Yeah, he'd heard you, and a sudden, surprising kind of freak-out-feeling flutters upward through his ribcage, annoying each pore along his neck with a dull, throbbing heat.
"Where ya gomnmm?" Leaving your body in place, you swivel and drag your face flush along your pillow toward a busy Zoro, pulling on pants and shaking his head like an adorable, disapproving grandpa.
"Gotta go-" is his only reply, now bent over arguing with himself about some sort of something, "I’m not… I’m… shoulda said I’m not...”
That boy is your life, but you settle into a softly snoring cadence, with one last floating thought: He’s so damn weird.
An hour ago, a long, strong leg swept upward and across his torso, squishing the air from his lungs and an oof from his mouth.
“Dammit, can't you be more gentle? Probably'll have a bruise tomorrow." His sweet little whining response paired perfectly with a few smashing kisses to your cheek.
"You're really cute, ya know that?”
Zoro froze as cool air rushed through the cabin window– surely the reason his body tensed– so off to sleep again you'd gone. Oh hell no I’m not... No I’m... I’m a swordsman… am not…
And now, unable to rest, swinging a foot so hard against the mast his biggest toe stings, he admits to himself that sure he didn't mind that you'd said it–
Fic authors self rec! When you receive this, reply with favorite five fics you've written (include links, and if you want- a few thoughts about each one), then pass on to at least five other writers if you're up for it. Spread the self-love ✨
If you don't, I'll just... I'll just... well I won't do a thing but please?!
many fist pumps,
▲ I'm a symbol now
\o/ Tri, my sweet friend, you are - if anything - a symbol of good cheer =D ♥
Let's see, five favorite fics I've written. That's much easier than trying to pick just one ^_^
Birds of a Feather Marco/Reader ( tumblr / Ao3 / Wattpad ) - This is my most recently completed fic, at least at the time of this post, but I love it so much. My passion for Marco feels like it came out of nowhere and has made itself reigning champion in my thoughts.
But a story I expected to be relatively short, ended up almost twice as long as I expected, and it was so easy. It was fun to write, and I think it goes down smooth, despite being nearly 90k words people consistently devour it in a single sitting.
Quicksand Sir Crocodile/Reader ( tumblr / Ao3 / Wattpad ) - Not sure if you're a fan of the sandy crocodile-themed warlord? Tread carefully, reading this title is statistically likely to convert you. Quicksand has an alternative ending because the story was originally intended to be a very dark Yandere - to the point that Doflamingo would've been the "good" guy.
That's not how things went, and I'm quite glad for it. Quicksand going its own direction is what helped seal the deal in creating the Tales of the Grandline Metropolis, which is currently 3.8 completed stories. (it'll be at least 8 before it's done).
A Light Touch Eustass Kid/Reader ( Ao3 / Wattpad ) - My first Eustass Kid/Reader story. Set in the same AU as Quicksand, it was started from a pun, of all things. I figured Kid would be fancy tech stuff like neural-linked prosthetics, and the idea that would make a prosthetic for the reader after they lost a hand was something I wanted to write.
Creating something like that would take a light touch, and if it glowed, that would be a different kind of light touch and getting close to Kid requires a light-- you get the point. Like I said, it's all based off a pun, but I'm really proud of the story, it's one of my favorite re-reads.
Some Direction Zoro/Reader (tumblr / Ao3 / Wattpad ) - A Modern AU where the government mandates who you marry. I have to give thanks to @lyndsyh24 for not only inspiring me to write this one (start to finish in a single month, I was obsessed!) but also for allowing my to play in the AU she'd built up. From Matchbook to the laws themselves, it's all thanks to Lyn.
Zoro started out as one of my favorite characters in the series - I still have love for him, and I'm always happy to write him, but he's taken a bit of a back seat to my top three. Still Some Direction is a story I'm really proud of - even if I worry there'll be a mob after me for who the antagonist is 😅
Family Ties Doflamingo/Reader ( Ao3 / Wattpad ) - I was torn on this last choice - even with five slots it's hard to decide between stories I suppose ^^; Also, oops, apparently I only put the first ten chapters on tumblr... I need to fix that >.>
Ahem, anyway, Family Ties is the first fic I wrote after over ten years of not writing at all. It's my first reader insert, my first true multi-chapter too. When I wrote it, it was the longest fic I'd written by nearly 50k words. I wrote it because I wanted a more morally ambiguous reader compared to what I'd been reading.
