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#and stayed up all night thinking about this beautiful show
s1m0nth3swag · 2 days
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Francis Mosses x GN!Reader
AUTHORS NOTE; Haven't written in a while, but thanks to Arlo, a friend (Hi Arlo, I know you're reading this), Inspiration about Francis Mosses struck (he bought me That's not my neighbor and then continued to freak out about Francis with me) so I wrote this. I have so many thoughts about Francis, so... tell me if you want more because i will deliver ngl. Enjoy (or don't, I don't dictate your feelings)
WARNINGS/ CONTENT INFO; Porn with little to no plot, Submissive Francis, a little non-consensual at the start (but not in a super weird way, imo?), Gender neutral reader (no pronouns used, tried to write as GN as possible with the compliments and thoughts about Readers appearance), not proofread nor have I thought about this much, more a drabble than an actual thoughtful story (not apologising because I had such a long break from writing anything and obviously it's gonna suck a little when I come back)
NSFW UNDER THE CUT!
The first time Francis had realised that he hadn't gotten any touch from another human being was when someone brushed up against him on his way home from work. He had felt like a creep afterwards because he hadn't stopped thinking about what could've happened if the person hadn't moved away and had just stayed pressed against him. That was a week before you started your job as a doorman.
The second time Francis had noticed was when a friend of his had spoken to him on the phone, talking about his new girlfriend. Said friend gave too much intel on their sex life. Francis had wondered if he could have someone the way his friend explained - he quickly brushed the thought off. That was two days before you started working as a doorman.
The third time, he noticed when you had smiled at him. It was your first day, and he was tired from work. You had repeated his name after reading it off of his ID, and he had looked at you for the first time since his eyes kept falling closed, and you smiled so brightly. You had told him his name was nice, and you said it again. Francis swore that the way his name rolled off your tongue was the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. Not even an angel could sound more wonderful. Suddenly, he was a lot more energised. Totally not thanks to the fact that he had immediately grown hard the second he had seen your smile. He had gone to his apartment that night and had jerked off for the first time in probably months. He had always been too tired to previously, but now he couldn't stop thinking about how you'd sound moaning his name. Maybe you were more of a groaner, or you'd whimper and whine. He came as he imagined how you'd look sucking his dick.
Since then, Francis has always looked forward to entry checks. What had normally kept him away from his bed and a good night's sleep was now the best experience of his day. He loved the way you spoke to him even though he was too nervous to respond. Sometimes, he deliberately didn't show his ID at first, just so you'd ask about it, and he could listen to you talk a little more. He felt guilty about it. He knew you had never agreed to feed into this weird little obsession of his. It was awful of him to do this - have you talk to him enough to give him more scenarios to think about that night.
A few weeks after all this had started, Francis had built up the courage to finally ask you out. Just something simple, dinner at his place. He had to cook for himself all the time. Cooking for you as well wouldn't be too different, right?
Francis was wrong. He was anxious that the food wouldn't taste good and kept tasting it just so he could make sure it hadn't mysteriously switched tastes in the last 20 seconds. When you knocked on his door, he took a minute to make sure he didn't look like a mess - though you wouldn't mind either way since he always looked like a mess when he came through during your shifts.
You looked so good when he opened the door. Your hair fell perfectly, your lips looked a little too kissable, and Francis had to stop his train of thought just so he wouldn't embarrass himself by having yet another boner caused by just the way you looked. You were a little shorter than him, smiling up as he let you inside.
"You look good." He mumbled, his cheeks flushing. He seriously had to lay off thinking like a high-schooler. His nervousness and awkwardness were getting really annoying - to him, at least. You grinned, chuckling softly as you took off your shoes. "Thank you. You do as well." His heart for sure burst at that - he knew something else would burst as well if he didn't stop thinking right this second.
Throughout the evening, ignoring his thoughts came easier and easier. The two of you had eaten, you had told him he was a good cook, he had almost excused himself to the bathroom because of it. Now you were sitting on the couch, drinking wine and talking casually.
"You know, when you first walked through, I swore I would die." You giggled, looking at him with a mischievous look. Francis was confused by that statement. "How come?" He asked, tilting his head at you in question. "I was sure you were a doppelganger. You looked too handsome to be real." You cheekily answered, cheeks slightly flushed as you downed your wine. Francis blushed heavily, looked away from you, and thought about your words for a moment. The silence was loud as he wondered what to answer. "..you think I'm handsome?" He questioned while looking at the floor. If he had looked at you, he'd have seen the way you stared at him, your own cheeks coloured a deep red. "Extremely." You muttered. It took him a minute before he could look at you, but when he did, his lips pressed against yours in a desperate kiss.
When you reciprocated, Francis groaned and pulled you closer until you sat on his lap. He was just a tiny bit embarrassed when you gasped and felt his dick press against you. In all honesty, he had held back the entire night, and he was allowed a little selfishness. "Sorry. Can't help it." He muttered between kisses. You just grinned against his lips before grinding against him. A whimper fell from his lips - that was the moment he was actually embarrassed. "That's cute.." You had mumbled, a cheeky grin on your face as you started placing kisses against his jaw and neck. One of your hands trailed down his body to rest right over his crotch, Francis unconsciously bucked his hips up against your hand, whining. He didn't notice anything else as you caught the skin of his neck with your teeth carefully, leaving the softest bite mark on him. He shuddered at the feeling and gasped before realising that you had meanwhile unzipped his pants. A groan slipped from his lips as you ran a finger over his dick, still hidden from sight by his boxers, but god knows he would cum the second you'd touch it without. "Is this okay?" You asked him, and he nodded faster than he even knew he could. "Yes. God, yes. Please, please continue.." he muttered, his breathing heavy as he watched you slide off his lap, settling in front of him and between his legs. His dick twitched at the sight, and he let out a heavy sigh. Minutes later, his pants and boxers were discarded, and the way you looked up at him, his dick so close to your face, made Francis feel the way his orgasm was approaching way too quick. The second you wrapped your hand around him he whined pathetically, bucked up into your hand and knew that he'd definitely cum too soon. Your hand was so soft, cool against his hot flesh, and you worked his dick so good he almost thought you were a professional. He looked down at you through lidded eyes, watched the way you bit your lip, and grinned knowingly. "Such a pretty boy, huh?" You chuckled, and that definitely sealed the deal for Francis. He came, probably ruining his shirt as he dirtied both it and your hand. His heart stopped for a second when you licked your hand while looking up at him. "You didn't give me enough time to taste you properly. Don't look at me like that." You huffed, rolling your eyes at him. "You should probably take off your shirt so you can clean it later." You then winked. He swiftly shed the piece of clothing, entranced by your voice and the way you looked. "Sorry, didn't mean to cum that fast.." he mutters, his voice out of breath. "Jus'.. unused to... this.." he added, clearing his throat awkwardly. You laughed and shook your head. "Don't worry about it. We have all the time in the world to make you last longer. I'm gonna give you a real reason to be tired tomorrow." You winked.
Francis didn't even mind that he was in for a long night.
Your honour I am gnawing at the bars of my enclosure.
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luveline · 3 days
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hello my love!! could you maybe show us what bedtime is like in the kbd universe? thank you, you’re incredible <3
kbd —dad!steve and mom!reader get their small family ready for bed. 3k
“She looks so pretty,” Avery whispers. 
Steve struggles to pull the hem of his sock over his ankle, crossing his legs to match her as she snaps an apple slice in half with her fingers, the juice wetting her pyjama top, her torso swaying as his knee bumps into hers. “Who?” Steve asks, blinking. 
“Wren,” Avery says, leaning back to let Steve see the baby where she’s napping in her bouncer. Avery shoves a chunk of apple in her mouth. “She’s pw-ery.” 
“Try not to talk with your mouth full, you might choke.” 
Avery nods, closing her mouth to chew up the rest of her food with chipmunk cheeks. 
Steve draws a little heart into her knee. She has a bruise from falling up the stairs a few days ago like a purple ink blot just under her kneecap, but she hasn’t complained. She didn’t cry when she fell, she just got back up and asked for a Capri-Sun. Steve’s surprised she’s so hardy, but she’s getting older. He’d sort of been hoping she’d want him to kiss it better.
“She’s pretty like her big sister,” he says. 
“I’m glad she’s stopped crying all the time.” 
“Me too.” He takes one of the smaller slices from her plate to eat, wiping juice from her cheek as he does. 
She grins. “Thank you.” 
“You’re welcome. You all done?” 
“Yep.” 
“Not hungry anymore?” 
“Nope.” She grabs her plate before he can. “I’ll put it in the sink.” 
“Thanks, beautiful.” 
She jumps up with her empty plate and does a spin, saying, “Who, me?” 
Steve laughs like an idiot, still chuckling to himself as the sound of her plate hitting the kitchen sink reaches his ears. Wren, finally out of her sleep regression (for now), doesn’t wake. All good signs of a good night. 
Steve lets his head fall back onto little legs. “What about you?” he asks Dove, the second youngest daughter, where she sits behind him on the couch. 
She hums under her breath, her hands quick to weave into his hair, petting it away from his face. He waits for an answer he doesn’t get, closing his eyes and turning his face into her knee. Her giggles are treacle sweet. “Don’t sleep,” she protests. 
“I’m tired.” 
“It’s not bed time.” 
She’s not gonna like what Steve’s about to tell her, if that’s the case. She had a screaming tantrum last night about bed time where she threw herself on the floor and whacked her hands until her palms turned bright red. He’s not wanting a repeat. 
“It is bed time,” he says gently, though it’s not for another half an hour, “but, I was thinking, because you’ve been so good today you’d stay up extra. Maybe even have hot cocoa before bed.” Steve turns to meet her eyes. “How’s that sound?” 
“Really?” she asks, her eyes blowing wide with excitement. Steve is starting to wonder if she’s not as mini-me as he used to think, growing into sweeter features as she leaves the baby-toddler stage and starts to look like a kid. He loves it. 
“That sound fun or what?” 
She dives at him. He has enough sense to have twisted and catches her before she can break any of his teeth. “You are the best daddy ever!” she declares seriously, almost tipping over his shoulder. 
He lets her dangle for a second, then yanks her back topside. “You’re my best girl, that’s why. Let’s go make the drinks. Actually, we better go see who else wants some.” 
You and Bethie are attempting some last minute crafts at the dining table, and you’re very interested in hot chocolate but Beth doesn’t like it and so, doesn’t want any. She does seem interested in a glass of milk with a couple of chocolate chip cookies, so it’s nearly the same thing. “Careful,” he says, putting the half a pint of milk down in front of her birdhouse cautiously, “you don’t wanna spill that, baby.” 
“Who says she’s gonna spill it?” you ask. 
“Don’t start with me,” Steve warns. 
You smile to yourself. You’ve a spatula for PVA glue in your hand, skins of glue dried to your fingertips flecked with splinters of wood. Lollipop crafts felt like a good idea when he’d suggested it, but then he didn’t actually want to do it, and you’d been kind enough to step in. I’m sick of mess, he’d confided. 
Well, you’d said, somewhere between a quick kiss pressed to his shoulder and your hand rubbing it away, you probably shouldn’t have asked me to have so many kids. 
I love mess, he’d corrected immediately. Love to make more of it someday. 
“We’re nearly done in time for bed,” you assure him now. 
“I told Dove she could have an extra half an hour.” He winks at you clumsily. 
“Oh, really? Well, maybe Beth and Avery should get some extra time too.” 
Beth dunks her cookie into the top of her cup. “No thanks. I’m tired. Can I sleep with Avery again?” she asks, milk dribbling down the sides of the glass to darken the coaster underneath. 
“You’ll have to ask her yourself,” Steve says. “Wait, where is she? I thought she was in here.” Something grabs him by the legs, a sudden clutching that activates a heat in his eyes and spine he can’t explain. He flinches sideways into a cabinet and almost steps on a rather small limb. “What the fuck.” 
“Boo!” Avery says, laughing brightly as Steve rights himself on the counter. 
“Avery! Did I step on you? I’m sorry,” he says, immediately bending down. “What were you thinking? I could’ve really hurt you!” 
“Daaad, I was just pulling a prank,” she says. 
He checks over the arm he was so sure he’d stepped on. “You okay?” 
“She’s fine,” you say. “Yeah?” 
“I’m fine!” She hugs his legs again. “You said a super bad word.” 
He was hoping everybody missed that. “Dove–”
“Dad,” Dove interrupts, kicking her little feet exactly where he left her sitting on the dinner table by your left, “bad words make me cry.” She says it all clunky and clumsy, having heard it enough times. Her Aunt Robin has a potty-mouthed girlfriend, and Steve can’t do damage control quick enough sometimes.
“No, it’s when you say bad words daddy cries,” Avery says. 
“I didn’t say one!” 
“I know! I just mean it’s not when dad says it.” 
“What?” Dove asks. “He did says it.”
You’re grinning. You love when Dove confuses herself, all kids go through it, where half the time they don’t know what they’re saying until you help them along, but you love Dove’s new phase especially because she’s always been so serious. “What Avery is telling you, baby, is that daddy doesn’t get upset when he says bad words because he’s a grown up.” 
“So when we’re older we can cuss too?” Bethie asks. 
Steve’s jaw drops. “No, Beth! No, none of you need to say bad words, and I don’t either, and I’m really sorry. Can we forget about it?” 
Steve makes hot chocolate and helps you clean the sorry mess you’ve made on the table, and, after some light teasing, everybody forgets he’d reacted so violently to Avery’s surprise. Well, almost. Dove is the first to succumb to a case of the sleepies despite being otherwise reluctant to give in, sitting on his thigh, marshmallows still whole in her drink. She’d barely managed four sips. 
Steve cuddles her to his chest, covering her ear where she nuzzles against him from the sounds of your and Avery’s giggling. “He went pale,” you’re saying. 
Beth offers Steve half of one of her cookies. “You didn’t,” she says. 
If he didn’t have his arms full of Dove he’d scoop her up. “Thank you, Beth. I love you.” 
“I love you too.” 
“Alright,” you say, twining your fingers and sliding them behind your head, your neck and back clicking audibly in the quiet of the Harrington house winding down, “I think it’s bedtime. Are you done with your drink?” 
You rinse the cups. Steve ferries Dove upstairs, has her down and tucked in in record time, soon enough to catch you as you and the rest of the girls make your way upstairs. Beth and Avery are beautifully silent, weary of their sensitive baby sister where she’s cradled to your chest. 
