blue binnie

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ㅤ 🦑 。 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝗃𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 .

ㅤ✿ ✉️ㅤsome of these are pretty explicit so 𝗠𝗗𝗡𝗜

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝖿𝖻𝗐 !jake ♥︎ 𝖿𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖾 !reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ⌗ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ suggestive / nsfw, humor ‎ ‎ ‎✶ REQUEST

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ REBLOGS ◜ᯅ◝ FEEDBACKS

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡. ݁₊ ⊹

Clingy!Kenma who lets you give straight teeth under the table while he's streaming

Clingy!Kenma who spoils you rotten. He already makes a ton of money off sponsorships, collabs, streams etc.--why not waste it on something ACTUALLY worth his time?

Clingy!Kenma who loves when you come into his stream. dropping off meals/snacks with a kiss, playing games or even just waving at chat hello. To him, it's his special way of showing you off . . and most of his viewers know so.

Clingy!Kenma who texts you ALL the time. Asking you what you want to do that night, dinner plans, and more. Anything to keep talking to you.

Clingy!Kenma who loves small, intimate moments. outer thigh against outer thigh, eye contact lasting too long to be accidental, anything that would send sparks right through him.

Clingy!Kenma who loves aftercare. He loves treating you like you're made of glass, makes him feel more masculine.

Clingy!Kenma who always, always has a hand on you. Whether it's holding your thigh in the car, holding your sleeve while standing next to you. He adores having his hands on you, even if its just for a second.

He didn't do it.

The cops very clearly planted evidence on him because they had to make an arrest because all eyes were on them and whoever actually did the deed was making them look stupid.

Why would the real killer hero have kept the weapon on his person and traveled two states over while carrying it and a manifesto in his bag, conveniently turning the crime into a federal matter? The same guy whose bag they found in a park, filled with monopoly money? Why did the police turn off their bodycams, take Luigi's stuff, drive a block away, turn their bodycams back on, go back into the restaurant, and then arrest him?

* New student, very small. Grace said it was pebble. Pebble is small Earth rock. Pebble likes name.

* He found out Eridians have no gender rules.

* Students brought him mineral sample. After he stopped crying he said he loves show-and-tell game. Human naming conventions oddly literal.

* I told him Earthsun grew bright.

* I took him up atop atmosphere bypass elevator to look at stars.

* He woke up from nap and found me still with him. I did not wait on his chest; he says I am heavy like “elephant” and he “couldn’t breathe.” I laid my arm over him instead, kept him close, feeling safe. He said “cuddle” was warm.

* Before class he heard younglings singing.

* He has plants in house from sprouts on ship. Plant grew “bud.”

* Engineers got seawater temperature right. He took off shoes and stood in water, sighing. He didn’t care about pants getting damp. Cried until shirt was also damp. Humans very endlessly wet.

* He missed “Doritos.”

* Adrian helped food scientists make taumoeba dried paste. Made it crunchy after heating. We fused it into triangle form. Told him it was Tauritos. That made him laugh-cry. Laugh-cry is rare and precious.

* He remembered Eridians have no gender rules.

* We made him celebration outfit. Used metals he calls pretty. He can see frequencies named “colorful” and “shiny.” These make humans happiest.

* I gave him hug when he wasn’t expecting it. Easier to hug close now with exosuit. Hug when Grace sitting down so he does not fall over.

His things were packed into a small sack, not to take with him, but to be kept out of the way. The ration of rice his mother had been saving for a special occasion had been ladled on to a plate for him, topped with nuts and fruit she had been gifted by her customers for the day. This would be the last meal she would ever cook for him.

"If you ever find love, you must treat her like a princess." His mother's dress was thin and ripped at the shoulder, falling down her arm. Her ribs were visible above her breasts and it made his stomach twist in worry. She looked like the stray dogs that wander the city's port, sniffing for bits of chum left by the fishermen. "Worship her. Anoint her with oil. Kiss her feet."

"Her feet?" He sneered. She shot him a wide eyed, furious look and he ducks back down to his food, shoveling a mouthful in with his fingers. The woman working in the next room cried or moaned. Those two sounds blend together too easily in his mind.

"You will never raise a hand to her. You will never hurt her or any other woman. You will never be like any of the men that enter this brothel-- you will never enter a brothel, do you understand?"

