Ten minutes. All you had to do was keep him distracted for ten minutes.

You'd seen it clear as day this morning, if he managed to escape this room, a shitty warehouse somewhere in the city center, the hostages would die.

Nevermind that the 'hostages' were all low-level villains that had been bothering you for weeks, they weren't in their costumes, neither the public, nor the media, would know it as anything other then civilian deaths.

You'd already sent the brunt of the force towards the second location, if you could hold his attention for just ten minutes, everything would be okay.

Nobody would die. And more importantly, your reputation would be saved.

Chronos stood in the rooms center, illuminated by a single, shitty bulb.

"Come now, Oracle." He purred through the mask, the metallic tinge making your body tense. "Don't get distracted."

Right. Focus. Nine more minutes.

"I am focused. You're not getting away this time."

He'd grin if he could. You can tell in the way he sets his shoulders, the slight chuckle the mask can't quite filter out.

He takes a step back, shaking his head.

"I hate to disappoint you. But I most certainly am."

Shit. Wrong approach. He can't back away. He can't get away.

You need to lure him in closer.

He turns, angling his body away from you, looking for an escape?

"Wait!"

He stops. Despite it all, he stops to hear you out. Why does he do that?

"What? Hate to see me leave but love to watch me walk away, hm?"

Again with the flirting! Always flirting. It drives you up the wall.

But... maybe... There's nobody around but the two of you...

"You're wearing a coat. What is there for me to see when you leave?"

He tilts his head. You can feel his eyes boring into you.

"I can take it off."

"You wouldn't. Your suit is ridiculously tight. You wouldn't..."

You trail off, floundering, why is this working?!

"I wouldn't show it off for you? Hah! Why do you suppose I designed my suit like this in the first place?"

He drags a hand down his chest, gloved fingers trailing over defined abs. "I don't dress like this for the public, you know."

Eight minutes. Time feels like it's dragging on.

"You dress like that just for me, then? Prove it."

Chronos' hand stops. Shocked? Repulsed?

Then he grabs the jackets lapel, slowly pulling it off his tall frame.

He drops it to the ground next to him unceremoniously.

You swallow.

"How's that for proof?"

He strikes a pose. Lifting his arms to show off his waist. It's a little dorky. A smile creeps up on your face before you have the chance to fight it.

It's a little... something else, too. But you won't think like that. You can't.

"I don't know. Just taking off a jacket doesn't feel very personal. You could do that for anyone."

He takes a step towards you and you have to fight to calm your racing heart. This is good. Just seven more minutes.

"Now, now Oracle. That feels like you're baiting me to take off my mask. And we can't be having that, can we?"

You roll your eyes, he was the one who said it, not you.

"Scared I won't like what I find?"

For once, he doesn't seem to have a witty retort. But he takes another step forward, coming ever closer.

This is good. Great, even! You just need to keep him entertained.

"You know, Chronos. There's a lot more to your suit then just your mask."

That gets his attention. He pauses, motionless.

What catches your eye isn't your fault. It's his fault, really, with his stupid skin-tight suit. And the tent in his pants is so obnoxiously obvious.

You do the polite thing, averting your eyes, not that he can really tell through your mask. Not that he even particularly seems to care.

You'd meant, like, gloves or something! Maybe some of those stupid belts he wraps around his torso.

You didn't mean... well... did you mean... that? It would be... a distraction.

How many minutes do you have left? You've lost count.

After an excruciatingly long pause, he seems to find his tongue again.

"You should watch your words, Oracle. There's... interesting implications there."

You can't help but laugh. What use is there in beating around the bush like that when he's hard as a rock and basically vibrating where he stands.

"Implications? You're one to talk. Your... reaction, down-there, speaks louder than words."

He glances downward, as if he hadn't noticed. Then clenches, and unclenches his fist. An exercise in self-restraint, maybe?

"Ah." Is all he mumbles, before glancing back up at you. He clenches and unclenches his fists again, and then shrugs. "At least we chose a place without any cameras around. If this made a front page story I doubt either of us would live it down."

He leans down to scoop up his coat. How much time has passed? Not enough, surely.

"Leaving so soon?"

He hesitates, one hand nested in the material of his coat.

"You want me to stay?"

For the good of the people, if nothing else.

"Just seems like a... waste."

He straightens up, tilting his head curiously. It's so hard to read him, his expressionless mask not letting anything slip.

Then he places a hand, tentatively, on his belt buckle.

"A waste... of this?"

Are you doing this? To save a handful of hostages who you don't especially care about the safety of at the best of times?

"It's like you said. No cameras."

You're doing this. You hope those fuckers appreciate it.

"You're... serious? If this is your attempts at unmasking me, it's an underhanded tactic."

You shrug, trying to keep it casual despite your racing heart. Your mother can NOT find out about this.

"We can leave the masks on. This is between us, as hero and villain. Not whoever our real selves are."

He stills seems unsure, so you suck in a breath and step towards him, poking a finger against his chest.

In the past, he's dodged so many of your attacks so effortlessly. You almost expect him to breezily step out of your touch, but your finger simply bounces against the muscle.

"You've made plenty of advance at me in the past. I hope they weren't just for show."

He swallows. You're close enough that you can see his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. It makes you feel...

Nothing. It makes you feel nothing. There is no slight shiver that passes through you. No warmth between your thighs. This is work. Not pleasure.

He laughs, warm and metallic, and places a large hand against your waist. It isn't unpleasant. His thumb gliding across the material of your suit.

"There are much better suited places for this then a dingy warehouse, Oracle."

While the idea of fucking against a dirty warehouse floor like a bunch of animals is not exactly appealing, letting him leave the building at all is out of the cards.

"What, you're going to take me back to your place? Yeah right."

"The least I could do is a nice hotel."

Ugh, a hotel would be nice. A comfy bed, room service after, somewhere to sleep off the weirdness of it all and freshen up before the walk of shame home.

The warehouse will have to do. Fucking hostages.

You wrap your fingers around his belt loops, teasingly.

"And if I told you I didn't want to wait?"

He groans, it's a sound you're about to get incredibly familiar with. Future fights with this fucker are definitely going to get interesting.

"Fuck."

He uses his grasp on your waist to tug you closer, pinning your bodies together. Then he pushes his crotch against your side, rolling his hips to grind into you. It can't feel all that good behind several layers of fabric, but you suppose it is pretty skin-tight.

He groans again, right in your ear, loud and unrestrained. It's nicer sounding then the sirens outside, at least.

"You're so needy. All that talk about taking me a hotel when you're the one who couldn't wait."

Chronos whines, masked face buried into your shoulder as he rolls his hips more desperately. If you stood here, sweet-talking him, you're pretty sure you could get him to cum where he stands, right in his suit.

But where's the fun in that? If you're sinking this low, you're at least getting off too.

"If you're just going to stand there and get yourself off, Chronos, I might as well go home."

His needy whines turn into a throaty growl, his gentle grip on your waist becoming delightfully dangerous as you feel his nails catch in the suit's material.

If he rips a hole in your suit he is a dead man.

Thankfully, his grip relaxes. But only for a moment, as slides his other hand around your waist, and lifts you up, carrying you across the room with ease, and urgency.

A shock of cold goes through you as he drops you on a metal container, perched right on the edge so your legs dangle down.

You can hear his heavy breathing through the mask, as he glances down at you, like he's deciding what he wants to do first.

Then, without a word, he sinks to his knees, pushing your legs apart and laughing breathily.

He taps his metal mask, twice.

"No peaking."

You tilt your head up, half out of politeness, half necessity. If you break the rules, nothings stopping him from ripping your mask off at this distance.

"At least when you take off your mask I won't have to listen to your prattling on."

"Still swapping insults at a time like this, Oracle? No matter. I have much better things to do with my mouth."

At the thought of ripping, you hear the distinct sound of fabric tearing, then a cool breeze caressing the inner-most curves of your thigh.

This motherfucker.

You don't even have time to gasp, nor raise a very reasonable complaint, before you hear him happily hum.

"I'll pay for it."

Then the click of metal, as you can only assume he pushes his mask up his face, freeing his mouth for... other activities.

You sneak a glance downwards as he buries his head between your thighs, but all you can see is a mop of blonde hair pushed messily back by his shifted mask. Worth a shot.

After that, you don't have the time, nor the mental fortitude to scheme, his tongue working hard to distract you from thoughts of hero's and villains.

It's a fight not to clamp your thighs around his head, an excellent position to squeeze the life out of him, but you're a little distracted. And it's not a great story to sell to the media.

