proof of this fact, there’s your older brother.

Yet another reason why showing up here is such a shitty plan. Satoru will catch wind of his visit, and when he does, he’ll show no restraint in showing Suguru what all of his private boxing lessons are good for. A broken nose and missing tooth would be a fair exchange to see you for at least a second, though. A tradeoff that he doesn’t need to debate on. 

You have to leave your apartment eventually. Suguru dances with the idea of just making camp outside your door and waiting for your stubbornness to fizzle out. It’ll be embarrassing, and your neighbors will surely have something to say about it, but it would be well worth it.

He hears the ding! of the elevator opening and human reflex causes his head to turn at the sound of the noise. 

Oh.

The world becomes contradictory at this very moment. The air suddenly stills, but the atmosphere itself seems to come alive at the same time. Stagnant air, bursting with electricity and something awe-inspiring. Everything seems to slow down, but suddenly he’s acutely aware of just how alarmingly fast his heart is beating. It’s been a while since he’s last seen you, not even bothering to check up on your social media because he knows one DM from you would have him crossing the ocean to be back by your side. 

The reason why you weren’t answering your door was simply because you weren’t even home. Relief floods his body, makes him less tense, only for him to stiffen up once more whenever his eyes trail over to the warm body awfully close to you. 

Or maybe it’s the other way around, since you’re the one clinging onto him.

You and Kento Nanami both look like you two have seen a ghost, and all things considered, you wouldn’t be wrong. 

“What are you doing here?” You’re the first to speak, with Nanami’s arm wrapped protectively around your waist, and it’s this closeness that’s the only thing Suguru finds himself able to focus on. It’s been years. He shouldn’t feel this way. You’re free to do whatever you want with whoever you want. It’s your life. He’s the one that chose to walk out of it, anyway. 

“I just wanted to talk,” he answers. Which isn’t a lie. He wanted to talk. He wanted to fight and make up and fuck your brains out and beg for forgiveness and cook you breakfast in the morning and warm your bed, amongst other things, too. But, he figures the condensed version of his list will do, especially considering that three’s a crowd, and most of his itinerary was for your ears only. “Did I come at a bad time?” 

You bite your bottom lip, slowly removing yourself from Nanami’s grip. Nanami looks at you first, concern evident in his warm eyes, eyes that you wish were just a bit darker and colder, so that they would be the ones you’re so accustomed to drowning in. 

You like Nanami well enough. He’s kind and looks out for you, and sometimes you even consider making a move on him first since he’s too much of a gentleman to cross any boundaries. Then again, you don’t think Nanami sees you as anything more than a little sister, and the last time you fucked one of your brother’s best friends… 

It’s why you just give Nanami a smile, one that tells him that you’ve got this under control. His facial expression doesn’t give any indication of what he’s thinking, but the glare he sends Suguru’s way says enough. 

Suguru can appreciate the fierce protectiveness Nanami has towards you, but it doesn’t mean he likes it. Especially when it’s Suguru that’s considered to be the threat.

You move to unlock your door once Nanami makes his reluctant exit, and when you enter your apartment, you conveniently don’t shut the door. Suguru trails behind you.

You turn on the lights, your living room and kitchen blending together in an open-floor plan, bathed in the stark, white lights hanging from your high ceilings. Your apartment, at least what Suguru can see of it, is tastefully decorated. Courtesy of your mother, he’s sure. He would ask about her, ask how she’s doing, but he figures now’s just not the right timing. 

It doesn’t seem to be the right timing for anything he wants to say. He wants to mention that he’s thought about you, thought about reaching out — sometimes to explain himself, and other times just to discuss the mundane aspects of life — but he thinks that would be even worse than apologizing. It would be cruel of him to dangle this information in your face, haunt you with the knowledge that all this time, he’s truly been avoiding you. Knowing you, you would have questioned him on why he didn’t bother reaching out, and he would have been stuck admitting that it’s simply because he was too scared that you wouldn’t answer. 

“Want a drink?” You ask him, back facing him as you peer into your fridge. He catches a glimpse of shiny glass bottles, water bottled in Europe and with the optimal pH balance, he’s certain of it. His throat feels a bit dry, but he tells you no. 

“I drank enough water on the drive up here,” he tells you, which again, isn’t a lie. Suguru feels a bit pleased with himself, even if it is a bit narcissistic of himself for expecting a pat on the back for doing something so simple. He supposes it’s just because he’s gotten so used to never being honest with himself — or others, for that matter — so his current streak for telling the truth seems like something to celebrate. 

“I didn't drink enough.” You say, and he can’t tell if it’s alcohol you’re talking about or water. You’re a lightweight; yet another trait that seems to be passed down the Gojo family. That explains Nanami escorting you home, then. 

“Aren’t you going to ask how I found you?” Suguru helps himself to taking a seat on the white couch in your living room. Because there’s no walls separating the two different spaces, he can still look at you from this position as you rest your elbows on your kitchen’s island, as if needing the support. 

“If you wanted me to know, you’d let me know.” It’s the way you say it that reveals that this comment isn’t made just in reply to his current question, but for everything else Suguru was going to follow it with. Don’t you want to know where I went? Don’t you want to know why I left? 

It’s amazing what humans are capable of. Nearly six years since the two of you have lost contact — since Suguru broke all contact — and yet, you can still read him just as well as he can read you. You see him for what he is, not whatever mask he wants to disguise himself with, and it’s scary, he thinks. Scary to be seen by someone. And nice. It’s nice to have someone know you’re a monster and still not run away.

He’s not quite sure what that says about you.

“It’s a bit of a funny story.” He says, trying to steer this conversation to a more lighthearted tone even though the two of you are nowhere close to feeling light and the jury’s still out on whether or not Suguru Geto has a heart. “You don’t need the reminder, but don’t ever tell Mei Mei a secret you want to keep.” 

