#was then. and then he'll suddenly say something to me in a certain tone of voice or with a certain sharpness and i'll go back to how a felt

[mariemariemaria]

i feel kinda crazy bc whenever i was a teenager i created this sorta imaginary older big sister who had moved out of the house so in my head i could live w her whenever i wanted bc she had survived it all and was independent and she would also just comfort me in a big sisterly way whenever something bad or upsetting happened and recently ive been going back to that at my big age 😭 and its kinda sad and also just wish fulfillment and also kinda scary bc i really used to think that by my age i'd have everything sorted but i really don't and i know that's normal and nobodies twenties are perfect but some people also have good relationships w their fathers which is crazy just to think about sooo

[lijojo]

genshin sugar daddies

premise: you have seven sugar daddies: one for every day of the week. a bit overwhelming, right? however, you somehow find ways to make time for each and every one of them, no matter how emotionally and physically demanding they are. it's just that, now they don't seem too keen on sharing, and you don't know what to do. (modern au)

tw: nsfw, dark content - minors dni

mondays are always harder in more ways than one. mondays are diluc's days, and that means that you're spending a good portion of your nights at angel's share.

on mondays, it's happy hour. which means that you're sitting at a booth in the corner looking pretty while diluc is tending to his customers. you're more than happy to sit back and relax while you wait for him to finish with work. when the drinks are on the house, you're willing to wait as long as it'll take.

periodically, when he's not busy, however, he'll walk over to you and engage in conversation. you act as a taste-tester for new drinks so he's always asking you if you like them. you two will talk about your day, any interesting events, and so on until diluc is pulled back into work again.

then you're back to fiddling your fingers and watching him work. over time, you've learned that he preferred that you not do anything while you were supposed to be with him. that instead, you fixated your gaze on him while he moved about. sometimes you'll catch him looking at you to see if your eyes are still on him.

even while he's dealing with a certain tone-deaf bard, there's something about the way he looks at you so intently that reminds you of a predator.

when angel's share closes, you're there to keep him company while he cleans up. when he's done, he'll sweep you away back to his manor.

you'll fall onto the sheets as he grinds against you. his shallow breaths brush against your throat. the look he gives you is nothing short of intense.

"everyone at the tavern was looking at you, you know," he mutters, running his fingers down your chest, sinking into your pants. he pulls them down effortlessly along with your panties. "didn't you feel it, darling? their filthy eyes on you. they want to ruin you. everyone wants to ruin you."

he throws your legs over his shoulders, his fingers crawling up your thighs. you jump when he suddenly inserts two fingers into your cunt, scissoring you. his free arm wraps around your leg to keep you locked against him. his eyes are glued onto you as he presses a kiss against your calf.

"but your eyes were on me all night, weren't they. couldn't take your eyes off me, could you. you're mine, dear. do you hear me? you're mine."

you don't overlook how tight his grip is. tight enough to make you wonder if he'll ever let you go. in the morning, he does, but you're scared for the day he wakes up and decides that it's for the last time.

tuesdays aren't as bad. when you’re sore from the night before, childe is there to take you out to meals, shopping, and sightseeing. he's not always available to spend time with you on tuesdays, because of his equally-demanding job and whatnot, but when he is free, he never wastes a second.

or a dollar.

childe smirks smugly from his sea. his posture is lax, one hand lazily tracing circles on the chair's arm while the other comes up to rest under his chin.

"how about you twirl for me, girlie? you look so beautiful."

you giggle, observing yourself in the mirror. "why thank you."

you bask in the way the soft satin kisses your skin. the way your newly-own earrings sparkle under the dressing room's light. just a couple years ago, you could've only dreamed of being dressed so prettily.

"do your side-bitches ever treat you as well as me?"

"childe!" you chide.

he laughs, getting up from his seat. but you both know better than to believe his little chuckle is genuine.

he approaches you, sliding his hands around your waist. tucking your head under his chin, he stares at you through the mirror's reflection.

you don't say anything, and childe doesn't either. it appears he's more than happy to enjoy just standing there. his gaze is glossed over, far away.

the two of you sway side to side for what seems like forever until he decides to say something.

"do they buy you pretty things like i do?"

of course they do, you think. although you spend one-on-one time with each and every one of them, they are all aware of each other. it's only right that they did. it was the first thing you said when you brought the idea up to them, that it wasn't going to be exclusive.

but when you see the way he looks at you, you can't really tell him the truth. not when his focus is redirected from his thoughts to you.

"the things you buy me are a special kind of pretty," you reply.

it seems like that answer is enough for him, because he doesn't say anything else. instead he hums quietly, letting the vibration ripple in the back of your head. he slides his hands down your hips and before you can say anything else, he whips his head around.

"i'll buy these sets." he motions over to the closest clothes rack to an attendant you hadn't noticed. "and that one. and the dress she's wearing. how many colors does this come in, by the way?"

the attendant doesn't hesitate. "five colors, sir. they come in bla—"

"great." he shuffles through his pocket to pull out a black card. "pack them up, we won't be here any longer," he retorts.

the attendant looks ecstatic, quickly shuffling out of the dressing rooms towards the cash register with newfound glee.

"childe," you whine. "i don't think these will fit in my closet."

his hands crawl lower, his finger hovering over your clit. "then they'll fit in mine. come over any time of the week when you want to wear one of my special pretty things."

your breath hitches as he rubs slow circles on your clit. he pushes the two of you back into the dressing room and closes the curtains.

"what are you doing, she'll be back any second—"

he kisses the corner of your jaw, pressing his lips close to your ear. "no worries. if there's one thing i'm sure about, it's that no one undresses you faster than i do."

wednesday is when usually everything calms down. kazuha will typically invite you to a new park, scenic route, or gallery. together, you'll write haikus, sonnets, and limericks together. some hours you'll just sit in silence, putting pen to paper. and when the sun goes down you'll exchange poetry.

out of the seven men, kazuha probably scares you the most. he was the first person you decided to do this whole ordeal with, after all. and since he's known you the longest, he also knows about your circumstances more than others. maybe that's why he's so focused on treating you as if you were a fragile cherry blossom petal. his touches feel like ghosts, running down your forearm as he presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek.

in exchange for his protection, his money, and his care, you give him honeyed words. you act as his muse for when he's hit a creative block. you're there to listen to him read out verses when the wind can't bear the strength to carry them. you listen to his grief about his best friend, his loneliness when he was forced to leave his home country. as someone many of the locals looked to for wisdom, he too carried the emotional burdens of being someone's rock. emotional burdens that he let onto you (whether purposefully or not, you're unsure). but you listen anyway, hearing him talk about days of poverty, where sometimes he had to worry about things to eat, or how to get proper healthcare.

you can't lie and say you're always stable enough to hear some of the things he has to say, but you try.

even if you sometimes feel like you can't take it, you just smile and squeeze his hand tighter like you're supposed to. sometimes your mind will go on autopilot, and sometimes you'll stand up on the grounds of needing to go to the bathroom. but at the end of the day, this is what you signed up for. this. making men happy so that you yourself won't have to worry about your endless debt.

you peer over your notebook to see kazuha immersed in his own writing. but instead of his usual peaceful expression, he looks somber. his hands won't leave the paper, his eyes glued onto the words that he's drawn onto the pages.

"what's got you so worked up?" you ask curiously. "is it something new?"

it's like your voice snaps him out of his trance. he blinks, looking up at you. there's a smile you know all too well on his lips. "yeah, i suppose you could call it that."

"could i look at it? i want to see what's got you so focused like that."

his lips press into a straight line. "hmmm, maybe later."

his words catch you off-guard. usually he's the one who's eager to share his work, regardless of the quality. "oh? is it something you want to keep secret?"

he doesn't many any hint of an answer. instead, he puts down his pen and stares at the ground in contemplation. he's picking and choosing what words to say.

"i could protect you," he says, shuffling his papers to the side. you turn to him, curious. his expression slowly hardens. "by myself, i mean. i could take care of you."

"kazu—"

"i have the means to make a living for the both of us. i could sell more of my poetry, i know they'll sell well—"

"where is this coming from?" you move closer to him, brushing his hair aside. "kazu, are you worried about something?"

there's something that's stopping him from saying anything. his fingers intertwine with yours, his thumb caressing the back of your hand.

he purses his lips, before turning away and sighing. "no, not really."

after that, he doesn't say anything else. the two of you bask in silence once again. even though you're used to the quiet, there's something deep down in you that feels nervous. like something in the atmosphere changed. there's a sudden resolved glint in his eye as he get backs to writing so diligently on a piece of paper he won't let you read.

after all these days spent talking about himself, somehow you're scared for the day he suddenly decides to stop.

on thursdays you're usually at tighnari's greenhouse, watching him take notes of other plants while you twiddle your thumbs. once in a while, he'll begin rambling about the plants—what kind of species they are, how rare, their medicinal properties, and the like.

you're more of a companion, than anything. someone who can make his days a little less lonelier. and you appreciate it. it's much more tranquil with him. you can enjoy his sharp quips, especially when cyno comes to visit.

his sex-drive is relatively normal, if not a little below average. just like wednesday, you also expect thursday to be a typical rest day.

except when spring comes.

when spring comes, your routine get a little wonky. for one week, at least. because that's when tighnari's heat hits him like a fucking monsoon.

you can already tell when it's coming when he begins to hover closer to you. whenever you take your hand out to do anything, even the slightest gesture, he's already taking it and dragging it towards his sensitive ears.

the moment you've made your plans set to 'take the week off' and help him out, he's already on you, face pressed into your neck as if it's his oasis.

as you can tell, he takes this week very seriously.

"i bet—shit—those other fucks don't get to hold you as long as i do," he lets out as he fucks into you like there's no tomorrow. his hands hold onto your waist like he owns it, pressing sloppy kisses down your spine. "looking so pretty for me. i wonder what they'd say if you got pregnant with my babies. you'd be so much more beautiful plump with my kids. is that what you want huh? to make them angry with my cum stuffed in your gorgeous pussy?"

some days you almost can't believe how uncharacteristically aggressive he is. he dicks you down like he's trying to imprint his shape into the core of your body so that none of the others can fit inside.

and when he cums, he'll take whatever unfortunate portions slip out and smear it all over your chest. especially where your heart is.

then the process starts all over again.

when it's over, he'll spoon you. as if he didn't almost fuck you to death. his touch is tender, like a ghost's hovering over your skin.

"why won't you leave them all for me?"

you shift a little to look at him and kiss him softy, sweetly, on the line of his jaw. "oh, nari, you know i can't."

his ears droop at your words. "you can't, or you won't."

his words make you freeze a bit.

you think back to last week, and the week before, and the one before that. you think about why you started selling your services in the first place, the endless debt you used to be in, and the progression of the relationship between all seven of your...contacts. even if you wanted to, you don't think you could back out if you tried. you've dug a hole for yourself. one deep enough to cause some sort of disruption if you ever decided to stop digging.

so you just hum. "you know how much i love routine."

as some sort of apology, you give him and open-mouthed kiss, one he's almost desperate to return. he moans, hands cupping your face to bring you closer to him.

you're well unaware how much your words have an impact him.

at the end of the week, all al-haitham wants to do is unwind. it's the only logical thing to do. no late-night drinks with the colleagues, no stressful trips to some tourist trap. on fridays, al-haitham comes home to a meal made with love.

when al-haitham's at work during the day, you're usually running your actual errands. it's when you have time to make those one-in-a-blue-moon visits to your actual home, although it's getting harder to call it that.

when it gets to the late-afternoon, you'll usually head to al-haitham's place to start cooking. if you didn't know how to cook before, you do now. every ingredient is handled with care, measured meticulously just as you knew he preferred.

and when he gets home, tired and stressed out, you're there to welcome him with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

during dinner, sometimes he'll talk to you about work or the latest research he'd gotten himself immersed with. in return, you tell him about some of your childhood memories. your likes, your dislikes, what used to be your hobbies. you do your best to keep your personal matters out of the conversation, no matter how many times he tries to pry into your private life.

sometimes dinners feel like a full on investigation, the way he keeps greeding for more information about you. he watches you eat with calculating eyes. you pretend to pay no mind to it.

in the beginning, kaveh used to join you for dinners. you always liked the guy, the way he bickered with al-haitham and riled him up. but now you've begun to see less of him, as if he never comes home on fridays at all.

after dinner, there are two different outcomes depending on his mood:

outcome one is that you'll spend the rest of the night curling up on his couch, the both of you immersed in your own books. al-haitham leans on your shoulder as he flips through the pages as if they're nothing. you can't help but feel ticklish whenever his hair brushes against your jaw.

somewhere in the middle, he'll move one hand to start fidgeting with the end of your shirt, sometimes crawling underneath to caress your sides.

outcome two is less quiet. the moment he gets home with that solemn face, you know it's coming. his voice is huskier, his responses shorter. it's usually a result of an impending deadline, colleagues being more peskier than usual.

the moment you two are done with dishes, he gingerly takes your hand and leads you up to the bedroom.

his kisses tastes like green tea and dinner. his hands run up and down your torso, trying to imprint the feel of your skin into every inch of your brain. you whimper when his thumbs press softly into your nipples, rolling them around as they harden.

your hands find purchase on his collar, tugging him impossibly close. he groans at the contact.

you let out a yelp when your back suddenly falls onto the bed. your hands are pressed onto the sheets, al-haitham's fingers encircling your wrists. his knee nudges your legs further apart, rubbing at your clit.

