#will fix any errors when i wake up

[grineerios]

Insomnia won and I got around to writing things down about my Operator and Drifter instead of just letting my thoughts do laps of my brain. So uh. Long-ass backstories, I guess?

I do have memory loss so I'm not entirely sure how canon-compliant this is, but I guess there's no harm with a few tweaks if I had fun doing it lmao

New War/Duviri Paradox/Main Story quests spoilers(?)

(I do not have names for these nerds, but I'll update whenever I figure that bit out. I've debated calling them Sigma (O) and Lavan (D) after railjack parts, but it just doesn't suit them. I guess only time will tell)

Both Operator and Drifter are He/They, and AroAce. I haven't figured out their gender(s) yet, because gender is hard.

THE DRIFTER

Drifter is a very different man when interacting with Duviri and the Operator, versus everyone else. To most of the world, he's a stubborn individual with a streak of having a short temper. His seemingly obsessive need to have some kind of control can easily get on folks' nerves, making him a hard person to work with. Occasionally, though, one can see a small glimmer of the man behind the persona.

When it comes to Duviri, as well as with The Operator and other children, a laid-back, almost jovial man emerges. He has a very strong "what happens, happens" philosophy. When faced with adversity, he mocks it. When faced with hardship, he pushes through with a stiff upper lip. When faced with loss, he waves his hand dismissively.

But this isn't the full truth either.

In reality, The Drifter is an extremely anxious person with a desperate need to protect The Operator, especially after the events of The New War. This manifests as him flip-flopping between letting the Operator do what they want, and needing to control and have a say in everything the Operator does.

When in Duviri, this anxiety manifested slowly over time, starting with the Void's subconscious influence on Duviri. The landscape's shape was the first to change, next the sky turned to Void-like clouds, followed by the fracturing point- the Zariman itself appearing in the sky.

Up until this point, the Drifter was a mere side character in Duviri's story, a manifestation of an unimportant and uneventful life far away from the horrors of 10-0. Primarily, he was a Tammherd, moving flocks across Duviri's verdant islands, even as the Void's influence poked and prodded at the memories he'd repressed.

After the 10-0 appeared in the sky, however...

Everything changed. No longer could he pretend that things were well, that the Void-spirals didn't poke at his mind, that the Void-forsaken ship wasn't real, that Duviri was all he'd ever known.

As his anxiety grew, Dominus Thrax became more and more maniacal, pushing new laws and standards that began crushing at Drifter's soul and personality, hardening him into apathy after being hunted again and again for seemingly infinity.

Long forgotten were the days of falling asleep under the stars, having nothing but a Tamm for a pillow- no, now his days were split between the void-contaminated Zariman and being hunted and executed by Thrax. The songs of Void Angels and the scream of arrows and blades set the soundtrack for his life, replacing the shawzin music he'd formerly enjoyed playing.

No matter how Thrax decided to execute him that day, he'd always wake up, lost in the world foreign to him of the Zariman, a horrifying feeling tugging at his mind as he wandered the halls, confused and lost. But.. he'd always find his way back to Duviri. Through a vent, a door, a mirror, or a broken screen- it didn't matter. He always found his way back into his personal hell away from hell, doomed to live in his damned loop forever.

On one of these loops, before Teshin beats into their thick skull that yes, you can just leave this situation dumbass, while stuck in the Zariman, he was injured by either a void-touched item or a Void Angel. Throughout subsequent spirals, void crystals began to grow from the wound. And it hurt like a bitch. If he'd ever let you look at the wound- or the scar, as it presents itself in the Origin System, you might faintly see the curled spikes, if you squinted, as they're mysteriously mostly invisible when exposed to direct and indirect sunlight. Under artificial light, they're slightly more visible, but the Drifter intentionally wears clothes with baggy sleeves so as not to worry The Operator. Regardless of where he is, undercroft or origin system alike, the crystals feel like it buries itself deeper and deeper into his flesh when he uses transference.

We all know how the story ends. With the help of Teshin, the Drifter finally Gets A Fucking Grip On Things and is able to voluntarily exit and enter Duviri at their leisure. The only real difference is that instead of Lotus' hand granting the Drifter Transference, it's his void injury that allows for weak Transference within the Undercroft. He must make physical contact with a Warframe to transfer into it, even after his Void abilities are strengthened in the New War.

THE BEFORE

Before the void-jump incident, and before Eternalism made the Operator and the Drifter, there was the Before.

The Before was an isolated and distractable child. He didn't do well at school, often losing himself in thought and awe over whatever was outside the nearest window. His parents were botanists and agricultural specialists who helped to tend to and monitor the Zariman's agricultural biomes. Sometimes, much to his parents' frustration, he'd skip school to watch them work. They often would joke that they wished he'd pick a normal activity to skip school over, like Lunaro.

Although he did eventually pick up Lunaro and tried to learn shawzin, he never was far from the agri-zones if he could help it. There was something that pushed away his fears. Besides, if these plants could grow here, then who was to say he couldn't thrive cultivating life in Tau?

Aaaaand then the void jump incident happened.

Of course he wasn't paying attention when it happened. He was wayy too distracted by all the amazing colors in Saturn's rings. Melica's words all sounded like the same stuff he'd hear her say after day. Blah blah blah Entrati this Golden Masters that and who could forget the Seven? Drivel. Meaningless drivel. It mattered a lot to the adults but not to him at all.

The jump hit him like a truck, when the force knocked him out of his seat, and when beautiful Saturn was replaced with the eerie, wispy void. That's when he felt fear nag at him.

In the time before Wally made their deal with him, he somehow managed to get a grip on his emotions and channeled that fear into taking control of the situation, despite shaking the entire time he was checking in on folks. He buried his emotions, focusing on the new drive in his heart, to protect the others. Even if he was a little... Blunt. Or rude. Or aggressive about the whole thing. No matter how hard you try to hide intense emotions, they'll bubble out somehow, and I doubt the Void helped with that very much. But, his practical and stubborn mind kept most of the kids he was with safe- until the Orokin dubbed them Tenno for the Operator, or until he decided to go search for more survivors alone in the Zariman, wandering the vents while the others were found and taken away; Left behind, becoming the Drifter.

I don't think the Drifter ever forgave himself for letting that happen. Even if it was because Wally twisted words.

THE OPERATOR

In the present, the Operator is less angry, and less socially isolated than the Drifter. What they lack in comparison to the Drifter's temper and isolationist tendencies, they make up for in flippancy and spite.

He took well to transference, and his training as a Tenno under the Orokin empire gave him a sense of purpose. He'd protected his kind on board the Zariman, and he'd continue to protect them even now. With the help of his warframe, a Volt, he'd stand by their sides, and ensure everyone made it out alive. They were his Tenno fellows. His Clan.

As time went on though, his faith in the Orokin evaporated, as he saw how little they actually cared about his friends and himself. Vowing to never trust Orokin word again, he relished the Night of Naga Drums, when he finally got to strike back at the Orokin for their foul play.

His distrust of the Orokin carried over from Margulis to the Lotus, instead, looking up to the Dax remaining after the fall of the Orokin empire, knowing that they too had likely been manipulated and used by their Golden Masters.

Even knowing he'd been hurt and exploited by the Orokin, he had (and still has) a hard time seeing himself as anything but an Orokin weapon, the confusion and intensity of which only became more overwhelming after awakening from the Second Dream.

Things only got worse from there, really. His distrust of Lotus burned into outright hatred and he isolated himself from his fellow Tenno, occasionally doing mercenary work for syndicates like the Arbiters of Hexis and Steel Meridian. What purpose the Lotus had offered, he rejected, leaving him with a void in his life. Depression set in, and all he could do was wait for purpose to find him.

THE PRESENT

(My memory is fuzzy on details of The New War, so I'll need to replay it before getting into specifics about what Drifter and Operator were doing at the time. but.)

In the aftermath of the New War, the Operator has brought himself to understand that Lotus too was manipulated by Orokin power. This doesn't completely nullify his feelings, but does certainly mellow them out a bit more, to the point that he willingly participates in Tenno culture once more.

Drifter and Operator are working together, although Drifter insists on doing most Tenno missions, saying that the Operator should "catch up on being a kid" while they have the chance. This of course, does not help the Operator who desperately needs to get out and do things, as they're prone to going stir-crazy if they can't do anything for even short periods of time.

Despite having the transference circuits damaged in the Old War, the Operator almost exclusively uses his Volt, who's probably the closest thing he has to a best friend post-New War.

In the times when he chooses to, or is forced to use transference, the Drifter uses primarily an Oberon, followed closely by a Kullervo and Excalibur Umbra, the latter being an ideal choice as he doesn't require transference to be useful.

TL;DR

My Drifter is typically stoic with a hotheaded streak and a tendency for intimidation as the solution to problems. This, of course, is all fueled by a desperate need to protect people, and keep the Operator above all, safe. He's kind at heart, but it's a side rarely seen by anyone other than children or animals.

My Operator is an immature ball of spite, nigh-dependent on other people for his purpose in life. He shares Drifter's anger and aggression, but it's tempered with a strong sense of justice. He's deeply bonded to his Warframe, and the two are nigh-inseparable. Has an insatiable thirst for action, and is high-energy.

Both of them desperately need therapy and ADHD meds.

[vanteguccir]

Left alone | Matt Sturniolo | part 2

Matt Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where the weight of Matt's actions gets the best of him, and he tries everything to receive his girl's forgiveness.

Warning: Fighting, cursing, crying, smut (mdni), slight praise kink. Angst with a happy ending!

Requested?: Yes, by anons and @ivoncheetooo1239

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Part 1

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Matt sighed deeply as he parked his car at an abandoned gas station. He closed his eyes tightly as his index finger and thumb pinched the bridge of his own nose. His body was completely tense, as if someone had thrown a sack of potatoes over his shoulders and hadn't removed it until now.

The boy reopened his eyes seconds later, looking vacantly at the pitch black surrounding him before seeing out of the corner of his eye his phone screen light up for the thousandth time, alerting him of a new notification. He picked up the device, unlocking it and scrolling through the notifications bar.

His heart seemed to stop pumping blood to his body instantly, his face taking on a pale color as he saw more than 20 new messages and thousands of missed voice calls coming from Chris.

His brain seemed to go on red alert as his mind screamed Y/N's name, and then he finally revisited the memory of what he did to his own girlfriend just over an hour ago, the smoky fog finally dissipating from behind his eyes.

Matt felt like his chest was burning while his heart accelerated strongly. His arms momentarily lost strength, almost dropping his phone.

His eyes flicked through the messages before tossing the device onto the passenger seat, turning the key in the ignition and driving back.

He stepped on the accelerator with full force, exceeding all permitted limits and passing all red lights. He knew he would wake up the next day with a new ticket - or several -, but that was his last concern at that moment.

His orbs were fixed on the road, his brow furrowed as his mind rattled off the words he threw at his girl, his precious girl. If he could, Matt would go back in time right then and there, so he wouldn't break his promise to never hurt and abandon her.

Matt turned his steering wheel abruptly when their house appeared on his eyesight, slamming the break in front of the garage door, wasting no time in parking correctly. His hands quickly unlocked the doors, throwing his body out of the driver's seat and slamming it behind him, the dull thud echoing through the lonely night.

The boy's hands shook as he fumbled for the front door key, cursing under his breath each time it seemed to slip through his fingers.

Finally, after a few long seconds, he was able to open it, closing it slowly so as not to wake Nick, not wanting to involve another person in his huge mistake.

His steps were quick down the stairs, stopping in front of the familiar white door. The boy took a deep breath before turning the handle, pushing it slightly.

Matt's eyes met Y/N quickly, pain hitting his heart like a stake at seeing her in such a vulnerable state; Her eyes - despite being closed - were swollen and her face was wet from the last tears she shed before falling asleep.

A rude sound caught his attention, his gaze meeting Chris's, who stood up from his chair abruptly. His eyes held a fury that Matt didn't remember ever seeing before, while his shoulders were tense with nervousness.

Before Matt could utter a word, Chris pulled the collar of his shirt, bringing his face closer to his own. Chris's nostrils were flared from his heavy breathing, hitting Matt's face.

"If Jimmy was here, you'd be dead. That's no way to treat a woman." Chris rasped, his voice low but full of anger. "Fix your mistakes, or I'll end you."

He pulled away, roughly letting go of Matt's shirt, watching him with his right eyebrow raised and crossed arms, waiting for his next move.

Matt swallowed hard, biting his bottom lip hard, feeling the sensation of crying rise through his veins. He quickly turned his back on Chris, walking over to his brother's bed with tentative steps.

His hands lightly pulled the duvet down, exposing the fragile body covered in the pink sweatshirt set. Matt hooked his arms under Y/N's neck and knees, pulling her up carefully, watching her eyes move beneath her eyelids quickly. A sign of a nightmare.

Matt hugged her closer to his body, walking past his brother with his head down in shame, leaving the room and going up the stairs slowly, not wanting to wake her with every movement of each step.

Upon arriving in their respective bedroom, the boy took her to the bed, placing her body gently on the soft mattress.

"M-Matty?" The fragile voice echoed like lightning in Matt's chest.

Matt sighed, closing his eyes tightly as he crouched down, getting into a squatting position. The boy rested his arms on the mattress, bringing his face slightly closer to hers, watching her eyes slowly open.

"You came back. I thought you left me." Y/N whispered, her lips trembling as her eyes filled with fresh tears. "Would you really leave me?"

Matt felt his heart being crushed by her words, his cheeks burning, as if he had been slapped. He swallowed hard, mentally calling himself every worst name possible.

"No, no, no, baby! I would never leave you-" He shook his head repeatedly, his brow furrowing in such a way that he was sure it would leave marks.

You already did.

"But... You said you'd stay forever, and then you left me out in the cold, alone." A sob escaped Y/N's lips, her weak body shaking incessantly. "What did I do? Why would you do that to me?"

Matt felt his own eyes filling with tears, blinking them quickly to ward off the tears. The boy bent over his girl, hugging her head gently, stroking her hair with his fingers.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, my love. I fucked up. Badly." An ugly sob escaped Matt's throat, cutting off his sentence. He closed his eyes tightly, the taste of his tears touching his tongue. "I love you so much, I'm so fucking sorry. I know that this doesn't change my actions, and trying to find a plausible explanation for why I acted that way won't erase what I did." His eyes travel across Y/N's features, seeing an ocean of hurt in her eyes. "If I could, I would go back and remake our day all over again."

He paused momentarily, swallowing hard.

"All the work we are getting with the 6 million and the new things on the channel has taken a toll on me. I missed you so much, Y/N, you have to believe me. I don't know what's gotten into me, I just got so upset because I wasn't seeing you as much as before. God, I was so selfish." Matt shook his head, biting his bottom lip hard. "I love you, and I never want to hurt you, not again. I was on the wrong, I fucked up with you."

His hands shook as they found her cheeks, caressing the wet skin.

"I'm so sorry." His voice now was a mere whisper, pain present in his tone.

"I-I understand. I also made a mistake, I should have warned you that I had to work overtime and... Give you space, I know I can be a lot sometimes. I never wanted you to come pick me up out of pity or obligation-"

Matt shook his head repeatedly, silencing her by guiding her head slightly so that she looked him in the eyes. His fingers working to brush the loose hair from her face.

"Don't say that. Please. You did nothing wrong. I love taking care of you as I take you to work and pick you up... It was my fault. I was an asshole, a terrible boyfriend, I- fuck..." He presses his lips into a thin line, stopping the sob that was about to come out. "I left you alone, what the hell was I thinking?"

"It's okay." Y/N whispers, lowering her eyes to the mattress, feeling her chest burn in pain from seeing him so distressed.

"Shh, no. It isn't okay." Matt denies it, his fingers touching Y/N's chin lightly, forcing her to look at him again. "I don't fucking deserve your forgiveness." He was pleading with his eyes for her to understand that she was not the one to be blamed.

Y/N nods while sniffling, closing her eyes as she feels her fingers caress her face as if she were made of porcelain.

"I love you. So much." Matt says. His hands cup her face, bringing his own closer, touching their noses in an eskimo kiss. "I love you. I love you. I love you." He repeated it like a mantra, sighing when he felt his girlfriend's ragged breaths so close to his. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Fuck, baby, I'm so sorry."

Their faces were equally wet with tears.

"It's okay, I'll forgive you at some point. Just... Don't ever do it again. Please." Y/N plead in a vulnerable whisper, half opening her eyes, before closing them again as she feels Matt's lips caress hers.

"Never, I'll never do anything like that again. I promise. I'll take care of you forever." He assured, nodding his head. "What can I do? How... What can I do to make you forgive me?" His tone was full of despair.

Y/N pondered momentarily, her heart beating heavily in her chest. Her hands snaked across the duvet until they reached Matt's wrists, wrapping her fingers gently around them. She pushed her head forward, lightly bumping her nose against his, touching their lips almost imperceptibly.

"Make love with me. Show me how sorry you are. Show me how much you love me, Matt. Please." She begged softly, her eyelashes caressing her cheeks as her eyelids fluttered, hiding her orbs.

Matt felt his breathing stop, his mind seeming to process what she asked. He curved his spine higher up the mattress, sealing his lips on Y/N's quickly, before pulling away, but not enough to lose the warmth of his face against his own.

"Are you sure? I don't want to take advantage of your vulnerability." His tone, despite being anxious, had hints of hesitation, not wanting to invade his girl's space after such a traumatic event.

"Please, Matty. I need to feel you. I need you to love me." Thick tears rolled down Y/N's cheeks, her tone full of anguish and lust, a strange mix, but one that matched perfectly at that moment.

Matt didn't blink, pushing himself up off the floor before kneeling on the mattress, helping Y/N lift her upper body.

He rested his right hand on the bed while his left one gently held his girl's jaw, as if she was made of glass and could break at any moment.

The boy brought his face closer to hers again, taking her lips in an intense kiss. His blue eyes closed at the sensation, his warm tongue caressing Y/N's bottom lip, asking for entry, which was quickly granted.

Their tongues started a beautiful dance, the taste of tears mixed with saliva. Whimpers escaped Y/N's throat, her hands flying to the back of Matt's neck, lightly tugging at the curly strands.

Matt moved nimbly onto the duvet, kneeling between his girl's legs and using both of his hands to guide her down, squeezing the spot below her breasts, just above her ribs, so that her back lay against the mattress again.

He bent his torso over Y/N's chest, keeping his weight supported on his right hand while his left one caressed her cheek, never once breaking the kiss.

Y/N snaked her hands around Matt's shoulders, squeezing the tense muscles caused by his position, desperate for contact.

Her fingers went down her boyfriend's abdomen like warm water, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up slowly. Matt broke the kiss for a second, allowing her to pull the piece of clothing off his body.

His large hands worked on ripping off Y/N's hoodie gently, admiring every bit of her exposed skin, and mentally thanking her for being braless.

He dropped the heavy piece to the floor, lowering his spine again and sealing her lips, their tongues now in a slower pace, pain giving way to love.

Matt ran his right hand down Y/N's breasts, caressing her nipples just momentarily, before moving further down, trailing his fingertips across her stomach and navel, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

He touched the waistband of her sweatpants lightly, breaking the kiss momentarily to draw in air, which filled his lungs like water on dry ground. His eyes wandered over the girl's hopeful expression, taking that as a go-ahead.

Y/N lifted her head from the mattress slightly, pressing their mouths together again, craving the contact.

Matt smiled against her sensitive lips, finally running his hand through the layers of clothes, moving down until he found Y/N's pleasure point.

His fingers rubbed circles around the already swollen clit, receiving nasal sighs from the girl below him, who raised her hips in search of more contact.

He took his fingers further down, slipping a finger between her folds, her wetness helping him to move better. He gathers a bit of it before slowly introducing two digits.

Matt pulled his lips away from Y/N, his blue eyes traveling over her features contorted in pleasure as she felt his long fingers going deep inside her. He felt like he could admire her like that forever; cheeks flushed from all the crying and pleasure, mouth slightly open - from where gasps and sighs escaped -, brow furrowed and eyes closed.

That was his private paradise.

"Matt, please." Her voice came out in a faint whisper, a silent plea for more.

The boy didn't take long, lifting himself onto the mattress to have greater access, dragging the sweatpants and panties down his girl's legs slowly, not wanting to hurt or rush her.

He removed his own pants and boxers, returning to his initial position between his girlfriend's legs. Matt lowered his torso, spreading small, wet seals across her belly toward her breasts.

His hands gently held Y/N's heels, pushing them so that she bent her knees and placed the soles of her feet on the mattress, opening her legs wider.

A breathy moan escaped the girl's lips as Matt gently kissed one of her nipples, the slightly chilled air of the room hitting the saliva on her hot skin, goosebumps rising through her body as a result.

"Is it good, baby? I'm making you feel good, hm?" Matt questions knowingly. "Y'so pretty. Even when you cry. My pretty girl."

He stroked the skin between the valley of her breasts with the tip of his nose, before moving up further, managing to see Y/N nod her head repeatedly in response, her cheeks wet from her tears.

Matt pressed his forehead to hers, their heavy breaths mixing as he looked down momentarily, taking his cock in his right hand, pumping it a few times, a wince escaping his lips at the sensation.

His blue eyes met hers, silently asking if he could continue. In response, Y/N's right hand snaked up his torso towards the small of his back, pressing down lightly, while her left hand squeezed the biceps of his occupied one.

Matt lowered his hips, brushing his red tip between her folds. He moved his hips gently, slowly pushing into her. A unison moan escaped both of their lips, Y/N closing her eyes tightly at the feeling of invasion while Matt kept his open, taking note of her every expression.

The boy eventually started picking up his pace, going with slow and shallow thrusts, sighs escaping his mouth, accompanied by breathy moans from Y/N.

"Matt- Oh." Her mouth opened in a perfect O as she felt Matt hit a specific spot inside her that made her see stars. "D-don't stop. Please."

"I won't, my love. I'll never let you go. Never again." Matt promised, his hips moving to deepen his thrusts.

Tears fell from Y/N's eyes due to the overwhelming sensations, the weight of the previous events still hurting in her heart, mixing with the immense pleasure that the boy was presenting her.

Matt sealed each of her tears with his lips, whispering sweet nothings and little apologies, along with huge declarations of love.