The mention of your shared friend — if Mei Mei can even be considered one — makes the corners of your pretty mouth tilt upward. Mei Mei was born with a silver spoon, but the running joke is that it wasn’t in her mouth because she bartered with the doctor and blackmailed him into giving her a gold one. If you have the funds, Mei Mei has the information you’re looking for. 

She’s the only number Suguru saved in his phone contacts, and it’s only because he knew that if he needed anyone else’s number, Mei Mei would readily give it after her Venmo request goes through. 

“Of course she would tell you my address.” You say, but you don’t sound upset at all. Just amused, like this whole situation is something endearing, and you don’t harbor any ill feelings towards either of them, even though both Suguru and Mei Mei technically violated your trust. Suguru more so than Mei Mei, but, well, semantics. 

“Aren’t you mad?” The “at me” is unspoken.

“Mei Mei is a free spirit.” It’s a joke, and Suguru makes a sound from his throat that resembles a laugh. Mei Mei may do whatever she wants, but nothing about her comes free.

He knows you know what he was actually asking. He’s been trying to gauge your reaction to everything he says, trying to see if you hate his guts or not. 

“I missed you.” You tell him suddenly, and while he’s imagined those words coming out of your mouth, it still shakes him up a bit. It’s hard constantly posturing as if he’s cool and collected, nothing ever bothering him, his body and expression never betraying him. But it’s his heart that gives him away, and it’s heart that you hold, and no matter what face he puts on, he knows that you’ll know what the words he won’t say are.

“Don’t apologize.” You continue, closing the distance between you two and opting to take a seat next to him. There’s about six inches of space separating you two. The distance shapeshifts in his mind, sometimes becoming mere millimeters and sometimes feeling more like there’s an ocean between you both. 

The sorry was on the tip of his tongue and it traveled all the way there from his heart. It would be a waste of a journey for him to not say it, but he’s certain the apology would do more harm than good, even if it is genuine. 

Suguru stands out against the stark white of your apartment. Your mom likes the aesthetic of it, and since it’s your parents’ money, you merely shrugged and let her do whatever she wanted. In his black pants and black sweatshirt, he looks almost out of place in your home. 

The thought that he doesn’t belong makes your heart hurt more than the burn of the alcohol from tonight going down your throat. 

You don’t waste time wondering where Suguru went because for all intents and purposes, you never even knew where he came from to begin with. You knew him since you were children; your favorite out of all your brother’s friends because it was always Suguru who let you tag along and trail behind them. No one really knows much about Suguru’s life, his past, present, and future all a big blur to anyone but himself. From the way he slowly turns to face you, dark eyes meeting yours, you start to think of the possibility that maybe not even Suguru is an open book with himself. 

Suguru looks like a shadow, standing out from the brightness of everything that is surrounding him in your living room. You want to ask him the questions that plague your mind ever since he’s been gone, but you don’t, because you’re scared he is a shadow. One wrong move, and he just disappears from your grasp once again. 

There are the hard-hitting questions, of course. The ones that search for why he left and why he told no one and why he didn’t bother taking you. Then there are the gentler ones that would still require him to rip himself open and bare himself to you, things like how’s your new place and meet anyone interesting? You feel his gaze travel from your eyes to the slope of your nose and the apples of your cheek, downward to your lips. The intensity of his stare makes you nervously lick your lips, a tiny, quick action, but his eyes greedily take in the sight of the tip of your pink tongue casually making an appearance, only to retreat behind your pretty pink, glossed lips. 

“Are you mad that I came back?” Suguru finds himself taking the role of interviewer, since it’s evident to the two of you that you know better than to bother asking him any questions. He feels like you’re treating him a bit like a stray cat, all cautious and scared of provoking him or forcing him to run away. He wants to tell you that this is not the case and that he actually plans on staying this time around, but he hasn’t entirely convinced himself yet, so he’s not going to break your heart with any more empty promises. 

“No. Like I said, I missed you.” He wants to be able to blame your honesty on account of you being drunk, but he knows that you’ve just always been honest to a fault. 

“You shouldn’t.” He tells you this, and you scoff. Probably because Suguru is the last person who should be giving any sort of life advice. 

“Guess what I’m thinking.” You say, and Suguru feels something come alive from within, like he’s been frozen for the past six years, and the more he gets to bask in the warmth of your presence, the more he starts to defrost. There’s not a single hint of anger or malice in your tone, just the familiar, lighthearted, girlish tone of yours. 

“That you think I’m a creep and want me to get the hell out.” 

You frown, rolling your eyes, tucking your feet beneath you to get more comfortable on the couch.

“I’m thinking about that last time you told me I shouldn’t be doing something.” There’s a gleam in your bright eyes that clearly spells out desire, and Suguru is very, very close to defrosting. In fact, there’s a heat that’s beginning to settle deep in him, and maybe he should know better than to indulge in it, but it’s been years, and you are sitting here in front of him, pretty and fresh, and his hindbrain takes the driver’s seat. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But he does know, and he knows that you know that he knows, just as you seemingly know everything about him. Maybe not about his childhood — or lack, thereof — or what he’s been up to, but you know the important stuff. The things that make him tick and all the words he fails to say. Three words. Three words that he doesn’t think he’ll ever muster enough courage to say to you, but from the look in your eyes, you already know. 

“I’ll jog your memory.” 

And suddenly, your lips are pressed against his. You’re kissing him, and like the lovesick fool he is, he’s kissing you back. It’s pure muscle memory, maybe even animal instinct. He thought that leaving Tokyo was the right thing to do, and for the most part, it was, but with your lips perfectly melding with his own, he thinks that leaving was stupid. 

Making out is such a juvenile ordeal, but he relishes in it because Suguru feels like he’s spent most of his youth trying to outrun it, and now he’s trying to take advantage of what his boyhood should have consisted of. The kisses are now bordering on sloppy and hazy, and somehow, you end up straddling his lap. He’s hard, and he should be embarrassed at popping a boner just from wet kisses, but it’s you. You have an effect on him that no one else does. His Achilles. The one weakness only he can feel. 