"don't look at the ceiling, dear, look at me," he breathes out, his hands leaving your nipples to gently guide your face towards. "that's it. good girl. just me. just look at me. only me."

he smiles.

"now, let me do god's work on your divine body."

saturdays with ayato can sometimes get hectic. some saturdays you're out getting bubble tea together and enjoying the city, and other saturdays you're hurrying to some publicitiy event hosted by the kamisato clan.

on those type of days, you can expect to wear gowns layered with shiny nylon tulle fabric. it's not as revealing as what you'd try on in dressing rooms with childe. in fact, it's a bit more modest.

today you're wearing a light-blue gown to match with ayato. you turn around to get a good look at the cute bow attached at your waist, your diamond encrusted earrings swaying along with you.

it's as if you've put on another costume. another front to wear for the night.

ayato enters the room just shortly after. in his hands is a diamond necklace to match with your stunning earrings. small smile falls upon his lips when he clasps it on.

"you're beautiful," he mumbles. you giggle when he kisses you square on the lips, licking away the tinted color.

"ayato," you press in-between kisses. you place a hand on his chest to gently push him away. "you're going to ruin my lipstick."

he pulls away with a cheeky smile, taking your wrists to wrap around his neck. "you can always put on some more later."

you pout but kiss him regardless. he tightens his hold on you in reaction, moaning into your mouth.

at these kinds of events, you're there as his plus-one. just so that other officials could stop introducing girls to him when he clearly wasn't interested in them. it'd be arguable to say that you might even be there to make the events a little less intolerable.

somewhere along the lines, you'd sleep with him in addition to being his arm candy at parties. sometimes even before: you two rushing to put on your formal attires and fix your hair minutes before the event started.

but beyond that, you started to get to know him better. he'd whisper into your ear about funny stories relating to the guests as you meet them. sometimes you'd run away in the middle of the party to binge out on the food and talk about your other interests. surprisingly, he doesn't talk about the politics behind his duties as the head of the kamisato family. not as much as you expected, at least.

instead he talks about his dreams for a family. how many kids, what their names would be, how he'd raise them. and as he talked, he'd give you this heavy gaze that you're not sure what to do with. as if he was expecting something from you.

you're beginning to believe that ayato has somehow confused contractual girlfriend with actual girlfriend.

when you had met ayaka months ago, ayato introduced you as his girlfriend. you didn't attempt to correct him—that's ayato's business. not your's. but when you're expecting ayato to come clean to his dearest sister, you're sorely mistaken.

instead, while he kisses your lips so hungrily, he subtly slips a diamond ring onto your finger.

sundays are usually kaeya's days off. although the cavalry captain's duties are seemingly never endless, he takes the day off to take a breather.

in other words, he sees you.

at first, it was just candlelit dinners. he'd walk in with a bouquet of roses, complimenting your dress and staring at you as if he was undressing you with his eyes. he'd take you to somewhere fancy, pull out the chair for you and sweet-talk you all through the night.

conversations were fun with him. you didn't have to think much at all, not about how to pay the bills, the six men in your life who seemingly began to want yours to only revolve around theirs, or being someone your not.

kaeya was probably the only one who you felt you could be comfortable with. he made you laugh, he'd tell all sorts of interesting stories, and he never made the silence feel awkward.

at least, that's how you used to be.

you see, usually after these candlelit dinners you'd both go back to his place, with him ripping off your clothes the moment the door closed. but as of recently, he's been asking to come over to your place instead more often. almost too often.

and that's not the only thing that's changed.

the sex used to be rough. heated. almost as if he was consumed by all of his pent-up sexual frustration and was only focused on getting off. he'd slurp your cunt like a man starved but he'd still rail you as if that's the only thing he cared about.

but as time passed, he's been getting more and more...sensual. the sex is much more slower. personal, almost.

vulnerable.

after dinner, he slowly slips off your clothing. one article after another, until your left in your underwear. he first kisses you on the mouth, then your neck, then your chest, then your stomach. slowly, he makes a trail of them down your body, as if no skin deserved to be left untouched.

although you made a rule that no one could leave your marks on you, it doesn't mean he doesn't try. as he kisses your lower lips, sometimes he'll attempt to leave marks close to your clit. if you're not careful, diluc will find it tomorrow.

his thrusts were always deep, but now that he's much more purposeful about it. it's rhythmic, as if he's trying to reach a new spot inside you. somewhere no one's touched.

the pillow-talks are much more longer as well. he holds you tighter now, wrapping his arms around your hips as he tangles his legs with yours.

instead of ranting on about the silly incidents he witnessed on the job earlier in the week, he talks about his feelings. towards you. towards diluc. towards himself. some nights you can handle it, some nights are too much.

but you can't say anything. not when he's holding onto you like you’re his lifeline. not when he helps you pay off your debt. and so you let his raspy voice whisper in your ear as he combs his fingers through your hair. you listen to him mumble sweet-nothings.

you're not sure if you like the adoring look he gives you as you drift off to sleep.

[steddiealltheway]

"You're dead, Harrington!"

Steve sprints off down the hall, making a sharp left turn in hopes of losing him. He looks around at the doors, eyes settling on the drama room. Yeah, no one would guess that he would go in there.

He runs and easily pulls the door open, softly closing it behind him, leaning against the door to listen for Billy.

"You can't run from me!" he yells, somewhere outside in the hallway.

Shit.

Steve backs up a bit until he runs into something, and suddenly there's a hand covering his mouth with rings digging into his cheek while a bit of silver glints in his eyes. "Don't freak out, Harrington. I'm here to help. Hide behind the red curtain."

The guy lets him go, and Steve whips around taking in the guy everyone calls "The Freak." He just raises his eyebrows at him, so Steve takes the hint and darts behind the red curtains behind a throne of some kind.

There's a slight creaking, then Steve hears the door swing open and slam against the wall.

"Billy Hargrove. I didn't know you were interested in theatre," the freak says smugly. Eddie? That's his name, right?

"I'm not," Billy grits out. "I'm looking for Harrington. Seen him anywhere, freak?"

"Why would he be in here?"

Steve hears heavy footsteps as he walks closer to the curtain. "That's not what I asked," Billy says darkly.

"Well, I answered, didn't I?" Eddie replies, voice low with an undertone of danger. Shit, Steve didn't know he had it in him. "If you're so dense, then let me clarify. I haven't seen him. Now get lost or you'll never find him before lunch is over."

There's a pause, and Steve is certain that a fight is about to break out. Only, nothing really happens until Billy says, "One day you're going to pay for that, freak."

"Looking forward to it," Eddie says sarcastically.

A few seconds later and the door closes. There's a click that sounds like the lock turning which has Steve peeking out of the curtain.

"You can come out now."

Steve steps outside the curtain slowly, making sure this isn't some sort of sick joke. But he doesn't think Billy is that much of a planner, he's too impulsive.

When he doesn't spot him, Steve says, "Thanks. It's Eddie, right?"

The other boy looks surprised and even gets a small smile on his face. "Yeah."

"I'm Steve," he introduces himself, sticking out his hand and everything.

He gets a scoff and a, "Yeah, I know," in response, but Eddie still takes his hand and shakes it.

"I like your rings," Steve says genuinely. They're cool really. He wishes he would wear something like that without his parents and teammates getting onto him about it.

"Thanks," Eddie says, pulling a bit of his hair in front of his hair. It's cute really, almost like he's flustered.

Huh. He'll unpack that thought later.

"How did you get Billy to back off like that? I've never seen anyone do that." He can't help but be in a bit of awe about the whole thing.

Eddie chuckles. "I supply his weed. He knows better than to hurt me."

"Mabe I should start selling him weed then."

Eddie laughs loudly, showing off his dimples. Steve can't help but smile back.

"Hey," Eddie says, making his way to the throne and sitting back. "What did you do to get him that riled up anyways?"

Steve groans and takes a seat at the table in front of Eddie. "I know his little sister, Max. I just asked him how she was doing, and he freaked out. I think he misunderstood my tone."

Eddie laughs again, and Steve starts to believe that maybe the whole thing was worth it to see the boy's smile.

A silence settles between them, but Steve doesn't mind. It gives him a chance to look at him more.

It must fluster Eddie again because he ducks his head down and shakes his head.

"What?" Steve can't help but ask.

Eddie looks back at him. "Nothing, I just can't believe that Steve Harrington is sitting at my D and D table."

D&D... "Oh, that's like Dungeons and Dragons, right?"

Eddie's jaw drops. "You know what Dungeons and Dragons is?"

Steve shrugs. "My friend plays it, but he's in middle school, so you wouldn't know him. But hey, that's where the demogorgan thing comes from, right?"

Eddie continues to stare at him in disbelief mumbling something under his breath like He's friends with middle schoolers, and he knows what a demogorgan is. What the hell? Am I dreaming? He shakes his head and says clearly, "Yeah, yeah, that's where the Demogorgan comes from."

Another silence settles between them, and Steve doesn't know why he says it but he asks, "So, do you have a girlfriend?"

Once again, it looks like Eddie is about to have a meltdown, but Steve stands his ground. He's curious really.

Eddie shifts in his seat a bit uncomfortably before quietly asking, "Haven't you heard the rumors?"

Steve leans back in his seat and scratches his face absentmindedly. He's heard about "The Freak" before, but he didn't really pay much attention. He knows he sells weed. He failed senior year once or twice, he forgot how many times people said. And he once heard that he's a...

Oh.

"So, do you have a boyfriend then?"

Eddie freezes, fear evident all over his tense body.

"It's fine if you do," Steve assures him.

Eddie runs both his hands over his face and questions out loud, "Am I dreaming?"

"Do you dream about me often?" Steve flirts, leaning forward on the table. He can't help it, he likes how affected Eddie is by him.

Eddie looks at him for a solid fifteen seconds, tongue running over his top lip and brows furrowed in deep thought. He relaxes against his chair with a sigh. "You're not at all what people say you are."

Steve shrugs, uncomfortable that the topic has turned to be about him. "I try not to be."

"It's a good thing," Eddie says.

Steve smiles. He didn't know how much he needed to hear that.

The bell rings, and Steve feels a pang of disappointment.

"Hey," Eddie says as he stands up alongside Steve. He reaches into his black metal lunchbox and pulls out a sandwich in a little bag and a banana. He tears the sandwich in half and offers it to Steve along with the banana. "It isn't much, but I doubt you ate lunch. Have to keep all our star players in shape, right?" he asks with a wink.

Steve wishes he could stay longer to see him relax more. He takes them both, unpeeling the banana quickly while asking, "Is that weed in there?"

"Among other things."

Steve laughs and takes a large bite of the banana that has Eddie looking away, turning a light shade of red. Now he really wishes he could stay longer.

He finishes his bite and says, "Hey, it was really nice to meet you by the way."

"You too," Eddie says with a soft smile, finally looking back at him.

The warning bell rings.

Steve sighs. "I'll see you around, and hey, pass on a word to the next D and D leader about Dustin Henderson, will you?"

"Will do," Eddie says, and Steve's glad that it sounds like a promise.

He heads to the door and unlocks it quickly, pausing to rush back and press a soft kiss on Eddie's cheek. "Thank you again," he says before rushing out of the room with his heart pounding and a blush spreading over his face.

He can't help but think that he should thank Billy for being such an asshole.

[miifu666]

Hi I’m a big fan of your blog , love how you draw the characters!!

How do you think monkey king and suklha would court each other.

Helloww ♡♡♡

Funny you ask that!!! 😭 i just finished a doodle about that too!

Since Wukong's a hot tempered and unpredictable monkey king with a high self esteem. I like to add a bit of Monkey facts in his behaviour. Ofc besides the fighting the gods to keep his lover i dont think thats normal monke

From what i know, male monkeys usually start the flirting to enter a sort of consortship with the female. So i believe, Wukong despite the virgin that he is. Would be the first one to show interest.