A sob escaped Y/N's mouth, her teeth working to clamp down on her lower lip in an attempt to stop the loud, ugly sounds from keep escaping.

"Hey, hey, sweet girl. I'm here for you. You're so important, the best girl out there. I love you so much... M'so sorry." He murmured against her lips lightly, his own heart aching with each tear that fell her pretty eyes. "Do you want me to stop, sweetheart?"

"N-no, please. I need you, I need to feel you." Y/N responded desperately, shaking her head, lifting her head off the mattress and sealing their lips in a messy kiss.

"It's okay, it's alright." Matt responded gently against her mouth. "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

His movements never stopped, Matt alternated the rhythm between slow and deep, reaching places inside Y/N never reached before, feeling her hot, spongy walls pressing him into a delicious tightness.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck." Y/N moaned against Matt's chin, their faces moving messily against each other from the now faster movements. "P-please." She cried.

"I love you so much, so fucking much." Matt panted back, fucking her with a little more urgency, chasing her and his own orgasm.

It didn't take more than five thrusts, and Y/N felt her entire body tremble, her legs instinctively wanting to close - being blocked by Matt's hips - while her belly contracted. Her chest rose slightly from the mattress as her spine arched from the intense pleasure that hit her.

Her eyes saw little stars as she rolled them tightly, Matt's name escaping her lips like a mantra.

The sight and feeling of his girl's body shaking against his brought Matt's orgasm to the surface, hitting him hard. A moan escaped his throat as he buried himself deep inside her pussy, feeling his cock throbbing against the walls that seemed to want to crush him.

Matt pressed his nose against Y/N's cheek, breathing in her scent as he felt the sensations of his orgasm slowly subside.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." Y/N whispered, still in a post-orgasm trance, her eyes closed and her breathing ragged, her legs still having small spasms.

Matt kept his eyes fixed on her face, watching her come down slowly, rubbing his thumbs on her hipbones to ground her.

"Y'with me, babe? S'all for you, my love. Always." Matt slurred, pressing his lips against his girl's warm, flushed cheek. His left hand went up her body to her face, wiping away the traces of tears. "I'm so sorry, petal." He asked again, his chest still aching.

"S'okay, I forgive you." She nodded, kissing his left shoulder lightly, her eyes heavy with sleep from exhaustion and excessive crying.

"I'm going to fill the bathtub and give you a relaxing bath, okay? M'gonna take care of you, sweet girl." Matt spoke softly, moving his hips slowly, taking his cock out of her, receiving a small sound of discomfort in response. "Shh. I know baby, I know." He whispered. "I'm gonna grab some snacks from the kitchen, so you can eat while I wash your body. How does that sound, pretty girl? Hm?"

"S'good. Please." Her voice came out in an almost incomprehensible whisper, her eyelids serving as curtains for her heavy eyes. She could feel her head floaty and her heart beating in a rhythmic rhythm, her skin warm with euphoria.

Matt sealed her forehead with his lips for long seconds, closing his eyes and breathing in the natural scent of Y/N's skin.

He still felt the guilt eating him alive, promising himself he would never again let his emotions get the best of him. He would take care of her, his best girl.

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My asks are always open. Feel free to send requests or anything at all 🩷💋

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

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[silentcryracha]

❍ ‗ I know how to make you sleep (Bang Chan) ‗ ❍

Pairings : Chan x gn reader

Genre/warnings : fluff, mentions of feeling numb but nothing serious,and soft smut? If that's a thing. Still exclusively 18+

Summary : After an overwhelming day outside, in the moment in which you should relax and rest, you can't sleep. Your loving boyfriend however, will help you get there.

Word count : 1.4k

A/n : This one was a chill one, just for comfort I guess? I'm sure many of you can relate to these type of feelings, but remember that sometimes shitty days happen for no reason at all, and that's okay. Just take care of yourselves <;3

ps: There could be errors. Do NOT repost on other socials. Leave feedback if you feel like it, otherwise enjoy! ♡︎

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It was a weird day, that's for sure. In the morning you woke up as usual, made some breakfast, washed up then got dressed, and all that drill. Your boyfriend finally had a few days days of break from work and was still sleeping like a rock when your alarm rang.

You quickly turned it off and made sure to be as quiet as possible while waking up, even almost blindly pick out the clothes to wear, just because you didn't want to open the blinds or turn on any light in fear of disturbing his sleep.

Seeing Chan sleeping so peacefully and for a full night wasn't the most common thing, especially in very busy weeks like the ones that he just had. To be fair he did ask you to wake him up so that he could have breakfast with you and spend some time together before you left for work, but you still decided to not do it. He needed it and you truly didn't mind, if anything, it made you happy.

The reason for it to be a 'weird day' didn't have anything to do with you saying goodbye to your boyfriend or not, though, It was just one of those days in which you felt quite unmotivated, your work felt robotic and even the smallest human interactions bothered you for some reason.

Chan did wake up in the end though, quite a few hours after you had left, and texted you just saying how he would've liked to kiss you goodbye before you left, but also thanked you for letting him rest. That was the only thing that forced a small smile out of you and made you just slightly less numb. Other than that, you did truly feel like ten minutes were ten hours.

As soon as the work day came to and end you felt relieved, thinking that maybe the environment could've been the issue. So you came home, got welcomed with a kiss and a simple dinner by your boyfriend and then comfortably watched some tv with him before eventually going to sleep. Even after all that, you still felt that uneasy feeling in your stomach that wouldn't go away.

You felt quite frustrated, and a little bit disappointed. You really thought that coming home to the person that you love the most, in your lovely home, would maybe fix it? You definitely felt way better than when you were outside, but still it wasn't quite enough.

Your boyfriend did notice of course, but decided to not mention it, giving you a little space. He knew for sure that there was nothing wrong between you two or anything else in your lives recently, so he thought that maybe you would have slept it off. But that turned out to be another issue when you realized that even after a couple of hours after you layed in bed, snuggled to his chest under the covers, your eyes were still not closing.

You did try, for sure. But without success. After a while you started to feel very hot, so you gently removed yourself from Chan's warm body and then also pulled aside the covers. You laid on your back with your forearm covering your eyes, slowly developing a headache. Then you got cold again, so you pulled the covers back up. But then again you got thirsty, so you quietly huffed and got out of bed, walking to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water.

Your frustration just grew as the time passed and you still couldn't figure out what was wrong with you. You thought about it, about something anything. Work? Love? Health? A random news that you read? Anything. Everything was just fine, so why weren't you?

After a while you just gave up and went back to the bedroom, figuring that if anything at some point you would've just passed out from exhaustion. But as you stepped back in, you saw that Chan had woken up and was sleepily waiting for you, his head propped up with one arm on the pillow.

He looked so cute with slightly squinty eyes, fluffy disheveled hair and that small sweet smile of his.

"Hi" his frame was partially illuminated by the moonlight peeking through the window blinds. You couldn't help but smile back a little, your head tilting to the side to mirror his.

"Hi, go back to sleep" you said, walking back to your side of the bed. He followed your movements with his gaze, immediately covering you with the sheets and pulling you to your side to face him.

"Wanna tell me what's wrong?" his thumb gently stroking up and down on your waist. You sighed softly, also placing your own hand on his side, suddenly feeling the need to touch him, almost as if to absorb some comfort.

"I don't know, that's the thing. I've just been feeling very numb, very uneasy, very... meh." you spoke, trying your best to voice out that odd feeling that has been following you throughout the day. He hummed softly, now stroking your side with his whole hand.

"It's okay, it happens sometimes. But until it's not due to any specific issue, then it's gonna pass." he replied, his brown eyes looking into yours "Do you need to cry a little?"

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head, "No, I truly just need to sleep it out. But I can't relax." you whined, nuzzling your face into the pillow in protest. He chuckled at your actions, then going silent for a few seconds.

After a while he gently pushed your side to make you lay on your back, his body sliding a little closer to yours, so that he was now towering over you. You looked up at him, slightly confused.

"I know how to make you sleep" he spoke lowly, making you shiver, words suddenly leaving you as you felt the mood change. He moved his gaze from your lips to your eyes, then down again. The hand that was previously on your waist started ti roam around a bit, caressing your stomach, then belly. You started to breathe a little deeper, anticipating his actions.

He felt of course and a faint smirk appeared on his face. His hand got inside your pants and started to touch you through the underwear. A small moan left your mouth, your eyes closing.

"Chan..." your voice trembling. He extended his other arm above your head, his fingers caressing your hair while he leaned his face close to yours, his nose nuzzling your cheek.

"Just relax, baby" he whispered, his tone surprisingly sweet despite the contrasting actions of his hand on you. You felt yourself getting wet and he must've felt it too, because after a few minutes of teasing he finally slid his hand inside your underwear and started to touch you directly. His rhytms was steady, almost torturing, but you did feel more pressure on you.

Your own hand went up to grab his clothed arm, suddenly feeling the need to hold on to something. Your breaths were also starting to be a little closer to each other, a few whines escaping your mouth. This slow torture must've been working though, because you were definitely starting to feel your eyes heavy.

"Baby, p-please..." you whined, tilting your chin up to try and kiss him. Your mind was so dizzy though that you just ended up nuzzling him, your eyes not even being able to stay open anymore. He did it for you, gently pressing his lips to yours, starting a slow and lazy kiss.

His fingers gradually started to quicken but never in a rough manner, just enough to help you build up to your release. Your grip on his arm tightened, moaning into his mouth.

"It's okay, baby...let go for me" his voice deep and comforting. He went back to kissing you while gving the last few strokes that finally made you reach your orgasm.

Your body spasmed slightly, your legs closing in on his hand that was still moving just enough to help you come down.

"Good baby.." he whispered, "Did so well for me" he kept praising you sweetly, while gently retreating his hand from your panties. He wiped his fingers on his shirt, not really caring at that point. When he did look up to check on you though, you had already fallen asleep. A relaxed expression on your beautiful face, eyes closed, mouth slightly agape in complete relaxation.

He smiled at you and softly kissed your temple before settling comfortably on his side, one arm draped around your torso and the other still behind your head. He closed his eyes and fell asleep pretty quickly again, finally satisfied and peaceful now that he knew that you were okay.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[gaysindistress]

Things that I feel like would happen when you’re in a relationship with Simon Riley trauma edition

Warnings: mentions of trauma and relating effects

Simon Riley masterlist

Plain and simple, Simon Riley has trauma. He’s seen and done some unspeakable things. He’s met the grim reaper and made it beg for forgiveness as he clawed his way back to this plane of existence. He’s looked God in the face and said “fuck your plan. I’m doing things my way.”

With that comes consequences.

He has terrible nightmares most nights where he wakes up with a raw heart and covered in sweat. His throat hurts from the screaming he must have been doing while he dreamt about his family’s murders. His eyes are sore from the tears he shed when he relived being buried alive. His body aches from being in fight or flight for so long. He hurts everywhere all of the time. Most nights he can’t sleep in bed. Instead he’ll lay on the floor or the couch because it’s uncomfortable but it’s what he’s used to. He only uses a thin blanket and maybe an old pillow that’s basically cardboard. Nothing can be touching him because he immediately wakes up. No one can walk past him or the room he’s sleeping in without his eyes snapping open. He has to face the door when he sits down because he needs to be able to see if anything happens. He’s concealed carrying at all times because he feels exposed without the familiar weight of a weapon at his hip.

Loud noises and crowded places are a big fuck no. Any loud bang causes him to flinch and his eyes to twitch. Crowds leave too much room for error. When he’s with you, he will not be out into a position where he can’t protect you. If that means you don’t go to concerts or clubbing so be it.

Your blood will not stain his hands.

Physical touch is difficult for him. He has to work his way up to it. It starts with small gestures like brushing his hand against yours when you’re walking or when you’re siting down. It eventually goes to holding your fingers (not your whole hand) and gripping your knee when he’s driving. After some time he’s able to keep his hand on the small of your back while also kissing the top of your head. However do not ask this man to kiss you in when you’re around the others. He will spontaneously combust at the mere thought of them seeing him be Simon and not Ghost.

He tries therapy but at a certain point, it doesn’t seem to help. Consistency is key and he doesn’t exactly have that with his job. The other issue is that therapy is not a cure. It is a managing tool. It will not ‘fix’ whatever you feel is broken. It can help repair what needs to be mended and it’s done that for Simon. He’s repaired all that he can but the long term effects of his trauma are here to stay. He’s not going to like going out. He’s not going to be comfortable with touch. His sleeping habits will be different until he finally shuffles off this mortal coil. He’s going to be harsh and abrasive to most. He’s going to be Ghost most of the time.

He’s going to be all that is he now because it’s who he is…and you love him for it.

[luvjunie]

— Unforgettable ( 4 )

part one • part two • part three • part four • part five

pairing: e-1610!miles x fem!reader

contains: angst/conflict (y’all knew it was comin), language, miles being a dunce, gwen and her awkwardness

summary: a bump in with a certain boy at the bodega threatens to ruin your previously perfect afternoon until he offers to fix it. you assumed things would end there, and then you ran into him again. wc: 3,284

a/n: i held onto this for so long my apologies i had to find time to actually sit down and edit it fr fr 😭 i read this a gazillion times to the point i can recite it from memory so if you see any typos or grammar errors no you don’t. recap of part three is in small italics

prev | next

He wanted this. He wanted you.

But any chance for another sensical thought was interrupted when the impossible happened. ‘Impossible’ being the multi-layered hexagonal portal that suddenly opened up on his ceiling, and the blonde-haired, gap-toothed girl he thought he'd never see again, appearing with it. Bright and beaming down at him with a heart-halting grin, Miles felt his stomach drop as soon as she spoke.

"Miles!"

Shit.

. . .

Love tears down your walls and leaves you vulnerable in all aspects. The skin you didn't know you wore as a shield to protect you from the unexpected is shed in one swift layer because you don’t care what the unexpected is anymore. All the space that was left for worrying about what’s to come has been stolen to make room for the one who makes your heart flutter faster than you can blink.

Love is waking up in the morning, and before you’ve even wiped the lingering dream from your eyes, you find yourself rolling over in hopes of discovering a text from your favorite person—a blur of letters you’re barely able to make out, but it causes a smile to stretch across your face nonetheless.

It’s what has your thoughts drifting from your conscious at least five times a day, chin tucked in hand, eyes dreamy with the image of him playing over and over again in your mind, face melted into the stupidest grin you’ve ever been able to manifest. It leaves you yearning for him in ways you never imagined before, wanting to see into the places of his soul he’s hidden from the world and even the ones he loves most.

So if that’s love, what’s this feeling that you have now?

What follows closely behind love is the ugly shadow that trails on its heels like a sinking suspicion you can’t shake; the one that’s never acknowledged because things are just too good for you to be worried about all the cons that come with the pros. That biting feeling that often goes undetected until it’s discovered at the most inconvenient of times.

That feeling, the one you couldn’t put a name to before?

Foolish is how you felt right about now.

As you stood in the middle of a lively party for Miles’ father, who was soon to be police captain. It was bustling with excitement, people laughing and chopping it up in every corner, like you should’ve been right about now.

You’d been greeted by almost all of them upon arrival and even managed to run into Miles’ parents, but for some reason, you still had yet to say hello to the one who actually invited you. And you’d been made aware of the reason why when you’d looked up to find him laughing with a girl you’d never seen before, and she definitely wasn’t a cousin. You knew that because you’d met all of them by now in the time you’d spent searching for him.

Miles’ hands were animatedly flying through the air as he explained something to the girl that you couldn’t make out from this far away, and his eyes were lit up in a way you’d never seen them before. Slowly but surely, even though your mind tried to stop the thought from breaking through, you started to wonder if last night meant as much as you thought it did.

The mini-pep talk you’d given yourself to instill courage was immediately deemed insignificant the moment your feet pushed you to start on your way over to them, but still, you tried to ignore the deepening pit in your stomach. You usually prided yourself on being someone who never jumped to conclusions without having an inkling to stand on, but Miles was great at making things you never even knew about yourself come to the surface. Was this one of them?

Your stomach was bubbling with nerves; a sensation of anxiety washing over you. She was the complete opposite of your image, and it made you feel self-conscious about everything, as if you hadn't fallen in love with your reflection in the mirror just before you'd left home. You began to think about how fuzzy your braids were, how you should’ve taken them down last week and redid them like you’d planned instead of ditching that very plan to hang out with Miles instead.

Was your outfit appropriate enough for a family gathering? Maybe you should’ve worn something simpler. Did he like that little snort you always did when you laughed, or did he find it annoying like the last guy did? Maybe you should fix that.

All these questions did a terrible job of hiding what you were truly worried about.

Miles was so involved in his conversation that he didn’t take notice of you walking over. It must’ve slipped his mind that he told you to meet him here and that he would introduce you to his family. Instead, you were left to fend for yourself until his parents caught sight of you being handed a baby even they didn’t know the name of.

And by the stupidly shocked look he sported as you popped up in front of the both of them, it seemed as if he’d forgotten that he invited you in the first place.

As a reflex, you dipped your hands into the pockets of his coat and forged the nicest smile you could muster as your eyes wandered over to the girl.

“Hey Miles, who's this?”

“Oh! Uh, Y/n, this is Gwen-“ the girl suddenly shot him a look you couldn’t decipher, eyes widened in warning, and Miles instantly froze.

The hell was that?

“Gw-Gwaaanda...” he continued shakily after correcting himself, brows raised toward her in silent question. He then motioned back and forth between the two of you. “Gwanda, this is Y/n. My, uh… My…” Miles trailed off, your lips parted in anticipation, and it looked as if he’d suddenly lost his train of thought.

"Your?" You cocked your head at him the slightest, expectant eyes urging him to continue.

“My friend.”

Gwen stared at him incredulously. His oversized jacket stuck out like a sore thumb on you, but a physical hint wasn’t needed. She was able to guess who you were to him the moment you stepped out onto the roof. Or who you were supposed to be.

“Your friend?” Your brows furrowed when you repeated what he’d said in disbelief. You couldn't even tell if the look he’d given you was one of pity, or remorse.

“Wow,” you breathed a lifeless laugh, lashes fluttering to keep the tears at bay with a small nod. You’d never felt so embarrassed. Your throat had that burning sensation that was all too familiar—the one that feels as if your chest is caving in on itself with the weight of disappointment. Heartbreak, you think, is what they call it. You’ve never experienced it before, but you assumed this is what it must feel like.

Gwen shifted from one foot to the other, her hand awkwardly clasped onto her opposing arm while her wide blue eyes darted between the two of you. The shift in energy was palpable, like there was a visible force pushing the both of you apart.

It was her, she realized.

She’s the force.

She suddenly cleared her throat.

“Is anyone else like, really cold right now?” Gwen's hand nervously gestured towards the air with a stale chuckle. “Cause, boy, it is definitely chilly today!”

“Here,” Your throat pushed down the godforsaken lump that was forming as you forcefully tugged Miles’ coat off your body as if it burned your skin.

“Have Miles’ jacket. I don’t need it anymore, anyway.” Thrusting the bundled green puffer into her loose hold, you ignored the graze of disbelieving eyes burning into the side of your head and adjusted your shirt as if you could somehow make it conduct more warmth. Fuck, it was chilly today.

Gwen, Gwanda, or whatever the hell her name just gaped at you.

“I—“

Miles extended a hand to you in a meaningless attempt. “Y/n stop, it’s yours-“

“It’s not. Never was.”

You weren’t talking about the jacket.

You were gone faster than you came—faster than you’d even fallen for him, which was surprising, to say the least. Ducking your body under the railing and jumping down onto the deck, you pointedly ignored the stairs descending from it. If there had been a faster route than the one you took to haul ass out of there, you would’ve snatched it in seconds.

In just a minute, everything had crumbled right in front of him, and Miles stood there and let it happen.

Gwen recognized the look in your eyes; it’d been the same one Miles had given her last year when he confessed to her and she told him they couldn’t be together. Not because she didn’t want to, but because the circumstances just wouldn’t allow it.

As if things weren’t bad enough already, Gwen spoke cautiously, lips rolled inwards and Miles’ jacket loosely clutched in her hands.

“I don’t know if it’s just me, but I think she was expecting you to put another word in front of 'friend'."

“Shit.”

His feet were moving before he even realized he was chasing after you. He narrowly dodged the sea of bodies blocking him from getting to you, his eyes scanning the roof in hopes of spotting the top of your head.

“Miles, wait!” His aunt called out to him. “Your mom is about to cut the cake! Where are you going?”

Miles hastily shouted a response to her with a hand cupped around his mouth, his feet moving backwards to keep up with his pace.

“Back in a sec!”

You pushed through the crowd with your head ducked, sincere apologies muffled to those you bumped into, and a few unwelcome tears rolling over the apple of your cheek as you did so.

“Sweetie, wait! You don’t want cake?”

Without making eye contact, you gave a rushed wave goodbye and a thank you to Rio and Jeff, whisking past the pair. That probably didn’t help your case, but what just happened between you and her son could probably be inferred, because you weren’t wearing his jacket like you were just a moment ago, and Miles’ previously giddy conversation looked as if it’d come to a screeching halt as she noticed that the painfully awkward girl she’d met earlier was standing by herself now.

Rio’s shoulders dropped with a knowing sigh as she watched you retreat.

“Ay, I told you that Gwanda girl was bad news, Jeff!” She grumbled with pursed lips, expression painted with disappointment to match her folded arms.

Your temporary wallowing had turned to rage in mere moments, made known in the way your hands shoved the door to the stairwell open with way more force than needed.

“Wait!” He slid his way through the doorway before it could close, managing to step in front of you before you could reach the stairs.

“Was yesterday and everything before then just a joke to you?” You stared daggers into his eyes after you’d whipped around, your gaze flitting between the both of them to find an answer faster than he could verbally give. “Because apparently, when you’re around whoever that is you forget about everything else.”

“What—No! Of course not." Miles quickly shook his head. Somehow, trouble always seemed to find him when Gwen was around. “She’s just a friend. I just, I haven’t seen her in a while—“

“Isn’t that what you called me back there? A friend?” You scoffed, arms crossing as if they could possibly shield your heart from taking any more damage. You knew you weren't giving him much of a chance to give an explanation, but right about now you felt as if he didn't deserve the chance. “Do you make out with all your friends on the roof or was I some sort of exception?”

