#‘but you just said you found stuff you didn’t remember’

[rynwrites4fun]

Across The Hall (4) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F! Neigbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: You and Michael are catching up on home duties, tackling laundry and now grocery shopping. As you joke around in the aisles, having fun together, you’re suddenly interrupted by someone Michael knows. The encounter leaves Michael quickly defending himself, insisting that he doesn't have feelings for you, while you start to wonder if your playful behavior gave the wrong impression.

Word Count: 2880

Warnings: Age Gap (Mid 20s/ Early 50s)

Authors Note: Hello! This is prob gonna be my last post for now just because these last two weeks of May I am absolutely SLAMMED. Hanging on by a thread at my job, but I got 10 days left. I’m ready for summer. I’ll be back sometime beginning of June. Very sorry. Again thank you for all the love!!! This is gonna have to hold y’all over for a minute. - ryn

“Guess you had the same idea as I did,” you chuckle as you stand in the doorway of the laundry room.

Michael looks over his shoulder as he tosses his scrubs into the drum of the washing machine.

“Hey,” he smiles.

With your basket on your hip and holding it with one hand, you move towards the washing machine next to him.

“You’ve been neglecting home duties too?” you ask, popping open the washer and tossing in your clothes.

Michael lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Is it that obvious? I’ve been running on empty lately—just trying to keep up.”

He measures out the detergent, pours it in, shuts the lid, and turns the knobs with a practiced motion before starting his load.

“I have a mountain of stuff to do…I have to go grocery shopping,” you say, rubbing your forehead as if just remembering.

You toss in a couple of detergent pods and close the washer with a quiet thud and start the machine. 

“So do I,” Michael replies, leaning his back against the washer. “My fridge is completely empty”

There’s a small pause. The hum of the machines fills the space. You glance sideways at him, then back at your basket.

“We could go together…after our laundry's done?” 

” you offer, your voice gentle, almost careful.

You’d found excuses to spend time with Michael—more than just him stepping in to help. Taking you to dinner when Aiden flaked, fixing your jammed window, carrying that heavy shelf box up to your apartment and assembling it. As much as you appreciated all of it, something had shifted.

Your friendship with Michael was growing into something solid, something you looked forward to. You found yourself craving his company, wanting to be around him more than you ever expected.

It wasn’t because you needed something. It was because being with him felt easy, calm, and real.

You wanted more than just passing chats in the lobby or quick moments in the elevator. You wanted time together that didn’t need a reason.

So when you suggested grocery shopping, it wasn’t about the errands—it was about spending time with him. Just being.

He looks over at you, the smile returning—this time slower, warmer. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.”

—

You and Michael walked into the city’s grocery store, reusable bags in hand. The automatic doors whooshed open, letting in the familiar scent of produce and deli meats. Michael grabbed a cart, glancing over at you with a small smile.

“Alright,” he said, rolling up his sleeves a little. 

“What’s first on your list?”

You pulled out your phone, scanning the notes app. “Eggs. Bread. Fruit. Veggies. Stuff for dinner. Oh—sprinkle of junk food” 

He laughed. “A sprinkle?”

“Okay maybe more than just a sprinkle”

“How about you?” you asked, glancing over at him as he steered the cart forward.

“Pretty much the same as you…Minus the actual planning. I just sort of walk around until something calls to me.” He shrugs

You gave him a look. “So you’re a wander-and-wing-it kind of shopper.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright then,” you said, nudging the cart playfully. “Let’s start with my list, and if something speaks to you along the way, you can toss it in.”

The two of you start in the produce section.

You gasped, eyes lighting up as you spotted them. “Look at the tulips!”

Without thinking, you stepped closer, admiring them. “I love when they’re still closed or just starting to bloom. Not fully open—just that halfway point…”

You glanced back at Michael, smiling softly. “They’re my favorite flowers.”

You continued walking, not noticing that Michael had lingered for just a second longer.

As he passed by the cart, he glanced at the flowers again, filing it away.

Tulips. Half-bloomed. Your favorite.

He made a mental note.The two of you wander through the aisles. You grab the things on your list, while Michael picks up whatever catches his eye, things he wants, not necessarily things he needs.

You talk mostly about food. What you like, What you don’t and a few things in between.

In aisle nine, you spot a bag of Nutella Biscuits, your absolute favorite. Your friend had gotten you hooked on them.

You reach for the last bag on the shelf  and so does he.

Fingers brush.

Neither of you pulls away. Your hands linger, resting lightly over the glossy packaging.

The air shifts, quiet, still charged.

“Hey, I saw those first,” you say, raising a brow.

Michael smirks. “Pretty sure my hand got there first.”

“These are my favorites.”

“They’re my guilty pleasure.”

You narrow your eyes. “Oh don’t think I won’t fight you for these, old man—because I will.”

“Oh, you think you’re so funny,” he scoffs out a laugh.

You quickly yank the bag toward you. “Mine!”

“Come here!”

He steps forward, catching you around the waist, gently pulling you back against his chest. His arm wraps around you as he tries to grab the bag from your hands.

You shriek out a giggle. You twist and thrash against him, laughing, still clutching it. “Michael!”

“Hand it over!” he laughs

“Robby?” a voice calls suddenly from the end of the aisle.

You both freeze. Still tangled together. 

 Dana Evans, his colleague and charge nurse. His friend, the closest thing he had to a sister, stands there at the end of the aisle, eyebrows raised at the scene in front of her.

“Dana—” he says, startled. He quickly lets you go, the playful teasing evaporating as his hands fall to his sides.

“Hey,” she says, walking over with a grocery basket tucked in the crook of her arm.

You glance at Michael. There’s a flicker in his eyes, like surprise, maybe discomfort. His posture stiffens, the easy playfulness from a moment ago gone.

It almost feels like he doesn’t want her to see you together.

And that… stings more than you expect.

“Who’s this?” She asked to move closer to the two of you. 

You step in quickly, offering a polite smile and introducing yourself “…I'm his neighbor. Just… a friend.”

You don’t mean to sound awkward, but the words come out carefully, almost rehearsed—like you’re making sure they land a certain way.

Was she someone he was seeing? And here you are, being too playful, too comfortable with him. You didn’t mean to cross any lines, to overstep any boundaries. That wasn’t your intent.

“Right..” She nods. “I’m Dana,” she smiles, but gives Michael a look. 

You felt out of place—like maybe you had crossed a line after all. Like you were standing somewhere you didn’t belong.

You hold out the bag, whacking him in the stomach with it, not on purpose just out of being flustered. “I uh.. I don’t want these anymore. You can have them.” 

Michael blinked, taking the bag from you, confusion flickering in his eyes as you started walking away.

“Where are you going?” he asked, noticing the shift in your tone, in your posture.

Without meeting his eyes, you kept straight, not looking back “I just remembered—I, uh, need to grab something from another aisle.”

It’s a lie, you both knew it was, you don’t wait for a response as you turn the corner, needing more distance than biscuits.

Michael he calls after you, he watches disappear, the forgotten bag of Nutella biscuits still in his hand.

Your voice, your expression, the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes—it all hit Michael harder than he expected. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to introduce you to Dana before you slipped away.

His attention goes back to Dana. She had only laughed. “Oops. Didn’t mean to scare her off…”

“She probably thinks we’re dating,” Michael muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “With you eyeing her down like that.”

Dana shot him a look. She threw a hand up, still grinning “That’s your fault! You didn’t introduce me fast enough! I run to the grocery store for oat milk and walk into aisle nine to find my friend pressed up against a woman, playfully fighting over cookies!”

She begins to get noisy.

“So who is she?” She was waiting for him to give her more information about who you are and the moment between the two she witnessed. 

Michael rolled his eyes and placed the Nutella biscuits into the grocery cart with a little more force than necessary. “Dana, don’t start—” knowing what she’s thinking. 

“Oh, come on!” Dana said, nudging him with her elbow. “Robby, she’s cute! You’ve clearly been spending time with her. How long has that been going on?! How come you never mentioned her?” Dana asked, with a smile on her face

Michael let out a breath and maintained his composure, pushing the cart forward a few inches. “Because Dana, nothing is going on. She’s just my neighbor.”

“She looked a lot more than a “neighbor” when I entered the aisle.” Dana said with a knowing look, cocking her head in the direction you’d disappeared.

He rolled his eyes.

He started pushing his cart, turned down the next aisle, hoping the shelves of canned goods might somehow end the conversation. “Dana, please drop it.”

Dana wasn’t going to drop it. She fell in step beside him, her gaze sharp. “So you’re seeing her?”

He froze, picking up a can of beans off the shelf, his fingers brushing the label like it held the answer. “No, I’m not seeing her. She has a boyfriend” 

Dana arched her brow. “That didn’t answer the question. You’re not seeing her—but are you wanting to?”

Michael didn’t respond right away. He turned the can in his hand, then returned it to the shelf, avoiding her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Like I said, she’s got someone.”

“But you don’t,” Dana pointed out, a note of challenge in her voice. “And last I checked, play fighting over cookies and laughing like that isn’t how you act with someone you’re indifferent to.”

He gave her a look, sharp and tired all at once. “You’re reading too much into it.”

“I’m reading what was right in front of me. Body language doesn’t lie, Robby”

Michael exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “She’s easy to be around, okay? She’s funny, she’s sweet. I like her company, but we’re just friends. I'm not trying to mess with someone who’s already in a relationship. I just help her out with stuff, you know be a neighbors ” 

Dana softened just slightly. “That’s not what it looks like on my end”

“Think what you want Dana, but she and I are friends. That’s all. Nothing more.”

He started pushing the cart down the aisle, leaving her standing behind. “I gotta finish shopping,” he muttered—and find you, he thought.

“We’ll continue this conversation later, Michael!” she called after him.

“No we won’t, Dana!” he yelled back in a sing-song tone as he turned into the next aisle.

—-

You were in the freezer section, staring at the wall of ice cream like you were deep in thought about flavors, though your mind was still spinning from the moment with Michael and awkward interaction with the woman Dana.

From the corner of your eye, you saw him approaching with the cart.

“So ice cream was that important, huh?” Michael said, pulling up beside you. “That’s what made you run off?”

You didn’t look at him right away. “I didn’t run off.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah, you kinda did. You didn’t even give me a chance to introduce you to Dana.”

“I didn’t want to be in the way…” 

“You weren’t in the way” 

Silence falls between the two of you. 

“So you and Dana?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but the question comes out a little too pointed.

“I work with her,” Michael replies. “She’s the dayshift charge nurse—”

You nod, not really sure what to say, or what exactly you’re feeling. You weren’t trying to pry. Not really. 

Then it hits you—a wave of guilt, sharp and sudden. You start replaying the moment in the aisle. The laughter, the teasing, the way you’d been so at ease with him. If Dana was someone he was seeing, the whole scene would have easily been misread. Maybe you were too comfortable. Too close. You hadn’t meant to cross a line, but now you’re afraid you had.

Before the guilt can fully settle in, Michael speaks again—his voice softer now, his eyes steady on you, like he already knows exactly where your thoughts have gone.

“Dana’s like a sister,” he says, and somehow, it’s like he’s reading your mind.

His tone is calm, even—but there’s a quiet urgency there, tucked just beneath the surface. Like he wants to be sure you hear him. Like it matters that you believe it.

You look at him “Oh… I thought you two were…”

“I know what you must’ve thought,” he interrupts gently, ���but it’s not like that. Our coworkers joke that we're ‘work spouses,’ but she’s just my friend. We’ve known each other a long time. That’s all.”

He doesn’t really know why he feels the need to clarify all of that to you. He shouldn’t care what you think. But deep down, he does for some reason. 

A beat passes.

“Are you… seeing anyone?” you ask, your voice softer this time. You don’t know what made you ask. Curiosity, maybe since the two of you were sorta on the topic. 

“No,” he says after a moment, shaking his head. “I haven’t dated in a while.”

There’s a quiet honesty in the way he says it. Not embarrassed. Just real. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a second, neither of you says anything.

You wondered how he was still single.

Michael was kind. Steady. The kind of man who listened, who remembered little things, who made you feel like you mattered. He wasn’t flashy, but he didn’t need to be. Just being around him made you feel calm.

Any woman would be lucky to have him.

He seemed like the kind of person who wouldn’t make you question where you stood. Who would show up, say how he felt, and mean it.

You let the thought pass. 

“So…should I get Mint Chocolate Chip or Cookie Dough?” 

“Mint”

“Alright, Mint Chocolate chip it is” you open the door in the freezer section, and placing it into the cart. 

——-

“Here, let me get those—” Michael reached for your reusable bags  along with his at check out. 

“Michael, stop,” you said, trying to swat his hands away. “I can carry my own groceries.”

“I know you can,” he said, easily slipping them from your grip. “But you shouldn’t have to.”

“They’re heavy, and—Michael, no—”

“Stop arguing with me and just let me carry the groceries,” he said, giving you a pointed look.

You huffed, but there was no real heat behind it. “Fine.”

He smiled, victorious. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

The two of you walked back to the apartment, climbing the stairs to the sixth floor, reusable bags in hand—well, in his hands. You stopped in the hallway, right between your doors.

“Thanks tagging along with me,” you said, turning toward him. “And for carrying my groceries… which, I’m more than capable of doing.” You take your bags from his hands. 

“Thanks for letting me tag along, and I know you can carry your own groceries,” Michael said, his voice low and easy. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

“Oh—before I forget,” Michael said, reaching into one of his reusable bags.

He pulled out a small bouquet of tulips, their soft petals just beginning to open, one of the bouquets you were admiring earlier. 

You gasped. “Michael, what? When did you get these? I was with you the whole time!”

“I have my ways,” he said with a teasing grin.

You looked at him, touched. Your pout wasn’t sad—just soft, surprised, the kind that tugged at the heart.

“Thank you, they’re beautiful” 

“Oh, here—take these,” he says with a grin, holding out the Nutella cookies like a peace offering, but his eyes are still challenging.

You shake your head. “You take them.”

He scoffs, clearly amused. “Well, you fought me for them.”

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. “Technically, I didn’t win.”

“Neither did I,” he says, shrugging like it's no big deal, but the tension in the air suggests otherwise.

A beat passes. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eye, you suggest, “How about we rock-paper-scissors for them?”

“Alright, you’re on,” he replies,

You both set your bags down with a soft thud, the hallway around you oddly quiet as you face each other.

The air feels a little charged as you both prepare. The competitive energy lingers in the air. Michael steps back, getting into position with an exaggerated stance.

“Alright ready?” He asks.

You nod in response.

"Rock-Paper-Scissors-Shoot!" you both say in unison, your hands moving in perfect sync.

You take a deep breath and throw your hand out confidently—rock.

His hand, paper, covers your rock.

“Haha! Sucker!” he cackled, snatching the bag from the ground and holding it over his head like a trophy.

You gasped, mock-offended. “You are the worst!”

“I am the champion,” he corrected, already walking in a victory strut toward his door. “Rock? Really? Rookie move.”

You shook your head, laughing as you scooped up your bags. “Enjoy them — I hope they go stale before you open them.”

He glanced back over his shoulder with a grin. “Joke’s on you. I’m opening them now.”

And with that, he tore open the bag, popped a biscuit into his mouth, and held another one out toward you — his smile softening just slightly.

“Want one?” he offered.

You hold out your hand, and he rattles the bag to get one out for you. 

“Thanks,” you said, biting into the biscuit.

You held out your hand, and he gently rattled the bag until one slid free. He placed it in your palm like it was something more than a cookie.

“I’ll see you later, Michael.”

You unlocked it, picked up your bags, and stepped inside.

“I’ll see you around,” he called, turning toward his side of the hallway.

The door closed behind you, but the smile stayed — along with the taste of chocolate and something just a little sweeter.

Tags: tag: @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @beebeechaos @antisocialfiore @delicatetrashtree @xxxkat3xxx @homebytheharbor @woodxtock @letstryagaintomorrow @livingavilaloca @elkitot @annabellee88 @hagarsays @emma8895eb @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing @jazzimac1967 @lafemme-nk @kmc1989 @whos6claire @harrysgothicbitch @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @silas-aeiou @k3ndallroy @ohmystrawberrycheesecake @ay0nha @404creep @dantemorenatalie @obfuscateyummy @steviebbboi @alliegc28 @catmomstyles3 @ardentistella @madprincessinabox @circumspectre @the-one-with-the-grey-color @thatchickwiththecamera @violetswritingg

Across The Hall (1) (2) (3) (4)

[pazzi5351]

Even if you called 6 months later at 3 am, I’d still answer.

Paige x Azzi

Word count: 1.4k

AN: little one shot I wrote based on this book on tt I saw! Listen to “party 4 you” once Paige gets to the house if you want a slight heartbreak! For the girly who asked for angst, I hope I fulfilled your wishes! Live reacts are greatly wanted!!!!! Hope you like🙂‍↕️

————————————————————————————

6 months.

It had been 6 whole months since their last conversation.

It had been 6 months since Paige’s world was turned upside down when Azzi posted a picture of her and her boyfriend.

It had been 6 months since Paige lost her best friend.

6 months since she lost the love of her life.

6 months and she felt it everyday.

She felt it during practice when she saw Azzi running the floor.

She felt it during classes when she was supposed to be paying attention.

But most of all, she felt it in the quiet moments. The moments where she was by herself, in the quietness of her room, and could hear the hollowed memories of their laughter echoing from the walls

It was one of those quiet sleepless nights when she got the call.

Incoming call: Azzi 💗 [3:02 am]

Paige scrambled to sit up. Flattening her hair down with her palm, trying to look presentable, even though it was just a regular call. She picked up cautiously, but with care.

“Azzi? What’s the matter?”

“Paige,” Azzi whispered through the phone. Paige could tell she was crying, or had been crying. “I fucked up so bad. Please come get me. I need you.”

“I’m on the way.” Paige had barely even hung up the phone before she was sliding into her shoes, grabbing her car keys, and flying out the door.

Checking Azzi’s location once she got to the car, Paige realized that Azzi had talked about going to fucking Jackson’s frat party earlier to Caroline. She didn’t think about the speed limit once as she rushed to the edge of campus.

Towards the frat house.

Towards Azzi.

Once Paige got to the house, she quickly threw the car in park— jumping out, and rushing towards the door.

She banged on the door three times before Jackson, the culprit of the evening, answered.

“Yoo, Paige! What’s up bro? Come in get a—“ Jackson barely got to finish before Paige interrupted him.

“Where’s Azzi?”

“Uh, she was here. Haven’t seen her in a bit.”