His mother was not always a whore. She would tell him stories of how she used to be a dancer in her home country, before civil unrest drove her across the sea.

"Do you understand? You will never force yourself on any woman. You will never make someone suffer the way I have." Her mother tongue still rolled freely off of her tongue. Bruises men left behind on her skin never seemed to heal and the swelling of her jaw made common tongue sound slurred. "The only blood you will ever have on your hands will be another man's."

"If you marry, you will treat the poor lamb better than any woman has ever been treated. You will never stray. You will give her gifts and love and anything you can offer." She ran her hand over his freshly shaved scalp, tears heavy in her eyes. The knights demanded his head shaved and he knew it pained her to see his curls gone. "Do you understand?"

"I understand, mama."

"Your mother loves you more than the sun loves the moon. Do you understand?"

"Yes, mama."

This was their last night together. In the morning, the knight would come to collect him. None of his things or clothing would come with. Once the sun rose, he would no longer be a whore's bastard, but property of the king, a soldier to be trained to die.

"Your life will be better. They will keep your belly full of meat and your shoes mended. You will grow strong," she had explained when they first demanded him. "You are a big boy. A smart boy. They need boys like you to hold swords and fight their wars."

"We should consummate the marriage."

He turns away.

"That isn't necessary."

"It is."

The two of you watch each other for a long while, stuck there, in uncertainty. He always watches you with wide eyes and you nearly laugh when you realize he reminds you of a deer in the tree-line, debating whether the hide or flee.

"I have never done any of this," you admit. "I will not be as impressive as others you may have-"

"That is the second time you have implied I have other lovers." Your husband cuts in. "I have devoted myself to you. I will not stray."

"Most men do. Those long months away-"

Month seven and your husband arrives without warning. His letters had ceased for a short while and the loneliness of it all almost made you miss them. His writing had improved greatly in the short time, but his spelling is still shamefully horrendous. Or, as he wrote once, whoreandous. You do not appreciate that he knows how to spell whore and not his own name.

Men. All the same.

You meet him at the door, house cloak pulled over your shoulders. The best part of his absence is how you get to relax. Your gown is baggy and wrinkled, your hair is undone: you have no one to impress.

Until, of course, your husband and another man arrive.

"I was not aware of your return," you explain, nearly panicked as you wrap your cloak tighter. Your husband does not acknowledge your shame.

"This is my second," he says curtly. The man beside him is obviously highborn, handsome in the ways girls often whisper about. He bends at the waist in the proper manner, holding a palm out in your direction.

"My lady."

You grant him your hand and the second presses his lips to your knuckles.

"You flatter me," you say. "I am simply a merchant's daughter."

"Modesty. Your family name is well known in The Golden City and the Black Coast. The tales of your beauty were not exaggerated."

Your husband frowns, but that doesnt ruin your joy.

"Are you both staying the evening?"

"A fortnight, if the lady permits," the second says. Your husband looks at him, brow knitted with confusion, but he repeats.

"If you permit."

"I will have them prepare a hearty dinner," you say. "I apologize for my appearance. Allow me to get dressed."

"Are you not already dressed?"

The second laughs too hardily at your husband's question.

By the time the food is prepared, you have dressed yourself in your finest. Jewelry and gems, rich purple cloth your father had saved especially for you, hair twisted into a beautiful updo-

"What happened?" Your husband rises from his seat the moment you enter the hall, nearly knocking over his chair. Both he and his compatriot are freshly bathed, clothing clean and nicely pressed. You take a step back, unsure whether to brace yourself against the hulking form or not, but he does not reach to strike. Instead, your husband's hands find the space above your hips. "Have they not been feeding you? Has the crown not been sending gold?"

"My lord, I don't know what you mean." This is the first time he's ever touched you. His hands are calloused and catch the fibers on your gown. "If anything I have been fed too well, I'm afraid."

"Your waist!" He squeezes his hands towards each other as if to prove a point. "It's half the size!"

Both times he has come home have been by surprise; you hadn't been in a real gown for either.

"I-" you shift uncomfortably. "Forgive me, I... The maid helped properly..."

His second has a fox-like smile as he downs his ale.

"Have you been refusing to eat?"

"No, it's the fashion..."

"The fashion is to waste?"