“Y/n,” His shoulders dropped at that, and you almost found yourself feeling bad for saying such a thing. “I don’t know why I said that. I just—I froze up, and I’m sorry. But you’re more than that to me, I swear.”

“It sure doesn’t seem like it.” The saliva that was starting to pool in your mouth was aggravating you, but somehow at the same time your throat was incredibly dry. So dry that it had you struggling to make your voice into something more than whisper when he took a step forward, and when you took one back.

“Don’t.“ you said, shaking your head, and Miles grimaced slightly at the subtle crack in your voice. “Do you know how long I waited for you? How stupid I looked wandering around until I found you when I don’t know anyone but your parents? You invited me!”

You couldn’t wrap your head around it. Just last night, he’d made you feel as if you were the only girl in the entire world, but now it seemed like the world had gotten a whole lot bigger.

Whether you wanted to know the answer or not, you had to ask. So with a shaky inhale, you readied yourself for the worst, and so did he.

“Is she somebody to you?”

You watched as he swallowed, hard. Adam’s apple bobbing like his mind was for the truth. Gwen was just a friend. Now, at least. Telling you what you clearly already knew wouldn’t make you feel any better, but lying about it would only make things worse.

Miles bit at his cheek when his gaze drifted off to the side. You felt your heart sink at what came next.

“It… It was a long time ago. But I don’t feel that way anymore.”

Your eyes began to dampen again as they held contact with his for a pain-stricken moment, but a dejected once-over from head to toe and a repulsed frown was all you could spare him.

It felt as if the silence between you was much longer than a few seconds. With his chest rising and falling, Miles' throat was filled with words he knew you wouldn't believe. After what just happened, how would you? There was nothing he could say to rectify how badly he’d just embarrassed you and he knew that. And by the look of betrayal on your face and how your shoulder bumped his arm when you shoved past him, it seemed you wouldn’t even give him the chance.

Miles watched you descend down the stairs, his jaw clenched and his heart cramping with it.

What did he just do?

 

—

 

Maybe telling his parents what happened hadn’t been the best idea after all. But after calling you three times and leaving a voice message after each dreaded beep, just to find out at his third attempt that you’d disabled your voicemail box, he truly didn’t know what else to do.

And honestly, it’s not like he really had a choice when it came to telling them. After a couple awkward minutes of standing with a jacket that so obviously did not belong to her, Gwen cautiously returned it to his parents and hurriedly made her exit, which only left them with more questions than they had before.

They realized it was serious when Miles never came back in for a slice of cake.

Tres Leches! Miles never missed out on tres leches.

Rio was more than concerned when she knocked on his door and carefully cracked it open after no response to find her son face down in his pillow, curtains closed and his room in disarray.

She took a seat next to his curled-up form, face tinged with worry. “What happened, papa? Why’d she leave?”

Jeff settled for standing near the foot of his bed. “Yeah, son. She looked a little upset.”

Miles heaved out a sigh as he pulled his body into a seated position, hands running over his face as if they’d erase the memory from his mind. “I kinda… Like—When it came to introducing her to Gwanda, I… hesitated? I guess?” Miles mumbled, his voice raising a slight octave with the last word, as if he were just as confused as they were. Somehow, saying what happened out loud made him realize just how badly he’d messed up.

“Wooo, that’s bad.” Jeff sucked a breath in through his teeth and chuckled quietly, rocking from heel to toe at his son’s confession.

Rio rolled her eyes at her husband who wasn’t much of any help at all when it came to things like this. She lifted her chin attentively at Miles to let him know that she was genuinely listening.

“Well, you introduced her eventually…Right?“

“Yeah,” Miles confirmed, only to wince afterwards. “…As a friend.”

Rio’s mouth dropped. “Miles!”

“I know! I just— I froze! I don’t know why.” His head dropped into his hands in shame, elbows perched on bent knees.

“Alright, son. You gotta help me out here.” Jeff sighed. “So you’re telling me that the young lady who’s in our house almost every week, who we’ve been referring to as your girlfriend when she knocks on the door, isn’t your girlfriend?”

“I— She is, or… she was— isn’t? Anymore?” Something like an agitated groan mixed with a huff left Miles’ lips as he tried speaking again.

“She was going to be. I was gonna ask her up there which is why I invited her, but then Gwen just— showed up out of nowhere last night, and then I kinda sorta invited her too—“

“Last night? You had a girl in here?” Rio arched a brow.

“Who’s Gwen?” Jeff voiced his confusion quietly, eyes glancing to the side.

“Fuck, not Gwen, I meant Gwanda—“

Rio raised not one, but two disbelieving brows as Miles frantically shook his head.

“Damnit, I didn’t mean to say fuck—“ His eyes snapped up to see his parents’ faces painted with pure and utter shock at his choice of words. Again.

“Shit, wait! I—Oh God.” Miles let his head fall back into his hands as he groaned, tufts of hair clenched between his fingers. “Just help me, please.” He whined.

“Yup, that’s all you, honey.” Jeff nodded at Rio and patted his thighs with his hands that were starting to grow clammy, as if he’d actually done something useful before he discreetly slipped out the door.

Rio couldn’t stand to see her son so distraught, so she made the difficult decision to hear him out instead of addressing the string of curses he’d sent their way, or whatever happened ‘last night’. 

“Respira, mijo,” She barely had to pull him into her, his body fell into her embrace the moment her hand graced his shoulder. “I thought you really liked this girl... I even invited her for Thanksgiving!” Rio gently rubbed up and down his arm, comforting him in the way she knew how.

“I do!” he insisted. “A lot… I’m just an idiot who messed things up, and now she probably hates me.”

She pulled him away by his shoulders, looking into his eyes intently to make sure she got her point across.

“Listen to me. You are not an idiot, papa. A little slow to understand sometimes, yes—“ Miles rolled his head to the side in annoyance, but she gently brought his face back to her with a hand on his cheek.

“But—you always get there because you’re smart. And I know that, because your father and I raised you to be.” Miles almost managed a smile when Rio softly pinched his cheek. “That also means you’re smart enough to know that you’ve hurt someone you care about.”

“But… What if I can’t fix it?” Miles' voice was heavy with uncertainty. “Then what do I do?”

“Well, that’s life, papa. Not everything is something you can fix, but you won’t know unless you try.” Her hands fixed the crooked hemline of the cotton thermal beneath his jersey, gently smoothing out the wrinkles with flattened fingers.

“It’s a leap of faith, Miles. That’s all.”

. . .

a/n: tres leches was a total self insert that shit is fire

taglist: @burymeinside @secret-ssociety @whatamidoing89 @urmotherswhor3 @valovesyou @inlovewithfictionalppl @edgyficuselastica @motherwanda @mybfmiles @axeoverblade @miumiulicious @sukisprettyface @gwennesy @simpnotapimp @kanvis @cleo-dearts @retirement-home @lunaramune @silas-222 @citrusequalsfrogs @itsberrydreemurstuff @spritecranverry @mewhenimanangel @wisteriaflowersss @chadychadyy2k @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @junipurr101 @bakugouswaif @luvdenisposts @aleluvsuu @wonylxv @attractivepie @cry1ngmyey3sout @silas-222 @idkkk343

masterlist

[0asisbliss]

How JJK characters react to you cooking for them

Warnings: None. NOT PROOFREAD. Fluff.

Characters included: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Yuuji, and Sukuna.

Dividers by: Plutism, and k1ssyoursister

A/n: inspo from my hxh version of this I thlought it would be fun - ̗̀ ( ˶'ᵕ'˶) ̖́- I kind of headcannon Sukuna as a weird boyfriend. 🤷🏽‍♀️

Gojo

When he comes home it’s a possibility that he hasn’t eaten all day, so when he comes home to a freshly cooked meal he’s gonna eat everything in his sights. You always have to make sure you make enough for him to get seconds. He’ll always make sure to give you little compliments about your food.

When he gets in really, really late you often just put all of the food in the fridge, and write his name on it. When you do little things like this it makes his still heart skip a couple a beats. It’s always the small things you cook, and do for him when you’re in the kitchen is what he loves most.

He won’t always verbally tell you what he might want to eat. You sometimes have to take a lucky guess, and most of the time you’re correct. We all know Gojo has a huge sweet tooth so when you bake for him it makes him swoon he loves it when you bake cookies, and different cakes.

If there is room for improvement when you cook for him he’s more than happy to help you. Even though he doesn’t know the first thing about cooking or baking.

Kisses, and hugs go a long way when he’s in the kitchen with you, or when you bring him a plate and give him a small, but cute kiss on the cheek.

When you cook for him he likes to think of it being a very careful and thoughtful task you did just for him. It kinda makes him feel special you know?

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Geto:

He thinks it’s cute when he comes home from dealing with annoying curses, and non-sorcerers to you in a cute little apron stirring some type of soup in a pot. He’ll eventually come behind you, and greet you. It’s like any other usual afternoon, he asks you how your day went, and what you did today.

Afterwards he might just observe you cooking. From time to time he’ll tell you bits and pieces of his day while leaning on the counter next to you. He also lets you do your own thing. Like he won’t tell you if you’re doing something wrong, or right. He’ll might tell you easier ways to do different things though.

He hugs your waist as you chop up onions, tomatoes, lettuce, and other vegetables. He looks closely for any errors or anything you might be during wrong. Not to be annoying, but to help you improve.He doesn’t intentionally interrupt you it’s just by habit having to correct someone. That’s he even does it with you.

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Nanami:

Its was just another regular long day at work. He hung his coat up, and slipped inside the kitchen for a bite to eat. He noticed you when first entering that you were cooking something. You were in some sweats, and one of his t-shirts. He thought you looked beautiful just in a baggy t-shirt, and sweat pants.

Nanami always thought you were the most beautiful woman in his world. Even now when you were cooking him dinner. You chopped the vegetables, and other food items with such grace. He just stood there and watched you for a minute. You not even noticing him at first continue to chop and pour things into a pot. Only when you turn around to grab some butter out the fridge you find your husband staring at you in awe and adoration.

He starts to walk up to you. He gives long thoughtful hug then turns around and leaves. He didn’t stay long, and left you to do your cooking duties.

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Yuuji:

It was routine for you to wake up and fix breakfast for Yuuji. Today was no different you gave Yuuji a quick kiss on the forehead before getting up and going to kitchen to get breakfast. Yuuji is always asleep whilst you cook breakfast, but today it was different. Yuuji got up strangely early. You thought that maybe he slept the day away yesterday, and decided got up earlier that usual.

Nonetheless he brushed his teeth, and took a quick shower. Once he was done everything he headed to the kitchen to have breakfast with you. You weren’t done though. Today’s breakfast would take longer that usual because you were cooking more stuff. Yuuji didn’t have work on that day so you decided to make something meaningful, and different. Instead of something quick, and easy like usually do on the week days.

On the weekends you would cook such breakfasts like pancakes, waffles, and other extra things. Yuuji’s appetite was kinda fairy big. So on the weekends you fed him want he usuals wouldn’t eat because of short time. So since you had a little bit of extra time you decided more than usual.

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Sukuna:

My dude just stares at you. Literally not caring at all. It’s not until you keep doing that you actually see him reacting to your cooking. The thing is he made a uncomfortable face. It wasn’t your food he made that clear. Thank god. No it wasn’t that it was him thinking that you thought you had to cook for him in order to keep him happy.

You don’t know we’re Sukuna got it from.

“You know. You don’t have to do this every night woman.”

“I know I just like doing it-.”

“Oh. Well maybe say that next time.”

He went back to eating after that, and so did you. You thought nothing of it. Later that weekend night you saw Sukuna making you breakfast?

You offered to help him, but he declined and said he wanted you to sit down.

Maybe it was his way of thanking you? You weren’t really sure when it came to Sukuna and his mixed feelings. He always had a hard time expressing them. And when he really wanted to express them. He felt as if he’d say something stupid, or something corny.

It surely surprised you. It’s kinda rare for Sukuna to cook especially if it isn’t a special occasion. Maybe he just wanted to return the favor? You don’t know you maybe should still try to help him by at least washing the dishes. After cooking and eating you expressed your opinions on the food, and you loved it.

It was a start of a date night idea for you two. You two would cook for each other every once in a while. He would never admit it, but Sukuna liked doing this with you.

[evelynsgarden]

You should write some hcs or something about living alone with Abby, sorta cannon but not if you get what I mean? On a farm or in a home :3

Living With Abby Hcs

Cw: smut under the warning fluff otherwise 🩷 :p(ignore spelling errors if any (request open)

‿︵‿୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵ ‿୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ‿ ‿︵‿୨˚̣̣̣͙୧

🩷 Mornings with Abby are always special. She loves waking up early to make you breakfast, bringing you coffee in bed, and sharing quiet moments together before the day starts. She enjoys the simplicity of starting the day with you by her side. However, she always forgets to wash the dishes after breakfast and will in fact leave them in the sink all day💀 she’s super sorry about it but forgets every time 😭

🩷 Abby loves surprising you with impromptu date nights. Whether it’s a homemade candlelit dinner or a spontaneous drive to a scenic spot (with a super cute picnic ahhhhh) she’d definitely wanna keep you entertained and happy :( and can you imagine her coming back from patrol and instantly wanting to take you to some nice patch of grass she found not far out because she’s missed you and wants to have as many nice moments as possible

🩷 Abby coming back from a patrol with trinkets and gifts because she missed you and couldn’t stop thinking about you. She’d come back with jewelry, glasses, charms, stuffed animal, music, etc just to see you smile

🩷 Living together means celebrating holidays ^_^ Whether it’s decorating the house, cooking special meals, or exchanging heartfelt gifts, she’s so ready to go all out. Imagine decorating a ginger bread house with her and she makes a little you and her out of ginger bread😭 she’d be so excited to show you too(shit would be funny af if ur shorter than her lmfao- a lil ginger bread dude next to a really fucking tall one 💀)

🩷Abby fixing anything and everything that’s broken in the house or not up to par with what she thinks you deserve. The oven isn’t working properly? dw she’ll figure it out- oh the door handle broke again she’s right on it- she’d fuck it up and make it worse and then proceed to actually read a manual(she totally knows what she’s doing😐) THEN fix it but she loves you so it’s fine

Warning nsfw

‿︵‿୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵ ‿୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ‿ ‿︵‿୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ︵‿୨˚̣̣̣͙୧

🧁 GAH sleepy morning sex with her would be sooo sweet❤️ she’d mumble out little “come on baby”s and hushes while she pushes her fingers into you slowly, listening to you beg for more half asleep. Her hands would be ALLLLL over your thighs afterwards squishing them softly, kissing up and down your neck before falling back asleep :(

🧁Abby has a bad (good-)habit of turning ordinary moments into something much more heated than they need to be😭. While you're cooking together, she can't resist coming up behind you, pressing her body against yours. Her hands slide under your shirt, caressing your stomach and breasts, her lips finding your ear as she whispers little moans into your ears. Before you know it, she has you bent over the kitchen counter, pounding into like shes scared she’ll never get to fuck you again. Girl is DESPERATE to make you happy(cum)

🧁After a particularly stressful patrol, when Abby needs to release all that pent-up tension she’ll take you against the nearest wall, counter, door, shit she’d settle for the floor- her hands gripping your hips tightly as she moves against you. Begging for you to scream her name louder because there’s not a single person for miles and even if there hypothetically were she’d want them to know how good and how deep she’s fucking you anyway.

🧁speaking of stressful patrols and my prior post(god her with a oral fixation) being in the bath with her to calm down after a long day and she sucks on your tits and plays with them with a thigh between your legs. When she gets bored of that she’ll drain the bath water and eat you out, sucking softly while forcing you open despite the overstim and multiple orgasms.

🧁cleaning you up after because you’re painfully exhausted (in a good way) she makes it her priority to have you comfy and close to her before you pass tf out because she still has you fucked up and unable to walk hours later 😭

‿︵‿୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵ ‿୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ‿ ‿︵‿୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ︵‿୨˚̣̣̣͙୧

OH THIS IS SO CUTE(the first part not the part where my ovulation is speaking for me-)

(I really appreciate requests- writing is helping with my anxiety rn- short and sweet as always ;D)

[mikareo]

౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆ A LOVE LETTER TO: THE LOUVRE ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀呪術廻船; geto suguru x fem reader ⠀ ꒰ . . org. writing repost ꒱ . . . word count; 12.9k

⊹ ⠀⠀ for as long as he can remember, geto's world has been black and white - giving him no reason to appreciate his mother’s profession as an artist and the beauties that art can provide. however, an accidental meeting with you gives him reason to doubt his former beliefs - proving to him that there may be true beauty in a world that’s void of everything bright, that beauty being the sunshine that you provide. 

contains; colorblind!geto, painter!reader, geto's mom is reader’s art mentor, he hates art, strangers to friends to lovers, major crushing from both sides, slow burn but also not slow burn, swearing, fluff, reader acts like she’s on an adrenaline rush 24/7, jealousy, angst, explosive arguments, lowkey toxic, extremely inaccurate depictions of colorblindness!!, geto sucks at flirting author's note; repost of a bllk fic i have, titled 'rationalism'. if there are any plot errors pls let me know,, the original fic is still posted, i just wanted this up for jjk too,, enjoy!

Whenever the sun meets its peak at the high dawning point in the sky is when Suguru knows it's a perfectly acceptable time to visit his oh-so-beloved mother. If he could, he would spend every waking moment with her - he’s a momma’s boy through and through - not only because she birthed him and taught him everything he knows, but because she’s kind and good. She’s also one of - scratch that - she’s the only person he can stand to be around for more than twenty four hours - and he takes great pride in having such a wonderful woman in his life.

However, despite how dearly he holds his mother to his heart, the issue with visiting her at this time of day is that she’s in her art studio. A place he loathes more than having to wear wet socks with sneakers. While it’s a beautiful space, with high wooden beams and floor to ceiling windows, he finds himself nauseous at the mere sight of the countless tubes of oil and acrylic paints. It’s not that the smell or colors are distasteful, it’s the fact that no matter how hard he squints and struggles, he cannot fathom what the simple color red looks like.

Complete black and white color blindness isn’t a life threatening condition in the slightest, but for Suguru, it feels as if he’s being stabbed through the sternum at any notion of the changing leaves or colorful streaks of light across the sun-setting sky.

He doesn’t hate his mother for being an artist, he simply hates the art itself.

And he especially hates pieces of art like the one sitting before him, now. With the blobs of squares and triangles against the supposedly white canvas, sitting perky on the easel as if to mock him - he decides to reach his hand out - and remind himself how emotionally detached acrylic paints make him feel. It’s wet, he observes, rubbing his thumb and pointer finger together to mix the possibly different hues. Suguru hopes he didn’t ruin the artist’s painting in any way, he wouldn’t know if he’d accidentally smeared shading or contrasting primaries - but surely the artist could fix it in a jiffy.

“Do you like it?”

Well, that certainly isn’t his mother’s voice.

“I tried using cooler tones in the corner here, and then migrated towards warmth in the lower portion.” You’re beside him now, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his position, and completely ignoring his personal space - all while he’s never met you before this day. Your finger is extended, pointing towards the artistic decisions you’re elaborating on that, in all honesty, he doesn’t give two shits about. “I’m thinking about sketching some paper cranes on top of it all, I want it to represent the change of seasons.”

“What do you think?”

You’re staring at him now, bright eyes shining with curiosity. Suguru is at a loss for words, mostly due to your unannounced appearance in the studio, but also because you’re possibly the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on - which is shocking, considering the sight of thick paint smudged against a person’s face typically sends him running the opposite direction. He’s never felt an immediate connection to the women of his past - however you, a strange girl who resembles a dog waiting for its treat, has his heart beating at twice the rate.

“I like this shape.” Suguru purses his lips into a straight line, never having felt so awkward in his whole life. “This square is nice, too.”

You look utterly unimpressed with his evaluation. Your nose is scrunched in distaste and the fold beneath your right eye seems to be twitching in disapproval for your own artwork. “That’s all that you like?” You step ever so slightly closer to him, chin tilted up to meet his gaze, before retreating quickly and coddling your painting. “Perhaps I overestimated my color palette. I really thought it would be the outstanding moment of this piece, but I guess I could rework it if the shapes are all that matter—”

“Did you touch my painting?”

Oh boy, he’s in for it now.

A nervous laugh leaves his mouth, embarrassing him further as he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck in an attempt to look casual, only for you to grab his wrist out of thin air. “Oh my god, you did!” Your mouth is agape, inspecting his tattered skin in shock - yet somehow he knows that you aren’t truly upset with him - you don't seem like that kind of person. “Did you not realize that you’ve got scarlet red all over your palms?”

Suguru’s mind is blank, his ability to form coherent sentences is gone, and he can only muster up the cheesiest, most terribly dreadful joke that he’s said in the twenty three years he’s been alive.

“I guess you caught me red handed?”

There’s a moment of silence, with the two of you displaying the most aloof expressions either of you have ever made, until your face lights up with laughter. He doesn’t understand what could possibly be so funny - his joke was awful - but the sound of your contagious fits of giggles make his heart feel a little bit warmer in a place that he commonly feels suffocated in. For the first time, the studio gives him a sense of comfort rather than distress - and he knows it's because he’s developing a very clear crush on the pretty girl beside him. 

You’re hysterical, resembling that of insanity while Suguru is simply stuck in time. He can’t tell if he should be steadying you before you trip over your own feet or if he should simply take his leave and forget this day ever happened. 

“I don’t mean to be rude,” he begins, watching you wipe a tear of laughter from the crinkle of your right eye, “but why are you here? Do you have an appointment, because I could’ve sworn there weren’t any other people that were allowed in the studio at this hour—”

“Oh, I do know you!” The volume of your voice just seems to get louder and louder. “You must be Miss Geto’s son! She always mentions how lovely her little boy is, I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you! Though, I expected you to be like six or seven, not my age. She should’ve mentioned that you were handsome, not cute - she really chose every adjective other than the ones that wouldn’t make you sound like a primary schooler.”

Does she ever stop talking? Suguru doesn’t think he’s ever heard another person ramble on-and-on like you do. Normally he’d have ended the conversation by now, walked away without a second thought of whether he acted rude or not, but he knows that his mother would strangle him if he was to blatantly disregard her current favorite student. The student that she loves telling him stories about at the dinner table every Sunday night as he’s just trying to eat his fingerling potatoes in peace.

