Reader who doesn’t really show that much physical affection. Even towards their boyfriend, Jack Abbot despite having dated for many years now. Said boyfriend standing in front of the sink, washing the dishes. T-shirt taut over his torso. Paired with some gray sweatpants.
Thinking about it for a second before getting up off the couch. Walking over to where he stood with light steps. Their attempt to sneak up on Jack aided by the socks on their feet. Shifting their weight side to side before bringing their hands up to the doctor’s upper back. Reader almost retracts when they feel Jack’s muscles tense up.
Staying when they hear the groans Jack lets out. Seeing how he braced his arms on the sink as his back arched. He couldn’t help but ask, “what’s gotten into you, huh?” He didn’t mind the sudden touch from his otherwise black cat of a partner. Aware that they’d sometimes seek out affection on their own terms. Assuming that this was one of those set times.
Plus it felt good as Reader’s nails dug at the spots he could never seem to get. Going downwards to his sides. Changing from vertical lines to gentle circles. “Got my nails done for once, they’re quite long.” It’s at the point that Jack spins around. Grabbing their hands, “and you’re using me as a scratching post?”
“Well, it sounds bad when you put it like that,” they start. Now the subject of one of Jack’s stare offs but softened. Looking at them in awe as they take in the small choices they had made at the nail salon. Mostly the cut and color. “But yes, I suppose I am using you like a scratching post.”
“They look good. You’re right, they are quite sharp. Might need to file them down,” Jack’s response was more analytical than anything. Reader could tell he meant what he said. That the words were genuine. “Did I scratch you too hard?” Curious if they had drawn blood.
“No. Even then, can handle it,” Jack brought Reader’s hands up to his lips. Kissing their knuckles. “Besides, it felt nice.”
'Did it?" Reader takes their hands back, clearing their throat with a cough. "Mhm. Wanna help me out here? I’ll wash, you dry?" Referring to the last bit of dishes in the sink that were starring him in the face. What, with the lull of silence.
To which Reader nods, confirming their usual roles. Reaching for another dish towel. Going through the motions as their shoulder brushed against Jack’s. Arms touching as he handed off wet plate after wet plate. Lazily drying them, Reader made sure that their work was thorough.
It didn't take long before the job was done. Jack shepherding Reader towards the couch, his hands on their hips. Once sat, Jack casually removed his prosthetic. Pulling Reader's legs to rest on his lap. "Feel free to use me as a scratching post anytime, lovely."
A = Admiration, what he absolutely adore about you: That you love his family, you love his mom and his mom loves you. Your also very gentle and quiet just like him
B = Body, what is his favorite part of your body: He loves your legs, they way you wrapped them around him when you cuddle him, he loves to lay his hands on them, just touching your warm skin.
C = Cuddling, how he likes to cuddle: He likes to be the big spoon but he loves it when you just cuddle him when he's sitting on the sofa or on his chair behind his computer.
D = Dates, what his ideal date with you would look like: Staying at home, playing video games together.
E = Emotions, how he express his emotions around you: He doesn't, he mostly keep them to himself, sometimes they slip up and you just hold him, telling him it okay.
F = Family, does he want one? If he does, when: Yes, he loves to start a family with you, he loves to have children with you and getting a dog or cat.
G = Gifts, how he feels about gift giving? What is his habit when it comes to this: He gives spoils you silently, you come home and there are flowers in a vase or some new shoes you love.
H = Holding Hands, when/how he likes to hold hands: He hold your hands when he's anxious, squeezing your hands a little bit, checking that your still here with him.
I = Injury, how he would act if you got hurt: He will get anxious, pacing around and calling his mom for support. He hates it tho.
J = Jokes, does he likes to joke around with or prank you and how: He likes to joke around, he likes to play around when you guys are playing some video games, distracting you.
K = Kisses, how he likes to kiss you: Soft but deeply on your lips. He also places a lot of kisses on the top of your head an hands.
L = Love, how he shows you he loves you: He remembers the small things you like or do, he sees everything and makes sure your always okay. He also makes sure his mom will cook some food for you because he knows you love her food.
M = Memory, favorite memory together: Having a game night for the first time together. The laughs and the fun that night was the best you guys ever had. Playing around and just being yourself with him.
N = Nightmare, what is his worst fear: Leaving him, losing you, you being hurt, hating him. just everything, he hates his anxiety.
O = Oddity, what is one quirk he haves: He's secretly a nerd in video games, he has a steam deck and he always carries it with him.
P = Pet Names, what he likes to call you: Darling and babe.
Q = Quality Time, how he likes to spend time with you: At home, playing video games or just go our for a walk close by.
R = Rhythm, what song reminds you of him: Tortoise by Frankie Stew and Harvey Gunn. When you hear this song, your mind wanders off to him. You need him and he needs you, you miss him when your not with him and life is not the same without him.
S = Secrets, how open is he with you: He tries to be open with you but sometimes his anxiety is in his way, he wants a good communication but needs some help sometimes as he cover up his emotions a lot.
T = Time, how long did it take you to get together: It took awhile, he thought you didn't liked him till a friend of him told him otherwise, he asked you out by text message and asked you later if you wanted to be his.
U = Upset, how does he acts when you’re upset: He thinks it's because of him, he freaks out and gets upset as well, when he knows it not him he stays quiet, thinking how he can fix it.
V = Vaunt, what is he proud of, Does he likes to show you off: He's proud that you like his family, that you like to game with him and that you support him
W = Warrior, how would he feel about you fighting? Would he fight for you: He wouldn't like it but would support you, he would defend you
X = X-Ray, how well can he read you: He knows when sometime up, he knows everything as he sees everything.
Y = Yes, how would he propose to you: Some where private but anywhere what you like and say yes to him
Z = Zen, what makes him feel calm: Knowing you there, holding your hands, listing to music and playing video games. he also calms down when he's alone.
ꕥ Warnings: Male reader, m x m, amab, m4m, m!reader, bottom reader, x male reader, sfw ONLY, fluff, Toji x m!reader, affectionate Toji, modern AU, male x male couple, how I think Toji will act if he was gentle and soft, out of character Toji, Husband!Toji x M!Reader
ꕥ Want more similar content? Head over to my masterlist <3
ꕥ Notes: Yeah, uhh.. Enjoy this and if you want more go read other fics I have :3 I have very little drabbles though, mostly from jjk! Yes, I did promise the Argenti fic but Toji popped in my mind last second so I had to write this x-x The Argenti fic is in making progress so don't worry. Just- Just enjoy this
♡Affection♡
╰──╮ ꕥ ╭──╯
୨୧ Toji Fushiguro | SFW ୨୧
What if! Toji came home one day and just wanted to cuddle with you after having a rough day. You gladly accept the cuddles and went to bed with him. The both of you changing into more comfortable clothes before cuddles.