Monkeys usually spend time with their future mate during courtship, so i figured instead of eating and talking to eachother to spend time. Wukong would challenge Suklha during the first few stages of courtship, if Suklha manages to outwit him he would let out these noises thats a mix of excited chirps and amused chuckles. Seeing Suklha managed to beat him in his own challenge is akin to her saying

"oh you're good, but ill try and beat you to show you im capable of being beside you"

even better when Suklha lets him groom her properly, it would take hours upon hours for him to show her that he's a good mate to keep her pretty and light colored hair clean. Suklha sitting down and waiting for him to finish, only to groom him back with her own pinchers is a sign that she accepted Wukong's feelings. (In his head anyway)

This works with Suklha, too. Centipedes spend time with their mates to start the mating ritual. Female centipedes usually release certain pheromones to attract the male interest. Wukong might notice how she has a more enzymatic scent, floral and berry-like, reminding him of the tree peaches in flower fruit mountain. This works with monkeys, although i think they release a certain odour when they want to mate rather than... courtship-

This in turn, makes Wukong more physically affectionate towards Suklha. His hands never leaving her waist whenever they talk to someone, glaring at anyone who dares to come pick her up like some sort of harlot. Wukong would compliment her to make her pay attention to him more whenever they're in public, of course this is Wukong. Hes not that good with compliments-

Suklha : you dimwit! Ive told you before how to do it!

Wukong : It seemed like i was right at first! Why are you getting so mad over! Just because you're decent-looking doesn't mean you can reprimand me however you like!

Suklha : ...?

Wukong , counting his fingers : Smart, quick-witted, courteous! Just because you're all that doesn't mean you can shout at me all you want!!

Suklha : i..

Wukong : AND STOP LOOKING SO GOOD

Suklha : IM BREATHING???

Wukong : WELL YOU LOOK GOOD DOING IT

Lastly, it would be a hard way to recognize but Wukong would speak towards her with a deeper tone of voice than usual. He'd even try to talk to her more calmly than yelling high-pitched like usual.

He'll smile more and probably do anything, yes even kill some demons and yaoguai to get an object of her desire or something that reminds him of her. Like a red jacket he saw in a village near the mountains, he'll snatch it and put it on Suklha without any word. Not even a "here's a new jacket" nope. They're already this deep in the courtship stage, she should understand what he means when he gives her things. He might glare at Suklha whenever he sees her missing the object he's given her, no words, just bites and glares.

All in all, it would be a bit chaotic. Like seeing your two best friends slowly getting together. Especially Suklha who despite showing interest in the courtship, suddenly denied Wukong of her answer after his proposal. Of course, this isn't done out of spite. She knows the consequences of accepting his proposal and she wont let a creature of this world suffer due to her. Suklha is a trickster, but she still has a heart.

[mondaymelon]

first time in this account lol Idk if you're taking requests but I saw that post some minutes ago and... Idk, wanted to request something lol, if you didn't do it yet! What about headcanons with a reader who doesn't show physical attention until some years of knowing them? Like, they know each other for about 5 years and just then the reader decides to do some small act of physical affection... I wanted the headcanons to be with Childe, Arlecchino, Wanderer and Furina! If you can <3

₊˚ෆ 𝐈𝐅 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔… | childe, wanderer, arlecchino, furina x gn!reader

( childe's part might be a little ooc. havent done that part of the archon quest yet cries. also mwah arlecchino we love her in this household !! )

[ You were always someone who wasn’t fond of physical attention. Fleeting touches and kisses to the cheeks were never your forte, yet what should happen if the lover you’ve had for years is suddenly on the receiving end of such affections? ]

"physical affection... ah- it's okay if you can't show that to me, there's plenty of other ways to tell that you love me!"

CHILDE was the one to say those words to you, and the held the most certain truth. You were his lover, and a hug or two couldn't sway the fact! While the harbinger is quite the puppy and often yearns for your warmth, he'll respect your boundaries and allow you whatever. A lover like Childe places your happiness as a priority over his, wanting more to see your eyes sparkle than his own.

"Love, you wouldn't believe what happened in the courthouse today." You glance up from your spot where you're curled up on the couch, snuggled into a fluffy blanket and holding a warm drink in your hands, one of Inazuma's light novels sitting on the armrest. You hear the door to the two of you's home shut and lock, and listen to... Childe's footsteps. How strange, is he stumbling?

Glancing up, you internally gape at the cuts on his body, your eyes instantly drawn at the red splattered across his features. "'Taglia, what hap-"

He lets out a dry chuckle, grinning sheepishly as he rids his shoes at the door. "No worries, the blood isn't mine. Most of it, at least. I managed to get out of there in time, so all's well, yeah?"

As if that'd provide you any comfort. You narrow your eyes, glaring at him unyieldingly, until Childe has no choice but to force out another tasteless chuckle. "Come on now, I'm home, so let's do something fun instead of just being mad at me, 'kay?"

"Tartaglia."

The man flinches, his deep ocean eyes rounding. When you call him that and not his nickname, he knew that he had landed himself in deep shit. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry." He says that, but the sentence rounds up in a change of his tone, sounding almost suspiciously like a question. "It won't happen aga-"

The world itself seems to stop.

Your head is buried into his chest, arms wrapped around his waist. Archons, can you hear how fast his heart is beating? You've made him into a complete and utter mess. He's blushing, his ears practically on fire, and any thoughts once in his brain have been seared away in single second. It takes him to the count of three to remember how to breathe once more, his chest erratically heaving up and down as his shaking arms wrap around you hesitantly, wondering if it'd be okay to do so.

"...Love?"

"Mhm?"

"I- I thought you-"

"If it's with you, I'm okay."

Oh, how those words tug at his heart. You look so perfect in his arms - yes, you looked simply perfect all the time, he'd admit in a split-second. The messy nest of hair atop your head when you woke up in the early mornings, the dark bags under your eyes when you didn't sleep until late at night, your smile, your laugh, even your scowl. It silenced any effort to not fall in love with you.

A smile tugs at his lips. A bright one, a warm one, if that was even possible. Perhaps his eyes are shining with tears, or perhaps it was merely a trick of light, but he holds you all the closer, not wanting to let you go.

"Love, I... Archons, I don't think I'd be able to love anyone but you." ₊˚ෆ

"..great. i don't want your filthy hands on me anyways, so there shouldn't be a problem, hm?"

WANDERER's words were just that, would it kill him to be a little nicer? It didn't matter... you knew your lover well, or at least well enough to tell that what he said wasn't the complete truth.

Sure, you had seen him shrug off and make expressions of disgust directed towards particularly touchy people that he'd become somewhat acquainted with. And you most certainly had witnessed his frustrated outbursts and rants when he returned home to your shared abode, whining and grumbling about any trivial error someone had made - that is, brushing fingers with him while passing him papers. Something that couldn't exactly be avoided, yet he had glared at the wall for a good amount all the same.

Ah, but then there were moments when he thought you weren't looking, and that was when his eyes would drink you in. Grazing over your eyes, to your lips, then to your hands, where'd they linger on your fingers for perhaps longer than they should.

And you'd catch the times where you were inclined to say something flirtatious - words that were never all that flirtatious in the first place, Wanderer just happened to be unusually susceptible. Chin resting on your hand, eyes staring into his, you'd say something about how pretty he was, and then he'd just about go into neurogenic shock, likely not speaking to you the rest of the day, the tips of his ears, if one squinted to a certain extent, pink.

"Love." You glance up at him, a slight pout fixed on your lips. He'd been immersed in minor tasks, and those pesky things were what stole his attention away from you. An ironic twist of fate, as you were usually the one to be drowning in work, and he'd be the one practically begging for affection.

He hums, yet doesn't even bother to look at you.

"Do you want to go for a walk?"

"No."

"Go get something to eat?"

"No."

"Visit the... House of Daena?"

"No."

"Shall we feed the finches?"

A slight pause. "...No."

"Then... let's hold hands?"

He froze at your words, and it seemed that the male lost the function of inhaling, for he sat there unmoving for what seemed like hours, his expression petrified in its form of his large eyes, raised eyebrows, and mouth slightly ajar.

"...Excuse me?" It seemed that he doubted his own ears, for he set his work aside and fixed his focus upon you, fingers trembling just the slightest.

"Hmph, have you suddenly forgotten how to think?" You frowned, yet your eyes curved into crescents all the same, and Wanderer felt his breath hitch at how ethereal you were. The sly fox you were, you took his moment of shock, settling by his side and intertwining your fingers with his. "Like this, is it not?" You were smiling now, and for the first time you glimpsed the red on his ears, but now on his face too, a rosy red descending upon his cheeks.

"What's..." Perhaps you were right. His vocabulary had suddenly dwindled, and now he had nothing but questions - that, and the growing warmth in his chest. "What do you think you're doing right now?"

Whatever attempt he had to sound "mean" had failed. You knew him too well for that. "Holding hands, what else? Your hands are cold you know-" And at that he flinched. "But it feels nice."

D...Did it really?

"You, no... love, let's stay like this. You're... warm." ₊˚ෆ

"when you sought me, i thought it'd be a serious matter. there's no trouble in it, truly, so there's no need to look so dejected."

ARLECCHINO hadn't even batted an eye. Was there a reason to? Yes, this certainly crossed off any thought of romantic couple things like kissing and hand holding, but it wasn't like she'd gasp dramatically and fall to the ground, blaming you for setting boundaries-

As if she'd ever. Your imagination was running wild today, perhaps it was the lack of sleep finally catching up to you? It was a stark contrast compared to Arlecchino, who went days without rest, shuffling through paper after paper on her desk and constantly relaying messages to her subordinates. She was a hard worker - a trait most easily overlooked, but it was a point of adoration for you. A point among many. Arlecchino was an easy person to love, despite the bristling thorns she'd show at first glance.

"Darling, a cup of tea, please?" Her gaze flicked up from her work to you, a thin smile decorating her lips. It was more a less a habit the two of you established - that is, pouring her tea. Her favorite cup was the one you had gifted her when you first started your relationship, shaded in a dark hue and embellished with roses, their blooms, petals, and thorny branches spreading across the expanse of porcelain. You placed said cup on her desk with a breath of satisfaction, tilting you head in questioning at the unusual amount of papers on her desk.

"Arle, did something happen?"

She merely chuckled to herself, her eyes shining with delight. "Ah, why don't you wager a guess?" You were her "subordinate" of sorts, although your true association was far more intimate. You knew of her plans with Fontaine, and helped carry them out. She revered your loyalty, but your warmth far more.

"...Has the hydro gnosis been secured?"

She snapped her fingers in one swift motion, her small smile widening into a true one that played across her ruby lips. "Correct, I'd expect nothing less of someone as capable as my lover."

"Then, Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet..."

"They've done well." It'd be hard to forsake the note of pride in her voice. Setting down the sheets in her gloved hands, she stood from her seat slowly, letting her eyes scan over your body. "You've asked your question, now shall I ask mine? Darling, I did quite well myself, did I not?"

Her expectant gaze read one thing, but instead of the usual quality time spending the two of you'd share, this time, you had rather differing plans. Smiling, you walked up to her, not letting the way her eyes sparkled just the slightest escape your sight. Promptly, sneakily, you flung yourself upon her, beaming as your hands found refuge winding about her torso, nearly instantly trapping her into your death hug. "You did, Arle~!"

"..." At her silence, you glanced up, only to be met with a sight that drew blush upon your own cheeks. Her usually composed, mystery-shroud features were now conflicted with crossing emotions... of what, however, was rather indecipherable. Arlecchino was a person of many masks, yet now it seemed that her "mask" displayed but one thing - love.

"Darling, I... you look perfect in my arms, so shall we stay like this a moment longer?" ₊˚ෆ

"is that so? a trivial matter, is it by law that i must hold you in my arms in order to prove my love for you?"

FURINA's multicolored irises and teardrop pupils twinkled, their shine dancing on the moonlit breeze. A hand daintily held a teacup, its fragrant contents swirling about the porcelain basin. Her laugh accompanied the cool evening wind, and she fluttered her eyes shut in a smile that brightened her expression. "Come now, why so shocked? Wouldn't this be expected from someone as benevolent as I?"

It was a scene that would remain forever painted in your mind, like a beautiful mural that one's eyes could not possibly forsake. The way her mouth tugged upwards and the manner in which her eyes curv-

"Hey, are you even listening to me right now?" A familiar voice tugged you out of your reminiscence of the confrontation months prior. Furina displayed a childish frown on her lips, her partly furrowed eyes sharpening her gaze into a rather particular one.

Oh, lost in thought once more. You let out a soft sigh, nodding sheepishly. "Yes, love, I am.."

"Mhm..." Your words left a no, you clearly aren't!" Furina sat up, her intensifying discontentment apparent on her features. "I said I got you access to front ticket seats to the hottest new court case! You know, the one involving the robbery... the one that's quite literally got the entire Steambird in a chokehold? Yet, you're not excited in the slightest!?" She sounded offended, and she likely was, for her cheeks were flushed the slightest in rash frustration and her narrowed eyes creased at their corners. "Appreciate my efforts, why don't you?"

"Appreciate" indeed.

Ah, but was a sudden, tight embrace overshooting it? For she tensed in your arms, her frame absolutely suspended in your hold, her slack jaw giving the slightest tremor. "Mon amour, just w-what are you-?"

"Come now, Furina, am I not permitted to hug my own lover now?" The jesting in your voice faded as the sarcastic grin on your face formed a smaller, more genuine one. "I'm... ah, I'm okay, if it's with you. I'll be okay."