Paige, growing irritable by the second snapped. “She’s your fucking girlfriend Jackson. How the fuck do you not know where she is.” Paige pushed past him into the house.

Ignoring whatever else Jackson was saying about Azzi going to the bathroom or something.

Paige checked every room in the house. The basement. All the bedrooms, ignoring the complaints she got as she did. All the bathrooms, until she found one. Tucked all the way into the far corner of the house that was locked.

She knew Azzi was in there. She also knew that Azzi wouldn’t open the door for anyone who knocked regularly. So, she used their secret knock combination they made one night at Azzi’s grandparents cabin.

“Az, since like you know, we’ve been, like, doing stuff, we should make a secret knock that we do on each other's doors so we know it’s just us.” Paige said, as she stood in between the doorframe of the bathroom and Azzi’s room.

Azzi looked up at the blonde. A look on her face paige didn’t recognize. “That sounds like a pretty good idea P. Make it now, well, since you’re standing at the door.”

“Oh, yeah ok.”

Paige knocked once, then paused. Knocked four times, then paused. Then, knocked three times. Her knocks rhythmically spelling out “I love you”.

“Do you think that’s okay? We just have to remember to pause in between the knocks. It’s once, then four times, then three times.” Paige said, nervously, as she picked with her nails, hoping Azzi didn’t catch on to what the knocks spelled out.

Azzi smiled. “Yeah Paige, it’s perfect.”

Paige hesitated as she stood in front of the bathroom door. What if Azzi didn’t remember, she thought.

The thought was short lived as Paige began to knock anyways.

She knocked once. Then four times. Then three times.

The door clicked unlocked.

Paige opened the door as quickly as she could and stepped inside the bathroom. The sight she saw broke her heart.

Azzi was sitting on the bathroom floor. Knees pulled in against her chest. Cheeks flushed— with tear marks sitting on her face. And, a look in her eyes that Paige swore, could make her cry too.

“Azzi, baby. What happened?” Paige asked, as she stepped closer to Azzi, sitting down with her, gently placing a hand on her cheek.

“I fucked up Paige.” Azzi started, as she began to cry again. “I came here, to this stupid fucking party because Jackson was all like ‘Come on Az! It’ll be fun!’ And I just, I don’t know what I was expecting, but Jackson fucking stood in the middle of the fucking house and damn near fucked this random girl infront of everyone. With no shame and I—. I’m not even upset he cheated on me, I’m more upset that I stood there and watched. I couldn’t move Paige. I was stuck. But the only thing I could think about is how, you would never do that to me. You’d never invite me to a party and stand in the middle of it and cheat on me. No, you’d do the opposite. You’d throw the party for me. Let everyone know I’m yours and you wouldn’t think twice about it. And I fucked up not choosing you. For six fucking months I didn’t choose you and I’ve regretted it everyday, Paige. I’m so sorry.”

Paige could only look at Azzi.

Azzi, the girl she loves more than herself.

Azzi, the girl who ghosted her for 6 months.

Azzi, the girl she’d answer the phone for at 3 am.

Azzi, the girl she’d forgive in every lifetime.

Paige pulled Azzi into a kiss. It was slow, familiar—a deep, silent conversation between them. One that said everything Azzi just did, and everything Paige didn’t say for 6 months.

Paige pulled away first and grabbed Azzi’s hand, pulling her up.

“Come on. Let’s go home.” Paige said, keeping her and Azzi’s hands interlocked.

Azzi nodded and let herself be pulled along.

When Jackson noticed Paige and Azzi leaving, he paused his drinking game to catch them before they got to the door. “Hey! Where are you going? Oh Azzi! There you are! I’ve been looking for you for hours babe!”

“She’s leaving. Don’t bother calling her tomorrow either. Not like you would’ve anyways.” Paige answered coldly, pushing her and Azzi’s way past Jackson, shoulder checking him on the way out.

Back in her dorm, Azzi sat on Paige’s bed. Knees in her chest, biting her bottom lip in thought, looking at Paige.

Paige sat in her desk chair, looking right back at Azzi.

“I just want to say thank you, Paige. For, you know, getting me out of there.” Azzi said. “You can just ignore what I said earlier. I was just rambling.”

“I can’t forget it. That’s the thing Azzi. I can’t forget anything you’ve said to me. Especially since I’ve felt the same way about you since I was 16, and that’s something that’s never changing.” Paige admitted.

“Oh.”

“Azzi, you remember our secret knock. I mean you had to have, you opened the door when I did it. But have you ever wondered why I made it a one, four, three knock?” Paige questioned.

“No. Not really anyways. I mean, I just thought you liked the way the knocks sounded.” Azzi admitted to the blonde, who was staring at her with an intensity that held all the years between them.

“It means I love you, Azzi. One is for ‘I’. Four is for ‘love’. Three is for ‘you’. I love you Azzi. I’ve loved you everyday since I was 16 and everytime I knocked on your door I told you I love you.” Paige said. “I still loved you during those six months. I still love you now— sitting on my bed, in my shirt, even after you told me to pick you up from your stupid boyfriend.”

Azzi gasped lightly. “I never realized. Oh my God, I’m so stupid. I freaking called you at 3am and I just feel so fucking stupid. It should’ve always been you Paige, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never saw that. I love you too.”

Paige stood up, walked over to her bed, to Azzi. She gently cupped her face and leaned in to kiss her. When she pulled back she looked Azzi in her eyes, and really looked at her.

“You’re not stupid. I am. I’m so stupidly in love with you, that even 6 months later, I’d answer your 3 am calls with no hesitation.”

————————————————————————————

AN: for the anon that said my work is Ai, would you like to see the timestamps of my writing orrr ??? Anywho! Hope you guys like!

[sturniololuvz]

can you do something where maybe chris’s daughter asks nick to help her get birth control, and she tries to hide it from chris, but he’s actually understanding about it? idk i hope that made sense lmao it’s been a long day

“Grown Conversations”

Y/N stood in the hallway outside Nick’s room, shifting her weight between her feet. She’d been pacing for ten minutes, mentally rehearsing the conversation, psyching herself out. Her hands were clammy. Her stomach? A full circus.

She finally knocked.

Nick opened the door, eyebrows raising when he saw her face. “Everything okay?”

“I need to talk to you,” she blurted. “Privately.”

Nick stepped aside. “Always.”

She sat on the edge of his bed, chewing her nail, unsure where to start.

Nick sat across from her, careful not to rush. “Take your time.”

She inhaled shakily. “I was wondering if you could maybe… help me get on birth control?”

Nick blinked.

“I’m not—like—I’m not being reckless or anything,” she said quickly. “I just… I’ve been thinking about it. And I didn’t know who else to go to.”

“Not your dad?”

She bit her lip. “I’m not ready for that. He’ll freak. Or… I don’t know. I just didn’t want him to see me differently.”

Nick stayed quiet for a second, reading her face like he always did. “Okay. First of all — thank you for trusting me. That means a lot. Second — this is totally normal, Y/N. You’re growing up, and being responsible about your body is a good thing.”

She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“I can help you figure it out,” Nick added. “Go with you. Be there. But I also think… at some point, your dad should know. Not because you’re doing anything wrong — but because I think he’d want to be there for you.”

Y/N stared at the floor. “What if he’s disappointed?”

Nick leaned forward. “You’re his daughter. He might be surprised. He might need a minute. But he loves you. He’ll get it.”

⸻

She didn’t tell Chris.

Nick did.

Not in a tattletale way — more like a gentle heads-up, over a quiet cup of coffee the next morning.

Chris’s reaction wasn’t what Y/N expected.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t panic. He just sat back in his chair, ran a hand over his face, and said, “Wow.”

Nick waited.

Chris eventually nodded. “She’s growing up.”

“She’s smart about it,” Nick offered. “She’s not doing anything reckless.”

“I know,” Chris muttered. “I just… I remember when she was five and refused to wear pants because they were ‘too bossy.’ And now she’s talking about birth control.”

“She still refuses to wear jeans,” Nick added dryly.

Chris huffed a laugh. “True.”

Later that day, Chris found her in the kitchen. She tensed when he walked in.

“I know,” he said gently. “Nick told me.”

Y/N’s face dropped. “Dad—”

“I’m not mad,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “You’re being safe. That’s all I care about. And… I get why you went to Nick first. It’s easier, sometimes, to talk to someone who’s not your dad.”

She blinked, stunned.

Chris opened his arms. “C’mere.”

She fell into the hug.

“You can always come to me, though,” he said into her hair. “Even for the big, uncomfortable stuff. I’d rather know than have you feel alone.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Don’t be. Just… keep trusting the people who love you. We’ve got your back, always.”

⸻

That night, she left a sticky note on his bedroom door.

thank you for not freaking out. you’re a pretty cool dad.

Chris stuck it in his wallet.

He kept it there for years.

⸻

[mandoalorian]

Hello, I loved your Ava piece, and I just wanted to request Ava Starr dating hcs with one of her teammates (gn, preferably).

operation: dating ava starr

gender neutral reader x ava starr/ghost

rating: 16+ — no smut but some spice, while keeping it gender neutral of course. <3 thunderbolts* spoilers.

authors note: i’m sorry this took so long. it’s something i kept leaving and coming back to, and worked on over the span of a few weeks. these headcanons sit somewhere between basic headcanons to mini-drabbles. i hope that’s okay. @ava-starrs-girlfriend is a great author to send any future ava requests too, if you wanted some more stuff to read (since i primarily write for bucky) <3

a stolen rooftop moment ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Ava loves the quality time; it’s her love language. Working together on the New Avengers team is fun, but it’s rare you get alone time with your girlfriend. Ava makes sure the little time you do get, is special, well thought out and worth remembering.

You sat on a hidden rooftop Ava had phased you through, the city’s glow sprawling below. She’d found the spot during a mission and swore it was your secret. That night, she leaned against you, her high-tech Ghost suit faintly humming, and pointed out a constellation. “Never had time to look up before you,” she murmured, her voice soft. You tucked a blanket around her shoulders, and her rare, shy smile warmed you more than the night air.

diner safe haven ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Ava finds joy in the little things, and you encourage this, knowing it helps her stay grounded. Sometimes, she can feel overwhelmed, but she has a habit of masking her feelings, which is easy to do when she can just disappear within seconds. However, you bring out the best in her and can always tell when the voices in her head are too loud.

You shared a booth in a 24-hour diner, Ava’s favorite after a New Avengers mission. She’d just returned from a covert job, her eyes tired but soft as you slid her a milkshake. She ranted quietly about Yelena’s chaos, then slipped her hand into yours under the table, her thumb tracing circles. “This,” she said, glancing at you, “makes all the bullshit worth it.” You squeezed her hand, heart full.

stargazing ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Ava has always been transfixed by space— the moon and the stars and the infinite number of galaxies. On clear nights, she takes you to the rooftop of the New Avengers Tower and teaches you a few things you didn’t know. Not just about the universe, but about her. Your universe.

You lay on a blanket on the roof, Ava’s head on your chest as you stargazed. She’d opened up about her parents’ loss, her voice raw from the weight of her past. You brushed a strand of hair from her face, promising you’d always be there. She nestled closer, whispering, “You’re my home.” The stars above felt brighter, knowing you were her safe place.

quantum keepsake ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Whilst Ava enjoys sacred quality time, she also has a habit for gift-giving. But she never gives consumables and it’s always something with a history behind it, or something she knows you’d treasure forever.

One morning, you found a small quantum-tech trinket on your nightstand, glowing softly—Ava’s subtle gift from a mission. She’d phased in while you slept, too shy to give it in person. When you thanked her later, her cheeks flushed, and she mumbled, “Thought you’d like it.” You wore it as a necklace, and her eyes softened every time she saw it against your skin.

movie night ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Bucky, Bob, Alexei, John and Yelena head out for the night, giving you and Ava the perfect excuse for a chill move night in the comfort of your home.

You curled up on the couch for a rare movie night, Ava’s arm around you. She’d been tense, so you paused the film, letting her talk, your fingers laced with hers. She leaned into you, whispering, “You make me feel safe.” You kissed her forehead, holding her until she relaxed, safe in your warmth.

On to more steamy stuff…

post-mission heat ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

After a grueling mission against O.X.E. Group, Ava phased into your apartment, her suit scuffed and hair disheveled. You barely had time to speak before she pinned you against the wall, her lips crashing into yours with a desperate edge. “Missed you,” she whispered, her phasing flickering as she pressed closer, her hands roaming your sides. The heat of her touch lingered long after she pulled back, her smirk promising more.

phased tease ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

One evening, Ava caught you off guard, phasing through your bedroom wall while you changed. Her eyes glinted mischievously as she leaned against the doorframe, suit glowing faintly. “Like what I see,” she teased, stepping closer. You tugged her by the jacket, and she let you pull her onto the bed, her kisses slow and deliberate, each one sparking heat as she phased just enough to keep you chasing her touch.

rooftop tension ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

During a New Avengers press event, Ava phased you away from the chaos to a skyscraper’s roof. Her frustration with the “hero” label boiled over, and she pulled you close, her breath hot against your neck. “You’re the only thing that makes sense,” she growled, kissing you deeply. Her phasing flickered, making your skin tingle as she pressed herself against you, the city below a distant hum.

shower love ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Ava returned from fighting Doctor Doom, adrenaline still coursing through her. She phased you both into your bathroom, steam rising from the shower. “Need you,” she breathed, tugging you under the water. Her hands slid down your back, her kisses fierce yet tender, the warmth of her stabilized body grounding you both. You melted into her, the world outside forgotten.

taste of sweetness ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

One night, Ava’s dry wit turned playful as she phased through your kitchen, stealing a bite of your dessert. You chased her, only for her to pin you against the counter, her eyes dark with intent. “Caught you,” she murmured, her lips brushing your ear before trailing down your jaw. Her hands gripped your hips, her phasing teasingly unstable, leaving you breathless and craving more.

——࣪ ִֶָ☾.——

i hope you enjoyed! <3

[insomniac4000]

Making It Right ChrisMD

Chris has been a little absent lately but makes up for it

Y/N stared at the clock on the oven.

00:43

She tightened the dressing gown around her waist and padded barefoot into the living room. The soft lamp light glowed against the paper bag on the counter—Thai takeaway, untouched, cold by now. She’d waited. She’d really waited.

The last time she checked her phone, it was 11:30 p.m., and there was still no message from Chris. Not a call, not a “Sorry, running late.” Nothing. She had scrolled through her feed aimlessly, trying not to obsess. Then Arthur had posted that story: Chris at the pub, pint in hand, laughing.

That hurt. More than she expected it to.

Tonight had been their night. No collabs, no emails, no edits—just dinner, wine, and that film she kept telling him about. She’d lit candles. She even did her hair, for God’s sake, she had enough and went to bed.

Chris stumbled through the front door just after 1:00 a.m., the click of the lock sounding louder than usual in the quiet of the house. He kicked off his trainers, the buzz of laughter and lager from earlier still fading in his head. The shoot had wrapped at eight, but a few of the lads suggested grabbing a pint. One drink turned into three, and the idea of texting Y/N to let her know evaporated under the pub lights and pool table banter.

“Y/N?” he called softly, even though he knew she’d be asleep—or pretending to be.

No reply.

The living room lamp had been left on, casting a warm glow over the now-cold takeaway he’d promised they’d share hours ago. Her favourite Thai—green curry, no bamboo shoots, extra rice—still in its paper bag, untouched. Guilt stabbed him in the chest.

He padded into the bedroom and found her lying on her side, back to the door, clearly awake.

“Hey,” he said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Sorry I’m late. We went for a couple after the shoot, and—”

“I know,” she said, her voice brittle. “I saw Arthur’s Instagram story. Looked like fun.”

Chris winced. Of course someone posted. “I didn’t mean to stay that long. I lost track of time.”

She finally rolled over to face him, and her eyes were red, lashes clumped together. “You didn’t text. You didn’t call. And you knew we had plans tonight. This was supposed to be our night.”

Chris opened his mouth, but nothing useful came out. She sat up, pulling the duvet around her, like she needed it for protection.

“This isn’t the first time, Chris,” she said, more tired than angry. “You’ve been cancelling on me for weeks. Always work, or drinks, or something else. I feel like I’m not even on your list anymore.”

“I know,” he admitted, rubbing his face. “I’ve been a dick. I’ve just been caught up with shoots, and brand stuff, and—”

“I don’t care about the brand deals,” she interrupted. “I care that my boyfriend doesn’t even ask how my day was anymore.”

Chris felt like the worst kind of idiot. She wasn’t wrong. He had been so wrapped up in filming and edits and the YouTube treadmill that he’d forgotten the one thing that mattered more than all of it. Her.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I just—I’ve been selfish. You deserve better.”

“I feel like I’m just… waiting around for you to remember I exist.”

That’s what it felt like. Like he loved her—but only when it was convenient.

He opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again. She turned away, tears pricking at her eyes. She didn’t want him to see her like this. Not like some neglected girlfriend begging for attention.

But God, it hurt.

She didn’t say anything, just lay back down and turned away again.

Chris sat there in silence, staring at the floor, wishing he could undo the last month of neglect. He’d taken her love for granted, and now, seeing the tears she tried to blink away, he realised just how close he might be to losing her.

The next morning, Chris was up before sunrise. His phone buzzed with group chats and brand messages, but he ignored them. He had something far more important to focus on.

He scribbled a quick note and left it on her bedside table before quietly slipping out of the room.

“Out running errands. Be back soon. Dress comfy. Today’s all about you. – C x”

She was still in her dressing gown, reading the note again with a skeptical expression. “What’s all this?”

“Morning,” Chris said as he peeked in, holding a tray with two coffees in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. “Flat white with oat milk and cinnamon. And… an almond croissant.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “From Rosemont Café?”

He grinned. “I queued for 20 minutes with a group of cyclists talking about carb-loading. I earned this.”

She let out a breath—something like a laugh. A cautious one.

He handed her the cup. “This is a peace offering. A proper apology is coming.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but took a sip. “You said ��dress comfy.’ That sounds ominous

“Trust me,”

She raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “The coffee and croissant is starting to be a good reason to….”

Chris smiled sheepishly. “Fair. I deserve that.”

She sipped the coffee and sighed. “Okay. What’s next?”

He drove her to a flower market near the river that only opened on Sundays. The kind of place bursting with colour, scent, and elderly vendors shouting about their peonies. Y/N’s eyes lit up as soon as she stepped out of the car.

“I forgot this was today!”

“I didn’t,” Chris said.

They wandered through stalls hand-in-hand, and he insisted she pick whatever she liked. She chose a bundle of soft pink peonies and a cluster of lavender, and Chris carried them like they were treasure.