What if! Toji laid there with you in his arms as your presence made him more calm and relaxed.
What if! Toji caressed your arm, moving his fingers gently up at down your arm to make you feel more comfortable as the both of you cuddled on the bed.
What if! Toji gave you kissed on your head every now and then as he let out soft breaths, making you feel known that you're here with him and him only.
What if! Toji lays your head on his pecs that felt like big pillows for you (you've told this to him before but never really gotten the chance to do it. You've only done it once and this is your second time!), making you feel all relaxed and comfy.
What if! Toji wraps one of his arms around you and the other behind his head. Keeping you close to him and keeping you safe from any danger that could come at any time. He could kill in his sleep if someone touched you, literally.
What if! Toji whispered "I love you" in your ear every now and then, making you feel loved. So loved that he couldn't stop saying those three special words to you, you would never get bored of hearing it. You loved it.
What if! Toji kept you as close as possible to himself, giving you all of his affection to make you feel like you're the only one in his world (which you are :3).
What if! Toji played with your hair and giving your cheeks sweet lovely kisses. Unable to stop because of how much he loves you.
What if! Toji hummed a soft tone for you as you slept in his arms peacefully. Not moving at all to not wake you up, not even making the slightest noise or else he would get upset if he accidentally woke you up. Might even put the blame on himself.
What if! Toji watched you sleep in that beautiful peaceful state you were in. Admiring you and adoring you like the good husband he is. Not being able to move his gaze anywhere else, only on you.
What if! Toji moved his hand from your arm to your back, giving it small yet soft caresses with his fingertips as if you were something fragile. Fragile in his big figure.
What if! Toji sleeps after an hour had passed, giving you affection before he slept and in his sleep. Still giving you affection while he slept. I guess it was is subconsciousness?
What if! Toji continued caressing your back in small circles, unconsciously. Guess it was out of habit x)
Synopsis: Togame accidentally confessed to you but in the end, he's grateful that he did :)
Word count: 4.9k
Contains: Fluff, just pure fluff.
Warnings: None.
Enjoy! 💗
"𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚."
You smiled when you saw Togame wave at you from your balcony.
The fact that you had given him that same sweet smile countless times now, but his heart never failed to skip a beat because of it, was beyond even him.
You put on your shoes and almost lost a tooth when you stumbled on your way down the stairs, hurriedly making your way to him.
Togame felt a familiar kind of heat rise up in his chest when he saw you walk towards him with the brightest smile on your face and suddenly, any hesitation that he felt before about taking you out in the middle of the night because you said you were craving some ice-cream, evaporated right off his mind because if it meant that he could see that adorable look on your face, he'd be willing to take you out every day.
God, no matter how much he denied it in his head, he was definitely stupid in love with you.
"I didn't think you'd actually show up, Jo."
You said, looking up at him.
"Yeah?"
He smiles before saying-
"Hey, you should've at least put a jacket on, it's chilly out here."
Togame said, removing his jacket and handing it to you.
"Here, put it on."
"T-Thank you."
You nod a little before putting the orange jacket on.
"Let's get going, yeah?"
He said, failing to hide the small smile that made its way on his face because of the way his jacket hugged your small frame, making you look even more adorable, if that was even possible.
"Yep."
You give him a nod and you both start making your way to the nearest convenience store.
You've been friends with Togame for a while now, you both were in the same club in your school and exchanged numbers for club stuff.
You were both quite polar opposites in terms of your personalities but that's probably also what drew you both closer in such a short period of time.
"What flavour do you want?"
Togame asked you, opening the ice-cream freezer after you both had made your way into the shop.
"Hmm, I want the mint chocolate-chip one."
You said pointing at the green packaged one.
Togame shot you a questioning look before taking the one you wanted and a vanilla-flavoured one for himself.
You were about to hand your money to the cashier when Togame came up from behind you and shot the cashier a glare that basically said- "𝘛𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘵." before handing his own money to him.
"Hey, I was the one who called you out so late, this one's on me."
You said, scrunching your eyebrows at him.
"You're fine."
Togame said softly, patting your head lightly and practically dragging you out of the shop.
You both sat at the tables set outside the CVS, the chilly breeze sending a slight shiver down your spine.
"I can't believe you were craving ice-cream out of everything when it's like 53°F outside."
Togame said shaking his head, while opening his packet of ice-cream.
"It's never too cold for ice-cream. Besides, the cold never bothered me anyway."
You said imitating the way Elsa said the last line in 'Let it Go'.
Togame chuckled and took a bite before asking you again-
"So you like occasionally having toothpaste, huh?"
"Heyyy, it's not toothpaste, it's my favorite ice-cream flavour."
You glare at him with a slight pout on your face, looking utterly offended.
Togame threw his head back a little and laughed, finding the look on your face absolutely adorable.
"I can't believe I'm in 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 with someone whose favourite ice-cream flavour is toothpaste."
The words leave his mouth before he can even process it and his hands freeze.
"I just told you it's not toothpaste, it's the best ice-cream flavour out there, you can't just-"
Your lips halt mid-sentence and your grip on the spoon you were holding loosens when you realise what he just said.
"Y-You w-what?-"
No, there was no way, he didn't just-
You were sure you had heard him wrong, there was no way Togame had just confessed that he was in love with you, it sounded crazy even in your own head.
"I think I heard y-you wrong, I'm sorry, what d-did you just say?"
You say laughing awkwardly and looking away from his eyes.
"No, you heard me right."
Your eyes widen the moment those words leave his mouth.
"W-What?"
"I said you heard me right, 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡."
Your ears turn red at the nickname.
"Y-You're...in love with m-me?"
You were certain you sounded crazy at this point, if felt weird even actually voicing your thoughts in front of him, as if you were speaking a foreign language for the first time.
He nods and you feel fireworks go off in the back of your head.
"It's actually been quite a while.."
He continues, rubbing the lower back of his head, looking just as nervous as you were.
"I d-don't exactly know how to do this, but now that I have the chance, I'd like to um, you know, 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙤𝙪𝙩 , if you'd like, that is."
He said the last few words looking you straight in the eyes and you felt your cheeks turn a light shade of pink.