The same student who he’s somehow enjoying talking to - though it’s mostly just you talking to his blank face - and is causing a soft yellow blush to form on his cheeks. He doesn’t actually know if yellow is the color related to blushing, but he thinks he’s read it somewhere before. 

“Anyways, to answer your question—”

Suguru feels like he’d asked you hours ago.

“—I’d walked all the way to the train station and realized I’d forgotten my wallet here - which is strange because normally I never forget anything. I’m a very organized person—”

Yeah, he doesn’t believe that. 

“—and then I had to run all the way back here—”

Your shoes are scuffed. You definitely tripped on the way.

“—where I accidentally ran into a stroller…poor baby—”

Yep. Tripped.

“—which led me to you!”

You’re smiling now and Suguru doesn’t think he’s seen so many teeth shining at him in all of his life. God, do you ever run out of energy? No matter, he knows exactly where your missing item is. The anonymous wallet had been the first thing his eyes had grazed over when striding towards your artwork - good thing it’s only an arm’s reach away.

He snatches the wallet from the art easel and is pleasantly surprised by the quality of the possibly monochromatic leather. The clasp is simple, requiring just one twist before the contents of your identity are laid out before him. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Suguru recites the name written on your license and holds the items out to you, to which you reach out, eager to reunite with your belongings. However, at the last second he waves it in the air - away from your dying fingertips - and clicks his tongue two times. “Try not to lose it again. It’s a luxury brand, isn’t it? I like the black color.”

“Black?” Shit. The tilt of confusion your head makes indicates that your wallet is not, in fact, black. “I’m either stupid or color blind, but this is red.”

Before Suguru can respond, he’s saved by the bell. Well, technically his savior isn’t an actual bell, but you get the gist. “Miss Geto!” Thank god she’s finally here to distract you. He’s been fighting to maintain his pride throughout your entire interaction. “I made an extra trip to the studio and ran into your son, here! You weren’t lying when you said he’s a little quiet - honestly, I feel like I’ve been talking to myself this whole time.”

You quite literally have been doing that very thing for the past ten minutes. 

“Oh, Suguru! Have you been acting rude?” His mother’s expression is tense, stricter than the time he ‘accidentally’ took her (grey?) Kia Soul on a joyride that one weekend he and Satoru decided to go on a midnight run to the department store. “Please don’t mind him at all, dear. You see, he doesn’t exactly get out much - his social skills might be a little underdeveloped.”

She can’t actually be saying this right now. This is exactly why he hasn’t had a girlfriend in months - his mother embarrasses him in front of every pretty girl they come across in the first two minutes of saying ‘hello’. It isn’t that Suguru is a terrible flirt - which he is, but he likes to deny it - it’s that he loves his mother so much that he can’t bear to tell her that her attempts at ‘hooking him up’ are always bound to fail. 

However, you don’t appear to be phased by her words. If anything, you’re actually pleased by the sound of him being socially impaired. 

“That’s actually perfect!”

What.

The.

Fuck?

“He can be my portrait model!” You’re still talking. Please, for the love of God, stop talking. “You know how I’ve been trying to become better skilled in the emotional aspect of my paintings, he could definitely help me out by showing anxiety and embarrassment - and you’ve been telling me it’s about time that I found myself a model.”

The endless trail of words that continue to string from your mouth seem to reach their end. Rather than speaking in spitfire, you’re now crazily staring at Suguru, himself. Both of your fists are clenched together in a pleading hold and he doesn’t think that you’ve blinked since the start of your conversational rampage - but despite the absurdity of your proclamation, he believes you have good intentions. There really is no reason to deny the request - after all, he’d be helping out his mother in the process, she does love having successful students - but he just can’t imagine himself spending any more time in the dreadfully grey studio than he already does. 

“I don’t think that would be a very good idea.” His mother catches your words before he has a chance to give you his own oral letter of rejection. “Suguru’s never been one for art.”

“Oh.”

All you have to say is ‘oh’? 

“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you continue. The expression on your face is suddenly stern. Has he offended you in some way by saying no? “I’ll figure something else out, Miss Geto. I apologize if I overstepped.”

You’re bowing your head before him now, and Suguru is shell shocked. His first impression of you was undoubtedly a dud, considering how you actually do seem to have a rational bone in your body despite the hyperactivity you displayed just moments before. While he’s mustering up a response, you lift your eyes - lashes fluttering like upwards brush strokes on a canvas - and send a small smile his way. It’s as if you’re silently apologizing to him for the undivided attention you tormented him with, but he doesn’t want you to apologize. 

He just doesn’t know how to say that he actually liked your personality. 

God, he’s so bad at flirting. 

“Thanks for finding my wallet, though.” Your fingers are suddenly touching his, momentarily grazing against his skin as you pluck your wallet from his hands. There’s no chance that you haven’t noticed the rising heat that’s currently warming the blossoms of his cheeks, and he hopes that you find it endearing. While he isn’t great with words, he likes to think that he may be at least a little bit cute. His mother always calls him a ‘cutie’ - which he appreciates, but it’s also so degrading for someone of his age. “Maybe I’ll be forgetful more often, now.”

He hopes you’ll start being more forgetful, too.

You’ve left your entire bag this time. 

He can’t tell if you’re trying to be subtle and coy with the budding feelings that’re growing between the two of you, and you’re just as awful at flirting as he is - or if you’ve just given up on leaving small signs of attraction. Honestly, in the past few weeks of you leaving paintbrushes and lanyards in the studio, he’d assumed it was all naturally an accident. This, though? How do you expect him to believe that you left your entire satchel in the studio? Sure, you can be a little dense, but not that dense. 

It’s obvious that you’ve begun to lose track of your belongings for the simple reason that you enjoy partaking in the awkward exchange of items when you ‘hastily’ return to the empty renovated greenhouse and get to act surprised to see him standing there with his arms full of things with your name written all over them. In fact, this instance has happened so often that Suguru is beginning to believe that he actually enjoys it, too. 

Sometimes he thinks that maybe you should just write your name on him to speed up this dreadful ‘will they, won’t they’ process that you’ve been pacing together. 

He likes you. He really really likes you, and you both know it.

You’d picked up on his feelings from the second time you met - when he willingly stayed behind in the studio for an extra two hours just to hear you ramble about the difference between heavy and soft body acrylic paints. There was something about the way you grinned at him. How your chin would angle upwards to his height in order to have a proper conversation. How you weren’t afraid to say anything and everything that was on your sporadic mind. How your eyes would sparkle at the dedicated eye contact he was making - letting you know that he was hanging on to every word that left your lips (which he just recently found out are pink - and boy does he wish to know what that undoubtedly lovely color looks like against your skin). 

He hates to compare you to a painting - which he still finds a positively dreadful blob of nothingness - but to him, you are one. You’re a captivating piece of art hanging on the walls of the nationally acclaimed museum in his mind. 

A captivating piece of art whose art of subtlety is extremely lacking, considering that your phone number is quite literally painted on the largest white canvas your easel can hold, in bold lettering that he would have to be visually blind to miss, plastered behind the hiding place of your bag.

‘P.S. It's written in red paint. I know you have a thing for red.”

As much as he likes you, you can be such a pain in his ass. The bane of his existence, if you will. 

It pains him to notice how he hadn’t thought twice about typing the digits into his text bar, smiling to himself at the sight of your make-shift contact with the horrid selfie you’d taken on his phone to be your future contact picture. Your hair is an utter mess, with flecks of paint scattered across your hairline - which, to be honest, look like dandruff to him with their lack of vivid color, but he told you that they resemble snowflakes. He lied - but what you don’t know doesn’t hurt you. 

Without hesitating, he types a singular ‘hey’ before backtracking. What if you don’t know that it’s him texting you? What if you think that it’s a random stranger who just so happened to be in the art studio and thought to add your contact information to their phone? He better be more clear. 

‘Hello. You know me.’

Perfect. 

In less than a split second, you respond. He can feel his nerves itching at the sight of the grey text bubble popping in and out of view. Suguru can’t even remember the last time his heart beat so fast. Perhaps when he was standing in front of his secondary school health classroom and he accidentally mistook a photo of the urinary system with the ovaries during a speech about the female menstrual cycle? The stream of liquid projected against the white board was in fact not what he thought it was (how was he supposed to see the difference between red and yellow?), which turned into a horribly disgusting presentation that Satoru still bothers him about to this day. That was dreadful - but this is definitely equally as dreadful, if not more.

‘Stalker much?’ Huh? ‘Hi though, Suguru. That text was very…you.’

‘You added my number pretty quickly.’ Man, you text really fast. ‘You just couldn’t resist me, could you?’

He doesn’t know what to say back. It’s as if his mind has been scraped raw of all romantic material that one would usually use in this situation - the situation in which an unbelievably pretty girl is talking to him through a phone screen. Suguru is completely frozen in place, time, and thought. The only part of him that isn’t paralyzed is the hole in his chest that is beginning to be thawed by you. His frozen heart of past relationships has found its fire - and oh does it burn for you. 

“Cat got your tongue?”

Where the fuck did you come from?

Swiveling on his heel, he turns to face your approaching figure. Your footsteps are lighter than air, likely being the reason as to how you managed to stealthily sneak in so quietly while he had been distracted with his phone. The light denim jeans that cover you from waist to ankles are perhaps his favorite pair you own. You’ve painted on them over time, sketching out a garden of patterns that don’t require color to appreciate. Your artistic ability is uncanny - he can’t deny the fact that you’re incredibly skilled - and he believes that you should be given an award for making ‘art’s number one hater’ a growing fan. 

“You left your bag.” No shit, Captain Obvious. “Do you want it back?”

He’s so bad at this. 

You skip towards him, your left foot following your right in a rhythm of peppiness, and lean up towards him with a shine in your eyes. God, you look so pretty. Sure, seeing you from a comfortable distance with an easel separating your bodies was nice and all, but when you pull stunts like this - with no room for him to scurry off and run - he actually takes the time to digest your features in their true beauty. You’re the artist, yet he seems to be the one who’s always studying you.

“Do you have any plans for today?” You ask in a curious tone. Your hands are held together behind your back as you send him a beaming grin with an upturned lip. “—because I was thinking about grabbing some tea, and it would be so unfortunate if I had to go all alone and sit by myself with all of those strangers around me. Who knows what could happen? If only there were someone who could protect me in case a sleazy guy asks for my number…”

Are you trying to manipulate him, right now?

“I’ve got nothing to do today.”

—because he’ll gladly let you do so. 

The peaks of your eyebrows raise in surprise, not expecting him to accept the offer so quickly. Over the short time you’ve known one another, you’ve noticed that Suguru’s reluctance to spend one-on-one time with you has dwindled. He’s slowly becoming more comfortable in your presence and whatever inner turmoil that he’s facing is fading into the tide of your raging tsunami. There’s a peaceful gaze behind his brown eyes, now. One that you love to study whenever he isn’t looking your way (which isn’t often). 

“Then it’s a date!” Surging forwards, you take his arm in yours and link yourselves together. He’s initially shocked by the immediate physical connection you’ve managed to make within mere seconds, but he thinks that he likes it. It’s been so long since he’s even held hands with a girl, so he’s understandably tense, but you’re giving him time to adjust. After all, scaring him away would be your last intention. “I’ll even pay for your drink, since you were kind enough to find my lost satchel.”

“Yeah, your lost satchel was so hard to find.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He smiles to himself.

Yes, you do.

He isn’t sure how, but he’s somehow burned his tongue again. 

“Shit!” Suguru hurriedly places his mug down onto the circular wooden table that separates the two of you, while attempting to be gentle since he doesn’t want to waste the perfectly tasty coffee that you paid for. He groans, dabbing the corners of his lips with one of the complimentary paper napkins. “Why does it get me every time?” 

This is perhaps the third week in a row that you and him have ditched the studio and decided to claim the neighboring cafe as your designated date spot - though you’re still an unofficially exclusive couple. Unofficial as in Suguru hasn’t found the nerves to ask you to be his girlfriend, and exclusive as in neither of you are nor want to see other people. It’s a confusing situation for both parties to be in, but he just can’t seem to take that next step with you no matter how hard he tries to push himself towards the ideal solution. 

Suguru is a rationalist. He takes in the information given to him through interactions and associations, working through it with logistics on his mind, and tries to find the best outcome. It’s how he’s lived every hour and every day of his adulthood, and he’s fairly set in stone with his mannerisms at this point. He always known who he is, what he wants, and how to obtain those things. What he didn’t know, though, was that an unpredictable variable (you) would crash into his life and disarray the routine that he’d been building for twenty-three years. 

The hypothesis born of the situation isn’t a difficult one to solve, after all he’s had it written down for a month: if Suguru finds the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend, then you’ll likely say yes and the two of you will live happily ever after. Easy, right?

Wrong. He’s a chicken.

“Here. This might help you cool down.”

Your arm is extended, offering him your drink of the day without hesitation. Every time you come here, arm-in-arm, you order something different. ‘There’s no fun without surprise’, is what you tell him after the consistent strange glances he sends your way when you’re ordering, and he can’t help but disagree. You’re very different individuals - and that difference is extremely apparent with the light, mint garnished tea in your glass compared to the dark roast coffee in his. 

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.” He sighs in relief as the cool liquid flows down his throat in an internal waterfall. “Holy shit, this is actually so good.”

You laugh, “I would hope so. I only got it because of the photo on the menu. It’s like a rainbow of color.”

And there it is. The thing that isolates him the most from your world. 

As much as he likes you, which is more than he can explain, he can’t help but have that itching thought at the back of his mind that you’ll never truly be able to connect with one another. You bask in the beauty of the world around you. From the apparent golden sun showers and bouquets of stark red roses - two things that you’ve described to him in great detail amidst your walks through the farmer’s market on Saturday mornings -  to the countless brush strokes against the white canvas at his mother’s studio, you adore a world in color. 

It’s a viewpoint that’s shaped who you are, from infantry to your current age of twenty-two, and it’s something that you’ll never be able to let go of. 

To be quite frank, it scares him. It keeps him up at night knowing that seeing the world through your eyes is impossible. That it’s a far off dream that is unobtainable, taunting him in his mind and heart like a bone dangling in front of a dog’s face. He wishes that he could admire the blue streaked skies and emerald green ferns that line the streets of the city. He yearns to feel overcome with pride at the sight of your watercolor drafts - which you attempt to show him after every class session to no avail - and congratulate you on the progress you’re making. There are so many things that he dreams of doing with you, dreams that exist solely in your world, as they’ll never be possible in his. 

He hasn’t officially asked you to be his yet, because how could he?

How could he bind you to him? You’d be miserable looking through his eyes - having to see only hues of black, white, and grey, similar to the pencil sketches that you’ve openly shown your hatred for in front of him. ‘There’s just nothing there,’ is what you mumble to yourself. ‘No life, no anything without color.’ To which you then drop a single ounce of paint against the seemingly dreadful piece of art - and the sparkle in your eyes as it comes to life is something that he loves to see but can’t understand… 

…as you see the world in a way that he can never understand. 

Suguru doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to tell you about his condition. It would end everything all at once, and he isn’t sure how he would recover from that kind of heartbreak. You’re so blissfully unaware of how much conflict runs through his veins on a daily basis. Hell, you don’t even notice how he orders a singular black coffee every time you approach the counter together. You don’t see how he struggles to agree with you as you admire the assortment of blended beverages with a forced smile on his face. You don’t understand why he chooses to indulge in such a bitter drink and make sure to comment on it every single time.

He can’t blame you, though - it really is disgusting - but he also can’t tell you that he orders his coffee black since it’s a universal drink that appears the same to everyone who sees it. At least when he’s holding the steaming mug between his large palms, he knows that it appears to you as it does to him. That the divide that’s ripping a ravine through your connected hands is lessened in a sense - and you’re truly viewing one thing as the same. 

Which is why he sits pretty and appreciates the short time that you do spend together, and suffers through piping hot coffee three times a week with no interruptions. 

“I think I’ve made some progress on my portfolio.”

Your drink has been returned to your hands now. The small, clear glass is ringing as you tap the sides with your fingernails. It’s somewhat soothing, the rhythm following the tune of one of your favorite songs that Suguru happens to know very well after walking in on you in the middle of ‘art therapy’, in which you blast the music at full volume and deafen all other sounds. You have a tendency to be impatient - art being the only thing that can really pin you down for a long period of time - yet you’ve made room in your heart for Suguru despite this. 

“Really?” Suguru dabs his mouth carefully, being ever the proper suitor in your presence. “My mom hasn’t given you any recent critiques?” 

“No, she has.” As your words continue, you take a long sip of your tea. He can feel his cheeks flush while you swallow. He loves anything you do. “Just little comments about negative space and color theory, but I’m getting there.”

“Nice.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Yeah, nice.” 

Despite his seemingly rude reaction, you’re still gazing at him with a smile on your face. It isn’t an exceedingly joyful smile or one of excitement, but something of contentedness. You’ve become comfortable around him - shedded the hyperactive layers of skin that you display to onlooking strangers - and have begun to share the side of yourself that only your bedroom walls know. Seeing this side of you has made him fall even harder. Knowing that someone so confident, so bold, is just like him - caring so much about first impressions and likeability - and has their own insecurities is validating. Validating in the sense that you find him special enough to throw away the filter and be your true self in his presence. 

“You know,” you begin in a wistful tone, “you aren’t a man of many words, Suguru - and if I’m being totally honest, my patience is running out.” 

He hopes this isn’t going where he thinks it is.

He’s not letting you ask him out before he can—

“What am I to you?”

Oh.

Your eyes are giving him an expectant look, now. 

What the hell is he supposed to say to that?

This is the quietest you’ve ever been, you aren’t even swirling the star-shaped ice cubes in your strawberry lemon tea. 

Why can’t he think of anything to say?

His silence is causing you to furrow your eyebrows in concern. 

This is so embarrassing. Just say something. Anything. 

“You’re my mom’s student.”

Anything but that.

“I’m…” the words at the tip of your tongue seem to dissolve like damp sugar cubes, “I’m your mom’s student.”

Your sentence is more of a statement than a question. It’s as if there’s a machine in your brain, working through his given answer and comparing all of the other possibilities he could’ve said. There were endless responses to your inquiry, and he somehow managed to pick the worst one. 

He needs to fix this. How can he fix this?

“You’re not just a student, though.” His words are tumbling over one another in somersaults and you seem to perk up at his continuity. The hope in your heart grows a little bit larger, pulsating and yearning for him to say exactly what you’d been wanting for weeks-on-weeks. “You’re my mom’s special student.” 

Oh God, he made it worse.

“What?” Suguru tries to reach for your hand in an attempt to compensate for his actions through physical touch, but you retaliate and instinctively jerk away. You quickly stand, drink in hand, and back away from him as he follows like a lost puppy. Your head is shaking from right to left, disbelief exerting from the pores of your skin like poison - sentencing him with death while it seeps through his gaping mouth and empty palms. “I’m a special student?” 

How the hell are you so fast?

Within seconds the two of you are at odds outside of the building. The weather is somewhat chilly - springtime having just come around with the cherry blossoms in full bloom - and it’s probably a beautiful day with the petals raining down on the pavement. You’d usually make a comment about how wonderful the horticulture was outside of the shop, but now you’re stomping over every fallen flower and budding stem that lies in the way of your rage-filled path. He’d always thought of you as a gentle soul, but apparently even gentle souls have their breaking points - and he never dreamed that he’d be yours.

“If I’m so special, what makes me different from the girl before me and the one before her?” This is the first time you’ve ever raised your voice at him. “Did you take all of them out for drinks? Did they all get to spend one-on-one time with their mentor’s ‘handsome’ son? Did you lead all of them on, too? Suguru, what kind of answer is that?”

You’ve found yourselves in an alcove now - about a block from the cafe in a small garden nestled between two buildings. The blossoming trees continue to surround you from all sides, perfectly framing the tragic picture of him saying anything and everything you absolutely do not want to hear. A large sigh leaves your lips, heaving from your chest as if he’s popped a balloon and is pushing all of the air out with the strength of his smooth hands. 

“That’s not what I meant!” He pauses as you halt in place, slowly turning to face him like you're something out of a horror movie - a monster who’s ready to murder their prey. A gulp runs down his Adam’s apple. You’re terrifying when upset. “Please, just let me explain!”

“Explain what?” Suguru flinches at your volume. “If you want to explain yourself so badly then tell me why the hell would you say something like that?”

“Sure, you aren’t the best with banter or having a crush - but dear God, you cannot possibly be that dense.” This is getting bad. “I’ve left hundreds of hints! Every single goddamn day - and you’ve picked up on all of them! You know, I thought that when you’d hold my hand or kiss my cheek that you actually meant something by it. I figured ‘he spends so much time with me, he can’t possibly not like me’, but no. I’m just a student.”

Your face is fuming with every dreadful word that comes out of your mouth. “Oh, sorry. I’m a special student.”

If this were a scene in an animated film, your hair would be on fire now. Flames as high as mountain tops would be spiking in sharp peaks at every end of sentence and statement spitting from your mouth. Your normally warm irises would be drawn as ice cold, not leaving any room for life as they skate across his timid features - wishing for him to reach freezing level so you could smash him into a million pieces. 

You’d always told him that red and blue - fire and ice - were two things that you admired most. With their ever changing states of matter and forceful power amidst the seasons, he found himself believing as you do. Suguru actually learned to appreciate their vast palette as if he could see it with his own eyes - but now? Now he thinks that they’re the two worst things in the universe - as their destructive nature has decided that their target is him, and he has absolutely no defenses prepared. 

“I should’ve caught on sooner, shouldn’t I have?” You’re still going, hot tears building up and threatening to stream down your cheeks. Never in his life has Suguru been at the receiving end of such anger - and never in his life has he learned how to manage a situation as such. So, he does what any clueless man would do - he returns the anger. 

“You’re not even listening to me!” His hands are violently moving while his words cut like knives. “You never listen to me!”

“I never listen to you?” He’s apparently hit another nerve. “Is that some kind of sick joke? Suguru, all I do is listen to you! It may not look like it, but I see the way you tense whenever I talk about my passions and dreams. I notice the way your face drains when I’m asking you for your opinion on my works in progress. Sometimes it’s like I can physically hear your eyes rolling when they see me walk into the studio with my bag of brushes and materials. Yet, you think that I don’t listen? I take note of every single thing that you do when you’re around me, because I don’t want to miss out on a single moment with you, and you don’t even care!”