“You remembered I love lavender,” she said softly, clearly surprised.

Chris shrugged, though his chest ached with regret. “I remember everything about you, Y/N. I’ve just been too much of a knob lately to show it.”

She smiled faintly. “That’s the most British apology I’ve ever heard.”

Next, they drove to a quiet nature reserve just outside the city. A hidden spot Chris knew she loved, especially in spring when the wildflowers bloomed along the trails. He packed a backpack with snacks, blankets, and yes; bug spray knowing Y/N was a magnet for the little creatures.

The walk was peaceful. Birds chirped, sun filtered through the trees, and for the first time in weeks, they talked. Not surface-level updates or reminders, real talking.

She told him about her latest project at work, about a friend’s engagement, about a book she’d read. And he listened—really listened.

When they reached a secluded clearing, he laid out a blanket and opened the bag.

She gasped. “You packed strawberries and Nutella?”

“With toothpicks, so we don’t get sticky fingers. I’ve grown.”

She laughed—a real one—and they sat close, shoulders brushing, feeding each other strawberries and watching bees buzz lazily around the grass.

After a while, she leaned her head on his shoulder. “This is perfect.”

Chris exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath since last night. “I’m really sorry, Y/N. I’ve let you down. I don’t want to be the kind of guy who forgets how lucky he is.”

She looked up at him. “Then don’t be.”

They drove back toward the city, and Chris made one last stop. It was a little overlook on a hill behind a park—a place they’d stumbled upon on their third date. Back then, it was cold and muddy, but they’d watched the sun set and laughed about how neither of them had dressed for hiking.

“I can’t believe you remembered this spot,” she said, looking out over the rooftops.

Chris pulled a hoodie from the car and handed it to her. “Still unprepared, but at least warmer this time.”

They sat on the bench and watched the sun dip behind the skyline.

“I’ve been scared,” he admitted quietly. “Things with the channel have been going well, and I just kept telling myself I had to keep up, say yes to everything. But somewhere along the way, I forgot what matters.”

She turned to face him. “You didn’t forget. You just needed a reminder.”

He nodded. “That reminder nearly left me last night.”

Y/N was silent for a moment, then reached out to intertwine their fingers. “I was really hurt, Chris. But I’m still here.”

And just like that, he felt the knot in his chest loosen.

Back home, she arranged her flowers in a vase while Chris reheated dinner—actual dinner this time, not forgotten takeaway. He lit candles, played her favourite playlist in the background, and poured her a glass of wine.

When they sat down to eat, Chris raised his glass. “To being present. And not being a knob.”

She laughed. “I’ll drink to that.”

They ate, talked, and when she eventually curled up next to him on the sofa, head resting on his chest, Chris pressed a kiss to her hair.

“I love you, Y/N,” he murmured.

She looked up at him with tired but happy eyes. “I love you too. Just… don’t make me cry like that again.”

“Never,” he promised. “Next time I forget what I have, punch me.”

“Oh, I will.”

The next morning Chris posted a photo on Instagram the next morning—just the view from the park bench, captioned “Sometimes you need a reminder of what really matters.”

It wasn’t a brand deal or a challenge video. Just a quiet moment. But in the comments, people noticed.

“This is so wholesome omg.”

“Chris turning into a softie.”

“Did you finally realise your girlfriend’s amazing? Took ya long enough.”

He laughed, handing the phone to Y/N, who rolled her eyes playfully. “Even your fans know.”

Chris pulled her close. “Yeah. But now I really know.”

And he meant it.

[tiki-was-here]

Most Valuable Possession Chapter Three

Injured Athlete Homelander x GN Physical Therapist Reader

Word count: 1.4k

didnt have popeyes while writing this so idk how good this will be. also idgaf about continuity i dont remember if i ever said how long his treatment would take but u dont remember either so its fine. hes such a cutie in this gif i need to impregnate him

Ch 1 Ch 2

John had finally started listening. After weeks of tension and near shouting matches, and you throwing your clipboard down, telling him point-blank that he’d never throw a ball again if he didn’t start respecting your expertise.He stopped pushing past your assigned reps. Stopped making offhand comments about "knowing his own body better than any chart ever could." And with the discipline came something you weren’t expecting—camaraderie (i dead ass had to google this word omfg). Maybe even something warmer than that. His walls didn’t so much come down as they shifted, cracked slightly open to let you glimpse through them.

Conversations wandered more often, lingering long after the check-ups were done. He’d ask about your day, your interests, the things you liked to do outside the clinic. You weren’t sure if it was because he was bored or genuinely interested, but you found yourself answering. You told him about your favorite music, the book collecting dust on your nightstand, the diet you kept saying you’d start but never did. 

The more you talked, the more you saw the version of John he didn’t give to the public. Not the towering all-star, but someone older, a little tired, a little unsure. He confessed more than once that the thought of returning made his stomach twist into knots.

“Baseball was never supposed to be forever,” he told you one afternoon, rolling his shoulder carefully while you adjusted the weights. “No one wants to admit that. Especially not the fans. But when you hit your late thirties in this game, you can basically count the days before you get the boot”

“You could always transition to something else,” you offered lightly. “TV personalty. Sports coach. Hell, you could model. You’ve got the bone structure for it.”

He laughed, short and loud, head tipping back.

“Model, huh? Think I’ve still got it?”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “You know you do.”

That was when his expression turned a little quieter.

“Truth is,” he said, watching you closely, “I don’t really need to work again. I was smart with my money. Got investments in all the right places. If I really wanted to, I could walk away tomorrow and live comfortably.”

You raised a brow. “Then what keeps you in it?”

He shrugged. “Habit, mostly. And maybe…” He tilted his head. “Maybe I was waiting to have someone to walk away with. Makes it easier when there’s something—or someone—waiting for you on the other side you know?”

His voice dropped just enough to change the air between you.

You didn’t quite know how to respond.

—

“You ever think about dating someone younger?” he asked a few sessions later, unprompted.

You blinked. “Uh. Like… how much younger?”

He gave a crooked smile. “I mean, old enough to be an adult. I’m not a creep. But younger. Different phase of life. That sort of thing.”

You grabbed a resistance band from the cabinet and handed it to him, hoping the motion would distract from your flushed face. “I think it depends on the people involved.”

He took it, pulling with practiced motion. “I think it’d be nice, actually. Someone younger. Less jaded. Still soft. Caring.”

You pretended not to notice how his eyes lingered on you as he said it.

As the weeks passed, oddities began piling up.

Patients canceling without notice. Long-time clients of yours suddenly ghosting mid-treatment. Some changed doctors entirely.

“I’ve had some family stuff come up,” one of them told you in a strained phone call, voice rushed and low. “I can’t keep coming in. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

The strange part wasn’t that people left. That happened. But the suddenness of it—the fact that no one said goodbye, the fact that these were people you thought you had a good relationship with.

Still, you tried to shake the unease. It wasn’t like you had any proof. And besides, Johnwas on the cusp of being released. Just a few more weeks, and he’d be officially cleared and you'll surely get an influx of high end clients if all continued to go well/

You told him as much one day, while updating his progress chart , expecting maybe some bravado or excitement.

Instead, he looked almost… sad.

“Well,” he said, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “Guess that means we should celebrate.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Celebrate?”

“Yeah. Properly. Let me take you somewhere nice. I’m talking about the real deal. Five-star. Wine list you can’t pronounce. Something to thank you for all you've done for me. You deserve it after all.”

The way he said it, the way he looked up at you through his lashes with the slightest tilt of his head, made it so easy to say yes.

You gave yourself a once-over in the mirror before leaving, satisfied with how you'd pulled yourself together.When you arrived John was already there waiting in the lobby.  

 He straightened the moment he saw you, and for a heartbeat, all you could do was stare. He cleaned up well. A dark, tailored suit hugged his frame, and his hair was slicked back in that polished way he rarely bothered with when he met with you. He looked every inch the icon the world saw him as—but the way he looked at you made you feel like the only person in the room.

“You look…” he began, then stopped, his eyes trailing over you. “Stunning.”

You murmured a thank-you, letting him lead you into the restaurant. The table was private of course, tucked in a corner far from prying eyes. Everything about the place screamed luxury—from the velvet-lined chairs to the flickering candlelight reflected in polished silver.

And all the while, John couldn’t stop smiling.(breaking the immersion here but hes just so cute i hate him ugh)

He talked easily, charmingly, but beneath it all, there was a strange nervous energy you hadn’t seen in him before. A giddiness that felt almost… too much.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all week,” he admitted, swirling the wine in his glass. “Felt like I was counting the minutes.”

You smiled politely. “It’s a beautiful place. Good pick.”

He leaned forward slightly. “You deserve it. After everything.”

You tried to laugh it off. “I was just doing my job.”

“No,” he said, voice suddenly deeper. “It was more than that. You pushed me. Believed in me. No one’s done that in a long time.”

You gave a small, appreciative smile, suddenly finding it difficult to maintain eye contact. Something about his tone made your stomach twist.

The two of you talked about random things: food, travel, a few stories from your childhood. He ordered for both of you with ease, swirling his wine glass like he was born doing it. You tried to relax, even laughed at some of his jokes.

But as the courses came and went, so did the mood. He grew quieter, eyes fixed on you like he was studying something delicate.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, setting his glass down carefully, deliberately. “I don’t know if I want to go back.”

“To baseball?”

He nodded. “I think I’ve done enough. My legacy’s solid. I could walk away right now and still be remembered.”

“That’s a big decision.”

He smiled. “Yeah. It’s not as scary anymore. Now that I finally have a reason.”

You smiled politely, unsure where this was going but letting him continue. 

His eyes locked with yours. “You.”

Your mouth was suddenly dry. “John—”

“Wait,” he said, holding up a hand. “Let me say it.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his voice lower now.

“I’ve never had someone stick by me the way you have. Not just as my doctor, but emotionally. You listened,cared. You didn’t take my shit. You’re smart. Kind. Gorgeous.”

The world seemed to shrink around you. The sounds of the restaurant dulled, faded. 

“I’m serious,” he added, softer now. “I’d give it all up. Baseball. The spotlight. Everything. If it meant having someone like you.”

He reached across the table and gently touched your hand.

“So,” he said, eyes shining with a strange, almost childlike hope. “What do you think?”

You looked down at his hand, warm against yours.Looked at the man sitting across from you. The one who used to scare you. The one who still might. The one who now looked at you like you were the sun.

And you said—

[skelly-bean]

Love it when I need stuff visible and out in the open for me to remember it exists but then I forget it exists anyways because having something visible and out long enough makes it part of the background and invisible anyways

[maskedbyghost]

more possessive!reader and our man Simon? hell yes!

You leave your stuff at his place like it’s your second apartment. Hair ties on his nightstand, your clothes in his laundry. That one lip balm he pretends not to use but absolutely does. He once found your earring on his pillow and sat there staring at it for ten minutes straight.

You correct girls when they flirt with him. Not rudely. Just with some subtle things. “He doesn’t like gin, actually,” with a little smile. “Simon’s more of a bourbon guy.” Meanwhile, Simon’s standing behind you, blinking like a confused dog. He didn’t even know he was a bourbon guy until you said so.

He starts dressing the way you like without realizing it. You complimented his black joggers once? Suddenly, they’re in heavy rotation. Mention his cologne smells good? He’s wearing it to the grocery store. You say, “I like when you leave your hair messy like that,” and now he’s suspiciously tousled 24/7.

You use your phone like a weapon. Screenshotting girls who like his pics. “This one again?” with a raised eyebrow. Sending him selfies when he’s out late with a little “missing you” just to make sure he’s thinking about you.

Simon tries to stay cool, tries to act unbothered. But then you say something like, “I don’t like when other girls touch you,” and he’s short-circuiting. Sitting there all red-eared and tense like his body’s trying to pretend it’s not turning into goo.

You say “mine” a lot. Half-joking. Especially when someone flirts with him in front of you. You’ll just wrap your arms around his waist, smile up at him, and go, “God, you’re so mine,” like it’s nothing, and he eats it up.

He tries to “set boundaries” exactly one time. It lasts approximately three days before you show up looking hot, acting normal, and sleeping in his bed like nothing ever changed. He doesn’t bring it up again.

He gets real quiet sometimes. He just looks at you like he’s still trying to figure out how the hell he got here, with you wrapped around him, calling him “baby” like it’s always been his name. And then he just mutters, “How the fuck did I ever think we were just friends?”

He calls you bossy. You take it as a compliment. And let’s be honest, so does he. You tell him where to sit, when to eat, what show to watch—and the worst part? He likes it. It’s the only time his brain shuts off. Just nods and goes, “Yes, love,” like you didn’t just grab him by the collar and steer him like a Roomba.

You never pretend to be casual about him. You look at him like he belongs to you. Like the very idea of someone else getting his attention is personally offensive. He’ll be tying his boots, not even thinking about anything, and you’ll mutter, “I hope no one tries to flirt with you today. I don’t feel like playing nice.”

You get real smug when he shuts down other women. Like, you knew he would, but it still hits different hearing him say “nah, I’ve got someone” without hesitation. You’ll just smile to yourself and say, “Good boy,” when he gets home—and he’ll pretend to roll his eyes while trying not to get hard.

You don’t get jealous. You get territorial. There's a difference. Jealousy is insecure. Territorial is knowing you’ve already won and still refusing to let anyone look at your prize without remembering whose he is.

And he loves it. Loves the way you don’t play games. Loves that you’re all in. Loves that being with you feels like being chosen every day.

PART 3

---------------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6

[carnalcrows]

BABYSITTER - THE SALESMAN

pairing: the salesman x male reader

synopsis: When a broke college student takes a babysitting gig, he signs up for snack time and bedtime stories—but ends up with bloodstains, cryptic employers, and an unsettling crush on the kid’s disturbingly hot dad.

content warnings: 18+, bottom male reader, blackmailing, blood, anal, breeding, creampie, missionary, mating press, dubcon, mentions of kidnapping, too much plot

word count: 5.2k (good lord)

It was a typical Wednesday afternoon when you found yourself perched in the corner of the campus café, a half-empty cup of cold coffee sweating onto the table beside your laptop. Bills, tuition, and the general weight of adulthood had a way of pressing down on your shoulders, leaving you in a constant state of mild panic. You scrolled through job listings with the desperation of someone clinging to a lifeboat.  

Barista? You had already been rejected twice due to your “lack of experience.”  

Retail? They wanted you available on weekends, which wasn’t feasible with your study schedule.  

Dog walker? Allergic to fur.  

The list grew more depressing as the minutes ticked by, until one particular post caught your attention:  

"Babysitter needed. Flexible hours. Payment upon services rendered. Serious applicants only."  

There was no company name, no attached image of a smiling family, not even a hint about the age of the child you’d be babysitting. The simplicity of it screamed sketchy, but the promise of payment dangled in front of you like a carrot on a stick. 

“Desperate times,” you muttered, clicking on the post.  

The application form was equally bare-bones, asking only for your name, availability, and a short paragraph about why you wanted the job. You quickly typed something generic about being responsible and good with kids, then hit send without much hope.  

To your surprise, you received a reply almost immediately.  

"You’re hired. Start tomorrow at 3 PM. Address: [Redacted]."  

You stared at the screen, bewildered. No interview? No background check? Either this was the world’s most desperate parent, or you were walking into a scam. A friend texted you moments later, asking if you’d found a job yet, and you decided to leave out the details when you replied, 

"Yep, starting tomorrow."  

The afternoon sun was scorching as you made your way up the steps of the quaint suburban house. The place had a sort of storybook charm—a neat lawn, pastel shutters, and a small porch swing swaying lazily in the breeze. If it weren’t for the suspiciously vague job listing you’d answered, you might have thought you were walking into a feel-good rom-com instead of a potentially shady situation.  

You knocked on the door and waited. Seconds ticked by. You shifted awkwardly, glancing over your shoulder as if expecting hidden cameras. But just as you were about to knock again, the door flew open with surprising force, revealing a little girl standing barely taller than the doorknob.  

“Hi!” she exclaimed, her voice so cheerful it nearly gave you whiplash. “Are you the babysitter?”  

“Uh… yeah,” you replied, startled by the sheer intensity of her enthusiasm. “That’s me.”  

“I’m Su-an,” she said proudly, puffing out her chest. “Come in! I was just having a meeting with my council!”  

Before you could even ask what she meant, she grabbed your hand and tugged you inside. The house was warm and cozy, if a little cluttered, with toys scattered across the floor and crayon drawings taped haphazardly on the walls.  

---

“This is Mr. Snuggles,” Su-an announced, holding up a ragged teddy bear with one ear chewed off. “He’s the president of my council.”  

“Uh-huh,” you said, nodding solemnly. “And what does the council do?”  

“Important stuff,” she said, narrowing her eyes like she was letting you in on a state secret. “Like deciding who gets cookies after dinner. Also, they voted to make you the assistant.”  

You blinked. “I don’t remember running for office.”  

“Well, you didn’t,” she said matter-of-factly. “But Mr. Snuggles said you looked like you’d be good at it.”  

Before you could protest, she shoved the bear into your hands and pointed to a tiny table covered in a chaotic mix of crayons, plastic teacups, and a single half-eaten cookie.  

“Sit,” she ordered. “The council meeting is starting!”  

---

The rest of the afternoon unfolded in a whirlwind of nonsensical games and increasingly bizarre “council decisions.” At one point, you were ordered to wear a paper crown (which barely fit) and were dubbed the “Official Snack Prince.” Your royal duties included distributing Goldfish crackers and ensuring everyone—stuffed animals included—got an equal share.  

“You’re actually pretty good at this,” Su-an said, eyeing you critically as you handed Sir Fluffington his crackers. “Better than my last babysitter.”  

“Oh?” you asked, curious. “What happened to them?”  

“They couldn’t handle the council,” she said gravely.  

---

After the meeting adjourned, Su-an decided it was time to “train” you in the art of hide-and-seek. You played along, even though she kept hiding in the same spot: under the dining table, her giggles giving her away every single time.  

“Found you again!” you said, crouching down to peer under the table.  

She gasped, genuinely shocked. “How are you so good at this?!”  

“It’s a gift,” you deadpanned, earning another round of giggles.  

---

When hide-and-seek got old, she declared it was “dance party time.” She dragged you to the living room, where she plugged in her favorite playlist on an ancient speaker. The first song was a pop hit you vaguely recognized, and before you could even protest, she was already twirling around like a whirlwind.  

“Come on!” she yelled over the music.  