It's not a dark fic though, it's pretty tooth-achingly sweet, honestly, but it's currently the only fic I have where the reader is a murderer in a very undisputed and direct manner.
Honorable mention I almost posted as piece 5 - The Dragon's Clause - my Sabo/Reader Noble/Fantasy/Magic AU, and also the only title I mention that's incomplete. But it's a an ode to my favorite genre, and a great many of my favorite tropes.
i'm so honored that you asked 🤠 I bought a bag and I've been eating them with the skin on like an apple. They're pretty good but I wish they were juicier. I think it's probably just because they're from the grocery store or whatever but still good!
18+, < 400 words, a tiny bit nsfw. love narrative for our sanji boy, reader's a straw hat (reminder when you see it, that "paradise" is the first half of grand line). cooking metaphors -> first sanji fic had to do it! I tend to use punctuation as if I were reading aloud
No one's doing it like the Sanji you love—your heart's choice indulgence and faithful north star, your strange, blonde prince and your just, vigilant knight. The Sanji who fulfills you, whose love is truth and anchor, who fucks you straight through to your open, waiting soul. And you're his wild, fine blend, his brown-skinned Straw Hat import from a lively summer island in Paradise. A tart, sweet woman, perfectly peppery, smooth and smoky. A whole glorious mess of your own damn thing but with a tablespoon of mama, a dash or two of Nami,l a tiny pinch of Robin. And your devotion makes no demands nor requires his habit of pleading. It's a shock to him always, that any begging comes from you, for him—to go faster, let you cum, cuddle closer, make the meal you love so much. Your taste is so right. He's changing.
No one's doing it like the Sanji you love, whose main ingredients and natural flavor have no deserving substitutes: Still Sanji, who with head bowed and a lit cigarette stands silently ready to protect, who first holds you safely, then shields those who need– who want– to be saved. Still Sanji, who screamed desperately for Robin, whose stark humility brought you to vision-blurring tears. Still Sanji, Baratie cook and Zeff's son—loyal, dry, scrappy. So, so brave. He's Sanji, who heard his captain's plea, broke what the Vinsmokes held bound, and found uncharted freedom. Still Sanji, heir to his mother's goodness, tenderness and wonder. And Sanji the culinary visionary, who anticipates your hunger and thirst, who satisfies you with vibrant food and fuels your day-to-day.
No one's doing it like the Sanji you love, who's now a Sanji better savored, with fresh seasonings and fewer useless ones: The Sanji who values the lives of his friends now sees the worth in his own. The lavish, adoring Sanji who considers women sacred, now knows his reverence was broken. Whose antics- ignored and tolerated before- you chose to confront with love. A Sanji who takes in stride the rifts between you and no longer as signs you'll quit him. "We'll figure it out" replaces his "Please don't leave". A Sanji who believes your apologies, and labors less to be loved.
No one's doing it like the Sanji you love. Yeah, the crew's played its part, moving him forward. Yeah, his Straw Hat exploits are pressurizing trials by fire, catalyzing his growth. And yeah, this Sanji—he's done his own painful work. But you, you're his chief spark. His sole missing ingredient.
He was Sanji, is Sanji. He's becoming... Sanji. By his side you'll remain fused. No one's doing it like him.
in-universe, 18+, nsfw- no detailed sexual acts, endearing, cussing, about 1.3k; reader is a UA faculty member, shota's adoring thoughts (in italics), parallel hers in ways she wouldn't expect (narration is primarily her perspective); est. relationship, both ~30 reader, Black/fem; as always, imagine what you'd most enjoy!
"Shota, I can help y-"
"No way," he grunts, clawing through a third, well-worn expanding file folder. "Gimmie two seconds- I know exactly where it is. Just don't go anywhere, so I can read it to you. Nezu's lost his mind this time."
Of course you'll stay put; you enjoy these hasty, haphazard hunts of his far, far too much to miss the next few minutes. Happily sidelined and sprawled on cool, jersey knit bedsheets, you watch the man you love do his thing: He shuffles through dangerously high stacks of loose paper and books, scoffing and mumbling in partial sentences, "Higari's not thinking... alphanumeric codes- for what? Ha... those kids'll... keh elevators? How's that gonna... about a hundred false alarms... no way I'm dealing-" You swear the friction from his spinning mental gears is exhaust producing.
... you in bed... in our bed... god, and I'm rummaging around like an idiot...