She paused at your words, contemplation of them flashing in her gaze, and let out a gratified exhale. "Then..." she nearly melted in your embrace, leaning her head into your arms compliantly.

"Don't you dare think I've forgotten about your previous transgression, but... ah, it can be forgiven, can't it, mon amour?" ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) hc hc hc hc furina calls youfrench petnames because french oui oui baguette.. AHEM my sincerest apologies to any french or french speakers...

REBLOGS APPRECIATED!! please consider following me as i amm soosososoo close to a follower goal ive been wanting to reach and itd be crazy if i could reach it before christmas!!!

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader

-> teehee what if yall left a message on my christmas tree 😶😶😶

[lostinlovingrevery]

Old man Logan (sorry I love him) making readers birthday a big deal because he knows she grew up in a house where money was tight and everyone was just to stressed to at least make her a cake, so he makes it special and spoils her 🥺

Birthday Spoils

Old Man Logan X F! Reader

You confide in Logan about something in your childhood, and he decides to do something nice for you

A/N: The way I already used this gif. I need to start making creative headers lmao. I really had fun with this but I also had trouble deciding which direction to go for this. I decided to go for the Logan being EXTRA direction, and may write the other idea I had at some point... Also for anyone who reads this on their B-day, Happy Birthday!

Warnings: Fluff <3, implied drinking, slight suggestive ending, Logan being extremely extra and romantic but that's bc he's heads over heel for you <3, Charles being grumpy lol bc that's its own warning

"I don't hold it against them but it's just...y'know, made the day a little bittersweet."

Logans calloused hand brushed up and down your arm in soothing manner, as he listened to you talk about your childhood.

"I really try to not let it get me down, it's just a birthday. They were just trying to keep us sheltered and fed and I could at least be thankful for that..."

"Hey, it's not just a birthday." Logan says, his tone lighthearted as he squeezed your arm. You were by his side, cheek pressed against his pec, your leg over his hips.

"Easy for you to say. You've had like... 500 birthdays."

Logan chuckled warmly. "a little less than 200 actually. I'm old darling, but not that old."

You giggled, your hand sliding over his chest, wrapping your arm around him. "Like I said, it's not really a big deal. I just sometimes feel like I missed out on something."

He let out a grunt, pulling you a little closer as his mind wandered off. He never really put much stock in his birthday personally. You hit a certain number and the meaning of it goes away. For him, it just became another day.

Then he joined the X-men, and someone, somehow, figured out his birthday and every year he got a surprise party but-not-actually a surprise because his senses were heightened and he could hear Marie planning it with everyone in the next room.

He had the decency to pretend though.

Then everything happened, and his birthday just became a ticking clock to his inevitable doom. Each year marked was another foot dug in his grave.

Then he met you

And suddenly he wasn't waiting for the end no more. No, you felt more like the beginning.

He didn't like the sound of complacent acceptance in your voice. You were always so wonderful, making everyone around you feel loved and special - him included. He never put stock in himself until he met you and somehow and someway you had forced him to see the parts of himself that were good. You were a fresh breath of air for him.

You gave him a reason to keep going.

He wanted to return that favor.

Your birthday wasn't for a few more weeks. Gave him time to think of something, to plan. God knows, everyone knows that he was absolutely terrible at stuff like this but... He'll give it a try. For you.

He wanted you to know you were important. Especially to him. That nothing was too much for his girl.

It was torturous for him. He couldn't figure out what the hell to do at first. He couldn't tell you the last time he planned a birthday party and honestly he didn't really do any planning, he just got ordered around to pick up the food, put up the decorations.

He'd act like a grumpy asshole over it, hiding the fact that it warmed his heart to be included in something so...domestic.

Standing in a bakery staring at different cakes. None of them looked appetizing, and he's pretty sure dark blue frosting on one of them is mold.

Not getting anything here...

Scrolling through reviews of local restaurant in the area. Some of them places he'd been to before, not to eat, but picking up couples, bachelors and bachelorette parties. Probably places you like - like this one steak place, seemed nice and -

"Not there. They make an absolutely terrible chicken stir-fry, and they do not season anything." Charles speaks up from across the room, as he focuses on pruning his Bonsai. A little gift you brought Charles a few months ago. Something that could keep Charles busy, due to the meticulous care they needed in order to grow.

"Don't be peeking around Chuck." Logan looks at him past his glasses. "Besides, when the hell did you eat from this place?"

"I don't need to Logan. You're thinking too loud anyway, it's disturbing my peace."

Logan let out a small sigh, as he clicked his phone off. "What do you suggest then?" He asks in irritation as he leaned back in his chair.

"Just do it from the heart Logan. That's all she would want." Charles tipped his head up, squinting as he brought a shaky hand attempting to trim a branch. Logan got up and walked across the room; he grabbed Charles wrist, helping him steady before he trimmed the branch. "And to answer your earlier question; me and Erik ate there 20 years ago while on a mission. Absolutely awful cuisine."

"20 years ago. You don't think they would've changed their recipes, chefs, whatever by now?"

"Well if you're so determined go ahead." Charles shoots him a scowl. Logan sighs exasperated. "Just don't blame me when she dumps you for the awful birthday dinner."

"You're in a bad mood today aren't you?"

"Only when I'm in present company."

Your birthday approached more quickly than Logan expected. Filling him with anxiety as he wondered what your expectations were, and hoping that what he has planned would...Well, make you smile.

You- You didn't have any expectations, having grown used to your birthday passing by every year. It became a melancholy event, as you did have friends and family wish you a happy birthday, maybe even give you a few gifts, but nothing was planned.

You were happy to have Logan to be with this year though. Even if you guys didn't do anything special, just being with him, is enough for you.

The morning of your birthday, you're awaken by a gentle kiss to your forehead.

A soft groan, and you stretched your arms out, humming at the feeling of Logan's presence nearby. The scent of bacon and blueberry pancakes wafted to your nose and you sleepily opened your eyes, to Logan, his face worn, but filled with a loving look at you.

"Happy birthday darling." He says softly, as he holds up the plate of breakfast he cooked for you. You smiled, sitting up on your shared bed, gently taking the plate from his hand and putting it on your bedside table.

You cupped his face, pulling him down for a real kiss. He grinned against your lips, a small mirth escaping him as he brings his hand up into your hair, pulling you closer.

"C'mon now, it's gonna get cold." He says, hesitantly parting from you.

"Well if you let me buy a microwave we wouldn't have to worry about that would we?" You tease.

He rolled his eyes. "You know how I feel about those damn things."

"It's literally not that serious-" You giggle shaking your head. He grabbed the plate, putting it back onto your lap. He moved to sit on the edge of the mattress facing you, he grabbed the fork, cutting a piece of the syrup covered waffles, and holding it up to your lips.

"Open up sweetheart."

After he fed you your birthday breakfast, you got ready to go to work.

"You sure?" He asks meeting you at the door. "Take the day off. You and me. Hm?"

You giggled and nodded. "Lo, I know what I said before, but you don't need to go all crazy for me. I'm happy just having a night in." You say.

"You deserve more than that darling." He hums. You put a hand on his chest, leaning up to peck him on the lips.

"I think I remember saying that same thing to you when it was your birthday." You smile into his lips. He let out a small harrumph.

You didn't know that his plan needed you to go to work- at least for a little bit; but he had to throw you off somehow.

"How bout I drive you today then? I'll pick you up after."

"What about your work?"

"I took tonight off."

You grinned. "Really?! So we will get to have a night in together?"

"Whatever you want doll," He moves to open the door for you, a gentle smile on his face as he leads you out.

Once you were safely dropped off at work- where several of your coworkers were outside waiting to tell you happy birthday - Something Logan claims to have nothing to do with - his plan was set in motion.

The day went by, and he was there to pick you up as promised.

Leaning against the limo, with a large bag in hand. He was wearing a suit and tie, hand in pocket as he puffed on a cigar.

You smiled at the sight of him all dressed up, a sneaking suspicion that he had something up his sleeve. You approached slowly, your head cocked in a suspicious manner. He brought his free hand to pluck the cigar from his lips, holding out the bag- a protective cover for the dress inside.

"Lo?" You say his name with a questioning tone.

"Hm?" He pushed himself from the car casually, stepping towards you, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek. He held out the dress. "Here."

You take it, unzipping the cloth and peering at the dress inside and laughed. "You even got my size right!" You beamed at him.

"Course I did love. You wanna change here, or in the car?"

"We aren't going back home?"

"Had some other ideas in mind. C'mon."

You opted to change in the back of the car, the windows being tinted dark enough you didn't have to worry about being seen indecent.

Logan had also grabbed you other stuff, makeup, hairbrush, jewelry, whatever he thought you'd want to wear for tonight.

Once you were settled, he drove you both to a location he refused to tell you. His hand resting on your thigh; you told him about your day at work, as you looked for clues that would tell you where you were going. The sun was setting, and the sky was turning dark.

You recognized signs of the city. Trees decorated with string lights, and couples and friends walking down shop-lined streets. Tall buildings began to surround you, and you looked at Logan questioningly as he pulled up to a parking spot and turned the car off.

"What are we doing?"

He looked at you with a quirked brow, then his lips grew into a soft smile, and he winked at you as he climbed out of the car with a small groan and shut the door behind him. You watched him walk around the car and open the door for you, holding his hand out to help you climb out.

"Logan?" You looked at him questioningly again, and he grabbed your hand, as he led you into a plaza. A place normally crowded especially on a night like this- yet there was very few people around.

The trees of the plaza held the same white string lights inside them, wrapped through the branches and down the trunks. Decorative marbles statues of angels, and lovers rested throughout the park. In the center, a large fountain with cherubs shooting arrows and posed in song. Gold lights high-lighted the fountain.

In front of the fountain sat folded table and chairs, with balloons that spelled out "Happy Birthday!" in the background.

You stopped, and Logan looked at you questioningly.

"Logan?" You say his name again, a nervous smile plastered on your face. "What..What is this?"

He stepped forward, wrapping an arm around your waist. A soft look on his usually tired and gruff face. "It's your birthday darling, I wanted to do something nice."

"Nice?" You say in disbelief. "This is- This- I-" You stammered. He let out a small chuckle, as he urged you forward to the table and chair. He pulled the chair out, allowing you to sit before pushing it in.

A gentleman dressed in waiters clothes approached you, he held up a bottle of your favorite drink. "Would you like a glass ma'am?"

You stared at the man, shock, disbelief, and a tad bit of confusion of who this guy was, had paralyzed you.

"Uh, this is an old friend of mine." Logan motions to him. "Cashed in a favor with him."

You looked back at the "waiter", closing your parted lips, you smiled and nodded. "That...Would be nice."

You stare incredously as he poured you a glass, and then Logan. He sat from you, watching with raised brows and waited for your words.

"I uh..." You blinked, looking around the beautiful setting. "Lo this is....This-"

"I know you weren't expecting anything." He says gently. "But I ain't gonna have my girl not feeling loved on her birthday can I?"

You closed your eyes, a tight lipped smile as you looked at the man you had come to adore in the last year.

Never did you think when you met the gruff looking driver during your friends birthday bash, did you believe you end up here. You thought they way he glanced at you in the mirror multiple times a night was just a trick of your eyes. Until finally when he dropped your group off at the hotel - he stopped you, and with shaky hands asked you for a drink one night.

Of course you said yes, how could you say no to man like him, seeming so nervous to even talk to you. That night you went out for drinks, you connected in ways you hadn't connected with anyone before- and he evidently felt the same. You both walked the city long after the bar closed, sharing story after story, thoughts, opinions, on the most silliest of things - he had surprised you with a lot of his thoughts, his demeanor seeming so serious all the time.

You had grown to know him and know what to expect from him. He became a predictable.

This, though?

You had to bit your lip, blinking away the tears that were welling up in your eyes. He held his glass up, a toast.

"Happy birthday love," He says with softness you found he only had for you.

That wasn't the only surprise Logan had in mind for you. Your favorite home-cooked dinner that he kept into bags so they stay warm. The waiter served them to you both, and you ended up eating the best meal of your life.

"Cooked without the help of a microwave-" He just had to point that out. Making you laugh and nearly spit out your drink.

When your plates were cleared, he stood up, taking your hand and pulling you to him. Gently, he began rocking you both back and forth, slow dancing with you along the walkway of the plaza.

Your arms rested on his shoulders, hands intertwined behind his neck, you tilted your head, an amused smile stretched across your face.

"Y'know...You didn't have to do all this Lo..." You say softly. "I would have been fine with just you."

"I know." He says. He pulled you in, kissing you with a passionate possessiveness. "I ain't good at this kind of stuff darling; but I don't want you to think you ain't worth the effort. Not with me, especially."

You hummed, "Clearly-" You say with a teasing voice.

"C'mon." He pulled you back to the table, before kneeling down and grabbing something under his chair.

He pulled out a covered pan, standing back up with a hard groan, you put your hand on his back to support him. He let out a tired breath, before setting the pan down, removing the lid.