Am I dreaming? You thought to yourself, it wasn't that you weren't head over heels for him yourself but you never thought he even felt the same way, let alone ask you out.
"So..?"
His voice woke you up from your trance and you cleared your throat.
"𝙔-𝙔𝙚𝙨."
"Yeah? You'd like to go out with me?"
He raised his eyebrows in surprise, eyes widening slightly.
You nod before warning him.
"Only if you stop calling my ice-cream toothpaste."
Togame chuckled again, the sound making your heart bloom in your chest.
"Alright, 𝙨𝙪𝙣𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙚."
He smiles before ruffling your hair.
You giggle and Togame swears he felt his heart explode in the moment.
He knew he didn't exactly look like the typical-nice-approachable guy but the fact that you had still reached out to him, always being so sweet to him, never failed from making his heart swell with warmth.
After you both were done eating and about to just leave, Togame held out the palm of his hand and you looked up at him, blinking in slight confusion.
You slowly place your palm in his and you both make your way back home, smiling to yourselves and that was the moment he knew..
The wind had spent all afternoon rehearsing against the palace walls, rattling the laurel by the courtyard gate and sending leaves skittering along the stone walk like scattered copper coins. By evening, the world drew itself inward: shutters latched, lamps turned low, and the tiny palace kitchenette glowed like a secret hearth tucked away from the cold.
On the stove, a pot of spiced wine murmured, lazy curls of steam lifting orange, clove, and cinnamon into the air until the whole little room smelled like warmth had a recipe.
Cassandra stood at the counter with a wooden spoon in hand, a regiment of ginger cookies cooling beside her in tidy ranks—soldiers dusted with sugar, crisp-golden at the edges, soft at the heart. Rain pressed against the window again, fogging the glass in soft pulses.
She drizzled a ribbon of honey into the wine and watched it disappear, the corners of her mouth tilting upward.
“Conspirator,” came a voice from the doorway, velvet and trouble. “Are you attempting to seduce the weather? Because if so, it might be working.”
Clavis leaned one shoulder against the jamb as though he’d been poured there just to ruin her composure. He wasn’t in his usual court layers; instead, he wore a loose white shirt and a deep-purple vest, his hair mussed from the wind, a few bright leaves snagged in it like he’d walked through a poem and forgotten to shake it off.
Cassandra didn’t even blink at the little brass owl clicking quietly on his shoulder, one golden eye winking open and shut as if in cahoots. Of course he’d brought a mechanical accomplice. Of course it would try to look innocent.
“You’re late,” she said, as if there were a schedule for their shared domestic mischief. “The wine is on its best behavior. I can’t promise the same for the cookies.”
His gaze slid to the plate. “Ah. Two dozen innocent bystanders. Who will protect them from you?”
“You,” she replied, pressing a warm cookie into his palm. “Hero up.”
Clavis sniffed it with exaggerated caution. “Ginger. So you are trying to set my heart on fire.”
“You’ll live,” she said—then, because he was Clavis and she was Cassandra, she lifted the cookie to his mouth herself.
He took a neat bite…then a decidedly not-neat one. And then—because he couldn’t help himself—he caught her fingertips lightly in his teeth, claiming the crumbs she hadn’t realized she was still holding onto.
It was nothing.
And it was absolutely not nothing.
Heat spilled down her spine like loose spice from a jar. Her pulse fluttered against her skin—light, startled, embarrassingly responsive.
Clavis released her hand with a soft huff that might have been a laugh or a sigh or a prayer disguised as either. His eyes lingered on her fingers a beat too long, brightness glinting under his lashes.
Cassandra turned away—too quickly—to hide the smile tugging at her mouth, stirring the pot if only to give her hands something to do. “Verdict?” she asked, though her voice fluttered at the edges.
He stepped closer—close enough that his warmth brushed the back of her shoulders, close enough that the faint winter-cold on his clothes mingled with the citrus-sweet steam curling up between them.
“Dangerously edible,” Clavis said solemnly. Then, with a wicked tilt of his smile: “Like you.”
Her stomach dipped. A soft, weightless flutter danced low beneath her ribs, traitorous and warm. Her fingers tightened around the spoon, anchoring herself against the pull of him.
She turned and poked him in the ribs with it. “Behave.”
“Impossible,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that his breath grazed her cheek. “But…”
His voice softened—unexpectedly sincere, all teasing quieting at the edges. “…I’ll try. For you.”
A little silence followed—warm, simmering, stirred through with autumn and something that felt a great deal like longing.
Cassandra ladled the spiced wine into a wide clay mug, its garnet surface catching the firelight like liquid ruby. She reached—instinctively—for a second cup before remembering.
“None for you, my love,” she said gently, knowing the reason before he offered it.
He sighed, melodramatic. “Yes, yes, I’m a notorious lightweight. One sip and I’ll be weeping into the pastry tin about the tragedy of running out of nutmeg last winter.”
Cassandra’s mouth curved, fond and soft, as she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and lifted the mug for a sip. Warmth slipped down her throat, settling in the center of her chest.
“You don’t cry,” she murmured into the steam.
“Either way, I do everything beautifully,” he returned, eyes sparking. “Including sadness. But I prefer to admire my grief in mirrors—not in the kitchen.”
He slipped past her with the quicksilver grace that always felt improvised and perfectly choreographed at once. He lowered the flame beneath the wine to a whisper, claimed the kettle beside it, and produced a packet of cinnamon-ginger tea with the flair of someone who wished he’d been born a stage magician.
“Tea,” he announced. “It will keep me virtuous while you turn into poetry.”
Cassandra made a face at him over the rising steam. “Wine doesn’t turn me into poetry.”
Clavis tilted his head, stepping into her gaze the way storms step into forests—bright, electric, uncomfortably observant. “No? Then tell that to your cheeks.”
Color climbed her face—warm, delicate, impossible to hide. She ducked her eyes toward the cookie tray, but her pulse danced beneath her skin.
“Stop being beautiful and come sit in the parlor with me,” she muttered, failing utterly to sound unimpressed.
Clavis didn’t smirk. Not quite. Instead he caught her hand—gentle, careful—and brushed a kiss across her knuckles, the warmth of his mouth lingering like a vow he’d never admit to making.
“As my lady commands.”
The small parlor adjoining the kitchenette had been transformed without Cassandra noticing.
Clavis collected comforts the way other men collected secrets—quietly, cleverly, and only when it would matter most. A low table sat near the hearth; a cascade of blankets formed a peninsula of softness over the chaise. Pillows bracketed the space like stepping-stones in a tide of wool.
