#I would love to have questions to answer!!!

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Actor

The Golden Age of Hollywood. Stars are born every day and you're desperate to become one. Thanks to @laboodanda for requesting this!

Yandere! Actor who's well established in the industry - his name on the Walk of Fame, his face on all the posters, his agents calling day and night with new offers.

Yandere! Actor who meets you on the set of his latest movie. You're barely even part of the main cast - just a side character with a few lines. But you sparkle.

You have that razzle dazzle in you that makes a true star.

Yandere! Actor who knows it's just a matter of time before you make it big. You've already got your foot in the door and all it takes is a lucky break.

Yandere! Actor who comes up to talk to you during lunch, winks at you and grins at the way you blush. You're in awe of him and it takes a second before you can answer his questions.

Yandere! Actor who's used to starstruck fans, to women who shriek when he looks their way. But, it's somehow new and endearing when you're the one looking at him like that.

He can hear the other extras rushing to your side when he leaves, babbling about how lucky you are that he talked to you, the big stars never notice the little fish.

On the final day of filming, he congratulates you on your first ever role and invites you to dinner to celebrate.

Yandere! Actor who takes you to a cozy restaurant in a quiet seaside neighbourhood. He doesn't want to be interrupted by fans, but he also doesn't want to be seen in public with you. At least not yet.

You really impress him. You know quite a lot about acting techniques, about getting into and maintaining character, about catering to the camera.

But it's clear you're still a rookie. There's a slight nervousness to you that veteran starletts don't have. It's alright - he'll train it out of you in no time.

Yandere! Actor who shares he milkshake with you and offers you his jacket when the sea wind starts to nip.

When he drops you off, he squeezes your thigh and says he'll talk to his agent about you, that there might be a role in his next movie for such a pretty little thing.

Yandere! Actor who sees the innocent, love struck look in your eyes and revels in it.

Pretty soon he calls you and tells you about a private audition with some studio execs.

"Keep your hair loose and wear that short sundress you wore on our date."

It should be friendly advice, so why does it sound like an order?

The audition is in one of the studio's offices. A room filled with big shot executives and egotistical directors. Men in suits who are high on their own power, their own genius. They've seen a thousand hopeful girls and to them you're no different.

The way they look at you makes you feel like dirt, like the most untalented person in the whole world. You would have walked out then and there if it wasn't for him.

Yandere! Actor who volunteers to read the lines with you. He winks and smiles at you and by just being there makes you feel so much better. And a few sentences in, you find your stride. Immerse yourself in the scene.

You're playing the part of a jilted lover, a woman who gave everything to her man and has her heart shattered when he leaves. In the final act, you grab his collar and look up at him with tears in your eyes, your voice shaking.

"Please, please don't go. I love you. I need you."

You raise one hand to his cheek, your fingers trembling. "Don't you love me too?"

Yandere! Actor who actually forgets his line.

You're looking up at him so weak, so vulnerable that his mind goes blank. His director calls out the line and he repeats it blankly.

"And...End scene!"

Yandere! Actor who doesn't look away from you even when the directors start clapping and you turn to give them a bow. You were so raw that it didn't feel like a performance. The tears, the desperate way you pulled at him... It felt so real.

It's only when his agent slaps him on the back that he manages to snap out of it.

The director is already grabbing your arm and insisting to the studio executives that he needs you in his next movie.

Yandere! Actor who comes up behind you and drapes his arms around your shoulders. You don't realise it but he's staking his claim, showing all these rich and powerful men that anything to do with you has to go through him. He grins at his agent.

"She's perfect, isn't she?"

The man lowers his shades and drags his eyes across your body.

"You need to clean up her look a little, but you were right. She's the perfect girl for you."

You feel like there's more behind their conversation, things they've discussed that you aren't privy to. But you don't have the nerve to ask.

On your way out of the studio, Yandere! Actor curls his arm around your waist.

"You're gonna be a lead actress soon baby. The execs want you in a few supporting roles first, just to get you used to the camera, but the director has his mind set on you."

You smile at him, a megawatt grin filled with the thrill of having your dream come true. It makes him feel like the centre of your world, makes him feel like a man.

You throw your arms around his neck and hug him. "I owe you! Thank you thank you thank you thank -"

He cuts you off with a kiss. And in that moment you really do feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

Yandere! Actor who slowly takes over your beauty routine. Who tells your hairdresser exactly what shade to tint your hair, exactly what shape to thread your eyebrows. Who buys you new clothes and tells you exactly how to style them.

You don't realise it, but he's shaping your look into something that compliments his own.

Yandere! Actor who almost invites you to his movie premiere until his agent advises against it. Who kisses you and apologises and says he'll bring you to the next one.

You understand, you really do. You're still relatively unknown and having you on his arm would just invite gossip. But it still stings watching him go to the premier on his own, his arm around his beautiful co-star. You go to bed that night with doubts nagging at your mind.

It's only when you hear him knocking at your door at three in the morning that your insecurities go silent.

Yandere! Actor who's still wearing his tuxedo from the red carpet. His hair falling out of its slicked back style as he dangles a bottle of champagne in front of you.

"Gotta celebrate with my girl."

He's barely three steps into your apartment before he's kissing you, his hands on your waist and dropping lower.

You try and push him away. Tell him it's your first time.

Yandere! Actor who nips at your neck. "Don't worry, 'm gonna be so gentle."

When you still try and slip away, he pulls back to look in your eyes. Despite the haze of alcohol, there's something piercing about the way he looks at you.

"How many girls can say their first time was with a Hollywood star?"

Yandere! Actor who let's his fingers climb higher up your thighs.

"I've been workin' so hard to make you an actress. Don't I get a reward?"

How are you supposed to say no to a man who holds your future in his palm? You nod your head just the slightest and he's back to kissing you, back to drawing you hands to his belt, back to growling in your ear.

Yandere! Actor who's a shameless liar. He isn't gentle with you at all.

Yandere! Actor who wakes up all groggy and hungover the next morning. Who pulls you closer to him and falls asleep again with his head on your chest. You look down at his dark hair and his chiseled features and for a little while, it doesn't feel like such a bad deal. Love him in exchange for a career.

And he is so easy to love.

Yandere! Actor who encourages the director to start filming your movie as soon as possible. A romance between a thief (you, in your very first lead role) and a jaded detective with a heart of gold (him, who's had so many lead roles he's lost count).

The schedule is gruelling and the director is a tyrant, but this is your big break. You give it everything you have. You learn the script inside and out, badger the screen writer until she discusses your character arc with you, follow the director around and beg him for tips.

Yandere! Actor who adores working with you. You're sweet and pliable and the chemistry between you is sizzling. Every scene with you makes him need a cold shower and a priestly intervention.

Yandere! Actor who pulls you into his trailer every chance he gets to "read lines." But it always ends with him holding you down and kissing you, claiming it's good practice for the camera.

"Character building," he pants from between your legs. "Just getting into the mindset."

Yandere! Actor who watches with satisfaction as the movie comes along. You remind him of himself when he just started, raw talent and a burning desire to please.

Yandere! Actor who is next to you every moment he isn't needed on set. Who gives you endless advice and makes you laugh with his stories about bad takes and wardrobe malfunctions.

Part of it is to keep an eye on you - there's a jealous bit inside him that thinks of you as his creation, your talent a reflection of his training - and part of it is to spark rumours.

It works exactly as he intends. Pretty soon the magazines and radio hosts are blabbering about a possible romance between him and his relatively unknown co-star.

Yandere! Actor who's determined to make this movie a success. On the premier night, he walks down the red carpet with his arm around your waist. When the cameras are at the height of their flashing, he takes your chin in his hand and kisses you.

The next morning, the papers are raving about it and the theatres are sold out before midday.

It's a critical and commercial success. Yandere! Actor who's high on the thrill of it. Who loves driving down Hollywood Boulevard and seeing you on the billboards, who loves having Hollywood's newest darling on his arm and in his bed.

But then the letters start coming.

Yandere! Actor who snarls at the piles and piles of fan mail you receive. Maybe, if it was all innocent praise, he could have accepted it. But most of the letters are absolutely filthy.

Men writing to you from all over the country, all over the world. Describing in detail all the things they want to do to you, all the ways they want you speared on their cocks. Men who promise to treat you so sweet you'd never want to leave them and men who threaten to whip you over their knee if you don't learn to say please when they fuck you.

Yandere! Actor who's never received mail with such perversion. His fans are mostly sweet young girls who timidly describe how nice it would be to find a man like him, to get taken to prom and courted.

Yandere! Actor who becomes suspicious of every man he sees. The gaffer that looks at you too long becomes the guy who promised to find you and fill your cunt with his come. The driver who holds your hand when you climb out of the car becomes the stalker who followed you home the other night.

Yandere! Actor who keeps his arm around you whenever you're outside. Who starts keeping his gun in the glove box of his car.

It's not only strangers he needs to worry about either. The studio executives keep pressuring you with stricter and stricter contract offers. The director wants you starring in a romance role with another man. Two dozen talent agencies are crawling over glass to try and sign you.

Yandere! Actor who tells you to let him handle the contracts and paper work.

"The bastards will try and trick you out of your money and your clothes. Trust me baby, I've had to deal with plenty of shitty deals. I don't want that for you."

Yandere! Actor who knows exactly how tightly binding a contract is. And it's no coincidence that the one he has you sign binds your career almost entirely to his. It ensures that the bulk of your roles are alongside him, that he has the final say in studio disputes, that he owns the rights to your name.

The studio executives might normally never sign a deal like that, but they're desperate to get you under contract. You're a blazing star and they aren't going to lose you to a competitor.

Yandere! Actor who drinks a toast to your success and kisses you infront of all those high flying executives. Despite all the attention and awards you've earned, you still look up at him with a blind sort of hero worship. He's the goal you've always aimed for, the standard you've tried to reach. To be his girl is still so dizzying you almost can't believe it.

In bed that night, Yandere! Actor thinks about proposing, about wifing you up. The wedding would be huge, generate massive press. His next big project with you is scheduled for half a year away. Maybe do a proposal during opening night? Or better yet, at the Academy Awards? Yeah, that would get cinemas sold out even faster than kissing you on the red carpet did.

Save the wedding for a few years down the line. When your career is more established and your image might need an upgrade.

You curl against his side and moan in your sleep, brow scrunched. Cute, naive little thing, aren't you? Hollywood would swallow you up and spit you out if it wasn't for him.

Yandere! Actor who kisses your forehead as you dream about cameras and lights and action.

"Don't worry baby, I'll take extra good care of you."

Yandere! Actor who's curated his image so carefully. Who wants a girlfriend who's light and talent make him shine all the brighter.

And who better than someone who owes him her career?

Extra!! Here's a short drabble I wrote when I was brainstorming the idea with @laboodanda

[crushpunky]

actress!reader attends the golden globes (with a special accessory)

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based off of this ask + tom/zendaya’s engagement :)

With a final deep breath, y/n stepped out onto the red carpet of the Golden Globes. Bulbs flashed and fans screamed as she walked out, grinning and waving to onlookers, her golden gown popping against the floral backdrop. It wasn’t her first time attending, however, it was her first time attending an event with a certain accessory donning her finger… her ring finger.

Y/n posed, flaunting her perfectly practiced smile along with a toss of her hair before resting her hands on the front of her gown. Her fingers splayed out, flashing the glittering diamond Drew had given her nearly a month ago. Initially she’d been hesitant to wear it on the carpet, unsure if she should come out so soon with it or without Drew, who was unable to attend due to prior scheduling obligations. As she floated along the red carpet, she could hear litters of whispers and pointing from fans, which caused a mischievous smirk to spread across her perfectly lined lips.

“Y/n, looking stunning today!” An interviewer waved her over, an excited grin on their face. 

“Thank you so much! You’re looking beautiful as well.” Y/n smiled.

“So, would you mind giving us some more info about your outfit? It’s absolutely gorgeous!” The interviewer said, gesturing to her dress and array of diamond accessories.