Suguru knows that he is not a good person because a good person doesn’t go behind their best friend’s back and fucks their little sister. He had told, thirty minutes before introducing you to the feeling of his cock stretching you out, that the two of you shouldn’t be doing that. Suguru knows that he is not a good person because he cannot be any happier at the fact that history has a funny way of repeating itself. Six years later, and the two of you are back in a similar position.

You’re starting to rut against him, your dress riding up your thighs and exposing more of your skin to him. Suguru helps himself to handfuls of your soft flesh, squeezing in a manner that can’t be defined as gentle, but he loves how you take him as he is without any sort of complaint. All you do is let out a low moan, your pantyclad pussy grinding against his equally clothed bulge. 

Your movements are a bit desperate, frenzied. You’re getting lost in pleasure already, and he hasn’t even done much to elicit such a reaction. The idea that only he can get you this riled up with doing so little makes him impossibly harder, and he looks down, realizing that you’re so soaked, your panties are practically translucent. 

The two of you have the option of taking things slow, but neither of you want to do that. When you spend some time starving, you don’t savor the meal, you scarf it down. 

That’s what the two of you are — hungry, greedy — as you both hastily strip as much clothing as you can bear to spend time getting out of. Your minidress is tossed carelessly on the living room floor, and Suguru can only bother with unzipping his pants and pushing down his briefs just enough to free his cock. 

The intrusion of the tip of his cock entering your wet, needy cunt is less of an intrusion and instead akin to something rightfully returning to where it belongs. Your hands are tangled in his hair, and he relishes this feeling. This wholeness, this concept of being complete.

The inviting warmth of your pussy makes him want to cum right on the spot, but he can’t waste it. He’s spent years pining after you, missing you, and he wants you to feel like the time apart had been worth it. 

“I missed you.” This time it’s him who makes the admittance. You tighten up at this confession, and it evokes a low groan from him, almost as if you had forced the sound to come from all the way down his throat.

“I know.” You gasp out, not able to speak clearly with how deep Suguru is hitting. Your living room is filled with the wet clicks and slaps of skin against skin, your juices coating his cock every time he pulls out. 

The vein on the underside of his cock rubs against your walls, and the slight curve of it enables him to hit that gummy spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. You’ve never given much thought to cocks, but you know that Suguru’s is the prettiest of them all. 

“Tell me you’re mine.” He grunts out, lips brushing against the soft skin of your neck before biting down; gentle enough not to draw blood, sharp enough to still leave a mark. You rock against him, hips moving in tandem with his thrusts, the steady hum of pleasure continuously building up in your lower belly. You are dizzy with pleasure; blanketed in it, being spoon fed it. 

He doesn’t need you to say it to know it’s true, but you moan it out anyway, both to appease him and because there’s a sort of pride in knowing that you belong to him. 

“I’m yours. I belong to you.” The words are separated, punctuated, by the little gasps for air you give out because with every word, he thrusts up even harder, hitting that special spot that will have you cumming all over him, making a mess. 

“Yeah?” It comes out sounding like a shaky breath, and he’s close, you know it, you can feel it. 

Calloused pads belonging to fingers much larger than yours are being pressed against your clit. You’re soaked, and the dryness of his hands combining with your overall slickness gives way to delicious friction that has you cumming with his name as a broken moan filtering through your swollen lips. 

“That’s it, baby. Good girl. Good fucking girl.” He mutters, relishing in the way your walls tighten, spasm, clenching and unclenching sporadically as your body loses its energy and you press yourself up against his chest.

He follows after just a few more sloppy thrusts, the last one forcing himself as deep inside of you as possible. His cum is hot and thick, and it’s filling you to the brim. If he pulls out now, it’ll flood out of you, and the thought is both sad and hot at the same time. You want his cum inside of you, to serve as a reminder that this is real, that he’s real. 

But seeing the physicality of him staking his claim, white seed dripping out of you, turns you on. Him, too, with the look of fascination and boyish wonder he has in his eyes as he stares at how the two of you are connected.

Before he can bother with confirming a round two, a sharp knock on the door has the two of you comically jumping a bit in surprise, both of you glancing at the door and then at each other.

“[Name], I know you’re in there!” You freeze. 

Satoru. 

Suguru wants to try to calm you down, whisper to you that everything’s going to be fine, but the anger laced in his best friend’s — former best friend’s — voice is enough to make him freeze up, too. Not just his icy tone, but what he says.

“I know you’re back, too, Suguru.”

[himejoshiangels]

Duke Thomas fic rec list

I've scowered every tag relating to him, combed thru the 'duke centric tag' at least 8 times, this is what ive come back with, at least my personal faves

necessary reminders - duke pov, outsider pov, and some social media following duke as he gets used to his day job as a vigilante. flows really well, has a good balance of sad and happy, and gets dukes character rlly well

that which you cannot bear - THIS FIC WILL BREAK YYOU duke is kidnapped and its only down from there!! this is like, one of the first duke fics I read and it's still labeled as such in my mind. its well based, sooo cohesive plot wise, and stays completely in character w all its characters, especially duke, while exploring such an interesting facet of him > his tendency to self-isolate, insistence on being independent, and his stubbornness. sooo much good angst just incredible stuff while also staying hopeful and grounded. ALSO duke is an intelligent badass throughout the fic which is an important detail 2 me

signal, n. a divine act - same author as the last one, absolutely insane concepts are explored and its just so well written srsly it's like poetry. digs into some of dukes ideologies so well. if u like holy imagery??? kind of but not rlly?? ig you'll love this

this whole series is just so fucking incredible but something about my bodies made of crushed little stars I don't fucking know it messed w my brain chemistry, I've recced it b 4 bcs it made me cry but read the whole series, it's all duke centric and just so good. Saki writes bruce and duke in a way that fizzes u up w emotion and focuses on such unique facets of dukes character/dynamics and sleep well my little sunshine is soo cute and fun and soft >when earth finds the stars - bonus presignal duke and jason fic, balances being incredibly fun with a realistic zoom in on duke before we are robin. he's quippy and witty and always at the edge of his rope