He can’t believe that you’re pinning this on him.

“How could you even say that?” Suguru can’t tell who’s in the right or wrong anymore - all he knows is that if he doesn’t stop speaking, you’ll walk away forever. “I’ve never cared about anyone as much as you! I’ve done my best to entertain your interests and the absurd things you ask of me—”

“Well, your best hasn’t been enough.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

“Are you being serious, right now?” 

Your eyes are stoney, rock solid with stubbornness as you refuse to accept his side of the story and he knows that you won’t be budging from the beliefs that you’re choosing to hold against him. Suguru doesn’t know how everything went so wrong so fast, but he does know that he doesn’t have what it takes to save the situationship that he mistakenly put the two of you in. 

“What the fuck did I do wrong that you resent me this much? Not even an hour ago all you wanted was to see me get down on one knee and profess my ‘undying’ love for you.” He’s so angry. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this angry. “Now I’m some asshole who doesn’t give a shit about your wellbeing? If everything I’ve done hasn’t been enough, then I might as well go fuck myself, right? I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you! I’m sorry I can’t see the world through crystal lenses like you! I’m sorry that I’m not good enough for you!”

His face feels wet. When did he start to cry? Was it ten minutes ago? Five? Just now? The hurricane of emotions that he’s putting himself through is more than he’s endured in years - his mental blockage of his condition finally coming to light as his heart runs off of the rails - and you’ve definitely seemed to notice considering the concern etched into your expression. 

“I was never going to be perfect for you,” he begins with a softer tone. Perhaps his hot bundle of rage has subsided for a few moments. “I can’t be with you. I can’t understand how you see the world. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life listening to you ask me all of these questions and opinions on your work when I can’t even see it fully.”

You’re so close to him. Somewhere in the flurry of words, you took a step in his direction. “Suguru, what’re you talking about?”

As he bites his bottom lip with the fear of judgment raging in his mind, his secret is set free. 

“I’ve always liked this shirt on you,” he solemnly smiles, “This shade’s my favorite color that you wear.”

You look up at him, pulling at the fabric against your chest in confusion. “Red?”

“Grey.”

He’s laughing lightly, making up for the thoughtful silence that you’ve found yourself in. It’s like he can physically see the gears turning in your head as they attempt to make sense out of his statement. “It’s more of a rich grey - almost black - and it compliments your skin tone. You know, my mom used to tell me that the way to a woman’s heart is through compliments. I’ve always tried my best to do that, but it clearly hasn’t been working.”

His hands somehow find yours as he shares the inevitable truth he’d been hiding so hard - and with a deep gulp, his secret is finally exposed.

“After all, how could I ever reach someone’s heart without even knowing what color their eyes are?”

He misses you. He can’t help it, but he does. 

The memories he has with you are a cassette tape on autoplay - constantly running through his mind on repeat, and always ending with the awful confrontation that you’d left each other with. Suguru wishes he hadn’t raised his voice. He wishes that he would’ve been honest with you from the very beginning, but he hadn’t, and there’s no changing the past. All he has now are two empty hands that would much rather be interlaced with your paint-covered fingers. 

“How much longer do you think you’re going to be moping?” Satoru’s call is distant from the turning gears within Suguru’s brain. He’s sure that his best friend has grown tired of his constant state of melancholy - having been forced to be his support system after you walked out the door - and Suguru feels awful about it. If he could, he’d rip his heart from his chest and allow you to step on it. To stomp and tear through the organs just as you’d done to those poor bystanding cherry blossoms on the sidewalk. 

“As long as she’s still upset with me.” He groans as his forehead hits the marble of the island counter. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Yeah, well we already knew that.” The bright-eyed man beside him scoffs while taking yet another drink of his apple juice - which he has unfortunately had to drink for the past hour and a half since Suguru had somehow consumed his small supply of alcohol within the past few weeks that the two of you hadn’t been speaking. “I was really rooting for you, man. I thought she was the one to break your cycle.”

“Cycle?”

What the hell does he mean by ‘cycle’?

“Oh, you know,” Satoru continues without even taking a breath, “The cycle of life you’ve got going on with your inability to actually attract girls.”

Suguru hates him.

“You’re so funny.” He grumbles, taking his own swig of the pint of orange juice he found in the back of his fridge. Is it expired? Likely yes. Does Suguru care, at all? Definitely not. Is he even more pissed off that he doesn’t understand the irony of why it’s called orange juice? He doesn’t want to answer that question. “An unhelpful funny guy who should definitely stay over and cook dinner for me since he wants to make up for being so unhelpful.”

Satoru scoffs, shaking his head whilst the thin, soft strands of his hair flit back and forth. His right eyebrow raises in a mocking expression, “You need to get yourself back out there, man. You’ll be old and grey if you keep waiting for the perfect girl to come knocking on your door, so just talk to her. Just talk to her and put me out of my misery.”

“Are you trying to make this about you, right now?” Suguru stares at his best friend in utter disbelief, but he’s not truly upset. He knows that Satoru holds good wishes for him in all manners of life - this being no exception - and takes his words to heart. He’s right. Of course, he’s going to lose you if he doesn’t even try to get you back. “The sun must be falling out of the sky because I’m actually considering following your advice.”

“That’s a pretty picture to imagine,” his friend chuckles, causing Suguru to roll his eyes. What’s the sensation that everyone has with mentioning imagery every five seconds? “Just talk to her, man.” Satoru continues, “Please, I’m all out of advice.”

Suguru takes his friend’s pleas to heart. It is quite ridiculous that he’s spending his time depressed and lonesome when he could be reconciling with you. Perhaps it’s his fragile masculinity acting out and refusing to take blame for the situation, although he’s fully aware it’s completely his fault that you’re upset with him. 

It’s difficult for the gears to begin turning in Suguru’s head. They’re covered in brittle rust that’s been creeping deep into the crevices of his mind for his entire life - slithering down his spine towards his blackened heart that you had only just begun to breathe life into. He misses the feeling of spring that came when you called. The freshwater rain of your laughter and budding blossoms of your smile that washed away his loneliness and replaced the awful emotion with an overgrown garden of bliss. He still doesn’t understand how he managed to mow that garden down with one sentence. He might as well have taken a chainsaw and brutally hacked into every connection that he’d managed to make with you in your time of knowing each other. 

Now he’s going to be on his knees begging for forgiveness with his hands stained by the minced grass. Does grass stain green or yellow? Hopefully not brown, dear lord. He’ll be buried deep into apologies that should definitely be rehearsed, but he knows he’s not an artist with words and he won’t bother to waste your time with crumpled-up ‘I’m sorry’ notes and improvised tears. 

You deserve nothing but the best - so much more than he’s been giving you and he needs you to hear those words come straight from his mouth. 

When did you begin to mean so much to him? Suguru doesn’t even know. 

It could’ve been when you showed up to his community soccer game unannounced, with first row seats and a booming cheer that he never knew he desired. ‘C’mon number ten! I know you can do better than that! Beat their asses, Suguru!’ He nearly tripped at the sound of your voice, and falling on his face was the last thing he wanted to do in front of the opposing team - but to be completely honest, he doesn’t remember much of his qualms with his rivals from that day. Suguru was solely focused on playing well for you. The world stopped and he was given all the time needed to impress you. You give him a reason to be better, a selfless reason to do good. 

Perhaps it was when you’d shown him around your homey apartment, with maple art easels and splattered canvases lining the walls, and watched with glee as he made his best attempt at a finger painting (which may or may not have ended up looking like two worms kissing). ‘It’s abstract’, you’d say every time he found something new that was wrong with the art piece, ‘All it needs is a home. See?’ You hung his shitty little sketchbook paper on your living room wall, right next to your TV for the whole world to see. The way you stood there staring in awe still rattles his brain. You’ve always been able to find beauty in even the smallest things. 

Or maybe his heart had begun to beat a little faster that Saturday night on the way out of the theater. The romance of the film the two of you just witnessed was still on Suguru’s mind, provoking his alcohol-induced body to make a pathetic attempt at holding your hand - which resulted in him accidentally knocking you over into a street puddle that swallowed the heel of your shoe. ‘I needed to take a shower anyway, Suguru, it’s fine!’ Your smile continued to be bright despite the low temperature and sprinkling rain, and he can recall wondering how you managed to stay so positive in such a dreary situation. As you discarded your soggy heels into a nearby trashcan and skipped barefoot on the pavement, you called, ‘Come on! Dance with me!’ The shared laughter between the two of you echoed through the seemingly empty streets that surrounded you - hands connected as you swung in circles around each other and fell over one too many times, until he carried your sleeping body home. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever been able to make him laugh as hard. 

The way the corners of your eyes crinkle amidst fits of giggles is his favorite image to replay. He doesn’t need to know the color to be able to see how beautiful they are - to appreciate the blinding sparkle that overwhelms your irises when he accidentally trips over the uneven sidewalk or knocks over your painting station - or even when he unintentionally makes a sexual innuendo that you just so happen to pick up on. ‘That’s a love hotel, Suguru! Why would I have stayed there before?’ It was almost as if you were conducting a symphony of glorious laughter that night. The violins played the tune of your voice in a higher octave and the cellos added a punch everytime you’d bite your lip in an attempt to calm down. He hadn’t known what a love hotel was intended for before that night, but he’d also made the mistake to say, ‘I wouldn’t mind going to my first one with you, it could be a first for both of us.’ and you still haven’t let him live it down. Suguru’s honest with himself for the most part. He’s awkward, insufferable, and a bore to be around - yet, for some odd and unknown reason, those are your favorite things about him. Why?

Why is it that he can’t function like a normal person when your eyes meet his?

Why do his words rearrange themselves and become complete gibberish when he attempts to woo you with his charm?

What is it that keeps him coming back to you, despite holding such deep hatred for the things that you love most?

“I need to text her.” Suguru feels his chest vibrate as he finally makes a decision, the words pouring from his mouth in a short word vomit - forcing Satoru to piece together the jumbled mess and attempt to comprehend whatever it was that his big brother was trying to say, to which he jumps up from his seat at the island and aggressively pats Suguru on the back. 

“That’s what I’ve been saying, dumbass! Get those fingers movin’!” 

His phone falls into his hands in a millisecond, with Satoru eagerly awaiting to hear his poetry. He’s grateful to have such a supportive friend. Suguru knows that there aren’t many people who would be willing to put up with him for so long - having been moping around and complaining day-and-night of relationship problems that were solely caused by him - and he can’t imagine not having his support. Hopefully he’ll be able to introduce you, one day. You’ll both give him so much shit for his attitude. Oh well. It’ll all be worth it having two people he loves get along. 

…

Did he just…

What did—

There’s no way.

Did he really just use that word? That godforsaken word?

He’s trembling. Suguru’s phone is shaking in his hands as he finally comes to the realization that he does, with his entire heart and being, love you. In an instant, his entire world scrambles together with rapid dashes and line art that he can’t even comprehend. There’s no rules to follow with these types of feelings - this insistent need to see you. Hold you. Kiss you.

Fuck, he wants to kiss you. He can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing. 

Like tapping raindrops that never cease their fall, his fingertips move against the keypad in a rhythmic motion - singing a song of love that can’t be contained into a simple lullaby. His heart pours out into the message, apology after apology being pasted in paragraphs, and hopes with his whole soul that you’ll find it in yourself to at least see him in person. There’s no way you won’t. Suguru knows you well enough now that he’s certain he’ll be seeing you again. All he needed to do was take the first step towards forgiveness, and he’s finally willing to be vulnerable and own up to his inability to be honest about his feelings, because he loves you. He loves you and he wants to tell you a hundred times, a thousand times, and a million times until you beg him to shut the hell up and kiss you. 

‘I’ll be at the studio tonight. I miss you, and I’m sorry.’

He ends the message with a final apology, begging fate that you’ll read it in time to meet him while he still has courage - and with that, he’s on his way to the place he hates most, awaiting the person whom he loves most.

An hour has passed - well technically it’s been fifty-seven minutes, but who’s counting?

He’s counting.

The sun went into hiding ages ago and the moon now stalks him as he sits in his chair, lonely with two vacant eyes that wish they were gazing at yours. Suguru can’t even tell if you’ve read the text or not - the grey speech bubbles look the same as they always have, and the delivered sign is posted at the bottom with no response. He wants to send a follow-up message, just a little ‘hey, you there?’ but he knows that’s a little bit much. If you want to see him, you’ll see him and he’ll confess his feelings once-and-for-all - though, he’s feeling much less confident than he was an hour ago. Ahem, sorry. Fifty-nine minutes ago. 

Suguru has a plan of what he’s going to say to you, and hopefully it makes sense when the words begin to fall from his lips. He’s said it many times before, but he’ll say it again, he’s never been good with words or feelings or anything of the sort. He wants to get better, though - to become more emotionally aware for your sake, because he knows that’s a priority for you. You have an image of your dream guy that’s been in your wishes since primary school - tall, handsome, daring, dashing, yada, yada, yada - and he’s trying to be that guy. He needs to be that guy. He’ll be anything for you. 

Anything and everything…even the desperate guy who can’t get a text back. 

Y’know, for a moment - a brief and fleeting moment - the world seemed a little more beautiful in his self-realization of love. The stars glistened brighter and the street lights sparkled in their reflections. Before tonight, Suguru hasn’t ever been able to appreciate the natural beauty of what surrounded him. He never understood your fascination with replicating real life into paintings and sketches, but he seems to have digested the concept - at least a little bit. The only thing that could undoubtedly make his world more dazzling would be the sight of you, and holy shit there you are. There you are opening the front door - and your gorgeous, perfect reflection in the glass is looking straight at him. 

He doesn’t need the ability to see color to know that you’re the most fascinating and jaw-dropping sight in the entire universe - and that the rainbow should be rearranged in the letters of your name in honor of your ability to captivate attention and inflict a multitude of emotions on him that he’s never felt before. 

“Suguru?” Your melodious voice is the remedy that his ears have been yearning for. “Suguru, is that you? Why’re you in the dark?” 

This means you haven’t read his text, right? Otherwise, why would you be confused as to why he’s here? Wait, why’re you even here?

You begin to explain yourself without him needing to ask, “I left my phone in here earlier like an idiot and I’ve been looking for it all day. Isn’t that so dumb?” You let out a little laugh, amused at your inability to keep track of your personal belongings. Why aren’t you acting like you’re upset with him? The last time you talked, you could barely look him in the eye - yet now, you’re so casual, almost as if nothing happened. “Here I am looking for my lost phone, but instead I find a lost Suguru Geto.”

“What are you doing here? Sitting in the dark?”

The repeated question is met with a pregnant silence as Suguru fails to piece together the rehearsed words he had come up with earlier, settling on a bear hug that nearly suffocates you. 

He’s so overwhelmed by the feeling of touching you again that he barely notices how stiff your posture is. You’re practically a piece of rock in the midst of being carved by its maker, frozen and unable to formulate an action in response - which, in this case, means that he’s your artist. Suguru relaxes his hold, urging you to reciprocate his warmth by nestling his face in your neck. Your right arm finds its place wrapped around his waist and your left around his neck, allowing him to engulf you further into his hold. You smell so nice. He notices the lavender perfume that he bought you is still rubbed into your skin, and he’s glad that you’re finally using it. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

Suguru’s fingers run through your hair in smooth waves, gently kneading out the small knots and helping you relax - and he can tell that your full attention is on him. For the first time in knowing you, there aren’t any distractions or excuses to avoid this conversation. It’s just you, him, and the bare truth. He just hopes he can execute this right. 

“There aren’t enough words to explain how sorry I am, genuinely. I shouldn’t have ever belittled you like that.” He takes a deep breath, one of many, and closes his eyes. The scene of you stomping away from him has no end in his mind. It constantly plays at every hour of the day, re-run after re-run, to torment him and remind him how horribly he screwed up with you. Please, please forgive him. “You’re not just my mom’s student. You’re not just a friend that I get coffee with. You’re so much more than that and I’ve been such a fucking chicken and haven’t been able to be honest with you.”

“You couldn’t have possibly known about my condition and it was wrong of me to take my frustration out on you.” Suguru can feel himself begin to cry, his tears raining down his cheeks in cascades of pent up anger and hatred for how he made you feel that day. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve to be treated like shit by him. “Your work is important to you and I know it should be appreciated. What’s important to you is important to me, okay?”

“You love your art, and I love you.”

He says it over and over again. Those three special words rapidly become six words, nine words, eighteen, forty-two, and onwards as you look at him with an empty expression. Please, please say something. For every second of no response, he confesses his love to you. He confesses as if it’s his source of air - the only way that he’ll be able to survive this encounter is if he bares his emotions with no regrets. If this were a movie, he’d be the desperate protagonist in the climax of the story who fucked up his love life and is begging for a second chance - hell, this is real life and that’s exactly what he’s doing. Just, please, have a happy ending.

You open your mouth, yet nothing comes out. No words. No statements. No confessions. You’re simply staring at him like he’s just told you the most absurd news in the existence of the universe…

…and then a tear falls. 

One tear slips from your eyes, followed by another, and another…until your face is drenched in salty rain with black mascara creasing your eyes. You look like a raccoon. Suguru almost starts laughing. No. He is laughing; laughing because your false lashes have fallen into your hands as the glue refused to be waterproof - and now you’re standing before him in a puddled mess of makeup and disheveled hair. You’ve never looked more beautiful. 

Suguru brushes his fingers across your cheek, attempting to wipe away your tears like an artist covering up a beautiful mistake. If he were a painter, he’d paint you a million times and more - hanging every portrait on every single wall of his apartment, until there was literally no space left for a scrap of paper. You’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever laid his eyes on, and the smile that suddenly bursts from your sobs confirms it. 

“What’s going on? I’m so confused, are you happy or are you sad?” He’s so concerned and his inability to read emotions correctly only makes him more helpless. “Talk to me, beautiful. C’mon.”

You lean into his touch and he instantly knows that everything is going to be okay. 

“I just never thought I’d hear you say that.” Your smile is directed at him now, and he feels a warmth that is so familiar yet unfamiliar and he can’t get enough of it. It’s similar to the feeling of being showered in sunlight or snuggling beneath a comforter in the winter - an overwhelming comfort that’s a gift from you to him. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever. Fuck you for that.”

Now you’re both laughing, giggling, and beaming at each other. His heart feels so at peace. The civil war between his divided emotions, love and loneliness, has finally ceased. 

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

Neither of you can stop the flow of confessions that slip from your tongues and in an instant your lips are on his - clashing and colliding in a furious kiss that rivals the strength of a hurricane. It’s almost as if he can physically feel your love pouring into him and warming his heart into a heated flame, stoked by the embers of your touch. God, he missed your touch. The feeling of it is addicting. It’s his personal heroin and he’ll never get enough of it. 

Your lips are just as soft as he imagined them to be, perhaps they’re a rosy pink color with the slightest touch of strawberry lip balm that he keeps getting a fleeting hint of taste from. Never in his wildest dreams did he think you’d love him too. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. He silently repeats over and over - grateful that he’s been so blessed to know you…feel you…and love you in the awful world that he hated living on his own  - the world void of color that you’ve somehow brightened by simply breathing beside him. 

His hands are everywhere. Your hips. Your waist. Your breasts. Your neck. He can’t get enough of the feeling of you. With every passing second he’s falling deeper and deeper in love. You’re utterly perfect, he would kiss you for years if that was an option—

Aw shit, he knocked over an easel. 

“Goddammit,” he mumbles while briefly pulling away from you. Of course he had to interrupt the moment he’s been waiting months for with his clumsiness. He’s such a dumbass. If he could punch himself in the gut, he would - but that would be way too embarrassing in front of you - hold up, this painting is familiar!

“Well I'll be damned.” He chuckles and turns the canvas towards you, to which you burst out laughing. “I thought you’d have thrown this out.”

“No,” you gaze at the painting with love in your eyes. “I could never, that’s how we met.”

The painted streak he accidentally inflicted upon your artwork remains in the same position. It seems that you never even bothered covering it up and embraced the imperfection. While Suguru cannot decipher the magnitude of colors on the canvas, he’s sure that the various strokes look gorgeous and masterful. You’ve always been so talented. He’s so lucky.

As he places the painting upon a now-standing easel, you rest your forehead against his. He loves you. He loves you so much. So much so that he can’t help but take a step closer, not just one but many, and embrace the overwhelming love and passion he holds for you. There are so many words he wants to say, confessions that can carry on for an infinite number of lines, but there’s no need for that now. You have forever - and he decides to start that forever with his favorite thing…

…a kiss. 

“I love you.” You whisper.

“I love you more.” He replies.

This is a fancy-ass venue. 

Suguru can’t help but feel underdressed for the occasion, despite being clad in a fitted white button up and black tie, whilst his dress-shoes cramp his feet in the worst ways imaginable. He almost looks like that one moviestar in the romantic comedy you love so much. Was it the one with the rich guy in Singapore or the one where they worked in an office and he was a businessman? Suguru can’t remember. Whatever, it doesn’t really matter either way. He’s distracting himself too much, he needs to focus— tonight is one of the most important nights of your career. No, it is the most important night for your future career. His mother contacted every big art distributor and critic that she has professional relationships with. It’s your night…and wow did you kill it. 

It’s almost as if you’ve plastered yourself across the walls. Every art piece that his eyes roll over is exceptionally you - your personality, your passions, and your heart - and it’s obvious you’ve spent months curating the most perfect array of paintings a person could muster. 

He can read your story like an open book while he slowly makes his way through the gallery. There are paintings depicting your childhood, ones that remind him of the stories you tell him of your primary school drama and premature interests. That one must be when you broke your arm while learning to ride your bike. You’re particularly stuck on that story— strongly stating how upset you were because it was your dominant arm, halting your ability to paint for seven weeks. Referencing your painting passion, there’s a whole array of canvases dedicated to your love for art; beginning with inspirations of immaturity to skillful selections of texture techniques. Suguru is obviously no art critic, but if he were, he’d write a whole expose on how amazing you are. 

With his mind so engaged with your talent, he’s oblivious to the people passing by; so oblivious that he doesn’t even notice his own family approaching. 