“Thank you, thank you.” Y/n chuckled, smoothing down the front of her satin gown. “Well, it is the Golden Globes, so why not gold, right? But in all seriousness, my stylists did an amazing job and I cannot thank them enough for all their help.”

“Of course, nothing but love for all the stylists tonight.” The interviewer laughed. “Y/n, I do have to ask you a question because everyone has been talking about it since you stepped out here on the carpet today.”

“Oh no, now I’m scared.” Y/n bit her bottom lip, already having an idea of what the question might be.

“Your ring… is this an announcement?” The interviewer asked with a quirk of her brow. Y/n laughed, subtly looking down at the large ring on her finger.

“Hmm, I guess I don’t know what you’re referring to.” Y/n shrugged, a cheeky grin on her face.

“Are you and Drew engaged?” The interviewer asked, gesturing to y/n’s ring.

“That’s a good question.” Y/n said simply, a wide smile remaining on her face as she stood in silence for a moment, the interviewer waiting for an answer before the two of them started to laugh.

“Oh, I think my publicist is calling me!” Y/n said, pointing back towards the entrance to the venue, her publicist nowhere to be seen. “It was great to chat, have a good night!”

The show went on smoothly, y/n watching each of the segments from her seat, mindful of the various phones she saw focused in her direction each commercial break. Her table was filled with fellow actors, including Drew’s nominated “Queer” castmates she’d gotten quite familiar with during her multiple visits to the set.

“Y/n, oh my goodness!” A voice greeted her as they cut for commercial. Y/n turned to see Ayo Edebiri waving excitedly, her usual wide smile on her face. The two of them had met at multiple Loewe events in the past, usually spending the entire event laughing and chatting.

“Oh my goodness, hello!” Y/n smiled, the two of them hugging briefly before pulling away to admire each other's outfits. Ayo wore an oversized, gray Loewe suit paired with a golden tie, an homage to Julia Roberts iconic look.

“It’s so good to see you, you look so good, girl.” Ayo said, gesturing to y/n’s gown before her eyes caught onto y/n’s glittering ring. Ayo quickly grabbed her hand, examining y/n’s finger with a quirk of her brow. Y/n said nothing, giggling at Ayo’s expression.

“Y/n…” Ayo sang quietly, an excited smile spreading across her face as y/n nodded in silent confirmation. With a squeal, Ayo pulled her into a tight hug, the two of them laughing.

“Oh my goodness, congrats!” Ayo whispered before pulling away, the lights flashing to signal the end of the commercial break.

“Thank you, it was so good to see you!” Y/n said, waving to her before finding her way back to her seat, the show continuing. Little did she know, her and Ayo’s interaction, including their admiration of her ring and their excited squeals, was caught on camera by an especially observant attendee. Like a wildfire, the video spread across the internet, only further fanning the flames of the engagement rumors.

It wasn’t until she got home to Drew, the two of them giggling as they scrolled through the internet’s reaction, did they finally decide to respond to the rumors…

tag: @anothertimegirl

[gothicfied]

more for 124 :(((((((

Hand in Hand - Nam-gyu / Player 124

Pairing: Nam-gyu / Player 124 x Reader

Summary: The fight in the men's bathroom and the rising tension between players gave you much to worry about, but Nam-gyu gave you to comfort you needed

Warnings: Mentions of death/dying, blood, killing (typical squid game stuff), other than that it's just fluff, not proof read (english isn't my first language)

Word count: 721 words

A/N: Tihihihi, I love this man fr. I hope this isn't too cringe🧍‍♀️

You couldn't sleep, actually, no one was able to sleep. Sitting on the bed under you was Nam-gyu, who didn't want to talk to you - talk to anybody - after the fight was broken up. You immediately understood what was up when he yelled out that the men who voted 'X' had attacked them, killing some of the players. Thanos didn't return. Yeah, it was pretty obvious why he seemed so pissed off, so shell-shocked. Quietly, you sat up, carefully leaning down to see what he was doing. Nam-gyu was biting his fingernails, eyeing Thanos' cross necklace that he was holding in his slightly shaky hands. Seeing you leaning down from the corner of his eye, he frowned.

"What?"

"I can't sleep."

"Why?"

"I'm scared.."

Nam-gyu's face immediately softened upon hearing your words. He swallowed hard and hastily tucked the necklace into his pocket, gesturing for you to come down and sit next to him. As gently as possible to not catch anyone elses attention, you dropped down from your bed and leaned against the headboard of Nam-gyu's bed, your shoulder pressed against his. "Are you sad?" you asked quietly, just looking down at your lap as you spoke. You heard his breath hitching for a moment, but he still asked you what you meant by that. "Sad about- well you know." Silence.

Nam-gyu wasn't quite sure how to answer that question. He has witnessed so many deaths in this place by now and none of them have affected him in the slightest. He didn't know them well, so why should he care about a random player? "Because, I'm not sure if I should be." your voice interrupted his thoughts. Slowly, he turned his head your way, taking in your side profile in the dim light. "Nah," Nam-gyu chuckled, "he was an asshole. Had it coming, in my opinion." Despite his words, he sounded bitter. It's not like he didn't mean them, because that's exactly how Thanos was, but they still had some kind of.. friendship.

You met his gaze, your eyes wandering over his face covered in splatters of blood. That was worrying by itself, but you didn't have any interest in asking about what role he played in that fight. "And why are you scared?" You looked at him like he asked you the most stupid question in the world.

"Come on, you know everyone will try to kill each other now."

"And you know that I won't let anything happen to you."

Ever since he defended you from a group of men, who were making more than weird comments about you, immediately on the first day you woke up in this hellhole, you've just stuck with him. On multiple occasions now, Nam-gyu has proven that he actually won't let anything or anyone harm you. Why? He doesn't know it, either. He just likes you and you didn't take that for granted. Nam-gyu made you feel safe, you trusted him, even if that's hard to believe. Usually, he'd be compliant with what Thanos would say or tell him to do, just not when he was giving you a hard time ��� That's partially why he just couldn't feel sorry for that man.

Slowly, Nam-gyu wrapped his arm around your neck, making you lean your head against his. The silence between you two was never awkward and more comforting than anything. You were able to hear faint whispers of other players, feet tapping the ground and the occasional cough from that old guy, Player 100. Nam-gyu's hair tickled the side of your face as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Whatever happens tonight, I promise I'll keep you safe."

[vivwritesfics]

Series masterlist

You had never given him your address, so dinner was forgotten about. You never brought it up again, and neither did Oscar.

Until you were sitting at the vanity in your childhood bedroom, amelia watching as you got ready for the day. "Mama," whe began, the bench beneath you moving every time she swung her legs. "When is Oscar coming over for dinner?"

You stopped with your makeup the second the memories of asking him came flooding back. "I don't know, 'melia," you answered honestly, putting your foundation down. "But we'll ask him today."

Your daughter was a wild child. You couldn't control her. The second Oscsr entered your line of sight in the park, wearing his workout gear, Amelia ran towards him. Still holding Coopers pram, you couldn't catch up with her.

But you didn't need to worry. Oscar hugged her and held her hand, walking her back towards you. "My mummy wants to know if you can come to ours for dinner," she said.

No, Amelia was meant to ask, not ask for you. But that was exactly what had happened. Your eyes were wide as you looked at Oscar. He matched your expression.

But then he crouched down, meeting Amelia's height. "I'd love to, 'melia," he said and held out his hand, high fiving her.

***

It hadn't been easy to convince your mother and brother to leave for the night. With embarrassment written on your face, you confessed that you were having someone over for dinner.

A friend, just a friend. Yes, the friend that you, Cooper and Amelia met at the park. No, it's not something romantic. Yes you will kick him out before 10pm so they can come back.

Your brother was laughing at you as he and your mother left the apartment.

Getting all three of you AND the apartment ready was no easy task. You got amelia dressed, sparkly shoes and cute little bow in her hair. You put Cooper down to sleep and left his baby monitor on the kitchen counter, listening for him.

The ingredients for dinner were left out on the side, a bottle of white wine accompanying it.

Just before seven, there was a knock on the door. Amelia held your leg as you pulled the door open, revealing Oscar.

White shirt and jeans. It was a simple outfit, but it worked so damn well on him. You swallowed, holding back to inappropriate whistle you were ready to release and stepped aside to welcome him into your mother's apartment.

It was a little embarrassing. Single, with two kids, living in your mother's apartment. You didn't hide that fact from Oscar. It was the circumstances life had thrown that way, and you weren't going to let it hold you back.

Oscar sat at the table as Amelia showed him the crafts she had done at nursery. "And at Christmas we can make decorations! I wanna make something to put on grandma's tree!"

Oscar grinned as he looked at her paintings. "Would you make something for my tree, 'melia?" He asked and she nodded.

"Yeah!"

You laughed at your place at the stove. Every time Oscar asked if he could help, you shook your head and sat him back down, fingers lingering on his chest for longer than you meant for them to.

You picked up the baby monitor and listened for any noise from Cooper. Nothing. Your baby was fast asleep.

Plating up the foot, you sat opposite Oscar. You talked between bites of food, learning more about each other. It was more details than you'd discussed in the park, more intimate details.

About his childhood. His dreams (although he kept it brief). His family life, living in Australia, going to school in England. It was all so interesting.

After dinner, you put Amelia to bed. She was reluctant, making you use the stern mum voice. Amelia huffed as she got into her pyjamas. But she hugged you and climbed into bed.

Grabbing your glass of wine, you led Oscar over to the couch. He sat beside you and placed his own glass on the coffee table.

Tucking your legs beneath you, you sipped your wine. Oscar swallowed and asked the question that had been playing on his mind. "What happened for you to be living with your mum?" He asked, adding a quiet 'if you don't mind me asking'.

Your mother didn't even know what happened. Your hand shook as you put the glass down, looking back towards the hallway, to the room Amelia was sleeping in (your oldest brothers room had becomes hers for when you stayed over. Perks of giving birth to the first grandchild).

"Amelia's dad was an asshole," you muttered, folding your arms over your chest. "He was sweet all the time I was pregnant with Amelia and Cooper, but things changed the moment I gave birth. The shouting and screaming, spending all of the money I had saved to take care of my kids while I was out of work-" You didn't go into details about the worst bits. "-I knew I had to get out of there. So, I came to stay with my mother."

For a moment, Oscar was quiet. "Yeah," he agreed. "Sounds like an asshole."

You released a weak laugh. "Thank you for agreeing to this," you whispered, moving slightly closer to him. "Amelia really likes you."

"Is she the only one?" He asked it so fast, you almost didn't hear it. But you moved closer, pressing your lips against his cheek. When you pulled away, his cheek was stained with lipstick. You moved to wipe it away, but Oscar caught your hand, stopping you.

***

It was just before ten when Charles Leclerc escorted his mother back to her apartment. "She's fine, mama," Charles said as he pushed his key into the lock and twisted it. "She's a big girl now."

He opened the door and let his mother walk in. The apartment was quiet, but that was to be expected. You had kicked your date out, as you agreed, and Cooper and Amelia were asleep.

The kitchen was a state, not yet cleaned up after dinner. Pascale blew out the candle on the table and walked forward.

A gasp left her lips as she walked into the living room.

There you were, lips pressed against your dates cheek. But she knew your date, as did Charles.

"Oscar?"