You attempt to put her down in her crib in your room, but Steve gets the feeling you aren’t successful when a crackly cry breaks out. 
“Oh, no,” Avery says. 
“It’s fine. Let’s go brush our teeth, okay? Mommy has it.” 
They brush their teeth. Steve wipes their faces down with a damp hand towel and has a moment of gratitude just touching their faces. They both look so loved, the way their eyes crinkle, the way they lift their chins, all too happy for Steve to do it. He loves these moments of being a dad most, he might say, second only to getting to talk to them, especially now they’re both holding conversation. They talk to each other none stop; Beth talks to Avery ten times as much as she does anyone else. 
“Are you having a sleepover again?” Steve asks. 
Beth turns to Avery pleasingly. “Can I? Please, please, please.” 
“Yes!” Avery says, big sister extraordinaire. She wraps her arms around Beth’s shoulders, taller, more aware of herself as she presses her cheek to Beth’s and mumbles, “Of course you can. I love you. I want us to have sleepovers every night.” 
You emerge from the bedroom victorious, heading into the bathroom as he and the girls come out. “I’m just gonna brush my teeth,” you say. 
“Gonna get Beth changed.” 
“Okay, I put her nightie on the foot of her bed earlier.” 
It’s routine but not without enjoyment. He makes sure they’re both comfortable in the night's sleepwear and takes care of their hair, before giving Avery’s room a quick half-clean and shaking out the sheets on her bed. Avery has the second biggest bedroom, though Bethie’s is nothing to turn your nose up at, and it gets Steve thinking as they climb up into Avery’s single bed. 
“I think it’s good for you guys to keep your separate rooms for now,” Steve says tentatively, “but what do you think about sharing?” 
The plan was that Dove and Wren would share, but if Avery and Beth are getting along so well, it might not hurt to ask. 
Beth gasps. “Our bedrooms?” 
“Like, you and Avery could both sleep in here. You have a bunk bed, or we could get you a big one to share, and you could share teddies.” 
“I don’t want to share my teddies,” Avery says. 
“Well, you don’t have to. I’m not gonna make you.” Steve squints at them both. “Bad idea?” 
“I want to share,” Beth says immediately. 
Avery has a better understanding of what that will mean. “Maybe.” 
“You don’t have to,” Steve says. “Your rooms are yours, okay? Maybe we can just get you a bigger bed anyways, Ave. You’re so tall now, in a couple of years you’ll be ten feet tall and we’ll have to bend you in half to get you to school.” 
This is the funniest thing a man could say, apparently —both Beth and Avery burst into girly giggles that ring down the landing. Beth sounds like she might be sick. She laughs so much, falling into Avery’s side as her big sister says, “Dad, that’s silly!” 
“I can show you, if you want. We’ll practise making you into an Avery flavour pretzel, c’mere.” 
She squeals and climbs over Beth’s legs to huddle in the corner of her bed. Steve doesn’t so much as touch her legs and she’s laughing again, panicked, hyper laughter like she can’t decide if she wants to be folded or not. He presses his finger over his smile. “Shh, shh, we can’t wake the babies.” 
“Sorry,” she laughs. 
“My fault. Don’t be sorry.” He gives her leg a squeeze. “How about we start to tuck you in, girls? Do we have everything we need?” 
Beth wants a few things from her own bed, but besides that, they’re ready. Well, they’re supposed to be ready, but Steve wound them up and it’s his own fault, he can’t even complain when they beg him to watch a movie. What’s the harm? he decides, turning on Avery’s TV and pushing their favourite tape into the VHS player. 
“The effect FernGully has on the new generation is amazing,” you say, wiping your eyes. You’ve changed into pyjama pants Steve’s sure you’ve had since you met him and a tank top with straps falling down your shoulders. He wants to pull them back over the curve of your shoulder, but he’s trying to be less smothering.
He fluffs the pillows behind the girls’ backs. “It’s the boy. What’s his name? Dennis? Daniel?” 
“Neither.” You put a fallen teddy back on the bed and turn on Avery’s star-shaped night light before flicking off the big light above. The TV glows green on their legs. 
“Gonna lie down?” Steve says, gentler now, easing them in. 
Avery flops back. Beth curls in on her side, and it reminds Steve of you and him. He can sleep any which way. You’re slightly more particular, but you’re happier curled on to him. He really loves how close they are as sisters, and he has to give Avery some credit, because while Beth is exceedingly easy to love, she’s a clinger, she worships her big sister, which must get heavy from time to time. 
Avery pulls the blankets up over them before Steve can do it himself. He sighs, tucking them both in. Blankets pushed gently under their sides, hair brushed back from their little faces, he says, “Love you, Ave. Love you, Beth,” kissing their foreheads in swift succession. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” 
“Love you, daddy,” they say at the same time. 
You touch his arm gently before leaning in for your own kisses. You’re slower than he’d been, turning their faces in your hand one after the other to place identical kisses on their cheeks. “Love you, sweetheart,” you say to Avery, and, “Love you, baby,” you say to Beth. Steve holds your back as you do. “Have good dreams, okay? And don’t mess with the TV. One movie tonight is enough, you’ll wake up with sore eyes.” 
He steals another kiss from both of them and then you’re closing the door behind you, the house much darker and quieter than it had been only ten minutes previous. 
“You want a glass of water?” Steve says. 
You catch his hand. “I got you one.” 
Neither you nor Steve bother with anything but bed. He draws back the blankets and you climb in, only stopping momentarily to make sure that Wren’s alright in her crib. You curl in the middle of the bed and wait for Steve to force his way beneath you, which he does, your face resting on his shoulder, your leg stretched across his. Your hip is a lump in the blankets. He lets his hand fall atop it, whistling a tired breath through his teeth. 
“Mm,” you agree, stretching out, curling in tighter. 
“I know,” he says. Can’t forget his best girl, can’t not think about how much he loves you when it’s you and him alone. Mostly. “You alright?” 
“Fine. Tireder than I thought.” Your eyes close, lashes brushing his chest. “H?” 
“What?”
“You okay?”
“Fine, honey. Was just asking you,” he mumbles. His pillow feels like a cloud beneath his head, the mattress even better, and the sheets are a brushed cotton that’s amazingly soft on his skin. 
He turns his nose down onto you for a not so secret sniff. 
“Feels too good to be true.” 
“My turn tonight,” he says. 
“No, baby, it’s my turn.” 
“That’s fine.” He’s not as tired as you, or at least not half as achy. If Wren wakes up crying (not definitely going to happen) or Dove has a late night startle (even less likely, though not impossible), he’ll take the burden tonight. “I wanted babies and I got ‘em.”
“I want them too,” you say. 
“Of course you do,” he says, rubbing your forehead with the tip of his nose affectionately. “That’s not what I meant.” 
“Less when they wake me up,” you joke. 
Steve feels up your side to your shoulder for a sleepy cuddle. You don’t realise how soft you can be, how warm you are pressed against him like this, how grateful he is to hold you. Maybe you can read his mind, or maybe as just pure evidence of such a feat, you cup his upper arm in your hand and begin to draw shapes over his skin, breaking the pattern with fleeting scratches. “Are you sure?” 
“Yeah, honey. I’m sure. You go to sleep now, okay? It’s Saturday tomorrow,” he whispers tenderly. “You don’t have anywhere to be.” 
“‘Cept here,” you whisper back. 
“Love you.” A brush of his lips to your eyebrow. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” 
“I love you.”
“I love you,” he says. He swears he’s gonna stay up for a bit and count your eyelashes or something, maybe pen you a love poem, write a note about your lips and how they pout when you’re nearly sleeping, but he forgets to when you press your face into the curve of his neck and kiss it clumsily. You fall asleep at the same time, the girls laughing in whispers just a few feet away behind the wall.  
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dumbseee · 1 day
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bragging.
when jude is dating his celebrity crush and he can’t stop bragging about it.
jude bellingham x famous!reader.
_
"nah but look at her, isn’t she so beautiful?" he rhetorically asked vini, who was sitting next to him. the brazilian looked at him, stunned, before looking at aurelien who was laughing his ass off with camavinga at his side. "is this guy for real?" vini was so tired of his friend shoving his phone down his nose to show him your latest achievement. jude looked up from his phone, pouting. "what? am i not allowed to brag about my amazing girlfriend?" he sank deeper into his seat and smiled softly when he saw your notification, you had just posted a new story.
"the thing is, you always do this. 'guys! look at y/n’s new post, look at her new commercial, look at her new movie poster.'" camavinga mimicked jude, resulting in the british to throw a pillow at him. "i don’t speak like that!" he said, frowning. "let the boy be in love, guys." tony kroos entered the hotel room the four friends were staying in. "if y/n l/n was my girlfriend i’d act the same way." he added, smiling at jude. "right? she’s so perfect." he mumbled to himself, still smiling at his phone like a fool. "i think we should get him checked into a hospital asap." vini told aurelien.
and it was true, jude was your biggest fan out of them all. he was already a fan before even meeting you, to him you were always amazing and so talented. the story of how you met was actually funny but embarrassing if you asked jude. during one of his drunken nights with his boys, jude, who was absolutely wasted, was scrolling through your instagram feed, feeling sad that he couldn’t be by your side and be your boyfriend. he was convinced you’d never be attracted to him. so he dmed you, completely drunk but he didn’t care, the message itself said: 'why are you so beautifl? pls be my gf'. when he woke up in the morning, a headache killing him, he almost had a stroke when he saw that he received a dm from you. well, he dmed you first and you answered but jude didn’t know it yet. imagine the horror on his face when he read his message and when he read yours.
'then let’s fix that, pretty boy ;)'
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mournings-stars · 3 days
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i loved the adam with a fat!reader 🥹 so cute, id love to see lucifer with a reader similar? like maybe shorter like him and a bit on the chubby side 🙏
AHHH THATS SO CUTE
imagine you’re like a chef or baker or something, maybe hellborn, maybe a sinner, and you meet him at an event that he’s just required to go to, so he’s staying by the catering tables and just busying himself with food so he doesn’t have to talk to anyone
“i know it’s a buffet, darlin’, but you’re milking my lil’ supply dry.” and imagine you have the cutest lil accent like maybe it’s southern if you’re hellborn or soft, 50’s movie-type transatlantic if you’re a sinner (i kinda wanna write this now actually so tell me what u prefer…)
first he’d look up, just expecting you to be taller than him, but then he’d look down and see you and immediately try to hand his plate back because how could he take your business for granted when you’re standing right in front of his and so sweet… and beautiful — like he’s not blind, he can see that you’re gorgeous. and if he’s honest the food isn’t good enough to get so many plates, but your restaurant would certainly be popular when you’re the precious little face of it
but he has to stop himself because his thoughts are certainly bordering on rude now, so he’s scrambling to apologize like, “i’m sorry — i see why your food’s so popular now, HAHA, you’re gorgeous — i mean, your food is amazing, but—“
“but?” and then he just shuts up. “no keep going, but what, your majesty?” and he is fumbling, because he can’t tell you he thinks the food is mediocre when he’s been shoving it down his throat all night, but then you say, “i know it’s not my best; they had me here last minute, frettin’ over twenty trays each of my best dishes, which can’t be the best if they’re repeated twenty times,” and even though you’re talking on and on, he’s listening and nodding on and on because because you’re just speaking to him so naturally
“am i talking to much?” “yes — i mean, no! i could listen to you talk all night!”
the rest is literally history, like you tell him to come to your restaurant to see what your cooking is really like, and when he finds out its just a small little restaurant with a couple tables and an old kitchen, he’s amazed because it tastes even better than it did at the event
once he decides to ask you out, and he decides quick, he knows he can’t ask you out to eat, or to an event, or to his house, or to the movies, or—
“you wanna get somethin’ to eat sometime?” and you’re literally asking him before he can even think to ask. “maybe you could cook for me?” you suggest slyly and he’s too flustered to say anything so he just nods. “i’ll make sure i dress fancy for you then, majesty.” and this man is MELTING
and if there’s one thing he learns about you that night its that you are not insecure about anything — your first conversation of you doubting your cooking skills might’ve made him think otherwise, but now he knows it’s just not the case
and you have no reason to be insecure; about your cooking, about anything — hell, you look amazing all dolled up just to come to his home for his 8-minute spaghetti… at least he made homemade meatballs. and those were pretty good! you even complimented them, which gave him a very much needed ego boost to get through the night confidently
and when his confidence finally shows, you’re sure he’s what you want, so you don’t bother taking your time with leading up to kisses or anything past that. you take what you want, with permission, and give him what he wants
and he loves it about you, like, you’re so sure of yourself, confident, and carry yourself with so much charm that people just step out of your way, even with your short stature, which he also loves about you — it’s nice having someone shorter around for once, but he’d definitely shape-shift and let himself be shorter than you for a day or so if you wanted
along those lines, he would give you any and everything you wanted. even if you didn’t ask, he’d give it to you — he’ll get you a new restaurant, new equipment, appliances… hell, he’ll even get you a new apartment… that is, if you don’t move in with him
and he would ask, a million times he’d ask because he just loves being with you that much. whenever you come over, or he goes to your place, he’s stuck to you. he watches you cook, helps if you let him — he bakes! he can bake, but of course he finds out you can too, and he insists you’re much better, but you insist that you do it together since this was much less dangerous than letting him rummage through your spice cabinet
if he’s not helping you, he’s hugging you from behind and watching what you do, hands running all over you, feeling the soft plush of your thighs and hips, your stomach, anything you’ll let him touch which he kisses your cheeks and neck and shoulders — literally anything you’ll let him do because he just loves listening to your precious laughter as he loves on you, or your sighs when he marks your neck or shoulder
this man LOVES lying with his head on your lap or in between your thighs. literally anything to do with your thighs or resting his head on your stomach, like, he’s fully back in heaven
he also loves you on top of him, straddling him while you comb your fingers through his hair, legs across his lap as you read, cuddled up to him as you watch a movie or sleep, he can’t get enough of you
and don’t get me started on the nsfw like… head between your legs all fucking day, squeeze his head with your thighs — like actually do it because he will come undone
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Comfort(ers) & Sheets - Joel Miller x Reader [Drabble]
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[moodboard for moodboards sake can easily be read as game or hbo joel <3]
warnings/themes: allusions to sex, no smut, fluff, lots of romance/love, pov swap, implied plot, it’s sweet & short that’s it.
a/n: just a quick drabble based on a thought I had at 11pm when I should’ve definitely been sleeping. thoughts loved and appreciated if you enjoy <3
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You could spend every late Sunday morning all wrapped up in the huge white comforter you’d invested in when you moved into this house from trading.