“I don’t dance,” you started, but she shot you a look so devastatingly adorable that you had no choice but to join in.  

What followed was ten minutes of the most ridiculous dancing of your life. Su-an moved like she was powered by pure chaos, flailing her arms and jumping around, while you attempted something resembling the robot. She laughed so hard she tripped over her own feet, and you had to catch her before she face-planted into the couch.  

---

As the day wore on, you found yourself genuinely enjoying her company. She was smart, funny, and had the kind of boundless energy that made you wonder if kids ran on caffeine instead of juice boxes.  

By the time bedtime rolled around, you were exhausted. Getting her into pajamas was an ordeal—she insisted she couldn’t sleep without her “lucky socks,” which turned out to be mismatched and buried at the bottom of her toy chest. When you finally tucked her in, she stared up at you with wide, sleepy eyes.  

“Will you come back tomorrow?” she asked, clutching Mr. Snuggles to her chest.  

“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “I’ll be here.”  

“Promise?”  

“Promise.”  

---

As you made your way back downstairs, you felt a surprising sense of accomplishment. Babysitting wasn’t what you’d imagined yourself doing, but something about Su-an’s infectious energy and genuine joy made it worth it.  

You tidied up the living room, stepping over plastic dinosaurs and rogue crayons, and couldn’t help but laugh to yourself. If every day was going to be like this, maybe this job wouldn’t be so bad after all.  

---

And so, your days with Su-an became a routine. Every afternoon, she greeted you at the door like an excited puppy, launching into a new scheme or game. One day, she decided you were a dragon and she was a brave knight. The next, you were her art teacher, helping her draw increasingly absurd animals like “dog-o-sauruses” and “cat-icorns.”  

One particularly memorable day, she tried to teach you how to braid her hair. It did not go well.  

“Why are there so many strands?!” you groaned, your fingers tangled in her hair.  

“It’s easy!” she said, giggling. “You just go over, under, over, under!”  

“You sound like a cryptic math teacher,” you muttered, earning another round of giggles.  

---

The days passed in a blur of laughter and chaos, and soon, you found yourself looking forward to your afternoons with Su-an. She made you forget about your stress, your bills, and your endless to-do list.  

Still, a question lingered in the back of your mind: where was her dad during all of this? But for now, you were content to let the mystery be. After all, it was hard to worry about much when you had a six-year-old demanding you be her “Royal Snack Advisor.”

It was one of those rare evenings when the air felt just right—not too cold, not too warm, with a soft breeze that carried the faint smell of grass and distant barbecues. Su-an had begged to go to the park after dinner, and you’d caved, eager to get some fresh air and give her a chance to burn off her endless energy.

“Push me higher!” Su-an squealed as she swung back and forth, her legs pumping excitedly. You stood behind her, laughing as you gave the swing a gentle push.

“Higher, huh? What are you trying to do, touch the clouds?”

“Maybe!” she shouted, giggling as the swing reached its peak.

The park wasn’t crowded—just a few other families and joggers scattered around. It was peaceful, the kind of evening where you could almost forget the strange tension that sometimes hung around the house, the questions you tried not to ask about her father’s late-night comings and goings.

But the peace didn’t last.

As you helped Su-an off the swing and she dragged you toward the monkey bars, a commotion near the edge of the park caught your attention. At first, you thought it was just a group of people arguing—a not-uncommon sight in the city. But then you saw him.

Your heart stopped.

There, in the dim light of a flickering street lamp, was a man—the man. His tall frame was unmistakable, even in the shadows. He stood over a small group of disheveled, huddled figures, who you quickly realized were homeless people. A plastic bag lay torn at his feet, loaves of bread spilled across the ground.

He wasn’t just standing there. He was stepping on the bread.

Your breath caught as you watched him stomp down with deliberate, almost mechanical force, grinding the food into the dirt. The homeless group stared in silence, some in shock, others looking away as if too defeated to protest.

“Isn’t that Daddy?”

The innocent question cut through the haze of disbelief like a knife. You snapped your head down to look at Su-an, her wide eyes fixed on the scene with a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“No,” you said quickly, your voice sharper than you intended. “It’s not.”

“But—”

Before she could finish, you crouched down and gently placed your hands over her eyes. “Let’s go, Su-an. We’re leaving.”

“Why can’t I look? What’s wrong?” she whined, squirming in your grasp.

“Because it’s not safe,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady as you picked her up and started walking away, her protests muffled against your shoulder.

Your mind raced as you carried her toward the car. What had you just witnessed? That couldn’t have been him—could it? But the silhouette, the way he carried himself—it was all too familiar.

You buckled Su-an into her car seat, doing your best to distract her with promises of ice cream and cartoons when you got home. But even as she babbled happily about her favorite flavors, your hands trembled on the steering wheel.

By the time you got back to the house and put Su-an to bed, your heart was still pounding. You paced the living room, replaying the scene over and over in your head. The way he’d crushed the bread underfoot—there had been no hesitation, no anger, just cold, calculated precision.

Who does that?

And more importantly, why?

The house was silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards as you shifted on the couch. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but between your classes, assignments, and Su-an’s boundless energy, exhaustion had taken its toll.

It was the sound of the front door slamming that jolted you awake. Disoriented, you blinked into the darkness, the faint glow of the kitchen light casting long shadows across the room. Footsteps echoed through the hallway—heavy, deliberate, and nothing like the hurried, near-silent ones you were used to from the man of the house.

You sat up, your heart beginning to race. Something wasn’t right.

When he appeared in the doorway, your stomach twisted into a knot. His usually pristine white shirt was drenched in blood, the vivid crimson staining the fabric and dripping in thick, uneven streaks. His face was ashen, his dark eyes wild and unfocused, like a man teetering on the edge of something you couldn’t name.

“Wh-what happened?” you stammered, instinctively backing away as the metallic tang of blood reached your nose.

“It’s not my blood,” he said curtly, his voice gravelly and sharp.

As if that was supposed to make you feel better.

“That doesn’t answer my question!” you said, your voice trembling despite your attempt to sound firm.

He staggered toward the kitchen, his movements unsteady but purposeful. Against every ounce of self-preservation screaming at you to stay put, you got up and followed him.

“Are you hurt?” you asked, your tone softer this time.

He didn’t respond, instead gripping the edge of the counter as if to steady himself. The dim light overhead cast harsh shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more unapproachable than usual.

“Sit down,” you said, surprised by the steadiness of your own voice.

He turned his head, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your chest tighten. For a moment, you thought he’d ignore you, but then he surprised you by obeying. He sank into one of the kitchen chairs, his movements slow and deliberate, as if every step cost him.

You grabbed a damp cloth from the sink, your hands trembling slightly as you wrung it out. You weren’t sure why you were doing this—why you weren’t running out the door or calling the police. Maybe it was the way he looked, like a man who had seen too much, or maybe it was the faint vulnerability hiding behind his hard exterior.

“This... isn’t normal,” you muttered, more to yourself than him, as you began wiping the blood from his face. The cloth came away dark and sticky, and your stomach churned.

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with things you don’t understand,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a warning edge.

You paused, meeting his gaze. His eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them, filled with something unreadable—a mix of exhaustion, anger, and something else that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I’m here,” you said, almost defiantly, as you moved to clean his hands. “So I’m already concerned.”

He didn’t respond, but the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease ever so slightly.

The silence between you grew even heavier, the only sound now being the soft movement of the cloth against his skin. Your hands were shaking slightly as you worked, wiping the blood from his face, his hands, but his eyes never left you. They were intense—piercing, almost as though he were searching for something in your expression.

You couldn’t look away for long. The tension in the air thickened with every passing second, your heartbeat picking up, each thud echoing loudly in your ears. It was like being drawn into a web you didn’t fully understand but couldn’t escape from, no matter how hard you tried.

When you finally stepped back, giving him space, you thought you’d be able to breathe again. But then, his hand shot out, quick as lightning, wrapping around your wrist. The touch was firm, deliberate, sending an involuntary jolt of electricity through your veins. You tried to pull away, but his grip was unyielding. His fingers were cold against your skin, but the intensity in his eyes made your heart race.

"Why are you helping me?" His voice was low, gravelly, and for a moment, you wondered if he was testing you—seeing if you’d reveal the truth, or maybe if you’d run.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breath, but your pulse was hammering, and you couldn’t ignore the way your body reacted to his proximity. The heat between you both felt suffocating. His touch was grounding, yet it stirred something dangerous inside you. “Because someone has to,” you replied, your voice steady, though you could feel the words slipping off your tongue more as a defense than truth.

His gaze deepened, darkening in a way that sent a chill down your spine. The air between you was thick, electric, as if there were an unspoken promise between you both—a promise you knew you were too afraid to fully acknowledge. Then, before you could even react, he pulled you in close. His other hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair with a force that made your breath catch in your throat.

And then his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. It was a collision, desperate and overwhelming, like a dam that had been holding back too much for too long and was finally breaking free. His kiss was messy—almost violent—as if he needed to consume you, to claim you in a way that made your knees weak and your thoughts scatter. His lips were demanding, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in a way that made your body tremble.

You should’ve pushed him away, told him to stop, told him that this was wrong. Your mind screamed at you to break free, but your body betrayed you, leaning into him instead, matching the fervor of his kiss. His hand slid to your waist, pulling you even closer, his grip tightening. Your breath was ragged between kisses, and your pulse pounded in your ears as the world outside of the two of you seemed to vanish.

When he pulled away, just far enough to catch his breath, your lips were swollen, your chest heaving. You couldn’t think. All you could feel was the lingering heat of his touch, the undeniable thrum of desire that still buzzed beneath your skin. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was something in them—something dark, dangerous, but...hungry.

His lips curved into a smirk, and it sent a jolt of unease running down your spine, mingled with something else, something deeper.

“You’re in over your head, kid,” he said, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your back.

The words should’ve been a warning. They should’ve sent you running. But instead, they only lingered in the air between you, wrapping themselves around you like a noose. You should’ve known then, but you didn’t want to listen.

And for the first time, you realized: you were already tangled up in his web, and maybe—just maybe—you didn’t want to escape.

The obsession grew in subtle ways. You’d arrive to find unexpected gifts waiting for you on the kitchen counter: a sleek leather wallet, a watch so expensive you didn’t dare wear it, a bottle of cologne that smelled like a storm breaking over the ocean.

When you tried to protest—“This is too much” or “I can’t accept this”—his expression would shift. His jaw would tighten, his eyes darkening with something that made your chest tighten.

“Take it,” he’d say, his tone brooking no argument. And you’d always comply, your words catching in your throat as he gave you a look that said refusing wasn’t an option.

Your feelings about him became a tangled mess of contradictions. Every instinct screamed that something about him was wrong. The blood, the cryptic way he spoke, the chilling bread incident in the park—they all painted a picture of a man you should stay far away from.

But then there were the moments that left you reeling. A lingering glance, a brush of his hand against yours, the way he could soften—just slightly—when he saw you with Su-an.

The first time he kissed you, you felt like your world had been turned inside out. It was sudden, overwhelming, and left you breathless. His lips were rough but urgent, like he was staking a claim rather than asking permission. And when it happened again—and again—you didn’t push him away. Instead, you found yourself leaning into him, craving the heat of his touch despite every rational thought telling you to run.

But his obsession wasn’t content to simmer beneath the surface. It began to consume him, bleeding into the delicate balance of your day-to-day life.

He started showing up during your babysitting hours, a presence that was impossible to ignore. At first, he’d just watch from the doorway as you played with Su-an, his dark eyes following your every move with a possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.

Then, his involvement escalated. He’d dismiss you early—always with some excuse about needing to talk to you. But the moment Su-an was out of earshot, his demeanor would shift. He’d pull you into his room, his hands firm but not rough as he guided you inside.

“You’re spending so much time with her,” he’d say, his voice low and rough, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Don’t forget who’s paying you.”

His lips would crash against yours before you could respond, his kisses urgent and messy, as though he couldn’t stand the thought of you being anywhere else but with him.

The final straw came on a night like any other—or so you thought. Su-an had already gone to bed, and you were tidying up the living room when your gaze drifted toward the slightly ajar door of the man’s study. It was a room he rarely used in your presence, a space he kept locked most of the time.

You hadn’t intended to snoop. But the door was open, and your curiosity, already inflamed by the strange events surrounding him, got the better of you.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of leather and faintly bitter cologne. The dim lighting cast long shadows over the mahogany desk and the shelves lined with books and files. One particular folder caught your attention—it was open, papers spilling out as if hastily shoved aside.

Your heart sank as you picked up the first page. It was your class schedule, neatly printed and highlighted. Beneath it were receipts from your favorite coffee shop, notes about your usual order scribbled in the margins.

And then there were the photos.

They weren’t candid shots taken on the street or at the park. They were intimate, the kind of photos someone would take if they were watching closely—too closely. You recognized the outfits, the moments. One was of you laughing as you pushed Su-an on the swings. Another showed you sitting on a park bench, earbuds in, entirely unaware of the camera.

The air in the room felt too thick, like it was choking you. Your fingers trembled as you shoved the papers back into the folder, heart hammering in your chest.

“What the hell is this?”

The words left your mouth before you even realized he was standing in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the light from the hall. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something intense.

The folder in your hands felt heavier than it should have, its contents seared into your memory. Photos of you, notes about your life, details no one should know unless they’d been watching you for far too long. Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at him, standing so calmly in the doorway as if this was all perfectly normal.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded, your voice shaking.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped further into the room, his movements slow, deliberate. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing you in with the man you were starting to realize you knew far less about than you’d thought.

“I warned you,” he said, his voice low, almost soothing. “I told you not to go looking where you shouldn’t.”

“This—this is insane,” you stammered, backing up until the edge of the desk pressed against your hips. “Why do you have these? Why are you—”

“You don’t get it, do you?” he interrupted, his tone softening as he drew closer. His gaze was unrelenting, pinning you in place. “I’ve been watching over you. Protecting you. You’re... important to me.”

“Protecting me?” you shot back, your voice breaking. “This is stalking. This is obsessive. This—this isn’t normal!”

He stopped just a breath away from you, his height and presence overwhelming. His eyes, dark and piercing, searched yours for something, though you couldn’t tell what. Slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek.

“I can’t lose you,” he murmured, his voice almost breaking. “Do you have any idea what you mean to me–and to my daughter? You’ve become... everything.”

The warmth of his touch sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. Your body tensed, torn between the instinct to pull away and the undeniable pull of his closeness.

“Stop,” you whispered, though your voice lacked the strength it should have had. “This isn’t—this can’t—”

But he didn’t stop. His other hand moved to your waist, firm but not forceful, as he leaned closer.

“You keep saying it’s wrong,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath warm against your lips. “But you don’t push me away.”

His lips brushed against yours, testing, as though giving you one last chance to stop him. But when you didn’t move, when your breath hitched and your hands gripped the edge of the desk behind you, he took it as permission.

The kiss was slow at first, deliberate and searching, as though he was memorizing every inch of your mouth. But it didn’t stay that way for long. His hand slid up to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss.

You gasped against him, your hands instinctively gripping his shirt. The heat of him, the sheer intensity of his presence, was dizzying. When his teeth grazed your bottom lip, you couldn’t suppress the small sound that escaped you—a sound that seemed to ignite something in him.

His movements grew more desperate, more consuming. He pressed you back against the desk, his body caging you in as his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then down to the sensitive skin of your neck. The scrape of his stubble sent sparks of sensation racing down your spine, and you couldn’t help the way your head tilted to give him better access.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough, almost guttural. “Do you even realize what you do to me?”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing even as your body betrayed you, leaning into him. His hands gripped your waist, his thumbs brushing just under the hem of your shirt, and you shivered at the contact.

“This... this isn’t okay,” you managed, though the words came out weak, shaky.

“No,” he agreed, pulling back just enough to look at you. His gaze was dark, filled with something you didn’t dare name. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t want it.”

The words hung between you, heavy and charged, as he leaned in again, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that left no room for argument. And though your mind screamed at you to stop, to push him away, your body betrayed you, pulling him closer instead.

His hand slowly trailed to the hem of your sweatpants, lightly tugging on the strap, you flinched when his cold hand suddenly went under your boxers. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this– Su-an might-” you were interrupted with his other hand covering your mouth.

“Hush now, this room is soundproof,” he merely stated before harshly pulling your pants and boxers down with one tug. He then picked you up and placed you on the desk, pushing aside all the files and paper, which now seemed so insignificant.

“You’re hard. Are you still telling me you don’t want this?” He questions, his warm breath fanning your ear. You shuddered at the feeling, not knowing what to say, or what to do.

Before you could form words, he wraps his hand around your aching cock which was standing erect, partly due to the cool air, and partly due to what was happening.

His movements were minimal, slowly moving his hand along your shaft, while his other hand fetched a packet of lube from his back pocket. Where he managed to get that, you couldn’t tell.

He ripped the packet with his teeth, and spread the substance all over his fingers, before swiftly flipping you over, so that your ass was facing him.

Before you could utter a word of process, he had slipped a lubed finger in you. A wanton moan left your mouth at the sudden intrusion. 

“Fuck–don’t stop, please,” the man only smirked at this, slowly sliding in another finger, and then another. Three of his fingers slowly pumped in and out of you, and oh, it felt heavenly. His other hand held you up just a bit, to keep you from falling off the study desk.

Your hands gripped onto the desk, frantically trying to keep yourself upright, but to no avail. You kept slumping off, the pleasure being too overwhelming.

“Stay still for me pet, that’s it–good boy,” the praise went straight to your dick, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Soon, the man determined that you had been prepped enough, and removed his fingers. You whined at the sudden emptiness, wanting to feel full once more.

He stared at your twitching hole, clenching around nothing. The sight did nothing but turn him on even more.

He removed his belt and cast it aside, while tugging down his pants and boxers with a sense of urgency. He easily flipped you over with his strong arms, now getting a clear view of your already fucked-out face.

He merely grinned, and before you could respond, he slid into your awaiting hole. You gasped at the intrusion, the head of his cock bullying its way into your hole. He groaned feeling the way you clenched around his length.

Without waiting for you to adjust, he fucked into you like an animal in heat, holding your legs in such a way that your knees where at your shoulders.

The new angle made his length hit your prostate with every thrust, making your head fall back on the table, a loud moan leaving your lips.

 The man was savouring every single reaction, every little noise you made. “Such a sweet little thing,” he cooed. “Can’t even keep a straight head while getting fucked, hm?”

The only thing that left your mouth was a string of garbled noises. Your brain had quite literally turned to mush with how well he was fucking you.