"Have you never seen a lady undressed?" you ask, suddenly furious.

Your husband goes red.

Not out of anger, but out of a painful embarrassment. His back goes straight and his eyes go wide.

"I--" he stammers.

Luckily, his second puts him out of his misery. "Friend, she has a corset on. Have you never noticed how all highborn ladies are shaped so erotically?"

Your husband's head snaps towards him.

"Clearly you need to spend more time undressing your wife and less time--"

"You will not say such things in front of my poor lamb."

"You two are married! She knows of sex!"

You do.

In theory.

you've grown to hate this place, this castle gifted to him for war victories. The halls are barren, the garden yet to bloom. The maids are pleasant, but they keep their distance, as if you'll strike. Maybe your husband is the kind to hit. You wouldn't know.

When he looks at you, it's only in short bursts, his eyes suddenly low. There's a long stretch of silence between you and you consider introducing yourself, but decide against it. He knows who you are.

"The maid is drawing me a bath," he says suddenly and a sick feeling pours over you. This day was always coming, but you aren't sure you're ready to lay under a stranger.

"Am I expected to join?" you ask and his nose crinkles.

"No." He steps back and away. His departure is brisk and driven. You retire for the night by yourself and awake alone. Your husband is set to leave again in a few hours; a few soldiers have already gathered in the front garden.

"Don't you wish to give your new wife a goodbye?" one asks, unaware of your open window. "One night and you've already had your fill? Or has she been filled too much?"

"I refuse to believe she is real!" says another. "What kind of woman has worn down our brute and turned him into a family man? Should we expect a gaggle of children in the upcoming year?"

Your husband growls. "You will leave the poor lamb alone. She suffers enough."

That softens you. Just a bit. You rise from you bed and go to the window, leaning out enough to catch the men's attention.

"Until next time."

He watches you, expression caught between more emotions that you can count, then turns his gaze back to his mount. The two men share a look, wide, wide grins on their faces.

(he must have lovers, you imagine. He hasn't touched you; he must be getting his fill with women in other cities, maybe women he actually loves. these are trinkets to keep his wife amused while she wastes away.)

none of the gifts come with a note.

one day a bolt of fabric arrives, yellow and ornate. It's only a small amount, not enough to make a dress, but enough for you to unravel and admire. It's beautiful and clearly expensive, golden threads woven into flowers and vines. Your father was a silk merchant; while you never wore the silks, you can recognize their quality.

the following week, the delicious man rides up on his steeds and presents a letter. The handwriting is rough. Knights that come from the lower class do not have the schooling of highborns; as fair as you know, your husband was born a street rat and worked his way theough the ranks to glory.

-I have been told by my secund that I did not send you enuf fabric for a gown. I do not no these things.

The spelling mistakes screw a smile out of you.

"Wait a moment." You stop the boy before he can leave. "I wish to send something back."

You take your time and use your finest calligraphy, tucking your note in with a handkerchief you had spent the week on. It's fine work-- one that would please even the hardest of hearts.

-Dearest husband,

Please take this handkerchief as a sign of my thoughts.

Your patient and thoughtful wife

A second letter arrives within the week.

-are you cros with me? A scrap of fabric for a scrap of fabric?

The response is what makes you cross. The poor messenger boy has to stay the night while you percolate over a response.

-Dearest, sweetest husband,

A handkerchief is a traditional gesture of affection. I have embroidered the edges by hand, with your last name and your roses, and it smells of my perfume. It is a piece of me for you to carry. If you do not appreciate my kindness or if you think it will turn away your lovers, you may return it. I do not wish it wasted on you.

Your less than patient and less than adoring wife

The poor boy scatters off in the morning and returns a few days later.

tortured wife,

I wil cherish it. I am sory, pour lam. I wil do better.

pairing: Bang Chan x f!reader wc: 22 ss tags/warnings: soulmate!au, friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, angst/fluff, mutual pining, poor communication, cursing part one // part two // part three masterlist

Summary: Everyone has their soulmate's first words to them tattooed on their skin, which might be helpful if yours didn't just say a generic "Hi." Your best friend Chan has the same one—well, that's what he told you.

a/n: The last part of my 1k follower event! Thanks to everyone who voted in the polls and read and left comments. I hope you enjoy the ending!