He’d strung a line of paper stars above the mantel, each with a beeswax candle nestled in its center. They glowed with the shy steadiness of evening’s last gold.
“You built a fort,” Cassandra breathed, setting her mug and the plate of cookies on the table.
For a heartbeat she looked utterly luminous—emerald eyes alight with wonder, cheeks flushed by wine and lamplight, a loose curl clinging to her temple as though it couldn’t bear to leave the glow. Her delight softened the entire room.
Clavis pretended to inspect her beauty mark, then tapped it lightly with one mischievous fingertip. “Correction: I built plausible deniability. If anyone asks, we were tragically overcome by a blanket malfunction.”
He sank into the nest first, tugging her down with him until she toppled into the warm, ridiculous island he’d crafted.
Cassandra didn’t even pretend to resist. Her back found the long, slanted line of his chest as though habit and yearning had carved that shape for her.
His arm slid around her waist with the same easy confidence he reserved for sleight-of-hand and schemes, and she melted into the curve he made for her.
The little brass owl hopped from his shoulder onto the mantel, clicked twice, and regarded them with its single glowing eye. Apparently satisfied, it settled like a small, mechanical sentry.
Cassandra lifted the mug to her lips, taking a careful sip. Heat and spice unfurled through her—orange bright as autumn flame, clove deep as a bell.
Clavis breathed in behind her, letting his tongue graze a feather-soft trail along the shell of her ear.
“As expected…” he murmured, voice low and warm against her ear. “You taste like autumn outsmarted winter.”
She nearly dropped the mug.
“And?” he asked, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “How is the wine?”
“You would hate it,” Cassandra said, trying—unsuccessfully—to hide her smile and the flush in her cheeks.
“Then I’m safe,” he murmured, lips brushing the fine rim of her ear. “Drink it for me. Tell me how ruinous it is in precise, indecent detail.”
“Warm,” she said obediently. “And a little reckless. Like it knows it’s supposed to be polite but keeps forgetting.”
His soft laugh rumbled against her back. “Now you’re just describing me.”
“It’s sweeter,” she added. “Barely.”
“That, too,” he said. “Me on a good day. Keep going.”
Cassandra hesitated—not from shyness, but because the truth felt heavier than the moment pretended to be.
“You’re always sweet to me,” she murmured. “Even when you try not to be.”
Clavis stilled behind her—just a quiet, telling stillness.
The kind where breath remembers it has somewhere important to go but forgets how to move.
Then, slowly, he lowered his forehead to the curve of her shoulder, a smile blooming against her skin.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he whispered, voice warm as velvet. “I have a reputation built entirely on poor decision-making.”
The softness of it made her throat tighten. The kind where breath remembers it has somewhere important to go but forgets how to move.
To rescue herself, she reached for a cookie and held it behind her without looking. Clavis leaned forward to take it with his mouth, lips brushing her fingertips first.
A breath caught between them—sharp, startled, inevitable.
Then he closed his teeth around the cookie with exaggerated care, letting the bare edge of his lips graze her skin on the way back.
Once.
Twice.
Slow enough that her pulse went wild.
Her fingers curled.
Clavis released them with a low hum—almost gratitude, almost a promise he hadn’t yet decided how to deliver.
“You could have more,” she managed, voice unsteady.
“Could I?” he murmured, tone twining around her pulse. “How generous you are with my downfall.”
Clavis’s breath warmed her fingertips, a sigh of wicked appreciation.
He kissed her fingers again—slow enough to make her knees threaten treason—then angled her hand toward his cheek, brushing her knuckles along the curve of his mouth with deliberate invitation.
“If I have more,” he whispered, “I’ll want…”
Instead of another kiss, his tongue traced a slow, teasing sweep along the inside edge of her finger—light, warm, startling enough to pull a soft sound from her throat.
“…the part of you that melts when I do that.”
She trembled.
Warmth spiraled through her—wine-soft, dizzying—pooling low and spreading outward until even her breath felt unmoored. The wine had already loosened her shoulders, her laughter, her sense of caution; now his mouth undid the rest, turning her bones to honey and her thoughts to sparks. Heat climbed her cheeks, her pulse fluttered wild beneath his hand, and her whole body leaned—without permission—toward the next place he might touch.
Clavis laughed—a low, pleased sound that curled through her like heat slipping through a half-open door.
“Yes,” he breathed, delighted. “That. That is the ‘more’ I meant.”
He pressed one last, impossibly light kiss to the pad of her fingertip—
“…and I will never pretend cinnamon is sweeter.”
For a moment neither of them moved.
The warmth between them didn’t vanish—it changed, softening at the edges, settling into something quieter and more dangerous in its gentleness. Cassandra felt the wine loosen every careful line in her body, felt the flutter still gathered low in her stomach, felt Clavis’s breath brush the top of her ear like a secret deciding whether to become a kiss.
He drew her closer with one arm, letting her body fit against his in an unhurried pull, as if her nearness was a certainty he trusted more than gravity.
Cassandra exhaled into him, slow and content, and his answering breath stuttered—just once—against her hair.
Clavis’s hand drifted into her hair, combing through the dark waves with absent, lingering care. Her long legs stretched out, skirts whispering, and when his palm slid along the bare curve of her calf, he touched her like someone savoring warmth after nearly losing it—gliding in slow, unhurried arcs that made her eyelids flutter.
The atmosphere didn’t cool. It deepened.
A quiet sigh slipped from her. She tucked her head beneath his chin, listening to the steady beat beneath his shirt—steady only because he was trying to make it so—and feeling the profound comfort of resting against someone who pretended the world could not touch him.
But he touched her. He touched her like discovery and relief and wanting, all tangled together.
For a while there was only the crackle of the fire, the kettle’s gentle murmur, and the wind deciding which turret of the palace deserved its admiration next. Their breathing found the same rhythm—soft, steady—the kind of synchronicity that belonged to long walks, shared secrets, and nights exactly like this.
When he finally spoke, it was with the smaller voice he kept for quiet hours—the one he pretended didn’t exist.
“I made a trap today,” he murmured into her hair.
Cassandra turned slightly. “Of course you did.”
“For laughter,” he clarified. “Terribly complicated. Three bells, a ribbon, a mirror. I haven’t set it yet.”
“And who,” she asked, affectionate and wary, “is the lucky victim?”
“Not a victim,” he corrected softly. “A beneficiary. You.”
“Me?”