He's hell bent as usual on reading these procedures to you, excited and ready to scrutinize each word like a corporate lawyer buried in high-stakes litagation. All UA policies receive the same treatment, and when he's satisfied with his work, he pridefully plops them- covered in scribbled, illegible notes- on Principal Nezu’s desk, expecting full adoption of his revisions.
As a second-year UA student import, you'd become an oddly well-fitted fourth wheel for Shirakumo, Yamada and Aizawa, then spent the next 14 years in deep friendship, and effortlessly bantering with, Shota. Slow-burning, provocative romance finally conquered you both last year, for ages so longed for. But after its initial seismic release, you started to feel out- and worry about- whether what worked as friends still... worked. Those silly exchanges were part of what made you such an ideal pair, so you confidently continued your well-honed cadence of exasperating the shit out of him.
Shota, grumpy, nutty professor, is on full display, and by now he should know- he's begging to be teased. You quickly weaponize his top three most disliked behaviors in other people: Loudness. Cussing. Ridiculousness. And you'll absolutely add a side of pet names. Of course he'll be irate and hush you; he has a decade and a half's worth of experience tolerating your antics admirably.
"FREEZING... WARM... HOT HONEY, HOT!"
...thought I’d hate pet names... but these... from you... I love them... I love this...
"Be. Quiet. I've gotta concentrate. I told you I know exactly where it is, but you might as well help instead of bugging me..."
...your voice. I don't care about decibels or what you say, as long as I can hear it...
"A) Hell no- the window for aid closed five minutes ago baby, B) You aren't hunting a wild animal my darling, so I'll be as noisy as I damn well please, and C) I know ya wanna, but ya can't expel me... WAIT! Shit it's right
Shit there sweetheart! Under that book-"
...you sound so damn sexy when you cuss...
"Shut up, you. Geez, annoying me really is your secondary quirk, isn't it?"
"Yep." He glances your way briefly and witnesses your carefree, beaming smile. His grumblings rarely affect you; he knows he’s brusque, he knows he's impatient, but here you are, resting content and close.
...can't believe you put up with me- thank you...
He eventually, very roughly, drags a thin document from the pile, and sheets instantly fly in all directions, like a flock of birds shocked by a sudden thunderous boom. These routine search and rescue attempts tickle the hell out of you, and so does your dresser's surface- for years hardly used- now cluttered with piles, red pens, worn leather gradebooks, pink sticky notes and a dried out yellow highlighter. The cap is long gone, likely welcomed by a post-laundry missing socks society. Efficiency, environmental stewardship, not a single argument for anything digital wins against his stubborn choice to print any and everything, and mark it all up with Shota-speak comments and symbols. He bends over with a grunt to grab what’s fallen, accidentally losing again the very information he’d just found. You love him for all of it.
When he lived alone, stacks rarely plummeted to the floor, he never lost a cap, and he found what he needed in seconds. Not that your campus apartment together is the problem- the problem is you. Freshly showered, dark dewy skin, the room faintly scented with eucalyptus and coconut oils... you're his real, most worthy distraction, always.
...you smell so good, god you're beautiful...
“Don’t you laugh.”
"But Shota, I love to laugh at you." You never miss an opportunity to laugh at Shota Aizawa, so you do. And when Shota Aizawa's within arms reach, you never miss an opportunity to kiss him. After finding the copy, he plops down in bed next to you and you get him- a zillion kisses in rapid succession.
“Stop it... this is important!" You feel the hot skin of his cheek scrunch into a lopsided smile, and a quick snicker bursts from his mouth.
...it isn't important at all... you are...
“I win and now call to the stand a very vexed, high-brow professor. Please proceed,” you state plainly, thrilled to add laughter to his life.
...you're ridiculous ya know. I love that about you, I wish I were more- you're... wonderful...
“Procedures for Student Dormitory Access,” he announces formally, clearing his throat. But those kisses, and who you are, they scramble his brain.
...you're warm, you're always so warm...
"Gotta smooch you while you read it babe.” Your nose smashes into his cheek again. Just one. He'd wanted to finish shrewdly editing and ripping apart just one policy...
...rip you apart, destroy you, make you cum, cum inside you again and ag-
"Hello, hellooo... you there, my esteemed colleague- you've yet to begin over-analyzing, er reviewing-"
"Your British accent is still terrible-"
...dammit so damn sexy...