“She’s talented isn’t she?” 

Holy shit. The familiar voice of his mother startles Suguru, but he instinctively wraps a loose arm around her waist and greets her with a grin. She returns the affectionate expression and it’s painfully obvious that he got his smile from her, and even more painfully obvious that they’re all trying to embarrass him when Satoru walks up with his teeth beaming.

“Your girlfriend’s a pro at this stuff, Suguru.” Satoru ruffles his best friend’s hair and lightly nudges his shoulder. “I told you something like this would happen one day! You’ve found yourself a dream girl.”

Suguru rolls his eyes in amusement at his friend’s quips, completely ignoring him and focusing on his mom. Satoru’s always been his number one supporter. Though he’d be surprised if Satoru actually kept a girlfriend longer than a month with his constant busy schedule and inability to focus on one girl at a time; but that’s a story for another day. What matters now is his mom’s praise of you.

“Y’know I always knew she had an innate ability.” Miss Geto has a faint smile on her face, gazing at her son with nothing but pure happiness. It’s a true display of a mother’s love for her child, and Suguru doesn’t know what he’d do without her guidance. She squeezes his side and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. God, he’d be so embarrassed if his friends saw this. “Though, I always thought she specialized in artwork.”

Hm? Suguru sends a puzzled glance in her direction. What is she going on about?

His mom continues, knowing her son well enough that he needs a clear explanation in order to understand anything at all, and presses her hand against his chest. “I didn’t realize she was so skilled at touching hearts.”

His heart is beating faster at the mere thought of your beauty.

There are tears behind Miss Geto’s eyes and Suguru can feel the waterworks attempting to break his own dam. They’re an emotional duo, him and his mom, Satoru gets tired of their antics sometimes— but Suguru knows he loves them. His mom always knows the right thing to say. “I never thought I’d see you like this, Suguru.”

Satoru smiles, nodding in agreement. “You seem so at ease. It’s cute.”

Reflexively, he pulls them both into a big hug— which is the first girl-related hug he’s given Satoru since he was a teenager, seventeen years old and inseparable. Suguru finally understands what it means to love and be loved, all because of you; and now he can apply that same love to his perspective on life, which was dreary for so long. The overwhelming comfort he feels in his family’s arms is the same warmth he felt when he was a child, to which he ran into his mother’s arms at any moment for a grasp at joy. For a long time, Suguru believed that it was only possible to have a singular love. Oh how wrong he was. 

“I get it now.” he says softly into their ears. “She helped me understand.”

“And we’re happy for you,” Satoru pats him on the back as hard as he can, eliciting a threatening glare from his best friend, to which Suguru’s mother laughs. 

“Check out the centerpieces down the hall.” Miss Geto nudges Suguru on, standing beside Satoru. “I think you’ll love them, sweetheart.”

With their encouragement, he carries on with the gallery and down the straight hallway of evolving paintings. Every step he takes, seems to carry him into a new era of your life. It’s almost as if he’s time traveling through memories that seemingly morph from abstract to realistic art; and he learns more and more about you with each passing second, ultimately leading towards one large painting in the center of the room. 

Holy shit. You’re breathtaking. 

Never in Suguru’s life has his world stopped due to paint on canvas— but right now, it feels like every single brush stroke is a frozen second that he gets to relive again and again, just basking in the presence of your beautiful skill.

The way you’ve outlined your hair with thin lines and highlighted your lovely cheekbones, is nothing short of masterful. If he looks close enough, he can understand the comforting feeling of cupping your face with just his eyes. He didn’t even know you did self-portraits, but now he wishes he could hang this very one right above his couch; to show off the talent of his amazing girlfriend for everyone to see (not that he actually has many friends other than his former classmates). 

Where are you? He needs to let you know how special it is to be with someone like you—

“Cat got your tongue?”

Speak of the devil.

“Do you like it?” You raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. “What do you think?”

You said the same thing when you first met.

Suguru looks between you and the painting, now realizing that no matter how masterful your skill is, it’s impossible to capture just how gorgeous you are in any form of art. You’re simply exquisite. The most talented painter in the world wouldn’t know how to appreciate your beauty. Davinci? No. Botticelli? No. Di Angelo? Not even he could sculpt your features to perfection. However, despite his high standards, Suguru believes that your self portrait is the greatest thing he’s ever seen. 

The familiar feeling of flusteredness grows on his cheeks as he holds eye-contact with you, wondering what color it is you’re wearing. He bets it’s red, you always wear red around him. “I love it.”

As your right hand finds his palm, the left reaches up and cups his cheek. With a gentle touch, your lips are on his and Suguru feels his head take a spin on the merry-go-round of love. He can’t get enough of you. If he had a choice, he’d spend every waking second of his day peppering you in light kisses on every part of your body— and he’d make sure that you never felt loneliness again. You deserve nothing less than the absolute best, and he’s made it his life’s goal to give that to you.

Slowly, he begins to feel your smile against his lips and you pull away with a lovesick gaze. He pulls you into his chest, cradling your head and kissing it softly before whispering how proud he is, and it’s almost unbelievable how far Suguru’s come. Somehow you’ve lured him into a bottomless ravine where the only resource to live is to be hopelessly in love with you— and truthfully, he never wants to escape. You’re everything to him. 

“You love it?” your eyes are shining brighter than the sun. “You haven’t even seen my best work yet.”

“Oh?’ Suguru raises his brows, mocking surprise at your statement. “Well now you have to show me. It’s only fair.”

You place your hands on his chest and peck his lips before spinning him around. He’s confused for a moment, wondering what you’re doing when you could’ve just led him to the canvas instead of guiding him around like it’s a dance class…but then he sees it. 

He sees himself. 

Never in his life has he completely understood what being in love is. Yes, he's felt love. From his mother, who raised him to be the man he is; caring, thoughtful, and compassionate. From his best friend, who helped him understand ambition and sacrifice. From his community, who challenge him to be the best he possibly can and to support one another without holding grudges. He's felt different types of love from so many people in his life. Familial. Platonic. Admiration. This is different, though. The love you show him is true love. It's the kind of love that movie stars win awards for portraying. It's the fantasy that kids dream about having when they grow up into big adults. It's the thing he thought was impossible to obtain, but was lucky enough to stumble upon you in that empty art studio on the best day of his life. 

He didn't know love could be expressed in this kind of way. Through the very same paint strokes and brush marks that used to make him nauseous with hatred. Seeing your masterpiece, he doesn't understand how he could ever hate something so amazing. Art is spectacular. No. Your art is spectacular. You are spectacular. 

"You love it right?" You're trying your best not to giggle at his awestruck reaction. "Want to know the best part?"

Suguru can feel himself nodding, desperately reaching for your hand in an attempt to ground himself from the air he's walking on— and you begin to explain. "It's a dual piece. Notice how we're facing each other?"

Oh my god, you are facing each other. He hadn't noticed it before, but he can see clearly now. You've placed him in the dead center of the room, giving him a full view of both of the paintings— opposite of one another on two opposing easels. "Tell me more, baby." His voice is nothing louder than a whisper, only for you to hear.

"I'm painted in black and white."

Oh?

"You're painted in color."

...Oh.

"I wanted to show how love knows no bounds. There's beauty in how you see me and how I see you. It doesn't matter that I'm colorless to you, you still look at me like I'm the prettiest girl in the world; and I only wish you could understand how vibrant your eyes are, Suguru. You're the most handsome man I've seen in my entire life."

He loves you.

He loves you so, so much. 

A part of his heart feels like he's falling in love with you all over again. It's growing larger and larger, unable to contain the capacity of feelings he holds for you. He's so overwhelmed with joy that tears begin to fight to escape his eyes, ultimately dripping down his cheeks like watercolor on paper, and he sweeps you into the tightest hug known to man.

There's really only one thing left to do. One thing to close this chapter and carry on with the rest of your love story, something that's sacred only between the two of you. Something that he hopes to say to you everyday, every night, every hour, and every minute that he can.

"I love you."

[sinning-23]

Fishbowl (Buggy x Siren!Reader)

I hope you guysss like this one lol it’s been in the works for a minute and is one of the last in the siren/mermaid series! Also sorry for any spelling errors! This one with be a two part red and definitely some angst? Or at least I’ll try lol angst isn’t exactly my specialty!

Anyway, ENJOY!

Your nails claw at the glass, leaving scrapes and indents in their wake. After being captured by these pirates, you were transported to a large glass dome on wheels. You were panicking, the screeching from your echolocation making passerby’s of the crew cover their ears and double over.

Why you? You hadn't even been by the ship...they just pulled up to the shore of your home island firing cannons as your sisters swam for cover. You directed them, helping them escape only to be grabbed by the hair an dragged to the shore before you could make your escape.

Any mermaid knew what happened when they were captured.... fin scales used for jewelry, the rich meat of your tails used in rare dishes. The your teeth would be grinder down to pearl like where’s, drilled for necklaces. Nausea builds in the pit of your stomach. This was it.

He approached you, lifting you by your hair as your gills opens and close at the side of your neck, an unpleasant, wet sounding “gasp” filling the silence.

“What a treat. My audience is gonna love you.”

You swallow hard, native tongue sliding off with venom. He sneers at this.

“Too bad I can’t understand you sweets.” Buggy chuckles.

He’s got your arm in an uncomfortable grip as he drags you across the sand and flings you into another crewmate. I’m some kind of silent agreement the carry you across the sandy beach to the temporary tank. Your stomach turns, glittery tears falling down your cheeks.

Currently, you keep clawing, scratching, and screeching, and the glass begins to crack at this latest noise. You needed to get out. But before you can fix your voice to scream again, he enters.

"Please shut your mouth sweetheart. You're not going anywhere.” He explains with a roll of his eyes.

You speak again, and of course, he can understand but it’s something along the lines of,

“I’ll kill you when I get out of here.”

_____4 months______

You scratched a tally for each day you were there, the fishbowl now adorned with a stand and a pretty label in fancy blue ribbon and gold paint. He forced you to act in his shows, putting your gifted set of pipes “to good use”. Even though your siren song was powerful, its intended purpose seemed to fade away.

Every song you sang, the sorrow of being captured poured into your notes, making the audience ever more mournful than they already were. Your songs and performances almost always ended in tears now, Buggy’s crew opting to wear earplugs in fear they’d end their lives then and there if they heard one more melancholic tune.

Buggy, on the other hand, was beginning to grow ever impatient. The first two months of shows had gone just fine! His crew and audience were so enamored by your beauty and sound. Now it was just pitiful. But even though it pissed him off his own decisions led to failure, he couldn’t help but want your gorgeous set of pipes to himself.

Often, he’s caught himself in a daze, wondering what it feels like to have you sing him to sleep, your hands caressing his face with a smile and he pulls into a sense of security. Fat chance though…

Besides, you hadn’t even really been properly introduced since that day he surprise adopted you(kidnapped). Perhaps he should make conversation? He shakes his head at the thought, sitting in his designated chair, just watching.

Your scales flash and flicker sparkles of light in the empty tent. Maybe that’s why he captured you in the first place? You were beautiful. And his did he love seeing those pretty glittery tears roll down your cheeks when you’d first met.

A smile plays over his lips when you catch him staring, your eyes narrowing for a moment before you press against the glass, blowing bubbles at him from under the water. You say something he can’t quite hear.

In a curious haze, he stands, walking up to your fishbowl, looking at each tally you’d engraved into the glass.

“Why won’t you let me go?” You hum, the water making your voice somehow sound prettier that ever, the slight muffle making him hum.

“Because I like sad songs.” He jokes, circling your glass prison.

How typical of him, to joke in a serious situation like this, well serious to you at least. He really takes time to observe you, the way your scales seem to be some sort of opalescent chrome.

How your hair floats around your face, your gills opening and closing ever so slightly. He admires the smaller fins adorning your spine and forearms. He wonders if you’re insecure about them.

“Sing for me.”

It’s a demand, and before you can protest, he’s already back in his chair, watching, resting his head against his closed fist.

Even though you feel obligated, your voice and song feel softer now. Almost as if the small interaction with the captain had only slightly lifted your spirit.

And somehow your hymn didn’t seem so dismal.

[vanteguccir]

Loving without restrictions | Chris Sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where Y/N and Chris have been keeping their relationship a secret for just over a year until one day where Y/N feels ready to announce it; OR, where Y/N and Chris soft launch their relationship.

Warning: None.

Requested?: Yes, by anon

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

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It was a typical Thursday morning, with the sun shining strongly against the outside walls of the house, keeping it warm. Inside the comfort of the room, Y/N and Chris were lying on their bed, wrapped in each other's arms after waking up. The rays of warm LED lights danced softly over their skin as they exchanged caresses, each touch filling the room with tenderness.

Chris, with his messy hair and a lazy smile on his lips, watched Y/N with adoration. His eyes conveyed a mix of love and gratitude for having her there.

Meanwhile, Y/N was in deep thought. Her eyes were fixed on the white ceiling as her mind studied the complexities of keeping their relationship a secret. As she stroked Chris's hair and felt the comforting warmth of his embrace, her mind was in a whirl, revisiting the moments when they agreed to keep things a secret.

She considered the reasons that led them to this decision. The pressure of the triplets' fandom, the intense attention from social media, the invasion of privacy that comes with public exposure - it all weighed on her mind. The girl vaguely remembered the heartfelt conversations they had, the mutual concerns about how fans would react to their relationship. It was a delicate dance between the desire to share her happiness with the world and the need to protect her own privacy.

However, despite all the rational arguments that accumulated in her mind, there was an undeniable desire that consumed her. She wanted to be able to shout to the world that Chris was hers, without restrictions. She wanted to be able to walk hand in hand with him down the street without worrying about some fan seeing them and commenting on Twitter about it. She wanted to be able to appear in the triplets' videos as Chris's girlfriend, not as just a friend.

While reflecting on the pros and cons, Y/N noticed that, despite all her fears, her love for Chris transcended all worries. Despite the challenges they would face, their connection was stronger than any of it. She knew it was time to put aside her fear, despite not knowing how to deal with his fans or fame, she wanted to be able to look Chris in the eye and say with pride that he was hers, in every sense of the word.

So, between the light pecks of Chris's lips on her skin and the caresses of his fingers on her hip, Y/N felt her heart speed up, and she decided it was time to take a step forward.

"Chris..." She began, her voice soft and somewhat hesitant.

Chris's eyes met hers, a mixture of curiosity and concern reflected in her gaze.

"What is it, babe? You look serious." The boy frowned, sitting up slightly and keeping his upper body supported on the bed by his left elbow.

Y/N took a deep breath, gathering all the courage she had within herself.

"I... I think I'm ready."

"Ready? Ready for what?" Chris asked, confused.

"Ready to no longer hide our relationship." Y/N declared, her voice firm and determined. She turned her body sideways, still lying down, but now facing him.

Chris was momentarily stunned, processing her words. Then, a radiant smile spread across his face, his eyes shining beautifully.

"You mean... You mean you're ready to make our relationship public?" His voice came out high-pitched, a sign of euphoria.

"Yes, Chris. I'm ready. I want this, I want to be able to say I'm yours. No restrictions." Y/N nodded, a nervous smile playing on her lips.

"But, are you sure? I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with." The brunette pressed his lips into a thin line, his heart racing in anticipation.

"I've never been so sure before, pretty boy." Y/N nodded again, a smirk decorating her face, feeling light as a feather.

Chris sat straight on the mattress abruptly, pulling her up with ease, ignoring the small scream of surprise that escaped her lips. He sat her on his crossed legs, spreading several kisses over her cheeks, nose, and forehead repeatedly, eliciting loud laughter from the girl, her heart overflowing with happiness.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The sun was setting over the horizon, painting the sky with shades of orange and pink as the triplets were in their usual seats in the car, recording the video that would be posted on the following Friday.

"Her beauty is crazy, I watch her from the crowd." Chris sang suddenly, a small smile on his lips, looking at Matt sideways.

"I wrote a couple of things down that were in my brain..." Nick began, ignoring Chris's sudden singing. "I love citrus. Anytime I can get my hands on a citrusy fruit, I want it. The juice, the flavor... it's delicious." He continued, a smile on his face as his eyes went from Chris to Matt and back again.

Nick's random remark caused Chris to jump excitedly in the passenger seat. His eyes lit up, and a smile grew on his face.

"Citrus drinks?" He asked, turning his upper body to the side so that he was closer to the oldest triplet.

"Yeah, I love it! Orange juice, lemonade, anything with a hint of citrus." Nick responded, pulling out his phone to look at his notes for the video, not noticing the change in Chris' behavior.

Chris felt his heart start to beat faster in his chest as his mind raced to a single person: Y/N. She also loved citrus drinks. It was one of her most striking characteristics.

"This is awesome!" Chris exclaimed, barely able to contain his excitement. "Y/N also loves citrus drinks, you know? She's obsessed with orange juice and lemonade! Also, I always get her lemonade when she participates in one of our videos, remember?"

As he ramble, Chris felt his face heat up, a red color spreading across his cheeks and neck. It was difficult to control the shyness when talking about Y/N, even if it was just mentioning her preference for drinks.

Matt and Nick exchanged amused glances in the rearview mirror, immediately noticing Chris's change in mood.

"Wow, she really likes citrus, huh?" Matt commented, with a playful tone, raising his right eyebrow.

"Uhm." Chris nodded, his involuntary smile growing even wider on his face, quickly pressing his lips into a thin line, trying to stop himself from continuing his barrage of comments he could spend hours making about Y/N.

Nick planned to delete the short minutes while editing, but he ended up forgetting it, creating an intense mess in the comments.

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Comments:

"wait, did yall see how Chris blushed while talking about Y/N? 🥺"

"omg Chris talking about Y/N was the cutest thing I saw today 😭"

"Chris and Y/N? how long did I sleep?"

"omg omg omg are they together?"

"date someone who talks about you like Chris talks about Y/N 😫"

"Chris getting super excited JUST TO SAY THAT Y/N LIKES CITRUS DRINKS 😭😭"

"I really hope Chris and Y/N are together, they would be super cute together 🥺"

"there's something going on that we don't know about 🤨🤨"

"spill the tea guys 😔✋🏻"

"I think this part wasn't supposed to stay in the video LMAO"

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liked by sturniolo.triplets, yninstagram and 408,823 others

christophersturniolo oops, forgot to mention it 😬🤍

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My requests are open! Please read my rules before sending anything ♡

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

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(If you want to be added to the taglist, please comment here)

[mochiimadness]

hi! i really like your works, so i'd like to request a ( sort of angsty ) scenario where the rottmnt boys react to their s/o losing their memories after getting injured from a bad guy fight, so they completely forget who the boys are

Hello! I want to preface this by saying: this is mostly from their POV, so their thoughts are very much self-blaming, even if what they think is not at all the case!

Slightly angsty, filled with self blame and anxiety.

Rottmnt x S/O who loses their memories after a fight

Neon Leon

Leo feels the weight of this horrible situation crush him like a fallen building.

If only he had just been a little faster- or planned ahead better

Maybe if he had been more serious about his s/o and their safety this never would have happened.

He’s in shock at first when you flinch away from him

Whether or not you were genuinely scared or just shocked at seeing a mutant ninja turtle-

It hurts him all the same because of one thing

The genuine confusion on your face-

No trace of recognition in your gaze

He shuts down for a few moments as his brothers try to figure out what they can do to help

The ringing in his ears grow loud until the high pitch whine is all he can hear

He can’t even see you nor his family in front of him anymore- everything far too blurry

Just vague shapes and blobs of color…

Distorted and unrecognizable

Is that how his s/o saw him??

All he can think is;

He should have gotten to you quicker

He couldn’t even portal to you because he didn’t know where you were.

It’s his fault that you don’t remember him,

The life you two have life together,

All the laughter you shared,

Just gone… like it never existed…

…

He should’ve been better.

Don Tron

Donnie’s already trying to scan his s/o and check for any injuries the second he finds them

What could’ve caused their condition??

Blunt force trauma to the head?

Mystical memory wipe??

What’s ever caused it, he’s going to find it

And he will not rest until he can reverse this.

Absolutely could not handle your reaction to him-

Not knowing who he is,

Not knowing all the wonderful progress you two made together,

Helping him with his experiments and machinery,

Getting comfortable with prolonged touch,

The late night rambles-

Immediately started murmuring the statistics of regaining your memory under his breath

You had to get their memory back- you absolutely had to.

Statistics be damned- he’s making sure it’s a 100% chance.

There’s anxiety gnawing away at him slowly from the inside,

Creeping and burning like static in his bones.

Not even the numerous photos he has of the both of you are helping- maybe it’s just too soon

You did just wake up after all… but why-

Why couldn’t he have prevented this?

All of his fail safes,

The numerous emergency alert devices he gave you,

He weapon he had specifically designed to be easy to conceal and have on you at all times,

Even his GPS tracker-

None of them had worked to keep you safe…

He failed, and this was worse than any experiment exploding in his face.

He failed you and now you have no idea about just how close you two actually are

…

He will fix this- there’s no room for error this time.

Mystic Mike

Mikey’s on the verge of waking up the person who was cruel enough to harm you this badly- just so he could beat them up again.

They hurt you- hurt you so bad you can’t even remember his name

Let alone everything you two have been through together

Mikey feels rage

At the situation,

At the villains who did this,

And at himself-

Why hadn’t he been strong enough to stop this?

He can throw buses, skyscrapers even,

He can maneuver his way around places with ease with his razzmatazz mastery

But what was all that strength and skill for if none of it could help you?

He’s frustrated enough to cry

But he’s also the quickest to compose himself

Several deep breaths in and out before he's able to pull himself together enough to crouch down beside his beloved s/o

Gently reassures you that he means no harm,

That you were in a bad fight and letting you slowly collect yourself.

He also uses photos- but rather than doing this to specifically try to jog his s/o's memories,

It's more to show them that they actually do know him-

Trying to get your memories back can wait for later,

His main focus is making sure his s/o is calm and comfortable around him- at least enough to trust that he won't harm them.

Once you feel that they can trust him- even if only a little bit,

He'll take you home and make sure you're alright physically.

Later on, he sneaks off quietly to the gym area

Demolishes the punching bag they had-

All of his worries and frustrations are taken out with every punch

Would you ever remember him?

If you never regained your memories, is there any chance you two would ever have the relationship you once had again??