Moans, both yours and his own, bounce off the run-down walls. If anything, his moans are almost louder than yours, moaning passionately against you with every spare breath he manages to take.

Air seems like the last thing on his mind. He'll choke himself out, at this rate. Desperately hungry for you. You decide not to think about it.

Instead you tilt your head back, basking in the rolling, sweeping pleasure of his tongue in all the right spots.

And it builds, and builds, and builds, and sudden the sweet waves you've been leisurely riding feel too close to breaking. You don't gently climb to orgasm as much as you hurtle towards it.

"Chronos, wait I-"

But it's like uttering his name flips an evil switch in his mind, and he burrows closer, hands gripping at your thighs for purchase so desperately his nails drag open little holes in your suit.

The waves break, and all you have the strength to do is slump forward, hands nesting in his hair, grabbing on for dear life, as you ride out your high on his face.

Not that he seems to mind, the way his hips are bucking into thin air, just as desperately.

When he finally pulls away, he manages to keep his face pointed downwards, identity secure, as he wipes his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. Before adjusting the mask back over his face.

Then he stands, looming above you as you sit, still slightly quivering, upon the metal box he set you on.

"I hope you don't think we're done here." He purrs, clicking open his belt with practiced ease.

Thank god for superhero stamina.

He slinks out of his pants, leaving them abandoned in a heap much like his jacket.

He rubs the head of his cock against your bare thigh, trailing pre-cum across your skin. He hisses with pure pleasure, both at the sight and the sensation.

"Hope you don't mind that I'm a little... unprepared. A little lube, a condom or two, could have gone a long way. I'll be more prepared next time."

"You think there's going to be a next time?"

He scoops up the cum on your thighs and slicks his fingers with it, pushing them against your entrance with far too much eagerness.

"Oh Oracle, you'll be weak in the knees at the sight of me after I'm done with you. I can guarantee a next time."

"Mmm... you're so cocky."

He chuckles, nudging the tip of his hard cock against your groin, sliding it against the slick opening as he retracts his fingers.

"I have good reason to be, clearly."

You go to refute, but your mind blanks as he pushes into you. Two inches, then four, then six, then further still, until his hips brush against yours. The moan that escapes him is unholy.

"Fuck. I'm going to be weak in the knees after this." He groans, right into your ear. The metal of his mask is cold as it brushes against your neck.

Absently, you wish his mouth was free to kiss it. From the way he's eyeing it and breathing heavily, you think he does too.

"Are you... in any pain?" He asks, a rare moment of pure consideration.

You adjust yourself, flex your insides to test the depth, the pressure. It's... a lot. Filling, certainly. And you have to bite back a small moan as you really relax against him.

But it doesn't hurt. And after a pause to catch your breath, you nod.

"I'm... good. It's good. Thanks."

"Just good? I'll have to do a better job then that."

He punctuates his sentence with a smooth roll of his hips, the length of his cock gliding out, then filling you up all over again. It's unbearably slow, the temptation to shuffle closer, to wrap your legs around his hips and trap him there, taunts you.

"You'll have... to do a little more... then that." You pant, gripping the sides of the metal container you're perched on for support.

"Oh? You want more?" He purrs, sliding out of you so slowly. And then he pauses, the two of you connected only by the very tip, a twitch away from sliding out entirely.

He's going to say something terrible, isn't he?

"Say please."

You called it.

Your eye twitches. You don't know what's bigger, his ego or his dick.

Definitely his ego.

He's lucky you can't say the same for yourself. You're not above basic manners. But you're not above a little bullying, either.

You lean as close as you can despite the distance, wrapping your arms around his neck, and whisper into his ear.

"Chronos... please just fuck me already."

You can almost hear the thread of tension in his body, snap. The eradication of his self-restraint.

He doesn't have anything witty to say, after that.

His hips snap forward with such strength that you tumble back, losing your grip on him as you lay down flat on the container. The new angle let's him push into you even further, and you both moan in delight.

He looms over you, every thrust punctuated with soft, needy moans.

You reach up, running your hands through his blonde hair. It would easy, to simple pull off his mask, see his real face looking down at you.

Would he be blushing? Smiling? Or would he have a more focused look... Your mind wanders. But it's almost more fun if you don't know.

Instead your fingers grip the strands, pulling slightly as he hits a particularly delicious angle. You both moan in equal surprise and debased pleasure.

There's a moment of pause, as you consider these new found techniques. And then you resume, with twice as much passion as before.

Him chasing that angle over and over, crashing into the spot that makes you shiver and buck your hips up to meet his thrusts. You pulling at his hair, and running your nails down his back, enjoying the throaty groans it elicits each and every time.

It isn't long before the feeling returns, waves of pleasure building and building and building inside you.

"Ah, fuck, I'm gonna cum Chronos-"

You don't even finish the final syllable of his name, before he's crashing his hips into you, warmth flooding you as he cums with a long, growl-like moan.

Your own orgasm follows but a second later, his orgasm hasn't slowed him down, if anything he seems to be chasing the afterglow. The uptick in speed pushing you tumbling over the metaphorical edge.

You both lay there for a moment, breathing heavily. Those ten minutes have to be up by now, right? Time to make a strategic exit to check on the hostages. Well, maybe after you've gotten your breath back.

You shift up, propping yourself up on your elbows. His head is bowed, his cock still buried inside you. But he'll pull out any second now, right?

Then he looks up. Slowly. Despite the mask, you can feel his shit-eating grin.

"I'm not done with you yet, Oracle."

When you stumble out the warehouse, only one lone officer remains on the scene. He gives you a questioning look, and you feel yourself flush, thankful for the mask all over again.

"The hostages are safe, Oracle, thanks for your help. But, uh, you know only had to keep him in there for ten minutes right? It's been..." The officer checks his watch, and then frowns. "Hours. Are you alright?"

You adjust Chronos' cloak, which is wrapped around your middle for privacy.

"It was a tough... fight. But I dealt some serious blows. Managed to snag his coat before he escaped."

"Great work! We could take it in for testing if you'd like."

"Ah, uh, no need! I'll do my own... uh... super testing! See if it triggers a vision.”

It's a terrible excuse. But thankfully, the officer seems stupid. Or maybe tired, it is late. But either way, he nods. And waves you goodbye as he packs himself away into his car.

Now to figure out how to get home without any camera's catching you... indisposed.

The next morning, there's a generous donation to your bank account, from a suspiciously anonymous donor. Enough to cover the expenses of your torn suit, and then some.

It's signed only with a C. Cocky bastard.

I truly deeply believe he would be the neediest loser in the bedroom too, all that elegant composure melting away underneath your warm hands. It's a game almost, to see how unashamedly desperate for your touch you can make him.

Teasing him until he makes the most undignified noises, whining pathetically for you, his hips bucking into your hand as you pump his poor, tender cock.

And he just can't keep his mouth shut either, rambling about how good it feels, how gorgeous you are, how much he wants you, how much he loves you in between pants and breathy moans.

But there are much better uses for his pretty mouth and he is eager to serve. His orgasm is all the sweeter for having earned it. But even when he's wholly focus on pleasing you with his lips and tongue, he can't stop himself from moaning against you, one of his hands straying to stroke himself.

That was where the thread of guilt came in. Of course you had clingy moments, he'd vanished from your life once, could you really trust him not to do it again? What did his word matter, ultimately?

It was hard not to think like that. He knew his own track record with relationships, and he wanted, more then anything, to not fuck up this one too.

It's never easy to chase those thoughts away. And yet you do it so effortlessly, with just the graze of your teeth, the scrape of your nails.

Baxter is putty in your hands when you mark him up during sex. He's obsessed with the way his pale skin looks after its been ravaged by you, admiring the scratch-marks down his back after he's fucked you, or the hickies and love-bites you've scattered across his chest. He'd let you ruin his neck with sweet bruises if it wasn't shockingly unprofessional.

I mean hickies on the wedding planner, on someone else's big day? He feels a shameful tingle of pleasure he can't deny at the thought. Baxter is so put together during the day that he absolutely falls apart at night, guided by your safe and sure hands. He cries, he begs, he sniffles as big, wet tears fill his red eyes. There was some alarm, the first time he cried during sex. The whole ordeal had been put on hold to make sure he was okay, until he'd shamefully and slowly explained to you that yes, he was perfectly fine. So, so good in fact, the tears had sprouted on an especially breathy moan.

And even though he begs so sweetly to leave your mark sometimes you handle him so tenderly and gently it sparks a whole different kind of need inside him. Love-making, he thinks, with his head nestled between you thighs, moaning with every tug of his hair, is a new world of pleasure. Miles beyond just sex.