not mutually exclusive - tired of bruce being kinda shoved into the role of dukes capital F father when that's not quite what their dynamic is? Then this is the fic for you!! Just good duke and Bruce interactions overall, it's sad and hilarious with just incredible dialogue and peak Bruce and Duke interactions

signals and symptoms - a classic sickfic and like one of my fave bruce bonding fic ever ever EVERRR!! really introspective abt dukes character and just so well done

even exchanges - some of u are gonna hate me for reccing an incomplete fic and esp one that doesn't look like it's gonna be finished anytime soon but even exchanges is so formative to my duke characterizationalong with portraying such a fascinating dynamic w him and his new family. it delves into his messy and angsty experiences pre-becoming the signal and is overall written like several subsequent punches to the stomach. promise ur gonna bitch and moan about this fic as much as I do

scientific method - extremely cute fic, watch Duke bond w the bats and slowly get more comfortable with them over time as they all tru to figure out what the fuck this guys powers are. Really fun dynamic wise, the dialogue is crafty and captures the familiarity between the characters. Really realistic about day to day vigilante life and how genius the bats truly are. really slice of life fluffy shit w some bonus sciencey stuff

turn my voice human torch remind people what I’m fantastic for - truly a classic, Duke invites cass to slam poetry night. short n sweet I LOVE BUMBLEBATS RAHHHHHH

tradition - pure duke n bruce ice cream fluff

meal prep - real sad angst one shot ft. alfred

occupational health and safety violations - duke pov reverse robins but it's way out of order

write about flowers (at a time like this) - duke and dick fic where they meet pre we are robin. yes I just found this one yesterday yes I'm absolutely obsessed. it characterizes him so well and understands his thought process and motives and UGHH just tune in yall

sidequest: the viper pit - WE ARE ROBIN DND JUMANJI

signals of fear and hope - duke centric reverse robins, caters TTOME specifically it's so fire

and now here are fics that arent duke centric but he's in it and in character/well written and now forced into the back of the room aka some of my general faves that feature duke

gotham aviary - the batman fic where he just adopts a bunch of em truly adorable like the cutest thing you'll read

I walk the streets at night (with monsters in my mind) - dragon fic, absolutely goated 10/10

fight, flight - cass centric but duke plays a big role, they mean everything to me

[melancholy-of-nadia]

love u lately (m) | myg/pjm/knj | masterlist

series: love u lately pairing: yoongi x f. reader, namjoon x f. reader, jimin x f. reader (yoonminjoon x f. reader) rating/genre: m (18+) ; college/university au, frat! bts; best friends to lovers, smut, angst summary: In the midst of your college journey, life takes an unexpected turn when you find yourself moving into a "frat" house with your childhood best friends Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jimin. The college experience you envisioned seems promising, but as Namjoon and Jimin get caught up in flings, their focus shifts away from you, Yoongi, and everyone else in the house. The strong bond you once shared starts to feel strained, leaving you to question your feelings and changing dynamics. Though, the haze of a single night at a party sets off a chain reaction of emotions that leaves you grappling with a question you never thought you'd ask—could you be in love with all three of them? warnings: stated in each chapter. minors dni!! mood: love u lately by LAICA - this is actually a song that plays in chapter 1 while reader is partying mlist created 2023/09/28 edited on 2024/09/13 status: complete 

parts (12/12 available)

➵ #1 - lavender haze smut ; 8.3k ➵ #2 - right here smut ; 6.8k ➵ #3 - pears angst ; 7.3k  ➵ #4 - sour candy smut , angst ; 12.4k ➵ #5 - home girl smut , angst ; 10.5k ➵ #6 - introspection smut , fluff , angst ; 9.6k ➵ #7 - people (pt. 2) angst , smut ; fluff ; 12.6k ➵ #8 - split fluff, smut ; angst ; 14.8k ➵ #9 - pour up angst , smut ; 14.3k ➵ #10 - honey light angst , fluff ; 7.8k ➵ #11 - love u lately heavy smut, heavy fluff ; 8.1K ➵ #12 - shift (outro) fluff, light smut ; 7.5k ——————————————————————————— ➵ #0 - la la lost you (prelude) fluff, smut, angst ; 21.5k - [FALL 2024]

[demon-country]

I am genuinely very confused as to why so many people think All 2 U is a song that's attacking Blitz, or is somehow mean. Yes, Stolas calls Blitz a motherfucker, but it should be noted that that's not what he was originally going to say, it's what Verosika (and Vortex) interjected with. And also, him calling Blitz a motherfucker with a defeated tone of voice, in a show where Blitz and several others come up with some very creative, graphic insults, and characters like Verosika, Fizz, and Barbie have talked to Blitz with seething anger and resentment, is pretty damn tame.

But aside from that, Stolas doesn't actually have anything negative to say about Blitz. He puts all of the blame for things going wrong on himself, and doesn't find fault in Blitz for not returning his feelings or even for hurting him. He does not paint Blitz as malicious or manipulative or cruel, nor does he even imply that Blitz's supposed apathy towards him is something negative about Blitz.

Like, okay, here are the lyrics, with duplicate lines removed to keep it from being any longer than it needs to be, and with interjected commentary:

"I let you get too close, I let it go too far" both of these statements show he knows that he is the one responsible for his feelings, not Blitz. Like he admits in Stolas Sings, he let himself get caught up in a fantasy of romance that didn't actually exist, and that's on him, not Blitz.

"Now I know, now I know, now I know exactly what you are" it's unclear what he was about to say here, but regardless of what it was going to be, he's cut off by his backup singers saying ->

"Na, na, na, na, na, na! A motherfucker!" Pretty unsurprising given that Verosika is still extremely bitter, and Stolas agreeing later in the song makes sense too, because Blitz did self-destruct in truly spectacular fashion earlier in the episode and make an ass out of himself for a large portion of it. And again, Stolas doesn't even say it in an angry or bitter tone.