They're going to need more punching bags,

All the extra ones are destroyed too.

His family is worried, but Mikey is only focused on two things;

Helping you remember him and getting revenge for you.

He will make sure this won't ever happen again.

Big Red

What do you mean you don't remember him??

You're his s/o!

His partner!

Surely you must be playing a prank or something-

He is in complete denial at first,

Then, as his family explains that no-

You aren't joking,

You genuinely don't remember him,

His denial shatters into gut wrenching dispair.

How did this happen-

Why did this happen?!

...

This was all his fault.

Why wasn't he there for you when you needed him??

He's suppose to be able to protect those who he cares about

Especially his beloved s/o

Yet he failed

He wasn't there,

He wasn't able to help you, to stop you from ever being hurt this badly

And now you can’t remember a single thing about him, your relationship together, nothing.

RAPH is still able to move and check on you-

Though, it’s more like hovering worriedly while Donnie and Leo do their best to patch you up

He is watching like a hawk, making sure that you’re in no additional discomfort or pain

Once you’re clear enough to be able to go home though

Raph is stressing

If you leave now you could get hurt again!

But he doesn’t want to scare you off by being too overbearing

Especially if he wants any chance of you remembering him-

He can’t cause you to feel uncomfortable around him- or worse

Frightened.

He’s able to stop his anxiety fueled spiral before it consumes him

Focusing on making you’re you get home safely

Even if you decline having him walk with you-

He’ll make sure to follow stealthily from a distance

Once he’s certain you’re absolutely safe and sound

He’s pacing around the lair and pulling at his mask

What if you don’t remember him?

Donnie said you likely just had “mild amnesia” but what if it was worse?!

There’s a chance you’ll never be able to remember him-

And it’s all his fault…

He couldn’t protect you

It all boils down to one simple fact ringing in his head:

He wasn’t there

…

He’ll make sure he’s always there

He will be there for you.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed

Also for those who may not have watched ROTTMNT- Mikey is shown to be a little angry ball of revenge at times, while Raph is shown to be full of anxiety and mother-henning™️

So they may seem a little ooc compared to other versions of them!

[bia-wayne-west]

Mornings and waffles – Clark Kent x Reader

Characters: Clark Kent [Superman], Jon Kent [Superboy], Conner Kent [Superboy] and fem! Reader [You]

Synopsis: You have been married to Clark Kent for 12 years, and you live in the farmhouse in Smallville. You have two children, Jon Kent and Conner Kent. On a sunny morning, her two children jump on the bed to order pancakes and good morning kisses. You couldn't have a more perfect family.

Warnings: Superboys being super cute. N/A: I thought about doing something similar to Batmom but Superman. I always imagined what it would be like to be the mother of two super boys. Hope you like it. I hope you like it and that you feel how cute Superboys are. I'm a Latina girl who doesn't speak fluent English, so I want to apologize for any writing errors you find. Feel free to correct me.

Requests are open waiting for you

MASTERLIST

The sun was shining on the farm.  The light came in through the window, but you didn't bother because you were hugging your husband's huge body.  Clark used to sleep completely clinging to you, so the sun didn't hurt him.

You were about to wake up, but you could have a few more good minutes for you and Superman in bed together.  Well, you planned to stay in bed until you decided to leave, but your children didn't want to contribute to your wish.

You felt two heavy bodies jumping on the bed, on top of you.  Your eyes snapped open, and you sighed wearily when you saw Jon's bright blue eyes staring back at you.  He and Conner were in bed, trying to wake their parents.

“Waffles!”  Jon yelled, jumping on you.

Jonathan was ten and Conner was eighteen, but they still liked to jump into their parents' bed on a Sunday morning to order coffee.  They could just ask Martha or wait for you to wake up, but it was more fun to jump on you.

“Jon it's still five in the morning, go to bed.” You grumbled, running your hand through your youngest son's hair.

“It's time for coffee, Mom.  And the father has to fix the barn again.”  This time it was Conner who spoke.  He was hunched over Clark's body, who kept his eyes closed, was awake, but still didn't open his eyes.

It was hard to get Clark to accept Conner.  At first, he treated the boy with utter contempt and it broke your heart.  There were hours of conversation, and he only accepted his eldest son after having a conversation with Bruce, which made your husband open his mind.

Conner suddenly came into your life, but you can't imagine a complete family without their pretty boy.  It took Clark a few years to accept the clone as a son and call him that, but when he called the boy son for the first time, your heart was full of love.

“And we want waffles.”  Jon said again, sitting up in bed.  He was in his pajamas with a dinosaur design on it and his hair was totally disheveled, and his face was crumpled up from sleep.

“Then let's make waffles.”  You said, giving up.  Their children uttered an exclamation of joy, making a high-five between them.  “There will be waffles for you too, Mr. Kent.”  You whispered in the ear of your husband, who now had his eyes open and smiling at Jon.

“Come on, Jon.  Whoever gets to the table first will get the most coffee.”  Superboy suggested, getting out of bed in the field.  Jon also got up, and the two ran to the kitchen, betting on a race.

You let out a weak moan, hugging your husband again.  He hugged you back, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.

“Let's get up, we have to feed the two beasts.”  Clark joked, taking off the blanket so he could put his feet on the ground.

You smiled, repeating your husband's act and going to the bathroom.  Within minutes, you had washed your face, brushed your teeth, and changed your clothes.

You were already in the kitchen, putting the batter in the machine to turn it into a chocolate waffle.  Jon and Conner already had their mouths covered with so much chocolate, but they still wanted to repeat four more servings.

Martha, your mother-in-law, was helping you make coffee.  She was by his side, frying eggs and bacon.  She smiled at you, with that sweet face that only she had.

“They're very gluttonous.”

You both laughed, and smiled even more when you saw that Jonathan was frowning, probably because you heard his grandmother's comment.

“I only ate seven waffles and three pieces of bacon.  I didn't even eat that much.” He confessed, making a cute pout.

“Okay, so, since you're not eating much, that portion of bacon and eggs goes to your dad.”  You joked, putting the fresh food Martha had just prepared on your husband's plate, who thanked you with a kiss on the cheek.

Conner groaned.  After you and your mother-in-law finished cooking, the two of you joined them for a nice family breakfast.

You laughed at each other, talked about silly topics, and showed how much you loved each other.

“We have a perfect family.”  Clark confessed, running his hand gently over his arm.  “A completely loving and amazing family.” He concluded with a smile when he saw Martha lightly pat Conner's hand gently as he tried to grab one of his grandmother's bacon.

[fandomwritingbit]

Sweet Girl pt.5

dbf/William Afton x (fem) virgin/reader

pt.1 - here. pt.2 - here. pt.3 - here. pt.4 - here.

Synop: Bored of the lack of contact you and William decide to bring wanking to the 21st century.

Warnings: Smut, masturbation, obsessive behaviour/thoughts for the both of you, corruption, coercion. Virgin reader.

A/n: MATES, MATES, I FUCKING WROTE SOMMET. This is not a drill, I wrote something after weeks of nada and it's... well, it's mediocre. But it's something! This was not the part 5 I had planned but rather a dirty thought that ran away with me that I hope reads half decently.

Is this fuck proofread lmao, soz for any errors I'll try to fix them later on x

You wake very confused, squinting in the light from your bedroom window that was much too bright for 8 in the morning, so you lift yourself from your sheets to check your phone: 9:30. You’ve overslept. Siting up properly you glace at your side table clock through sleepy eyes, needing to confirm the reality of the time, you set an alarm, what the fuck? You have plans today that are now going to have to be pushed up. 

You’re up like a whirlwind, messaging the friend you’re supposed to be having breakfast with that it’s now going to have to be a lunch, a late lunch ideally. Surprisingly they’re not too put out, they must be running late themselves. Crisis averted, you head downstairs to get yourself some coffee which will hopefully combat the awful feeling of having screwed your whole day up already. To be fair, it’s about time something like this happened to you, life’s been too easy for too long. Well, baring the odd relationship with your father’s friend, of course. 

Not wanting to tackle the coffee machine, which you swear is as old as you, if not older, you go for coffee granules and the kettle. A simple man’s brew, and that’s certainly how you feel today. You hadn’t bothered with dressing or throwing a dressing gown on, it’s a warm enough morning that you can stand in the kitchen in your pyjama shorts and vest without shivering, the only cold you feel is your bare feet on the tile. 

Your kettle clicks and you set about making your cup, ignoring the squeak of the backdoor  opening, you’ll greet whichever parent it is when they greet you, if the interaction can be delayed it’s for the best. You pour your water, but the sudden and crisp sound of a wolf whistle makes you overspill onto the counter. Sliding your phone out the way of the spillage, you turn to see the sniggering face of William and your heart manages to soar and sink at the same time, something only this man is able to do. 

Your annoyed expression melts into a flush, you know exactly why he whistled and you cross your arms over your chest accordingly, hard up to do anything about the shorts position high up your thighs. 

“Sorry,” He says without any conviction, still grinning as the coffee begins to drip off the edge of the worktop. Adding slyly, “You wouldn’t mind making me one, would you?”

You neglect to answer, going for an embarrassed, “What are you doing here?” instead. The man’s been in your kitchen for less than a minute and you already feel like you shouldn’t be here, for your own protection. Last time springs to your mind, involuntarily quickening your heart rate. He’d caught you off guard then too, then used you up and wrung you out, and you loved every second of it. You hate him for that, and the way your pussy seems to know when he’s in the room, it’s not fair. 

“Clearing out the garage with you dad.” He presents his palms in his own defence, the smug look of him shows his pride at begging her legitimately. “He told me you were out.” It’s phrased like a question, again making you feel like a trespasser in your own home.

“I’m supposed to be.” You explain without detail, averting your gaze from his and instantly remembering the mess on the counter, and now the floor. 

“Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Especially in that.” He laughs meanly, making you frown. You look pretty all annoyed at him, the furrow of your brown not doing anything to hide the heat on your face from the invasive way his eyes drink you in. And as if that wasn’t far enough he steps forward, sliding his hand over the silky fabric coating your hip. “Almost as revealing as that pretty little bikini.” Your back hits the surface behind you, he has a knack for cornering you, but you suppose it’s not exactly herding cats if the prey doesn’t want to run away. 

The comment hits home though and you remember exactly how easy it was for him to move that garment aside and- 

You’re pulled from that thought as his hand slides further, over your hip to your arse. “Stop.” You say a little breathless, not liking how he just grins at the word. “...My dad could walk in.”

“That didn’t stop you last time.” His tone is mocking, riddled with amusement at how you can’t seem to refuse him. 

“That was stupid… You make me stupid.” You mutter, pushing his hand away and trying to ignore how affected you feel already. “You need to stop.” You affirm, holding your voice steady to prevent the whine that threatened to accompany it. 

William leans closer to you, a mean joy practically emanating from him when your breath hitches. He speaks lowly, a gleeful edge warming you for him and doing everything possible to add to that stupidity “Are you going to make me?”

You just look up at him, your chest rising quickly less than half an inch from his. “...Yes.” You finally manage, nerves and need in your core making you hesitant. Your eyes are wide in wait for response, and the man holds firm just long enough that you panic. He reaches behind you for something before obeying your word, you realise sharpish that he’s plucked your phone from the countertop. 

Trying to take it back fails when he catches your wrist and flicks you away. You’re whining like a child, unable to help the discomfort flooding your veins at him holding something so personal. “William, give it back. What are you-” Your words die when he simply holds the phone in front of you and you hear the subtle click of your face ID unlocking it. 

You watch angrily as he steps away with the device, internally fighting the urge to try and take it back by force. 

He glances at your outrage, stoking it with, “You must have some dirty secrets on here to protest so much.” Shaking his head, he makes you wait whilst he does whatever he nicked your phone to do. Chuckling as he has to manoeuvre the screen from your sight when you try to at least see what he’s doing. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m giving you my number… You don’t want to entertain me now, then you can later.” 

You find yourself nodding when he hands you the phone back. 

~

Your day is spent, lunch and coffee with your mate over and done with, dinner with your parents finished. So you slip away to bed with your phone clutched to your chest, which is tight with forbidden excitement. Halfway through the day your checking of messages was fruitful, with one from William telling you that you’re going to ‘entertain him’ at 11pm tonight, and despite your naivety you know exactly what that means. 

The only way to combat your nerves is preparation so you pick out a matching bra and knickers set, light pink and lacy, you know he’s going to like them, perhaps too much if anything. Then a white nightdress, just see-through enough to give a hint as to the underwear underneath. 

Then it’s propping your phone up with a pillow and sitting cross-legged on your bed, checking to see it the view will be good, and it certainly will. From there, all you do is wait, your foot absentmindedly tapping away with the excess excitement, you’re aroused at the thought of it. A dirty video call with a bloke older than your dad, it’s everything you’re not supposed to do, a bad idea all around, but that just makes your panties that bit wetter. 

He’s a little late, but the very moment he calls you answer, not even waiting for a ring. It makes him smirk, such a sweet thing, ready for him, no doubt waiting for him. Fuck, if he was twenty years younger he’d scale the window and see it in person. 

You know you’ve given your want away by his sly expression, and he teases you by saying, “Eager, huh?” 

You pout, now hating all the effort you went to and trying to explain it away. “Well, I was expecting-I knew you were going to-” 

Somehow, even through your tiny phone screen he has enough presence to be able to cut you off. “It’s a good thing.” He pauses before adding with a snicker, “I doubt you’re as eager as me.” He shifts as he says that and your heart skips a beat at the thought of him touching himself already. It’s a power only he has ever given you, to know just how mental you make him and that power makes your core tighten. 

“Now, sweet thing.” There’s a nonchalance to his words that contradict the fact he’s palming himself over his boxers, he can’t help it, he can see the strap of your bra peeking out and the curve of your hips suggested by your nightie. It doesn’t pass him by that he’s fucking pathetic. “Have you got headphones, or do I have to keep my voice down?” 

You hadn’t thought of that, but you’re glad he did when you think how often you hear your parents tv through the wall. So you reach to your bedside drawer to retrieve your headphones, well aware that he’s watching you and trying to catch sight of whatever he can. And after a moment you plug them in and pop them in your ears, flushing when you realise that the sound feels a lot more intimate now. Maybe he knew that. 

“God you drive me crazy with all the tiny fucking clothes you wear.” He’s laughing but you know he’s not joking. You’re not in a position to laugh, how exactly can you tell him that he drives you crazy with everything he fucking does. From the tensing of his jaw to the delirious sensation of his voice on your skin. All of it has your body begging for anything he’s willing to give you, regardless of what your mind thinks. 

You can’t prevent a small smile on your lips though, “I don’t do it on purpose.” Even as you say it you know it’s a lie, you didn’t do it on purpose at first, now though, you want him to see you. 

“Don’t fucking lie to me, sweetheart.” He knows you better than that. You giggle, it should be illegal for him to read your mind that easily. “I’d wager under that nightie you’re wearing something nice for me. Like a gift to be unwrapped.” The look on your face says it all, when you bite your lip like that he wants to bite it for you. “Am I right?” 

You can hardly look at your screen, but you nod, barely able to sit still. 

“Fuck, let me see.” Something about how he’s speaking now is very telling and you revel in the feeling for a moment before shifting to sit on your feet. 

“Okay.” You sound so small and quiet you can hardly hear it over that arousal in your blood. Your fingers hook under the bottom of your nightdress, hesitant to begin the process and your eyes flick to the screen. 

You catch his gaze and he smirks, “Come on, you know I’d do it for you if I could.” That you are certain of, sometimes there’s such hunger in his eyes you think he’s a breath away from ripping the fabric off you. 

You do as asked, your panties straps revealed high on your hips guiding the sight up your stomach,then to the thin lace hardly covering your breasts. You were right, he does like it. Much too much. 

“God, you are like a fucking present.” You grin at that, watching the hint of movement you can see towards the bottom of the screen, and you core pangs with the knowledge of what he’s doing. Now sitting on your feet, you press your heel between your legs and jump at the jolt of stimulation it brings. 

Your lip is between your teeth again as you debate whether you’re brave enough to ask for what you want. “...Show me.” You manage in a surge of voice, you wish you didn’t sound as shy as you do. 

You hear William’s scoff of disbelief, he hadn’t expected you to ask that but he supposes it’s only fair. “Yeah?” 

You nod, watching eagerly as he moves a hand to change the angle of your view. The sight stirs you immensely, his boxers pulled down enough to let his cock free, he held it, touching himself at a slow pace. You rake the image for what you can see, his shirt pulled up to let you see the trail of dark hair that leads down to his length. A crazy part of you burns to press your nose against his trail, curiosity, or something dirtier you don’t know, but you know he’d let you if you asked. 

It’s with near fascination you watch his stroke himself, not noticing how you’ve begun grinding your pussy against your heel, your knickers are clinging to your slick but all shame is lost. 

“I didn’t expect you to want to see.” He sniggers, you recognise the thickness of his voice, remembering the pride in your core when you took him in your mouth, the heavy breathing of someone clinging on to their self restraint by the tips of their fingers. There’s precum on his tip smeared by each rise of his fist, it’s a dirty feeling and if you were in his reach he’d have it resting pretty on your tongue. 

Soon your movement isn’t enough anymore, your heat whines for better friction, the attention on your clit that he does just right. It’s written in your posture and the pinch of frustration between your brows. 

William’s voice affirms your need. “You can touch yourself, lovely. Don’t have to wait to be told.” 

“I know.” You reply quickly, embarrassed at how easy he’d jumped to that conclusion. If you were harder to read maybe he wouldn't have such a hold on you. 

“Or do you want me to ask?” There it is again, that mocking that shouldn’t speak directly to your slick, it’s condescending but you know in your heart that he knows better. You open your mouth to protest the teasing but you have no chance to. “Come on, show me how you play late at night, how you give yourself what you need.” He wants to seem like he’s humouring you but right now, with his cock in his hand, he’d beg to see just how you touch your perfect cunt.   

You’re doing it, shifting your position so you’re sitting properly, legs raised to let you trace over your bundle of nerves. The fabric of your panties quickly proves irritating, so you hurry to take them off, glancing repeatedly at the view on screen, dying to match the rhythm of him stroking himself, not wanting to miss anything. At the sight of your pussy bare for him, knickers discarded, he hisses through his teeth; now that is the kind of thing that gets a bloke in serious trouble.

“And the rest.” He adds, and you’re so lost in your new-found touch it takes you a moment to realise what he’s referring to, when you do you push the bra straps from your shoulders, shimmying the garment down so that your chest is free. Your nipples are hard from your excitement, all parts of you aware of the growing need in your core, begging for the release your touch promises. It should be familiar but with William’s eyes on you it takes you time to remember what you like. 

You rub your clit, the cues from your body calling for you to press your fingers inside your hole. You’re unable to reach like he does, but it’s enough to bring your end into sight and a soft moan from your lips. 

He’s chuckling watching how weak you become, like he’s not moving faster with the taste of release on his tongue. It takes a lot for him to ask the question burning in his head, he already knows the answer but hearing it from you is going to be delicious. “Tell me, what you think about, when you play with yourself, sweet thing.” The words are stilted with his involuntarily quickening pace, he’s close and it’s fucking stupid how much he needs to cum. 

“You.” You say instantly, voice cracking. Your head between my legs, fingers hooking inside, teeth on my neck as you line your cock up between my legs. You haven’t the coherent thought process to say that, it’s flicking images of past imaginings, you shouldn’t want to give yourself to this man as much as you do. 

William grunts, speaking through gritted teeth to try and remain somewhat controlled, though there’s nothing controlled about his frantic movement, nor yours. “You’re so fucking lucky I’m not in there with you.” 

It’s not a threat, you’ve seen the size of him, you’ve been delirious from just his fingers, but you want it. You want him in there with you. You want it all. 

He loses it at your wide eyed look, fucking his fist ‘til his cum is dripping down his abdomen.  You're not far yourself from the view alone, but you can hear his breathing, the groan right as he touches the peak. And your walls clamp around your fingers in stuttering waves of climax, you shiver with it, your legs unwillingly pressing together. You have to bite the inside of your cheeks to keep any noise leaving you, a startled thought of discovery hitting you out of nowhere. 

“Fucking hell.” His voice makes you regain your senses, he’s chuckling and the hand not coated in release slips out of shot to rub the bridge of his nose; why is it so much better when a pretty thing like you is watching? 

“William?” You’re shaky as you speak, weighing up what you want to ask, deciding that closed mouths don’t get fed. In response he tilts the camera up so you can see he’s listening, and you can’t help but hit screenshot at the sight of him so dishevelled. “Next time… I want you to be here with me.” 

He laughs, “Anything you want, princess. I mean it.”

[blood-red-ocean]

Alcina Dimitrescu X Sick (Fem) Reader

As requested by @alcinaslittlemaid! I hope you feel better soon ♥️

(I wrote this on my phone at volunteering so please excuse any typos/formatting/grammatical errors! I'll fix it at home if I need to.)

Genre: Fluff/Comfort

Category: F/F

Relationships: Alcina Dimitrescu/Reader

Word count: Approx. 1000 words.

Summary: You've come down with one hell of a flu, and you find yourself plodding to Alcina's quarters for comfort. Fluffiness and soft Alcina care ensues.

The Lady's bed dwarfed you as you lay in the centre of it, drowning in blankets and your own misery. When you'd awakened that morning, you felt like you'd been used as a chew toy for a Lycan, every muscle and joint in your body aching. You barely remember waking up in your own bed and miserably trodding out of your room and down the halls, blanket wrapped around you as a cape - what you did remember was your surprise when you entered the Lady's chambers, crawled into her bed, and were met with no strict words or resistance, only with an arm draped over you and a surprisingly soft voice. 

"Oh, draga... You truly aren't faring well, are you?" She had said, her voice breaking through the sickness-induced brain fog and prompting you to nuzzle into her embrace. She chuckled softly and you vaguely mentally registered her brushing some of your hair away from your face, tutting as her fingertips brushed your forehead. "You're positively burning up... We can't have you roaming the Castle in this state, now can we?"

You shook your head and coughed a little, wincing as your lungs protested the action. The Lady had tucked the numerous blankets around you as you hid your face your face in her embrace, her fingertips alternating between running through your hair and running up and down your spine. She hummed thoughtfully, murmuring to herself as you slipped in and out of a light doze. 