He hummed, thoughtful. “You laugh with your whole self. It’s rare. I like earning it. And the part where I don’t have to earn it at all.”
Her breath hitched—a small, tender fracture—and he read it instantly.
“Another sip,” he commanded lightly, reaching to steady her mug with a curled finger beneath her thumb. When she tilted it, he tipped it the slightest bit more—helping, guiding, indulging.
She obeyed, or perhaps she simply wanted to.
The wine climbed her throat in a slow golden flare. The room seemed to lean closer—warmer, gentler, the fire painting their joined silhouettes in amber.
Clavis shifted behind her, pulling her more securely against him, aligning their bodies until persuasion became unnecessary—only gravity, only warmth, only the soft inevitability of choosing each other.
“Careful,” he murmured, and this time his voice dropped—low, warm, husky at the edges. He brushed a knuckle along her cheek, tracing the flush there. “You’re getting starry.”
She made a small, helpless sound—not denial, not agreement, just the truth of being seen—and lowered her eyes, lashes grazing her cheeks.
“You are.” He sounded entirely delighted. “But don’t worry. I can navigate by it.”
“You won’t drink,” she muttered, trying for composure, “but you’ll poet at me.”
His expression shifted—eyes brightening in that particular way that always felt like a compliment, a dare, and a discovery at once. Mischief flickered, but beneath it something warmer glowed, unguarded.
“You bring it out of me,” he said.
No metaphor. No joke. Just that.
He dipped his head, brushing the curve of her neck with his nose—not teasing, not dramatic.
Almost shy.
As if his body had decided to be truthful before his mind could argue.
A leaf cracked against the window; a log settled in the hearth. The brass owl blinked its glowing eye. The paper stars above them swayed in the faint draft like quiet witnesses.
“Tell me a riddle,” Cassandra said, because mischief was a language she had learned from him, and fluency was inevitable.
Very well.” He kissed the place just beneath her ear—a soft punctuation, not a seduction. “What is red without being angry, warm without being flame, and makes thieves honest?”
She considered, tipped her cup thoughtfully, then declared, “Wine.”
“Correct,” he said primly. “Also your lips…but that answer carries a forfeit.”
She turned toward him, laughter catching on her breath, her giggle brushing his neck like a stolen kiss she hadn’t meant to give.
His expression shifted like a lantern being unhooded—quick brightness, then something softer…softer than he meant anyone to see. It tugged at something deep and aching in her chest.
“So,” she whispered, cheeks warming, “I didn’t earn a forfeit…but can I have one anyway?”
Clavis plucked a ginger cookie, split it neatly, and held out the larger half.
“Share with me,” he said.
Stay with me, she heard.
She let her shoulder slope into him, warm and sure, and did both.
The kettle chimed—someone’s idea of whimsy; undoubtedly his. He reluctantly loosened his hold long enough to pour, steam curling between their faces like a veil the candlelight couldn’t quite see through.
“You could taste,” Cassandra offered softly, sliding her cup toward him. “Just one sip.”
He shook his head immediately—not unkindly, just certain. “I remember the last time I decided to be brave. I told the moon it was a very, very large pearl and wept inconsolably when it bit my finger with tides.”
“You just said you don’t cry,” she murmured, brushing a strand of his hair back from his temple—her fingertips lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary.
“I said if I did, I would do it beautifully,” he corrected, tweaking her nose. “Which is an entirely different thing.”
Her voice softened—warm, wine-loosened, threaded with tenderness. “Was it really so awful?”
For the tiniest beat, something unguarded passed through his eyes. Vulnerability. Memory. Truth.
“It makes the roof leak,” he said, tapping his temple. “Into rooms I prefer to keep locked.”
Cassandra set her cup aside and turned fully toward him, meeting his gaze without flinching, without teasing, without granting him any space to duck behind his usual sleight of hand.
“If it leaks…” she said gently, “well…I’m quite good at mending broken roofs.”
Her smile tilted soft, earnest. “I don’t mind getting a little wet if it means keeping you dry.”
His breath stilled— then softened, warm as the lamplight, quiet as the truth he could never say aloud.
He stared at her for a beat too long—long enough for the rain to punctuate the silence with a soft patter against the window.
Clavis blinked—slowly—like she’d struck some quiet, startled part of him he didn’t show anyone else.
Then he smiled. Soft. Crooked. A little helpless.
“That’s the danger,” he murmured. “You walk straight into my storms without a coat.”
He looked away for just a moment—too full, too seen—then tipped his chin toward the plate as if rescuing himself with theatrical distraction.
“Come then,” he said, voice lighter, warm where it had been heavy. “If you insist on weatherproofing me, I’ll need reinforcements. Doom me with another cookie.”
Cassandra lifted one, and when he leaned toward her, the mood shifted, folding gently into the space between them, glowing rather than breaking.
Sugar dusted his lower lip; he didn’t notice.
She did.
Her thumb brushed his mouth, soft as a sigh—and she brought the sugar to her lips, tasting it without thinking, only realizing what she’d done when Clavis went very, very still.
His eyes turned that bright, dangerous gold that meant he wanted to say something true and was arguing with himself about it.
“Clavis,” she whispered—just his name, nothing else.
He breathed once—out—in surrender.
“It isn’t the wine I’m envious of,” he said lightly, and the lightness didn’t fool her. “It’s the cup.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth, returned with difficulty— like her lips were the manners he’d chosen.
“To be that close to warmth.”
She was warm. The fire insisted; the wine insisted; his voice insisted most of all.
Her hands rose without hesitation, cupping his face.
She kissed him—slow at first, then deeper, a gradual unfurling like warmth sinking into cold hands after a long walk.
The kiss softened, then deepened again, then softened— a tide learning her shores.
Her mouth molded to his with a tenderness that grew unselfconsciously greedy, brushing, lingering, returning, as if her lips remembered more than her mind did.
Her fingers slid into his hair, framing the strong line of his jaw, the familiar slope of his cheekbones, every angle mapped and memorized in midnight and morning. She swept a stray lock behind his ear with a care that left him nowhere to hide.
Then she drew him closer and kissed him again.
This time there was a slow, gathering hunger in it that curled her body against his, as if she meant to unspool the careful thing inside him and fill it, fill it, fill it.
Clavis made a small sound, startled—an involuntary exhale that said he was still surprised anyone would want him like this, still bewildered by the fact that she did.
His hands slid to her waist, hesitant in a way that betrayed the depth of his wanting—one splayed at the small of her back, the other threading through the fall of her hair. He tasted like the memory of ginger and the shadow of longing, like some wild orchard after rain, and when she urged him closer, he came without resistance.