"I don't think you meant to hurt me, 'cause I don't think it meant a thing at all," is said in a pretty neutral tone, edging towards mournful, and not like he's blaming Blitz for seemingly not caring the way he wants Blitz to care. It perhaps seems unfair to say, since from an outside perspective we know that Blitz does care, but Stolas unfortunately does not have the insight and context that we as the audience do.

"I let it go too long, I let you go too deep" once again he places himself at fault.

"Now I know, now I know, now I know there's one thing I can't keep." As he has said in The Full Moon, he knows that he cannot force Blitz to care about him and should not force Blitz to stay with him if he doesn't wish it. He does not imply any blame on Blitz's part here; if Blitz doesn't want to stay and can't give Stolas the reciprocated feelings he yearns for, that's just how things are, no matter how much he wishes otherwise.

"But I, I keep on waiting! Waiting to want you less than I do! And I do, oh I do, yes I still do want you" self explanatory. No matter how badly things went, he has not stopped loving him and wanting him in his life.

"But maybe it's all on me! For missing every sign and every glance and every turn!" Blame is explicitly and solely put on himself here. He does not find Blitz at fault for things going wrong, he has majorly fucked up in a number of ways throughout the course of their relationship, and he knows it.

"No, no, no he's a motherfucker!" Thanks guys, for trying to shut down his introspection. Very helpful. Luckily, Stolas seems to just ignore them lol.

"Maybe there's something here for us to glean, for you to teach and me to try and learn" Again the blame is placed on himself. He recognizes that he's been ignorant of many things, and that Blitz, rather than being the cause of things going badly, is the one who opened up Stolas' eyes on several occasions that his behavior was demeaning. Blitz is placed in a very positive light here, put into the role of a teacher and someone whose opinions are highly valued by Stolas.

"'Cause I am not a thief, but you were mine to earn" Stolas again shows his awareness of the fact Blitz's feelings are not things he can take by force, and his autonomy is something he should not take by force. He recognizes that he had the chance to show Blitz he cared and might have even had a chance to make things real between them, but fumbled the ball.

"What if I came on too strong? What if I read this all wrong?! What if we just don't belong?" Again, the blame is explicitly and solely placed on himself. He fucked up, not Blitz.

"All this what if, what if, what if, what if, what if, what if, why, why, why, why, why, why makes me burn!" He's confused about a lot of things, and hurting, but he's still not blaming Blitz nor is he expressing any anger or bitterness.

So yeah. This is definitely not the Blitz bashing song people seem to think it is, for whatever reason. Even Blitz doesn't think it is. Look at his expressions during the song. Yes, Blitz is hurting during it, but he's hurt for the same reason he was hurt seeing Stolas cry: because he feels sick with guilt. He made Stolas feel like he didn't care about him at all, when in fact he loves that stupid owl so much it physically pains him. And worse, he doesn't even blame Blitz for it the way that all those other exes did. Sometime between the garden scene and the party, Stolas clearly reflected on what Blitz had been telling him and came to the conclusion that it's solely his own fault for the relationship combusting, while Blitz is convinced that he's the one who ruined things. And that hurts Blitz so much to see someone he loves blame themselves for something he thinks he alone did.

It also hurts Blitz because he spent so long pushing Stolas away and convincing himself that Stolas didn't actually care about him as a person, writing any evidence to the contrary off as fake, but this song is proof he can't deny that Stolas was being genuine about his feelings during the crystal exchange. Stolas was being goaded into bashing Blitz and did not, despite not knowing Blitz was there listening in. He could have, if he was pettier, if he cared less, if he was feeling more angry than hurt. But he didn't. Instead he sang about how he was the one who ultimately caused his own heartbreak.

Because yeah, Blitz seemingly didn't care about Stolas, but that was never what Blitz signed up for. On paper, their relationship was just a monthly transaction. Yes, they both eventually caught feelings, but the simple fact of the matter is that Blitz did not go into it with romance in mind, nor was he obligated to. It was a job, not them dating. If Blitz had never developed feelings for Stolas, that still would have been fine, because that's not what their relationship was about. Stolas knows that. He no longer thinks Blitz cares about him, and that hurts, but it's also something he's been prepared for since Ozzie's.

As Stolas said twice in Apology Tour, Blitz doesn't owe it to him to reciprocate his feelings, and though Stolas hoped he did, it's very clear from everything in season 2 that Stolas didn't actually expect him to. He expected rejection, it was just the way in which Blitz seemingly rejected him that he wasn't expecting (as it was accidentally very traumatizing for him, both the mock roleplay bit and the yelling, because Stella), and he also didn't expect Blitz to keep inadvertently rubbing salt into that wound, which is why he was so snappish and petulant in the garden scene. But somewhere between then and the party, Stolas had enough time and space to come to the correct conclusion that everything Blitz said that morning and the night before wasn't done out of maliciousness. He just didn't realize that it wasn't done out of apathy either, it was done out of fear due to unresolved abandonment trauma.

[yiichan]

volunteer ; wen junhui | jun

PAIRINGS — yandere!animalshelterworker!jun x newvolunteer!m!reader (+96 liners) WORD COUNT — 1.1k words. GENRE — yandere, nonidol au, request

WARNINGS — yandere/obsessive elements, implications on stalking.

REQUEST — recently i have an influx of jun thoughts 🙄 maybe u can write about yandere jun, who works at the animal shelter and takes care of cats there, that falls for the new volunteer and does everything to make him his? I'll leave the plot details to you, just pls lots of cats and yandere 💙 you're the best author-nim 💙

WRITER'S NOTES — i am way too late for this, fuck adult life, FUCK ADULT LIFE. But hey, I'm alive. Barely. Okay..? I HATE WORKING, I HAVE SO MANY GODDAMN PAPER WORK WHY THE FUCK AM I CRASHING OUT OVER HERE AND THE WORST THING IS I THINK MY WRITING STYLE CHANGED WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUCK btw stream Bad Influence and I have trigger on repeat.

masterlist | navigation | main page | kofi | ao3

There were a lot of cats at Whisker & Paw, a cozy shelter tucked between an old bakery and a half-forgotten bookstore. The air smelled faintly of kibble and lavender spray, and the cats wandered freely — some shy, some bold, all endlessly curious.