[monsterfucker-lisa-swallows]

i think the disconnect over what doctors and society sees as "getting better" does not match up with my expectations for it

doctors define getting better as being able to work and perform in a way that is indistinguishable from the people around you. it's basically "don't be a nuisance". you are expected to do anything you reasonably can to get to a baseline where other people can't tell you're in pain and you don't require government assistance. but even when it's that, they're often going off metrics that are based on their life experiences and not ours. many are able bodied with no serious mental ailments and they live their lives in fear of becoming us. they think if they had our problems, they would focus first and foremost on "getting better" because the idea of a wheelchair scares them. the idea of needing ANY help scares them, particularly if they are boomers, because older generations were raised to believe it's a weakness and a burden to need any help.

my idea of "getting better" is being able to do my hobbies without brain fog. it's not being deterred from fun activities because of my back pain. it's refusing to meditate because it actively makes my ptsd worse. it's using mobility aids in the airport because they prevent me from being in terrible pain and suffering the worst anxiety. it's asking for help when i need it. we do not have to "deserve" "luxuries" like quality time with people we love and the ability to do hobbies by torturing ourselves and performing for others, fuck that.

i once watched a documentary attempting to answer the question if disabled people can be truly happy. the documentary was made by a disabled man and interviewed different people with different disabilities. what struck me was a man with a birth defect that left him with no arms talking about how his whole life he was pressured into wearing and practicing with his prosthetic arms even when it hurt him. he much prefers to open doors with his feet and use self driving vehicles. but people to this day still pressure him to use less effective methods that hurt him. why would they do that to a perfectly healthy man? because THEY are uncomfortable and have not examined their own horror at the idea of what they would do if they didn't have a limb. they treat it as this end of the world thing, as if everyone should have to find a way to perform in the world the exact same way as they do or else they have an existential crisis. but you know what - fuck em. do (or don't do) the things that make your life worth living.

You know what? It’s fucking hard trying to get better. It’s exhausting managing doctors appointments, doing daily PT exercises, eating better, trying to exercise, trying to meditate, and doing ADL’s. I have had a bad crash per week trying to juggle and do all of the above.

It’s easier and less acutely painful to just coast and not actively work on ‘getting better’. Is the work worth it? I don’t know yet.

But to people who’ve tried and given up, to those who don’t even bother - you still deserve care and compassion.

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 33 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley can't wait to learn if Rose is going to have a younger brother or sister. Planning for the baby means planning for the future, but Bradley can feel that you're unhappy. With help from friends, he finally figures out why.

Warnings: Angst, adult language, body image, DILF Roo, pregnancy, jealousy, vomiting

Length: 3500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

You'd been quiet for days, chalking it up to exhaustion from work, but Bradley was a little concerned. He was missing out on a lot of cooking and cleaning at home, as well as responsibilities with Rose. Most days, he was collapsing in bed right after you, body tired and brain overworked. But he was close to advancing a few of his pilots to the next stage in their careers, and he didn't want to let up just yet.

Truthfully, he was enjoying many aspects of his day-to-day at work. He loved making decisions that would benefit his group. When he had a compelling answer for his superior officers, it made him feel so good about himself. He didn't even mind putting in the extra hours. But it was clear that Indigo wanted to be his class pet, and he wasn't quite sure what to do about that.

She was weighing on his mind a lot, most likely because she was constantly invading his office hours. He wanted to tell her she didn't have to try so hard to be the best aviator in the bunch when she just simply was the best one. But that would be feeding her ego, which probably wasn't the smartest option right now.

"Are you ready?"

Bradley looked up from his desk to see you standing there, and he jumped to his feet. "Of course I'm ready," replied with a smile, pushing all of his paperwork to the side and logging out of his computer. "Been looking forward to this."

You smiled softly, hand resting on the slight swell of your belly as you shifted your weight from one booted foot to the other. "Me too," you whispered, and Bradley grabbed his keys, wallet and phone from his desk drawer. He reached for your hand, lacing his fingers between yours and headed out into the sunny October afternoon.

"Time for our final guesses," you said. "Do you think it's a boy or another girl?"

Bradley looked down at your face, the perfect curve of your cheek catching the sunlight. You were beautiful. Every bit as stunning as the day he first laid eyes on you in one of the classrooms he passed on a regular basis. "Sweetheart, if there's anything good or just in this world, it better be another girl. Then I'd have three of you to look at."

"Rose looks like you, Bradley!" you insisted immediately, breaking out in the biggest smile he'd seen on your face in weeks. 

"Rose looks like you. Everyone thinks so. She's adorable." He pulled you to a stop and leaned down to kiss your cheek. "And her face already has this exact curve that I'm fucking obsessed with." 

Bradley let his lips linger, loving the way your cheek warmed as you stepped all the way into his embrace. You seemed on the verge of telling him something or asking a question, your posture never quite relaxing. He'd noticed that recently. Like you couldn't let yourself completely go with him like you always did. He wanted to ask you what was going on, but he was more than willing to wait until you were ready to say something on your own.

"We'll be late if we don't get a move on," you whispered. Bradley responded by kissing along your cheek to your lips. "I'm serious, Roo," you mumbled.

"Let's go," he sighed. "Dr. Morris already thinks I'm an idiot. I better not add tardiness to her list of complaints about me."

A short drive later, and the two of you were walking into the waiting room right on time. You barely sat down before a nurse was calling you back and handing you a hospital gown.

"It's weird without Rose here," you said as you got undressed. Bradley held out the gown for you to slip into, shaking his head.

"Nah. This is just for us. She can hear all about it later after work."

He was just about to close the distance to stop you from tying the gown closed so he could get another look at you, but Dr. Morris strolled in.

"How are we all doing?" she asked, shooting Bradley a look on her way past. It wasn't like he was capable of knocking you up again, but she was looking at him like he might have.

"Fantastic," he replied at the same time you said, "Okay."

He shot you a look as you eased yourself up on the table. He wasn't sure what he could do to make you happier. A conversation was clearly necessary now, but he didn't even know how to initiate it. If finding out more about the second Nugget today wasn't enough to make you smile, he didn't know what was.

He dropped down into the chair at your side, wrapping his big hand around yours as Dr. Morris spread that warm gel across your belly and asked you an array of questions. He listened to your answers as his heart beat a little faster. He was excited about this. Soon you could talk about baby names and nursery themes. He couldn't wait to meet his second child in the spring. 

Bradley kissed your fingertips, watching intently as your doctor isolated some ultrasound images. Then she asked, "Do you want to find out the sex?"

"Fuck yes," Bradley gasped, scooting his chair a little closer. "I mean, please."

You and Dr. Morris were both wearing smirks as he squeezed your hand. He was so excited, it was hard to swallow. He didn't care if it was a boy or a girl. He felt the same way last time around, too. He just wanted a healthy kid he could dote on.

"It's a girl."

He was up out of his seat, sending the thing screeching across the floor as he hooted. Okay, so maybe he did have a bit of a preference for another daughter, but he would have been happy either way.

"Another girl!" he shouted while you smiled up at him. "Just me and my three beautiful girls."

Bradley let his lips collide with yours, kissing you until he got his fill. Dr. Morris and the rest of the ultrasound and everything else could just wait a few minutes while he soaked in this pure perfection.

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

Bradley had been inundating your text thread for days with links to various nursery themes, but meanwhile you and he hadn't even decided which room would be your second daughter's.

"A second daughter," you whispered at your desk. Your parents were excited; you got to watch your mom and dad cry over FaceTime. Rose was too young to care, but one day she might have an opinion about her sister. You, on the other hand, felt like a mixed bag of emotions.

You wanted to be happy. You really did. But it was too hard. Somehow letting your sadness ebb and flow was easier. Especially whenever you ventured too far away from your lab or your office. Indigo was always around. It was like she knew were to find you. And perhaps she did. Your name was in the directories around base. But it felt like she was mocking you. She obviously wanted your husband, and he was either oblivious or hiding something.

When you managed to let your intrusive thoughts win out, you checked his phone only to find pretty much nothing untoward. Other than ruining the surprise of what was probably supposed to be an anniversary gift, all you found was one unanswered message Indigo sent to him a while ago. It bordered on flirtatious, and you were a little concerned that he gave her his phone number, but there was really nothing there.

But she was in your face on base enough that you kept to your office as much as you could. Of course, today was the day you were absolutely starving, and you left your lunch at home. You could pop down to the cafeteria, grab a sandwich to appease yourself and the baby, and then bring it back up here to eat it. Should be a piece of cake.

Hot turkey sandwiches were on the menu, and you almost cried tears of joy as you had one packed up in a container with extra gravy and a side of mashed potatoes. It smelled so good, you couldn't wait to take a bite. 

When you were waiting for the elevator, you froze with your lunch in your hands. You could see Indigo and Spice heading out of the cafeteria, and there was hardly anyone in the lobby for you to try to hide behind. You felt absolutely ridiculous as you stood there eavesdropping.

"What kind of progress have you made?" Spice asked, voice carrying over the sound of conversation around you.

Indigo smiled and laughed, showing off her perfect teeth. "Well, I can't give you details here, but... it's no wonder he's willing to spend so much time with me after hours. Anyone with eyes can see his wife let herself go this time around." Your cheeks burned as she added, "He's more than happy to help me with absolutely anything I need."

You sucked in a deep breath, certain she was talking about Bradley. And you. When the elevator arrived you ducked inside, jamming your finger against the button for your floor. As the doors slid shut, Indigo's gaze connected with yours, and she stood there proudly with her friend like she'd actually managed to steal Bradley from you.

A sob escaped your lips, and you tripped along to your office door. You really did look awful. Your skin was broken out, and you were going to need to start wearing the maternity tent well before your third trimester. Your belly was already tender, and then the baby decided this was the perfect moment to kick hard enough you thought you were going to wet your khakis.

"She's right," you whispered, tossing your lunch onto your desk and running for the bathroom. One glance in the mirror as you ran for an empty stall left you sobbing in the ladies' room. You looked awful. It was no wonder Bradley was paying extra attention to her. The fear that looking at Indigo had already turned into touching her was eating away at you. When you flushed the toilet, you turned and gagged before emptying the meager contents of your stomach into the bowl.

When you finally made it back to your office, your stomach couldn't handle a single bite of food. You dumped it in the trash.

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

Bradley was just wrapping up a meeting with Maverick when Indigo cornered him outside his office. "Can I help you with something?" he asked, trying to keep the amusement from his voice. She was getting to be relentless.

As she shook her head slowly, she laughed. "I already told you, Sir, I can think of countless things you could help me with."

"Well why don't you run some of them past me?"

Her eyes widened as she licked her lips. "We could do that at the Hard Deck? I could still buy you that drink?"

Bradley sighed, hands planted on his hips which somehow drew her in closer. "I can't let any of you buy me drinks. Sorry, but that's not going to happen." He nodded toward his door. "But I have about fifteen minutes if there's something I can help you with."

She nodded. "Fifteen minutes would probably be more than enough, Sir."

Indigo stepped inside his office, glancing back at him over her shoulder, but Bradley saw another familiar face turn the corner in the hallway.

"Hey, there, hot shot," said Natasha, making Bradley smile. "You have a minute?"

"Actually, no," he replied, watching as his best friend looked inside to see who was waiting for him. She made a face, gaze snapping back to his. "Can it wait until later?"

Nat pressed her lips together like she was fighting off a scowl. "I wanted to see if you were free to workout with me later," she whispered. "I could stop by after dinner, and we could do some reps in your garage?"

"Absolutely," he replied. "See you around seven?"

"Yeah." 

She took one more look at Indigo before marching back the way she came, leaving Bradley with nothing to do but take a seat behind his desk.

"Do you want me to close the door?" Indigo asked, voice laced with hope as she half stood.

"Leave it," Bradley replied, once again showing no hint of favoritism. "Now, what did you want to talk about?"

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

After dinner, you excused yourself to Rose's nursery to feed her and make a phone call to your parents. Bradley kissed you on the forehead before doubling back to the bedroom to change into gym clothes. When he let you know Nat was coming over to workout in the garage, you seemed almost relieved.

He started setting up his weights and bench press when he heard the sound of a familiar engine pull up to the house. A minute later, Nat was strolling in wearing bright pink spandex with a matching gym bag. 

"I could spot you a mile away," he told her, and she chucked her bag at his chest. They both laughed when he caught it.

"You know what I can see a mile away?" she asked.

"What?"

"The word dumbass written across your forehead."

He rolled his eyes, dropping her bag onto one of the mats. Then he froze as he heard another engine pull up to a stop at his driveway. This one made him glare at Nat.

"Why is he here?" Bradley asked, and a split second later, Jake came strolling in like he owned the place. 