Specifically under it, with your very sleepy husband sprawled out on his side of the bed, as you lay, naked (Joel had made sure of that the night before) your stomach pressed against the mattress, your fingers tracing down his face, over his nose. His scars.
The cool summer breeze from the morning seeps in with the dim sunlight, the warmth and coolness all at once of the oversized, stuffed blanket makes you want to lie there forever.
He doesn’t stir. Not anymore. When he knows you’re there he stays still, content even in his sleep.
You slip out of bed, only a loose sheet wrapped around you, opening the back patio door and settling in a rocking chair he’d built for you. You watch the trees behind your home, in the warm sun, your body sore and relaxed all at once. You took pride in that, even if Joel didn’t believe you. He made you feel like you could just…melt, soak into the dark ground and dig your way right back out just for him again.
“Sugar…” Joel all but spoke loudly as he leaned on the doorframe, he’d been there for a few minutes now, but he wouldn’t tell you that. In his mind, when he got to watch you think, about anything, he’d been blessed by some divine grace to have you.
“Honey.” You smile, turning enough to see him.
“Still early…come back to bed?” He offers, his tone convincing, always too convincing.
“We have a day to start.” You remind him, as he leans down to take up your hand, letting you make sure the sheet that covered you was wrapped still. You’d shown him every piece of you, and every second of that he wanted more. But until he had you safe and comfortable…that piece of you only he got, stayed hidden to the world, and to him.
“The day can wait on us.” He replies simply, picking you up completely as he carries you back in, and you shut the patio door.
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Your soft breath. That’s what he listens to. It’s the same as a heartbeat to him. It means you’re alive, and still here with him, sheet left to the floor, the same with your clothes, to be found when you meet the day. His eyes watch your resting face, pensive but restful nonetheless. His right hand snakes into your hair and out, a repeated motion, his left placed over yours, on his bare chest. He’d managed it again. Managed to keep the most beautiful and most precious thing in his life in his bed, sure, with his head buried deep between your thighs, and a slow and sleepy push back into sleep.
But he likes it that way. He’d stay like this for an eternity if he could, ignorant to every sin and deformity that is the world now, mapping out every inch he could of you, instead of escape routes and patrol paths.
He wanted every piece of you, just the way you are.
His eyes are tired but the last thing he wants to do is sleep. He watches his calloused hands, destroyed by the grips of countless guns and weapons.
He should marry you again.
Even with the years that take a toll on both of you now, years that you can let show on your faces and bodies, he wants to be smooth like a whiskey on a bar with a new finish, soft like a shower, washing the dirt from your body after a long day, a relief to you the way a breath of fresh air feels after the restriction of a gas mask. Those are the things he strives, no, begs some higher power to be.
Even in his dying breath, he is yours. That’s all he knows.
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canirove · 22 hours
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In The Name of Love | Chapter 34
Previous chapter | Epilogue (coming out on Monday)
Masterlist
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I've been back in Barcelona for a couple of months now, and so far everything has been great.  
I took my mum to Rome, where we stayed for a week doing all the touristy things you could think of, eating our weight in gelato, and having long conversations that have made us understand each other a lot better, finally managing to have a good relationship. 
I also went with Marina and David to Mykonos, a place they both had always dreamt to visit. Though it wasn't as dreamy as they thought. After a couple of days struggling to find somewhere that wasn't too crowded or full of tourists, we decided to just stay at our villa. During the day we would lay in the sun, take advantage of our private swimming pool or just sleep and relax, and at night we would sit outside drinking some wine, talking and laughing about anything and everything. We realized that we didn't need to go to a fancy place to have fun. Being together was all that mattered.
And now I am back home, getting everything ready for the new school year, feeling as excited about it as I did the first time I got to properly teach.
"Do you remember how we spent the day before looking through both your wardrobe and mine trying to find the perfect outfit for your first day as a teacher?" Silvia asks me while we are chilling on the sofa.
"I remember that the house was a mess afterwards."
"Yeah, that too" she laughs. "But you looked really cute."
"I did, didn't I? I got many compliments from the other teachers. One of them even tried to flirt with me."
"I mean, it was a really nice dress. Do you still have it?"
"I gave it away when we did that big spring cleaning a couple of years ago."
"Oh, shame… But have you kept any photo where you are wearing it?"
"Of course I have. You made me take a bunch before I left for work so I could remember that day" I laugh.
"I was a proud mum" Silvia smiles. "Can you search for them?"
"Just promise not to make fun of me if I look ridiculous" I say, unlocking my phone. "It was a different time."
"You didn't look ridi… Val. Val, hey, what is it?" 
"Nothing."
"Then why are you crying? That bad are those photos?"
"No, it's just… I hadn't realized… today."
"Uh?" Silvia says with a confused look.
"Today is my anniversary with Pedri… or was. And the memories thing on my phone showed me a photo of us together and…"
"Aww, Val. I'm sorry."
"It's ok" I say, wiping away my tears. "It's a good memory."
"Can I see it? The photo with him, I mean."
"Sure" I reply, giving her my phone. "It's at his secret beach as he called it, the one where he took me when we started seeing each other. The 14 of each month we would try to go there to watch the sunset and eat something, and we would spend our time talking about the most random things until it got dark and too cold. It was just us, and it was… perfect."
"It does sound perfect" she smiles.
"Today it is so hot that we would have probably gone for a swim and then buy some ice cream."
"What if… what if we do that?"
"What?" I ask.
"Go for a swim and buy some ice cream. I know I am not him, but…"
"I would love that" I smile. 
"Great" Silvia says, getting up from the sofa and offering me her hand. "Shall we?"
"Let's go."
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"You don't have to do it, Val."
"I know. But I want to" I say, opening the car's door. After going for a swim and getting some ice cream with Silvia, I asked her to drive me to the beach Pedri and I used to go to. For some reason, I felt like I needed to be there today. 
"Do you want me to go with you?" she asks.
"Please" I nod.
We walk in silence, Silvia holding my hand and giving it little squeezes as we get closer to the lookout from where you can see the whole beach. 
"This is beautiful, Val" she says.
"It is" I whisper, taking in the view. There are a couple of fluffy clouds here and there, the sea is calm, and the light is making the sand look almost golden. The sand. There is someone walking on the sand, someone… It can't be. 
"Ouch, Val! That hurts!" Silvia says when I squeeze her hand as if my life depended on it.
"It's him."
"What?"
"Down there" I say, my eyes fixed on the beach. "That's him. He's here."
"Who… Oh, shit. That is him."
"What do I do, Silvia?" 
"Go down there, of course!"
"What? No! I can't… I can't do that."
"You can and you will, Val. Go tell Pedri that you still love him and that you want to spend the rest of your life with him." 
"But what if he doesn't want to see me? What if he has moved on?" I say, looking at him while he kicks the sand.
"Val, do you really think that if he had moved on, he would be here on a day like today?"
"I…"
"Besides, what has Ferran been telling you all these months?"
"That he still loves me."
"Exactly. So go down there and get back with your teenage boy."
"He isn't a teenager anymore" I chuckle.
"Even better."
"But Silvia…"
"You were waiting for destiny to give you a sign, right? Well, this is it. Now go" she says, pushing me towards the stairs.
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"Ok, Valeria. You can do this" I say to myself. He is standing with his back to me and looking at the sea, completely oblivious of the fact that I am behind him, that I also am here. "Pedri?" I call, my voice sounding all squeaky. But he doesn't say anything, just shakes his head. "Pedri" I say again, this time a bit louder.
"Yeah, I've completely lost it" he laughs, running a hand through his hair. 
"Lost what?" I ask.
"My sanity, Val. I can hear your voice as if you were here with me."
"I am here, Pedri."
"You are in my head."
"I'm here" I repeat, putting my hand on his shoulder, my touch making him flinch.
"That's an illusion. I've completely lost my mind, you aren't real."
"I am real and I am here" I say, now moving to be in front of him. "Open your eyes, Pedri."
"No."
"What?"
"If I open my eyes you will leave."
"I'm not going anywhere, Pedri" I say, caressing his cheek and wiping away a tear.  
"I can't lose you again, Val" he says, resting his hand on top of mine. 
"You won't, because I am not going anywhere. Please open your eyes."
"I can't."
"Pedri, please" I beg him. Now I am the one who is crying. 
"Val…"
"I'm not going anywhere, Pedri. I promise. I want to be with you, to spend the rest of my life with you, to fight for this, for us. And I don't care if I have to do it against a horde of crazy teenagers, bullies like Isabel, or judgy parents who have nothing better to do than gossip. I'm done with letting people's opinions rule my life." 
"Val…" he repeats, his voice now almost a whisper.
"You know, I've never believed in love at first sight" I continue. "I always thought it was something from fairy tales, something that didn't exist. But then, on a day like today, in a club I had never set foot before, I met you and you completely changed my mind. Because I fell in love the moment we locked eyes and you smiled at me, Pedri. It was all that smile, to be honest. The one that by now you know makes me giggle like an idiot and feel funny things in my stomach. And when I think of the way you made me feel when you kissed me, when you…"
"Made you scream my name on the rooftop?" he smirks, opening one eye.
"I was going to say it in a more cheesy way and you just ruined it."
"Damn it" he chuckles. "You saying something like that happens once in a blue moon."
"It does. And when it happens, it is because of you. Because I love you, Pedri. I love you in a way I've never loved anyone before, and in a way I think I will never love anyone else. It's you. It's you, Pedri" I say, both my hands cupping his face, my eyes fixed on his now that both of them are finally open. "It is and will always be you. Only you" I whisper. 
"Can we kiss now or are you gonna keep being cheesy?" he smiles. And it is that smile, the one that completely disarmed me the night we met. 
"Idiot.”
"No one calls me idiot the way you do."
"I know" I smile back.
"But before we kiss…" he says. "Can I confess something?” 
"Ok."
"Ferran has been telling me almost daily to not give up, to be patient, that you still loved me and wanted me back, that we are destined to be together… So to keep reminding myself of all that, I've been coming here every 14 since you left, hoping that somehow you would show up."
"Really?"
"Yeah… I know it was a bit stupid because I knew you were in Manchester, but… I don't know. I just felt like I had to, you know?"
"It isn't stupid, Pedri. Because today I felt like I had to come here, it was like something was calling me… You."
"Glad to know my plan worked out" he laughs. "Why are you smiling like that?"
"I had missed your laugh" I shrug. "But that won't happen ever again. And do you know why?"
"Enlighten me, Valeria" he says with a teasing smile.
"It won't happen again because I'm not going anywhere, Pedri. I promise."
"Are you sure? Because you know how serious our promises are. You can't go back on it now" he says.
"I won't. I'm here to stay" I say, putting my hand over his heart. "Forever."
"Forever" he whispers before finally kissing me. 
At first it is a very soft kiss, almost shy. But it doesn't take us too long until we are kissing as if our lives depended on it, as if we needed the other to breathe. 
"I love you, Val" Pedri says when we manage to break apart. "I love you and I'm planning on telling you every hour of every day of the rest of my life."
"Isn't that a bit too much?" I laugh.
"It actually won't be enough."
"Dear lord, Pedro. You are so cheesy" I laugh again.
"Only for you, Val. Only for the love of my life" he smiles. "Happy anniversary, by the way."
"Happy anniversary" I reply with a matching smile before we start kissing again, the sun setting behind us as it did that first time on this beach. Like it did that first night at his house when he made me feel things I had never felt before. 
The night that even if my brain kept denying it, my heart was already completely his.
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revnah1406 · 3 days
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🌕Amara X Sparrow☀️Wedding headcanons💍
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Hannah "Sparrow" Clayton
Amara Thompson
(the green brush means how it actually went 🥰)
I know there's still a long journey in their love story but I talked about this with a few mutuals on the discord server and I can't stop thinking about it hahahaha! My babies getting married 😭😭
So here are a few cute Headcanons about her Wedding!🥰🧡✨
They started to talk about getting married a Year later after Amara moved to Zermatt (Switzerland) with Sparrow. They also mentioned it on their first anniversary. First it was casual, talking about the advantages of getting married and fantasizing about how amazing it could be.
After a couple months Sparrow started to think about it more seriously. Talked with her siblings and her mother looking for advice. Of course their family was more than supportive and excited.
She wanted to keep things small, simple, but make it personal. She knew Amara liked small jewellery, nothing too showy. Sparrow wanted to make the ring all by herself, to give more personal value, so she asked for advice from her closest friends, Aly (@alypink ) helped with the design, Damien (@kaitaiga ) helped to forge and weld it, Anna (@applbottmjeens ) helped with the proposal, how to prepare the perfect moment.
Sparrow would lie if she said she wasn't nervous. She decided to propose during a hike. She woke Amara really early and prepared breakfast... Being more romantic than usual. Amara complained about going for a hike and offered staying at home, she wasn't the most enthusiastic person about hiking. So the possibility of cancelling the plan made Hannah really nervous but she managed to convince Amara, promising she will massage her feet and back for hours once they return home.
When they got to the top of the mountain, with the beautiful swiss mountain landscape, Sparrow knelt in front of Amara and showed a beautiful handmade ring made with pyrite (gold was more expensive and harder to work on).
"Amara, my love. Hey look at me. I know I know sweetheart." Sparrow got even more nervous when Amara started crying, she had to hold her hand to steady her. "You already know this. And you know I'm awful with words. This is just a little reminder that you are everything to me. With you I forget all the bad things. You showed me how it feels to be truly loved, and showed me how to truly love you. I just... wanted to climb one more step with you, together..."
Amara's knees were clearly shaking. "I can't fucking believe you made me do this in sweatpants and fucking hiking boots Han..." She shook her head, trying to assimilate what was happening.
Sparrow chucked. "So is that a yes?"
"Of course it's a yes you dumb idiot!!" Amara wasn't angry, far beyond that, she was too happy, too anxious, too excited she didn't know how to process all those emotions. Sparrow got up and put the ring on Amara's finger, now her fiancée.
The Wedding was six months later, during spring. Amara planned everything with her mother in Law's and Aly's help. She knew Sparrow wasn't very good at planning big events, and Hannah would always like what Amara proposed.