But what caught your attention the most that first day wasn’t a cat.

It was Junhui.

He was crouched beside a sunbeam, brushing out an old Persian’s fur with a tenderness that didn’t feel forced. His head turned slightly when he noticed you in the doorway, warm brown eyes meeting yours like he’d already been waiting.

Jihoon had introduced you both casually: “This is Junhui. Been here longer than I have. Just follow his lead.”

Junhui gave you a smile — soft, polite, unreadable.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

It felt like a simple thing to say.

At the time.

He was easy to like.

Quiet, gentle with the cats, and always a step ahead. You noticed how the kittens curled around his legs like they belonged there. He moved with the same quiet confidence they did — always present, always watching.

Sometimes you’d feel his eyes on you when you bent down to fill a bowl or coaxed a skittish cat from under a shelf. When you looked, he was already turning away, too fast, like he hadn’t been staring at all.

You figured he was just quiet. Introspective.

Maybe a little lonely.

“You and Junhui-hyung seem to be getting close,” Wonwoo said one afternoon, nudging your side while restocking wet food.

You shrugged. “He’s nice. Just… reserved.”

“Reserved?” Wonwoo had a small, mysterious smile on his face. “That’s one word for it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” A pause. “Just be careful. The quiet ones watch closely.”

The shift came slowly.

One week you were laughing together in the backroom about how one of the cats stole your sandwich. The next, he was quieter again. Focused. Always near you, but never saying much unless you initiated.

You still smiled at him. Still thanked him when he brought you tea or picked up your shifts. But you started noticing things.

Your schedule was always matched with his.

You hadn’t seen Jihoon assign them that way.

Your favorite mug was always clean, even when it hadn’t been yesterday.

Junhui knew things about you you hadn’t told him. That you liked cinnamon. That you hated strong perfume. That you talked to your cat back home like he was a person.

You asked once, jokingly, “You been reading my mind?”

Junhui just smiled. “No. Just paying attention.”

And then there was your phone.

One evening, during a late shift, you left it in your locker — just for a few minutes. You were in the middle of feeding and didn’t want it getting scratched or covered in fur.

When you returned, it was sitting on the bench outside the locker room.

You frowned. You hadn’t left it there.

Junhui appeared beside you without a sound.

“You left this,” he said, handing it to you. His fingers brushed yours.

You blinked. “Thanks. Thought I left it inside.”

He tilted his head. “Must’ve slipped out.”

You didn’t remember unlocking your locker.

That night, your messages with Soonyoung stopped.

He had invited you over. Sent a dinner emoji. Promised soup and movie night and your favorite wine. You’d been planning to go after your shift.

Now your texts were unread. Your call went to voicemail. You tried again. And again.

Nothing.

Junhui passed behind you, a soft presence.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

You hesitated. “Yeah. Just… plans fell through.”

He made a soft sound, sympathetic. “Sometimes people disappoint you. Even the ones you trust.”

You turned to him.

He smiled — quiet, comforting.

Like always.

After that, things tightened.

Junhui was everywhere. Always a step ahead. Always offering to help before you even asked. He’d hand you your gloves before you reached for them. Open the door before you touched the handle.

You started feeling… watched.

Even when he wasn’t in the room.

Even when you thought you were alone.

He started locking the doors a little earlier. “Safety,” he’d explain.

He started offering rides home. “Just in case.”

And when you declined?

He followed you out anyway. Said he had errands in the same direction.

A few weeks later, you told Jihoon you were thinking of pulling back from volunteering a little. Maybe taking fewer shifts. Your finals were coming up. Life was busy.

Jihoon nodded.

Junhui didn’t.

“I thought you liked it here,” he said, later, voice quiet as you wiped down the front counter.

“I do,” you said carefully. “I just need a break.”

He nodded once. But the way he stared made your chest tighten.

“It’s just…” he said after a long pause, “I feel like you belong here.”

You forced a small laugh. “I’m just a volunteer.”

“You’re more than that.”

There was no smile this time.

Just him — still, intense, watching you like he watched the most difficult cats: patiently, obsessively, waiting for the right time to pounce.

That night, you left early. The air outside felt sharp. Clearer.

Inside, Junhui watched from the second floor window, fingers gripping the curtains just enough to wrinkle the fabric. Below him, the cats purred around his feet.

“He doesn’t get it yet,” he whispered to one of the kittens. “But he will.”

He picked up your spare apron from the hook.

Held it to his chest.

Breathed in.

“You’re safest here,” he murmured. “With me. Always with me.”

He looked out into the night again, eyes shining, soft and unblinking.

“And if you ever try to leave…”

A pause. A smile.

“…I’ll make sure you don’t.”

© yiichan, 2025

origin of divider

[killerlookz]

i hope this doesn’t put any pressure on you because its not meant to at all but can u give us a preview of anything in your drafts 🥲

yes! absolutely i can <3 here's an extra long preview bc i haven't published anything in a hot min:

preview of the heartbeat!au "honeymoon phase" fic:

warnings: rpf below, do not proceed if you dont fw that but this is in rpf tags so why were you even here to begin with

The light of your phone sears into your eyes, a start contrast from the dark of your bedroom. By now your circadian rhythm undoubtedly in deep disarray. However bad you knew staying up way into the early hours of the morning was, you couldn't seem to rip yourself from the distraction of the blue light, perfectly coded algorithms keeping your anxieties at bay.

For the last week of your life your usual peaceful sleep had been ripped through by horrific nightmares, leading you to prefer to just skip sleeping all together. Of course, you knew that wasn't exactly possible, but maybe if you could just avoid falling asleep until the sun came up you could finally be freed of those dreaded night terrors.