She kissed the corner of his lips, the angle of his jaw, the hollow beneath his ear where his pulse raced against her mouth—and he shivered, just a little, as if her lips were a kind of absolution. He let her lead, let her set the pace—let her pour every note of affection, every measure of longing and devotion, into the space between their mouths.
She kissed the corner of his lips, the edge of his jaw, the place beneath his ear where she could feel his pulse triphammering—and he shivered, a little, as if her lips were a kind of absolution. He let her lead, let her set the pace—let her pour every note of affection, every measure of longing and adoration, into the space between their mouths.
She wanted to memorize this: the salt of sugar dust at the corner of his lip; the taste of laughter still warm from his last clever word; the way his posture lost its practiced ease, spine curving into her like her touch was the first true thing he’d felt all day.
She deepened the kiss, poured her whole self into it. The room fell away—the fire, the paper stars, even the window rattling with rain—until there was nothing left but shared air and the impossible, inarguable fact of each other.
When she finally broke the kiss, she didn’t retreat—she hovered close. Clavis’s hands tightened at her waist, keeping her anchored, and in the lamplight his eyes glittered with shock and delight and a thousand unsaid words he would never trust his tongue with.
His return kiss was lighter, more playful—a brush of lips meant to tease, to coax another. She gave it, willingly, her soft laughter humming against his mouth, a note of promise and invitation.
Then, mischief sparking bright, he nipped at her lower lip in a light, daring bite.
Cassandra pulled back on a breathless giggle, her smile brushing his lips, her nose grazing his cheek. Their breaths tangled like threads catching on one another.
He looked entirely too pleased with himself, which was dangerous.
“Are you collecting my laughs tonight?” she murmured near his mouth, green eyes half-lidded as she gazed at him, her voice warm as the wine still resting on her tongue.
“I’m cataloging,” he said, brushing his thumb across her cheek with unbearable gentleness. “Different from collecting. Less greedy. More scientific.”
“Hmm. And what does the science say?” she whispered, her gaze dipping briefly to his mouth.
“That the best specimen”—he leaned in, whispering the next line against her lips, barely touching, almost kissing— “happens when your lips are exactly here…” his mouth brushed hers, a ghost of contact— “…and your hand is doing exactly that—”
Her hand, without her noticing, had slipped beneath his shirt and found the steady thrum that lived there. His heartbeat met her palm—confident, steady, fiercely alive.
She kept her hand there.
“And,” she breathed, her lips grazing his chin, “science can rest now. You don’t have to measure everything.”
A small breath left him—unsteady, warm, undone in a way he’d never admit.
“Another riddle,” she said, pecking his lips before pulling back just enough to trace the line of muscle beneath his shirt. “What laughs in winter, burns in spring, and refuses to behave in summer?”
“Me,” he answered instantly. His smile flared—bright, wicked, devastating—eyes glinting gold at the edges like mischief catching the light. “But if you wanted a two-for-one answer,” he added, tucking a curl behind her ear, “we could include your hair in the mornings.”
“Rude,” she informed him, pinching his side lightly.
“You like me rude,” he replied without shame. When she tipped her head to argue, he stole the argument with a grin that looked like it had been invented entirely for her.
She drank a little more. He sipped his tea with exaggerated seriousness, as though conducting delicate research.
She watched the line of his throat move as he swallowed; he watched the way her lips curved around the rim of her mug.
Their knees brushed. His thumb traced idle circles on her thigh. The brass owl blinked lazily on the mantel, then settled into stillness.
The air thickened—not tense, not hurried—just slowly brightening between them.
Cassandra shifted closer, her body following some quiet instinct. Clavis followed without thinking, one hand settling at the back of her hip.
A breath later, she swung a leg over his lap, skirts whispering like autumn leaves as she straddled him. The crimson fabric bunched, baring pale crescents of her knees and the warm, forbidden curve of her thighs to the firelight.
His palms rose at once to meet her—gentle, always gentle when she came this close—as though she were something precious he’d somehow been trusted to hold.
Her chest pressed to his, her heartbeat answering the steady, rising rhythm beneath his shirt. Their breaths mingled—cinnamon-warm and stirring with promise.
Clavis’s voice dropped to the register he saved for truths he couldn’t disguise. “Tell me something,” he murmured, thumb sweeping along the inside of her knee, “that only the wine can pull out of you.”
She could have teased. Could have dodged. But he gave her patient space—one of the rarest gifts he ever gave anyone.
“I like that you don’t drink,” she said softly, her fingers tracing the line of his collarbone, mapping him with heat-loosened affection.
He blinked, his hands pausing warm at her thighs. “Even though it would make me easier to steal the truth from?”
“Especially because,” she murmured, leaning in until her nose brushed his, “you choose clarity when fog is simpler.”
Her hands slid up his neck, cradling him. “It means I get you,” she whispered, “not some dimmed reflection.”
The hum he made was low, involuntary—she felt it under her palms before she heard it. “You are a poem, little dreamer,” he said, voice softer than the fire, warmer than the wine.
“I’m not a poem,” she said— and then did the most poetic thing imaginable.
She guided his mouth to hers, slow and sure, kissing him like a stanza written in breath and warmth, like she could rewrite every locked room inside him with the right syllables.
He mapped her like a man discovering heat after being cold too long—and doubting he deserved the fire.
She let her hands travel too; up the arch of his neck, through the lavender-soft tumble of his hair, and down the length of his spine. She kissed him until she knew how he would taste from memory alone, and then she kissed him again to see if the memory had shifted. Every pass of her tongue and lips wrote a new margin note in the text of his wanting, and he read each one as if he’d been starved of sweetness all his life.
Her love moved through her hands, her mouth, the steady weight of her body in his lap. Her legs tightened around him as the kiss deepened—not frantic, not rushed—just inevitable, like choreography written into bone.
She pressed her lips to his—slow, sure—then to his cheek, his jaw, the delicate curve of his ear. With each kiss, his pulse shuddered beneath her mouth, giving him away. He made a sound that was almost a whimper, almost a laugh, almost a confession—and she held it between them like something rare and golden.
Clavis’s hand slid beneath her skirts, fingers curling around her thigh as if anchoring himself to her; his other hand rose to cradle the back of her head with a care far more dangerous than any of his usual tricks. For a heartbeat—just one—she felt all the doors inside him unbarred, every secret running wild and unsupervised.