In the end the Wedding was on the mountains, that was Sparrow's only wish. A small one, with friends and family. It wasn't very traditional, they got married civilly two days before the wedding, so Hubber (Sparrow's captain in the Swiss Armed Forces) could make oficial the union of both women in the ceremony.
Hannah's father took Amara to the altar. The stoic man cried and had no fear of showing it. He kissed Amara's forehead before handing her to his daughter. "Your parents would be so proud of you"
Tora (Sparrow's dog) proudly brought the rings to the altar. And after an emotional speech from Hubber Sparrow could kiss Amara and name Amara her wife.
The ceremony was amazing. The after party was even better.
The Wedding night was so sweet, full of kisses, necking and love.
When it was time to organise the honeymoon, Amara had to fight with Sparrow. Hannah wanted to go to Nepal, to show Amara the big 8000s. But Amara refused to climb one single rock during her honeymoon. NUH UH. So she offered to go to Japan, and visit Kyoto, Amara's mother's native city.
They spend a few lovely days there and Sparrow learnt more about Amara's family.
A couple months after the honeymoon Hannah decided to retire from the military.
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mood-owl · 2 years
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best of friends, in this or any other world.
--
(do not repost or use w/o permission)
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fmhobeus · 14 days
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fwb!suguru who knew he wanted to fuck when he first laid eyes on you. then wanted to take you out to endless dinners to chat his ears off when he first spoke to you.
fwb!suguru who grew to like you without fucking you, almost forgot it was what he wanted you for – a life together or a night together?
fwb!suguru whose dick got painfully hard when you taunted him, rolled your eyes at him or outwitted him. he lived for your sassiness.
fwb!suguru who happened to fuck you on a random night unexpectedly and it changed the trajectory of his life.
fwb!suguru who stayed after every dick appointment. cuddled with you on the bed, watched movies or your favourite TV show, ordered take out and held you in his arms till you both inevitably fell asleep.
fwb!suguru who couldve sworn he wasn't in love with you. he would still fuck other people (and then come back to you, poor baby was thinking of you the whole time)
fwb!suguru whose grown accustomed to your presence. he calls you when he isn't feeling okay, you call him when something bothers you. he's grown used to you telling him all about work, how you got your nails done, how you saw a cute cat near your apartment. trivial details, which coming from anyone else he would hang up, but he looks forward to them with you.
fwb!suguru who eventually stops fucking other people and is just your man, without you knowing.
fwb!suguru who is determined to mark you up in placed people will notice. your neck, your thighs, your collarbones.
fwb!suguru who believes in giving you his all. all of his long girthy dick that pumps you full it should be criminal, his long slim fingers that have made you orgasm so often and hit that deep spot with unbeat ease, his long tounge... oh god his tounge. he thinks maybe even his long life ahead is yours too, all yours. his little kids too maybe? he doesn't like to think too much about that.
fwb!suguru who has to have your pussy checked with his tounge daily. he has to lap up your insides no matter any circumstances. his voice purrs across your body when he talks you through your orgasm.
"mhmm yeah cum all over my face beautiful, I know you want to"
fwb!suguru who gets sick at the thought of you sitting so pretty for another man when you tell him you're going on a date. suguru who looks so disturbed at the thought of another man even looking at his pretty girl who isn't really his.
fwb!suguru who takes you to corporate events just so he can call you his girlfriend, even if it's just pretend. when you question him it's always "easier explanation than a friend i fuck on the regular, isn't it?"
fwb!suguru who knows how you like your coffee in the morning. he knows what you like for breakfast, your comfort food, your hobbies, your favourite movies, your least favourite movies, your icks, your past. he knows you like he knows himself. he thinks of you when he passes your favourite cafe, he texts you when he sees something in the colour you like.
fwb!suguru who is sure he hasn't felt this way before, who is so vulnerable with you that it scares the shit out of him.
fwb!suguru who is afraid, angered at everything about you. he's angry at how you lull him into a sense of security, how you hold him, how sweet your voice sounds when you call him by his name, how you take care of him, how you listen to him. he hates how your pussy clenches his dick for dear life, milking it dry and how you never let a drop of his cum go to waste, licking it up like a little slut. he's fearful too. about losing you. about where loving you the way he does leads. loving you? wait. he loves you? fuck. fuck. fuck. this hasn't been according to plan at all.
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tfone4one · 4 months
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MASTERLIST
SERIES MASTERLIST
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AHHHHHHHHGGGG just thinking about toxic fwb!simon who treats you, one of his sergeants, like nothing but his stupid little barracks bunny. he can’t help but want to constantly push his fat fuckin cock into you from behind, whether it be in your bed, in the alley of some pub, or in the bathroom during morning drills. it’s never in his bed because he knows you’ll want to stay; it’s easier if he’s able to just get up and leave. it’s always from behind because he doesn’t want to look at your face. miss him with that romance shit.
you just kinda deal with it. he fucks you good, right? it totally doesn’t hurt your feelings. it totally doesn’t suck that you’ve been infatuated with him since the moment you met. you totally didn’t fall for the way he gives orders, the way he’s so dedicated to keeping the team safe and on task. you totally didn’t have feelings for him, and you’re totally not only letting him use you because it’s better than him treating you like you’re invisible. it’s… fine????
yeah, it’s fine because it’s soap who sees your sad face one night after you and simon return from outside. simon immediately sits back down for another drink, meanwhile, you struggle to walk back to your own seat. you’re clearly worn out and your face is a bit sullen. it’s not like nobody knew what was going on. you and ghost weren’t exactly subtle, but soap didn’t think it was right for you to look so sad after getting your brains fucked out. it just didn’t make any sense.
that’s why he starts showing up outside of your door instead of simon. he tells you he just can’t sleep, and he needs a friend. he just so happens to show up just five minutes before ghost does every single night.
that’s why whenever simon gives you that look while you’re all out at the pub, johnny pulls you over and asks you to dance with him. that’s why he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear as you both look at each other with a tipsy gaze. he leans in and smiles at you before whispering, “you’re beautiful, lass. you deserve the world.” that’s why he kisses you, and he takes you home.
he doesn’t fuck you. not that night. instead, he throws on a movie, and he holds you until you fall asleep. the next morning, he takes you out for breakfast, and the next week, he’s got you in his lap, and he tells the team that you’re “his girl,” planting a sloppy kiss to your cheek.
and all simon can do is watch as jealousy and regret bubble in his stomach and threaten to spill from his mouth in the form of bile.
but he swallows it back, and he just watches as you start ignoring his looks, his 3AM text messages, and knocks on your door. instead, you opt for nights in johnny’s bed with sweet kisses and missionary and mating presses as he looks at your face, presses his lips against yours, and tells you how beautiful you are. he lets you - no, he begs you to stay the night with him.
and all simon can do is watch.
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jleijl · 6 months
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PAY YOUR RENT!
summary: gojo doesn’t seem to understand the concept of roommates and rent. to appease your stress, he offers another way of payment. except, he doesn’t take it well when you fail to uphold that promise for one night.
warnings: ooc…, richboy gojo 🫡, college au, he’s kinda entitled and nonchalant but then he’s clingy, jealous avoiding feelings gojo shrug
A/N: pt 38573892 of me writing for sth i dont read OR watch …im fucking crying this monstrosity took two weeks its horrible.
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the notion of roommates, brought up by his best friend, was completely new to satoru. he’s heard of it here and there from other students — complaints, funny stories, some hapless crushes few and far between. as far as he knew, it was the college experience he had failed to receive because there never was a need to share his living space with someone. he could afford everything and more so it doesn’t bother him. or so he thinks.
it’s when he’s clinging to suguru’s arms in a mocking affectionate manner. while the dark-haired boy’s face is scrunched with false annoyance, something like “don’t you have any other friends?” leaves his mouth, and satoru whines a no. “why don’t you find someone to live with?” it’s nothing but silly, meaningless banter.
so why do suguru’s words nag in the back of his mind? it’s true that he doesn’t have many friends, but he doesn’t need many, all for good reason. satoru keeps others at arm's length — he’s not a man people are allowed to be close to. there’s a distinct wall between satoru and others, one that’s respected by everyone.
he put up an offer to have some needed fun, that’s all.
though, all that precession doesn’t really matter when he’s sprawled across his velvet couch, waiting for your arrival. even when his door rings, boredom overruns him but he’s up on his feet and at the door.
“gojo? satoru?”
you’re not exactly sure what you were expecting. it was all too sketchy — a plain message of an address followed by a “looking for a roommate” was all that was posted. no rent pricing, no precautions or requirements, an empty profile, and you weren’t sure if it was too bad to be true. worst comes to worst, you’d be kidnapped. free from debt and the stress of finding a place to live at least, you mused.
yet with the looming approach of classes and no secure place to stay weighing on your shoulders, all you could do was take a chance.
living with a man wasn’t your ideal situation, but the prospect of a nearby apartment that was in a nice area overshadowed your existing concerns. yeah, that was it. definitely not the ridiculously beautiful guy standing tall, leaning well over a foot above you right now.
you don’t know how to feel about this chance.
“that’s me. you coming in for a tour?” maybe it’s because you’re unknowingly gawking but he leans down a bit, pushing his face into yours like he had no concept of personal space, never had to worry or think about other people, and staring inquisitively. “yeah?”
you quickly back away.
“y-yeah.”
“good.”
he steps to the left for you to come in and holds out a hand, for your bag you’re assuming. a little more considerate than you thought.
you freeze at the sight of the interior. considering his short post, you wouldn’t have expected such a decorated space — intricate vases sit beside the entrance with water droplets rolling off the lilies’ petals. an all-too-big plush rug is centered in the living room and the kitchen shows itself off with an island of marble and ebony oak. the extravagance of it all slightly resembles the boy in front of you. everything is excessive. mentally, you make a list of gojo’s traits.
reckless. profligate.
“you like what you see? wanna see your bedroom?”
suddenly your hand is in his before you can answer and gojo practically drags you to a room excitedly. he gives you a small smile before pushing the door open and puffs his chest out. you add pushy and forward to the list.
“tada!”
there’s something about his behavior that’s a little childish, a type of whimsical excitement that isn’t contained by his lanky frame. his excitement rubs off on you too, at least for a moment until your eyes move from him to the room; your jaw slacks.
it’s enormous — the size is what you’d expect of an average apartment. it gets larger the more you look; your feet begin to walk on their own, curiosity and disbelief fueling your steps. a massive walk-in closet (completely empty and you aren’t sure what you’d fill it with, anyway), a queen bed with a layered canopy, a chandelier, and a grand piano. your head spins.
“d’ya like it? wanna live here?”
“gojo.”
“hm?”
“i can’t.”
his chirpy smile drops and his brows come down. he’s annoyed. “hah? if you don’t like it, we can move around the stuff. is it the piano? i knew it was too much, i just put it there to-”
“i can’t afford this gojo. it’s really pretty, i really wish i could.” a couple of blinks pass before the same smile is put back on gojo’s face.
“so you do wanna live here! alright, it’s settled.”
“what? no — i just said i couldn’t afford it!”
the boy is already leaving the room; his long strides get him out of the room in a second, forcing you to rush after him. “gojo? hello??”
“i asked if you wanted to live here, not if you could afford it.”
he’s seated on one of the stools by the kitchen island with the tip of a pen poking at the corner of his lips. then, he grabs the paperwork in front of him and waves it at you. “sign.”
you shake your head.
“then let me at least pay what i can. 800?”
pay what you can? yeah right, that’s a month's pay.
did you want to be here that bad? bright sapphire eyes meet yours, sparkling and earnest and you bite your bottom lip — maybe.
“nothing.” your pleas fall on deaf ears by the indifferent expression on his face. he waves his arms around to signal the entire apartment. “free.”
he smirks at the incredulous look on your face.
“700..?”
“no.” he shakes his head. stress crept up onto your shoulders.
“600 and i pay for the groceries,” your sentences falter when the look on his face is unmoving. “…and i’ll do all the chores too.” it felt a little desperate but for all the wrong reasons. he sighs and shakes his head, seemingly annoyed by your constant negotiating. he pinches the bridge of his nose for a bit to think.
“50 and we have dinner together every night,” he finally says, then pauses for a moment. “and no groceries or chores. you’re not a maid.” he holds out his hand, flashing you a pearly grin.
all you do is meekly shake it.
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gojo sees you off on the first day of your classes. you’re awoken to the faint smell of cooked rice and he’s there in the kitchen, making breakfast. two bowls sat on the table. you had rushed over to help but he brushed you off, telling you to sit and ‘just eat what i give you, you’ll be late if you try and help.’ so you do, and the two of you who are borderline strangers, share a warm meal. your first meal with gojo satoru is quiet and slow.
he takes your finished bowl to the sink and walks you to the door. he watches you put your shoes on and hands you your keys. he opens the door for you but tugs on your sleeve at the last minute before you can go, insisting that he quickly teaches you the janky mechanics of the card lock and the keypad on the door. it’s not overbearing but you have a hunch that your roommate is the clingy kind.
your day doesn’t spare you. hours of lectures stack on top of each other before sending you off to another couple of hours at work. the ache in your neck and the fatigue tugging at your muscles cause a sigh of relief when the image of your new, plush bed flashes in your mind. like a mirage that keeps you going while sudsing the counters and tables clean, and it’s almost enough to make you forget your promise to gojo. just almost.
you groan at the red light on the drive back home. fucking dinner.
you’re dreading the entrance into the lobby, the wait in the elevator, and the walk in the apartment halls all the way up to the top, where your new home resides; you’re thanking gojo and his ridiculous penthouse for being all the way at the top.
as your fingers fumble with the key card, you wonder how you’d cook for a such a reckless, profligate man (you turned your mental list into a physical one on your notes app). and if you were being honest, you had gossiped straight away to your friends about your new roommate. the rumors proved nothing short of your original expectations too — gojo satoru was a ridiculously unapproachable and affluent man with eccentric and unpredictable tastes.
and you supposed your fingers had shaken so much at that thought that it made enough noise that could be heard from the other side because before you can unlock it, the door opens.
“yo! you’re home late!”
he’s wearing casual clothing, a black shirt that’s much too small, and loose sweats. that paired with his chipper voice makes you second guess the thoughts you had about five seconds ago but you avert your eyes and shake your head.
“i have to close most nights at work, sorry,” he’s doe eyed at your apology, staring as you take off your shoes and coat. “did you already eat?”