But his favorite part of it all is the minutes just after. When he stumbles out of your arms to gleefully assess the damage, take in his tear-stained face, the pink hand prints on his hips and ass, his kissed swollen lips. The sight of it all has his spent cock twitching awake.

Just a little more, he thinks, stumbling back over to you. God his legs ache in just the best way. He's already hard again, cum beading at the tip without a care for his carefully crafted, elegant persona.

He pulls you into another kiss, sweet still, before nipping playfully at your ear.

"You've positively ruined me, dear." He purrs, a shiver of glee running through him as your hands find his hips again. "Want to do it again?"

Nobody you know would call Cove possessive. He's beyond secure in your relationship by now, you've known each other for years upon years. Nobody on earth could even attempt to take his place in your life.

He sulks a little when something or someone steals your attention away for a long time. Jokingly complains about your coworkers getting to see more of you then he does when long hours keep you away from each other.

He's clingy, certainly. Spoiled? Absolutely. But possessive? He couldn't be. Well... That's not quite true. Cove would be lying if there wasn't a small, carnal part of him, deep deep down, that absolutely adored you belonging to him, and him to you in turn.

The feelings oh so rarely rear their ugly head, he almost forgets they're there at all. Until he sees you draped across the couch on a lazy Sunday morning, bundled up in his pajamas. Wearing his clothes has always done something insatiable to him, no matter the size difference. Whether his shirt pools around your tummy or hugs your waist tight, his cock pulses with a dreadful, needy rhythm.

You have to be aware. Right? Of course you know what it does to him. Every moment with you is heavenly, but you have to have noticed the way he squirms every time you stretch back and his shirt dips and pulls. You have to have noticed the way he fucks you far too energetically for a lazy morning, groping your chest through the soft material of the t-shirt. Surely, surely you've realized he all too often "forgets" to put your laundry in the washing machine with his own, lending you his clothes out of the lustful kindness of his heart? Whether you know what it does to him or not hardly matters, because Cove is there within moments, curling up beside you on the couch. Pressing his face against your neck, his long fingers tracing the slope of your thigh. "Cove?" You ask sweetly, putting whatever it was you were doing aside. "Do you need something?"

God he loves it when you say his name. The needy ache in him only gets worse, he tries to push your bodies flush together, almost grinding the tent in his pants against your hip. He's never been the best at initiating sex, his mind gets so hazy and the words don't come to his lips.

Not that he always minds, he hardly knows what to say ever, and there are much better uses for his mouth. Like now, as he presses gentle kisses to your neck in place of answering. He toys with the idea of nipping at the sweet skin there, leaving a little mark for later. But he's already so restless seeing a bruise he left marking you as his might have him cumming in his pants, and he really can't do that again.

"My love," You purr, and a sharp shock of want pierces through him. He bucks his hips against you, desperate. "Use your words. What do you want?" What does he want? To bend you over the sofa and fuck you senseless, possibly. To burn all the other clothes on the planet so you always have to prance around in his pjs. To make you cum over and over until you're as restless and needy as he feels. But mostly importantly, most senselessly.

"I want you."

A = Aftercare | Oh someone please take care of this poor, big puppy. Whether he’s domming or subbing this guy is gonna be spent, he just can’t help but give his all for you, even when big, wet tears are dripping down his cheeks and he’s shooting blanks, he can’t get enough of you. Tell him he did good and he’ll just melt, Jacob is nothing but putty in your hands in those first few minutes of post-sex bliss. He’s nothing but good to you, after he’s pulled himself out of that lusty haze. Fresh water, homecooked meals, his big, soft arms, there’s nothing he wouldn’t give you for treating him so good... Well, except your freedom. 

B = Bondage | Jacob prefers to do the tying, rather then being tied up himself. Anything is good, rope, handcuffs, tape if he’s in a hurry. Seeing you tied up and waiting for him, unable to run, to resist, goes straight to his cock every time. The first few times he couldn’t tear himself away from that camera, capturing every perfect angle, every push and strain of the restraints, every flush or shiver of your skin. He didn’t dare blink, as if you’d disappear the second he looked away. Of course, you can’t, not when you’re tied up like that, as soon as he remembers that he can’t keep his hands off you. Can’t hurt to nudge him in the right direction though. 

Despite his preference, he’ll happily let you tie him up, at first, until he realizes he can’t reach out and touch you when his arms are tied up, and then its a session of sweet, sweet torture.  

C = Collar | Jacob would cum through his jorts if you gifted him a collar. Doesn’t matter if its supposed to be for you or him, its a guaranteed way to make an instant mess of the man, in his pants, and in his heart. The Collar itself is just as likely to make him cry as it is to make him cum, but a leash attached is purely erotic. Tug it while he gives you head, let the rough band of leather tighten around his throat and he’ll moan like he’s on the brink of something divine. Outside of play he’d adore something like an eternity day collar, subtle enough to wear it out and about, with that darker pull of being owned by the other, forever.

D = Dominance | Switch Jacob soothes the soul. Honestly, he’s just happy to be with you no matter what, what does it matter who’s in control, as long as you’re beside him or in him or on top of him. Whether he’s fucking you into the mattress, or letting you fill him up so good, he is totally smitten with you. 

E = Edgeplay | This man can’t edge to save his life. He wants you so badly, all the time, and when you are just so so close he can’t help it, he wants to hear all the sounds you’ll make, he wants to see the exact moment that coil of want and heat inside you snaps. Once you get him started, its hard to get him to stop. But he’ll try so hard if you ask him to, every edge driving you both mad with need.

 Edging him, however, is a beautiful sight. He’s so wonderfully needy, and so vocal about it too. He’ll beg you to let him cum, promise you anything you want, give all of himself to you if only you let him cum, just once, you can edge him all night afterwards if you want, just once, please. It’s a perfect balancing act, right on the edge of overwhelming. Jacob loves basking in your attention, when you’re so focused on him, on teasing him and bringing him right to the edge, it hurts so good. You might have to tie him down, though, he’s desperate enough to act out and take what he wants by force if you don’t. 

F = Feelings | In the moment, he feels nothing but euphoric, he’ll do anything, say anything, so long as you keep looking at him, keep touching him like that. Pride goes out the window the moment you have your hot mouth on his cock. Nothing is too embarrassing to say, no amount of begging too needy. The next morning, however, is a different matter. He gets embarrassed about the filthy things that fall out of his mouth when he’s close, promises himself that next time will be different, that he won’t make a fool of himself to you this time. That too goes out the window when your hand slips beneath his waistband. 

G = Garments | Jacob loves lingerie of all and any kinds. You dressed up just for him? In an outfit so seductively revealing only he can ever see it? Be still his beating heart. The outfit itself doesn’t matter, be it leather, or lace, or a sexy nun costume from Spirit Halloween, he’s hard as stone and fumbling for his camera. That’s the only downside, to putting on something sexy for him, you’ll have to wait an hour while he captures every angle of you in that get-up, unless of course, you do something to distract him from that precious camera. 

H = Heated | He isn’t really the hate-sex type, not when his obsession with you runs so inhumanely deep. Possessive sex, on the other hand, is a given. He’ll be at it for hours, making you cum over and over until you’re seeing stars, muttering to himself that he’s the only one who can make you feel this good, he’s the only one who can see you like this, who can make you squirm like this. He’ll fuck away any memory of the stranger who asked for your number until all you can think about, all you want, is him. 

I = Importance | Kinks aren’t a deal breaker for Jacob, he might be a little mopey and a little clingy if you aren’t one to lavish praise (he only wants to make sure he’s doing a good job), but his lust for you can’t be shaken from one unshared fetish. If there’s anything he really needs to get his rocks off, he’ll just put his depraved imagination to use.

J = Just Kidding | He’s a little awkward about broaching the kink subject, bless him. He’d have a much easier time of it if he was sure it was something you were into before bringing it up, he doesn’t want to scare you off with something unusual. He probably stalks your browser history to try figure out what you’re into before asking if it’s something you’d be into. He’s too nervous to ask you to praise him directly, but it’s pretty easy to infer when he, panting and sweaty, asks you if he’s doing good while he’s nestled between your thighs. 

K = Kinks | Praise this man!! Call him a good puppy while he eats you out, tell him he fills you up so good when he bucks into your soft flesh, or that he takes you so well and watch him practically preen against you. He’d be accidentally into overstimulation, he rarely goes in with the intent to overstimulate you or himself, but he gets a bit overexcited, and can end up overstimulating you both if you don’t coax him back a little. You’re just so gorgeous when you moan like that, how can he possibly be satisfied only seeing you cum once? He’d definitely be into experimenting with power dynamics in your relationship, that man would let you walk him like a dog, lets be real. 