She deepened the kiss. He tipped his head back, yielding to it, to her, to everything he tried so hard not to feel. His fingers tightened around her thigh, then eased, reminding himself not to grip too hard, not to clutch at something he feared might break.
Eventually breath became necessary. They parted only slightly—foreheads touching, noses brushing, their lips still tasting of ginger and autumn heat.
A soft sound escaped him—barely anything, but undeniably real.
Cassandra smiled into the hush and lifted her gaze to him. Her light-green eyes shone, soft and steady, lit from within by a certainty that seemed to choose him over and over. Firelight pooled along her lashes, her cheeks still flushed from wine and kisses and courage, and she looked at him like he was the only thing in the room worth believing in.
He drew her in—not with hunger, but with ease, with intention—and she followed, letting him guide her down into the nest of blankets. They shifted together until she lay curled along his chest, her legs draped over his, his arm a warm band around her waist.
He nuzzled her temple once—unthinking, tender.
Their breathing synced. The rain softened. The fire dimmed. The palace drifted to the edge of the world.
Cassandra let her fingers wander—tracing the curve of his collar, the warm slope of his shoulder, the steady line of muscle beneath his shirt. His heartbeat met her palm again—sure and impossibly alive.
Clavis tightened his hold just slightly, as if confirming she was real.
After a long, easy quiet, he spoke into her hair. “Careful,” he murmured, voice low, almost rough. “If you stay like this…I’ll want more nights exactly like this.”
She lifted her head until their eyes met—his gold-flecked eyes softened into something only she ever saw.
“And you’ll have them,” she whispered. “All of them.”
He blinked—slowly—something unguarded shifting through him, opening just enough to let her in.
“Cassandra,” he said quietly, his hand sliding up her spine in a slow, lingering line, “you’re…dangerous.”
“Why?” She brushed her lips along his jaw in a feather-light caress. “Because I love you…more than anything?”
For a heartbeat he went completely still beneath her, as if every clever word he’d ever learned had abandoned him at once.
Then, slowly, his hand rose to cradle the back of her head—thumb tracing her cheek in a gesture so careful it felt like devotion disguised as caution.
“Say it again,” he whispered.
Not a command. Not a test. Something far more fragile.
She opened her mouth—but he shook his head faintly, forehead resting against hers.
“Not because I earned it. Not because I tricked you into it.” His voice trembled at the edges, a rare, quiet break. “Say it because it’s true.”
“It is true.”
Her eyes—soft green, bright with certainty—held his without wavering. There was no hesitation in her expression, only warmth and conviction, a quiet, steady beauty made brighter by the risk of telling the truth.
“I love you.”
Clavis exhaled—a breath that left him shaken and remade at once—like the world had finally offered him a truth he didn’t have to outwit.
He pulled her against his chest, holding her as though the admission had rewritten gravity.
“Then,” he breathed into her hair, “I’m ruined. Absolutely, beautifully ruined.”
So Cassandra did the simplest thing: she stroked his hair gently—slow, rhythmic passes that eased the tension from his shoulders one breath at a time.
He didn’t look at her when he shifted downward, resting his head against her chest—an instinctive, unguarded surrender. She adjusted the blankets, settled her hand back into his hair, and felt him exhale into her like someone carefully easing out of armor.
A long silence settled—comforting, private.
“Don’t go far,” he murmured at last. Honesty, stripped bare.
Cassandra tightened her arm around him, fingers tracing a quiet circle at the nape of his neck, her cheek lowering until it brushed the crown of his hair in a soft, reverent nuzzle.
“Why would I want to?” she whispered, her voice warm as lamplight. “Everything I want is right here.”
Clavis didn’t answer with words. He simply went still against her—the way wild creatures do when they decide, finally, that a place is safe enough to sleep.
His fingers curled lightly at her hip; his breath warmed the fabric of her gown.
The fire sank into a bed of glowing embers. Rain drew silver lines down the window. The paper stars above the hearth burned on in quiet vigil.
Cassandra bent and pressed a kiss into Clavis’s hair—soft, sure, unhurried—her lips lingering as though sealing the moment against the turning of the world.
He didn’t stir. He didn’t have to.
And for the first time all day, Cassandra understood the quiet truth blooming between them:
He trusted her enough to rest.
That warmed her more deeply than all the wine in the world.
@cyranswife And at last I have finished yours! And it is the last of the Autumn Requests!
I think this one might be my favorite...but I also can't remember them all at the moment. But I just love the vibe of these two.
Cassandra gets Clavis...and she loves him for it and never lets him wonder or question her love and admiration for him. And she will give him all the affection he needs. And they are both silly and cute together and I just love it.
Maybe thats why it's my favorite...regardless, I hope you enjoy it @cyranswife because I've very glad you sent in the request and that it inspired this fluffy, romantic, kiss-filled fic! Thank you for that all your wonderful comments and support for my writing! It means the world! It truly truly does!
Usual Ikemen Tag List: @ithseem @chirp-a-chirp @aquagirl1978 @queengiuliettafirstlady @nyxthepixystick
Your bird husband wants attention and who are you to deny him?
Sfw cut for length
(Larry is labeled as your husband and you are his wife, regardless of gender)
It's hard to tell what your 'husband' is thinking. Most of the time he stands quietly behind you, looming over you, watching you closely. Sometimes you don't even know he's there until you accidentally bump into him looking up to meet his serious face.
He wants something from you. Larry knows he does. But he himself doesn't know what it is.
This is his first time having a 'wife'.
It is a primal feeling, something intimate that he desires. But it's not mating; he knows for sure. He's already mated with you last night many times, until the sun has risen.
All the harpy knows is that it has something to do with you. He watched you from the bedding stitching and sewing up holes that you had found in the blankets used in the nest.
Larry ponders. His black feathers fluffed as he watched you idly. Perhaps this feeling is a need to spoil you? As the main 'breadwinner,' he brings back fish or game for dinner. But it has been quite a while since he brought back sweet fruits and the human treats He finds from human camps that you like.
With The sudden need to see the smile and his wife's face He gets up from the nest his feather is no longer fluffed as he prepares himself to take flight in search of gifts.
You didn't even notice that he had awoken until the wrestling of feathers and the flap of his wings caught your attention. Oh you saw was a black blur going into the distance.
"A little early for dinner."was all you said under your breath before You go back to your chores.
Keeping the nest nice and tidy for your husband's return.
You might as well start a fire in the fire pit in the cave while you wait for your Harpy husband to bring back supper.