“no, you promised remember? i waited.” your stomach churns. there was nothing less you’d want to do than to cook right now, let alone for him.
“right. i’ll get started.” gojo quirks his head at your comment, eyes forming a slight crescent shale before he turns on his heels and disappears into the kitchen. you let a quiet sigh slip and follow.
what you’re not expecting are filled plates sitting on the island, way too many for just two people. at a glance, it’s an assortment of various cuisines. there’s dishes you’ve never seen. your roommate is already seated, leaning over the table like he’s barely holding himself back.
“hurry up, i’m starving!” he whines. you hesitate but move into the seat in front of gojo anyway.
utensils are laid out nicely for you already along with a bowl. as soon as you pick up your chopsticks, the boy goes in. quickly like he’s a starved man (you think about the irony of this) and you wonder how long he’s really waited. you’re staring at him to see how much he can scarf down, making a mental guess in the process. but gojo slowly stops and looks up from his bowl.
“you’re not gonna eat?” he says with his mouth half full, then chews while waiting for your response. you blink.
“no no, i am,” the hand holding your chopsticks hover over the array of plates before grabbing something random and quickly putting it in your mouth. your lips purse into an awkward smile to appease gojo’s burning gaze. “i just wasn’t expecting this.”
“you promised though?”
“i know, it’s just.. i thought you wanted me to cook for you.” those words come out sheepish and muttered but gojo just laughs a little.
“like i said, you’re not my maid.”
gojo, satisfied by the nod of your head, goes back to his meal in the previous unorthodox manner. you keep the tip of your chopsticks in your mouth, poking at your gums and nipping at it mindlessly. your roommate was unpredictable but, maybe, not unapproachable.
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satoru didn’t know what came over him when he made that offer to you. there’s not an ounce of reason he can put into making such a one-sided deal. hell, there’s some tiny regret in his mind when he sees your name penned neatly on the document that would legally bind you to his property.
but then he wakes up the day after feeling an unknown sense of relief. knowing that he isn’t alone in an all too big space isn’t too bad, he decides. so instead of his usual, mundane routine of stretching, opening his windows, and falling back asleep, he washes up to go into the kitchen.
he doesn’t know what comes over him either when he’s washing rice and souse vid-ing some fish. for satoru, one cup of rice is enough for him — he pails in two cups into the cooker. he hesitates about each ingredient, unsure of what your allergies and dislikes are. it’s unlike him to be so thoughtful.
and when you’re leaving, it’s just instinct to grab onto you but he doesn’t understand why; he’d rather die than admit that though, so he makes up some faulty explanation about the lock that works perfectly fine. you struggle with it upon coming home so his lie wasn’t really a lie, he justifies.
another thing he doesn’t want to admit is there’s a change in his mundane living. to say that he was miserable before would be an overstatement but not untrue to some extent. it’s more like he realizes how he gets by every day rather than living — your presence proves that. because why is it now that he’s too excited to go to bed each night and too excited to wake up in the morning? he reasons with himself: correlation isn’t causation, right?
these nights go on for days that melt into weeks; time flies quicker than satoru can imagine. unsurprisingly, so do his feelings for you but no, not like that! it’s care and worry: whether or not you’ve eaten, if you need anything at the store, or some homework you’re overwhelmed by — he finds you in his mind often. but not like that.
“satoru, i’m going out for dinner tonight.” one thing satoru is proud of is being on a first-name basis with you within the span of just a month and a half. he nods, continuing to shovel a spoon of rice into his mouth.
“where to? suguru told me this new spot opened near campus but i didn’t want to go without you—”
“on a date, satoru.”
huh?
you wince at the clang of a dropped spoon and he supposes his whole body freezes because there’s an awkward look on your face, with lips biting themselves and darting eyes.
“with who?”
“oh i don’t know.. some guy in my group project just asked me,” fingers lace through your hair and you fidget with a strand. “i thought it’d be good to get off your back for one night. you won’t have to buy a bunch of food later.” he hates the way you’re trying to lighten the mood.
more so, satoru hates the nasty guttural sickness he’s feeling as of currently. calmly, he picks his spoon back up but instead of eating, he focuses on the warped reflection of his face on the back of the spoon. he looks stupid. feels that way too.
“why bother? i already buy you your favorite food all the time,” his grasp on the spoon’s handle grows tighter.
“it’s not the food, satoru. i want a boyfriend, or at least something,” you quip. “besides, if it goes to shit, you get a funny story later.” your roommate gives you an unamused look.
“nothing would go to shit if you were just having dinner with me! you want a date? i’ll give you one — what do you want?” now he’s opening some shopping app on his phone. “wine? live music?”
“it doesn’t matter if it isn’t real! if you’re worried, i’ll be fine,” you huff. “my location is on, 911 on dial, pepper spray in bag.” to that he says nothing. because, yes, he’s always worried about your safety but that’s not it.
there’s something else. but it’s something he doesn’t want to delve deeper into for fear of it being an unknown territory, one that even someone of his caliber can’t handle with ease.
satoru watches you leave for your classes early and eats the rest of his breakfast alone.
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there’s too much food on the table. satoru’s staring across from him where an empty seat resides, his hands clasped together while his chin rests atop. next to his also empty plate is his phone with it’s ringer on. the still scene remains like that until he gives in and checks his phone (for the nth time but it’s been five minutes already, so he’s allowed to look again).
no notifications, the time 7:34. the darkness outside his windows confirms his sight and he sighs. a small voice inside satoru urges him to text you, to ask how you are, how your night’s been, what you’re eating, if you’re having fun… but that’s out of the question. that’s desperate, he retorts, which he’s not.
not in a million years would the gojo satoru — top of his class, plenty popular, and more than well off — ever be in this much disarray over someone.
ding!
almost in an instant, he scrambles to unlock his phone and his heart skips one, maybe two, beats at the sight of your name:
y/n 🫶: im omw home
y/n 🫶: lol all the menu items were stuff we’ve already eaten so all i culd think of was u
he slumps back into his chair, biting back a smile, panting out a breath in relief.
fuck, you’ve made him a mess.
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it’s true, the text you sent satoru.
you never knew how fun a meal could be until you met your roommate. aside from the lavish food you’ve been introduced to, satoru is just so painfully.. him, that it makes your face sore from smiling so much and your sides tense from all the laughter.
when he’s seriously complaining about some problem from his day that, to anyone else would have been minor, with that familiar childish pout, or listening intently to your stressful thoughts and looking up to you with glassy, curious eyes… it’s enough to spoil you.
yet, you don’t realize how much you’ve really been spoiled by your roommate until your date is trying to spark conversation with you, asking for your favorite drink or what you want off the menu.
satoru would know, you think to yourself. he always does.
as your date comes to a close, you only find yourself growing antsy to talk to satoru, to see his endearing reactions. you don’t even realize the bill is placed in front of you — you’re staring off at the semi-wilted flowers placed on the table; satoru would have complained about how they’re under-watered.
even on the way home, each step leading up to your shared penthouse is unwillingly bouncing with excitement. it’s not until you’re standing at the entrance of your apartment door do you realize your feelings.
fuck, feelings?
once more, the door opens before you can finish your trail of thought or even touch the lock with your card. big arms engulf you into a strong embrace, sandalwood cologne filling your senses and dispelling any troubling thoughts of yours; satoru pulls you in closer, quickly closing the door behind you.
“missed you.” he’s burying his head into your shoulders, hands gently caressing the back of your head. his thumb strokes back and forth in a constant, comforting motion.
it’s his own selfish cravings kicking in now because he knows you can’t move. but the guilt he’s feeling, if any, is severely outweighed by his desire.
“s..satoru-”
“hug me back.”
demanding as ever, his free arm snakes around your waist. your own arms, slowly and hesitating, wrap around his neck. a shaky breath tickles your ear. you’re convinced he’d be content with staying like that for ages — you’d be right. he only pulls back when you’re pushing him off and looks at you like he’s expecting something.
"i missed you too," you guess that's what he's looking for because his neutral face breaks a little, though he coughs quickly and straightens himself up.
"your little date can't beat me, huh?"
"depends on what we're talking about."
usually you'd be more gentle, more patient with him but tonight feels different. you know his ego can't take this; he stops in his tracks and turns his head to the side to look at you a little. he's annoyed in that same, childish way he gets when he's complaining about someone making his coffee too bitter. "don't do that. you know i'm better."
"i dunno, he chose a pretty romantic place.. you're good at everything satoru, but he's got you beat here," you laugh. he frowns, crossing his arms.
“i can do that too.”
“be romantic?”
“and beyond; i’ll change any definition of love you’ve had before. i’ll be the best,” he scraps his original path and walks back to you. “i am the best you’ve ever had.”
nothing can prepare you for his declaration. that and the dizzying distance from him to you, but you remind yourself it’s satoru’s competitive side coming out and nothing more. “you’re all talk.”
“oh yeah?”
warmth wraps your hand and your roommate drags you to the kitchen. 
the island’s marble top was now covered by a deep maroon table cloth. lit candles of differing sizes lined the counter tops, their heads already melted off like they’ve been burning for a long time. a fat vase filled to the brim with your favorite flowers sit on each end of the island and all the stools that usually inhabit the sides are gone, leaving only one on each side. and instead of the typical overindulgent assortment of food platters, there’s only two — your favorite meal.
his hands are on your back now, guiding you by the waist to your seat. then, he sits himself across from you.
“romantic enough for you?”
you can’t help but notice the flowers; they’re fresh, still abundant in color and life.
“more than enough. satoru,” you say his name carefully, like you’re unsure of what to tell him. it’s the opposite — you’re trying to not sound stupid. “what’s this for?”
maybe you had missed some important date — was it your birthday? or, his birthday? both of those ideas were quickly shut down by some more sensical thinking.
“you.”
he says it like it’s the most simple, obvious answer ever, as if it resolves any of the confusion in your mind.
“i don’t.. think i get it.”
“i don’t want you to go on any other dates. i can do it all for you, right here and better, forever.”
“is it our promise?” his unwavering, confident cadence is cut short by your question.
no, it wasn’t. there isn’t some stupid contract or agreement going through his head when he’s buying you the biggest and prettiest flowers at the florist’s. he isn’t thinking about a promise to have dinner every night when he’s setting up his hospital white kitchen into something warmer, something more suitable for someone like you. it doesn’t even weigh on him if you’re too busy to join him for dinner, as long as you’re nearby.
and maybe, for months now, he’s already known that. to verbalize it, to tell you this, has been out of the question. but then he looks up to see you sitting patiently, so good for him and only him, surrounded by all the things he’s done to show you he loves you…
“no,” he murmurs. “i want you.”
“i’m here, satoru.”
“no — i want all of you,” wrinkles form around his nose as he concentrates on his next words. “not here, but with me. even if you’re away, you’ll be mine.” he slumps and looks up at you through lidded eyes and white lashes, like a kicked puppy. “say you’ll be mine,” all his ego is gone, leaving nothing but himself at your mercy, hopeful that you’ll feed into his asks.
being around someone eventually makes the both of them similar — so similarly, you’ve never been one to say no to satoru, opting to spoil the boy like he always does with you.
“you’ve always had me, satoru,” you match his whispers, hushed and delicate. he sits up at your words, eyes glittering. tears of happiness maybe, or maybe that’s how he always looks around you, but he blinks them away faster than you can tell.
“so, people usually eat at a dinner date, don’t they?”
“..i already ate, remember?” satoru’s mouth hangs agape in a comical way, his normal demeanor returning.
“fuck, you’re already cheating on me? i could kick you out right now,” you stifle a laugh at his sulking.
“you like me too much for that to ever happen.”
and satoru, before, would hate to even think about that — any possibility he’d be so weak in someone else’s hands, completely void of sense or reason with the vindication of love. but he’s overjoyed to be yours, and more than willing to be weak if it meant you’d be his.
“yeah, you’re right.” he grins.
“you’ll just have to make it up to me with another date.”
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luxaofhesperides · 1 month
Text
Soulmark AU + Sleeping Beauty ; requested by @candeartist422!
For the last few years, Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die.
It sounds cruel to say it that way. But the waiting is more painful, he thinks, than just mourning a lost love. It’s not like most people ever meet their soulmates anyways; his parents weren’t meant to be, but they still loved each other and had a life together. He wishes he could turn his focus away from his soulmate, but Duke is a romantic at heart and has always wanted to find the other half of his soul.
But since he was fourteen, his soulmark has dulled, fading in and out of color. What was once a vibrant blue crystal star, with eight points and a swirl of watercolor hues around it, dimmed more and more until Duke was sure he was watching his soulmate die slowly. 
His soulmate didn’t die then. Whoever they are got better, his soulmark gaining color, but it never went back to the way it was. For years after, Duke would check at the beginning and end of each day, keeping track of when it faded and when it regained its color. 
He thought his soulmate was sick. In and out of hospitals, fighting to stay alive.
And then it went nearly colorless. 
Duke doesn’t remember much about that day. He knows he woke up, brushed his teeth, the lifted up his shirt to check his soulmark in the mirror. The blue was almost completely gone, the star on his left hipbone nearly gray with how colorless it was. He started at it for a moment, shocked, and reality slid away from him as he retreated into the safety of his mind, fully dissociating. 
Bruce had found him when Duke didn’t show up for breakfast. He held him and offered quiet words of comfort that Duke couldn’t understand, but just having someone with him lessened the hurt of losing his soulmate. 
Seeing the color come back the next day, faint as it was, hurt even more.
A year later, Duke still can’t break the habit of checking his soulmark twice a day. It hasn’t changed at all, still faint and dim, but carrying just enough color to show that his soulmate was still alive. At the very least, they were still breathing, but his chance of ever meeting them is basically zero. Still, he can’t help but hope, wishing that he could meet them even once before they die and leave him forever. 
“Same as ever,” he murmurs to himself as he brushes his thumb against his soulmark. He’s terrified that he’s forgotten how beautiful the blue of it was when his soulmate was healthy. 
Duke doesn’t let himself think on it too much anymore. Though his thoughts often turn to his soulmate during quiet moments like these, the busy nature of Gotham is usually more than enough to pull his attention back to the here and now. There’s no use in obsessing over his soulmate anyways; they’re just going to die, sooner or later, and Duke knows he’ll never get to meet them. They’ll just be another empty space in his life, right next to his parents. 
“Come on, Thomas, focus,” he tells himself firmly, then gets dressed and heads down to the kitchen for breakfast.