You're sure he's eager to dig his nerdy fangs into the meat of it, so you pause your badgering.
"I know, I know... I'll work on it. Alright, please read it. I'll stop being a pain in the ass, I promise. I can't remember, is 'ass' a no-no? Anyway I read it yesterday, and I've got a few notes too. Nezu has the right idea, but the whole process is more like an exercise in theory; far too cumbersome for stude-" Your head turns towards him as you speak, and you stop abruptly.
His eyes, typically sleepy and bloodshot, reveal overwhelming depth and feeling that few notice- but you do, every bit of it: Whether his pupils dilate, his blinks change in speed or his lids shift to shield one quarter or half of his eyes... And his face- a slight protrusion of the vein on his right temple, a cool reddish pink dusting his cheeks or a twitch of his lips, all have meaning.
Now, under soft yellow light, his hair piled high in a sloppy bun, Shota frowns, tilts his head slightly backwards and blushes differently- a warm, deep red. You know the look; it's seductive, smoldering, puddling you like warm jelly. He wants you, he wants you now, and you, beholding his expression, immediately need his hands, his lips, his cock in or on every inch of your body, all at once. You've done nothing other than expertly irritate him for the last few minutes, which seems to you to be the opposite of alluring. Your eyes flash widely with surprise as his hands gently cup your cheeks.
"Shota. Fuck me," you whisper with an intensity absent of all humor. But embarrassment freezes your limbs. Shit, surely he had only a quick kiss planned and a return to reviewing the damn policy.
"Shota- oh- I'm so s-sor-"
...still surreal... you want me... me...
"Mm. Yeah, I will. But say it again," his voice husky and so sincere; he's quietly turned the tables, abruptly ending all silly mischief. Your head leans to the side.
"I want you to- fuck me." You must sound so awkward, so foolish; you brace for a big taste of your own medicine. But god he would never. Not during a moment so precious as this. Instead, his eyes sparkle.
"Honey, sweetheart, baby... babe, was it? Call me anything. Be as loud and ridiculous as you want. Cuss. Cuss all the time. I love it and I love you. Now say it again." He kisses your open, jaw-dropped mouth, and continues to make you say it, while he fucks you with passion unparalleled.
...Shota- you stun me, you're beautiful, your voice, your brooding, your everything... I love you... this- this thing with you is wonderful... you love me, only me... thank you. fuck me. rip me apart.
ZORO- TODAY
sfw, fluff, 0.8k, est. relationship, connection. happy belated birthday to mr. marimo bushido, from hazel, vice president -> club zoro
Defined, delicate veins snake from Zoro's forearms down to his mid-palms, and look a muted turquoise in the evening's slowly failing light. To see them so closely is to be fascinated, pumping blood back to his heart for oxygen, and wiggling around under your thumbs- like paths formed by slight raindrops on window panes- as you apply pressure to his skin in small, slow-moving circles. Clutching swords, dumbbells and sake jugs invite cramping, and you'd noticed it- the unconscious relief he hoped to feel by clenching and flexing his powerful hands. You smile, thinking of his initial, short-lived resistance to your perfect little remedy. Now, he crawls wearily into bed each night and rests his head on your folded legs, ready for your strong, nimble fingers to relieve what quietly aches. Few things in the world were as precious to you as this, his need for your specific, routine touch.
"I've got something to tell you." He tilts his head backwards, gazing at you with one sleepy eye. Tapping his shoulder lightly, your client's left arm falls to his side with a thud, the other bending to rest on your thigh.
"Alright then-"
"Today's my birthday."
You pause to stretch your own hands, then continue pressing into his muscles without saying a word. Not a single member of the crew knew Zoro's birthdate, including Luffy, who used terribly transparent tricks every few days to wrangle a confession from him.
You love a very literal, very peculiar, only accidentally funny man, but can't help thinking he's pranking you.
"I'm serious." His voice is sober. So is he.
"... What?!... Whaaaat?!" Your knees snap together, squishing his poor ears, and your eardrums nearly burst, from his point blank, roaring laughter.. "Shit Zoro, sorry... sorry!"
He eventually calms to a chuckle, "Yeah, it really is." It's almost impossible to believe. A barrel-chested vault, a place you respected but desperately longed to break into, just creaked open, thrusting what might seem a trivial trinket to others, but what to you was a fistful of gold.
He deserves what will be most comforting to him- a relaxed response- as shocked and overwhelmed as you feel.