He thought spoiling you is what His body wanted... He was wrong in the middle of gathering ripened fruit, His heart ached even more. That's familiar feeling of what he felt before he had met you, that cold gnawing on his bones of loneliness.
All the more grateful that he has you. What kind of mate would he be if he rushed back to his home empty-handed? Harpies are prideful of their ability to provide for their partner. And Larry takes it very seriously.
You heard his landing when you turned around, just about to start the fire. You are welcomed by seeing your husband standing straight-faced fruits in his arms. Flowers all over his jet black feathers, white, pink, and purple flowers all over his slicked back hair and chest feathers. Your precious smile was a wide across your face as you try to hold back your laughter.
As quick as he left he came back. Memorizing all your favorite fruits by heart, sadly he has not found any human treats, which is okay because he doesn't think they are too healthy for you
It was hard enough to find ripened fruit since most of the trees just bared the flowers, so he really had to dig into those trees to get the ripest fruit.
"Home" was all he said walking over to hand you his spoils.
You smile the pale pink flowers making you chuckle as you pick one off his head putting it behind your ear.
"Was this intentional?"You ask.
"The fruit yes, The flowers got stuck in my feathers." He answered bluntly
You take the fruit from his arms; here, you thought he went to find dinner. Putting the fruit down, you thank him, wrapping your arms around him, holding him close.
Intentional or not It was a cute surprise. He did not know humans liked flowers this much. Noted. He knows that some harpies use trinkets and flowers to decorate their feathers to attract mates in his personal opinion on him it looked silly; however it looked much cuter on you. That little pink flower nestled behind your ear was irresistible.
Before you could part from him, Larry raps his arms around you pulling, pulling you back into him. He easily picks you up, wordlessly carrying you back to the nest.
Feeling you so close to him calms the ache in his chest. This is what he wanted.
"w-wait! Now?! Larry, I'm still sore."You panic, only for him to shake his head. With his head nuzzling into your shoulder, he mumbles.
"No. No mating, I just want you."
His jet feathers kept you warm as you laid into his wing like a pillow. He encased you in a feathery wing cocoon, picking off the flowers from his head and chest and nestling it into your hair, decorating you. You had your fun seeing him look silly now he wants you to wear all these flowers He rolls you onto his chest with his back into the nest to get a better look at you. His taloned hand held your hip, and another one grazed into your hair.
His eyes widened, and you could just barely see a small smile creep on his lips.
You were gorgeous.
How could you be even more irresistible than you already were before?
He rolled you onto your back, pressing you down into the nest. Larry's lips met yours.
Warming: SFW, Fluff, Blood, Fighting, Lip biting, Swearing, slight hits to sexual themes,
About: you had a lip biting habit and not in the sexual way in the way where you would peel the skin of your lips and bite them will they bleed. Mizu being the good partner she is helps you with your habits.
word count: 0.8K
A/N: Hello again, this idea popped up in my head because I am a lip biter, so I wrote this and desisted to share it with you all. So, enjoy. :)
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Mizu and you had been together for a while, and over that time you learn little nicks that each of you have. One thing Mizu noticed about you was that you bite your lip a lot. Not in a seductive way but in a way, you would bite the skin of your lips off.
There had been sometimes where you bit and tear off skin from your lip to the point it bleeds.
There was one time in particular when you did it though.
~~~
It was a normal day, where you worked on something while Mizu sat with you relaxing from a day of traveling. You were biting your lip thinking hard on what you were working on.
You kept scraping your teeth along your lips to the point where you tore up some skin. Though it didn’t stop you. You kept doing it til you tasted blood in our mouth.
You grumbled and Mizu looked over at you. She saw your sad eyes and looked to your lips to see the blood dripping from them. She smiles sadly, then shuffles over to you to help with it.
“I’ sorry I didn’t mean to-” You started looking to the side
“It’s ok love, I know you don't mean to do it.” She said tilting your head to her.
Something you had noticed over the time you had been with Mizu is that she is very soft and kind. You honestly couldn't tell at all why people called her a demon.
You melted into her touch and looked at her with sadness. You were upset that you couldn’t stop your habit.
“I try to, but I can’t stop it. No matter what I-” Mizu cut off your rambling with a soft kiss to your lips. It truly shut you up as you closed your eyes kissing her back. Mizu licked the blood from your lips and then retreated to her stop.
“Again love, it's ok” She smiled at you. A light blush rushed across your face from Mizu’s act.
~~~
Though it made her a bit upset that it would hurt you sometimes, she understood it was a habit that you had for a while. To be honest with herself she kind of adored your cracked lips and how you licked them a lot trying to stop yourself from biting them.
She also couldn't help how cute it was when you bit too hard so your lip bled. She couldn’t help how cute you looked when you looked at her with those sad eyes as blood dyed your lips a bright red.
Though she kinda adored how cute you looked when looking at her with a bleeding lip she trys to help you from hurting yourself.
~~~
You were leaning against a beam as Ringo and Taigen bickered about who knows what. You had spaced out and started to bite your lip as you offended did.
Mizu walked in the room to see what the two of the men fighting were about. Though when her eyes saw you, she stopped and smiled to herself, till she noticed you spaced out and biting your lip. She smiled softly, forgetting about the two idiots and going to you instead.
As you were spaced you didn't hear or take in Mizu’s presents.
Mizu realized that and figured you were truly out of it. Now knowing what to do, she went to you and cupped your face to bring you in for a soft kiss. It was short but sweet and it brought you back. Well at least to you and Mizu’s little space. You forgot about the two men fighting only focusing on your wonderful partner.
“You were spaced out and biting your lip again love.” She explained with a soft voice she only used with you.
It warmed your heart and made the tips of your ears a slight red.
Though the moment was ruined when….
“GET A ROOM” Yelled out Taigen look at you and Mizu.
Mizued looked at him with a pissed off expression, as you hid your face in her chest.
“Oh, don’t even act like you're so innocent either.” She spat with venom. “We don’t want to hear you, dipshit.”
The two of them now got into an argument though Mizu’s arms raped around you. It made you feel safe and forget about the yelling. She held onto you tight, keeping you close as she yelled at Taigen.
~~~
In the end she solved your lip biting and was patient and helpful with trying to break your habit. She never made you feel bad about your habit, she always made you feel like you are doing the best you can. You honestly couldn’t ask for anyone better. Neith could Mizu. You were made for each other and loved it very much.
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A/N Thank you please tell me if you have any ideas and Have a Nice day.