The manor is quiet. It usually is in the mornings, with everyone from the night shift dead asleep and trying to get as much rest as they can before they have to start their day. Not that many of them stay in the manor these days; Duke and Damian are the only permanent residents at the moment, but Steph usually stays half with her mom and half in the manor during the summers when she’s home from college, and the others drop in whenever they feel like it. 
Bruce lives more in the Batcave than the manor, so he doesn’t really count. It’s also why Duke is surprised to see Bruce awake and dressed like a normal person, drinking coffee in the kitchen as if this is a normal occurrence. 
“Morning,” Duke offers.
“Good morning, Duke,” Bruce replies. “Sleep well?”
“Well enough. Alfred out or something?”
“He may have kicked me out of the Batcave to clean it up a bit,” Bruce answers tiredly. “Want me to make breakfast?”
Duke has heard the horror stories of Bruce’s attempts to make edible food in a kitchen. In the interest of not dealing with food poisoning, Duke shakes his head quickly and says, “Nah, it’s fine. I was kinda wanting to eat out for breakfast. Get out there as me, and not a mask, you know?”
“Mind if I join you? Alfred may forgive me for not sleeping if I willingly go outside.”
Duke laughs. “Sure man, as long as you pay.”
“I’ll drive, too.”
“What, don’t trust me behind a wheel?”
Bruce gives him a tired look, eyes dead and dull. “I have taught all my children how to drive. The day I willingly let them take the wheel when I am not actively dying is the day I’ve been replaced by a robot clone of myself who doesn’t know better yet.”
“That is… very specific. Is that a thing you usually worry about?”
“I’m Batman. I have to worry about everything.”
Yeah, that tracks. Duke wouldn’t be surprised if he has at least five contingency plans for that scenario, should it ever happen. “Well,” he says, “Right now, all you need to worry about is having your wallet and driving us down to The Foodie Nook. I’ve been craving their breakfast plates for ages.”
Bruce doesn’t object to his choice of restaurant and follows Duke down to the garage, grabbing a random set of keys and pointing it out to the many cars he owns. One near the front blinks its lights as it unlocks and Duke cheerfully tosses himself into the passenger seat as Bruce opens the garage door. 
The drive into Gotham is smooth. They don’t hit traffic until they reach the bridge that leads into the city proper, taking them away from the quiet of Bristol. The morning is busy, but not enough that Duke worries about being out as the Signal to help keep the peace. It’s a normal type of busy, one borne from people going about their lives, feeling safe enough to go out. 
The Foodie Nook is entirely local and very popular, so the parking lot is nearly full. But they expanded their space last year, which means he and Bruce don’t have to sit outside while they wait to grab a table. Bruce keeps conversation light and casual, well aware of the many listening ears around them, and it’s nice, feeling normal for once. 
Well, as normal as life can be with Bruce Wayne™. The server who comes to lead them to a table realizes who she’s talking to after she gets a proper look at them while holding open the door and promptly stutters over her words. 
“No need for any special treatment,” Bruce laughs lightly, “We’re just here for breakfast. Nothing special.”
“Of course,” she replies, cheeks red. “Um, right this way! We’ve got a table by the windows for you. Just two, yeah?”
“Yup! Just two. Thought this was a good day to spend some time with Duke. He’s a great kid, you know, I’m glad I was given the opportunity to foster him.”
The sunny, cheerful Bruce Wayne persona is so different from the usual Bruce he works with that it feels like he’s standing next to a stranger. But his words are sincere and warm his heart, filling up the gaps that his soulmate has left. 
“Here you are!” their server announces, showing them to their table. “I’ll be right back with some menus.” She’s gone in a rush, and other customers glance over before quickly averting their gaze. 
It’s one of the unspoken rules of Gotham: give the Waynes their privacy while they’re out in public. Questions and conversation are for public events only, but if they see a Wayne out and about during a normal day, everyone leaves them be unless spoken to first. Duke used to follow those rules as well when he was just another Gothamite. It’s strange being on the other side of that now that he’s in with the Waynes.
Duke barely has to look through the menu when it’s handed to him. The breakfast plates are his favorites and he gets one every single time he comes to The Foodie Nook; stacked full with breakfast foods from around the world. As a kid, he loved the Mexico Plate, but these days he’s craving either the Brazilian Plate or the Vietnamese Plate.  
He can’t decide on which one and thinks about tossing a coin to decide, but seeing how that’s Two Face’s whole thing, he decides to hold off and settle the matter with eenie-meenie-minnie-mo. 
He gets the Vietnamese Plate.
Bruce, on the other hand, reads through the entire menu like it’s a novel, then leans over and says rather loudly, “Duke, what’s a tort-illa.” 
The pain he feels hearing that is only worsened by the amusement in Bruce’s eyes. He’s doing it on purpose, playing up the Brucie act for the public so he can psychologically torment Duke. A few nearby customers choke back laughter, turning away to hide their smiles. 
Duke shakes his head and says, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just food. Don’t ask any more questions, I just want a peaceful breakfast.”
“Well then,” Bruce replies, “I suppose I know what to order now.”
As if she was summoned, their server reappears before them, cheeks still looking a little flushed. “Hi! Ready to order?”
She writes down their orders quickly, valiantly keeping a straight face at Bruce’s mispronunciation of tortilla, then heads off to deliver their orders to the kitchen. 
Rather than draw out a conversation with Brucie Wayne, Duke settles for playing a few idle games on his phone; his current favorite is one quiet cat cafe game where he directs cats into fulfilling cafe orders. 
Bruce, despite being out in his civilian identity, is working. He’s on his Batman phone, which looks the same as his other cell phones except this one has a bat symbol sticker just barely hiding a Superman sticker on the phone case. His brow is slightly furrowed as he reads whatever file he’s accessing from the Batcomputer. It’s a little worrying but it could be anything. Bruce makes the same expression when he reads one of Tim’s snarky comments getting quoted in the news.
But that’s not Duke’s problem! He’s here to enjoy his breakfast and it will take the end of the world itself to remove him from his seat before he’s done eating.
The game takes most of his attention until their food comes out, and by then Bruce has tucked away the smallest of his Batman mannerisms. They enjoy a normal, peaceful breakfast. Bruce ends it by asking their server if she has any debt that’s weighing her down, then giving her a tip that’s at least five thousand dollars above that. 
She does cry and Bruce hugs her. It’s very sweet. 
As soon as they get back into the car, his easy going smile drops and Duke knows some superhero nonsense is about to take over his day. 
“Duke,” Bruce starts, seriously, “I received a message from Zatanna.”
“Don’t drag this out,” Duke says, “Just give it to me straight. What terrible thing is about to happen to us?”
“It’s nothing too big. They just recently defeated a magical being who had been tearing apart secret government facilities in Illinois. He had both magic and a high tech weapon, which they confiscated and are delivering to me. The government agency he was fighting was suspiciously interested in the weapon, and based on their behaviors and newly revealed work, Zatanna made the decision to turn the weapon over to us so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”
Bruce smoothly merges into traffic as he speaks, getting them onto the road back to the manor. There’s a look in his eyes that means he’s keeping a lot unsaid, and Duke knows without a doubt that whatever this government agency was doing is bad if Zatanna needs Batman to act as extra security. 
He’s not sure about her decision to trust the weapon to be safe in Gotham, either. Sure, Batman will keep it as safe as he can, but with their luck, it’ll end up in the hands of a Rogue and lead to a lot of death and destruction. 
As soon as they cross the bridge and return to Bristol, Bruce steps on the gas and the car tears down the road. Without any other cars to worry about (or traffic laws), it takes barely two minutes to reach the manor, when the gates open for them and let them into the garage. 
Alfred waits for them by the door, looking them over with a critical eye. “I see you have managed to go outside, Master Bruce. What’s the special occasion?”
“Just breakfast,” Bruce answers. “I’m heading back down to the Batcave. Zatanna will be here soon to deliver a weapon.” He’s gone before Alfred can say anything more, hurrying down the hall and turning the corner, disappearing from sight as he heads towards his office. 
“I see we have yet to break that bad habit of his. Did you enjoy your morning out, Master Duke?”
“Sure did, Alfred. I’m, uh, also going down to the Batcave. He’s definitely not telling me a lot about what’s going on, so I’m just going to read about it over his shoulder. I’ll be back up for lunch, though!”
“And perhaps you’ll be able to drag Master Bruce away from that cave of his,” Alfred comments wryly as he walks with Duke towards the office. He gives Duke a nod, then splits away from him, returning to the kitchen where Duke can hear Damian speaking to someone, probably Tim by the annoyed tone of his voice, and mentally wishes Alfred luck in handling them.
Duke sets the correct time on the clock in Bruce’s office and heads down to the Batcave, taking the steps two at a time. 
Bruce is already at the Batcomputer, shoulders tensed, when he arrives. 
“More bad news?” he asks as he makes his way over.
Bruce doesn’t bother looking away from the screen as he says, “More details about the fight. It seems the magical being called himself a ghost and was going on a rampage due to a betrayal. He says they nearly killed his son.”
“Oh, yikes.”
“And two of the scientists working with the government agency said that he stole their son and is keeping them from saving him.”
“Yikes,” Duke says with more feeling.
He doesn’t get to hear anymore details about JLD’s fight with this ghost when he catches a flicker in the corner of his eye. Duke turns and stares at the empty space in the Batcave near the medbay and watches as colorful magic gathers and swirls in dizzing circles. The portal opens a moment later and Zatanna steps out, looking exhausted and lightly singed. 
“Batman,” she greets, holding a white gun that looks like it belongs in an early sci-fi movie from the 60s. “The GIW is trying to arrest us. Constantine keeps burning their badges and documents so it shouldn’t be a problem, but they are determined to get this back. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came after you next. They’ve got some way of tracking things, but I didn’t have time to get any details before I had to leave.”
Bruce takes the gun from her hands carefully, looking it over with a sharp gaze. “Why would a ghost want to use a gun?”
“I don’t know. He had a variety of powers, too.”
“What does this do?”
“Shoots ice. He never let it go and nearly burned me alive for taking it before we subdued him.”
“We’ll keep it locked up,” Bruce promises. 
Zatanna sighs. It looks as though a physical weight fell off her shoulders. “Thanks. I’m going to head back to stop Constantine from getting into a fistfight with the GIW agents.”
She opens another portal with a waved hand and a muttered spell. Bruce is already walking away to set the gun down on a work station, so Duke is the one to wave Zatanna goodbye. 
By the time he reaches Bruce’s side, the gun is already dismantled, all pieces neatly set aside. Sticky notes denote which pieces go together and in what order. It looks the same as most guns, save for the aesthetic, but the heart of it is a glowing blue orb, large enough to cover the entirety of Bruce’s palm, and it brings a chill to the air.
Duke stares at it and feels his soulmark burn ice cold.
“Duke?”
It’s in his hands. He doesn’t remember reaching out to take it, but it’s in his hands. He can’t take his eyes off of it, cradling it gently and bringing it closer to his chest. 
It’s the same blue his soulmark once was. Before his soulmate began to fade, before every day became a waiting game to see how long his soulmate will last before they die. 
This has something to do with his soulmate. He’s sure of it. 
He won’t let anyone take it from him. 
“Duke. Give that to me.”
He doesn’t feel like he’s in his body. He’s detached, floating somewhere outside his body, puppeteering his limbs, making them move without feeling the motion. Shadows condense around his feet and Bruce takes a step back, wary. 
“Duke,” he says again, but Duke can’t find any words, can’t draw on his voice, can’t even look away from the bright, bright blue of the orb. It pulses lightly in his hand like a heartbeat. 
Bruce reaches a hand out. 
He’s pulled back by shadows before he can get close, and Duke holds the orb against his chest, right against his heart, and feels the cold seep into him. 
“Duke. I need you to look at me.” This time, Bruce’s voice has Batman’s growl in it, a heavy command that he can’t help but instinctively follow. He looks up and meets Bruce’s eyes, but he can’t focus. All his awareness is in his hands and the heartbeat of the glowing orb.
“I have to protect this,” Duke manages to whisper. “I… I think it’s alive.”
“Okay. Let’s get you to the medbay so you can sit down. We’ll figure this out, Duke.”
Bruce slowly, carefully, sets his hand on Duke’s shoulder. He keeps his attention away from the orb, so Duke allows it and lets Bruce guide him to the medbay and onto one of the medical cots. Bruce leaves him after a minute of quiet fussing, muttering about calling Zatanna.
Whatever. None of that matters when the heartbeat of the orb grows stronger, steadier, and Duke feels it match the beat of his own heart.
Time slips away from him. Distantly, he hears people move around the cave, speaking in low tones. A hand presses against his shoulder, warm, then moves away. 
The orb in his hand moves. 
Duke blinks slowly, then claws his way back to awareness, pushing past the haze that’s fallen over his mind. The orb turns over in his hand, then cracks right down the middle. The glow grows stronger, washing the medbay in blue light and a symbol appears on the orb.
It’s his soulmark. 
Later, he won’t be able to say why he did it. There were no thoughts, no reasonings, no explanations. Duke simply moved on instinct and lifted the orb up to his face and pressed a soft kiss against it. 
One moment, the orb was still.
The next, it had burst in a flash of light that blinded everyone in the Batcave, and then a thin, injured teenager had fallen into Duke’s lap. 
Hands immediately grab him, pulling him away from Duke. The teenager puts up no fight, eyes barely open, but he reaches for Duke weakly. On his wrist is the bright blue snowflake, the color strong and vivid. 
“That’s me soulmate,” Duke whispers as he watches Bruce and Tim set the boy down on another medical cot. 
“What?” Tim says, turning to face Duke, concern clear on his face. 
“That’s my soulmate,” he repeats, louder. Then, panicked, he pulls up his shirt enough to see his own soulmark; the color is still dull, weak, barely there, but it’s more blue that it has been in a while. He doesn’t need to say anything. Tim sees the dullness of his soulmark, looks at the boy, and puts the pieces together on his own.
“I’ll call Doc Thompkins,” he says, already moving to fix everything. Bruce remains where he is, making sure the boy is tucked in and breathing steadily before he returns to Duke. 
“Are you alright?”
Duke swallows roughly, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy. He’s pale and thin, as if he’d been starved, and there’s frost beginning to spread on the bedsheet from his fingers. “He’s my soulmate,” Duke manages to say. “He’s been dying for two years.”