"I uh...Couldn't tell you when the last time I ever made a cake was, so..." He scratched the back of his neck bashfully.

You looked down at the homemade cake, made with your favorite flavors, and icing piped with a "Happy Birthday Love" across it- in very messy manner, and a few candles poked in between the letters. He pulled out his lighter, flipping the lid and creating a flame where he lit each candle.

"You want me to sing happy birthday?" He asks, a tad sarcasm in his voice. You, already holding back tears, burst into a laugh-sob and shake your head as tears began to flow down your cheek. "I'll do it-" He took a deep breath, before in his best, gruff singing voice, he began "Happy birthday-"

You went to cover his mouth, giggling through the tears, before pulling him down by the collar to kiss him and make him stop his terrible singing, making him chuckle warmly against your lips as his hands settled on your waist.

"Well, c'mon now. You gotta make a wish." He mumbles as he moves to press his forehead to yours. He reached up to wipe your tears away, you looked up at him, and nodded.

Turning back to the cake, you bent down, closing your eyes, waiting a moment, before blowing out the candles. Logan's hand rested on your back as you stood up and beamed at him.

"I know that look. Don't tell me." He quirked a brow. "You wished for a damn microwave, right?"

You bit your lip as you looked up at him and he sighed.

"Well, that's one of your presents..." He muttered looking away. You raised your brows.

"Really?!" You smiled excitedly. "You- This isn't the present?"

"Course not. I'm spoiling my girl tonight-" He pulled you close again, a low rumble in his throat as he looked down at you. "Especially when we get back home...."

[starlitmelanin]

ᡣ𐭩ྀི never be like you; a.tchouaméni

pairing - aurélien x black!fem!reader

word count - 1.1k

warnings - language

summary - aurélien takes some pleasure in reminding you that your new man will never measure up. you hate that he's right.

you've been doing a good job, you think.

a good job of pretending you're over him, that you've moved on, that he's just another chapter in your past. you've convinced your friends, your family—even convinced yourself on your good days.

the new guy's nice. safe. predictable. the kind of man who buys you flowers on fridays, texts back within minutes, never makes you guess.

but that's the problem, isn't it? he's nothing like aurélien.

and maybe that's why you're standing here in front of aurélien's apartment, three knocks away from a mistake you've been telling yourself you're done making.

he opens the door like he was expecting you, that same smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and he's wearing those grey sweatpants—the ones you once claimed made him look too good for his own damn good. it's like he knows exactly what he's doing, standing there with that easy confidence, like he's already won.

"figured you'd show up sooner or later," he says, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. "you always do."

you roll your eyes because of course he starts with that. "don't flatter yourself," you snap, even though you know it won't faze him. nothing ever does.

"too late for that, isn't it?" he steps aside, letting you in, and you hate how easy it is for your feet to move, for your body to follow him like it always has. the door clicks shut behind you, and it feels like all the defences you've built crumble with that sound.

"trouble in paradise?" he asks, turning to face you with that cocky smirk still playing on his lips, because, somehow, you always find yourself at his door when something happens with your man. "what is it this time? he forget your favourite colour already?"

"you're an ass," you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling small under his gaze.

"yeah, but you didn't come here to tell me that," he says, stepping closer, and you hate how your heart races when he does. "you came here because you know it, don't you?"

you hate this. hate him. hate the way he's always so sure of himself, so damn certain about where he stands in your life. "know what?" you grumble, trying to keep your voice steady.

"that he'll never be like me," aurélien says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "none of them ever will."

"you're so full of yourself," you shoot back, even though the words feel hollow, even though you know there's truth in what he's saying.

"am i?" he challenges, his voice dropping lower, that dangerous edge creeping in. "because every time you're with him, every time he holds you, you're thinking about me, aren't you?"

"no," you lie, and you know he can tell because he laughs—a low, mocking sound that makes your skin prickle.

"you're a terrible liar, y/n," he says, reaching out to tilt your chin up, forcing you to look at him. "and you know what's funny? you could've picked anyone. anyone in the world, and you chose him. him." he says the word like it's poison on his tongue. "like he could ever come close to what we had."

"you don't get to do this," you huff annoyedly. "you don't get to stand here and act like you're some gold standard.”

he leans in closer, so close you can feel his breath against your lips, the air between you charged with all the things you can't—won't—say out loud. "but i am," he murmurs, his eyes boring into yours. "and you know it. you hate that you know it."

"stop," you manage, but it's weak, half-hearted, because even now, even after everything, you want him. and he clearly knows that too.

"tell me," he presses, and there's something darker, more desperate in his tone now. "tell me he makes you feel the way i did. tell me you don't miss the way i used to touch you, the way i made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the world."

you swallow hard, your throat tightening. "aurélien—"

"tell me," he repeats, and you can see it in his eyes—this need to be right, to be the one thing you can't let go of. it's twisted, really, the way he needs this validation, this proof that no one else could ever take his place.

"he's good to me," you say instead, voice barely above a whisper. "he's kind. he cares."

aurélien's jaw clenches, and for a moment, you see something flicker across his face—something that almost looks like pain. but then it's gone, replaced by that infuriating smirk. "kind," he repeats, like the word's some kind of joke. "you really think 'kind' is gonna be enough to keep you warm at night?"

"maybe it is," you snap back, desperate to cling to some sense of dignity, some shred of control. "maybe i don't need you."

"you do," he says, so sure, so certain, it almost breaks you. "you'll always need me."

"you're wrong," you say, but the words catch in your throat, betraying you.

he steps closer, his hands finding your waist, and it's like every nerve in your body comes alive at his touch. you hate how familiar it feels, how right it feels. "look me in the eyes," he says, voice low, rough, "and tell me he makes you feel the way i do. go on. say it."

you open your mouth, but nothing comes out, because how can you? how can you lie when he's standing here, looking at you like he's the only one who's ever known you, who's ever seen you? and maybe that's the worst part—the fact that no matter how hard you try, no matter how many times you tell yourself you're over him, he's still there, in every corner of your mind, every beat of your heart.

"that's what i thought," and there's that smug look again, that knowing, infuriating smile that makes you want to slap him and kiss him all at once. "he'll never be me, y/n. and you know it."

"i hate you," you say, but it comes out weak, choked, and he just laughs, pulling you closer until there's nothing between you but the truth you've been running from.

"no, you don't," he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours. "you hate that i'm right. that's what you hate."

and as much as you want to fight it, as much as you want to prove him wrong, you can't. because in this moment, with his hands on your skin and his breath on your lips, you know that he's right. that no matter how many times you try to move on, no matter how many men you let into your life, none of them will ever be him.

and maybe that's your curse. or maybe... maybe it's your truth.

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Prompt-a-long, and based on a true story.]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) 9: intimidation (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

John jerks his head up from his laptop the second he realises something alarming:

The flat is quiet.

'Sherlock.'

'Hmm?' Sherlock doesn't look up from his experiment.

'Where's Rosie?'

Sherlock raises his hand to point. 'She's right--' He finally actually raises his head. 'Oh. Dear.'

'Hell,' John curses, ignoring a shot of pain as he stands too quickly.

Sherlock's Voice of Reason tendencies are very useful here. He puts himself in front of John and forces his gaze. 'Don't let's panic. She didn't grow wings, nor is it likely she suddenly gained the physical capacity to climb a baby gate. So she's just hidden herself somewhere. She probably thinks it's a game. You search the sitting room, I'll take the loo and then the kitchen. Alright?'

John nods, and promises himself he'll show Sherlock his appreciation later. Possibly with something beyond the snatched kisses they've managed so far. 'Alright.'

Three minutes later, he hears Sherlock's long sigh. 'John.' John strides over to where the detective is standing in front of his bedroom door. 'Apparently…'

'It locks?'

'It locks.'

'What about the second loo door?'

Sherlock grimaces. 'I always keep that one locked from the inside.'

'Alright, where's your key?'

'I don't have a key for either door. Never did do.'

John leans in towards the door. 'Rosie?' he calls, trying to keep his tone calm.

'Yeah, Daddy!'

The air escapes his lungs in a great dirty whoosh. 'Oh thank Christ,' he mutters. He raises his head and turns to Sherlock. 'Can you go see if--'

Sherlock's already halfway out the kitchen door, calling back, 'I'm sure she'll have one.'

But Mrs Hudson does not, in fact, have one, she tells John once she's come upstairs, wringing her hands as best she can with her wrist in a soft cast. 'I'm sorry! I'll call a locksmith straight away.'

'Nonsense,' Sherlock says over her. 'My lockpicks are, unhelpfully, behind the locked door, but I bet you could get me a hairpin and a nail file, please?'

John looks at Mrs Hudson and shrugs. 'Not things I keep on hand, I'm afraid.'

'Oh, pah, you boys. I'll be back in a tic.'

'Do you think you can actually pick it?' John asks quietly as soon as he can hear her feet on the stairs.

'Erm…possibly.'

'Possibly.'

'It's quite old and disused, John.'

'And?'

'And that means rust. Decay. Mechanisms that don't work anymore.'

'Christ,' John mutters. He puts his forehead to the door again. 'Sweetheart?' he calls.

'Daddy?'

'Will you open the door for me, Rosie?'

'Ermmm, no,' she says clearly.

'God grant me patience,' he says to himself, and jerks his head up when he hears Sherlock laugh.

'Sorry,' Sherlock says, clearly not sorry at all, 'but you sound like my mother.'

'Yes, I'd imagine she needed a deep well of patience to raise you.'

'Endless. Rosamund?' he says to the door. 'Do you want to unlock that door so you can help me with an experiment?'

John eyes him, but if it works, then--

'Nope,' she replies, popping her P like a certain someone.

'She's evil,' John mutters.

'She's stubborn.'

'She gets that from you.'

'I beg your pardon,' Sherlock says, quite offended. 'I am reasonable.'

'Sure. When you're not being stubborn.'

Sherlock pivots very unsubtly. 'Ms Watson, if you unlock that door, then Mrs Hudson will bake you some of those cakes you like.'

John pushes against his shoulder. 'Her wrist is broken!' he whispers incredulously.

'We can buy some at the bakery,' Sherlock whispers back. 'She'll never know.'

'You're evil.'

'Yes, well, you let me past the threshold, so you can really only blame yourself.'

'No, thank you!' Rosie calls back.

John rolls his eyes. 'Sure, she's polite for Mrs Hudson.'

'Clever.'

'Not helpful.'

'We could try intimidation.'

'Could we, though?' John asks, bemused.

'You can be very intimidating when you like, despite your stature.'

'Thanks,' he replies dryly.

But before they can debate the merits of trying to intimidate a toddler into doing anything, Mrs Hudson re-appears with the requested items. 'Oh, I do hope you can pick it, Sherlock. I will be very disappointed in your skills otherwise, you speak so highly of them.'

John coughs a laugh into his hand. 'Thanks, Mrs H.'

Twenty minutes later, though, John's growing desperate, texting everyone in his phone to see if they have any brilliant ideas. Wondering how much it would cost to just lift the door off it's hinges.

In the end, he should have known to just ring Molly first. 'Just put me on, okay?' she says quickly. John does as requested. 'Hi, Rosie!' she says cheerfully via speakerphone.

John and Sherlock exchange a look. 'Rosie,' John says, trying to keep his tone pleasantly neutral. 'If you come out, you can talk to Aunt Molly,'

They all hold their breath.

Then the lock turns.

[❤️]

[thewhumpcaretaker]

✦˚｡⋆ Rescuing a Stranger: Panic Attack on a Plane

⋆｡°✩ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Hurt/comfort. Gender Neutral Reader, taking care of a lonely man who has a phobia of flying. This is just a one-shot reader insert, but if it does well, I might turn "Rescuing a Stranger" into a series. They will be fluffy and semi-romantic <3

Divider Source

You're settling in for an overnight flight. It won't be pleasant, but you got the window seat at least. And then you see who's sitting next to you.

At first, you think he'll be insufferably stuck-up. He bumps into someone without apologizing as he rushes to get to his seat in a single-minded hurry. He looks glitzy and put together. A luxury watch, an expensive briefcase, polished Oxfords. He's dressed for a business trip, and didn't even have the sense to wear comfortable travel clothes. "Probably not used to flying," you think, "Or at least flying economy." Although the alternative is just that he can't stand to be seen in anything less than formalwear.

Worst of all, he's chatty. He asks where you're headed, talks about the weather, the news - anything. But at least you find a lot of common ground, and he isn't as aloof as you expected. And then there's his tone of voice… He's talking too much and too fast, especially once the engines kick on. It doesn't take you long to realize he has a fear of flying.

You ask about it as delicately as you can. He chokes on a laugh and admits that yes, it's a pretty bad phobia. He doesn't normally fly, but his job insisted on flying him out to a conference. "I'll be fine," he says, looking paler by the moment. You offer to shut the window and he's very grateful, but his knuckles are still bulging thanks to an overly tight grip on the armrest between you. You spot a certain bagginess under his eyes - he probably didn't sleep last night, given his worries over this trip. Your heart squeezes at the strange intimacy of what you're seeing.