The mattress dips beside you, a groan falling from Joost's lips, peacefully asleep next to you. It had been hours since you had said goodnight to each other, since he kissed you with the promise that you two would soon would be deep in slumber. You hadn't bothered to tell him about your nightmare issue, it had felt so childish. You had only been together for a few months now, your relationship seeming far too fresh to deal out what you had deemed "embarrassing" information. Besides, what was he to do about that? It wasn't like he had the power to change the workings of your subconscious mind.

The comforter slips from Joost's shoulders as he shuffles in his sleep, rolling from one side to another, now facing you. You finally pull yourself from your endless scrolling, turning your head to get a look at Joost. He's illuminated just right by the sliver moonlight that peaks through your curtains. The corners of your mouth peak in a slight smile, a rush a warmth running through you as your eyes finally settle on him.

You couldn't believe your luck with him, desperate for friends outside of your classmates after making the leap of faith to transfer schools and move to a different country for your final year of university. You'd been working as a waitress in Amsterdam, which, all things considered wasn't an ideal position for you, given your less than stellar Dutch, but locals were usually sympathetic to your situation, and tourists hardly spoke Dutch anyway. The day you had met Joost had started as what you had postulated to be the worst shift of your life. Hungover during a rush that seemed to last for hours, constantly seated with the most impossible to please customers. Once you were out of the weeds you had been seated with what you were promised to be your last table of the night, trying your best to suppress a groan and an eye roll as you walked up to the table, your eyes immediately falling to Joost, who had been there with what you would eventually learn were his closest friends.

You had thought you known the type, unruly hair, and scattered tattoos, dressed head-to-toe in Supreme, a cocky smile pressed to his lips. Attractive no doubt, but a type. The type that was undoubtably too interested in the Soundcloud rap scene, probably attempting to make it in that space too as a cheap rip-off of Lil Peep. The type to blow all his money on what streams his mediocre raps did get on box-logo shirts and supreme branded underwear. You could already hear the surface-level introspection of his lyrics, writing about how sad and heartbroken he'd been left by all the girls in his life when in reality he was nothing more than a fuckboy with a shitty nail polish job.

Being young and living in a city you had seen the type before, served the type more than a handful of times since you had started your job. They were always the same, traveled in large groups, like that was their "entourage", usually loud, demanding, and obnoxious, thinking their 2,000 Soundcloud streams, hundred dollar T-shirts and knock-off designer shoes made them a celebrity. They'd flirt with you and act aghast when you dared not to flirt back with them.

You had thought you known the type. But when you had gone up to begin helping his table, your previous perceptions had immediately been shattered- immediately becoming even more attractive upon your realization that he wasn't the worst. There was a quiet flirting underneath his goofy- yet reserved demeanor, the type of flirting you didn't mind and eventually reciprocated when he'd become a regular.

It was apparent that you had gotten the fuckboy thing all wrong. When he had finally got the courage to ask you out he hadn't even seen particularly in a hurry to sleep with you, though that wouldn't stop you from giving it up that night.

As Joost softly snores from beside you, you can't help but want nothing more than to be fitted snuggly between his arms, head pressed to his chest- listening to his heartbeat as you fall into a deep, peaceful sleep. But your current aversion to sleeping aside, you can't bring yourself to potentially wake him to do so.

You take your eyes from him, focusing back on the harsh light that burns into your retinas, continuing your scrolling, barely distracted by another long groan leaving Joost's lips.

"Ga slapen," (go to sleep) His voice surprises you, slow and thick with sleep- you hadn't expected him to be awake.

"Hmm?" You hum, pretending to not have heard him, you set your phone down on the bedside table and focus your attention to Joost.

"Hoe lat is het?" (What time is it?) He yawns, struggling to open his eyes.

You don't want to answer, knowing he'll question you on why you're up so late.

"Go back to sleep," You coo, hoping he'll be tired enough to listen without any resistance. You reach out a hand, slowly carding your fingers through his hair. You lift some pieces that had gotten stuck to his forehead with sweat, Joost was the type to overheat in his sleep, furiously kicking the blankets off of the two of you in the middle of the night, or perhaps worse rolling over onto you while he slept, causing you to suffocate in his humid body heat.

"Nhn, nhn." He tuts, his eyes finally opening entirely, "Je kan niet zomaar (You can't just)- Nhn, You can't just rub my head back to sleep." English finally coming back to him as he sits himself up against the pillows, his head now at your shoulder height in your upright position.

"I tried," A small smile pokes at your lips.

"Why are you awake?" His questioning isn't interrogative, still clearly very sleepy as he nuzzles his head into the pillow, "What time is it?" He asks again.

"I don't know," You mumble, your voice dipping out, answering more-so the latter question.

"You can't lie to me," Joost presses his forehead to your arm, snuggling in to you. How true that was. It surprised you how fast he was able to learn you- the subtleties of your mannerisms, able to pick up on your true emotions from the smallest tells.

"It's late," You simply respond, "I'll go to bed soon." Trying to avoid any further questioning.

"Not soon," Joost whines, his voice stifled by where his lips touch your skin. He throws an arm around the front of you, "Now."

You can't do much besides sigh in response, fidgeting under the comforter to sink down to his level. Your face is right in front of Joost's now, the warmth of his slow breaths ghosting over your skin.

"Sleep now," Joost tightens the arm he had slung around you, using it to pull you closer to him. He's unbearably warm, but you melt into him anyway, turning on your side to press your chest into his.

"I can't."

"Not tired?" Joost asks, "Why not?"

"So tired."

"Then sleep." Joost puckers his lips, barely stretching out his head to press a kiss to your forehead. It's so simple to him just sleep, if only it was that easy for you.

"Can't Joost."

"Why not?" He asks again, pushing harder this time.

"Dunno," You hum, pausing for a moment trying to formulate the least embarrassing way to describe your situation, "Bad dreams I guess, I dunno." You speak quickly, hoping maybe he won't catch all of it, the processes of his brain slowed by sleep.