Soon, you felt your orgasm wash over you like a waterfall, but the man didn’t stop. Instead, he fucked into you harder, a bulge forming in your stomach with every thrust.

He lightly pressed on the bulge, which made you squeal– the overstimulation doing too much to your head.

He kept rutting into you until he felt his climax. When it came, his thrusts slowly started to stutter. Without warning he emptied his load in you, painting your gummy walls white.

He kept you on the desk, without pulling out as you whimpered, feeling so, so full.

With your mind in such a disarrayed state, you didn’t notice him slip a small ring onto your finger.

“Now you can’t leave me–or Su-an, ever. Poor thing needs a mother after all.”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and and I take genuine effort to do them.

[seonghwaddict]

save a horse, ride your best friend — song mingi

in which your best friend can’t believe you’ve never ridden a dick before, so he takes it upon himself to teach you.

best friend!song mingi x fem!reader. requested by anon. genre. slight fluff. smut. best friends to friends with benefits. warnings. explicit sexual content mdni, inexperienced!reader, thigh riding, fingering, use of a dildo, big dick!mingi, multiple orgasms, unprotected, creampie, swearing, nicknames (baby, angel, pretty). wc. 4k. rating. mature.

lilo’s notes. this was requested a while ago but i’ve been putting it off because… i’ve never written anything about toys being used so uh, i was worried about the pacing and stuff. i wasn’t sure if you meant for them to be in an established relationship, so i went for the fwb route. IMPORTANT!!!! i lost access to my google account bc of a stupid mistake, if you sent in a request through my google form and would still like me to see it, please send it as an ask <33 i remember a few of them, but do send yours in just in case!!

listening to. need to know, doja cat // if u think i’m pretty, artemas // moonlight, kali uchis

masterlist.

it was a regular saturday evening. you were on a video call with your best friend, mingi, talking about anything that came to mind as you each ate a bowl of ramen as if you were really in the same room. he really only lived a couple buildings away, a two minute walk at most, but actually joining you in your apartment didn’t cross his mind until something interesting was brought up.

you weren’t sure what led to the conversation, but somehow it steered into the direction of something less innocent as you found yourself talking about an embarrassing date you’d gone on a while ago. recounting the story, laughing together, soon turned into a conversation about what each of you like in bed.

“oh, it’s just amazing,” mingi laughed as he gulped down a mouthful of water, momentarily pausing his rambling about how much he loves it when someone rides his dick. he ran a his hand through his short, washed-out pink hair, “honestly, my favourite thing ever since it probably feels just as good for whoever is, y’know, riding.”

based on everything he’s said so far, you came to the conclusion that he was more into giving than receiving, that he got off on seeing all the pleasure he can give his partner. so, it made sense he’d choose to mention the fact that riding him would feel good. not that you would know.

“can i admit something?”

he looked up from his bowl, sharp eyes looking almost hopeful as he nodded.

you looked around your kitchen jokingly, pretending to make sure no one sense was listened as you leaned closer a whispered, your hand cupping the side of your mouth.

“i’ve never done that before.”

his jaw dropped at that, letting out a small laugh. “you’re kidding.”

“no, really,” you insisted, going back to eating casually as if you were having the most normal conversation in the world with your best friend, “i really haven’t done… much, so i can’t confirm or deny your theory.”

“huh.” he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he thought for a moment. his head tilted and it was then that you felt how warm your cheeks felt, how your thighs were pressed together under the counter. of course, he was well aware of the fact that you had much less experience than him, only knowing about two people you had slept with. but damn. he clicked his tongue and shook his head ever so slightly. “that won’t do.”

furrowing your eyebrows, you opened your mouth to ask him what he had meant by that. he beat you to it before you could get a word out.

“i can… teach you, if you want?”

you blinked at your screen, resting your wrist on your countertop and gripping your chopsticks a little too hard. a silence followed his offer, though it wasn’t awkward. in fact, he could see you genuinely considering it as you thought it over. eventually, you gave him a tiny nod.

“i mean,” you shrugged, shifting your eyes away shyly, “sure, i guess. why not?”

he grinned, trying to hide it as he shoved a mouthful of noodles into his mouth and shoved his bowl aside. he chewed, swallowed then got up and made sure to bring his phone with him. you recognised his hallways then bedroom as he walked through his apartment. “i’ll be there in like 15, i need to buy something on the way. just wait there, and where something comfortable and… um, accessible.”

you nodded, despite your confusion, and he hung up. accessible? you looked down at your clothing—or rather, lack thereof. since you were home and not expecting anyone, you’d settled on wearing just a shirt you stole from mingi that was too large for him and much larger for you, and panties. you lifted the hem of the worn shirt, assessing how much of your dignity you’d lose if he saw your pink hello kitty undergarments that you only wore if you were doing laundry.

you could already hear him giggling at the sight.

groaning and cursing under your breath, you dropped the shirt and sped to your bedroom to dig through your closet in hopes of finding something a little more appealing. after making a mess of one of your closet’s drawers, you finally pulled out a pair of less offensive panties. they were made of soft cotton; a muted light blue with thin white lace trim, the cut shaped more like a bikini than what you call your grandma underwear.

deciding they were flattering enough, you slipped off your hello kitty pair—ignoring the embarrassing amount of wetness creating a wet patch right where it was pressed against your core—and replaced it with the new pair. as you untwisted the waistband and adjusted it to fit properly, your doorbell rang and you froze on the spot before pulling yourself together and heading to open the door.

the walk to the door felt abnormally long as you stumbled over on wobbly knees. admittedly, you were a little nervous. sure, there have been times where you wanted to do some more than friendly activities with mingi, but you never actually thought it was happen. yet here you were, opening the door for him so he could come in and show you what being a cowgirl feels like.

“hey,” he greeted you softly, stepping into your home and closing the door behind him. you noticed a small plastic bag in his hand, eying it curiously as you watched him kick off his shoes and hang up his coat. once that was of the way, he took one of your hands in your free one and pulled you to where he knew your bedroom was.

once there, he set the bag down on your bedside table and dragged you to stand between his knees as he took a seat on the edge of your bed. he looked you over, lingering on the familiar t-shirt.

“so you’re the one that took this shirt, huh?” he quirked an eyebrow, glancing up at you as he released your hand and brought both of his to your hips. his thumbs caressed the curve of your waist over the shirt. “it was my favourite.”

you laughed softly, “clearly you didn’t care enough if i was able to keep it for three years without you noticing.”

“you little thief.” his nose scrunched as he glared at you jokingly, giving you a gentle squeeze.

“if you really want it back, you can always take it.”

“nah, it’s fine, keep it. it looks cuter on you anyway.” he took a breath and gave you another once over, humming appreciatively when he moved his hands up higher, dragging the shirt with it until he caught a glimpse of your panties. you tensed, caught off guard by how close he felt. “i need you to relax a little, how about i help you loosen up, yeah?”

you nodded, averting your gaze but returning it to him when you felt him pull you onto his lap. he slotted one of his legs between yours, easing you down to straddle his thigh. his hands ran up and down your sides and few times before resting on your bare thighs, your breath stuttered and he held back a smile.

“are you still okay with this?” he asked quietly, absentmindedly playing with the hem of his your shirt. “if i do anything that makes you uncomfortable, just tell me and i’ll stop immediately and we can just watch a movie or something, okay?” when you only nodded, he continued, “i need you to say it, please.”

“i’m okay with this,” you muttered in return, resting you hands on his biceps, “and i’ll let you know if i need you to stop.”

“good, now…” without waiting any longer, he leaned forward to attach his lips to your neck, his hands slowly beginning to rock you back and forth on his lap.

you sucked in a sharp breath and clung into his arms a little tighter, your stomach fluttering at the feeling of your clothed cunt on his firm thigh, your panties dragging against your clit with ease thanks to how wet you already were. he lifted you slightly as he pulled you towards him, pushing you down as he pushed, the varying pressure making your lips part in a soft whimper. he nearly groaned at the sound, moving his lips right below your ear.

“you know,” he rasped between the licks and kisses, “i can’t deny that i’ve wanted to fuck you for a long, long time now.”

“r-really?”

mingi chuckled as he pulled back to look at your face, half surprised and half needy. he noticed that if he relaxed his hands, you’d continue grinding against his thigh.

“yeah, really. i mean, look at you,” he glanced down, one of his hands lifting the hem of your shirt to watch you ride his thigh slowly, a dark wet patch forming right where your leaking pussy sat. he bit his lip, “you look so perfect… and i bet you’d feel perfect, too.”

you nearly whined at that, fucking yourself on his thigh just a little faster as he sucked a dark mark right above your collarbone before returning to mutter dirty words into your ear.

“i know practically everything about you and your cute little body, you know. better than anyone else,” one of his hands inched it’s way up your thighs, brushing against the edge of your panties, “i’ll make you feel so good, angel, i promise.”

“mingi?” you whimpered, prompting him to lean back a little to look at you with a curious tilt of his head and a raised brow. “if you don’t shut up and kiss me right now, i might lose my mind so… please.”

his beautifully plump lips stretched into a smile as he wasted no time in practically pouncing forward and smashing his lips against yours. it started a little slow as you got acquainted with each other, despite the fact you could feel a nearing orgasm as a knot in your stomach drew tighter with each roll of your hips, but soon the kiss turned hungry.

he groaned into your mouth as you let his tongue explore, making you let out a quiet moan. mingi knew he wouldn’t be able to kiss anyone ever again. you, his best friend of all people, had the most inviting lips he’s ever felt. so inviting, so perfect and so soft. he thought everything about was soft. his hand slipped just under the edge of your panties as his other one made your grinds slow down.

you didn’t mind the slow pace, knowing just a few more rocks of your hips would have you tipping over the edge. but he evidently had other plans as he finally made your hips still completely. you pulled away from his lips with a pout. if you were trying to make him feel bad, it backfired terribly.

all he could think of as he looks at your swollen, red, wet, pouty lips is how much prettier they’d look wrapped around his cock. but he could save that for another time.

“there’s no need to rush, baby,” he chuckled, wiping some saliva away from your bottom lip.

eventually, when he was sure you had calmed down enough, he lifted you off his lap a little and turned to lay you down on your back, pressed against the comfortable mattress as he kneeled on the edge. he gripped your knees and bent them, pushing them closer to your chest with his eyes zeroed in on where your slick was leaking through your panties.

with one hand keeping your knees together and elevated, he ran his other over the fabric, pressing down on where he knew your clot would be and elicit a sweet little moan as you squirmed beneath him. he thought you were so cute like this, you looked so flustered as he gave you nothing but featherlight touches where you needed him most. for now.

“don’t get all shy on me now,” he cooed as he glanced up and noticed you covering your face with your hands, “let me see you, pretty.”

he didn’t continue his touches until you finally removed your hands, giving him a nice view of your abused lips and round eyes, pupils blown wide with lust in a way that had something stirring in his abdomen. and his pants.

he let down your knees for a moment so both of his hands could slip under the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. he actually moaned when he saw the strings of arousal clutching onto the fabric as he dragged it away, snapping when he got too far.

“you’re so pretty, baby,” he murmured, watching your entrance squeeze around nothing, making more slick drip out.

after tossing it aside, he wasted no time in getting your knees back to the previous position and running his fingers through your folds.

“oh, fuck,” he groaned, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as you let out a moan when he tapped against your clit, “you’re soaked.”

he glanced up at you, wanting to see your face as he slowly pushed in too fingers and catching a glimpse of your hard nipples poking through your shirt. your face contorted for s fraction of s second before relaxing, your head tipping back against the mattress as you let out a whine.

he choked back a moan at the tight walls around his middle and ring fingers, the fingers of his other hand digging into your thighs. “sh-shit… you’re so tight. i’m gonna have to stretch you out first, okay?”

you nodded mindlessly, too distracted by his fingers prodding at your sweet spot to care about any words he may have said. but you furrowed your eyebrows and lifted your head when you felt both his hands leave you, finding him reaching for the bag. your curiosity outweighed your disappointment as he pulled something out.

it was a dildo. about as thick and long as the biggest person you had before, and made of what looked to be transparent silicon. your insides tightened at the sight, somehow the thought of him seemingly buying this just for you turning you on even more.

he returned to kneeling at the edge of your bed, leaning down to loop his arm around your waist and lift you up to place a pillow under your hips before letting lay back down.

“couldn’t find one my size, but this should be fine,” he held the dildo and ran the tip through your pussy, collecting wetness as you shuddered, “my cock will just have to stretch you the rest of the way.”

you breath hitched at the implication of his words. so he was bigger than that? your thighs pressed together at the thought of being completely stuffed by him. he chuckled, separating your knees enough for him to have a clear view of your pussy, pulsing and dripping and begging for his attention.

he began slipping the toy into you, filling you up inch by inch and watching your needy hole stretch around it and swallow it up. the sight had him choking back a moan, biting down on his bottom lip.

the stretch had your back arching and pushing yourself against it desperately, feeling like that alone could get you to finish. it only took a few deep strokes for your pussy to get used to the size, squeezing and writhing around it until you couldn’t handle it anymore. your arousal coated it quickly and seeped out with each stroke, squelching sounds filling the room that shot straight to his dick.

when you finally came, your toes curled and your body twitched as you let out a string of and whines and moans, little curses slipping between. he watched with fascination as you came undone right beneath him, not wanting to wait any longer to be inside you. he shoved the toy deep inside you, leaving it there as he leaned back for a moment to discard his clothes, slipping his hoodie and sweatpants off.

when you were brought back to your senses, you found yourself on his lap again, straddling his hips this time as he sat with his back against your headboard. you felt his erectile straining against his boxers and pressing against your core. you couldn’t help but rock your hips against his slowly.

“do you ever ride your pillow?” he asked suddenly, voice dropped what felt like two octaves lower than his regular tone. your eyes widened at the question but you nodded. he nodded too, his hands finding your ass and helping you grind against his clothes length. “this is a lot like that, except you have something in you… and it’s more of an up and down movement… and i’m obviously not a pillow… still, there’s really no right way to do it, just go slow and you’ll figure out what works and what doesn’t. plus, i’m here to guide you.”

he gave your ass a squeeze as if to punctuate his sentence, massaging the soft flesh in his palms. when you felt ready, you dropped your hands from his shoulders to his boxers, palming his length a few times before hooking your fingers into the fabric and dragging it down until his cock sprung out.

he definitely wasn’t lying when he said it would stretch you more than the already-big dildo. he was definitely a lot bigger than anyone else you’ve been with, well over average. you nearly dropped at the sight, wrapping your hand around him and jerking him off, eyes fixated on the angry red tip leaking precum as you passed your thumb over it.

the muscles of his abs rippled and squeezed as your worked your hands on his cock, his head thrown back against the headboard and letting out stuttering moans. all the sounds he made encourage you to sit up on your knees, guiding him through your folds and whimpering as you finally sank down on him carefully.

the two of you moaned at the same time, him at how well you squeezed around him and you at how well he stretched you. you stopped when you reached just halfway, unsure whether or not you’d be able to fit more. his hips jerked slightly as his hands squeezed your hips.

“come on, baby,” he moaned softly, looking up at you with encouraging eyes, “just a little more… we can make it fit, right? just breathe.”

you nodded and as you took a deep breath, he used his hold on your to sink you further down until he finally bottomed out. he cursed silently, the back of his head finding the headboard again as you whined and dropped yours onto his shoulder.

you felt his tip pushing against your cervix, the new feeling making a lump form in your throat as you blinked back tears. this time it took a while to get used to the stretch before you tried grinding back and forth. it was slow, almost painfully so. he was amazed that despite stretching you with two different things, you were still so unbelievably tight, hugging him in a death grip as your raised your hips an inch before dropping down again.

your soft noises were muffled by his shoulder as your hands rested on his biceps, panting and squeezing gently as every inch of him dragged against the sensitive spongy patch in your walls every time you grinded on him. soon enough you were able to lift yourself to his tip and drop all the way down, your wetness letting him slip in and out with ease.

still, you kept the pace torturously slow, savouring each bounce and grind. his hands had left your hips at some point, exploring your body under your shirt, massaging your breasts and tweaking your nipples. he lifted the fabric but kept it on your as he watched your tits bounce temptingly, your puffy pink nipples making his mouth water as he pushed himself forward to take one into his mouth.

your hips stuttered as he sucked and nibbled at your nipples, throwing your head back and arching into his touch as your grinds grew sloppy. he felt your decreasing pace, using the hand that wasn’t teasing your other breast to guide your hips once more. he angled you slightly differently in a way that made your clit press against his pelvis each time he bottomed out, the speed of your grinds picking up quickly as his hips bucked up to meet yours.

his lips detached from your bruised breasts with a popping sound as he leaned up to capture your lips in his once again. it wasn’t much of a kiss, more teeth and tongue and moans and groans than anything else as you swallowed each other’s sounds.

you finished first, pushing yourself down hard and stilling, filling yourself with his throbbing cock and pressing your clit against him. he held you tightly, burying his face in your neck to suck at all the spot he knew would get your to writhe. many tickling fights contributed to his knowledge on all your sensitive spots.

your body twitched as you returned to bouncing on his length, your juices looking at his base. the overstimulation burned a little, making your thighs and knees quiver, but you were determined to get him to finish too. and by the looks of it, it shouldn’t take much longer.

“shit, baby,” he said, halfway between a whimper and a moan, fingertips digging into your hips as he threw his head back in bliss, “‘m so close— fuck, you feel s-so good.”

his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, bottom lip caught between his teeth. his cheeks and the tip of his ears flushed a deep red, his plush lips a few shades darker and coated in your mixed saliva from your kisses. as you adjusted the angle of your hips, something in him snapped, grabbing your hips tighter and taking over. he took over your movements, thrusting his hips up desperately as you fell forward onto his chest with the sudden change in intensity. his tip pushed itself against your g-spot continually, another knot tightening in your stomach.

the wet sounds of your cunt and your skin slapping against his egged him on until finally he felt like he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“baby, p-please— fuck— please, can i cum i-inside you?” he begged through a groan, “i— please, angel, i-i can’t wait any longer.”

you nodded against his chest with a whine, you were on the pill anyway. not a second later, he released into you, filling you up with stuttering hips. he pulled you down, flush against him and keeping you there as he emptied himself with softly muttered curses, his head dropping to press open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder.

it felt new to you, the warmth making you squirm until you came again without warning. it was much weaker this time but still enough to make you shake in his arms, panting softly after letting out a strangled moan against his skin.

after a few long moments of trying to recover from the shared orgasm, he lifted his head, one of his hands cupping your chin to tilt your head to look at him.