Bruce’s eyes a hard, a determined light in them. “We’ll save him,” he promises. 
If anyone can, it’s Batman. 
If anyone can, it’s them, Batman and the Signal, and their entire network of family and friends. 
Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die all this time. Now, he’s going to save him.
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kurogxrix · 6 months
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Clingy Mornings
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Bruce Wayne x Wife!reader, Batboys x Batmom
IN WHICH your clinginess towards your husband never fails to disgust your sons.
WC: 1.5k
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“And where'd you think you're going?” The sudden sound of your voice, albeit muffled partly by your pillow and sleepiness, startled your husband from his sitting place at the edge of your shared bed. You could barely even see with the morning grogginess clouding your iris, yet Bruce’s defined back muscles somewhat managed to break through your view. 
Bringing a hand up to wipe at your eyes, you couldn’t help but relish in the sight of your husband’s fine muscles flexing as he turned to meet your eyes. The way his bicep laid there all deliciously as he tipped all of his body weight onto one arm, the other moving up to caress at your cheek lovingly. There was no denying the pure adoration that swam through his beautiful blue iris, they spoke for themselves. 
“Well one of us has to be downstairs before Alfred decides that we’ve had enough sleeping time and barges into our room.” he chuckled slightly, a rare instance for The Batman, yet he’d only show this side when he was Bruce Wayne alongside you. His beautiful wife and mother of his children, adopted or not, they were yours. He had to force himself and resist the urge to chuckle as he watched your expression morph into a pout, your delicate hand pulling at his arm as you tried to get him back under the sheets with you. 
“Cmon Bruce, just a few more minutes.” you pleaded, tiredness still evident in your voice but it progressively faded the more you stayed up begging your husband to fall asleep with you again. Your hopes spike as Bruce laid behind you for a second, but the fact that he was laying on his forearm and elbow immediately crushed all of your hopes. His warm palm never left your cheek once, making you snuggle deeper into the palm that was just as big as your face. 
“I’d love to, trust me. But are you sure that you don’t want to see those demons of yours before they leave?” Of course he’d do that, of course Bruce would use your beloved children as bait for you to accompany him downstairs and finally leave the bed. You grunted something along the lines of ‘well then you better carry me’ in the crook of his neck as you threw your arms around his shoulders. This time Bruce couldn’t resist chuckling as he grabbed you delicately by the hips, hosting you onto his lap as he stood up from the plush mattress. 
Bruce hadn’t complained once about your clinginess. Truth to be told you’d been like this since the night before because you had rarely seen your beloved Bruce for nearly a whole ass week. It wasn’t unusual that you both wouldn’t see each other, on days that you’d be busy with work and on nights that the city’s menaces just wouldn’t rest. But recently everything had just been too much, too many meetings, too many villains and yet not enough time.
You winced as his hands came to lay across the bruises that now decorated your hips, two huge hand marks engraved into your skin as a remnant of the previous night. Needless to say that the reunion sex had you reaching for the stars, and the faint ache between your legs was a constant reminder of just what Bruce’s perfect girth could do to you. 
Your husband moved his hands with expertise as he descended the stairs, having only one hand under your ass to support your weight as the other laid along your back. You weren’t even concerned about a potential fall, because your husband did happen to be Batman, and his strength was unmeasured to your body weight. No matter what it was. 
Dick had been the first to notice his father walk into the living room, not that it was hard to notice him considering the absolute unit of a man that your 6’4 husband was. Your eldest son was perched up on the sofa, a bowl full of cereal and milk as the TV played in the background. He froze at first, unable to see you from your buried position in Bruce’s chest. Dick was afraid that you’d walk in shortly after you dear husband and start ripping one off on your son for eating on your couch, because even as the grown ass man that he now was, Dick was the messiest eater that you’d ever seen.
Though luckily for him that never came because it seemed like you had better plans, which included being stuck all day to your husband. No exaggeration. He watched in amusement as Bruce sat down amongst his children on the sofa, Damian not even displaying an ounce of attention towards his father as his eyes strained on the TV. could tell that it was a lazy morning for the both of you, even if Bruce claimed that it wasn’t for him. He had been clearly too bothered to dress before going down, instead clad in nothing but a pair of black boxers that he’d quickly thrown on in the morning. His warm, bare skin brought warmth against your clothed one, making you cling to him even harder than you previously were. 
Dick couldn’t help the smile growing upon his lips as he noticed the way your hands were clamped tightly around Bruce’s neck alongside the way your legs caged his waist. Like a clingy koala, he thought. 
You’d not moved from your position upon arrival, and at first your children could’ve thought that you were sleeping, and that Bruce was the clingy one after having snatched you from the comfort of your bed to snuggle with you downstairs on the couch.
Although they quickly found their assumptions to be wrong as they watched Bruce hand move up to your lower back, rubbing it adoringly before he gently tapped you to move and cuddle his side so he could eat. The bowl of cereal that he’d quickly grabbed from Alfred sat on the table staring at him, and his stomach was yelling for it. 
You squeezed in between Bruce and Damian as you climbed off your husband's lap, offering him the limited space that he’d get for the rest of the week. By all means you were still cuddled up to his side, an arm wrapped around his bicep as you rested your head on his bulging muscles. 
In the back of your mind, you heard a little voice telling you that this morning was all too weird. Why? Because the living room was far too silent for it to harbour all four of your children at once in. Maybe If you’d both been a little more aware you would’ve caught the sight of Jason trying and desperately failing in his attempts of ‘secretly’ snapping a picture of you both since the moment you’d walked in. 
Bruce could be sure that in a few hours he’d get a ping from his phone and a bunch of notifications about some sort of instagram post that your son has posted about the seemingly intimidating Bruce Wayne cuddling up to his wife. The caption would read ‘Bruce Wayne has gone soft, nobody is safe from the softpocalypse anymore’, but you didn’t know that as of now. 
Maybe you’d catch sight of that devilish grin adorning your youngest’s face, yet again that was nothing new. Or maybe you would have been able to notice the way Tim would often part from his beloved cup of coffee to check if Jason got the right angle. Although Bruce would admit later on that there’s no shame in showing some well deserved love to your spouse, he’d most definitely ground them all for playing this little ‘prank’ on him. 
You slowly returned in Bruce’s embrace after watching whatever idiotic movie that Dick had put on for god knows how long. Bruce’s bowl now empty and sitting on the coffee table before you. You took it as a sign that you could retake your spot within his arms, and your brooding husband didn’t even complain once as you got comfortable. With your face now buried in the warmth of his neck once again, you couldn’t help yourself but to give him a chaste kiss here and there.
“In front of my coffee.” you paused your movements at the disgusted tone in Tim’s words, effectively getting your other son’s to turn towards you both. You relished in their disgusted disagreeing, carefree laughter escaping you while blocking whatever sound came from the TV. You watched as your boys all left the room one by one to go on with their days, claiming that they can’t stand you two being ‘too in love’ because it was far too disgusting.
A solid minute after the room regained its original silence, save for the soft sounds of the movie still playing, Bruce allowed himself to relax in your arms. He slid down the sofa in a lazy position, keeping you tightly trapped in his embrace as he rested his head above yours. Hands regaining their comforting motions above your back, a rare and cocky smile graced Bruce’s face. Now that the whole mansion knew that you both were up and going, all in your ‘disgusting’ clinginess, he could only guess when the next person who dared to walk upon you both would come and disturb you. 
-
Hope my bruce girlies eat this shit up. also this is UNEDITED😔
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midnightwriter21 · 10 months
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demon slayer hcs: motherly hashira!reader x the hashira pt 2
characters: fem!reader x muichiro, sanemi, mitsuri, obanai
AN: this is a pt 2 for the request from @danielle-marie
READ THE FIRST PART HERE
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MUICHIRO
I LOVE THIS BABY SM U DONT UNDERSTAND
he's the hashira that ur most comfortable around
he was a hashira before u
but u get promoted and its an instinct
child.
must protect.
at first he probably gets annoyed by you
he's not used to someone caring for him the way that u do
but then one day ur sent on a long mission
maybe a few weeks long
and he finds himself missing something
of course he has no idea what it is that he's missing something
he completely forgot about u
but when you get back to the butterfly estate and he sees u
it clicks
he remembers
he missed you
he missed your overprotective nature
he missed your soft caring voice
he missed the way that you brush and style his hair
he REALLY missed that ^
walks up to u, grabs ur hand and tugs u away
doesn't care if you were talking to someone
and doesn't say a word
brings you to his favorite cloud watching spot with a tight grip on your hand
makes you sit down
and lays his head in ur lap
stop im squealing and kicking my feet from the cuteness
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SANEMI
my guyyyyyy
have i ever told yall that i love him?
only in every single thing i post
anyways
he HATES you at first
lmfao rip u
your shy and quiet nature reminds him of giyuu
and if theres one person sanemi can't stand
its giyuu
therefore he don't fw u
and doesn't pay u much attention
UNTILLLLL
he witnesses u pulling genya by the ear to the infirmary after a mission
and telling genya tf off for pulling som stupid shit during the mission
+100 respect right there
not only are u actually talking
but ur screaming??
at his brother??
and taking care of him at the same time?????
my guy is lucky if he doesn't pop a boner right there lmfaooo
starts paying more attention to u after that
and is noticeably a lot nicer and calmer around you
will blush beet red and deny tf out of it if the other hashira comment abt his change of heart
but def develops a soft spot for u
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MITSURI
SWEETEST HUMAN BEING TO EVER EXIST EVER
she loves u
ofc she does she's the love hashira
but in mitsuri's mind how could she not absolutely ADORE u
not only are you breathtakingly beautiful in her eyes
but she sees the way u interact with the younger slayers
how u genuinely care for everyone's wellbeing
if she wasn't looking for a husband she would wife u tf UP
she still might lol
mitsuri is gonna go out of her way to become friends with you
she's inviting u to her estate for girl's night with shinobu
she's dragging u along to her favorite restaurant for lunch
she's inviting u to join her at the hot springs to relax
she really enjoys ur presence
even if ur shy she thinks ur very soothing to be around
she loves when you do her hair!!
and when u cook for her??
mitsuri alrdy eats a lot
but if u made the food for her??
girl is not letting a CRUMB go to waste
loves the way u take care of everyone
especially when u take care of her
10/10 would recommend a mitsuri
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OBANAI
someone pls love this man
he needs it so bad
so dude had SHIT parents
like bad bad
so when he sees ur interactions with the younger slayers he's prob a lil put off at first
like ma'am?
this is the demon slayer corps??
we don't have time for all ur mothering and coddling
but then he's injured on a mission
and waiting in the infirmary for shinobu to show up and patch him up
and then u bust through the doors???
confused asf
shinobu is on a mission and you've been helping out in the infirmary
so looks like ur the one taking care of him today
and turns out his injury is bad enough to land him an extended stay in his lil hospital bed
and after a few days of u taking care of him
with ur red face and soft stuttered words
he learns that you're not so bad
and he actually enjoys being around you
and being taken care of
won't voice this tho
but when Aoi comes in to give him his meds one day he gives himself away by accident
with a
"where's y/n?"
he's a blushing grumbling mess after that lol
after he discharged best believe the next time he gets injured he's not even going to the infirmary
he's hunting u tf down
nobody else gets to take care of him except YOU
and thats period.
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wonryllis · 1 month
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さ 𝇃𝇂 ENHYPEN WHEN THEY GET JEALOUS OVER A GUY HITTING ON YOU.
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╰ 𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗅𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇���.
𝒏o𝓉ℯs. the trigger of possesive enhypen 𖥔 ݁ fluff and love, and your man, LIBY? fem!reader requested word count ` 1513 unedited.
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𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 you're at the mall to watch a marvel movie together all excited. and there's this boba store right next door to the cinema hall, they have your favorite flavour but there's a long ass line. heeseung baby being down bad for you is rushing to get you what you want without a thought. even if he has to miss the grand opening scenes, he's getting you that boba you love. he's literally right next up when he notices this weirdo approach you. quickly gets your drink and runs back, more like long intimidating strides with a deep ass scary voice,"babe, who's this guy?"
immediately notices the dial pad open on his phone understanding that this frog was asking for your number. does a whole public display of affection, putting in the straw, holding the cup while you take a sip, squeezing your cheeks and going,"does my sweetcheeks like it?" leaving a kiss when you nod. "m sorry do you like need directions or something?" he's so jealous right now that this guy thinks he can bag you, and he's gonna take it out by embarrassing him. what to do you're so beautiful that flies keep getting attracted, he's found a tactic for this.
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆 okay now this one is the wooing stage where you're seeing each other every other day but do not have a strict label yet, more like jay trying to do all it takes to win your heart. with the gentleman he is definitely it doesn't take him long but there are times when he's not so gentlemanly though not to you, you'll forever be his queen. it's friday night and he shows up at your doorstep unannounced waiting for you to get back home to surprise you with a bag of your favourite takeout. he's just steps away from your apartment door when he notices the bouquet of flowers stuck on the door with a small bag hanging beneath.
immediately searches through it to find a note with a number. types it in and makes a call giving the guy a really good piece of his mind to stay away, throwing away the flowers and the gift in the bins downstairs. and then he spots you talking to some guy? okay now he doesn't know if it's the same one or someone else so doing what would be graciously the best he walks over and pretends to be your boyfriend,"hey honeybun, i was waiting for you upstairs with this," showing the bag of food triumphantly and and then giving a sly look over to the guy.
𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐔𝐍 so you're in ikea looking for a new bed for jake because y'all broke the last one while pillow fighting on it. cliche but you get lost amidst the aisles and jake is roaming around tryna find you first whereas you are least concerned about being separated like you'll reunite at some point anyway? right? however just two meters away from your boyfriend and some dude is walking right up in between, hand scratching the back of his neck just like how jake used to do early on in the relationship.
literally as awkward as it can be, the guy going on about how he's been looking at you for a while and how he'd like to get to know you, while your eyes are trained behind him at jake who in turn is shooting daggers at the guy. you don't know what to say hoping jake would come over but he's too busy feeling the jealousy lol, "my man wouldn't like that and neither would i so plea-" "oh come on he's not here is he-" "ayo sorry to disappoint buddy, but her man's right here," at first jake was super jealous like feeling the need to claim dominance but lord the moment you referred to him as 'your man' he's forgotten all about it.