He's much more endearing like this than he was when you first saw him. You feel suddenly self-conscious, as if you're enjoying the sympathy a little too much without him knowing it. What if he has a partner? What would they think of some stranger keeping him company on a plane? You ask if he has someone he can text for support once the in-flight Wi-Fi gets going. …A girlfriend? No, he says, he's single.

And he admits that he's been lonely lately. No one has been close to him in a long while, honestly. "It's hard to connect with people, you know? Age of isolation and all that. Especially over something like this. No one wants to hear about it I'm sure. Too…vulnerable." Something inside you throbs.

He starts to apologize for saying too much but you reassure him. You say a little too much too, about wanting to be there for people. He gets enough color back in his cheeks for both of you to blush.

But it's short lived. The plane hits a bump and a little gasp snags his breathing. You can see the muscles in his neck tighten. He can't look at you. "It's alright." Before you can think, you lay your hand on top of his. "Is…is this okay with you?"

He doesn't answer, just turns his hand over to clasp yours in a death grip. You squeeze back, very aware that your heart is soaring thousands of feet above the ocean like an exuberant bird. And very aware that his pulse is flying. You can feel it where your wrists are pressed together. He manages to exhale.

The calm is short lived. The seatbelt light comes on as the pilot crackles out an announcement: "Folks, we're expecting some minor turbulence. Please stay in your seats and we'll be through it shortly." This entirely fails to reassure him. He's switching rapidly between hyperventilating and not breathing at all. You start talking to him quietly. "Hey, look at me. It will be over soon. Can you try to match my breathing?"

He gives a weak, jerky nod and his wide eyes meet yours. You're not sure which is shaking more violently: the plane, or the stranger. But after a little while, he manages to fall into rhythm with you, and only then do you realize how cold and clammy his hand has become in yours. He notices too, pulls away, and rubs at his arms. "Sorry. I just, uh…should've worn something thicker than a dress shirt." He's still shivering. You glance down at the amenities provided for sleep: pillows, but no blankets. You brought one for yourself though, and offer it to him.

He nods and you arrange it over his chest before withdrawing these pesky hands that just keep wanting to hold onto him and fuss over him. But he doesn't seem to mind. "Thank you. That was…really really sweet."

You end talking again, this time on a deeper level. You find out why he's so alone, and he finds out why you care. You both talk about wanting more out of life. He marvels at how safe you make him feel, and you're pretty sure your heart is now somewhere in the stratosphere.

The panic seems to have taken the energy out of him, and after dinner, he admits what you suspected: anxiety kept him awake all last night. Now he's exhausted. With the cabin lights dimmed, he leans back and drifts off. But the pillows leave something to be desired, and soon enough, he's sliding sideways against your shoulder. You let your head rest against his, elated. At every jolt of turbulence, he whimpers in his sleep, or worse, goes tense and alert until you can calm him down again with an arm around his back and a hand in his. You don't think you'll be getting any sleep, but you don't mind in the slightest.

[nahoney22]

Congrats on 3000 followers! That is TRULY amazing, and you deserve every single one, your work is amazing ❤️ IM A FAN GIRL LOL

Can I please request a “if you keep looking at me like that, i’m not responsible for what happens next.” with Jesse? That bald tattooed head fkn flusters me to high heaven. NSFW, as smutty as you feel, fem reader pls. THANK YOU ILYSM 💕💕💕💕💕💕

3000 Prompt List Celebration

Jesse X F!Reader

word count: 1.5k

NSFW

prompt:

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m not responsible for what happens next.”

warnings: NSFW, 18+ only! Established relationship with a female reader. Consensual smut, p in v sex, cunnilingus, praises, dirty talk, swearing, light dom!Jesse with a slightly sub reader. Reader wearing stockings and lingerie. Couch sex. Not proofread.

authors note: sorry for the wait lovely. Hope this is fine. Love you @starqueensthings 💜

As you lay on the plush couch in your apartment, your fingers lightly brushing against the silky fabric of your stockings, you fixate your gaze on the door before you. The anticipation swells within you; he's finally back, and you have a delightful surprise in store for him.

In the lead-up to this moment, your playful and flirtatious messages have been exchanged back and forth, igniting a fiery excitement that burns between the two of you for the last week.

Knowing he'll be home any minute, you slip into something more enticing and comfortable, a mesmerising lingerie set that Jesse had once admired while window shopping with you several months ago. His words of admiration echoed in your mind, inspiring you to go all out for his return.

As you listen intently, the sound of approaching footsteps quickens your heartbeat. The familiar beep signals his arrival, and the door opens with a soft hiss, revealing your significant other standing there, taking in the sight before him. His eyes widened with desire and passion, the room suddenly charged a certain type of energy.

"Well, well, don't I feel like the luckiest man alive?" he exclaims, his voice tinged with desire and appreciation.

A mischievous smirk graces your lips as you playfully tilt your head, feigning innocence. “What makes you say that, Trooper?”

He corrects you with a hint of arrogance, but you find it utterly captivating. “That’s Arc Trooper to you.” He says proudly, chest slightly puffing out.

“My apologies, Arc Trooper.” Your voice is laced with a sultry tone and you grin internally as he gulps upon your words.

Folding his arms over his chest, he comes closer until he stands just a few feet away, his intense gaze roaming from the top of your head to your toes. He struggles to stifle a low moan that threatens to escape his throat, the sight before him rendering him nearly powerless. "If you keep looking at me like that, I’m not responsible for what happens next."

Meeting his hungry eyes with your own, filled with desire and a touch of mischievousness, you reply, “Now, why would that ever be a bad thing?” Unwilling to back down from the teasing exchange, you decide to take matters into your own hands—or, more accurately, onto your knees. Slowly, you shift position, facing him with an alluring intensity, your eyes conveying a magnetic message of desire. The tension in the room heightens as you give him a tantalising show, your every movement calculated to captivate him.

As he steps closer, his tall figure now looms over you. He looks into your eyes with a heavy-lidded gaze. With a gloved hand, he gently strokes your cheek, his thumb moving to trace over your lower lip, hinting at his playful mood. "You've been quite a naughty girl," he says teasingly.

You bat your eyelashes, playfully responding to his comment. Unable to resist, you lean in slightly, your lips softly meeting his thumb, giving it a tender, affectionate kiss before encasing it between your lips and very gently suck. He lets out a deep, contented sigh, his emotions evident in the sound.

"I've missed you so much," you confess once you pull back, your voice filled with genuine affection and longing.

"Not as much as I missed you," he admits with a hint of longing. Leaning down, he captures your lips in a passionate and intense kiss. His touch is firm but tender. Deep and fiery. He doesn’t even shy away when it comes to slipping his tongue into your mouth, parting your lips which elicits a grateful moan from you.

Your hands rest on his strong stomach as you both revel in the moment. "You’re so,” he now murmurs against your jaw, placing affectionate kisses along its curve, “perfect.”

The sensation sends shivers down your spine, causing you to lean back against the couch, caught up in the thrill of his affectionate advances.

His lips lower and lower until he finds that sweet spot against your neck, licking and gently nipping at your skin that makes you giggle his name, your panties getting increasingly wetter with every touch. “Needy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Jesse.” You rasp, eyes closing as he cups one of your breasts above the silky fabric, feeling your stiffening nipples.

Soon, he lowered himself so low as he trailed his wanting lips all over your body that he was on the floor and conveniently between your legs. His smirk is dangerous as he eyes you up like a meal, fingers caressing your thighs. “Can’t believe you’re all dressed up like this for me. You look amazing, baby.” He admires almost dreamily that it sends a heat straight to your core.

“Just for you,” you whisper, watching in anticipation as his right hand moves more inwards of your legs, teasing you relentlessly before he uses a single finger to stroke against the now soaked fabric to your panties that makes you jolt in surprise.

“Easy there,” he chuckles at your reaction, brushing over the thin fabric that separates his fingers from your pussy, “I’ll take care of you.”

You chew on your lower lip, your soft sighs of pleasure turning into deep moans as he hooks and pulls your panties to the side already parting your soft folds with his tongue.

Your pelvis involuntarily thrusts into his face, melting as he groans at just the taste of you. His tongue lapped at your cunt like a man starved, full of passion. “You taste so damn good.” You look down at him through watering eyes, seeing his eyes watching you intently as he sucks on your clit making you whine in pleasure.

He grabs your hips, fingers biting into your flesh and brings you closer to him, tongue digging deeper into your sopping core that makes you writhe, panting as he edges you to your climax. “Oh f-fuck, Jesse!”

He tsks against you, vibrations following. “Now that’s some naughty language, babe.” His hands now move to your thighs, keeping them spread as you couldn’t help but close them over his head whenever he hits that perfect spot.

“As much as I want to taste your cum,” he mutters as he pulls away from your clit with a pop that made you mewl and had your head rolling back, “I need to be inside you.”

You watch him start to strip for you, your eyes blown in desire as you take every inch of his gorgeous skin in. Your eyes land on his cock which stands deliciously erect as he shifts you into position on the couch, kneeling himself between your legs. “It’s been a while so I might be rusty,” he chuckles a little nervously but nothing that a quick kiss couldn’t solve.

“I’m sure you’ve still got some fire in you,” you grin against his lips before laying back down, allowing Jesse to press his swollen tip to your entrance.

He lets out a shuddering breath as sinks into you, grunting at your tightness. “That’s right baby, s-so good.” He pulls out before slowly pushing into you again, stretching you up slowly so he didn’t hurt you.

Your head falls against the couch cushion, whimpering in pleasure as he then fully sinks into you, his hand cupping your cheek adoringly as he drags his cock in and out of your flushed pussy.

“You missed my cock filling you up, huh?” He grunts raggedly, watching you writhe in pleasure beneath him as he thrusts in and out of you at a steady rhythm.

“Yes, so much!” You rasp, breathless as you elevate your hips a little, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he buries himself into you and hitting that soft spot within you better.

He sighs, biting his lower lip as his eyes admire your body that was dressed in a lingerie he always wanted to envision you in. “So fucking hot,” he almsot whimpers as he watches the way his cock slides in and out of you all the while you’re watching him in complete awe.

“Yes you are.” You pant which only urges him on, his pace getting faster and harder that has your nails gripping into your couch as he rocks into you, the couch creaking against the floorboards as he pummels into you.

“Not gonna last much longer baby,” he grunts, hand coming down to play and strum with your clit, your pussy clenches against his cock as you too near your high once again.

After a few more pumps and loud moaning that you were certain the neighbors could hear, he pulls out and paints your scanderlu clad body with strings of white, beads of sweat pouring down his forehead and temple. Your orgasm came at the same time, chanting his name until your body went limp as stars blinded your vision.

After a few moments, you sit up and glance at the mess he made on your lingerie and chastise him playfully, “you ruined your present.”

He chuckles, admiring you lovingly and plants a kiss to your lips. “Yes, yes I did.”

Masterlist

Other prompt works

Tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @theroguesully @mustluvecho @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari i @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad

[seaphoam-writes]

A Father's Duty (37/?)

A Father's Duty on AO3

Summary: An encounter with a quantum fissure leaves Picard with more responsibility than he asked for, but he'll do what he always does—his duty.

Chapter 37

Logically, Beverly knows that no one she passes in the corridor could possibly know where she’s going, but she still feels rather conspicuous as she walks to Jean-Luc’s quarters, practically floating along, buoyed by her hopes for where the evening might end up.

When Jean-Luc cancelled dessert, she guessed something must have happened with Louis. Despite her request to be informed when Louis fell asleep, she wasn’t certain Jean-Luc would ask her to come over. Nevertheless, she watched the clock, growing more and more restless as the hours passed. When his message finally came, Beverly leapt from her chair, nearly forgetting to reply.

She reaches Jean-Luc’s quarters and goes to the door farthest from Louis’s bedroom. She knocks lightly and waits, smoothing first her hair, then her sweater. She’s just about to knock again, thinking she must have done it too quietly the first time, when the door slides open.

Most of Jean-Luc’s casual shirts are v-neck blouses that show off just enough of his chest to confirm a toned physique, but the one he’s wearing now is her favorite; it’s teal, and it gives his grey eyes a greenish hue that she finds appealing.

“Can I come in?” she asks—with a bit more of a purr in her tone than she intended, given that she doesn’t know what exactly happened with Louis and therefore doesn’t actually know what sort of visit this might me, regardless of her hopes.

His gaze rakes her from head to toe before he meets her eyes and smiles. “Of course.”

He moves aside so she can enter, and as she sweeps past him she notices that, while his smile is wide enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes, it seems strained, and his clothes are uncharacteristically…rumpled.

There are two glasses of wine on the coffee table, so Beverly crosses to the couch and sits down. Jean-Luc sits next to her, body angled so that their knees touch. Beverly reaches over and lays her hand on the knee resting against her own.

“Is Louis okay?”