L = Limits | This man would rather die then be cuckolded. If you brought it up, even as a joke, you could watch the light die in his eyes in real time! Anything that involves other people touching or looking at you sexually is a no go for him. You’re all his, and he doesn't like to share his toys. Degradation would also be a tricky one for Jacob. He loves you so much, talking down or harshly to you doesn’t come naturally, it’d have to be negotiated well beforehand for him to even consider it. 

M = Masturbation | Yes, oh yeah. He’s already tried masturbating with you, long before you got together. Pressed up against your clothes in your closet, staring through a crack in the door and surrounded by your scent. Desperately stroking himself, and trying his best not to moan, not to breathe too loudly, too hard, and alert you to his watchful presence. Timing his strokes to your own movements, watching every twitch of your hips, every flutter of your eyes. He’d jump at the chance to take it further, to watch you up close, to time his orgasm with yours. Forgive him if his hands wander, either to grab his camera or to touch you, he really can’t help himself. 

N = Noise | Jacob is incredibly talkative during sex, even if its just muttered or whispered mostly to himself, it’s an old habit from... a lot of masturbating with nothing but his hand and a good imagination. The only way to shut him up is to let him give you head, but he’s always an enthusiastic volunteer for that he’ll end up moaning into you, his breathing loud and ragged. He’ll rant and rave about how good you feel, how much he loves you, how gorgeous you look when you moan like that and too many obscenities to count. He usually ends up embarrassing himself with the things he says, but he just can’t seem to stop himself either.

O = Orgies | Wanting to share you, in anyway, is a difficult concept to get his head around. He doesn’t want anyone else, why do you? Is he not good enough? Does he not satisfy you? It leads him down a spiral of self-doubt that isn’t pleasant for either of you. If you manage to convince him that it’s something you want to experience as a couple, like a swingers event, he might be more open to it, but that’s a long and hard road to go down. 

P = Porn | Homemade porn is Jacobs thing, secretly snapped photos of you asleep, or in the shower, or getting changed are printed and fucking painted with cum within minutes. He doesn’t feel the need to use porn from strangers, not anymore, not when he has you. At the start of his obsession, when he’s hungry for you but hasn’t yet taken enough photos to satisfy himself, he might scour the internet for pornstars with your features, with the same color hair, the same body type. It doesn’t quite sate him, though, nothings as good as the real thing, and he ends up feeling worse for having tried. Strangely, he feels more ashamed of trying to find porn that looks like you, then making his own without you knowing. 

Q = Questions | Jacob is pretty curious about kinks, and is fairly open to trying a lot of new things with you. He wants to make you feel happy and satisfied at the end of the day, he doesn’t really mind if he has to put on cat ears and the maid dress to do that. A lot of things he’d try at least once, topping, bottoming, pegging, outfits, chains, paddles, even doing stuff outside, if that's what you wanted. So long as you can keep it between the two of you, he’s willing to try. 

R = Roleplay | It’s one of those things Jacob would be too embarrassed to bring up, but willing to try. You’re already his biggest fantasy, he doesn’t need or particularly want you to pretend to be anyone else. But he’s happy to be the priest, or the pizza delivery guy, or the handsome stranger you’re picking up from the bar for a one night stand, if you want him to. Roleplay that lets you both be yourselves, but play out a different scenario he’d like the most, he doesn’t want you calling out anyone's name but his own. 

S = Safeword | If he got to pick the safeword it would be something insane, like Crawfish, or Rainbow trout, or Whale shark. He’s very good at respecting the safeword, any use of it and whatever play is happening is done, and he’s at your side in an instant, making sure you’re not hurt and have whatever you need to feel better. The last thing he wants is for you to feel unsafe around him, he’s taken so many measures to prevent that. He’s reluctant to use it himself though, even when things get overwhelming or he’s in over his head, he doesn’t want to risk disappointing or upsetting you. He gets better at it with time, but he you know how he is with boundaries. 

T = Touch | Sensory play is fun! Jacob would have no qualms with using wax or ice on either of you, and it’d be a fun experiment to see what feels best or gets the biggest reaction. Restricting the senses would also be interesting. He’d be a big fan of blindfolds, of the suspense and the trust involved, but less of a fan of things like gags. They’re fun, for a short time, but he loves hearing your voice when you’re on the brink too much to be able to use it the whole session.

U = Undermined | Jacob Alden is the furthest thing from a brat you can possibly find. As a sub, he’s always on his best behavior, trying to fulfil your every request and satisfy your every whim, he just wants to be good for you. As a dom, he is so incredibly soft that it’s almost too easy to be a brat. Tease him just enough though, and you’ll get the punishment you want. 

V = Vengeance | Things like overstimulation or restraining him is a perfect way to punish him, he rarely acts out on purpose, usually simply unable to stop himself from cumming when being edged, or reaching out to touch you when he’s supposed to be keeping his hands to himself. His body works faster then his brain, is all. So making sure he can’t touch you at all? Or making cum over and over until he’s red-faced and sweetly pleading with you to give him a break? It just makes perfect sense. 

On the other hand, he’s not great at coming up with punishments for you by himself, but he can be incredibly devious, in his own way. Aside from the usual things, like spanking or sensation play, he has a set of punishments that are more rewarding for him, then punishing for you. Tying you up with a vibrating toy set to high, and leaving you there for however long he deems fit as he watches you through the lens of his camera. 

W = Whipping | Impact play is where things get a little hesitant. He wouldn’t mind a little spanking, a paddle or hand here or there, but he doesn’t want to seriously hurt you, not if you’re here returning his feelings at least. Choking or knife play or anything similar he could handle, but he’d do a lot of research before hand, to figure out the safest way to help you get your sick little rocks off.

X = X-Tra | Jacob cums a lot. Like could overflow a shot glass with one climax, passed out eight times but here's your cereal a lot. He’s a little embarrassed about it, when it just means there’s a fuck-ton more clean up to do. But if you’re someone who likes creampies, or simply just watching him make a big ol’ mess of himself, he’ll be secretly very flattered with the extra attention it gets him. 

Y = Yes, Sir | He’s not attached to any honorific, sir, daddy, etc, he won’t ask you to call him something in particular, but he won’t be mad if you have a title you want to call him either. It’s not that he’s disinterested in honorifics, but his favorite thing to hear you moan out is his own name, he doesn’t think it gets much better then that. He likes pet-names in general, and prefers some of the sweeter sounding ones, rather then any official title. Pumpkin, peanut, puppy, it all makes him a little weak in the knees. 

𓆩♡𓆪 Growing up in Mondstadt gave you a lot of childhood freedoms. With only distant rules about not wandering too far from the city gates, and getting home before dark for dinner, you were allowed to roam the city as you pleased. 

𓆩♡𓆪 There were so many nooks and crannies to explore, so many dandelions to make wishes upon, so many games to play, and yet nothing was quite so fun, as spending time with Thoma, the little blonde boy you were inseparably fond of. 

𓆩♡𓆪 It was only natural, your parents had been close since they were children, so you’d known Thoma since before you could even remember. And yet you never grew tired of hearing that familiar knock ring through your family home. 

𓆩♡𓆪 “Can they come out to play today?” Thoma would ask your parent, grinning ear to ear when you’d try squeeze through their legs to get outside faster. “Today we’re gonna play pirates!” You said, not even waiting for your parent to respond. The answer was always yes, all the fresh air was good for you, they said. 

𓆩♡𓆪 Thoma never minded when you decided what game you two would play. He never pouted when you won, and never teased you when you lost. He just grinned, happy to be beside you, to spend the day with you, like you had so many days before. 

𓆩♡𓆪 You two were inseparable. Rarely was there a day you didn’t spend together. Wherever one would go, the other would follow. Everyone knew that an invitation, a request, a secret, given to one, was equally given to the other. It had always been You and Thoma, two halves of an equally troublesome whole. 

𓆩♡𓆪  Everything was shared between you, secrets, games, and trouble alike. When one was grounded for misbehavior, kept inside doing chores and schoolwork instead of running through the wild grass, the other was equally punished by their absence. 

𓆩♡𓆪 Your neighbors had always teased the idea of you being soulmates, of getting married, of being made for each other, even the other kids would do it. A little boy bitter over losing a game to you would accuse you of having a crush on him, a little girl envious over your bond with him would call you an attention-seeker, but what did their opinions matter to you? You could care less, what they said, what they thought, Thoma would still wheeze a heavy laugh at your silly jokes, and wipe your embarrassed tears when you grazed your knee, regardless of what anyone else had to say about it.