“so,” he started, lips stretched into a smile, “how’d that feel?”

“fucking amazing.” you rolled your eyes at how smug he looked after your confession, not protesting as he leaned forward to kiss you.

this one was much softer than the previous kisses you shared, much more tender. it was a lot shorter too, he pulled away first to rest his forehead against yours.

“yeah?” he whispered, kissing the corner of your lips, “just wait until i hit it from the back.”

networks. @cromernet @wonderlandnet @cultofdionysusnet @pirateeznet

permanent taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl @likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo @yalyallic @yunhoswrldddd @coffee-addict-kitten @thunderous-wolf @chngbnwf

[hoshifighting]

idk if someone asked you this but i’m a new reader and I REALLY REALLY LOVE YOUR WORKS!!!

can you please make wonwoo, the nerdy president who u thought was innocent and sweet but he’s the one behind ur fave nsfw audio creator???? AND HE’S A HARDFUCKER.. not what u expected tho..

i don’t know if i make sense but please pretty please 😭☝️

Synopsis: where you discover that the nerdy class president is the one man who creates the most nasty NSFW audios that you spend long nights listening to. WC: 2.8k WARNINGS: smut, audio porn, masturbation, hard fuck, dirty talk (obviously), bad sleeping habits (because of wonwoo), fingering, spanking, dirty talk, pussy eating, penetrative sex, protected sex, wonwoo whining, a lil invasion of privacy.

you’ve been running on fumes all day, the hazy buzz of sleep deprivation clinging to your brain like static. it’s no surprise, really. your night had gone the way it always does: you got home, flopped into your chair, threw on your headphones, and let onyx_lens—your favorite nsfw asmr creator—drag you under with that stupidly deep voice of his.

it was kind of pathetic, actually. you barely remember what the script was about—something about obedience or whatever—but you do remember the sound of his voice sinking into your brain like warm honey, making you cum so hard that you blacked the fuck out right after. now here you were, bleary-eyed and trying to stay upright in literature class, the regret of last night’s poor choices catching up with you.

wonwoo, the class president who was somehow both effortlessly chill and annoyingly observant, had been glancing at you every few minutes. you could feel his eyes on you as your head dipped forward for the third time, only to snap back up like a busted bobblehead.

but, in true wonwoo fashion, he didn’t say anything. no scolding, no judgmental sighs—just quiet observation.

when class finally ended, you were ready to yeet yourself into a nap for a solid 72 hours. you were shoving your stuff into your bag when wonwoo’s voice cut through the noise.

“you good?”

you froze. his voice wasn’t the same as onyx_lens’s, obviously, but it had that same deep, smooth timbre that made your brain short-circuit for a second. it didn’t help that his question sounded so much like something out of an nsfw script. you turned to face him, hoping your face wasn’t giving away how flustered you suddenly were. “uh—yeah,” you said, shaking your head a little too quickly. “just tired.”

wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “not sleeping well?”

your brain screamed. your tired, half-horny brain screamed louder. the overlap of his voice and onyx_lens in your head was un-fucking-bearable. you managed to nod, muttering something about late nights and deadlines, hoping he wouldn’t pry.

he didn’t, but his next question wasn’t much better.

“think you could help me with the sci-fi project? your last lit analysis was good, and i could use the extra pair of hands.”

you blinked at him. “me?”

he nodded, adjusting his glasses. “you. unless you’re too busy with...whatever’s keeping you up.”

oh, you mean my nightly sessions with onyx_lens and my vibrator?

you swallowed hard and tried to play it cool. “nah, i can help.”

and that’s how you found yourself standing outside wonwoo’s apartment later that evening, clutching your bag. his place was exactly what you’d expect from him—minimalist, neat, and smelling faintly of coffee.

“come in,” he said, holding the door open for you. “make yourself comfortable.”

easier said than done. you perched awkwardly on his couch as he set up his laptop on the coffee table, your eyes darting around the room in an attempt to ignore how nice his voice sounded in person.

“so,” he began, sitting across from you, “any ideas for the project?”

you cleared your throat, trying to focus. “uh, maybe something about robots and humanity? like, exploring ethical dilemmas or something.”

wonwoo nodded thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on you in a way that made your skin heat. “good idea. we could tie that into the main themes from class.”

he leaned forward slightly, scrolling through a document on his laptop, and you couldn’t help but notice how his glasses slipped down his nose. you were so not prepared for this level of proximity or his stupidly deep voice.

“you okay?” he asked again, glancing at you.

you blinked, realizing you’d been staring. “yeah, just...thinking.”

his lips twitched into a small, knowing smile. “good. let me know if you need a break or...anything.”

the way he said anything sent a shiver down your spine. you weren’t sure if it was exhaustion, residual arousal from last night, or the sheer presence of wonwoo in his element, but your brain was a mess.

you were supposed to be helping him with this project, but all you could think about was the way his voice would sound whispering in your ear, saying things that would make onyx_lens blush.

you were so close to winning the “most pathetic college student of the year” award it wasn’t even funny. after much back-and-forth with wonwoo, class president of your downfall, you somehow convinced him to let you walk home alone. except the man still went all soft and paid for a taxi anyway, which, like… thanks? but also stop being so nice, what the hell.

it was nearing 11 p.m. when you got home, and as if on cue, your phone pinged with a notification: onyx_lens’s weekly live is starting.

you stared at it for a second, blinking in disbelief. today’s theme? "neon circuits and orgasm denial (a cyberpunk experience) 8d audio"

sci-fi-themed. of fucking course.

you almost laughed at the audacity of the universe for this one. was this some sort of cosmic joke? was wonwoo onyx_lens?! no way. no goddamn way. you shook off the thought as delulu nonsense and dragged yourself to the bathroom for a quick sponge bath.

by the time you flopped into your chair, headphones on, the live was already in full swing. that voice—that stupidly deep, velvety voice—flooded your ears as the chat buzzed with unhinged comments. onyx purred, and you were done for.

you couldn’t even focus on the sci-fi plot he was spinning, something about rogue androids, monster cock, neon vibrators and human experimentation. his voice wrapped around you like a silk chokehold, and you were gone—just a vibrating mess in your chair, coming undone embarrassingly fast.

fast forward to the next morning: you woke up feeling like a used dishrag. again. headphones still on, your phone dead, and the memory of last night’s live replaying in your brain like a broken record.

by the time you dragged yourself to class, you were running on fumes and vibes. your hoodie was scrunched up around your face, making you look like a cross between a gremlin and an overgrown baby.

wonwoo noticed. you could feel his eyes boring into you as you tried—and failed—to stay upright. you were so close to just giving in and laying flat on the floor. honestly, it might’ve been comfier than your chair at that point.

wonwoo, sitting two rows away, looked like he was internally debating whether to intervene or let you rot in peace. when the bell rang, you startled awake like you’d been electrocuted, nearly knocking your stuff off your desk in the process.

“you okay?” he asked, falling into step beside you as you shuffled out of the classroom like a zombie.

“i’m fine,” you mumbled, voice muffled by your hoodie. “just need food. like, now.”

you detoured to the convenience store on the way to his apartment, snagging an entire kimbap roll and tearing into it like a starving animal. wonwoo followed behind, holding your water bottle with a look that was equal parts judgment and amusement.

“you couldn’t wait?” he asked, watching as you ate half the roll in one bite.

“bro,” you said around a mouthful of rice, “if i didn’t eat this, i was gonna pass out on the cold asphalt. your problem now, mr. class president.”

he rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, just handed you your water like the reluctant babysitter he was.

this was going to be a long afternoon.

you couldn’t help yourself. the suspicion had been eating away at you for weeks now, ever since you first heard his voice in class and that nagging sense of déjà vu set in. wonwoo had escaped to the bathroom, and you had the perfect opportunity to snoop.

your fingers hovered over his notebook, but then your gaze darted back to your own screen. back and forth, back and forth. his notebook. yours. the coincidences were piling up like a conspiracy wall in your head. the voice, the specific vocabulary choices, even the cadence—how did i not notice this earlier?!

“fuck it,” you whispered to yourself, grabbing his notebook and quickly pulling up the site where you normally streamed your favorite asmr creator. just to check. just to confirm your theory.

your heart pounded as the site loaded, every second dragging like molasses. the channel page opened, and at first, it seemed normal. too normal. you almost clicked away, feeling stupid for even suspecting anything.

but then you saw it: edit profile. analytics.

your breath caught, and a sharp scoff escaped you as you crossed your arms. oh, my god. the realization hit you like a freight train. it’s him. wonwoo. class president. sci-fi nerd. “how the fuck did i not notice?” you muttered, half impressed by his audacity.

you were so lost in your spiraling thoughts that you didn’t hear him return—until his voice, practically kissed your earlobe.

“what. do. you. think. you. are. doing?”

you jumped so hard your knee slammed into the underside of the desk. whipping around, you found wonwoo standing over you, his expression unreadable but his jaw tight.

“uh—nothing?” you stammered, trying to slam your laptop shut, but his hand darted out and stopped you.

“‘nothing’ doesn’t look like you snooping through my computer,” he said, his voice dangerously calm.

your cheeks burned. “okay, fine, maybe i was curious—”

“you were curious?” his tone sharpened. “curious enough to invade my privacy?”

“invade your—bro, you’re literally whispering dirty robot sex fantasies to the entire internet. how is that private?”

“that’s different!” his ears flushed a deep red, and you couldn’t tell if it was from anger or embarrassment. “that’s content. this—this is personal.”

you rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “oh, please. you’re mad i figured it out. admit it.”

he leaned closer, towering over you now, his hand pressing down on the desk beside you. “what do you want, huh? blackmail? are you gonna tell everyone?”

you laughed, loud and incredulous. “tell everyone?! dude, relax. i’m not gonna expose your little side hustle. besides…” you smirked, tilting your head to look up at him. “you should be thanking me. clearly, i’m a fan.”

wonwoo’s eyes darkened, and his lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. 

“you’re a what?” he asks, your pulse skyrocketing as he stepped even closer, crowding you against the chair.

“did i stutter?” you whispered, the challenge clear in your tone.

his mouth crashed onto yours, teeth and tongue and frustration. you barely had time to process it before he was yanking you out of the chair, his hands rough as they gripped your hips and spun you around.

“you want to act like a brat,” he growled into your ear, his voice so reminiscent of his asmr persona that it made you roll your eyes back slighty, “then you’re gonna get treated like one.”

he bent you over the desk, the cold surface pressing against your chest as he yanked down your college skirt and underwear at once. his fingers slid through your folds, already slick just from being around him.

“so fucking wet,” he muttered, almost to himself. “you get off on this, don’t you? knowing it’s me.”

“shut your mouth,” you gasped, but it came out more like a moan as he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them and pressing them hard on your front wall.

“make me,” he challenged, his other hand coming down sharply on your ass. the sting made you gasp, your hips jerking against his hand as you tense on the desk.

the pace of his fingers was relentless, his thumb circling your clit in time with the thrusts. every part of your body was starting to be feveirsh, and you hated—hated—how easily he was unraveling you. you spent nights thinking about how it would be if onyx fucked you, and here you are. of course you would be a mess in a second.

“sorry” he mocked you. “am i too much for you?”

you clenched around his fingers, your nails digging into the desk as you tried to hold back a moan. “you talk too fucking much actually wonwoo,” you hissed.

“yeah, that's what's paying me at nights” wonwoo chuckled darkly, pulling his fingers out and flipping you onto your back with his big arms. before you could protest, he was kneeling between your legs, his mouth suddenly hot and insistent against your core, better than any other vibrator you insisted on using at night.

the sounds—the wet, obscene sounds of his tongue—mixed with your whimpers as he devoured you like a man starved. his hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as you tried to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation.

“stop—”

“stop?” he looked up, his chin glistening. “not until you admit i’m your favorite.”

you glared down at him, breathless and defiant. “you’re such an asshole.”

“and yet…” he smirked, diving back in and flicking his tongue against your clit until your head fell back, a broken moan spilling from your lips.

it didn’t take long before you were coming undone, your body shaking as his mouth pulled your clit. wonwoo didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, dragging out your orgasm until you were a trembling, incoherent chaos beneath him.

wonwoo doesn’t waste a second after pulling back, his hands flipping you over again so you’re bent over the desk, your cheek pressed to the cool surface as he grinds against you. the thick outline of his cock rubs against your dripping folds, still covered by the soft fabric of his grey sweatpants. you gasp, your hips jerking back involuntarily, and his pearly-white smile flashes above you.

“look at that,” he murmurs, almost smug, as a dark spot begins to spread on his sweatpants from your slick. “you’re soaking me through.”

the way he emphasizes the word makes your back contort in shivers, but you’re too far gone to care. your fingers claw at the desk as he keeps humping against you, his pace quickening. when he finally pulls back, you hear the shuffle of fabric as he yanks down his sweatpants and briefs. the soft clink of a drawer opening catches your attention, and you crane your neck to see him sliding on a condom.

“you’re still melting all over my desk,” he rubs a hand over the curve of your ass. “can’t even wait for me, huh?”

before you can respond, his hand comes down sharply on your ass, the sting making you gasp. he doesn’t stop, spanking you again and again until your skin is flushed and burning.

“you look so pretty like this,” he says, his hand smoothing over the heated skin before gripping your waist and lining himself up. “all messy and desperate for me.”

when he pushes in, stretching you inch by inch until you’re full and breathless, pussy trying to clench at his big grith to adjust. wonwoo groans, his head falling forward as he sinks in to the hilt.

your walls flutter around him, and he moans at the feeling, the sound so real and raw that it sends a jolt straight to your core.

“talk to me,” you manage to gasp, your voice muffled against the desk.

he chuckles, his pace picking up as he leans down to whisper in your ear. “you want me to talk dirty? you want me to tell you how tight you are? how good you’re taking me?”

you moan in response, your hips bucking back against him as his words send you curling.

“yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he continues, his voice thick with lust. your moans grow louder, and he suddenly remembers the videos you must’ve listened to—the whining, the moaning. the thought makes his stomach flip, and he decides to give you exactly what you want.

he starts letting out soft whimpers, his voice breaking with each thrust, the sounds spilling out almost involuntarily. “fuck, babe, you’re gonna make me cum—”

the genuine desperation in his voice drives you wild, and your body clenches around him, pulling him deeper. he groans, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave marks, but you don’t care.

“please,” he moans, his voice high and strained. “let me cum for you. let me—fuck—”

you push back against him, meeting his thrusts as your own climax builds, your breaths coming in short, broken gasps. the room is filled with the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies moving together, and the tension snaps all at once.

you come hard, your body shaking as you cry out, and wonwoo isn’t far behind. his hips stutter, a guttural moan escaping him as he spills into the condom, his body trembling with the force of it.

he collapses over you, his chest heaving against your back as you both try to catch your breath. after a moment, he presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck, his voice still hoarse as he murmurs, “guess i’m a little better live, hm?”

you just let out a defeated moan, the coldness of the table soothing your hot cheeks.

“keep quiet about this, and i'll keep giving you more.” well, it's just an excuse that wonwoo said to fuck you over again.

[jxwl4k]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Holding hands .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x fem!reader

⤿ yn has a habit of holding her friends hands except for bakugou.

⋆˚✿˖° j speaking . . .

- this has been in my drafts since November and I’m only posting it now🥲

-this is inspired by a wonwoo oneshot it’s from tiktok and the author’s name is serenedust_ you can check it out in tiktok, happy reading, my loves! <3

YN had this little habit—one her friends were well aware of. Crowds made her uneasy, and whenever she found herself surrounded by too many people, she’d instinctively reach out, intertwining her fingers with whoever was closest. It was a small, grounding gesture that helped her keep calm.

Her friends had grown used to it over time.

“Ah, the famous YN hand-holding ritual,” Mina teased one day, giving YN’s hand a squeeze. “It’s cute, you know. Like you’re our little comfort buddy.”

YN laughed, a little embarrassed. “I just… feel calmer when I’m holding someone’s hand. I’m weird, huh?”

“Nah, we love it,” Kirishima reassured her with his usual bright grin. “In fact, you’re welcome to cling to me any time, YN. A pro hero should be able to help out with stuff like that, right?”

Mina nodded enthusiastically. “Totally! Besides, it’s not weird if it’s helping you feel better.”

YN was grateful for their support. She knew they didn’t mind her habit, and that only made her more comfortable reaching for their hands whenever she needed it. But there was one person she’d never tried holding hands with—Bakugou.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. If she was honest with herself, she sometimes thought about it, imagining how it might feel to intertwine her fingers with his. But Bakugou was… well, Bakugou. He wasn’t exactly the “gentle touch” type, and she figured he’d probably find it annoying or weird if she reached for him in that way. So she always avoided touching him, keeping her hands to herself when he was around.

One day, as they sat together for lunch, Mina brought it up, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey, YN, have you noticed that you never reach for Bakugou’s hand?”

YN nearly choked on her drink. “W-What? I—uh…”

Kirishima chuckled, leaning in. “She’s got a point, you know. You hold our hands all the time, but not Bakugou’s. Are you scared of him?”

“Scared?!” YN stammered, her cheeks heating up. “I’m not scared of him! I just… I don’t think he’d like it, that’s all.”

Mina gave her a knowing look. “Oh, really? Because Bakugou here doesn’t seem like the type to get flustered over something as small as holding hands.”

“Shut up, Pinky,” Bakugou growled, though he didn’t deny it. His gaze shifted, and he avoided looking directly at YN.

YN could feel her face burning, but she quickly changed the subject, laughing it off. “Anyway! It’s not a big deal. I’m fine with holding your hands. It’s just… different.”

But her friends’ teasing lingered in her mind, making her hyper-aware of Bakugou’s presence. She had no idea that Bakugou, on the other hand, had been noticing her habit all along. He’d seen her reach for Mina’s hand, loop her arm with Kirishima’s, and each time, he felt an uncomfortable pang of jealousy. Why wouldn’t she reach out to him? Did she think he wasn’t as dependable as the others?

As much as he tried to brush it off, it bothered him more than he’d admit.

During UA’s annual festival, the crowded grounds buzzed with excitement. Class 1-A had been helping with setting up booths, and the noise and energy around them were overwhelming. YN could feel her nerves kicking in as they made their way through the busy festival.

“Whoa, it’s packed,” Kirishima said, glancing around.

“Tell me about it,” YN mumbled, trying to keep her breathing steady.

Sensing her discomfort, Mina grabbed YN’s hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Hey, remember we’re all here if you need us.”