"Ah well, okay. Glad to know. I'm assuming I ought to keep this to myself?"
"Yep."
"And no celebrating?"
"Absolutely not." He's surprised- and also isn't- by both your even tone and rational asks; he knows they're for him.
The knots in Zoro's palm have begun to loosen as you sit in silence. For weeks he'd tossed it around in his mind- the choice to tell you- unused to the kind of ambivalence and discomfort his heart felt when he did. The question he thought you'd ask, and his answer- weighted by buried loneliness and shame- filled him with dread and with paralysis. But for him, few things in the world were as meaningful as his hands, held open and warmly in yours- bit by bit, you'd filled him with courage.
His eyes flit back to your face, glassy from laughter, a few drying tears on his temples.
"And I want you to know why I-" He closes his hand to squeeze your thumbs, pausing your movements. You want so badly to ease the telling, and you're so sure of the reason, but to say it aloud brings a stabbing pain to your chest.
"I think- I think your birthday means another year without having fulfilling your promise to Kuina-"
Dammit. Forget your worry, the unworthiness you felt not knowing something simple like when he'd come into the world, your labored contentment with what few pieces of himself he'd generally chosen to give you. The truth had been his to share, a kept date for his hidden purpose. Dammit. You might be wrong. If you are, then you might've just done something terrible or minimally so awkward- cast phantom, false meaning over a sweet annual day and a core promise not made to you. Or maybe you're overthinking, which is so like you. Dammit-
"I'm really sorry, I shouldn't've said-"
"No, I'm glad you did. I wasn't sure I could've. And yeah- you're right." he sighs. You frighten and relieve him, observing him as he lives, knowing him like this.
Zoro rolls over, dragging you with one arm to lay down, gathering you to his side and guiding your head to rest under his chin. The moment is easy and peaceful, no pain or shrinking inward, only gratitude.
"I'm telling you now because my birthday's.. well it's happy now, with you. What I have to do, this pursuit- it'll take awhile. And that's- that's ok because you'll be there, when it does." A few of your silent tears stream along his neck, dampening the pillow.
"You don...t have to- exp- lain any- thing... I'll try to k-keep making you happy.."
"Oh, you won't have to try," Zoro chuckles. "And I'd like to, to tell you more... about everything. But before that- you aren't lying about your birthday are you, or maybe how old you are?"
You snicker through sniffles. "No, but I've got a secret or two I can tell you too."
Without thinking, you again resume your little massage, fixated on the tributaries along his arm and hand, and the rise and fall of his deep-breathing chest.
The honor is like no other, to know him and be trusted by him. You'll hold his secret, as carefully as you hold his palm.
sfw- last line nsfw, maybe 700 words, soft zoro, est. relationship, wisely waiting to be forgiven, reader envisioned as blk/f, enjoy and imagine your thing! both late 20s/early 30s many of my fics are really "dense fanfiction narrative character studies" or something like that. Working on including more dialogue
Zoro's apologies are total like his sweet, unyielding love, seeping from his bone marrow, from every red blood cell– earnest, absolute, lived. Never burning or suffocating, each moves like convection heat from him to you– always warm, always healing. He has no need to search for you when he's caused distance, or use haki to sense your aura– instead, he draws on what he deeply and so accurately understands about you, and drains every drop from his stores of intuition to see beyond your rough exterior, passed your strained smile– notice your rigid movements or one too many blinks to hold back hot tears you hope he won't witness.
To fix and fuck the feelings away– shit that's all he wants to do; he hates it, hates it, but these are his consequences, to wait and refrain and respect, to fight his will, to conceal his impatience while pensive and in pain.
He refuses to weigh you down, won't allow you to become the comforter because of his own self-pity, scrambling to assure him you won't leave, that you do love him, that he isn't a horrible man. He'll own and absorb his mistakes, bow and honor you. So he makes no promises to placate you, doesn't bargain with you or swear on his life he won't do it again. To do those things would be to erase or medicate your pain without healing the wounds he's caused, and the promise would be a lie; perfection doesn't exist. He might- he will speak too harshly, ignore your needs, act selfishly... apologize again. But the coin's other side pisses you off and is hard for him: He won't take your upper-handed shit while he waits, allow you to be manipulative or lash out in ways he knows you'll regret; he gently pushes back. Later, you can't thank him enough for it- having calmly stood his ground with such love.