𓆩♡𓆪 In a way, Thoma made you braver. As long as he was by your side, anything was possible. No tree too tall to climb, no game too outlandish. No matter what challenge you faced, you could face it bravely, knowing Thoma would be right there when it was all over. 

𓆩♡𓆪 You had promised each other, Afterall, that no matter what, you two would have each other. It was a quiet promise, the twist of pinkies under the Windrise tree, a moment of shared vulnerability, of hope. 

“Though things may change with time, you will always find me by your side.”

𓆩♡𓆪 Just as promised, little changed as the pair of you grew. Others from your childhood came and went, people changed, or vanished all together. But all the same, you and Thoma stayed at each others sides, braving the terrifying face of adolescence as a team, just as always. 

𓆩♡𓆪 When Thoma faced the frightfully embarrassing voice cracks forced his way by the unrelenting pace of puberty, you were there to gently tease his croaky voice, and make him honeyed tea when his throat would ache. When you would fret about your own changes, your skin, you body, all the parts you did and didn’t like, he was always there, eyebrows slightly dipped in concern, as he assured you that nothing, nothing, would change who you were, and what you meant to him. 

𓆩♡𓆪 As the pair of you bloomed into you own, individual people, your bond flowered just as brightly as it ever had. When he began to dabble in cooking, Thoma would always bring you dishes to try first, and you naturally dragged him to participate in all of your own hobbies, whether he liked it or not. Not that it mattered. Whatever you did was fine, as long as you did it together, that fact had been set in stone far before you two began to explore interests beyond running around and getting into trouble.

𓆩♡𓆪 But, undeniably, things began to change. The new firmness to Thoma’s broad shoulders, the sudden weight to his hands, the way his eyes would linger on you, for just a second more then it used to, just a moment longer then he should. This strange unknown brewed between you, as curious in origin as it was in nature, you’d known Thoma for what felt like forever, and yet you’d never felt this... strangeness. This stretch of unknown. 

𓆩♡𓆪 You knew Thoma like the back of your hand. You could whisper his responses word for word when you fell into a familiar daily rhythm. To be unsure, to hesitate, in your words or your actions to him, was in of itself, an undeniable change, regardless of whatever develops had caused it. 

𓆩♡𓆪 But you were undeterred. Strange ache be damned, Thoma was, and always would be, your best friend. Nothing was changing that was outside the norm, perhaps this was simply part of that dreaded growing up your parents dragged on about. 

𓆩♡𓆪 And it eased you, admittedly, to see that same hesitance in your dear friend. When his voice would waver at a harmless tease, the unsure placement of his hand on you waist when helping you climb up something you definitely were not supposed to climb, the slight tinge to his cheeks... You were stumped as to what it could mean. As to what either of you had done to cause it. But whatever it was, you could face it together, Thoma had always made you braver. 

𓆩♡𓆪 Whatever it was brewing between you only solidified as you grew older. Becoming something more then fleeting feelings and shy glances. In your later teens, it became something real, something palpable and knowable. Your feelings were no secret to each other, there had never been secrets between you two, you wouldn't have known how to keep it.

𓆩♡𓆪 Averted gazes became held, daring stares. Trailing from eyes, to lips, unashamed and grinning wildly when caught in this little game. It was like a game of cat and mouse between you, daring each other to take the leap, to say or do something that sharpened this blurry line between friendship and romance. 

𓆩♡𓆪 There was no rush. You had all the time in the world to bask in each others company, enjoying the slow unfurling of new limits, and new freedoms. There was no denying you loved each other, but the waiting game, the constant back and forth, was almost as fun as the love-stricken what-ifs that raced through your daydreams.

𓆩♡𓆪 All good things come to an end, eventually. It was subtle, at first, the worst things usually are. You hadn’t known how little time you had left, perhaps things would have gone differently if you did, the wondering, the what-ifs you used to relish turning to ash in your mouth, you didn’t know how to be without him. It felt like missing a part of yourself.

𓆩♡𓆪 “I’m visiting my dad for a little while,” He said, smiling lazily in the summer sun, “Bring over some dandelion wine, spend some time in Inazuma... Ah i wish you could come. It’s beautiful over there, especially at sunset, Dad sent me a photo from his Kamera.”

𓆩♡𓆪 You had smiled, rolled over in the soft grass and poked absently at his side. “You’ll be just fine without me for a few weeks. Its not like we’re attached at the hip, you know, you’re perfectly capable of being self-sufficient and making your own friends out there. Besides, you gotta bring me a souvenir.” He had laughed, tilting his head up to warm himself under the sun like a wilting sunflower. 

𓆩♡𓆪  “Capable! You think too highly of me. Mother keeps saying I’ll miss the port on accident while I’m sulking in my cabin. I don’t sulk that much when we’re apart.” The slight quirk of your eyebrow spoke volumes. “I think you’ll find I sulk the healthy amount when missing my best friend.”

𓆩♡𓆪 You lifted yourself up onto your elbows, rolling your eyes as he grinned down at you. “Alright, fine. But please don’t miss your port. You’ll be stuck on that stupid boat for twice as long, and then where will we be?”

𓆩♡𓆪 “With my luck, the port will be closed when I get there, and I’ll have to wait around definitely not sulking while they decide whether or not to take pity on me and let me in.” Thoma said, the conflict in Inazuma added a slight edge to his tone. An edge that made you take pause. Your immediate thought was highly reckless, and probably quite stupid. But Thoma made you braver, and if it had even slightly the effect you hoped, it would be worth it.

𓆩♡𓆪 “If it’s gonna be like that, then kiss me. For luck, of course.”

𓆩♡𓆪 You delighted in the way his cheeks immediately darkened, his whole body going still as he stared at you, slack-jawed. It was a hurdle neither of you had dared cross. An action that all too clearly defined the murkiest parts of your muddled friendship. Perhaps a dramatic love confession, or a frantic plead not to leave you for the sea would have been a novel way to put all your cards on the table, to finally, finally indulge yourself in one of your romantic daydreams. But the way Thoma leaned down, and guided your jaw with one, trembling but certain hand, brushing your lips together with such an aching gentleness you couldn’t help but place your hand against his chest to steady yourself, was perfect. You could feel the rushed pace of his heart against your place, and you smiled into the kiss in a way that made Thoma laugh blissfully.

𓆩♡𓆪 “For luck.” He murmured, as your noses brushed together too enraptured by the look in your eyes to truly pull away. “For luck.” You echoed, pulling him in for another, firmer, longer kiss, one the of many you’d share in the sun-warmed grass, with only the birds and buried dendro slimes as your witnesses. 

𓆩♡𓆪 “It’s funny,” he breathed, between sweet, lingering kisses, “I already feel like the luckiest man alive.” He brushed a stray strand of hair away from your eyes, gazing at you like you were something to be treasured, adored. “It must be working already then.” You hummed, letting out a shriek of laughter as he pulled you back down into the grass, wrapping his arms tight around you, and covering your face with kisses. You didn’t let go of each other for hours, not until the sun set well below the horizon, and the chill of night air nipped at your skin. And even then, your giddy walk home was interrupted with fits of laughter and shared affection. 

𓆩♡𓆪 You’d felt on top of the world then. Like nothing could ever go wrong.  “Come back home to me,” You’d told him, when he boarded that dreaded boat, “Safe and sound. Promise me.”

𓆩♡𓆪 “I promise. You’ll always find me by your side, remember? I’ll be back home before you know it.” You hadn’t kissed him at the docks. The prying eyes of your family had turned you both shy, the new development in your friendship hadn’t yet been shared with your family, and you wanted to spare Thoma the onslaught of teasing on such an already difficult day. You wish you had now. More then anything. 

𓆩♡𓆪 The boat was out the harbor and off into the sea, Thoma waving you goodbye from its deck. You’d gone home, continued life on as normal, missing him, but certain of his return. 

𓆩♡𓆪 It all happened so quickly. Word from him ceased altogether, news of Inazuma’s closed boarders spread, and the boat never returned to Mondstadts harbor. 

𓆩♡𓆪 His mother assumed the worst. She mourned him, just as you did, having her to share your loss made it easier, but nothing patched the strange tear Thoma’s disappearance had left in your life. At first you feared the worst. Death, or imprisonment, Thoma all alone in Inazuma with nowhere to call home. Then, as time passed, you began to fear the bizarre. That Thoma had made it there safe, but all the time away would make him realize he was far, far better off without you. Or perhaps he’d met someone in Inazuma you couldn’t compare to. It haunted you for a time, these spiraling scenarios you couldn't seem to escape. But you healed, as best you could, and stopped torturing yourself with nagging possibilities. 