YN nodded, grateful. They continued walking, and as the crowd around them grew denser, she instinctively reached out to grab another hand. Her fingers slipped through someone else’s, feeling warm and steady—until she looked up and realized whose hand she was holding.

Bakugou.

Her heart jumped, and she immediately tried to pull her hand back, stammering, “I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

But Bakugou’s grip tightened, refusing to let go. His expression was calm, almost unreadable, but his gaze was intense as he looked down at her.

“Quit squirming,” he muttered. “If it helps you feel safe, just… keep holding it.”

YN stared up at him, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red. “B-But I didn’t think you’d want to…”

“What, you think I didn’t notice?” he interrupted, voice a little rougher, though he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “You’re always holding their hands, but never mine. You think I’d mind?”

Behind them, Mina and Kirishima exchanged wide-eyed glances, grinning like they’d just witnessed the world’s biggest revelation. Mina’s voice echoed in a teasing whisper, “Ohhh, looks like someone’s finally holding Bakugou’s hand…”

YN was mortified, but Bakugou simply glared at their friends. “Mind your own business.”

They continued through the festival, YN’s hand still tightly wrapped in Bakugou’s. The warmth of his grip was both unfamiliar and comforting, and she could feel her anxiety melting away. For once, the noise of the crowd didn’t seem so overwhelming.

She glanced up at him, offering a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Bakugou.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, though his cheeks had the faintest hint of a blush. “Just don’t let go all of a sudden.”

Mina nudged Kirishima and whispered, “Think they’ll let go after this?”

Kirishima laughed quietly, giving her a playful nudge back. “Not a chance. I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of this.”

As YN walked with Bakugou, hand in hand, she realized she didn’t mind the teasing. In fact, she didn’t want to let go at all. And judging by the way Bakugou’s grip stayed firm and steady, he felt the same way.

Years into their careers as pro heroes, YN and Bakugou had seen more than their fair share of action and chaos. Tonight, however, was one of those rare, peaceful evenings, where the two of them could finally unwind together. They’d just finished a mission, and now they sat sprawled on Bakugou’s couch, swapping war stories over takeout.

As they relaxed, a comfortable silence settled between them until YN, lost in thought, let out a small laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Bakugou grumbled, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing,” YN said, shaking her head with a smirk. “Just… I was thinking about that festival back at UA.”

Bakugou squinted suspiciously. “Which one?”

“The one where I, uh… accidentally grabbed your hand.”

Bakugou’s face turned pink, but he quickly masked it with an annoyed scowl. “Accidentally, huh? Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

“Oh, come on, it was!” YN protested, laughing as she nudged his shoulder. “I thought you were Kirishima! But then I looked up and realized it was you, and I was mortified. I was ready to disappear right there.”

Bakugou snorted. “Yeah, I noticed. Thought you’d drop dead from embarrassment.”

“Hey! You didn’t help by tightening your grip, you know!” YN shot back, giving him a playful glare. “You practically crushed my hand! What was that about?”

Bakugou shrugged, feigning indifference. “Thought you needed the support, or whatever. You looked like you were about to pass out.”

YN giggled, shaking her head. “Sure, sure, big tough hero just wanted to help.”

Bakugou cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… I was waitin’ for you to do it all damn year, you know. You’d grab everyone else’s hand like it was nothing, and when it was me, suddenly you couldn’t even look at me.”

YN blinked, surprised. “Wait, you… actually wanted me to hold your hand?”

“Tch,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Why do you think I always stood next to you in crowded places? Wasn’t a coincidence, idiot.”

Her laughter softened into a warm smile. “So all this time… you were jealous?”

Bakugou shot her a glare, cheeks bright red. “I wouldn’t call it jealousy.”

“What would you call it, then?” YN asked, smirking mischievously.

“A strategic maneuver,” he said, nose in the air. “If you got anxious, it was only logical that I’d be the one to handle it.”

YN snickered. “Right, because nothing says ‘tough guy’ like hoping someone will hold your hand.”

“Oi!” Bakugou growled, though his expression softened into an uncharacteristic smile. “You’re lucky I let you grab it at all.”

“Lucky, huh?” YN teased, leaning into his shoulder. “Well, in that case, I guess I’m lucky you’re still holding it.”

Bakugou’s fingers intertwined with hers, his grip firm but gentle. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t go getting sappy on me now.”

YN rolled her eyes but didn’t let go, letting the warmth of his hand remind her of that day at the festival—the beginning of something she hadn’t realized they both wanted.

And for the rest of the evening, every time she tried to pull her hand away, Bakugou would grumble, tightening his grip and muttering, “Strategic maneuver, remember?”

YN only laughed, realizing that some things really never change.

© jxwl4k 2025

[inseobts]

1st Anniversary

what would they do for your first anniversary together?

gn!reader

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji, law, ace

words count: around 0.5k - 0.7k each

masterlist || ko-fi

── .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:

The sun rises over the Thousand Sunny, casting golden light across the deck. You stretch and yawn, rubbing the sleep from your eyes when a sudden weight crashes into you.

"Y/N!" Luffy yells, tackling you with his usual enthusiasm.

You groan but laugh as he wraps his arms around you "Luffy, it's too early for this—"

"IT'S OUR ANNIVERSARY!" he shouts, grinning ear to ear.

You blink. Oh. Right. Your first anniversary together.

Luffy’s never been the best at remembering dates, so you didn’t expect him to bring it up at all. But here he is, vibrating with excitement like a kid who just found a pile of meat.

"You remembered?" you ask, surprised.

Luffy nods eagerly "Of course! I mean… Sanji wrote it down for me… and Nami yelled at me to not forget… and Robin told me what an anniversary even is—but still!"

You chuckle, shaking your head "So, do you have something planned?"

Luffy puffs out his chest proudly "Yup! Captain’s orders: today is Luffy and y/n Day! No crewmates allowed!"

From across the deck, you hear Usopp yell "THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS!"

Luffy ignores him.

"But," he continues, "I, uh, don’t actually know what people do on anniversaries, so I just made some rules!"

Your curiosity piques "Rules?"

Luffy grins, grabbing a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolding it dramatically "Yup! First rule: We gotta eat as much meat as possible!"

You snort "Of course."

"Second rule: No pirate stuff today. Just fun stuff!"

"That’s… actually kind of sweet" you admit.

"And the last rule…" He suddenly scratches his head, cheeks turning a little pink "Well… um…"

You tilt your head "What is it?"

Luffy huffs, clearly frustrated "It's a secret rule! I’ll tell you later!"

You laugh but decide not to push it "Alright, Captain. What’s first on the itinerary?"

It starts with a massive breakfast, courtesy of Sanji (who glares at Luffy the whole time for stealing food off your plate). After stuffing yourselves, Luffy drags you across the Sunny for various "Luffy-approved" activities.

First, there’s an intense game of tag—where Luffy cheats by using his rubber powers. Then, he insists on fishing, though he gets distracted halfway through and jumps in after the fish himself. After drying off (and avoiding Nami’s wrath for getting seawater everywhere), he decides you both need a nap—because "eating and playing is tiring!"

You wake up with Luffy curled around you like a koala, snoring into your hair.

"You really are like a cat" you mumble, gently brushing his bangs aside.

Luffy stirs, blinking up at you sleepily "Hmmm?"

"Nothing" you whisper, smiling.

As the sun starts setting, you and Luffy sit on the deck, watching the waves. The usual chaos of the crew is still happening in the background, but for once, it’s peaceful.

Luffy suddenly perks up "Oh! The secret rule!"

You sit up straighter "Finally. What is it?"

He fidgets, uncharacteristically nervous "Well… I heard anniversaries are for saying important stuff, right?"

You nod "I guess, yeah."

Luffy rubs the back of his neck, looking out at the sea "So… my last rule is… that I gotta tell you something important today. Something really important."

Your heart skips a beat. Luffy isn't usually serious—when he is, it means something big "Okay," you say softly "I'm listening."

He takes a deep breath, then grins, his usual carefree self again "I love you!"

You freeze.

He’s said he likes you before, in his own way—"You're my favorite!" or "I like having you around!"—but he’s never actually said that.

He tilts his head "Was that good? I was practicing in my head all day."

Your eyes soften "You practiced?"

"Yeah!" He laughs "I mean, I already knew I love you, but I wanted to say it today ‘cause, y’know, it’s our thing. Our anniversary thing!"

You shake your head fondly, grabbing his hat and plopping it onto your own head "You’re such an idiot."

Luffy pouts "Hey—"

Before he can complain, you cup his face and kiss him. He makes a surprised noise but quickly melts into it, smiling against your lips.

"Best anniversary ever" he mumbles.

You laugh "You say that now, but wait ‘til next year. You’ll have to top it."

Luffy grins "Easy! Next year, I’ll make a million rules!"

You sigh, shaking your head "What have I gotten myself into?"

Luffy just laughs, pulling you closer as the sun dips below the horizon. The crew groans in the background, but you don’t care. Because as chaotic and ridiculous as he is, Luffy’s way of loving you is perfect.

And that’s all you could ever ask for.

── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:

The sun hangs low over the Thousand Sunny, painting the sky in warm hues of orange and pink. The crew is scattered across the deck, each lost in their own evening routine, but your attention is on one person alone—Zoro.

The swordsman leans against the railing, arms crossed, eyes closed. To anyone else, it looks like he’s resting, but you know better. He’s thinking.

You step closer, hands behind your back “Oi, Zoro.”

His eye cracks open slightly before he turns his head toward you “Hm?”

You smile, rocking on your heels “Happy anniversary.”

For a second, he looks at you blankly, and your heart sinks a little. Did he forget?

Then, with a small smirk, he straightens up “Tch. You really think I’d forget?”

You cross your arms “Honestly? Yes.”

He scoffs “Give me some credit.”

Your curiosity piques “So… you actually planned something?”

Zoro rolls his shoulders, looking away for a brief moment before nodding “Something like that.”

You raise an eyebrow “Wait. Seriously?”

Before you can press further, he jerks his head toward the deck “C’mon.”

He leads you to a quieter part of the ship, where the sounds of the crew fade into the background. A small blanket is laid out on the deck, two cups and a bottle of sake sitting neatly in the center. The sea stretches endlessly before you, the breeze carrying the scent of salt and adventure.

You blink in surprise “Did… you do this?”

Zoro sits down, grabbing the bottle “Sanji might’ve helped. But don’t tell him I said that.”

You chuckle, sitting beside him “Didn’t take you for the romantic type.”

“I’m not.” He pours a bit of sake into your cup, then his own “But I figured… a year with you is worth drinking to.”

Your chest warms at his words. Zoro isn’t one for big, flashy gestures—but when he cares, he shows it in ways that truly matter.

You clink your cup against his “I’ll drink to that.”

As the two of you sip in comfortable silence, you glance at him “So, what was the first thing you thought when we got together?”

Zoro exhales, setting his cup down “That you’re stubborn.”

You laugh “Me?”

“Yeah.” He leans back on his elbows, looking at you “You wouldn’t back down, even when I tried pushing you away.”

You tilt your head “Did you want to push me away?”

Zoro’s gaze softens “…I didn’t want you to be a distraction, you know”

You stare at him, heart squeezing “And now?”

He lets out a slow breath “Now, I know you’re not.”

You smile “Good answer.”

After a few more drinks, the night fully settles in and Zoro turns to you, expression unreadable.

“…I have something for you.”

Your eyes widen, surprised “You got me a gift?”

He reaches into his haramaki and pulls out a small object. He places it in your hand—it’s a charm. It's like a small version of his earrings turned into a pendant and attached to a thin string.

Your breath catches “Zoro…?”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking away “It’s stupid, but… I had it made a while ago. For you.”

You run your fingers over the smooth surface, heart pounding sooooo hard “It’s not stupid. It’s perfect.”

Zoro smirks “You’re stuck with me.”

You laugh, tightening your grip on the pendant and leaving a kiss on his cheek.

── .✦ Vinsmoke Sanji:

The kitchen of the Thousand Sunny is filled with the warm, mouthwatering aroma of freshly cooked food. The scent of caramelized spices and grilled seafood lingers in the air, a sure sign that Sanji is in his element.

You lean against the doorway, watching him work his magic. He moves with effortless grace, flipping a pan, the flames from the stove reflecting in his blue eyes. He hums softly to himself, a tune you recognize as the one he whistles when he’s happy.

You smirk “Cooking me a feast, Chef?”

Sanji turns at the sound of your voice, and immediately, his expression melts “Ah, ma chérie, you’re early.”

You cross your arms, pouting “So I’m not supposed to be here?”

Sanji chuckles, wiping his hands on a towel before stepping closer “I wanted to surprise you...” He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear “But I suppose I don’t mind if you ruin the surprise—after all, you’re the guest of honor!”

Your heart flutters at his words. Sanji has always been charming, but there’s something different about the way he speaks to you, softer, more genuine, as if you’re the only person in the world.

You glance past him at the beautifully arranged table, complete with candles, fine plates, and a bouquet of flowers “You really went all out, huh?”

He grins, taking your hand and spinning you playfully “Only the best for my love.”

Sanji pulls out a chair for you, as the great gentleman he is “Sit and relax. Let me take care of everything.”

You obey, watching as he presents dish after dish, each one plated to perfection “Alright, Chef, walk me through the menu.”

Sanji gestures dramatically “For the appetizer, we have a delicate seafood bisque, infused with saffron and a touch of white wine. For the main course..." He lifts a silver lid, revealing your favorite dish "...a meal crafted specifically for my one and only.”

You gasp, touched “You remembered my favorite?”

Sanji scoffs as if offended “Do you take me for an amateur? Of course I remember.”

You laugh and take a bite, instantly melting at the burst of flavors “Oh my god. I think I just fell in love all over again.”

Sanji chuckles, resting his chin in his palm as he watches you “Then I must be doing it right.”

After finishing the meal and complimenting him so much that he nearly combusts with joy, Sanji disappears into the kitchen. When he returns, he’s holding a small plate with a single dessert on it, a beautifully crafted heart-shaped pastry.

“Happy anniversary, my love” he murmurs, setting it in front of you.

Your eyes soften “You made this just for me?”

Sanji kneels beside you, taking your hand in his “Everything I make is for you, mon amour. But this… this one is special.”

You pick up the dessert, admiring the delicate details. As you take a bite, your taste buds explode with sweetness and spice, just like him.

“It’s perfect” you whisper.

Sanji smiles, but there’s something more in his expression tonight—something deeper “I’m glad,” he murmurs “Because you are, too.”

Your breath catches as he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Sanji…”

He exhales, resting his forehead against yours “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done”

Your heart swells, and for once, he’s the one left breathless when you lean in and kiss him.

The chef who’s always served everyone finally gets a taste of something just for himself... a love that’s his to keep.

── .✦ Portgas D. Ace:

The Moby Dick is quiet tonight, the usual noise replaced by something softer (Ace had made sure of it).

You step onto the deck, your brows furrowing as you notice the absence of drunken laughter and boisterous yelling. Instead, a familiar warmth spreads through the air, not just from the ship’s lanterns, but from the flickering flames dancing lazily around a certain freckled man's fingertips.

He’s waiting for you.

“Hey, you’re finally here” Ace calls, grinning as he waves you over “Took you long enough.”

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms “You were the one who told me to wait in my room. What exactly are you up to?”

Ace scratches the back of his head, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips “Well… it’s our anniversary, right? So I wanted to do something special.”

Your heart skips a beat. He remembered.

You step closer, noticing that he’s set up a "date night" on the deck. There’s a blanket spread out beneath the stars, a small box of food beside it (probably stolen from the kitchen), and a few lanterns hanging. But the real highlight is Ace himself, his flames glow softly around him, casting warm hues against his skin.

“Ace…” You blink, touched “Did you do all this?”

He grins, patting the spot next to him “Well, I had some help from Thatch—mostly because I kept burning the food.”

You laugh as you sit beside him “That sounds about right”

Ace chuckles, handing you a small bowl of your favorite food “I figured I should at least try to do this properly.”

You take a bite, humming in approval “It’s actually pretty good.”

“Damn right it is! I didn’t burn this”

You shake your head, smiling “You’re impossible.”

Ace leans back on his hands, watching you with a lazy grin “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

Your cheeks warm. He’s not wrong.

After finishing your meal, the two of you lay side by side on the blanket, staring up at the endless sky. The sea is calm, the ship gently rocking beneath you, and Ace's warmth seeps into your skin where his arm brushes yours.

He turns his head, watching you “Y’know… I never really thought I’d make it this far.”

You glance at him “What do you mean?”

Ace hesitates, then exhales “I used to think I wasn’t meant to have stuff like this. Someone who sticks around, someone who actually...” He pauses, then looks at you with a rare softness “...someone who loves me just for being me.”

Your heart aches at his words. You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his “You deserve this, Ace. You deserve love, and happiness, and everything good in the world.”

Ace stares at you for a moment as he swallows hard.

Then, without a word, he pulls you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your shoulder. His body is warmer than usual but you don’t mind. You hold him just as tightly.

“…Thanks,” he mumbles “for staying.”

You pull back slightly, cupping his face “I’ll always stay.”

Ace lets out a shaky breath, then suddenly grins “Good. ‘Cause I don’t plan on letting you go either.”

Before you can respond, he kisses you, slow and deep.

As he stops you narrow your eyes at him “Alright, spill it. How did you get everyone to be this quiet?”

Ace blinks, then smirks “What, you think I can’t get them to behave when I want to?”

You cross your arms “No, I know you can’t.”

Ace laughs, rubbing his nose “Fine, fine. I might’ve… bribed them.”

You raise an eyebrow “With what?”

He looks away, mumbling under his breath.

“What was that?” You lean in.

“…I promised to do chore duty for a whole week.”

You gasp, eyes wide “You WHAT?”

Ace groans, throwing his head back “I know! But it was the only way! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get this crew to shut up for more than five minutes?”

You burst into laughter, clutching your sides “Oh, this is priceless. You, of all people, voluntarily doing chores?”

Ace grumbles “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I hope you appreciate the sacrifice I made for this romantic evening.”

You wipe a tear from your eye, still giggling “Oh, I definitely do. I'll make it worth for you, don't worry” you wink at him.

Ace huffs but smiles, pulling you back into his arms “It's already worth it”

You hum, resting your head against his chest.

── .✦ Trafalgar D. Law:

The Polar Tang hums quietly beneath your feet as you make your way toward Law’s quarters, your heart pounding just a little faster than usual. Today marks your first anniversary with him, and while you know Law isn’t the type for grand, sweeping gestures, a small part of you wonders if he even remembers.

You wouldn’t be upset if he forgot, he’s busy, after all. But still… a year together means something.