When you forgive him, he recognizes that hurt or anger or sadness may not dissipate right away, and he'll gladly wait longer, quietly processing how best... to be better. He stands on the edge of your universe, making his way towards your galaxy, then your solar system, then your planet and eventually back to you when you signal readiness for it. It feels like an age to him, but it's never long before you extend your hand and walk him home to your heart.
This perspective, this agony- he's stumbled to learn it in ways grievous to you both, after raging, fists through the side of the crow's nest, blame and defense, bewilderment. Shit you've also inflicted heinous wounds- but what happens in it (he, with a smidge of advice from Sanji and Nami) really is as beautiful as it is messy, your roots together growing deeper and stronger, better handling drought.
▪️
This morning, he scribbles a note on torn cartography paper before joining Jinbe at the helm: I know you'll have a good day. Don't let me spoil it. I'll miss you. Challenging for him to write, but a small thing you can choose to throw away, maybe smile about. Instead you cry, experiencing every little word and recalling a moment yesterday- his sorrowful eyes, his restraint and clenched fists when full of anger you left to wander the ship:
"Heading out."
"Okay. Whatever you need." Not me. I know.
*
The bed dips now with his weight; he'd first hovered near the bedroom while you showered and changed, giving you space before you sleep.
"This ok?" His hand rests tentatively on your hip.
"Yeah." You struggle with ambivalence- an urge to punish him and your own desperate need to reconcile.
"Thanks... I'm so sorry. I mean it," he whispers. Gratefulness to touch you again and a precious few words he always means; they melt away the last of your angst. You gently grab his hand and nestle it on your chest, interlacing his fingers with yours, and he cautiously plants a kiss on your shoulder- you aren't delicate, but he recognizes the kiss should be. It's automatic after a few minutes, to cuddle closer to you when he thinks you're asleep. His soul relaxes, but he doesn't, every muscle flexing to keep you close, aroused and fine with it, expecting nothing. You're wide awake, and just as he's found contentment, your back melts into his chest and your ass presses against his cock, heart pounding. You're repaired. He fucks you through tears, both relieved, and roots stretching longer into nutrient-rich earth.
SHOTA- IRRITABLE
about 1k, fluff, a tiny bit nsfw (no detailed sexual acts), est. relationship, "slice of life", feelings, connection. Grumpy Shota eventually steps up. I visualized the same reader in each of the Shota fics here, though not as series- more like vignettes. Includes some of my usual style points in terms of form and themes <- I saw a post about this and whether it's true of my writing or not, I loved the perspective- have a peek.
You see and hear it, what's just beyond your thin glass window; it's simple and so invaluable: Golden, late afternoon light replacing the day's cloudy drizzle and crisp, brown leaves camouflaging the school's sidewalks, crunching under the feet of yakking students and yawning staff members. Routine, uneventful Sundays like these meant that UA was safe; they refresh your senses, cozy up close to your heart and feel like home. But what you found comforting was to Shota (groaning and mumbling and long since annoyed by the world) unwelcome noise.
"What are they doing out there? I can hear it from here!" he yells to no one in particular from his watchful, stationary spot in the bathroom. Slightly amused this time and also hoping to shut him the hell up, you stride into his personal space and lean against the wide counter, drawling with faux drama, "They're walkiiing. And for fuckssake stop whining about everything Shota Aizawa, you've sucked the life outta this place all weekend."
A shouting Vlad barged into his office Friday to yap, and Hizashi submitted curricula without edits, leaving hours of work for him yesterday. Toshinori canceled brunch plans for the third week running, and Nezu ticked him off during a discussion about "the benefits of educational autonomy". Over and over again you'd heard it, including a deluge of other long-winded grievances. Embedded in them were frequent little jabs and snaps, with you as the target.
His elbows rest on either side of the sink, and motionless fingers serve as a thermostat under the faucet's rushing water; 60 seconds and the temperature still felt tepid.
"Lukewarm is all we'll get for now; bet the heater's completely done by morning. Should've been replaced years ago, but Nezu's too cheap to-"
"Babe you could turn off the water, maybe check it less often? I think that might conserve whatever life it has left." You and your casual, correct logic; turning off the faucet, he clicks his tongue and shoots an icy glare your way.