𓆩♡𓆪 It was strange, how things moved on without him. You’d always been known as a pair, even since you were young. To be seen alone, to know one half of you was missing, was so strange, the pitied glances followed you everywhere for a time. But eventually bigger things pulled at Mondstadts attention, and you were left in relative peace. 

𓆩♡𓆪 So much happened, while he was gone. So much you wanted more then anything to tell him about. Dvalin, the traveler, your vision, Jean taking over as the Acting Grand Master, the mysterious dark-knight hero, Cavalry Captain Kaeya with no cavalry left to captain, that strange man you’d met in the woods, Klee in all her entirety would take up several stories by herself, you couldn’t even remember if Thoma had had the pleasure? misfortune? entertainment, of meeting the youngest Knight of Favonius, you had even travelled to Liyue for a time, exploring the vastness of a new nation to distract yourself from your personal loss. There was so much he missed, so much he was missing, it never failed to leave an ache in your heart. 

𓆩♡𓆪 You wrote letters to him, sometimes, stacked in an unsent pile. Whispered it to the stars late at night, in hopes his might be listening. Collected little souvenirs, rubble from the great storm, a gift from the traveler, one of Klee’s thoroughly disarmed little bombs.

𓆩♡𓆪 You couldn’t find it within yourself to move on. Not when there was the chance that Thoma was still out there, waiting for you too. When you heard the traveler was venturing all the way to Inazuma somehow, you practically ran to Liyue, asking the traveler to just.. keep an eye out, for a friend of yours. 

𓆩♡𓆪 You received the letter from the traveler after a few painfully slow months. You’d made sounds you didn’t know you were capable of making, there were parties, Diluc had pulled you into a tight hug and vainly tried to hide his own tears, Kaeya listened to all your hope-filled ramblings, Lisa pried you away from the shoreline to stop you staring at every ship that sailed past, preoccupying you with chores and errands. Relief and joy was palpable across Mondstadt, and at the heart of it was you, overwhelmed with hope and longing. 

𓆩♡𓆪 Lisa had sent you out on another errand when you saw him, stood dazed at the Mondstadt gates. Amazed at how much had changed, at how much had stayed the same. His breath caught when he met your eyes, the two of you frozen in place, as if time had stood still. You were running before you had time to think it through, throwing yourself at him with such force you feared for a second you knock the both of you right over. 

𓆩♡𓆪 But Thoma caught you with practiced ease, his natural strength having turned into taught muscle in his time away. He had changed, the clink of his polearm at his back, the heat of a pyro vision flaring at his side, scar and muscle replaced the soft, freckled skin you knew in your youth. But beneath all that, in his watery smile, and hushed breaths, and gentle touches, he was the same as you had always known. The Thoma you had loved, everyday, over and over again, in his sturdy presence at your side, in his lingering absence, two halves of a troublesome whole, reunited. There was so much to talk about, so much you wanted to share, so much you wanted to know, you hoped more then anything that Inazuma had at least been kind to him. But the archons themselves couldn't have stopped you from kissing that teary-eyed smile off of his face first. 

𓆩♡𓆪 “Welcome home.”

The way you made his heart flutter was criminal. Xyx had already decided it, had drawn up the exact regulations it broke, making sure to dot his I’s and cross his T’s,  pinpointed all the things you did that broke this little law he made, made a note, a tally, of all the times it happened, cross-compared his findings to find the links. His lists only grew larger by the day. It was the most ridiculous things too, that got his heart pounding, he could find no rhyme or reason to it, in his dedicated research.

Once when you chased cat around with one of those feather chain toys, once when he caught you singing so gleefully out of key in the shower, once when you fiddled with the little chain necklace he’d bought you to get the charm to lay just so.

Once when you smiled at him. It was only a smile. Such a mundane thing, really. He’d passed you a cup of tea, you’d beamed at him over the rim of the mug, and suddenly it was all he could do to stop himself from dropping the damn thing all over the both of you. Heart hammering like a school boy, what was he, twelve? All sweaty hands and nervous glances. At times he felt worse then Toaster, and that poor guy couldn’t flirt with a portrait without stuttering.

Well, he’d only almost embarrassed himself over your smile once. He could live with that. He’d managed to impress you enough with his suave debonair that one little slip up would probably go unnoticed, right? That shake of the hands and a frantic flutter of the heart over the sweet grin on your face was an outlier, an exception to the norm.

Until it wasn’t. It happened twice, and then a third time. By the fifth, when he stumbled over the rug after watching you smile down at Cat, he started to wonder if something was seriously wrong with him. You’d only laughed at him, sure these little slip ups were part of some joke he hadn’t revealed the punchline of just yet, and for that he was… thankful? He didn’t know. Part of him wanted to keep it a tight-lipped secret, breezing off each little incident as nothing, even though his research clearly showed otherwise. But part of him longed to have you know. He couldn’t think why, what he might gain from your realisation that suddenly your every fucking move made him red-faced and sweaty-palmed. At best you’d be infuriatingly smug over your new-found power over him, he knew full well he would be, and at worst you’d be… creeped out. Unnerved. That was one of the last things he wanted, and yet he reveled in the idea of telling you, of having you say the same, that secretly you’d felt the same way all the time and that…that….

The realization struck him late at night, sitting up straight in bed, to the confused mews of cat bundled securely in his arms. It was like a crush. This terrifying hold you’d gained on him suddenly, was nothing more then a crush. Well, what use was that. You’d already expressed your feelings to him years ago, the two of you LIVED together for fucks sake, it was well-established that you loved each other and yet… Here he was, with a stupid, interfering little crush on his partner.

It was ridiculous. And infuriating. He thought he was long past that embarrassing little phase, but here it was, rearing it’s ugly head to remind him how helplessly smitten he was with you. Well, there was nothing to be done about it really. So what if he had a crush on you? You’d had a crush on him once too you know.

Xyx had planned to keep it a cheesy little secret. A sweet thing he muttered when he was certain you were fast asleep, an embarrassing problem he vented to cat when it was only him and the little thief left in the apartment, a secret he definitely did not share with anyone in the server. BigLady would never let him live it down. As much as he wanted to tell you, as much as he loved you, and he desperately, heart-achingly loved you, he still had his pride.

It was exhilarating, in a way. The electric spark in his chest whenever your eyes met, the blaze of heat you leave behind when you nudge his shoulder for more room washing dishes together, the way he thought he’d simply fucking combust and die on your doorstep when you kissed him goodbye each morning. He could let himself indulge in all the quiet, meaningful nothings of a fleeting crush all over again, without fear of your knowing smirk or teasing gaze. Was it so wrong of him to want to admire you?

So he’d keep it a secret. From everyone, for now. Well, everyone except Cat, but he knew if anyone in that house could keep a secret it was that little bastard. Cat had managed to hide a hairball in your bed for hours before the pair of you had found it, and then rolled on their back as innocent as ever, the fiend.

But well, when did things ever go to plan, when it came to the three of you?

It was cats fault, Xyx was certain of it. The two of you were cooking, a domestic little treat that threatened to send his heart into overdrive if he thought too hard about it. You’d been determined to make your own garlic bread, the dough laid out on a flour splattered counter. It was a peaceful, content evening of cooking and relaxation after a long day of work. Until all hell broke lose.

Cat jumped on the counter while your backs were turned, leaving perfect paw-prints in the dusted flour. They’d just sunk their little footsies into the dough when you turned around, your disapproving laughter sending a shockwave of sappy affection through all the parts of his brain that he needed for common sense. He ran a hand through his hair to calm himself, leaving a white trail of flour behind. In turn, your laughter only increased, grabbing his face with your own flour covered hands and leaving white streaks in your wake. Xyx grinned, tilting his head to press a fleeting kiss to your nose.

“Now look what you’ve done, Doll, I’m a mess.” Your sheepish grin did nothing to calm the racing of his heart, and he shook his head affectionately. “You’re lucky you’re so cute you know, I wouldn’t let you get away with half the things I do if I didn’t have this ridiculous crush on you.”

The words were out in the air before he could stop them. He stilled, you stilled, even cat, who was quite contently continuing their art project in your precious dough, went motionless.