Nat and Jake shared a look as Jake tossed his gym bag next to hers. "I thought I might need some backup."

Now Bradley was annoyed and also confused. "Backup? For what?"

Natasha closed the distance to him, patting Bradley on the chest with a firm hand. Her dark eyes conveyed concern as she asked, "Are you fucking stupid? Or are you doing it on purpose?"

"Huh?"

"I love you, Bradley. I really do. But I still have to follow girl code."

"Nat, I have no fucking clue what you're talking about."

The clanging of Jake adding weights to the bar made Bradley want to scream as Nat shook her head in pity.

"She wants in your pants," Jake drawled.

"Who?" Bradley asked, still unsure what they were even talking about.

"Your student with the crazy blue eyes!" Nat said, smacking him hard on the chest.

"Indigo?" Bradley asked, taking a step away from her. Both Nat and Jake were nodding as Bradley's brow creased. "She's like twenty-six years old."

"So?" Nat asked, hands planted on her hips.

"So, she's not trying to get in my pants. I'm married. Everyone knows I'm married."

Bradley held up his left hand, complete with wedding band. He rarely ever took it off, especially since it got him into hot water with you when he was deployed. But as he watched the band shine under the fluorescent lights, his lips parted wordlessly, and he stood there while both Nat and Jake scrutinized him.

If Indigo had been flirting with him this whole time, he'd written her off as an overzealous young pilot trying to prove herself. Now every interaction replayed through his mind, and he rubbed his palm over his eyes as he groaned. There was no way this was happening to him. He'd been alone with her on several occasions in his office. The door always remained open, but she'd pushed for him to close it.

Bradley's cheeks burned with mortification, and he wasn't sure he could even look Nat in the face. If Indigo really was trying to get in his pants, then he was a joke. He was an absolute joke, and none of the younger pilots took him seriously in his new role. That thought made him sick, but not as sick as the idea that maybe you'd noticed something as well.

Bradley swallowed hard. "Oh, fuck." When he swallowed again, he wanted to scream.

"Okay, there's my answer," Nat whispered, wrapping her fingers gently around his wrist and pulling his hand away from his face. She pressed herself up onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Thank god you're just stupid. It would be so much worse if you were messing around with her intentionally."

"I'm not," he barked, angry at the insinuation. "I wouldn't. I've never even touched her!"

Nat's hands were on his chest, coaxing him to calm down, but he was too worked up. "Easy, Soul Sister," she said, but he was shaking his head now.

"I'm fucking married, Nat! I made wedding vows. I have a daughter, and my wife is pregnant with another girl. What the fuck would I cheat for? What's going to be better than this?"

Bradley's chest was heaving with ragged breaths as she guided him to sit on his bench. He landed hard, jostling the weights as he looked up at two sympathetic faces.

"Nothing's gonna be better than Angel," Jake drawled. "I'm still not sure if it was dumb luck or divine intervention, but she's way out of your league, Bradshaw."

"I know," Bradley snarled. "You think I don't know that? She's fucking perfect." He tilted his head back, blinking up at the lights. "Do you think she knows Indigo was trying to flirt with me?"

"Absolutely," Nat replied, and Bradley forced himself to meet her eyes.

"Yes, asshole," Jake added. "She's not stupid like you are."

"Fuck." Bradley stood and started pacing around. He felt like his job and marriage were suddenly on the line. He didn't know what to say to you that wouldn't potentially make things worse right now. If he could think of something reasonable, he'd run across the yard and back inside the house and say it to your face.

Maybe this was part of the reason you'd been so quiet? But it didn't make sense. He never talked about Indigo outside of the context of work, because there was simply nothing else to say. But after that night at the bar, you were really fucking mad at him. He thought you were mad that he got drunk, but maybe there was more to it.

"God damn it," he groaned, realizing Nat was lifting weights while Jake spotted her. "Do you think I should talk to Mav tomorrow?"

"Yes," they both replied in unison. The fact that they agreed on something was scary enough, but that let Bradley know just how fucked he was.

But he would take care of everything. He'd talk to Mav and figure it all out. What other choice did he have? 

"I'm heading inside," he murmured. "Can the two of you turn off the lights and lock up when you're done."

Bradley didn't wait for an answer. He was already walking across the backyard, craving your reassuring touch that he wasn't quite sure he deserved. When his phone vibrated in the pocket of his shorts, he pulled it out. He was met with another text from Indigo, but this time there was a photo as well. She was on the beach at sunset, the orange and pink sky somehow making her eyes look even more startlingly blue, and she was smiling at the camera. When his eyes slid down the screen to her cleavage, he almost dropped his phone. But not before he read the text.

This beach is so beautiful. Wish you were here.

Bradley couldn't decide what to do. Turn around and go back to the garage? Go inside the house? Sit down on Rose's jungle gym and cry? Smash his phone to bits? When another text appeared, he looked at it immediately.

Oops, I sent that to the wrong person. Have a good night, Sir.

Bradley squeezed his phone in his hand until he was afraid it might break. Then he opened a different text thread and pounded out a message, hitting send immediately. 

Mav, I need to talk to you about something important first thing in the morning.

When Bradley noticed movement, he looked up at the sliding glass door. You were carrying Rose around the living room, bouncing her in your arms as you yawned. Getting the Nugget ready for bed was supposed to be his job. He loved it. The bedtime stories and the snuggles were the best part. He needed to have this.

Finally he walked inside, sliding the door closed quietly behind him, trying not to panic. Rose was nearly asleep, but you let him take her into his arms. Bradley kissed her all over her sweet face before forfeiting her to her crib, then he climbed in bed with you. When he reached for your hand, you curled up against him, and he let his hand rest along your belly.

"I love you, Sweetheart," he whispered, heart aching. "I love my three girls."

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

Start getting your shit together, Bradley. Indigo has shown she's relentless. Also, I thought I was solid on the baby's name, but I might put it to a vote. Stay tuned. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

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[thebubblesareevil]

Who’s the bad guy here, really?

(This is pretty rushed, but I completely forgot about this and didn't want to abandon it. Hope you like it)

Danny was tired.

It had been 3 months since he ran away from home and joined the league…well technically he joined the JR league. Apparently, once the league realized he was actually a 15 year old, they decided that MAYBE they shouldn't have him fighting Bizarro on his own.

Danny didn’t get it, but they got him enrolled in school and made sure he wouldn’t miss too many classes so that was a bonus.

That was about a month ago and Danny was certain the main team was mad at him for lying about being a half ghost. He thought he made some real friends before they moved him to the Jr squad, but no one was answering him.

Any hero that DID answer him always gave the same excuse.

“I’m sorry Danny, I’d love to hang out but we have to deal with this new villain duo!”

What’s worse is that any enquiry about the so-called villains was greeted with nervous glances and swift retreats.

(Danny was sure there were no new villain, the team would have heard about them by now)

The team did their best to cheer him after every evasion, but it really wasn't helping.

He did this to himself, but that was fine. His family was safe and that's all that mattered.

Three months ago, the GIW launched an all out war against phantom in amity park. Anyone that was suspected of having anything to do with ghosts was taken in for questioning and wouldn't come back for days. They even started to get aggressive towards his parents after they started advocating for Phantom.

So Danny did the only thing he could.

He left, as publicly as possible, Danny ran away from the only home he had ever known to protect his family.

And now his friends had ditched him because he lied.

Danny felt like shit.

---------

"This is the third attack on a League base in 2 weeks." Batman said sternly to the heroes surrounding the table. He pressed a button.

A holograph appeared over the table depicting 2 Villains carrying large weapons, destroying everything in their wake. The 2 were incredibly resilient. The larger of the two was taking hits from wildcat and the smaller tossed canary across the room, completely ignoring her screams.

Both had been stationed at the outpost to guard against these exact 2 villains, and both were still recovering.

Their threat level was raised, now it was their turn to step in.

-------

Danny dragged himself out of bed as he got up early for training. He heard a knock at the door.

"Come in." He shouted as he put on his shirt.

Conner walked in, scowling as he saw some of the scars littering Danny's chest.

"You ready? We're training with Batman today."

Danny scoffed. "Ready? No. No one's ready for Batman, I am excited though.

The two headed towards the dining room to eat before training when suddenly the alarms blared. They rushed to the comm room, meeting up with M'gann on the way.

"What's going on?!" She asked, bracing herself as the base shook.

"No idea, whatever it is its not good."

As they rushed into the comm room they greeted by the sight of a woman fighting hand to hand with Batman. Superman was on the floor covered in green goop while a large man was getting ready to toss Green Arrow across the room.

The teens stood in shock. Though only one spoke.

Well, maybe spoke wasn't the right word.

"MOM?!?!? DAD?!?!" Danny yelled.

The man spun around suddenly, casually tossing green arrow across the room.

"DANNO!!! MADDIE ITS DANNY!!!"

The man raced over, only to be cut off by the Flash blocking his path.

"Danny, run! We'll hold them off, just get out of here!"

Danny stood there dumbfounded.

His dad on the other hand, wasn't.

"You stay away from my son you damn creep!" He shouted as the Flash charged him, somehow not noticing the man pull out...a baseball bat?

Danny winced as flash got hit with the Fenton anti-creep stick.

"Dad! Stop! They're my friends!" He tried to placate his dad.

"Friends don't convince you to run away from home to join a cult!" He then noticed the other two teens. "Holy Fudge! MADDIE THERES MORE KIDS!!!" He shouted as his wife held off the creep from Gotham.

"Dad! The League didn't make me leave! And it isn't a cult!"

This made the man pause.

"I left to protect you guys! The GIW was gonna come for you, so I led them away! I only joined the league so I could keep helping people!" Danny yelled.

The orange-clad man stopped, giving his son a sad look.

"It's not your job to protect us son, it's our job to protect you." He said picking his son up and wrapping him in a bear hug.

Conner just stood there confused as M'gann clapped and grinned out the outcome.

"Now can you tell mom to stop trying to mace Batman?" Danny asked when his dad put him down. The two turned to the fighting duo.

"Let's give them 5 more minutes. Your mom hasn't had this much fun since she ditched that cult in Asia."

(Feel free to take this idea and run with it. I like the idea that the fentons are a force of nature that defies explanation..but Maddie definitely stole their early ecto samples from the lazarus pit)

[01zfan]

sweetheart | l. at

nerd!anton x nerd!reader | 5.1k words

a request i got and it kinda made me go a little insane.

contains: anton pretends to be an insecure little nerd to plot on the reader, fingering, reader is implied to be a virgin

Anton is a sweetheart. He’s non assuming and soft spoken, so quiet that he has to clear his throat each time he speaks. He’s kind, always extending the same tenderness and patience to people he received as a child. He’s one of the few men in his program that the girls didn’t have trouble approaching if they had a question or trouble with an assignment. 

Each time anyone approached him with a question he was helpful, pushing his thick frames up his face before leaning to the paper. With a pencil he’d mark where the mistake was, and explaining it with a gentle voice that had girls leaning in even closer. 

After they got a smell of his cologne and the look of his soft skin everything else was easy. The girls would tilt their heads in curiosity about Anton, intrigued at how someone so shy made it this far in life. How someone was so cute from afar but something more once you got close. All he had to do was avoid their eyes and chew his lip a few times before they were sliding their phones over to him.

Just in case I need help with another assignment.

Anton’s eyes would always widen in shock. Not from the surprise of being pursued but just how easy it all was. The girls never found out that Anton was red in the face from the rush and he ducked his head to hide a smile of satisfaction. They would laugh lightly seeing his reaction, observing what they thought was insecurity. Before going on about their day they’d touch his shoulder or pull on him playfully.

Anton is a sweetheart.

But he also has a problem.

He knows he does. His friends compared it to a sweet tooth that bordered addiction, or someone who would walk into a casino with a twenty dollar bill expecting to hit big. They sometimes even called Anton a psychopath when he’d get all giddy telling them about his day. 