Jean-Luc lets out a deep breath. “It’s been a long day.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He hesitates, seemingly considering it, then shakes his head. “I don’t want to ruin your mood. Or the evening.”

Which suggests that he wants a distraction.

And yet, she pushes.

“Jean-Luc.” It’s sharp enough for him to quickly snap his gaze to hers. “I’m here to listen. That’s what friends are for.”

“Is that all we are? Friends?” He raises an eyebrow. It’s teasing—his tone is teasing—but the way he swallows, the way his eyes flick back and forth between hers, is fragile.

“Well, I’m hoping we’re becoming more than friends”—she raises her own eyebrow challengingly— “but that’s what we’re still working out, isn’t it?”

She expects him to continue this cautious yet playful little dance they’re doing, but instead he’s suddenly serious.

“Are we foolish for even attempting this?”

No, she thinks defiantly.

She’s willing to move forward as slowly as Jean-Luc needs, but she absolutely refuses to go backwards, to let him retreat.

Beverly knows this might not work out—and that would be painful, but she can’t imagine Jean-Luc doing something to purposely hurt her that would make her not want to remain his friend. It would be awkward, naturally, and it would take time to learn how to be friends again after being lovers—and Beverly very much intends for them to be lovers—but if Will and Deanna can do it, Beverly believes she and Jean-Luc could too.

“I don’t think what we’re doing is foolish,” she says. “I think we were foolish for letting our fears hold us back for so long.”

She lifts her hand to his face, cupping his cheek. He leans into her touch, his eyes closing and his features smoothing out, the strain she witnessed earlier draining away. Gently, she strokes his cheekbone with her thumb. “If it’s too difficult for you right now to balance us and Louis, we can—”

His eyes fly open. “No.” His gaze is steady. “That’s not what I want.”

“Then what do you want?”

His lips part, but before he can speak, there’s a sound from Louis’s room—a quiet, pained moan. Jean-Luc is up and moving immediately. Beverly almost follows but remembers herself at the last moment and remains on the couch.

Louis may like her, but she’s not his parent; Jean-Luc is. Jean-Luc is his father and his safe place and the only thing he needs to see when waking up scared and confused from a nightmare.

That knowledge doesn’t stop the longing. She misses being needed the way Louis needs Jean-Luc. She misses having someone to take care of like that. She misses Wesley. She misses being a mother.

(She’s obviously still a mother, but it’s different when your child’s an adult.)

To distract herself from the longing, she sips her wine. Half of her attention is on Jean-Luc’s voice in Louis’s room—low and soothing—and the rest of her attention wanders the room, snagging on two items that are very out of place: a set of thin rectangular blocks that must be for building, and a marble maze.

That explains why Jean-Luc’s clothes are rumpled.

Beverly grins and tries to imagine him sprawled on the floor with Louis, building some elaborate castle with the blocks, or racing marbles. Whenever Jack played with Wesley, it was like he became a boy again himself. It’s hard to picture Jean-Luc being boyish.

She’s still grinning when Jean-Luc emerges from Louis’s room. He returns to the couch and lifts his wine glass from the table.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs before taking a sip.

“You don’t have to apologize.” Beverly readjusts, moving until their knees are once again touching. “Bad dream?”

Jean-Luc nods tiredly, shoulders slumping.

“Tell me what happened today,” she prompts softly.

He hesitates again. Beverly waits. Maybe she shouldn’t push. Maybe she should just give him the distraction he seems to want…

But then Jean-Luc takes a deep breath, takes another sip of wine, and proceeds to tell her about the holodeck, about Louis’s request that they eat dinner alone in their quarters.

“I think I may have pushed him into some things too soon,” Jean-Luc admits. “I thought a sense of normalcy would help, but I don’t think he was ready.”

Beverly’s heart clenches and she finds herself squeezing Jean-Luc’s forearm reassuringly; she knows returning to duty as soon as he was allowed is what helped him move on from both his assimilation and his week of torture, but Louis is just a boy, and he has more than one singular traumatic event to overcome—he has several years’ worth of them.

“You should take more time off,” Beverly advises.

Jean-Luc nods. “I will.”

He sips his wine but remains turned away, withdrawn.

“There’s something else,” Beverly says. “Something else is weighing on you.”

Jean-Luc smiles lopsidedly at being caught out, but stares at his glass for a long moment before answering. “I watched the other Data’s logs today.”

Oh.

“Worse than you expected?” she asks.

He nods again. “He suffered, Beverly. And I—I feel as if…” He trails off, grimaces. “I feel as if I should be suffering too. For not being there for him. For…being the one that caused it.”

“You didn’t cause it, Jean-Luc. And neither did the other you.”

Jean-Luc lets a breath out through his nose that sounds distinctly like disagreement—he still blames himself for what the Borg did through him, he’s still ashamed that he wasn’t able to resist them.

Stubborn, prideful man.

Abruptly, he shakes his head and turns towards her. “I’m sorry, this isn’t how I imagined the evening going. I’m not being very good company right now.”

She offers him a soft smile. “It’s alright. This is what being together is supposed to be like—sharing the good and the bad.”

She’s treated to another raised eyebrow and a teasing, “So we’re…together?”

Beverly flushes at her choice of words. They’re not anything yet. They opened a door, but they’ve yet to walk through it. This is only the threshold, and it’s going to take more than some kissing—delightful as it is—to determine what they are, to push this past the physical, past giving into their lust for each other.

But that will take time, and right now Beverly very much wants to give in to that lust. So she curves her lips into a coy smile.

“Aren’t we?” she asks. “Unless I’m mistaken, we both told each other last night that we” –she can’t make herself utter the word love— “have feelings for each other. And then we—”

“I remember.”

His voice is low and gravelly, his gaze sharp. There’s suddenly a tautness in the air between them, exactly like last night, exactly like that afternoon in sick bay. Beverly’s pulse quickens, and her skin warms in anticipation.

“Jean-Luc, I need you to be honest with me.”

“Always.”

“I need to know if what you want right now is to talk, or to be distracted.”

“You are not a distraction.”

“You know what I mean.”

He breathes in slowly, eyes locked on hers. “Right now, I would very much like to be with you, and to save the discussion concerning what happened to my son and what I’m going to do about it for a time when I do not feel so overwhelmed by it.”

Beverly nods. “Okay.”

He takes it for the permission it is and leans in to kiss her.

-/-

Picard’s worries melt away the instant his lips meet Beverly’s, but no sooner has he slid his hand along her jaw—coaxing her to tilt her chin back, change the angle of their kiss, deepen it—than he hears Louis cry out.

The sound pierces his soul.

He draws back, swipes his thumb against Beverly’s cheek apologetically. “Perhaps now isn’t the best time after all.”

He tries to remove his hand, but she covers it with her own, holding it in place.

“It might be a long night,” she says. “Why don’t I stay and keep you company?”

He grins, and presses another swift kiss to her lips before rising to go to Louis.

[leatherbookmark]

procrastinating finishing my fic but there's this post that i've seen a couple of times now, about epithets in writing and how you can use them to highlight different aspects of a character, and

i just Cannot take it seriously my god

like first of all it starts with "epithets are inherently dehumanizing", killer opening, 10/10 no notes, except that they... aren't? you don't dehumanize someone by calling them an older man or a blonde woman, older men and blonde women are still people, i hope

other people in reblogs then go on to give examples of how they can be used to signify that someone sees another character in a different light, for example, "when a mom gives her kid an ultimatum and acts authoritative, you can refer to her as "the judge" to highlight that in her kid's eyes she's having the Judge Vibe", or "when you see your bestie at work and realize how professional she is, she's no longer Jane but Dr Smith", and... it's just nonsense to me.

at least my brain can't imagine anyone else's brain working like this.

i have never thought of my mother as "the teacher", or my friend as "the programmer". what they do for a living, their abilities or such don't change the way i know and address them, christ alive. a mom is always a mom! if a child character has a mom who's a french painter who's had experience driving a bus, are they going to refer to her as "the french woman" when she speaks french, "the painter" when she talks about art, or "the ex-bus driver" when she complains about other people's driving? who does that.

this is just. making me wonder if people who liked this idea think of their stories as movies -- a series of scenes and shots. now in this scene our hero james is supposed to look imposing, so we shoot him from a lower angle! and if you were describing such a shot, you'd indeed say "a tall, broad man is (doing something)". except it doesn't work in writing, because you're not describing a singular random screenshot, you're talking about your guy james, the one you met 146 pages ago. not to mention that unless james lives amongst children, at times he'll be the younger/older man, the taller/shorter man -- why complicate things and make your readers wonder about metrics? the guy's name is james, for god's sake

if you want to point out certain traits, just... describe them? "when mom told timmy to clean his room or else, her tone sounded just like back when (he saw her doing judge-ish things)", or "mary turned around to face the patient, and suddenly jane wasn't looking at her shy, dorky friend who loved soap operas, but a highly competent, caring dr smith", or like. whatever else.

a single word won't do your job for you. how is this different from "the taller man pinned the shorter man to the wall and kissed him passionately"? the heights are obviously important here, but i doubt many people would like reading a porn fic that does it. "the top said", "the bratty sub looked at him", it's just. not good. to me personally. i can SEE what you wanted to highlight there, but why didn't you highlight it? and i don't subscribe to the notion that tops do things toply, so elaborate on what you're seeing to make me see it, otherwise i just won't!

9k notes when i've last seen the post, and i'm just Confused.

[perplexedflower]

Debito Fluff Alphabet - [Y]earning

Fandom: La storia della Arcana Famiglia.

Category: F/M.

Relationship: Debito x Female Reader.

Type: Fluff Alphabet.

Y) Yearning: How he copes when missing you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Debito is not the kind of man to heavily miss things or people, although there are things he would have trouble living without on a daily basis. But when it comes to individuals, it is no hard task for him to get through the days without being around certain people, without missing them too much. This is also something that applies to you, and something that you've come to notice over time: while Luca could not survive even 24 hours without seeing Felicità, Debito has no trouble not seeing you for a day, though it doesn't mean it won't make him even just a little sad. Whenever the two of you have to part ways for a certain period of time, which, granted, very rarely happens anyway, you know that he's got his yearning under control, and that he's got his tricks and methods to deal with it. These include thinking of you in detail, reminding himself of the last time you and he spent time together, reminiscing about your voice, your smell, your body, and you can be sure that he also thinks ahead of time of what your reunion will be like, the things he'll do with you and the places he'll take you to once you come back to each other. When recalling all these things, Debito never thinks of the bad times, the bad moments, the bad things that you two have gone through, and instead will focus on the positive, on the good memories. You also know that whenever you're not around him for some time, he won't hesitate to talk about you to other people, just to make it seem as though you're there, with him, a way to maintain your presence by his side, until you come back to him, or that he comes back to you. It's rare for the two of you to get separated from each other, mainly because both of you are part of the Family, and so you see each other every day; but you're aware that during those rare times, when one of you has to leave the other for some time, he'll manage to cope just fine without you, waiting to see you again.

Mini Scene

"You're sure you're going to be okay without me?"

"For the third time, amore, yes."

"Alright... I just wanted to make sure." I said with a gentle smile and a chuckle as I slowly nodded.

Debito and I were in his bedroom, halfway through the morning, the two of us lying on his bed. While he was resting on his stomach, shirtless, I was sitting on his lower back, passionately rubbing his back with my hands, massaging it up and down.

"... I just don't want to see you running back to me with tears in your eye when you come back." I continued with a playful scoff.

"Hey, Bambina, you know I won't." He claimed in an assertive tone, as if to maintain his image.

Later that day, Debito would have to leave the Family and the manor for a short period of time, just a few days, but it was the first time he and I would be away from each other for so long, although his trip would not even make him leave the island, simply taking him to its other side. I knew I had nothing to worry about, I knew he would not have trouble coping with missing me, but I could not help but tease him; and, deep down, imagining him missing my presence around him felt satisfying, comforting, even.

"I can always come with you, if you really want me to." I added as I leaned closer against his naked back.

"Love, you know you—"

"I know I can't, yes." I cut him off with a smile. "It's essential for me to stay here, for the Family and my division, yada yada..."

With the palm of my hands still pressing the skin of his back, Debito suddenly and silently turned around, flipping his body around underneath mine. Now sitting over his crotch, his bare chest facing me, he grabbed my sides and dragged me down on him, until our faces were only inches apart from one another.

"Hey, Bambina, are you maybe saying all this because you're the one who's gonna miss me?" He asked me with a teasing smile, his head slightly tilted.

He scoffed upon seeing my red cheeks and shy pout, then kissed my lips with passion.

[skarletchains]

"It's a pretty logical question, it's fine for you to ask" Kurapika mentioned while thinking silently. He was clear about why he worked for her, but he was looking for the best way to say it, knowing that her bodyguard is a Kurta and the main reason why he had asked for that job, maybe, just maybe it was a bit much information for a single day, especially knowing that the person he was looking for could access Iris so easily…

Suddenly Kurapika had an epiphany. If that fan was the possessor of the Scarlet Eyes, would he also be looking to get Iris's eyes for his collection? Suddenly, he felt a greater need to protect her.