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 you were meeting up for a lunch date at your favourite place. and as always hoon was running a little late, leaving you waiting outside the restaurant. you're just on a bench nearby texting on your phone, when you feel someone sit beside you. you smile, thinking it's your lovely boyfriend but when you look up you find an unfamiliar guy grinning his tooth out at you? "hey i was watching you and you seem to be alone," oh no you already feel it going bad "uh no, im not alon-" "i was wondering if you could give me your number, i'm fun to be around really," he keeps on interrupting you again and again when you try to tell him you're not interested and taken.
"my pretty girl, let's go," sunghoon shows up, taking your hand into his and leading you away into the restaurant, straight up ignoring the guy. internally he's quite literally fuming his fists iching to throw a punch at the guy who thought it was okay to hit on you like that. he excuses himself to the washroom after placing the order to secretly check if the guy is still lingering around and if he is then god save him from sunghoon's wrath lmao.
𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐖𝐎𝐎 you're in the mall,. shopping together, going around stores and trying on clothes. you find these bunch of cute floral print mini dresses and sunoo so encourages you to give it a try and see if you like it, promising to stay close by the fitting rooms to have a look and give feedback. however when you open the door for the third outfit instead of your darling there's a staff waiting around. he's immediately jumping at the opportunity to compliment how your body looks so good in it and how you rocked the previous dresses too. "uhm yeah thank you, but the man here-"
"babyyy, im so sorry i went to look some more for you and look what i found, you'd look so damn pretty in it all for me to see," sunoo walks over with a lingerie in his hand ksjskjskhhsj, he hands it over to you with a lovely smile on his face but as soon as you close the door, he's so giving it to the guy for trying to hit on you, "don't you think it is inappropriate to be saying all that to someone who clearly is not looking for and does not absolutely want your advice? and you're at work don't you have basic employee customer decency, where's your manager, i wanna speak to them,"
𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍 this guy is always on his toes to pick you up from anywhere and everywhere. this time it was the library you frequent. it was late in the evening and it was raining, the perfect scenario for jungwon to be a knight in shining armour. by the time he's reached, you're supposed to be waiting by the door as your texts said but you're nowhere to be found. baby is confused, doesn't waste a second to go inside in search of you. and he's so glad he did because the first thing he sees is you uncomfortably standing by the front desk seemingly talking to the librarian guy.
the same one whom he has always noticed giving you the ogly googly eyes whenever he's been here with you. however won never thought of doing anything about it because it never went beyond just lovey dovey stares. until today that is,"excuse me i don't think you know but this gorgeous lady right here is in a committed relationship and we'll appreciate it if you stop with these inappropriate advances, it's really disrespectful to us both," damn that guy he got the message so clearly he ain't looking your way ever again,"let's go baby," jungwon is so coddling you after.
𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈 boy doesn't show a lot of his emotions especially in public. his best response to jealousy so far has been to stay quiet at the moment and then later on try to do more pda and all to show you're taken. this time it was valentines week and everyone at college was going around gifting chocolates and roses and other cutesy gifts. of course riki planned out a whole romantic date with your favourite flowers and sweets and everything thing you love. also he had this plan on that random people would come over to give you roses on his behalf and the last one will be him.
however it takes a twist when the random guy with the rose doesn't just leave after handing it to you, he's asking for your damn number man, riki gets so pissed, ready to throw hands more frustrated- jealous than ever especially that his secret plan is getting ruined, also he's like right beside you? "shut up, take this shit back and know your place!" he literally snatches the rose from the small bundle you hold and shoves it roughly into the guy before taking you away,"im so sorry baby for getting angry, i promise this won't happen again everyone will know you're mine,"
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charliemwrites · 1 month
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Mister(s) Steal Your Girl — part 3
(I seriously need to come up with an actual name for this series before it sets in)
Introducing his grand horniness- John “Soap” MacTavish
It’s been six, coming up on seven, dates with Kyle. A dwindling part of you feared that after the absolutely mind-blowing night you two shared, he’d ghost you or something.
But nope, the morning after was spent in one of his jumpers, receiving kisses and breakfast and tea. The two of you watched movies all day until he drove you home, kissing you at the door. He let you keep his jumper.
Not three days later, he invited you to a movie you’d both been excited to see, and giggled over the popcorn bowl like teenagers. He didn’t even mind that you leaned over to whisper during certain parts, or the ramble you went on afterwards. (When you apologized for overanalyzing and talking so much, he gave you a bizarre, almost offended look. “Don’t you dare stop,” he huffed, “you’re way better than radio. What did you think about that after credit scene?”)
A few days after that, he called with apologetic news.
“Being shipped out for a couple weeks. Shouldn’t be anything too dangerous, and I’ll call when I can,” he explained.
You told the nervous little twist in your gut that you knew this about him. That this is Kyle’s job, not a convenient excuse to ignore you.
“Stay safe regardless,” you murmured earnestly into the phone. “I‘ll… I’ll miss you, Kyle.”
“You’re getting the biggest hug when I get back, darlin’,” he promised.
He kept to it too. Called at odd hours sometimes - once during dinner with your fiance even. But Brandon is always taking random calls nowadays, so you figured, given the circumstances, it’s not such a big deal to excuse yourself either.
On the other end of the call, Kyle sounded a bit tired, but happy to talk to you. He couldn’t tell you anything about what he was doing, but shared some smaller, safer details. That the tea was shite because Soap kept over-steeping it. That his lieutenant was big enough to body slam him during sparring practice. That Captain Price wishes you well and promises to bring Kyle back in one piece.
You even heard one of his teammates in the background, asking Kyle if he was “chirping at his new bird.” Soap, as you found out. They sound like a good bunch.
When Kyle comes back, you offer to welcome him at his apartment. You bring a little plate of cookies and a pack of his favorite beer, hoping it’s not too much. But when he opens the door, his expression melts before he scoops you up in the big hug he promised.
“You’re a fuckin’ dream, ya know that?” he murmurs, tucking his face against your neck.
You spend the whole weekend with him, kissing at the stitched-up knife wound on his muscled arm. Otherwise, all in one piece.
“Would you… want to meet my mates sometime?” he asks as you’re getting dressed for work Monday morning.
“Of course,” you reply instantly. Realize that might be too eager. “If you want to introduce me, that is.”
“I want to show you off to the bloody Queen, babes.”
You giggle, crossing the room to drop a quick kiss on his lips. He tries to draw you in for something deeper, but you wiggle and swat at him, complaining that he’ll make you late.
It’s good, you think. Blissfully good. Honeymoon phase, maybe, but considering how far off your actual honeymoon is, you feel like you deserve this. Kyle is a wonderful partner - kind, attentive, respectful. He listens, he cares, he’s independent of you and respects your boundaries. Sometimes you can’t believe you were ever nervous about this open relationship thing in the first place.
On Wednesday of that same week, Kyle tells you that Soap is going to visit and is eager to meet you. He was thinking dinner and drinks, come back to Kyle’s apartment afterwards. You readily agree.
The next day, a bouquet comes in. It’s a beautiful, though not extravagant, arrangement. Calla lilies, roses, and hydrangeas. The note that comes with it says, “Wanted to make a good first impression in case Kyle told you lies.” It’s signed “Johnny.”
You send a picture to Kyle, amused and a bit endeared. It brightens the rest of your day so much that you barely notice Lucy’s usual snide comments.
On Friday night, Brandon is unexpectedly home. Usually he doesn’t even come home from work on Fridays anymore - or at least he didn’t before you met Kyle. Lately, you only pop in if you’ve forgotten something for your overnight bag. You had to stay late at the office today, though, and your apartment is closer than Kyle’s.
“Was thinking we could go out tonight,” he tells you.
“Oh,” you say, taken aback. Not just by the invitation, but by the mix of emotion in your gut. Some of it is excitement and relief, but not as much as you’d expect. It’s warring with unease and reluctance, a bit of frustration that now of all times he wants to reconnect.
“Um, raincheck?” you offer, smoothing down your dress. It’s a new one you picked out with Kyle; you’re hoping he (Kyle) will notice. “I have plans.”
Brandon’s brow furrows, smile going tight. “You can’t reschedule?”
God you hate confrontation and he knows that, doesn’t he? Why is he pushing?
“Well I don’t know when I’ll get to see them again,” you explain.
Suddenly the tension in his shoulders eases. “Oh, is it a few people then?”
“Just a couple. I’m meeting one of them for the first time.”
“Have fun then,” he says, fishing his phone from his pocket. Like you’re not even there anymore.
You blink, then your phone buzzes with a message from Kyle and you hurry out the door.
“I knew you’d look terrific in that dress,” he says as soon as he sees you.
Thoughts of Brandon, that strange interaction, and those churning feelings all disappear in an instant. Kyle just has a way of soothing you.
The restaurant is one that has quickly become one of your favorites with Kyle. Good food, good drinks, quiet and relaxed atmosphere. You like the funky artwork and squishy booths.
Soap (Johnny?) has already gotten your party a table, and stands as the two of you approach. You nearly stop right there, and then almost trip a bit as momentum urges you onwards. Manage not to make a fool of yourself, but you still boggle at him.
Because Kyle? You thought he was a fluke. Just too handsome to be real, never mind tall and fit and friendly and— well, anyway.
You thought he was a fluke.
But Soap/Johnny is goddamn handsome too! Trim stubble, pretty eyes behind thick lashes, a soft-looking Mohawk that gives him a boyish charm without seeming immature.
“There you two are, thought ye stood me up!” he greets, drawing Kyle into one of those friendly man-hugs with the shoulder pats that look like they hurt.
“Youre a cheap date anyway, MacTavish,” Kyle replies, gently easing you forward with a hand on the small of your back.
“Och, don’t bad mouth me in front of a lady,” Johnny/Soap complains, then turns his twinkling gaze to you and offers a hand. “John MacTavish, but this bampot calls me Soap.”
“Not Johnny?” you ask curiously.
You take his hand, find callouses similar to Kyle’s. But his palm is a bit broader, a scar along his thumb - from a burn it looks like. Just as warm, just as careful. A firm, but not tight shake.
“You can call me anything you like, lass,” he says. From the corner of your eye, you see Kyle choking back a laugh. Johnny it is, you figure.
“Wait ‘Soap’ is a callsign right?” you ask as Kyle herds you into the booth.
“Right-o,” Johnny replies, smiling.
“Does Kyle have one?”
The grin that he gives you would make the devil sweat. As it is, Kyle groans and shoots you a betrayed look.
“Oh does he, lass.”
You light up, grin right back. “Tell me?”
“As if I could say no to a pretty face like that!”
And so begins a long, warm, perfect night. Johnny is great company. Welcoming and friendly, quick to smile, sharp witted. You could sit all night listening to him and Kyle quip at each other, but they’re so careful to keep you included and engaged.
Johnny even offers you some of his chips when his order comes, and you’re too delighted to say no. Not that Kyle seems to mind, encouraging you to steal a couple for him since Johnny keeps whacking his hand away.
The night ends back at Kyle’s. You whip up another batch of cookies with some suspiciously new-looking baking ingredients. The boys keep you company while you work — Kyle mixes the batter when your arm gets tired and Johnny keeps your wine glass full. In the end, you let them each get a lick of the dough spoon.
Eventually, you move to the couch, climb on together. Kyle, for some reason, scooches you into the middle instead of one of the ends, but you don’t mind and neither does Johnny, it seems. They argue over a movie to put on, but it doesn’t matter because the three of you talk through most of it anyway.
The second movie is your pick, which is your downfall. You barely get halfway through before dozing off. End up stirring to muffled laughter and harsh whispering. You’ve slumped into Johnny, you realize, seeing Kyle’s broad smile.
“Oh,” you hum, trying to sit up. “‘M sorry…”
“You’re alright, lass,” Johnny murmurs, gently nudging you back down.
“Kyle?” you ask, yawning.
“Still watching the movie, sweetheart. You can go back to your nap. Soap’s nice and warm, yeah?”
You hum, snuggle in again. He is comfy. “So are you.”
Another quiet chuckle. “I know, love.”
He rouses you later — the movie must be over, you think blearily. Kyle scoops you up, plants a kiss on your cheek as you tuck in.
“Say good night to your teddy bear, baby.”
“‘Night, Johnny,” you mumble, nuzzling your face into Kyle’s neck.
“‘Night, bonnie.”
You wake first the next morning — rare and precious. Kyle is lying behind you snoring softly, arm around your waist. You wiggle around to watch his sleeping face for a minute, appreciating the peace in his features. Drop a whisper-soft kiss on his cheek and then slip out of bed.
He grumbles a bit, but you coo at him to go back to sleep and he subsides quickly. Once you’ve freshened up in the bathroom, you pad out to the living room. Johnny is up as well, watching tv on low volume with a coffee on his knee.
“Mornin’,” he says.
“Good morning,” you chirp back, continuing for the kitchen.
“You’re up early,” he observes, following.
“Slept well,” you reply, grinning. “Thanks in part to you. I hope that wasn’t uncomfortable.”
He ducks his head a bit, a light flush blooming across his ears and cheeks. “Nah, can’t complain about a pretty girl fallin’ asleep on me. Means I must have made a good impression, eh?”
“Oh! That reminds me - those flowers were gorgeous. Did you know calla lilies are my favorite?”
“Aye, Kyle’s been talkin’ about ya nonstop since ye met.”
It’s your turn to flush, and much brighter. You hurriedly turn to the cabinets.
“Well, thank you. I loved them.”
“Yeah? I’ll send you more then.”
Startled, you whip around on him, mouth stupidly open as you try to find a response. “You really don’t have to do that!”
“But what if I want to?”
And if you were struggling for words before, you’re hopeless now. So you just throw your hands up with a little “gah” sound and turn back to gathering ingredients.
“What are we making?” Johnny asks, taking mercy on you. Not that using that sly “we” isn’t devastating to your composure.
“My super special flapjack recipe,” you answer. “Could you get that big bowl down for me?”
He steps past you to do so while you dig out the measuring spoons from the dishwasher.
“If they’re as good as your cookies, then I’m gonna need extra PT after this weekend.”
“Good,” you reply, smug, “that’s my goal.”
“Dangerous woman.”
You snort, holding up a wooden spoon. “Oh yeah, I’m a real threat brandishing cooking utensils at a special ops guy.”
“Och, don’ sell yourself short - my nan used to be a menace with those things!”
Kyle exits the bedroom fifteen minutes later to the smell of cinnamon and his best friend with a face full of flour.
“…Do I even want to know?”
“Just be glad she’s on our side, Garrick.”
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