Anton knew he had a problem, but it was hard to stop when he got the sweet fix or hit the jackpot each time. Nothing could top the feeling of euphoria Anton would get when he’d come to one of those girls after they asked him to come to their place. He’d look at the messages in the comfort of his room and smile, knowing what it meant when they’d preface the study session by saying they were alone. He’s addicted to the game he’d play every time, faking the shy and insecure nerd that pretty girls were going to eat for dinner. Like they were throwing him a bone by inviting him to their apartment or dorm under the guise of doing homework. 

They’d answer the door in something easy to take off or something that would cling to them like a second skin. If they were particularly desperate it’d be both, yoga pants that showed everything and a cropped shirt that rode up with every movement. Anton loved shamelessly gawking at the girls behind his glasses, shuffling from foot to foot in front of them before they invited him in. He waited for each direction, eyes darting around their room before he was invited to sit down or told to take out his notebook. He would purposefully be a step behind, showing how lost he was to be in a room that didn’t belong to him or his other intraverted friends.

He loved letting the girls make the first move. On their bed settling in as they really got a look at him in the setting of their room. Something about how clueless he was made the girls all the more strung up. He looked everywhere but at them, shrinking himself on their bed. His timidness made the girls love making the first subtle touch on his flexed arm, or purposefully grabbing his pencil so they could compare hand sizes. Anton loved acting like he was nervous wreck from the longing stares to the side of his face, like he hadn’t done this dance a million times before. He loved messing up his words while trying to act oblivious to the hungry look in their eyes. He loved the pretty smile the girls would get like he was the one falling into their trap. 

His absolute favorite part was when they’d turn his head with their soft hands. Anton would falter from the eye contact, letting his lips part in confusion as they focused on him. The notebooks and assignments between them long forgotten as they shuffled closer to him on the bed.

“Have you ever been with a girl before?” 

They’d always ask that. Voices light and airy, already having an answer in their mind.

“I have.” 

He’d always answer with a stutter. The falter in his voice never made them push any further. They assumed by Anton’s darting eyes that the number was so minuscule asking about it would only embarrass him. 

(He stopped being embarrassed of his conquests a long time ago. He also stopped being able to keep track.)

Anton is a sweetheart, with a problem of seeing pretty girls eyes flash when they realize that he is more than capable.

The moment was always the same. The mood in the room would change when Anton would sheepishly take off his oversized hoodie. Each time silence would settle over the room when they saw what he was hiding underneath. His undershirt hugged close to his body, showing the chisel and the hard work he put in at the gym. When he was feeling tired while working out he’d replay the sight of the girls taking in his toned body. They’d reach out to touch his chest as if they were expecting it all to be fake, other times they would just let out a breathless wow.

He always basked in seeing the girls try to maintain their composure. They would become the ones averting their eyes and stumbling over their words. They would be shellshocked on their side of the bed, wondering what else he was hiding. But Anton was still sweet, he always was. He would always wait patiently to see if this was really what the girls wanted. He would pick at the seam of his pants and look down to the forgotten homework to let them know they could go back to what they were doing and pretend this never happened. But the obvious bulge in his pants always made pretty girls reach for the waistband of their pants without a second thought.

Anton was never sure if they gawked at him in an attempt to get his confidence up or if they were truly surprised. As if his build and height were no indicator, each time Anton took off his pants to reveal his dick they were always so shocked. That’s when the resolve would truly fall, when their jaws would drop and they’d blink their eyes from the sheer surprise. Precum would leak from his tip just from the sight of them coming to terms with what was twitching and red and angry in front of them.

“You’re big.”

The infliction in their voice was always different. Some girls would be excited, others would be confused, a few times they almost seemed disgusted. Like there was no way the shy kid in the back of the class was hiding this.

“Am I really?” 

Anton wasn’t an idiot. Even if he said it looking down at the bed, he knew that he was endowed and it was pretty. But sometimes he just needed to hear it an extra time, or look up to see a quick head nod when they couldn’t fathom saying it again. He was an insecure nerd after all. The quiet recluse in the back of class that barely had friends. An absolute sweetheart that threw girls around and manipulated their bodies into positions they didn’t even know about.

He loved being a good fuck. For a long time he believed he was put on the Earth to fuck pretty girls and to stop them from judging books by their covers. Anton was killing two birds with one stone by cooing at girls condescendingly while he gave them everything. It was his civic duty to exert his strength and to kiss girls until they were breathless and his glasses fogged. Each time he heard I didn’t know you had that in you an angel gained it’s wings. Whenever they’d tell their girlfriends what the shy nerd did to them in their dorm Anton was making the world a better place. Sometimes he would get called back, sometimes he would run through entire friend groups just to prove he was really committed to the cause. 

No matter how many people Anton fucked, no one seemed to believe it. Like it was collective psychosis that the nerd was a good lay, or a big open secret everyone was hush about. Anton was still treated like he was meek, his soft nature made everyone believe he was an open book, so much to the point that they made wrong judgements about his character. He actually hated staying inside and enjoyed exploring the city and trying new things with his friends. He was a sensitive person but he could also advocate for himself and admit when he was wrong. He was quiet, but only because he valued personal, quiet conversations more than anything. 

He eventually learned that people’s preconceived notions of him couldn’t be helped. Anton could fuck the entirety of the campus and people would still treat him like he was made of glass. He decided to be an optimist, finding the silver lining in people assuming he was the sweetheart with a cute smile. Their perception of him could’ve been worse, being shy was infinitely better than being loud and obnoxious. So when people would assume things about Anton’s personality he would only react positively. He would let his eyes go wide, acting shocked when someone would tell him about their first impression of him. 

“I thought you were an asshole at first.”

You told Anton nonchalantly, as if his whole world didn’t crumble. You didn’t even spare him a second glance as you wrote on your lab report. You were too busy adjusting the calculations and reading over the proper way to dispose the chemicals a million times to make sure it was right while Anton sputtered to himself. He was caught off guard by your honesty and surprisingly quick answer as if it was on the forefront of your mind. You only tilted your head up for a second before you had the answer. 

Anton didn’t know what to do about you. Just when he thought he had seen every girl in his major you came along, sitting in the back of class with him. You seemed to be the recluse of a person everyone mistook Anton for. You were in and out of class, not bothering to raise your hand during discussions or to socialize with your peers. You also didn’t seem to latch onto him like other girls of his major did. When they looked for Anton’s face in the lecture hall you walked right past him, not bothering to look up from your notebook or laptop. For the first time in his life Anton felt compelled to make the first move. He thought that you two had built up a good rapport, and that you saw him as your kindhearted and resigned classmate.

But you saw him as anything but that. You said it confidently too, and loud enough for your classmates at the next lab table to look over.

“What do you mean?” Anton said quietly.

You frowned looking up from the pamphlet. You were visibly annoyed, you even motioned to the undisposed chemicals to show him that you two still had class.

“Can we talk about this when our grade isn’t at stake, please?” You asked.

You weren’t commanding for his benefit. You weren’t taking into account that he might be afraid to hear a negative opinion about himself. You weren’t looking at him like girls had before, like you were trying to pick him apart for your own entertainment. You were willing to put validation for Anton on the back burner because you had other things to do. When Anton would have girls gush over him you were benevolent, indifferent to his fake insecurities. 

The more you paid attention to your work rather than him, Anton found himself scrambling. He was working hard for your affection. When the teacher announced that class was over and lab reports were due the next morning he leapt at the chance to invite himself over. He was supposed to be shy and insecure, getting nervous over the mere thought of being alone with the opposite sex. His facade went over your head. Instead, Anton watched you do the cost-benefit analysis of inviting him over before you shrugged your shoulders.

“Alright. Just follow me.” You said before setting a ridiculously fast paced speed walk to the other side of campus.

But Anton followed you. He bobbed and weaved through crowds and essentially chased you across the common area while you continued on your pace. Other girls would walk with Anton, trying to pry information out from his clammy hands. You barely spared a second glance over your shoulder like you were trying to lose him. Anton followed you all the way to your dorm, then up the stairs, then waited for you beside your door as you put your backpack on your desk and pulled up a chair next to yours. You didn’t extend an invitation towards Anton to take a seat. 

He waits for you to step in. He’s laid the trap by taking off his hoodie even though you kept your room cold, and shuffled his seat closer to yours. He put his elbows on the table next to yours coming closer to the lines you stopped writing on your paper.

He laid the trap. He can see you hesitate, looking from him to the assignment and then back to him. Anton keeps his eyes on the paper, rubbing his fingers over his lips to stop himself from smiling.

“Do you work out?” You asked.

Your voice didn’t have the sultry infliction that girls usually had when they asked him that question. You didn’t reach across and squeeze his toned bicep or shamelessly drag your eyes over his broad shoulders. You asked the question simply, no other intention except for wanting an answer.

“I do. Sometimes.” Anton said.

You only hummed and went back to your paper. Anton scooted closer to you, hoping his Le Labo Lavande 31 and the hand across the back of your chair was invading your space enough for you to really get a good look at him. Anton watched your eyes dart again. You were nervous, eyes wide and Anton felt the rush.

“You smell nice.” You said.

The line was pulled from the trap. You’re caged in and Anton looks to you. He knows about the death grip you have on your pencil, it makes him brave enough to invade your space even more.

“You forgot to write your observations here.” Anton says, trying to make lab reports as sexy as possible. 

This assignment would’ve been abandoned a long time ago. If this was anyone else it would’ve never made it out of their backpack. You were adamant about your work, looking at the tips of his pretty fingers where you left a spot blank. He should have his report out too. He should be writing something just like you try to, instead Anton leans closer and he swears the pencil in your hand is going to break from the pressure. 

Is this how he should’ve been acting with those girls all that time? This is real nerves rolling off your body. The anxiety almost makes Anton nervous by extension, he shivers when he finally lets his hand on the back of your chair touch your body. You stiffen and he’s amazed. You went from being indifferent to being too aware. He feels you back away slightly, but when his hand tightens on your shoulder you lean in. You’re hot and cold, not knowing what you want. He can feel you tremble, and your eyes dart from his eyes to his lips. 

“I’ve never done anything before.”

Anton comes closer. His hand that pointed at a random thing on your paper turns into a fist as he distracts you completely. He brings himself forward until he’s in your line of sight, even when you try so hard to look at anything but him. He smirks when your eyes dart past him, and he fully lets his arm rest across your back. You’re malleable, before you refused to even bend to him but now you move from his slightest touch.

“What do you mean?” He asks. “You’ve never done what before?”

He should go for the nerds more often. The way you already seem sweaty and antsy just from thinking about what is happening makes Anton want to play with you some more. He knows it’s perverse, like a dog playing a smaller animal to death. He wants to see if you’ll twitch, if you’re playing dead just to try and make a run for it. 

“I’ve never—I know that—” Anton raises his eyebrows and nods to each one of your broken statements. “It just seems like—”

“Like what?” He smiles and nudges you. His smile is toothy, yours is tightlipped to a straight line. “C’mon. Talk to me.” He continues.

“You smell really good.” You repeat.

You’re the twitching body of a mouse in his jaws. He just smile and nods at your statement, how you go back to saying old things in an attempt to catch your footing. He forces you to sit in the uncomfortable silence. He waits for you to say something knowing you can’t, he waits for you to touch him even if you’re caught like a deer in the headlights.

“I look good too, right?” He starts drawing shapes on your shoulder.

He’s having too much fun. He’s entertained seeing your intelligence fail you. You’re stumped, you drop your pencil to fully clench your fist. 

The pencil is rolling back and forth on your lab report, the small sound is the only thing that speaks. You’re still desperately trying to figure out how you got into this situation, how one thing led to another so quickly that his hand is reaching underneath the sleeve of your shirt.

“You look good, Anton.” You agree.

“Thanks.” Anton smiles and you do too, averting your eyes and nodding to yourself to feign indifference. Anton looks down to your shirt, still playing with your skin underneath your sleeve. “You do too.” He says.