You take a deep breath and knock.

“Come in.”

Pushing open the door, you step inside and immediately stop in your tracks.

The usually cluttered room is different. His desk is cleared, save for a single candle flickering softly beside a small plate of food, your favorite. A delicate piece of folded paper rests next to it, and on the bed, a neatly wrapped package.

Law stands nearby, arms crossed, watching your reaction with an unreadable expression “Took you long enough” he mutters.

You blink at him, then at the setup “You… did this?”

“Tch. Who else?” He glances away, scratching the back of his neck “It’s not a big deal.”

Your heart swells at the effort. It is a big deal, because Law doesn’t do things like this unless they truly matter to him.

Smiling, you walk over to the table and pick up the folded paper “What’s this?”

He doesn’t answer, just watches as you carefully unfold it.

Your breath catches the moment you realize what it is.

It’s a hand-drawn sketch. Of you.

Your fingers tremble as you take in the intricate details, the way your hair falls around your face, the softness in your eyes, the careful shading that brings it to life. He’s captured you perfectly, every detail very precise. But what gets you the most is the expression he’s given you, serene, happy, loved.

“Law…” Your voice is barely above a whisper “You drew this?”

He shifts uncomfortably “Yeah.” His gaze flickers to the side “I… started it a while ago. Just never had a reason to finish it until now.”

Tears sting the back of your eyes, and you clutch the drawing to your chest, overwhelmed. You knew Law was skilled in many things, but this? This is beyond anything you could have expected.

He clears his throat “There’s more.”

You glance toward the package on the bed, wiping your eyes before carefully unwrapping it. Inside is a book... an old, well-kept copy of one you once mentioned loving but never found again.

You stare at it, stunned “How did you—?”

“You talk in your sleep sometimes.” He smirks, finally meeting your eyes “You kept mumbling about it a few months ago, so I figured I’d find it.”

You let out a small, watery laugh “You found this for me?”

Law shrugs, but there’s a flicker of pride in his expression “It’s not a big deal.”

You set the book and drawing aside before closing the distance between you, your hands resting on his chest “It is a big deal,” you murmur, looking up at him “Thank you, Law. Really.”

He exhales softly, his fingers ghosting over your waist before settling there, pulling you a little closer “Didn’t want you thinking I forgot” he mutters.

You smile, reaching up to cup his face “I wouldn’t have minded, you know. Just being with you is enough.”

His golden eyes search yours, something unspoken passing between you before he finally gives in. His lips find yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, one that speaks of everything he doesn’t say out loud.

He tastes like mint and tea, his hands firm yet gentle as they slide up your back, pressing you against him. The kiss deepens, his fingers threading through your hair as he tilts your head to deepen the connection. Your breath hitches when he nips at your bottom lip before soothing it with another lingering kiss.

When you finally part, your foreheads rest together, both of you breathing a little heavier.

“Happy anniversary” you whisper.

His smirk returns, softer this time “Yeah. Happy anniversary.”

You grin “Think we’ll make it another year?”

Law scoffs, tilting your chin up so he can steal another kiss “I know we will.”

And in that moment, with his arms around you and the warmth of his lips lingering on yours, you have no doubt he’s right.

[deadsetobsessions]

Short DPXDC prompt #2, from @stealingyourbones.

“It’ll be good for you!” Dick threw an arm around Tim’s shoulders as he beamed his way through Gotham U’s campus.

“I could have done this online. They have virtual degrees. I could have hacked my way into one.”

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t get the authentic experience!”

The group arrived at the dorm building, one of many, and Damian gave it a dubious once over.

“If this is authentic, I refuse to be a part of the locals.” Damian quietly remarked, before peering cautiously at Dick. “I have obtained my degrees. I do not need this experience.”

“It’s really not that bad, guys.”

“How would you know? You went to Blüdhaven for college.” Tim retorted with the voice of a young man resigned to despair. “You lived off campus and your door pin was Zitka’s birthday, month first then date second.”

“… Tim, why the fuck do you know that.”

“When I knocked on your door, that was just common courtesy. I didn’t actually need you to open it. I could have opened it myself.”

Dick’s smile brightens even further, with the light of an LED bulb instead of his usual sun, and places a hand on Tim’s head. “You’re creepy sometimes, you know that?”

“And you’re careless sometimes, you know that?” Tim groused. “Ugh, whatever. Let’s just get this over with. I can’t believe I’m going to have a roommate.”

“It’ll be fun! And if it isn’t, you can always swap roomies. We have enough pull to have that happen.”

“Doubtlessly.” Damian said. “This campus barely passes the bar of acceptability. Why is the campus like this. Why is it incorporated into the city.”

Tim smirked. Even though Damian spoke with formal language only found in the highest of echelons of society, Jon’s influence was beginning to make itself known. Good for him, the little shit. Privately, Tim thought the presence of a Kryptonian brought out the better sides of a bat. God knows Kon did, for him.

“Okay, enough whining you two! Let’s get Tim settled in.”

Tim elbowed Dick in the gut and kept walking into the building as his big brother wheezed dramatically. Damian rolled his eyes- he’s seen Nightwing take harder hits than Drake’s pointy elbows and walk it off- and followed. Unbeknownst to them, Dick all but beamed with joy at their solidarity. His plan was working.

——

Tim settled into the dorm, disgruntled at the small and uncomfortable twin mattress. The dorm smelt of faint mildew, had at least ten safety code violations, and had ventilation that probably hasn’t been cleaned since the last fear gas attack. The vent thing honestly might explain the state of Gotham U’s students and their proclivities to become supervillains. Tim is more tempted to go into villainy than ever before with these conditions.

That is, until his roomie walked in.

Step 1) reboot brain.

Holy shit, his roomie was HOT.

Step 2) notice all the weird things his roomie all showed unconsciously. Too graceful. Walking carefully, like how Kon does sometimes when he’s remembering to be careful with his fragile surroundings. Meta? Too sharp teeth.

Wait. Sharp teeth?

“Uh, hi. I’m Danny. You must be my roommate. Tim, right?” The guy, Danny, had a deep voice. And too sharp teeth. Because he smiled. It was a damn nice smile.

Step 3) bi panic. DID TIM MENTION HE WAS HOT??

“Uh. Hi. Yeah, I’m Tim.”

“Cool. What’re you majoring in?”

“Forensic Analysis. You?”

“Aerospace engineering.”

They looked at each other awkwardly. “Cool, I’m just gonna set my stuff down.”

“You’re not from here, right?” Tim asked and promptly flushed when an amused smile gets thrown his way.

“The accent give it away?”

“Yeah. Uh. You want a tour, man?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

——

It was flashes of things.

“Oh. I don’t go anywhere without my thermos.” Danny smiled, patting the dented thing. Except, Tim’s never seen him drink from it.

Or:

“Oh, woah. Food’s not attacking me.” And the thing is, Danny actually looked apprehensive before poking at the cafeteria food.

What??

And a month passes before Tim realizes he’s one hundred percent absolutely fucked.

Because it’s one thing if it’s an extremely attractive dork with brains and humor.

It’s an entirely different thing if the extremely attractive dork with brains and humor was a complete and total mystery. Tim is an absolute sucker for mysteries. It’s even more attractive than smacking him in the face with a brick!

“Hey, Tim?”

“Uh. Yeah?” Tim screamed at himself. He’s dated like fifteen different people! Why the hell is he so awkward with Danny?

(Tim was always awkward. He has that autistic rizz.)

“Tell me more about blood splatters?” Danny asked with a hopeful smile. Tim folded like wet paper. (It helps that he knows a lot- too much- about analyzing blood splatters.)

——

Outside of their window, Nightwing cackled to himself. It was worth using the Wayne name to get Tim the most interesting college kid Dick could find as a roommate. Who said Tim had the market corner on stalking anyways?

Nightwing flipped off of the roof, all but skipping home.

Robin, his patrol partner for the night, grimaced. For all Richard was his favorite, the man unsettled him at times.

[hottestvirgin]

𝐈 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆.. | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍

he might have just discovered another side of you and to be honest.. it turned him on

warnings(17+). smut, meandom!sunghoon, unprotected sex, name calling (bitch), creampie, backshots, dumbification

your best friend had just found your secret blog on tumblr where you wrote about all of the sexual desires you’ve had for him.

you had thought that you made the blog so discreetly, faking your own identity and who you were writing about. you had thought. nevertheless, sunghoon managed to find out that the blog belonged to you.

and it was unhinged; you wrote about how you would imagine him leaving wet kisses all over your aching body while he’s balls deep in you. or how you couldn’t even stare at him without thinking about fucking him.

how soaking wet your panties would be every time he would come over to chill. or how when you’d watch a movie with him, you would spend the whole time thinking of dirty scenarios: shower sex, angry sex, make up sex, floor sex, wall sex, pool sex, sex, sex, sex.

and you documented it all.. because why not? you wanted all your girlies who interacted with you to know how you felt about that man. you had no shame because of course he would never find the blog.

but damn, were you wrong.

it made your blood run cold when your “secret” username slipped past his lips. all the air in your lungs were stolen from that simple sentence.

“so that’s not you?” he cocked his head with that stupid know–it-all look on his face.

how.. when..?

“i read the stuff you wrote about me and it’s…” he paused, trying to find the right word, “wild.”

“it wasn’t even about you.” you argued, trying to act as nonchalant as fucking possible. it wasn’t working. sunghoon could see right through you.

“so the S guy you write about isn’t me?” he questioned.

well.. in your defense you were one-hundred percent sure that he or anyone else wouldn’t figure out it was about sunghoon just by the first letter of his name.

“you have a really big ego. what if i was talking about sunoo?” you interrogated, trying to flee from the scene but he took a step forward, firmly gripping your arm.

“d’you really think i’m dumb?” he furrowed his eyebrows and licked his lips as he spoke, “hm?”

“i-i said it wasn’t about you.” you said again. his grip on your arm had your stomach churning in arousal. your heart was racing, and you were certain that he could feel your pulse through your arm.

sunghoon tsked at your lie, “cool.”

maybe it was manifestation, or just pure luck. but that same arm was yanked behind you as sunghoon plunged his hips into you, splitting you open on his thick cock.

he cooed at your cute attempts at trying to squirm away from his staggering thrusts. “none of that— quit trying to run from it..” sunghoon grunted, voice trembling from how soft your walls were around his cock, “you was talking all that on your blog and can’t even take it? tsk.”

you hummed at his word, spit pooling in your mouth from being fucked so good that you couldn’t even remember to swallow anymore. “m’ s.. sorry, fffuck!” you squealed, but it didn’t stop his harsh thrusts.

he pushed your head into the mattress, treating your aching body like his personal fleshlight, “you’re such a dirty bitch. made to be fucked, huh?” sunghoon groaned at how wet you were and the sounds your cunt made. it was so filthy and only got him throbbing more and more inside of you.

he shoved two slender fingers into your mouth, sliding them down your throat as drool spilled down your chin, fingers digging into the mattress beneath you. you remembered writing about how much you’d love for this to happen. and it happened.

clenching hard around him, sunghoon pulled his fingers from your throat and wiped your own salvia across your face. “nasty girl.” he grunted, breathless.

you delivered a guttural scream when he smacked your ass, repeatedly. your thighs quivered as you tried to escape the pain, only to be forced still by his large hands. “c-can’t, i can’t! please..” you wined, screaming into the bedsheets.

“this is what you wanted, right?” sunghoon teased, referring back to your blog, “you greedy bitch, stay still and take this dick.”

you’re sooo full of dick that you can’t breathe properly. you were certain that you were taking all of him, but you can feel him sinking deeper and deeper into you as time passed. “i-i love your cock.. h-hoonie. s’ good, l-let me cum.” you whined.

“shiiit, go ahead.”

it took a long, hasty few seconds before you were convulsing around him and coming hard, harder than you’ve ever came in your life; everything cut to white noise and clear liquid spilled out of your cunt as his hips shuttered against you.

“that’s right.. keep squirting that filthy pussy for me.” sunghoon moaned. then he pulsed inside of you and shot his thick, sticky load into your cunt, painting your walls with his fluids.

it was like every muscle in your body had stopped working, body falling limp onto the bed. sunghoon stilled above you, pulling out to watch his cum flood and drip out of you.

“next time when you lend me your laptop, close your damn tabs Y/N.”

[txrully]

I'M SO STUPID IN LOVE!

·˚ ༘ ꒱ summary lovey-dovey things they'd do for you!

·˚ ༘ ꒱ characters isagi yoichi , bachira meguru , itoshi rin , nagi seishiro , mikage reo , chigiri hyoma , hiori yo , shidou ryusei , itoshi sae , michael kaiser , alexis ness .

·˚ ༘ ꒱ warning lowercase intended

·˚ ༘ ꒱ song inspo stupid in love - max ( ft. huh yunjin of lsrfm )

·˚ ༘ ꒱ isagi yoichi

you know how isagi’s brain is basically soccer, soccer, soccer? well, this man rewires his ENTIRE system for you. suddenly, every time he scores a goal, he dedicates it to you. like, mid-celebration he’s shouting your name in front of thousands of people. embarrassing? a lil. cute? definitely.

he’s also the type to leave you notes everywhere. you’ll open your locker, and boom: "i hope your day is as perfect as your smile. also, pls drink water. - yoichi 🩵"

or you’ll find random sticky notes around the house with stuff like: "you're cuter than my dog. and that’s saying a lot." ( i hc he's a dog person, fight me 🫠 )

"yoichi, did you seriously compare me to your dog again?"

"is that bad?? you’re both my top priorities!"

·˚ ༘ ꒱ bachira meguru

bachira is a walking ball of chaos, and it only gets worse when he’s in love. he makes you weird handmade crafts—like a necklace with your initials carved into a random rock he found because “the vibes were immaculate.”

he’s also the king of grand gestures. once, he showed up outside your window in the middle of the night blasting your favorite song from a boombox. and no, he didn’t think it through—he got yelled at by your neighbors, but he swears it was worth it.

"meguru, why is there a rock with my name on it?"

"because i love you. duh."

"…you couldn’t just buy a necklace??"

"where’s the FUN in that?? D:< "

·˚ ༘ ꒱ itoshi rin

soft tsundere energy incoming. rin doesn’t say much, but when he’s in love, he SHOWS it. like, he’ll memorize your coffee order, your favorite book, and the exact way you like your hoodie sleeves rolled up. you swear he’s psychic, but he’s just that attentive.

he also sends you texts at random times:

"don’t forget your umbrella. it’s going to rain."

"i noticed you like this song. added it to my playlist."

you’re 99% sure his search history is “how to take care of someone without being obvious.”

"rin, did you... did you learn how to make my favorite food?"

"shut up and eat it."

"you’re so sweet it’s disgusting."

"i said shut up."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ nagi seishiro

nagi’s love language? pure, lazy dedication. he may not seem like the romantic type, but trust me—he will move mountains for you... as long as it doesn’t require getting up too much.

once, he spent HOURS figuring out how to build you a playlist of all your favorite songs, complete with a cover photo of you two. he even labeled it: "for my player 2 🕹️"

"sei, this playlist is amazing!"

"mm, yeah, it was exhausting. now can we nap?"

"you literally just sat there and clicked buttons."

"exactly. so tiring.."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ mikage reo

reo goes all out for you—no budget, no limits, no second thoughts. one time, you mentioned how pretty cherry blossoms are, and the next thing you know, he’s flying you to a festival in japan. casually might i add.

but the sweetest part? he remembers the little things. your favorite snack? stocked in his pantry. your favorite flower? delivered to your doorstep every friday. he spoils you rotten but somehow makes it feel like the most natural thing in the world.

"reo, this is too much—"

"no, it’s not. nothing’s too much for you."

"you’re literally insane."

"only for you, babe."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ chigiri hyoma

chigiri is the definition of 💌romantic aesthetic💌. he writes you poetry and leaves it in random places, like your bag or your coat pocket. sometimes, you don’t even notice until hours later.

he also takes you on dreamy dates—picnics in scenic fields, long bike rides at sunset, and slow dances in your living room when it’s raining outside. everything he does feels like it’s straight out of a romance movie.

"hyoma, did you just quote a shakespeare sonnet to me?"

"maybe."

"oh my god, you’re so dramatic."

"and yet you’re still here."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ hiori yo

hiori is the sweetest, softest boy in love. he keeps a journal where he writes down all the little things you do that make him happy. once, you caught him scribbling, and he turned BRIGHT red.

he’s also the king of quiet acts of service. your phone’s always fully charged, your favorite snacks magically appear in your bag, and you never have to ask for help because he’s already two steps ahead.

"yo, were you writing about me again?"

"no... maybe. okay, yes."

"you’re adorable."

"please don’t look."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ shidou ryusei

oh boy. shidou is CHAOTIC in love. this man would probably fight a wild animal to impress you. he’s all about making you laugh, even if it means doing the dumbest stunts imaginable.

one time, he literally climbed a tree to get you a flower. it wasn’t even a nice flower. but hey, it’s the thought that counts.

"ryu, you’re bleeding. what did you do??"

"got you this flower. cool, huh?"

"you FELL OUT OF A TREE FOR THIS??"

"worth it."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ itoshi sae

sae is the definition of quiet but deadly romantic. he doesn’t show his feelings often, but when he does? damn. like, he’ll casually fly in from another country just to spend the weekend with you because “it’s no big deal.”

he also sends you fancy gifts out of nowhere. but if you call him out, he’ll play it cool like it’s nothing.

"sae, did you just buy me an entire designer collection?"

"it’s just clothes."

"just clothes?? this cost more than my rent!"

"and you look better than rent."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ michael kaiser

kaiser loves showing off, especially when it comes to you. he’ll buy out a billboard just to plaster your picture on it with the words "the love of my life 🩵."

but he’s also surprisingly sweet. like, he’ll carry your bag, fix your hair when it’s windy, or randomly pull you into a dance in the middle of the street just because he can.

"michael, did you seriously put my face on a billboard??"

"obviously. everyone needs to know you’re mine."

"you’re ridiculous."

"ridiculously in love with you, yes."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ alexis ness

ness is a total softie. he writes you little love letters and leaves them in your mailbox, signed with his initials like he’s a secret admirer. you obviously know it’s him, but you let him think he’s being sneaky.

he’s also BIG on cuddles. whenever he sees you, it’s like he can’t function until he gets a hug.

"ness, you know i know it’s you, right?"

"…you’re supposed to pretend you don’t!"

"why?"

"because it’s romantic!"

© txrully

do not copy/translate/plagiarize/repost my works in any way. ( i will find you 😶‍🌫️ )

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