“I didn’t… I mean-“ He searched his love-addled brain for a reasonable excuse, but all he could think about was the excited look blooming in your eyes. “I didn’t mean anything by that just forget it- What! Quit laughing at me, bunny, you know, you had a crush on me first so really, if anyone should be embarrassed here it’s you-“

His ramblings were cut short when a fistful of flour hit his chest. His frantic excuses had given you the perfect opportunity to slip your hands from his face and grab a handful of powdery ammunition. His eyes glinted, the familiar thrill of a challenge settling into his skin. He knew you were giving him time to process what he said, what he wanted to tell you, he also knew you’d tease him to hell and back later on, when he was ready. Gods above, he loved you.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”

And the flour war began. Like fresh-fallen snow, it coated every surface of the kitchen, no one was left unscathed, and no tactic was too underhand. Luring the other in with a kiss, only to smear flour covered hands down their front, or lifting hands to claim a truce, only to gleefully clap them together, sending a dust cloud of flour across the two of you. All was fair in love and war.

As the dust began to settle, his knees nearly buckled as laughter bubbled up through him. He grabbed you by the waist to hold you close, equally pinning your hands to your sides to save his poor flour-covered body from further warfare, and to gently sway with you to the music from the radio. He tucked your head beneath his chin, if only so you wouldn’t see how stupidly red his face was beneath the streaks and smears of battle. He wondered, absently, if you could feel his heart racing? He felt like he’d run a marathon, or taken one of those lethal expert spin classes.

“I love you.” He said, as the two of you slowly danced across a ruined kitchen.

You shook your head, your smile growing impossibly brighter.

“Love? But If I remember correctly, you said you had a crush on me.”

“Haha very funny. Well I do. I can have a crush on you, and love you, I’m a very three dimensional person, wouldn’t you know.”

He kissed you, sweetly, longingly and contently, all at once. His voice lowered, to an almost inaudible whisper.

“And we both know that’ll never change… but I’d love you more if you helped me clean up the kitchen~?”

Your shared laughter rang through the kitchen, as you finally tore away from each-other, taking in the destruction of your poor kitchen. It was dastardly and criminal, what you did to his poor heart.

Xyx wouldn’t have it any other way.

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Nightowl  * ˚ ✦

Nightowl talks to no end about catching you on the brink of sleep, all smiles and sweet talk. It’s one of his favorite moments, and he’s told the tale a hundred times to anyone who will listen, and will gladly shout it over the words of those who won’t. Your schedule often claimed you to sleep long before him, the soft pile of blankets and stuffed toys calling to your tired, overworked body. True to his name, Nightowl will contently work late into the night, turning in long after you retire to bed. But he always makes a point to join you in bed for a few minutes every night as you drift to sleep, holding you close, and whispering silly sweet nothings in your ear. He’ll drop whatever he’s doing to be the last thing you see before you fall asleep, only to slowly pry himself from your embrace once he’s certain you’re fast asleep and return to whatever activity was previously occupying him. It became routine, somewhere down the line, to drift off to his gentle, silly whispers. However, one night, as plain as any other, half-asleep you decided, brave and stubborn as anything, that you’d had enough of his sweet talk. Taking his face into your tired hands, caressing the curve of his jaw with your thumb, voice a hushed whisper as you echoed all those ridiculous whispers he filled your head with each night. Initially, he laughed, a quiet, hushed thing, mindful not to interrupt your sleepy speech, lest you get too flustered and stop. But slowly his laughter stopped, turning into a soft, if slightly stunned, smile. Your whispers had spiraled from sweet nothings to genuine, hushed compliments, a list of all your favorite traits and qualities. How much you loved his messy hair, his stupid smile, how much you adored the way his jokes left you breathless, how smart he was, how wonderfully, adorably stubborn. Voice becoming breathier as the lure of sleep became great, the last whisper he heard before you slipped into dreams was how much you not only loved, but admired him. No part of him went unloved, in your tirade. That night, Nightowl abandoned all plans to return to work until sunrise, wrapping his arms tight around you and tucking your head under his chin. He sniffled, pinprick tears in his eyes as he grinned from ear to ear. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Cutie.”

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Quest  * ˚ ✦

Quest actively tries to forget this memory. He feels dreadful for taking such comfort in it, the recollection somehow both sparking his self-loathing and soothing his rapid insecurities. He takes great care to keep it wholly to himself, a secret thing for him to treasure on those long, lonely nights when you’re not in his arms. You’d woken from a nightmare, the details of which the both of you have long forgotten, shaken and scared you turned to your partner, gently poking him awake, his name a quiet prayer on your lips. His heart had leapt into his throat at the sight of you, mind racing with possibilities, the ever so slight shake to your outstretched hands, your wide, startled eyes. He sat up instantly, rubbing his blurry eyes to quickly banish all remnants of sleep from his mind. 

“Angel, what’s wrong?” Without another word you buried yourself in his chest, the silent shake to your heavy breaths only worrying him further. One arm wrapped firmly around you, he ran his hand through you hair, gently rocking you as you cry out the remnants of your fear. 

“A nightmare,” You manage to choke out after a few minutes, “I’m sorry for waking you I Just.. I needed..” The shake to your breathing returns and Quest presses a kiss to the crown of your head. 

“There is nothing to apologize for, Angel. I’m glad you woke me up... Do you.. want to talk about it?” A gentle shake of your head is all he needs to resume gently stroking your hair, mind already whirring to come up with suitable distractions. But then you continue, and your words wipe all sensible trains of thought from his mind. “No.. No I just.. I wanted to be near you. You make me feel safe.”

The words short-circuit his brain, his hand going still in your hair, his breath catches pathetically in his throat. He immediately chides himself, he is the one supposed to be taking care of you, and yet all he can think about is your quiet words. He made you feel safe. Every part of him that he hated, that he feared day and night would make you afraid of him, made you feel... safe. Protected. Like simply being in his arms would be enough to chase off all the bad dreams beckoning you from your pillow. A small noise of concern from you is all he needs to draw him out of his stupor, his hold on you tightening as he pressed his nose into your hair, shutting his eyes tight. 

“Of course, Angel. I love you.. I’ve got you..”

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ xyx  * ˚ ✦

Xyx remembers this particular night very fondly. If you’re ever discussing dreams, or just reminiscing on the past he delights in bringing it up to tease and fluster you. It was early morning when it happened, he’d woken up a bit before you, content to cuddle cat and bask in your quiet breaths before he had to get ready to start his day. He’d practically trained himself at this point, to wake up a few minutes before his alarm went off, to spend a little extra time beside you each morning. He’d never told you he did such a thing, a well-kept secret between him and Cat that gave him a few, vital moments to just hold you. No expectations, no rush, just his arms loosely wrapped around you, and your cute little snores. But just as he was getting into the swing of his usual routine, his attention was stolen by the surprised tilt of Cat’s head. You had suddenly sat up, eyes misty and confused, xyx would almost say you were still dreaming, if not for the way you quickly planted your hands on his face, cupping his cheeks with startling urgency. Concern painted your features, but he couldn’t even get his words of concern out before you started rambling.

“Xyx we cant have cat as the flower girl, what if they eat the petals on the aisle! They’ll get sick and we’ll have to call the whole thing off to make sure they’re okay. But I’ve got a plan, we stage a whole thing with cat as the priest! Get them a little bow tie, sit them on an alter or something, they might get bored and wander off but I’m sure we can bribe them with some salmon and-“

He couldn’t help himself, laughter erupting from deep within his chest, his grin only growing at the delightful flush of your cheeks. The slow realization in your eyes as true consciousness kicked back in, burying your face in your hands as he leaned towards you, eyes bright with mischief. 

“Thinking about our wedding already, doll? I haven’t even proposed yet, getting a bit ahead of yourself there.”

Still terribly sleepy, defeat claimed you quickly, slumping against his shoulder with a slight whine, as you scratched behind Cat’s ear. “I daydream enough about it as is, I don’t need it creeping into my dreams to fluster me there either.”

“No, no please, tell me in great, great detail all about the wedding you had planned for us. Cat as the priest, hm?”

“Well of course, you know I’d want my two favorite people at the alter with me.”

“Awww, I’m your favorites'?”

“Second favorite, but sure.”

He laughed, tucking his face into your neck to gently nip at the skin. “You little troll..”

He was all too aware of the engagement ring burning a hole in his bedside draw, but with the way you were cooing down at cat, sleepily whispering about all the wedding plans you’d smuggle them in to, proposing didn’t seem nearly so daunting a task.