Another bout of silence. You let yourself be touched, hands still clenched on top of the table. Anton rests his hand on top of your fist, smoothing over the protruding veins trying to coax them open. This is more fulfilling than playing with popular girls. The game still hasn’t ended for him. He’s on the fifth consecutive jackpot when you finally open your mouth again.

“I don’t.” Your hand opens and Anton clasps over it, smiling to himself when it disappears. “I don’t know what you want me to do.” You stutter.

You’re too cute for your own good. Finally you look at him with big eyes and your eyebrows raised. You give into his touches a little more, finally warming up to all the attention. Still your pupils shake, and Anton brings his hand from your shoulder to your face to keep you from turning away.

“Can I make you feel good?” He asks.

You could barely nod before Anton was guiding you up from your chair and backing you towards your bed. He watched you stumble when the back of your legs hit the edge. You looked up at him, your pretty eyes already looking wet. Maybe he really did have a problem. Because he loved seeing them widen in surprise when he put his hands underneath your arms, lifting you up just enough to set you on the edge of your bed. He loved seeing your jostled expression and the tiny yelp when you landed so perfectly on your sheets.

Anton watched you stay in place, catching your breath from the sudden movement. He watched your chest still as his hands went to the bottom of his tank top. He’s grateful to have such a captive audience. There’s no way he can pretend to be shy after this. You’re astonished as he slowly lifts his shirt, and he watched you shamelessly stare at him before you realized he could see you. 

Anton let you eat him alive before he came up to you, until you had to tilt your head upwards to see him. You didn’t dare lift your hands from the bed, like he was going to disappear the moment you touched him. Like he was straight from a dream you only looked up to him, waiting for what he was going to do next. Anton wonders if you thought you’d end up in this position, with him looming over you and his hand creeping to a spot under your chin. He absolutely can’t stop doing this. The view is too pretty, your stillness is addicting. Like you’re too afraid to even breathe too loud in case it’d break the tension. He bends closer to your lips, eyes still open after you screw yours shut. You preemptively grip your mattress for dear life and he can’t help but smile.

He smiles into the kisses, each peck bringing you closer and closer to your mattress. When your back is against the sheets Anton climbs on, refusing the break contact. You look so pretty underneath him, eyes squeezing shut again when another wave of realization hits you. You’ve never been in this position before, with someone like Anton looming over you while still being so sweet. He runs his hand over the apple of your cheek, and fixes your shirt that left your stomach exposed.

“Is this okay?” Anton asks.

He knows it is, because your legs seemed to spread a little bit more and more with each passing second. By the time his hand drifts down to your neck you’re completely open, your soft pants bunching at the place Anton wants to touch you next. The valley of your chest gives him a straight path down, and your bent legs open further.

“Want me to touch you?” He asks.

He knows he’s cruel. You’re metaphorically dead and his face is covered in blood, but still he continues. He’s jumping around your body, reaching out a playful hand like you have the life to play back.

“Please touch me.” You whine pitifully.

Anton presses a chaste kiss to your forehead as his hands work past the elastic band of your pants and underwear. You flinch from his hands, then you preen your hips towards his fingers, then you pull back. He’s mocking when he coos at you, the time pressing a kiss to the side of your head. He almost feels bad. You’re clearly fighting against something, your eyes are shut tight as you press your head into the mattress. Anton tries kissing your eyes open, but it only makes you squeeze them tighter.

With you writhing underneath him, he took the time to look around your room. Your little pegboard above your desk where you had calendar marked with all the important due dates of upcoming assignments. Your neatly placed books and papers, your stuffed animals around your pillows. You didn’t make your bed this morning, instead laying on crumbled sheets and gripping whatever you could get your hands on. Your hand went to Anton’s forearm and clutched it, whimpering something that he couldn’t decipher.

“Does it feel good?” He asks.

You nod, and when Anton tries to pull away he feels your nails dig into his forearm. You seem unaware of what you’re doing, how you’re silently begging him to keep going. You’re just moving underneath him, already beginning to twitch helplessly. Anton purposefully pushes his fingers deeper into your clit until he knows he’s bringing you the smallest amount of pain. He’s pulling the strings, watching your body react to him because you can’t control it. By this point the girls would already be asking him to take his pants off, but you can’t even form a coherent thought. He’s having fun in his jeans, watching you twitch and twist and grip his arm with all your might.

“Anton.”

You flick your hips up and he presses his hand to your hip, pinning you to the bed. You still try to swivel, useless against his strength. He’s intrigued that you aren’t trying to be defiant but you simply can’t help it. All the other girls were pliant immediately, so desperate to please the quiet boy in class they underestimated. You’re defiant because you can’t handle it.

“What’s up?” He asks.

His completely even voice makes you whine. The flush across your cheeks tells him you’re embarrassed, red hot and real unlike his facade.

You don’t answer him. You just dig your nails into his arm and attempt to get his prodding fingers to slide in. He raises his eyebrows at your not-so-subtle attempts to get him to inside of you.

“You want me to finger you?” He asks.

You nod like a good girl and Anton almost feels bad for asking you the question in a mocking tone. He makes up for it by giving you what you want immediately, sucking in a deep breath to match your deep breath. He smiles when he sees you arch off the bed. This is so much more entertaining than anything else. Just two fingers has you making unfiltered noises and gripping the sheets. Anton has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing, and he has half a mind to ask you if you’re okay in a serious tone. But he just continues driving his fingers into your hole.

He picks up the speed, just to hear the lewd sound you two make. It’s wet, Anton can already feel the mess on the palm of his hand. He pulls your waistband down to your knees, bringing your thighs closer together. He has to fight against your soft thighs clenching around his hand. He’s still able to drive his fingers in and out of your heat. He likes the resistance even though you clearly want more. Anton is surprised when you lift your shirt on your own accord. It’s obvious you’re doing it to relieve some of the heat you feel, but he’s still flattered nonetheless. His hand presses against your stomach, applying force to the lowest part.

“I can’t.” You whimper.

That’s when Anton finally laughs. He chuckles at how panicked you sound and how you turn your head in embarrassment.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks while picking up the speed of his hand.

You nod your head but when Anton tries to pull his hand away you clench your thighs to keep him in place. He chuckles again, situating one legs on the side of your body and the other between your closed legs. He casts a shadow on you below him, and he can see your eyes open the slightest bit from his movements. He drives your legs apart with his knee, and continues pumping that spot deep in you that leaves you shaking your head.

“I can’t.” You whimper.

“You can.” Anton sees your eyes open, wide and staring directly at him as he drives your legs apart further. “You’re so close.” He says.

Your entire body moves from the speed of his fingers. Even your chests jumps underneath your shirt, and he wants to lift it up to reveal the rest of you. He lets you take it at your own pace since you’re giving him so much already. He just pinches and grabs a handful of your stomach, marveling in how soft you are.

“So cute.” Anton coos. “You had no idea, right?” He asks.

You shake your head and you don’t stop shaking it, like you’re trying to will away your impeding orgasm. Anton watches all of it. He’s never had a pretty girl twitch for him so much, or reach a greedy hand up to grip your chest. Something you do when you’re close, something he wants to do for you. His hand superimposes yours, and grips harder too. You’re arching into his palm and preening your hips on his fingers, and then he watches your body go rigid.

“You’re cumming.” Anton teases.

Your whimpering yes rips through the room, and Anton feels wound up himself. He has to set his sights on something else. Pretty confident girls are fun, but seeing your shame manifest in the way you push and pull at him is much more intoxicating. He likes that he knows what you want but you’re too scared to say it, it’s your body that has to act on its own to fulfill your needs. When you continue going, and your strangled moans turn to broken oh my God’s and your legs start shaking, Anton knows he won’t be able to get enough. He keeps pushing you further because he knows you can take it, and you continue whimpering. He doesn’t stop until you sound panicked, and your hand starts pushing his away.

He still looks down at you with a smile on his face. Your head is turned towards your fluffy comforter, exhaling and inhaling so hard you move the fur with your breath. He’s satisfied seeing what he’s done to you, and he’s even more amused when you turn your head to face him.

Your eyes are wide, your lips are swollen and slick from your mindless drooling. Anton feels something in his chest when your eyes move past his body to the prominent bulge in his pants. He’s a step ahead, shaking his head and moving back to rest on his haunches. That comes later, when he plays with you some more and you start voicing how badly you want to please him. When you reach your hand towards his crotch Anton grabs your hand instead, intertwining your fingers.

“I just wanted to make you feel good.” He says.

He’s a sweetheart, after all.

[pisoprano]

Somehow the Jubilation dream gets leaked to the public, specifically a still of Ladybug and Chat Noir kissing at their wedding. A Ladynoir stan becomes so wracked by all the emotions that they end up akumatized as Honeymooner.

Before either Ladybug or Chat Noir can do a thing to combat the akuma, they’re transported to a game show dimension...

--

Honeymooner: Welcome Ladybug and Chat Noir! I am your host, Honeymooner! And I can’t believe you two went and got married and didn’t tell anyone! For shame!

Ladybug: We didn’t actually—

Honeymooner: I have the picture of you both dressed in white right here!

Chat Noir: Really, that was a side effect of the akuma—

Honeymooner: Puh-lease! You two weren’t Couple of the Year for nothing! And I’m going to prove that you two are perfectly perfect for each other by having you play The Newlywed Game! I’ll ask a question and you’ll tell us who you think it applies to more. If you’re right, the wedding bells will ‘ding!’ If you’re wrong, the wedding bells will ‘dong!’ If you’re both right oh, let's say five times, I’ll let you both get back to your honeymoon *wink*!

Monarch: And I’ll know what Ladybug and Chat Noir’s real names are, muahahaha!

Honeymooner: Oh, and I suppose Monarch's giving me the first question: Do you know your partner’s real name?

Ladybug: No.

Chat Noir: No.

Wedding bells: *dong! dong!*

Honeymooner: Incorrect! Both of you are incorrect!

Chat Noir: I’m not lying! *realizes that Ladybug (along with the rest of Paris) has definitely heard the name ‘Adrien Agreste’* But maybe Ladybug has heard my name before? It’s really common!

Ladybug: *remembers Chat calling her ‘Marinette Dupain Cheng’ multiple times* Mine too! So so common!

Honeymooner: I guess that tracks. Moving on, it’s my turn for questions!

Monarch: Hey! I didn’t get to—

Honeymooner: Question 2! When did your partner fall in love with you?

Chat Noir: She didn't fall in love with me.

Ladybug: Exactly! I’m not in love with him!

Honeymooner: Remember, for this question you are answering for your partner, not yourself!

Ladybug: Uh… maybe around our first battle with Glaciator?

Wedding bells: *dong! dong!*

Honeymooner: Both of you are incorrect! Tell us, when did you really fall in love?

Chat Noir: When we first defeated Stoneheart… I told myself I didn't care who was behind that mask, I loved that girl...

Honeymooner: Since the beginning! We all swoon! Now Ladybug, tell us! When did your feelings start?

Ladybug: I… well… maybe I just had some feelings I never noticed…? Not that I can get into an actual relationship right now!

Honeymooner: *points at the wedding kiss picture* I think you’re a little late for that! Question 3! Let’s get into your preferences! What is your partner’s favorite color!

Ladybug: Black.

Chat Noir: Uh… re— *sees Ladybug glaring at him and changes his answer at the last second by imagining what her civilian self would pick, then basing his guess on his 'Everyday Ladybug'*—pink?

Wedding bells: *dong! ding!*

Honeymooner: Chat Noir is correct!

Monarch: What kind of a question was that? I need to know more about what’s behind their masks!

Honeymooner: It seems our butterflyness has something else he wants to know, so: Question 4! What color is your partner’s eyes?

Monarch: That’s not what I asked!

Chat Noir: Blue!

Ladybug: Green!

Wedding bells: *ding! ding!*

Honeymooner: Correct! Hey, you both got one right! I knew you knew each other so well! Only four more times with both of you getting it right to go!

Ladybug: Just for the record, I might have different color eyes when I’m not wearing the mask. And Chat’s got the eyes of a cat, so his eyes could be any color in real life!