"We'll just shower together tonight an-". Shit, you knew better than to say it. A salty, hunched over Shota wasn't up for solutions, but you'd given him two. What he's thinking, he shows- a clenching jaw, stiffening arm muscles, a sharp hassled exhale. For just a second, it stings you. What you'd suggested seemed as distasteful to him as those crackling leaves or the damn water temperature. Pausing for a beat and with an inaudible sigh, you disappear into the bedroom to strip off your clothes. Whether he joins or not is up to him. He finally sounds his agreement a moment later with an exasperated huffed, "Fine."
His reserved nature and dry wit, his intellect and integrity, his tremendous love for his students. God, the man was infinitely attractive to you. But you knew to leave him alone when his usual temperament devolved into an extra pissy mood. With humor and bluffed indifference, you'd do your damndest to avoid adding kindling to his fiery complaints. So you resolve- suddenly tired and melancholy- to get clean and continue enjoying those loudly crunching leaves. A relaxing evening and his actual attention... are ebbing little hopes.
You'd showered together before. Not a regular thing, but it felt so good, even to him- the nearness of it, washing away sweat or cum or the day's work. The catch was intermittent shivering, rushing to switch places for a turn under warm, streaming water. The warmth was absent this round; Shota's discontent infused your togetherness with cold.
Finishing with speed, you step onto the floor's fluffy, cotton mat and grab a massive towel, relieved.
Shit. It hits him now, as he notices your slumped shoulders, quiet deep breath and hasty exit, what not only now, but for two-days his attitude must've cast over you. Shota loves you more than even he can comprehend, and it hurts his heart to have been so caught up in his own miserable mess. He'd done it less and less over time, and you'd always affirm him right away with sweet thanks he felt he didn't deserve. But he hates that he does it at all.
Stepping out after you, Shota furiously runs his hands over your toweled arms and quickly gifts you a long, solid embrace, a stubbly cheek against your temple.
"Better?"
"Mmm hmm." You always felt it, the calm he blanketed you with, so definite and immediate.
"Come down here, you jerk." He's used to this cute-the cutest to him- habit of yours, so with a short grunt, he squeezes you more tightly and presses his forehead to yours to listen, really listen to you. Soft, damp strands of dark long hair stick to your cheeks.
"I'm still headed to Osaka tomorrow my Shota sensei; you'll be busy annoying students and missing me these next two days. It'll be fixed before you realize it, and you'll be back to steaming, relaxing showers on your own. Now just be glad we're both fucking clean, ok?" Not a shred of irritation in your words, you always speak so softly and confidently, dispelling his negative energy and surging his love for you. You were beautiful as hell.
"I know, I'm really sorry... about this afternoon, all weekend really... guess I wasted time we could've had before you leave, didn't I? And I love showering with you, a lot more than I dislike being cold... I hope you know, not that I've shown you today, that yeah I am gonna miss you... You'll be gone two days too long as far as I'm concerned," he mumbles into your ear. Tender-hearted, you bury your face into his wet shoulder. Three years together, and with a few gentle words, your pulse races as wildly as it did in the beginning.
The next hectic 48 hours leave you tired and a little numb, but you instantly feel soothed crossing your apartment's threshold. Those several steps remind you that no matter the bickering or rift, anywhere with Shota is where you belong.
A very faint scent wanders through the living room, reminiscent of chalky plaster. Before you can think on it, Shota emerges, with a mischievous vibe about him and a rarely seen sparkle in his worn eyes. His drawn-out, soul-melting kiss sends you skyward.
"Hi there," he mutters softly, grabbing your hand while your head swirls and leading you to the bathroom.
"You were right as always- the water heater's fixed. You should hop in."
"Good, I'm glad. And I think I will. I don't even wanna talk about the trip yet, I just feel yucky after the drive- traffic was awfu-" The change registers slowly. The old showerhead has been replaced with a shiny, silver one, detachable and with multiple settings. And on the opposite wall, is an identical one. "Wha-"
"So neither one of us gets cold." To stare at him is all you can do, blown away.
"You ok with company?" He knows the answer and carefully pulls your shirt over your head.
Twenty heavenly minutes- testing sprays, kisses along all of your curves, and your laughter as he recounts his manual labor snags.
"I need to be better for you," he whispers, draping you with a towel and cascading lazy kisses on your neck.
He's much more than better- his subtle thoughtfulness is more constant than he knows, and it drives you wild.
"Shota."
"Hmm?"
"You take really, really good care of me. You always have."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Dropping the towel, you take his hand, beyond ready to fuck the man who's crazy in love with you and who you- grouch and all- love with your whole heart.