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ NakedToaster  * ˚ ✦

NakedToaster tries not to make a habit of crawling into your shared bed hours after you’ve fallen asleep, but sometimes your schedules simply do not wish to align. Whether he’s up late on a grueling raid, listening to xyx’s teases through his headset, or you’ve simply fallen asleep early, exhausted from a long day at work, they always feel a slight pang of guilt crawling into bed beside you. What if they wake you? Did you mind falling asleep without them? It’s the little things that nag at him, late at night like that. One long, sleepy night, up far past his bedtime after a long, but satisfying raid, they attempted to crawl into bed beside you, wincing at every slight creak and moan of the mattress. He didn’t want to rouse you from your sleep, especially not when your job ran you so ragged, you needed all the rest you could get. Even if, and you couldn’t pry this information out of them in any sound state of mind, he found they missed you terribly while you dozed. He stilled as you stirred, sleeping face scrunching up in frustration so adorably, as you began to pat across the bed with your hand, restlessly searching for something just out of reach. Your face broke out into smiles as you found his hand, lazily interlocking your fingers together. He stared at you, face red, you hadn’t even woken from your sleep, still pleasantly dreaming, and yet… you had sought him out. Searched for their hand, for their presence. The blush on their cheeks was frantic, and suddenly, the last thing they wanted to do was sleep. But, so resilient as they were to let you sleep, he settled down beside you, partially hiding his face in his pillow, but unable to completely take his eyes off you. Did you always do this? Search for his hand in the middle of the night? Toasty’s mind was just racing with questions. But then you turned over, pulling your interlocked hands close to your chest, fingers ghosting over your heartbeat, and suddenly it was all Toasty could do not to lose it then and there. Sleep would be a tactical retreat from this blissful torment. 

“..Nh...Nighty Night, sweetheart.”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Thoma ↷ ♡

Thoma prioritizes quality time over most other love languages, just being beside you is enough to satisfy him entirely. But the duties of the Kamisato house require his ever-present attention, tending to chores day and night leaves his schedule overflowing. His work is never finished, and each new day brings a new list of chores with it. But in spite of that, Thoma will always make time for you. No matter how long his list of daily tasks, the housekeeper will make sure he gets his fill of you throughout the day, Archons knows you’re the only thing on his mind all day. Be that waking up an early hour, just to make you breakfast in bed, and steal an extra kiss before he leaves, or sneaking off to spend his lunch break with you, eating homemade lunches side by side, chatting about your days. Walking home after work, hand in hand, you know no matter how busy the both of you get, you’ll always have that little extra time for each other.  “Haha, hey! C’mere quick, I’ve got a few minutes until the tea boils, nobody will notice if I slip away for a moment or two, you know. I’ll try not to get distracted and let the tea boil over like last time, I promise.”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Itto ↷ ♡

Itto can’t go more then a few hours without one of your kisses. It gives him a boost of energy, and good luck to carry him throughout his many battles, or so he claims. Every match, every fight, every challenge big or small simply demands a sweet kiss to carry him through it. Itto would cross land or sea just to sweep you up in his arms, and pepper you with kisses. Your touch alone brightens his day tenfold, and he becomes noticeably sulkier the longer the two of you are apart. Most days it’s hard to keep the Oni’s hands, and lips, off you. Kissing the top of your head as you stroll through the woods, keeping a firm hand around your waist as you wander the markets, smothering your neck with lingering kisses the moment he gets you behind closed doors. His kisses are hardly ever brief, his tongue flush against the pulse point of your neck, sharp teeth grazing the delicate skin. Each peck leaves you breathless and wanting, you have a feeling that's just the way he likes it. 

“Quick, Ayato challenged me to another beetle fight, and I’m determined to kick his sorry butt this time! Haah? What are you looking at me like that for?! I need one of ya kisses to give me good luck, with you on my side, I’m sure to win this time! C’mon C’mon, Lay it on me hot-stuff!”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Gorou ↷ ♡

Gorou works long, daunting hours. Whenever Kokomi demands it, he’s off training his troops, leading them into daunting fights, and bolstering the forces of the resistance at every turn. But no matter what the army demands of him, Gorou always comes home to you. After a long night of bickering with his soldiers, or travelling along arduous beaches, the general loves nothing more then peeling back the clasp of his tent, and basking in the view of you cuddled up in his bed, your soft snores and breaths bringing immediate peace to his troubled, worried heart. The general cares deeply about the people of Inazuma, for the stolen vision bearers and the civilians tormented by the crossfire his cause brings. But when he crawls into bed beside you, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your neck, and letting his tail curl tightly around your waist, he indulges himself, and lets himself believe that everything will work out just fine, so long as he has you sweet, sleepy face to come home to. 

“Oh, I’m sorry dearest, I didn’t mean to wake you. Here, go back to sleep, I'll be right at your side, keeping you safe from harm. Hm..? Oh.. I love you too, forever and always.”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Xiao ↷ ♡

Xiao finds it incredibly hard to spend long periods of time with you. As much as he longs to, as much as he yearns to spend days at a time by your side, doing nothing but eating sweet almond tofu and indulging in the soft caresses of your gentle, untainted hands, he is bound by duty to respond to the call. All too many times he has cursed his own nature, being called just as his lips meet the bare expanse of your collar, or as your hands have nestled into the curls of his hair, never fails to leave a sour, bitter bile toiling in his gut. It scares him, the way you make him selfish, the way he yearns to be normal, to just be with you, with no karmic death leering ever-present over his shoulder. But never the less, whenever he is torn from your side to answer his call, Xiao makes a point to bring you back a souvenir. He cannot always be at your side, this he knows, but you are always on his mind, and he cannot help but see you everywhere. It was a happy accident at first, some wildflowers had reminded him so much of your sweet smile that he couldn’t help but gather them, bashfully presenting them to you upon his return. But now he never fails to present you with something small and earnest, a silk flower from the planes near Wangshu Inn, a piece of Cor Lapis neatly carved into the shape of a heart, anything that may remind you he is always thinking of you, even when you are apart

“... I have brought you something. I- Do not look at me like that, it was nothing so thoughtful, I simply know how much you mortals enjoy these ridiculous gifts so I... gathered some Jade for you. Perhaps we could get it fashioned into matching.. No. Never mind, it was a ridiculous suggestion... Adeptus have no need for such frivolities as jewelry.”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Zhongli ↷ ♡

Zhongli knows all too well how fleeting mortal lives can be. The fear of losing you hangs heavy over him, even though he knows full well there is naught he can due to stop the constant ebb of time. As much as he fears losing you, he fears losing your memory the most. Should erosion steal his memories of you, the memories of your face, your voice, everything that made you the maddening mortal he fell terribly in love with, he doesn’t truly know what he would do. Zhongli wants to ensure no matter what happens that he will preserve your memory for as long as he is able, something so beautiful shouldn’t be snuffed out so quickly. Most days, between long stretches of time close beside you, or valiantly working at the funeral parlor, Zhongli practices a number of skills in order to capture your beauty, candid or posed. He labors over the Kamera, listening with a captivated heart as you teach him the steps to a familiar dance, or the words to a childhood song so that he may teach them to others in your memory. He has even taken up painting, trying to capture your likeness on canvas, too dreadfully embarrassed to show you the half-finished portraits dotted around his office. An endless frustration to have such a beautiful model and yet inadequate skills to capture them, but he intends to preserve, he has many years of peace to enjoy with you yet. 

“Ah, it appears I forgot the steps again. My apologies, my flower, my mind is.. elsewhere today, it would seem. Hm? Oh, no, no there is no need to take a break. Why don’t you preform the steps for me once again? There is no greater joy then watching you in your element, you glow with joy when the music starts you know, such a beautiful smile, and one I never intend to forget.”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Diluc ↷ ♡

Diluc cannot help but fret over you. He is a man who knows loss all to well, and every bump, every sniffle, is enough to send his poor heart into overdrive. You are the person he loves most, to worry over your health seems as natural to him as breathing. In the tender, early stages of your relationship, he floundered with displays of large affection, flushing red in the face at any contact, your smile enough to fluster him completely. But all that would fly out the window the moment you became sick, or injured. It could be anything from a long sickness, or the smallest of scrapes, and Diluc would abandon anything and everything to be at your side, tenderly feeling your forehead with the back of your hand, and pressing tentative kisses to the bandaged wounds. Once you bumped your head at the bar, excitedly chatting and dancing with the patrons, a tipsy man had pushed you just enough to stumble into a hanging decoration. Furious and fearful, Diluc had immediately closed the bar, pressing a cool cloth to your head as he muttered about concussions and precautions and how you shouldn’t come visit him at work anymore, especially if people didn’t know how to behave. You could only get him to quieten down with a kiss that left you both dizzy and starry-eyed, his red-cheeks so endearing you couldn’t help but laugh at him, the bump on your head long forgotten. 

“Love please try to be more careful, I know the basics of medicine but really, what if you get seriously hurt on one of your reckless adventures? I’d be... lost without you. W...What do you mean you don’t mind as long as I kiss it better!? Love, this is serious!”