"Miranda, maybe...?" She paused. "No, Miranda wouldn't work. Donna, perhaps... Draga mea?" She was speaking to you now, and you didn't lift your head, just made a small sound of acknowledgement. "I need to retrieve something. It's of... Vital importance. Be a brave little thing and stay here, yes?"

If you had been more present, you would have noticed the lilt in her voice, and pieces together that she wasn't going to retrieve something for herself. As it was, you were exhausted and your mind was consumed by brain fog, and you could only whimper as she pulled away from you. She shushed you and caressed your cheek, whispering to you. "Do not fret, Iubita mea. I will return before you realise I've left. Be a good girl and stay here, for me."

And stay there is exactly what you did. The blankets covering you were heavy and soothing, the scent of the Lady's perfume making your senses come alight - or at least as well as they could, with your nose blocked. The crackling from the fire in the corner echoed around the room, gently lulling you back to sleep every time you woke up. Your sense of time was shaky in your sick state, and you weren't sure how long it had been since the Lady left the room. Just as you were thinking maybe you should drag yourself from the blankets and back to your own bed, the door swung open and the familiar sound of her heels on the hardwood floor blessed your ears. The sound came closer and there was a shuffling, followed by the bed dipping beside you. You distantly felt her hands patting the pile of blankets on top of you gingerly, and suddenly you felt them slip under you, pulling you from your little cave. 

"Now, now," she murmured in response to your indignant grumbling. "None of that. Come here, draga." 

She pulled you into her lap, where you curled up into her, your hand gripping the collar of her nightgown to keep her there. You closed your eyes and pressed your face into her, but not before you caught a glimpse of what she had brought in with her. Beside the two of you on the bed was a wooden tray, bearing an assortment of pastries, fruits, some honey and two cups of tea. One of them looked like regular herbal tea, and the other seemed to almost shimmer. You made a confused noise in the back of your throat and looked up at her. 

"That, dragostea mea, is a concoction of Donna's own creation." She lifted the cup to her nose and inhaled deeply. The sight of the teacup in her larger than ordinary hands made you smile weakly. "It is a combination of healing herbs, some roots, and some berries for sweetness. Come, draga." She held the cup to your lips and added, "It will make you feel better. You have my word."

You placed your hand over hers and obediently sipped the steaming liquid, blinking in surprise as the mixture of spices and sweet, tart berries exploded on your tongue. You kept drinking, the Lady rubbing your back and murmuring to you in Romanian as you did so. When the teacup was empty she pulled it away and replaced it with a sweet pastry, which you nibbled on thankfully. True to her word, you started to feel better, your mind clearing along with your sinuses. You realised with renewed clarity where you were and you blushed deeply, attempting to sit up. 

"I-- Thank you for looking after me, my Lady. But I--"

"What did I tell you about calling me that, prințesa mea? You can call me by my name. It's okay." 

"Alcina," Using her name felt powerful, intimate. "I really should be returning to my quarters, I should rest--"

"Nonsense." Alcina held you closer to her, her grip around you tighter. She smiled sweetly at you. "You have a raging fever, ursuleț. No, no, I really do think you need to stay here. You need to be properly taken care of." 

You didn't have it in you to argue, or even think about leaving her arms. You closed your eyes and let yourself slump against her, and you felt yourself drifting off again as she ran her fingers through her hair and rocked you, singing a lullaby in soft Romanian - singing you softly to sleep. 

[mariaxxxxx]

Boy, I want your attention. (Bucky BarnesxReader!)

Summary: A meeting with the blue-eyed brunette takes you into an obsessive state where your only goal is to have his attention.

Warnings: 18+female masturbation, stalking, toxic, obsessive relationship, mention of psychological transport.

A/N:I've always read fanfics where Bucky was obsessed with the reader. Driven by curiosity, I wrote a version where the reader is obsessed with Bucky.

A/N: English is not my mother tongue. I apologize for any errors.

You know exactly when you fell in love with him; it was at one of the countless Avengers meetings, where Steve appeared accompanied by his grumpy friend Bucky Barnes. You were a little thing in the back of the room, just a viewer, a scientist who worked alongside Tony and Bruce in the laboratories developing technology. You weren't deadly and sexy like Natasha, Adorable and beautiful like Wanda, powerful and independent like Pepper. You were just You; a tiny thing with basic beauty hiding behind a big white coat.

In the beginning, you often bumped into him in the corridors with your good manners. You always said a loud good morning, but it was answered with a strange sound that came out of his mouth. It was stupid, you knew, but having that slight attention from him awakened a feeling in your heart that you had never experienced before. Every day you said good morning and were answered with grunts. Until, one winter morning, Bucky answered you in every syllable.

It was silly, but her heart leapt out of her chest at finally being noticed. From that day on, you established a strict routine to always have a good day. You woke up at four o'clock in the morning to get ready; she carried out a thorough skin cleansing, fixed her hair, shaved her arms and legs, put on makeup and chose beautiful clothes. You arrived at six on the dot, the time you would find him leaving the gym.

"Good morning." You said when you saw him walking down the hallway that morning. He was beautiful, perfect, in his natural element.

"Good morning." He replied.

You worked bouncing that morning having received his attention. The next morning you carried out the same process; waking up at four in the morning, a moment of beauty, going to work, receiving the much-loved good morning. The routine was slowly killing you, waking up so early wasn't doing you so much good and it was necessary to create an excuse for Bruce for you going to work so early.

“Your shift doesn’t start until 9am” Bruce said. “You don’t need to arrive 3 hours early.”

“It’s okay” You said. “I like to arrive early so I have time to be alone and get some things done.”

Bruce didn't seem to believe his excuses, but decided not to argue. You lived close to the tower so arriving so early sounded strange to the others, so to throw them off you created a version of yourself who was addicted to work. The first to arrive and the last to leave. Tony even congratulated you on your professional performance, your colleagues patted you on the back and Bruce exclaimed how useful you were. The routine was taking its toll on your health, but it was worth doing all this to get his attention.

Time passed and his recent compulsion only increased. You watched him and wished he was yours at the same time. You said “good morning” every morning when you really wanted to say how much you were in love with him, You wanted to be his, You wanted to be his girl. You committed yourself to discovering his routine in the hope of having more dates with Bruce's help, it wasn't difficult.

“So…” You started to speak while leaning on an analysis counter. “...Is the Winter Soldier really adapting?”

Bruce typed on the computer and stared at the screen.

“It's been difficult for him, but everyone is helping. He knows how to adapt back to society.”

It was a gift that Bruce was a man so out of touch with real life. It was almost a sin how easy it was to get little bits of information out of him.

“It must be scary to be used as a toy.”

"And yes." Bruce muttered. “He is doing well with therapy.”

“Does he go to therapy?” The question came out too abruptly to the point of interrupting Bruce in his activities.

"Why the interest?" He questioned, looking at you intently.

“I'm madly obsessed with him and I want to know everything.” You said in a sarcastic tone.

"It is clear." Bruce said equally sarcastic. “Please don’t go around selling information to journalists.”

"No." You mumbled. “I just think it's kind of scary to have a deadly, unstable killer living under the same roof. I mean, I would be very scared.”

“We all deserve a second chance.” With that the conversation ended.

You felt happy knowing that Bucky was moving forward with his problems. The atrocity committed by HYDRA against Sergeant Barnes was no secret; for the public, the Winter Soldier was going through a healing process before facing criminal charges for his crimes. There was a strict description of what processes were being taken. Now, you knew two things about him: his morning trips to the gym and his therapy.

(…)

Through Jackie, a nice front desk girl with a big tongue, you found out about Bucky's therapist. To his delight, he consulted in the tower with a therapist with a funny name whose name You didn't bother to remember. The room's corridor was to the north, far from his usual laboratory, which made it difficult to create an excuse to walk through those corridors. The good morning still happened, but you were getting greedy. No alternatives You decided to tell Tony and Bruce how excessive work was giving you anxiety attacks, afraid of losing your best scientist, the duo decided to refer you to the building's therapist. You were happy, indeed. Now he would have something in common to talk about with Bucky and the chances of bumping into each other in the hallway were greater.

The first appointment would take place on Monday after office hours. You got ready in the bathroom, sharing the intention of looking as beautiful as possible for him. Her luck didn't accompany her that day, as she didn't find Bucky in the corridors in the morning and faithfully hoped that he was in therapy. Did not happen. Her disappointed face became apparent when she didn't see him in the waiting room.

"Hello." The therapist said the moment you sat down in front of her. What brings you here today?”

"Anxiety."

The conversation with the therapist was pleasant, but disappointing. After an hour and a half of talking about how anxiety can be neutralized with exercise and regular appointments, you were released. On the way home You reflected on your love, on Bucky. How cruel and painful it must have been to have your autonomy taken away and restored in an unfamiliar world. He must be devastated, You thought. That's why he needed you. You could take care of him, give him a good life and be the perfect companion. You decided to keep going to therapy sessions in the hope of one day meeting him and kept waking up at dawn to look pretty for him.

(…)

“We can go to the cinema tomorrow” Wanda said excitedly. “I'm sure Jennifer Aniston's new movie will be funny.”

"It is clear." You mumbled.

After your fruitless attempts to find Bucky in therapy failed and the hallway encounters ceased to exist You hatched another plan to get closer to him; be friends with an avenger. Sure, there was Bruce and Tony, but it was all very professional and it would be difficult to explain the friendship between a young girl and two middle-aged men. Steve was busy, Pepper traveled too much, Natasha was inaccessible, Vision was a machine and Wanda... It was Wanda, the little girl with no family and no country. It was easy to become friends with her. All it took was one meticulously planned meeting by You in the elevator and BOOM! BEST FRIENDS FOREVER.

Wanda was his free pass to the Avengers floor. It wasn't unusual, or strange, to see You wandering the halls with your newest friend or alone. You saw Bucky more often; sometimes on the sofa with his sulky face, sometimes in the kitchen devouring a sandwich and sometimes in the minibar with a glass of whiskey. You learned new things about him. He didn’t sleep well at night so he went to the gym so early, the therapy was helping, but he hated going to therapy, referring to therapy as ‘’a shitty obligation’’. He was a sentimental man too, with his sullen and closed-off manner he had mixed feelings for his now teammate; he loved Steve and supported Sam, he liked Bruce but hated Tony with his arrogance, he feared Wanda, was nice to Vision and kept his distance from Natasha.

The new discovery kept you immensely happy; Bucky refused to go on dates or even meet other people. You once caught Steve complaining to Sam how Bucky was closed off to the world and avoided the company of the opposite gender. You were happy that your man was so faithful to you.

Meeting Bucky was always a balm for your heart; however he never spoke directly to You. On a good day You could get a good day or good night out of him, but these moments were rare and happened very quickly. You even tried to improve his appearance a little more to please him; He kept his hair always tidy, his clothes were discreet with refined touches, his nails were always done, his lips were always painted. Nothing worked. The man never looked directly into your eyes no matter how hard You tried.

“We should go to the park too.” Exclaimed Wanda, breaking You out of your thoughts. “I’ve never been to Central Parque.”

You held back the urge to roll your eyes at such a silly quote. It was girls' night at the roast, in her room. You were praying for Wanda to sleep and for You to be free to put your plan into action.

“There’s nothing much at Central Parque. Just beggars and rats.” You said to correct yourself immediately. “I promise I will go on a sightseeing tour by your side. Let's get to know all the good parts of New York. Away from rats, squirrels and drug addicts.”

“Are there places like this in New York?” She questioned as she wrapped herself in a blanket.

"Oh yes. There are truly good places in New York. I’ll make sure to take you to all the cool places.”

Around four in the morning, Wanda fell into a deep sleep giving You the opportunity to escape. You walked through the hallways carefree since if you were caught, which could easily happen, you would say you were going to the terrace to get some fresh air. Your feet headed towards Bucky's room, a familiar path but never before explored. According to his information, at this time he would be at the gym using all his energy to combat insomnia. That gave you a few hours to explore his room.

The door wasn't locked and when you opened the door, his woodsy smell reached your nostrils, as if he had pressed his body against your face. You enter the room, closing the door behind you. You sniffed the air, overwhelmed by the multitude of smells that circulated the environment. Bucky was perfect to the point of making his scent addictive.

“Bucky?” You call his name softly, slowly crossing the room and looking at the perfectly made bed.

You knew he wouldn't be there, but you created the fantasy in your head that you were a secret girlfriend and were going to see him in the early hours of the morning. Tonight, You would be his girl; I would put on his blouse, lie in his bed, put her head on his pillow and imagine being fucked until her brain melted.

Her eyes thoroughly analyze the environment around her; it was tidy, perfectly tidy. The room was spacious with large glass windows covered with a long navy blue curtain. The bed was large with white sheets. The closet, his favorite part, had several clothes that ranged from the most casual to combat clothes. You play with some pieces of clothing in the closet; smelling, pressing against his body, running his hands, imagining it to be his transformed chest.

"Beautiful." You mutter when you come across a cabin boy wearing black blouses. Your man liked black and so did you, he looked great in dark colors.

You remove your clothes piece by piece; first the shirt, the pajama pants, the bra. Stripping down to just black lace panties. You take one of the black blouses off the hanger and put it on. A comforting feeling fills your body with the fabric brushing against your skin; it was as if his hands were on your body; passing her hands over her shoulders, down to her breasts, going a little further down, passing over her belly and stopping at her pussy. You turn off the lights in the closet and head towards the bed, where you lay down on his scarves, where your head rests on his pillow.

Your panties dampened at the thought of having Bucky on top of you, on top of you, fucking your pussy with his dick until you reduced your spirit to dust. Resolving to deal with your throbbing clit and neglected pussy, You sat with your back to the headboard, took off your panties, spread your legs and started playing with yourself. You slid your middle finger over her slit, then brought it back and started circling her clit, slowly, very slowly, like he did in his dream. It was torturous, almost painful, to deny himself climax.

You closed your eyes and focused on the sensation, your hips began to move involuntarily in search of more contact, you decided not to torture yourself any longer and began to move your fingers faster. It was close. Her pussy was wet like it had never been before and clenched in anticipation of release. You removed your finger from your clit and moaned at the lack of contact, tears forming in your eyes as your climax was interrupted. You closed your eyes, and started brushstroking again, a movement that provoked yourself. But you didn't do that for long. After a few movements, you started to pick up speed. You moaned softly, moving your finger faster and faster over the swollen organ. His other hand grabbed her soft breast, pinching the hardened nipple hard. It was so close. You squeezed the nipple harder, lifted your hips and came. You moved your hand away from your now sensitive pussy and relaxed onto the mattress. Her body softened with the intensity of her climax. It was the first time you had reached a peak as strong as this.

“Don’t stop because of me.” A deep voice echoes through the room. “Come on girl, keep going. I’m enjoying the view.”

You open your eyes, scared and panting, to find Bucky standing at the foot of the bed with his arms behind his back staring at you. Your stomach tightens in nervousness from being caught and your heart pounds from being so close to him. It was him. Bucky. Your Bucky. The man of your life.

“I...” You try to speak, try to explain yourself, but only disjointed noises come out of your mouth. You didn't want him to see you like this. Bucky was an old-fashioned man, coming from the 40s. You believed he preferred a sweeter, more demure version of a girl willing to be a housewife who would do anything for her man. For him, You would play this role. You'd throw a hundred years of women's rights out the window to be that man's.

Bucky moved to the opposite side of the bed, giving you a sullen look before taking off his shirt and exposing his chest. His eyes fell to the scars on the border between his arm and his shoulder, it was horrible and beautiful.

“You know, I didn’t expect You to have the courage to one day approach me.” He said as he started to push his pants down his legs. Suddenly, he's there, wearing nothing but black boxers. His mouth is almost watering, but his brain is on alert. This wasn’t the Bucky You knew, this wasn’t the low-key, moody Bucky.

"I need to go." You say in disbelief at his action. You push your body off the bed only to be thrown back between the pillows.

“What’s wrong, kitten?” Bucky murmurs imitating a cute voice. “You always wanted this. Do you really think I didn't notice your attempts to get my attention? Even therapy You found a way to go just to be by my side.”

"How do you know that?" You ask in disbelief.

“I'm a fucking trained assassin, girl. I know when I'm being watched.” Bucky puts his knees on the bed hovering over You. “At first I thought she was a Hydra agent, then I realized she was just a crazy little girl desperate for attention.”

Those words really hurt you. Is that what he thought about you? Just a crazy girl clamoring for a man's attention? His heart broke when he realized how Bucky seemed to despise You, hate You. It wasn't supposed to be like this. His eyes started to water.

"Not talk like that." You asked in a sad whisper. Bucky let out a sarcastic chuckle through his mouth.

“Do you really think I didn’t notice your attempts to please me? I noticed his changing appearance and his ridiculous attempts to get closer. At first, I was going to let it go, but I wanted to know how far You would go. I just had to give you the rope to hang yourself.”

"All this time..."

"Yes." Bucky stops you. “I liked the attempts to get my attention. Cum! Waking up at 4am to get ready pretending to have anxiety attacks just to go to my therapist and creating a friendship with an Avenger just to be closer to me. Woman, you are crazy!”

His words really, really irritated you. You tried to push him off the bed and walk away, only to be pushed hard onto the soft mattress with Bucky on top of you, his hands on the side of your head.

"Skirt!" You demand as you push, or rather try to push the man was as heavy as a statue made of marble.

"No." He says with clear amusement in his voice. “I like crazy women. I felt special having someone go out of their way to please me.”

"Did you like it?" You ask in disbelief.

"Yes. You are so dedicated and persistent, I like that. A little obsessive-compulsive, but nothing I can't handle.” Bucky praises, as he looks straight into your eyes. “Now open your legs.”

[starryluce]

Peace

Cal Kestis x f!reader

Warning: Smut but very soft smut, oral f! receiving, unprotected sex, grammar errors, No spoiler for Jedi survivor

Cal's only dream was to live in peace with you. To live on a planet away from the Empire. One they’d never find. Where he couldn't be hurt and, more importantly, you wouldn't get hurt. Maybe have a kid or two, but he would be more than content with just you and BD. 

You and Cal had been in this fight for too long. Sure, it had its good times. Cal was sure you and BD could make any bad day better. Even when he was bleeding from a blaster shot, he truly believed your soft hand was all he needed to fix it (which was not true, he needed a stim, a bottle of bacta spray, and 20 stitches). 

“Cal?” you ask quietly, rubbing your eyes gently to try to wake yourself up. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered gently, cradling your head. “Kinda hard when your staring at me,” you smile lovingly, Cal laughs.

“Just so beautiful,” he mummers, playing with a strand of your hair. “What’s on your mind?” you ask, knowing he's thinking about a lot more than your sleeping form. “Just our future.” he answers, his fingers finding their way to your scalp as he massages gently. “How do you see our future?” you try to pry, he smiles. “Always so snoopy,” he teases you, kissing your forehead. “If i was snoopy I would have read your thoughts by now,” you respond. He tilts his head. 

“You know, having a home where we can be safe, having time to relax, spend more personal time together.” He throws in a wink at the end, “maybe get married,” he adds

“You’d want to marry me?” you ask, a slight blush appearing on your cheek. “Of course,” he answers, draping your thigh over his body. His fingers slowly move back and forth between your upper and lower thigh. He moves to kiss you, and you gladly return it. As the kiss deepens, he moves between your legs. Moments like this were rare for you and Cal, you never had too much time, and when there was, you both were too sore and bruised to want to do anything except cuddle up and go to sleep. 

Cals kisses made their way down to your neck, causing you to giggle. His fingers found the bottom of your shirt, hinting he wanted it off. You obliged, lifting up your arms in response. The moment your shirt was off, Cal's mouth found its way to your nipple. His tongue circled it. This was all Cal wanted to be able to suck on your breast while you rutted against each other. He was always infatuated with your breast. He was ashamed of it and still partly is. He just can’t take his eyes away from them when you are showing just the tiniest bit of cleavage. Just the thought of cuddling into your breast gives him instant relaxation. But Cal was on a mission to please you, and if you keep rutting against him, he will not last long. 

He moves his mouth down, kissing you all the way down to your panties, and his fingers drag down until they're on the floor. “This okay?” he asks before attaching his mouth to your clit. “More than okay, Cal” he wasted no time after those words fell from your mouth. His hot tongue circling your clit makes you arch your back. Your hands make their way to his red hair as you pull him as close as humanly possible to you. His short beard is rough against your inner thigh, and you are sure it will irritate your skin. But for now, you can't bring yourself to care. Your thighs close around his head. You aren't quite sure how Cal is breathing, but how his tongue darts in and out tells you he's doing okay. “Cal,” you moan, “gotta stop baby.” you moan, your hands not letting go of his hair even with your brain telling you to let go. 

Cal's head pops up, “Kinda hard to stop when youe body keeps forcing me back down,” he laughs. The bottom half of his face is soaked in your juices. You pull him to you, giving him a kiss. “Need you inside me,” you whisper. Cal gives you a quick smile before going back to work. His big red tip looks painful and makes you feel bad for making him wait this long. Not that Cal minded. Your pleasure would always come first to him, no matter how much pain he endured. 

Before Cal's tip reached your entrance, you stopped him, instructing him to sit. You straddle his waist, guiding his cock into you. You both let out a moan at the sensation. “Never let me take care of you…” you begin, “Let me take care of you… Like you do me,” you whisper in his ear. Leaving sloppy kisses on his neck. “Yes, Maam’ he responds. Your arms wrap around his neck as your start bouncing. His hands are firm on your waist, trying his best not to help you. Not that you needed it. You were doing amazing. Pleasing him more than he ever thought was possible. He had this urge and instinct to help you with every little thing, even when he knew you could handle it. But he had to control it this time, in fear if he helped you, he would be forced to take his hands off your waist. 

“Mmm, close,” you moan. Your movement is slowing down and getting sloppy. “Cum for me,” he responds, brushing your hair from your face. “Not before you,” you cry, tears falling down your face. Trying your best not to cum on his cock, but it all feels too good. Cal's heart breaks at the sight of you crying in pain. “At the same time then, okay?” he brushes your tears away. You nod, pulling him as close to you as possible as you both come undone. Cal's hands rub up and down your back, “So good,” he whispers, leaving kisses near your jawline.