Chat Noir: R-right! What my lady said!

Honeymooner: But clearly the fact that you knew means you spend a lot of time looking, tee-hee! Oh, I know what I want to ask! Question 5! Who has spent more time looking at pictures of their partner on their phone!

Ladybug: Chat.

Chat Noir: Me.

Wedding bells: *dong! dong!*

Honeymooner: Incorrect! Ooh, Ladybug, you’re such a voyeur and no one has any idea! So scandalous!

Chat Noir: *remembers he’s Adrien Agreste* Oh, I probably skewed those results since my photos are on my computer instead of my phone!

Ladybug: Y-yeah, and I’m constantly checking the Ladyblog so I keep seeing Chat Noir on the site’s icons!

Honeymooner: Ohoho! So you are someone who's taken steps to be actively engaged with society, hm....? Well, we thought it was such a travesty when you didn’t inform us of your engagement!

Monarch: Ask what echelons of society they run in!

Honeymooner: Question 6! If you were both attending a fancy party with the snobbiest elites in Paris, who would end up making a social faux paus first?

Monarch: NOT! WHAT! I! ASKED!

Ladybug: Chat, definitely. His posture alone would keep this stray from getting through the front doors!

Chat Noir: Meow-ch, I am offended! I’m a purebred feline, thank you very much! I would never make a breach of etiquette, so be default you’d be the first to make faux paws, my lady.

Wedding bells: *dong! ding!*

Honeymooner: Chat Noir is correct! Ladybug, this man is literally the prince of your dreams, you need to take him to a masquerade ball, he will sweep you off your feet and it’ll be so magical…

Ladybug: This is all just hypothetical! And who knows, I can be a bit clumsy sometimes—

Chat Noir: Madly clumsy.

Ladybug: Shut up.

Chat Noir: I will once you start getting more questions about me right!

Ladybug: I've gotten some things right!

Chat Noir: You've gotten one thing right. Which you literally knew since the moment we met. Come on, you know me, Bugaboo. And we'll prove it to the Honeymooner just how much.

--

They do manage to prove they both know each other. After 913 questions, anyway.

concept: an akuma that forces Ladybug and Chat Noir to play some version of the Newlywed Game. in order to beat the akuma they have to get enough questions about the other correct, but the questions often will be random obscure facts about their civilian lives. akuma magically knows the correct answers to all questions asked but still only asks completely useless questions that does nothing to help the butterfly figure out their identities, just enough to have ladybug baffled by how bad she is at guessing about what chat noir's personal life is like

[fangdokja]

Hello!

May I ask you about yandere!ex - boyfriend?

Did the yandere tendencies begin with the relationship or did they materialize after the breakup? And will there be a fic about him in the future?

Thankyou for answering in advance! 🫶

She wasn't looking for love, but love wasn't asking for permission.

❤︎ Synopsis. A calculated partnership born out of convenience spirals into something far darker, as control slips and obsession takes root. What started as a deal now feels like a dangerous game—and neither of them is willing to lose.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Ex-Boyfriend x Reader

♡ Novella. Friction & Fire - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 9,000

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non-con, possessiveness, objectification, suggestive themes, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching

♡ A/N. Another planned work in my drafts that I haven’t released yet before, but here it is now. Technically an ask, but I prefer to answer this with a fic :)) Ok….. so I checked it and it's turning into 12k+ words. Went a bit ham, and still going. Might turn it into a Novella. Why do I write so much, ahh. So, I'll be dividing the parts (6 parts). Sorry. Probably, the slowest burn yandere among all my works at the moment.... I think. But, still for me, pretty fast burn romance, because we focus on yandere content. Lol. Also side note, if you like ENTP 7w8 yanderes (e.g. Gojo, Hawks, Dazai, Vanitas, Kuroo)? Well, this one's for you. Made a hardcore ENTP 7w8 yandere this time.

The first time you met him, it was as if the universe had aligned—not in some whimsical, romanticized way, but with the brutal precision of mathematics. A logical equation where X equaled Y. You needed a shield, someone to deflect the probing questions of your overbearing parents and the inevitable parade of suitors they had lined up. He needed a partner who wouldn’t demand too much—someone who understood ambition, who wouldn’t suffocate him with expectations of sweet nothings and fairytales.

It wasn’t love. It was convenience.

You found him sitting in the back of the lecture hall, legs spread wide and a pen dangling between his fingers like a cigarette. There was something insufferable about the way he grinned at you when your eyes met, as if he already knew why you’d approached him. You ignored the flicker of irritation his cocky demeanor ignited within you.

“I have a proposition,” you said, arms crossed and chin high, voice cutting through the low murmur of the room like a blade.

His gaze trailed over you, assessing but not predatory, as if you were a puzzle he was already halfway through solving. He tilted his head, the grin widening. “Do tell, golden girl.”

That nickname—it would become a staple, laced with amusement and, eventually, something sharper, more cutting. But for now, it was just a playful jab.

“I need a boyfriend.”

That caught his attention. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, the smirk never wavering. “And what makes you think I’m boyfriend material?”

“I don’t,” you replied coolly. “But you’re convenient. Senior year, right? Close to graduating, no time for real commitment. And you seem…” You hesitated, letting your gaze sweep over him pointedly. “…unserious.”

He laughed, a low, throaty sound that drew a few curious glances your way. “Unserious. I’ll take that as a compliment. What’s in it for me?”

“Your parents are investors,” you said, your voice crisp, businesslike. “I’ve seen the sponsorships they’ve secured for student startups. You want their connections, don’t you? Stick with me for the rest of the semester, play the part, and I’ll make sure you have their ear.”

For a moment, he simply stared at you, as if trying to gauge whether you were serious. Then, to your surprise, he leaned back, his grin softening into something that felt almost genuine.

“You’re a piece of work, aren’t you?”

“I prefer to think of myself as efficient.”

He held out his hand. “Deal.”

From that moment on, the two of you fell into a rhythm. It wasn’t romantic—not in the way people might imagine when they looked at you, the golden child, and him, the sharp-tongued, perpetually smirking senior. You didn’t hold hands unless necessary. You didn’t go on dates unless it served a purpose. He played the charming, doting boyfriend at family dinners, his wit and charisma winning over even your most skeptical relatives.

And you? You became his silent shield at parties, the poised partner who kept the clingy girls at bay and gave his otherwise reckless image a veneer of respectability.

It worked. For a while.

You didn’t notice, at first, the way his gaze lingered too long when you weren’t looking. How he started rearranging his schedule to align with yours, his texts becoming more frequent, more personal. You chalked it up to him playing his role—nothing more, nothing less.

But beneath the surface of your carefully constructed arrangement, something was shifting. Slowly. Inexorably.

And neither of you realized it yet.

────────────

The partnership was a tightrope walk over a chasm, a precarious balance between your structured determination and his reckless improvisation. Where you sought order, he thrived in chaos; where you demanded precision, he operated on instinct. Your interactions were a battlefield of clashing ideologies, the tension sharp enough to draw blood.

You didn’t like him. Not really. And he knew it.

“You’re wound tighter than a noose, golden girl,” he’d say, leaning back in his chair during late-night meetings in the library, a toothpick shifting lazily between his teeth. “Relax. Not everything needs a ten-step plan.”

“And you’re far too comfortable winging it,” you’d retort without looking up from your notes, your pen scratching across the page in rhythmic defiance. “Some of us actually care about results.”

“Results?” He’d laugh, low and mocking, his voice a rasp in the dimly lit room. “You mean the kind your parents can frame and hang on a wall?”

That stung, though you never let it show. You simply straightened your spine, raised your chin, and met his gaze with a glare cold enough to freeze fire.

“Do you even have a plan for your life after graduation?” you shot back, your words slicing through his amusement. “Or are you planning to charm your way through that, too?”

The smirk faltered for just a moment, a crack in his otherwise impenetrable facade. Then it was back, sharper than before. “Why bother with a plan when I’ve got you to micromanage everything?”

It was always like this. Barbs exchanged like gunfire, neither of you willing to yield an inch. But when the conversation shifted to the projects you were working on together—the startup pitch for your entrepreneurship course, the meticulously researched presentations you delivered as a team—something strange happened.

The arguments faded, replaced by an almost eerie synchronization.

“What if we market it as a subscription model?” he’d suggest, his tone uncharacteristically serious, his fingers drumming against the table as his mind raced ahead.

You’d hesitate, biting the inside of your cheek, before nodding slowly. “It could work. If we tie it to a loyalty program—discounts for long-term users.”

“And gamify it,” he’d add, his eyes gleaming with an excitement you rarely saw in him. “Make it addictive. People love chasing badges and achievements. Psychological manipulation at its finest.”

“That’s… a disturbingly good idea,” you admitted, scribbling notes furiously.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he teased, though his grin lacked its usual edge. “Even I can be useful.”

For those brief moments, it was as if the constant friction between you two ignited something productive, something almost electric. You hated to admit it, but working with him was exhilarating in a way that was entirely new to you.

And yet, outside of those moments of collaboration, the tension only grew.

You started noticing the little ways he got under your skin: the way he’d leave his half-empty coffee cups on your desk during meetings, forcing you to clean up after him. The way he’d interrupt your carefully rehearsed presentations with off-the-cuff jokes that somehow always landed better than your meticulously prepared slides.

“You’re infuriating,” you snapped one evening, your voice tight with exhaustion as you shoved a pile of his crumpled notes back into his hands. “Do you even take this seriously?”

“Of course I do,” he replied, his tone unusually soft, his gaze steady. “I just don’t take you seriously. Not everything’s a life-or-death scenario, golden girl.”

You hated him. You hated the way he dismissed you, the way he seemed to find amusement in your frustration. But more than that, you hated the way he could turn around and say something so insightful, so perfectly aligned with your own thoughts, that it left you reeling.

It was a strange kind of intimacy, this constant push and pull, this battle of wills that neither of you could seem to win.

And though you didn’t know it yet, the cracks were already beginning to form in the walls you’d built around yourself.

────────────

The first time he saw you, he knew exactly what you were: a fortress. Polished stone walls, towering spires, and gates sealed shut with bolts of iron. Your every movement, every word, every carefully measured breath screamed control.

And he? He had never met a fortress he didn’t want to sack.

At first, it was curiosity. A passing interest in the girl who spoke with the precision of a scalpel, who held her chin high as if the weight of the world rested comfortably on her shoulders. He’d seen your type before—sharp, ambitious, ruthless—but there was something different about you.

It was the way your voice never trembled, even when your words cut like glass. The way your eyes locked onto his, cold and unyielding, like you were daring him to try something. Anything.

So, he did.

From the very beginning, he made it his mission to chip away at that armor, to find the cracks in your flawless facade.

“Golden girl,” he’d call you, the nickname dripping with mockery. He loved the way your jaw would tighten ever so slightly when he said it, how your fingers would twitch like you wanted to slap the grin off his face but couldn’t quite bring yourself to do it.

He started small—interrupting your meticulously organized schedules with his “spontaneous” detours, leaving his belongings in your space just to watch you bristle. But as the days turned into weeks, his methods grew more deliberate.

“Relax,” he’d say, leaning too close during one of your late-night study sessions, his voice a low murmur that was equal parts teasing and commanding. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack if you keep clenching your teeth like that.”

Your response was always the same—a cold, cutting remark delivered in that icy tone of yours, your expression a mask of indifference. But he could see through it. He could see the flicker of irritation in your eyes, the subtle way your shoulders stiffened.

He loved it.

Because while you thought you were unshakable, he knew better. He saw the storm that brewed beneath your surface, the fire you tried so desperately to hide. And nothing thrilled him more than coaxing it out of you, one spark at a time.

One evening, he pushed too far.

“I’m starting to think you like this,” he said, his voice low and mocking as he leaned against the edge of your desk, his presence an unwelcome shadow in the otherwise sterile room.

“Like what?” you asked without looking up, your tone laced with exhaustion and barely concealed annoyance.