Joost suddenly becomes more aware, more awake, like you've said some sort of sleeper phrase to activate something in him.

"Could have just told me that, schatje." He coos, it's reassuring, and you suddenly feel so stupid for holding that in. "Could have told me that before I feel asleep without you."

"Seemed stupid." You sigh, pushing your face further into the pillow.

"Not stupid." Joost assures, "What are they about?"

"Don't know. Just- bad."

"I'm sorry." Joost frowns. You feel the arm that he holds around you sneak under the comforter, coming to snake around your torso, his hand pushing into your back to press your body closer to him. The front of your T-shirt no longer just grazing the bare skin of his chest, but rather the two of you have molded into each other. "What can I do?" His lips now pressed against your shoulder from this closer position.

"Nothing,"

"No?" He places a small kiss to your shoulder through the fabric of your shirt.

"Not unless you can go into my brain and control my subconscious and make me dream of like puppies and rainbows." You follow with a dry laughter, any real humor stifled by your exhaustion.

"Mmm, if I could I would liefje."

[002yb]

━Σ(ﾟДﾟ♡)━

@002yb i made you a thing, i hope it will help cheer you up!!

please excuse how I don't edit ever;;; have an excerpt of O! Jason trying to take care of B! Dick

On a slow night, Red Hood dropped down in front of Nightwing. He stalked forward, not an inch of give in his body language that made Dick’s hackles raise just slightly.

It had been a long time since he’d felt any real animosity with Jason, but Jason was a strong fighter. His Beta was keenly aware of it, and out of instinct, it was rearing up at the potential for a fight. For what, he didn’t know. As for why his heart was kicking up a bit in excitement, Dick couldn’t say.

Before Dick could try and get a word out, Jason had shoved a box into his hands. 

“Here,” Jason said gruffly. “Robin said you missed a meal before you headed out.”

Dick opened his mouth then closed it. He cracked open the box to a few donuts inside. There was Nightwing blue glazing on one, a recent hero special apparently. It was only available in Bludhaven, though, because Gotham was still quietly seething that their original bird had flown next door. Nightwing was frequently left out at Bat Burger for that reason. 

“Didn’t know you gossiped about me,” Dick tried to joke. “Hey, Hood -”

“He said you were also swapping sleep for commuting,” Jason added, and the glare was obvious even with the helmet. “You’re going to get yourself shot. Again.”

This time Dick’s hackles did raise, and judging by the sneer that had worked to Dick’s face, Jason could see it. Jason waved a hand. “We already decided. Orphan and me are taking some of your shifts. Signal agreed to pop up in Blud if you need a spare weekend.”

“You can’t just decide that for me. I can -”

“You’re worrying the pup, idiot. That’s all I’m saying. You never shut up about how B needs to start caring to be around for us, and what are you doing, huh?”

Jason reached over to nab a donut - a Signal one - and unlatched his helmet with his other hand. He pushed it up just enough that Dick could see his lips, and the way he licked at the icing first before biting the donut second. Dick had to catch himself watching.

"Let us care about you some time," Jason added.

Without the voice simulator, Dick found himself taken aback by the sincerity in Jason's voice. His chest bloomed with affection that he knew Jason would try to automatically shrug off if he acknowledged it. They were all too alike sometimes.

Dick didn’t have an answer for that. “Okay, fine.” He picked out one of the donuts. “Thanks, Hood, for caring.”

It was a subtle tell but Jason fiddled with the hem of his jacket, a sign he’d always had when he was preening, especially where Dick and Bruce were concerned. Dick hid his smile with a donut. With a suitable threat to stop worrying Robin, Jason leapt out of sight.

[silvergyus]

ari ari ari

do u have any beomkai thoughts ☹️🥹

hi moon ily🩷

but yes! beomkai as your two bfs is something I never knew I needed

picture your two absolute cutie pie bfs :(

both of them listening to soft indie tracks and alt rock, talking about the guitars and giving each other playing tips

beomgyu going along with anything that you and Kai want to do, no matter how silly or cheesy, laughing at the both of you, his whisker dimples peaking out as his heart swells with love

if you watch anime, roping beomgyu into your anime watch parties. poor beomie wanting just to cuddle but you and Kai are *invested* in this show and keep moving, perching on the edge of your seats pls cuddle him

the three of you going to the gym together. you never have to worry about creepy guys at the gym because your two sweaty, buff bfs are there to scare them off

watching them in the gym🤤 their muscles flexing, beomgyu in that black tank top you know the one. their sweaty bangs falling into their faces, toned bodies all yours to ogle.

going for late night drives with soft music playing quietly on the radio, watching as the city lights fade away to the country stars. the three of you introspective, but bonding through the quiet and the calm

falling asleep in a big cuddle pile every night. Kai is always touchy and cuddly and the boys even snuggle together in the warmth you leave behind when you get up

your two gamer boy bfs :( coming home from a long day at work or school and hearing them gaming in the other room. beomgyu yelling every time he takes a hit and trash talking soobin through his headset. kai who is quiet except when he makes a critical hit or wins a round, then you hear his signature loud laugh

making the two of them play a 1v1 and the winner gets to taste you first, while the loser has to watch and can't touch himself

teasing them both by running your fingers through their hair while they play, tugging a little bit too hard, seeing the way their fingers falter against the controller

playing with gyu while kai is still in the studio, sending him pics and videos to get him hot and bothered

he doesn't text back but you can see his location moving towards you

he's normally such a good boy, never getting jealous, but you'd been so mean to him, teasing him all day, then playing with beomie instead, so he begs to let him eat you out. falling to his knees at the side of the bed, pulling you by your ankle over to him and pleading against the skin of your thigh

the absolute ecstasy of their big arms caging you in, holding you close. beomgyu pounding into you while kai strokes your face and pinches your nipples. both of them telling you how pretty you are, how good you feel, how pretty you sound

those two romantics though? the lovemaking would be so tender

soft light maybe soft music, soft sighs as you all lie close, taking turns savoring the feeling of each other