"For two main reasons…" He finally began to answer, raising two fingers. He didn't plan to lie, nor hide the truth, he was an honest man and Iris a mature and strong enough woman.

"First, your parents pay quite well. As I mentioned before, I'm on a mission that consists of collecting my brethens' eyes back. I want to give them peace. And many times that is solved with the necessary amount of money. Having a really good saving capacity ensures that I'll be able to pay whatever they ask for in return. And second…" The blonde paused, letting out a heavy sigh "One of your followers is a collector of human body parts. And he has a pair of scarlet eyes. I want to get close to him and get them, no matter what it costs me" Although his tone of voice was soft, there was a certain unshakable confidence and security "… but now that we're putting all this on the table… I'm suddenly afraid that he'll want to go after you and your eyes"

He knew how uncomfortable it was for her to be looked directly in the eyes, so as much as he was tempted to look at her directly, he simply looked towards her shoulder "It's not to scare you, Miss Adelaide, but it's something I came to a conclusion while we were talking and I think you should know, knowledge always is the best weapon and the best resource. I take my job seriously, so don't doubt that I will put my life at risk to protect you."

"Of c..course.. my lips a..are sealed." Iris nods. Kurapika didn't need to tell her twice, she understood the gravity of the situation and what it could mean if she were to spill the beans about Kurapika's origins. While she had no doubt Kurapika could defend himself, but if the Scarlet Eyes are as big as a commodity as he said they are.. he's still only one man.

Iris thought on if she herself had questions. There were some, mainly about Kurta Culture.. but she could ask about those another time, when the mood wasn't so grim. So heavy.

"Well.. I-I suppose I d..do have one.." Iris shifts in her spot on the sofa, thinking on how best to word her question. "Why exactly.. are you w-working for my parents? I-I know they must pay y..you well, and I c..certainly can't fault anyone f..for wanting a good paycheck from t-time to time.. but.. I don't k-know.. I-I've watched how you w..work and feel like you could b..be doing something much more f-fufilling than just being a b..bodyguard for me... so why..?"

She wasn't saying it to put herself down. She knew her status as an influencer being in the public eye since birth would require protection, but Kurapika was so efficient in protecting her-- Sometimes scarily so--She felt like he should be protecting politicians-- not a social media star.

[osamusriceballs]

The Hardships of Love

Oikawa x reader

Warnings: None

Words: ~ 1,7k

About: Centered this around the prompt: "Can't you see that I love you?"

A/n: I saw a small list of prompts and I'll go through them- five more to go! If you want to see a certain character for the next prompt, feel free to send an ask! Won't reveal the prompt for it though, so it'll be a surprise~

You're certain about very few things in your life, and one of them is Oikawa Tooru.

Oikawa Tooru is warmth.

Oikawa Tooru is your friend.

Oikawa Tooru will always be by your side.

Or at least, that's what you wish for.

"Hey, I need your help."

"What for?" He looks up and smiles when he sees you. His smile makes his face look softer, and your heart skips a beat at that sight. He exceeds kindness, but there is still something mischievous about him. Maybe it's his eyes, which reveal what's behind his usual mask, or maybe you just like to think that you are actually able to see the real Oikawa Tooru.

However, that couldn't stop you from swooning for him. He is not only attractive and incredibly skilled at volleyball, his passion and job, but he is also caring, thoughtful, easy to be around, and supportive. He is basically perfect boyfriend material. But you don't dare to go down that road. You're convinced that he has tons of beautiful women lining up on his—rather, your shared—doorstep and wouldn't spare a single romantic thought about his roommate—you.

How you both stayed in this flat after your college years have been behind you for quite some time is a miracle to you. He always insists that it's easier to stay here and that most people wouldn't expect him to live in a neighbourhood like this, and you somehow couldn't separate yourself from him too. There is something about Oikawa Tooru that makes you want to stay close to him.

"It's kind of stupid. I talked to Hajime last week..." Oikawa's smile gets wider when you mention Iwaizumi, and you are certain that you now have all of his attention.

"Go on." He nods, and you take the encouragement to keep going. He'll probably laugh at you, at his roommate that hasn't had a date for such a long time that his best friend felt pity and decided to set you up. But you still continue, hoping that he won't tease you for it.

"Hajime said that I need to go on a date," you say. It's the way he keeps eye contact with you that makes you squirm in your place. You don't miss how his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his smile faltering for a short second.

"A... date?" He slowly repeats your words, as if he was checking that he got it correctly. You nod carefully, observing his reaction to see if he is about to burst out in laughter—and much to your surprise, he does not.

"Like... a date with Iwa-chan?" His eyes drop to the two dresses in your hands. It seems like he only noticed the fabrics in your hands now, and his face instantly turns blank.

"And... you want fashion advice from me? For your date with my best friend?"

"It's not with Hajime! It's with a friend of his—he said he knows him from work and that he plays volleyball too. He also joked that both of you play the same position, and that he is a former—"

You stop rambling when Oikawa abruptly stands up, his phone tightly clutched into his hand, and his jaw clenching.

You know that your cheeks are probably coated in a faint pinkish hue, quite embarrassed about the whole situation, but he doesn't seem to notice that. His eyes are solely focused on the ground, his body motionless for a few moments. It takes him a few seconds before he raises his gaze again, suddenly sporting a smile that you have never seen on him in real life before, but only in countless interviews. It's his practiced professional smile.

He looks at you as he would look at one of those reporters who would ask him about his beauty products after he literally won the World Cup.

"It's fine. No need to tell me more. Enjoy." His tone matches his expression, and you know instantly that something is off. Very much so.

"What's wrong with you, Tooru? Shouldn't you congratulate me for finally having a date?" You frown, and your fingers clench into the fabric of the dress that you're still holding in your hands, your knuckles turning white from the pressure already.

"Why should I? Y/n..." His hand runs carelessly through his hair, and God, you can't help but admire him for a second when his biceps flex under the loose white shirt that he's wearing. However, your attention quickly returns to the conversation. He suddenly looks at you, a shattered expression on his face, the professional tone gone as quickly as he had put on the facade.

"Y/n, can't you see that I love you?" His words are accompanied by glossy eyes, a sight that almost breaks your heart - as well as the meaning of his words when it finally hits you.

He... Oikawa... Oikawa loves you.

"You...just..."

"No. Don't." He raises his hands to stop you from talking, a defeated and tired expression on his face. "I didn't mean to say that. I don't want to put you in an uncomfortable position. Forget it. I'll leave."

Despite being a very observant man, you can tell that Oikawa didn't think this through and acted on instinct. He needs to squeeze through you in the doorframe to get to his room, and that would undoubtedly be very awkward for the two of you. It takes him exactly seven steps to reach you, his gaze avoiding yours as much as he can while he tries to get past you without accidentally touching you - but it seems like the seven steps have been enough to help you recover from your initial shock, and you drop the dress in your hands to grab his arm.

"Please, Tooru, listen to me. Please. Don't go now." You let your hand wander down to his, and he quietly wraps his hand around yours - and at this very moment, you are insanely aware of everything - of the way he is standing so, so close to you, of how he is holding your hand tightly with his big, strong hand - of how his shoulders are slumped forward, of the sadness in his eyes, as well as regret - and the lump in your throat threatens to bring tears to your eyes too.

"I didn't know that you liked me in that way. I wouldn't have agreed to the date if I had known."

"You don't have to say that out of pity. Am I that pathetic right now?" The hurt in his eyes is barely concealed, and it surely breaks something inside of you to see him like that. To see your cheerful and easy-going Tooru broken and self-conscious - and that because of you? When he literally has everything he could ever wish for-

"You are a world-known star, Tooru. You have the contact numbers of countless supermodels, you get invited to every single hot party, and you-"

"Wait, wait, I don't have the number of any model saved. I don't think I even have a single number of a woman in my phone - besides my mum and sister. And my manager. And also Shoyo's manager friend from high school- okay, I do have some women's numbers on my phone, but that's not the point. I'm not interested in any of them in that way. I'm used to focusing on one thing at a time - the ball when I'm playing, my goal... and...." His eyes stay glued to yours, the implication of his words clear. He has been focused on you only. No other person. Just you.

The honesty in his eyes makes your knees weak, and you feel like falling any second - but you're pretty sure that he would manage to catch you in that unlikely scenario thanks to his crazy reflexes and observing skills.

"I... Tooru - I," your breathing is erratic, your mind failing at voicing your feelings right now - but that's when you think action might help.

The bravery that suddenly rushes through you is probably rooted in the fact that Oikawa Tooru just confessed his feelings to you - and you let go of his hand, noticing how his eyes harden at the action and how his body makes an attempt to turn - and at that moment, it feels like one of his descriptions of how it feels when he's playing volleyball. Everything seems to be in slow motion - when you bring your hands to his shoulders, feel the muscles and stability that he exudes and then how his expression changes to a surprised and overwhelmed one, and then you basically jump into his face, taking one last deep breath before you press your lips against his. Your hands subconsciously claw into his collar, your movements stiff and awkward, your body not fully knowing what to do - but it takes Oikawa just the fraction of a second to bury a hand in your hair and to turn the kiss into a soft connection of your lips.

His arm wraps around your back and pulls you closer, so much closer, his lips against yours moving smoothly and gentle, causing a warmth to rush through your body - you feel electrified, warm, loved, and all because of the man right in front of you.

It feels like forever, but also too short when he finally pulls back. Oikawa exhales slowly and opens his eyes - and your knees suddenly feel like pudding when you notice the loving expression on his face that you're probably mirroring in more or less the same way.

"I'll tell Hajime that I lost my heart to another setter." You finally break the silence, and you notice that your hands still rest on his shoulders, but you have no intention of moving them away.

Oikawa grins at your words and swiftly tilts his face to press a quick peck to your lips that sends tingles through your whole body. You could definitely get used to this.

"Too bad for Tobio-kun." You raise your eyebrows at his words-

"How did you know his name?" You're convinced that someone like Oikawa knows a few setters, but still...

Oikawa just playfully rolls his eyes and scoffs before he answers.

"I'm sure Iwa-chan chose him to get a reaction of me. But I don't think that he is open to a relationship right now, he only focuses on his career."

"But aren't you the same?"

"Me? No."

He smiles- an honest and sincere smile- a smile that you adore so so much-

"I only focus on what I love- and that means you."

[aquaquadrant]

I just realized that in Beef's card game, Tango's rare card is classified as a Farm type. (looks at Hels to Pay) ...he sure is a farm type alright, but I'm not sure he'll take it too great.

(au where tango was actually around to draw his card values)

“this is your card, the common tango card.” beef stops in front of the card wall.

tango’s jaw drops. “oh, look at this! that’s so good!” he gushes, eyes wide with amazement. “look at me! with the- and the- ahh! it’s perfect!”

beef grins, quite pleased at tango’s reaction. it’s always nice to have his hard work validated. “so, ‘thing-ificator’ and ‘hat trick’ are your moves,” he explains, “which are gonna have certain requirements based on what values you end up drawing.”

tango nods, grinning widely. “i approve, i approve very much. those names, oh, that’s amazing.”

“and over here, then, we’ve got the rare tango card.” beef leads tango over to the next wall, stopping in front of said card. “so we have ‘skadoodle’, and then ‘extra flee’, which is actually gonna be a special move.”

“very nice, very nice,” tango hums, eagerly scanning with card.

“and it’s a farm type, actually,” beef says, pointing at the sticky piston icon up in the corner.

tango’s face twitches.

it’s an odd thing to witness. for a split-second, it’s like his expression fractures, like the abrupt spiderweb cracks of shattered glass. his smile vanishes before returning just as quickly, almost leaving beef to wonder if he’s imagined it- but now there’s something forced about it, like tango’s smile is hanging on by the corners.

“a farm type, huh?” tango says after a moment, his tone suddenly impossible to read. “what, uh- what made you choose that?”

beef blinks. “cause you- you build a lot of mob farms.” he creases his brows together. “right? with the- with the iron golems and…?” oh gosh, hopefully he’s remembering correctly. there are so many redstoners on hermitcraft and beef can’t always catch up with them as often as he’d like, so maybe he’s misattributed something here-

recognition dawns in tango’s eyes. “oh. oh! mob farms, right, yeah.” he shakes his head, laughing. “for some reason i was picturing like, a quaint little wheat field, maybe a straw hat-”

“oh!” beef chuckles, relief sweeping through him. “oh yeah, no, sorry- i can see how that’d be confusing. i couldn’t think of a better name than farmer-”

“no, no, it’s okay,” tango assures him, though he won’t quite meet beef’s eyes. “so uh, can i- can i hit the buttons now?”

“yes, yes, of course!” beef turns away from the cards. “right this way.”

~*~

later, after tango’s chosen his values and bid (a very hasty) farewell, beef adds the numbers to his cards, and wonders.