“This,” he gestured vaguely, his grin widening. “The arguing, the tension. You get this little spark in your eye when you’re mad, you know. It’s cute.”

That did it. You slammed your pen down with a force that echoed in the silence, your eyes snapping to his with a glare that could have burned through steel.

“You’re insufferable,” you hissed, your voice sharp enough to cut.

And yet, even as you said it, he caught the faintest tremor in your voice. Barely noticeable. But to him, it was everything.

He leaned closer, his grin softening into something almost intimate, almost dangerous. “Maybe. But you’d miss me if I was gone.”

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with an electricity that neither of you fully understood yet.

It was in those moments, in the way you tried so hard to keep him at arm’s length, that he realized he was beginning to crave you. Not just the fire in your eyes or the sharpness of your tongue, but you.

The fortress was starting to crack, and he intended to be there when it fell.

────────────

The cafeteria was alive with a cacophony of voices, laughter, and the clinking of trays. It was a battlefield of social interaction, chaotic and loud, yet somehow orchestrated, with alliances formed over shared meals and fleeting camaraderie. You didn’t belong here.

You kept your steps measured and precise, your gaze fixed forward, avoiding the swirling mass of humanity around you. People parted instinctively as you walked past, their conversations dimming for just a moment before resuming. Your presence was a ripple in the atmosphere—not disruptive, but enough to remind everyone that you were there.

And then you saw him.

He was in the center of it all, as he always was, the eye of the storm. His laughter carried over the din, rich and unrestrained, a sound that drew people in like moths to a flame. He sat perched on the edge of a table, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, spinning some ridiculous story that had everyone around him enraptured.

They hung on his every word, their faces lit with genuine amusement, their eyes sparkling with admiration. He had that rare, inexplicable magnetism, the kind that made people want to be near him, to bask in his energy. He wasn’t just popular—he was adored.

And you?

You were the anomaly. The outlier. People respected you, even feared you, but they didn’t enjoy you. They didn’t invite you to sit at their tables, didn’t seek out your company for anything beyond necessity. You were an island—solitary, unyielding, and self-sufficient.

You didn’t envy him. Not exactly.

But as you stood there, watching him effortlessly weave connections, a quiet thought slipped into your mind like a shadow in the dark: What if you were different?

What if you could be like him, with his easy charm and boundless charisma? What if you could laugh like that, unburdened and free, instead of wearing the cold mask you’d perfected over the years?

The thought lingered for a moment too long, and then you shook it off, burying it deep where it couldn’t touch you. You didn’t have time for such things. You were efficient, logical, focused. Emotions had no place in your life—not since childhood, when you’d learned the hard way that they were a liability.

So you turned away, letting the sound of his laughter fade into the background as you made your way to the meeting room. The sterile, quiet space was more familiar to you than any cafeteria, more comfortable than any crowd.

He was already there when you arrived, sprawled in his chair with a cup of coffee in hand, his grin as sharp as ever.

“You’re late,” he teased, though there was no bite to his words.

“You’re early,” you replied, your tone neutral, as you set your things down on the table.

“Touché,” he said, watching you with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Saw you pass through the cafeteria. Thought you might stop by to say hi.”

“I don’t make detours,” you said curtly, pulling out your laptop and powering it on.

“That much is clear,” he muttered, almost to himself, before taking a sip of his coffee.

The meeting began, the two of you falling into your usual rhythm of sharp exchanges and begrudging collaboration. But somewhere in the back of your mind, a tiny sliver of something stirred—a flicker of awareness, of something you couldn’t quite name, whenever he spoke or laughed.

You told yourself it was nothing.

And for now, you believed it.

────────────

The garage was thick with the scent of motor oil and cigarette smoke, the hum of a barely-functional heater filling the space with a low, constant drone. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered occasionally, casting long, jittery shadows across the room. The boys were sprawled around the billiard table, cheap beers in hand, the air crackling with laughter and banter.

He leaned casually against the edge of the table, cue stick in hand, a smirk playing on his lips as he lined up his next shot. His movements were lazy, almost careless, but his sharp eyes betrayed the precision in every calculation.

“So,” one of them started, a wiry guy with a perpetual grin that made him look younger than he was. “This new girl of yours… she’s the one keeping you so busy these days?”

Another guy chimed in, his tone dripping with mock suspicion. “Yeah, man, you’ve been skipping out on poker nights. Thought you were allergic to commitment.”

He laughed, the sound low and throaty, as he took his shot. The crack of the cue ball hitting its target echoed through the room, the striped ball sinking neatly into the corner pocket. “Allergic? Please. I don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

The guys laughed, the sound loud and unrestrained, their teasing picking up momentum.

“So what’s her deal, huh?” The wiry one pressed, leaning against his own cue stick. “Rich? Hot? Bet she’s one of those uptight types you love to mess with.”

He straightened, twirling the cue stick between his fingers as he leaned back against the table, his smirk widening. “You could say that. She’s… interesting.”

“Interesting,” another guy scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You? Interested in someone? Hell, what’s she got—blackmail material? A hit out on your family?”

“Not a chance,” he replied, his tone light but edged with something sharper, something darker. “She’s just… different. Keeps me on my toes.”

The wiry one snorted. “Sounds like trouble.”

“Isn’t that the point?” he shot back, his grin sharp as a blade.

They laughed again, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in his expression as he took another swig of his beer.

“Come on,” the wiry one said, jabbing his cue stick in his direction. “You’re not seriously into her, are you? Thought you didn’t do serious.”

“I don’t,” he replied smoothly, setting his bottle down with a loud clink. “It’s transactional. Mutual benefit, you know? She gets what she wants; I get what I want. Simple.”

“Sounds like a business deal,” someone muttered.

He shrugged, his smirk never faltering. “Aren’t all relationships?”

The guys laughed again, the conversation shifting to the next round of the game, but his mind lingered on the question.

He wasn’t serious about her. Couldn’t be. Wouldn’t be.

And yet, every time he saw her—the fire in her eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw, the way she tried so hard to keep him at a distance—it felt like a challenge he couldn’t ignore.

She was a fortress, and he was a conqueror.

For now, he could laugh, joke, and deflect. But the truth was darker, heavier, lurking in the corners of his mind like a shadow he couldn’t quite shake.

He lined up his next shot, the sharp crack of the cue ball echoing through the garage.

This wasn’t serious.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

────────────

The room was suffocating, its air thick with the sterile scent of recycled oxygen and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above. Papers were scattered across the table like fallen leaves in the aftermath of a storm, their sharp edges curling under the weight of your restless hands. The tension in your shoulders was a tangible thing, coiled tight and ready to snap.

He watched you from across the table, leaning back in his chair with the kind of casual ease that set your teeth on edge. You were all sharp lines and rigid control, while he was a picture of unbothered confidence, spinning a pen between his fingers like the weight of the world wasn’t pressing down on him too.

“You look like hell,” he said finally, his voice low and infuriatingly amused.

You didn’t bother looking up, your focus glued to the screen of your laptop, the keys clicking beneath your fingers with a ferocity that spoke of barely restrained frustration. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, sure you are,” he replied, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the table as his gaze bore into you. “Fine enough to bite my head off if I ask what’s wrong?”

“I said I’m fine,” you snapped, your voice colder than the sterile glow of the room.

That gave him pause, his smirk faltering for the briefest of moments. He’d seen you angry before, irritated, exasperated—but this was different. There was something raw in your tone, something brittle and sharp, like glass on the verge of shattering.

Still, he couldn’t help himself.

“Fine,” he echoed, dragging the word out like it was a joke only he understood. “You’re so fine you’ve been staring at the same spreadsheet for ten minutes without typing a single word.”

Your fingers stilled on the keyboard, and for a moment, the room was silent except for the distant hum of the building’s ventilation system.

“Drop it,” you said finally, your tone icy enough to frost the windows.

“Not a chance,” he shot back, leaning closer, his voice dropping into something quieter, more deliberate. “What’s going on with you, golden girl? Family drama? Business crap? Or is it just me getting under your skin again?”

His teasing grin was met with nothing but silence as you slammed your laptop shut with a force that echoed through the room. You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, and turned to leave without so much as a glance in his direction.

“Hey,” he called after you, his voice following you like a shadow. “You can’t just walk away from me.”

But you did.

The door closed behind you with a quiet click, leaving him alone in the oppressive stillness of the room.

For a long moment, he sat there, staring at the spot where you’d been, the faint scent of your perfume lingering in the air.

He didn’t like this.

Not the way your walls seemed higher than ever, not the way your shoulders trembled just slightly when you thought no one was looking, and certainly not the way his chest tightened at the thought of you breaking under the pressure you refused to share with anyone—not even him.

With a frustrated sigh, he leaned back in his chair, the tension in his jaw a stark contrast to the easy grin he usually wore.

You could try to shut him out, build your walls higher, bury yourself in your icy fortress.

But he’d be damned if he let you freeze him out completely.

────────────

The argument started small—a quiet refusal on your part, your tone clipped and dismissive as always.

“I have work to do,” you’d said, fingers gripping the edge of the desk like it was an anchor in the rising tide of his persistence.

He didn’t care.

“No, you don’t,” he replied, his voice too light, too casual, the grin on his face sharpening as he loomed over you. “Not today. Today, you’re going out. With me.”

You scoffed, turning your chair away from him in a move that was more defensive than you’d ever admit. “I don’t have time for whatever this is. Go bother someone else.”

“Not happening,” he said, and before you could blink, he was behind you, his shadow engulfing yours. His hand was warm and firm on your shoulder, and when you tried to pull away, his grip tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you of how much bigger, stronger, and more stubborn he was.

“Let go,” you hissed, twisting in your chair to glare up at him, your voice venomous and cold.

Instead of answering, he bent down, his grin infuriatingly smug as he hooked an arm around your waist in one fluid motion.

“Don’t you dare—”

Your words were cut off with a sharp gasp as he hoisted you up with ease, your stomach flipping as he slung you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing at all.

“Relax,” he said, his tone still maddeningly cheerful as he adjusted his hold on you. “You’re overdue for some fun, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Put me down!” you snapped, your fists pounding against his back, your voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“Not until you promise to stop being such a workaholic,” he shot back, his grin audible in his voice. “Besides, you’re cute when you’re mad.”

The sound of your struggles echoed through the hallway as he carried you out, your threats growing more creative with every step. But he didn’t falter, didn’t even seem fazed, his grip on you secure as if your thrashing was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

When he finally set you down, it was with the kind of exaggerated care that only added insult to injury. You found yourself standing in the middle of an amusement park, the air thick with the smell of cotton candy and fried food, the distant hum of roller coasters roaring above the sea of colorful lights.

“What is this?” you demanded, your voice tight with irritation as you glared up at him, your arms crossed defensively.

“A date,” he said simply, his grin softening into something almost genuine. “You’ve never been to an amusement park, right? Figured it was time to fix that.”

“I told you, I don’t have time for—”

He cut you off with a sigh, his hand ruffling his hair in exasperation. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Work, work, work. But you’re here now, so you might as well enjoy it. Who knows? You might actually have fun for once.”

You stared at him, your mind racing for a retort, but the sound of children laughing and the sight of the spinning lights around you left you momentarily disarmed.

“Fine,” you said at last, your voice begrudging and low. “But don’t think this means anything.”

He laughed, the sound warm and rich as he held out a hand toward you. “Wouldn’t dream of it, golden girl.”

You didn’t take his hand, of course. But you didn’t walk away, either.

────────────

The amusement park was loud—a riot of color, noise, and movement that grated against your carefully constructed barriers. You were used to silence, to the sterile calm of office rooms and library corners. This place was chaos incarnate, a swirling mass of laughter, screams, and the clatter of machinery that felt like it could grind your composure to dust.

And he loved every second of it.

“Come on,” he said, his hand tightening around yours as he pulled you further into the fray. His grip was warm, insistent, and utterly unyielding, a stark contrast to the chill of your reluctance.

“This is unnecessary,” you muttered, your voice clipped as you tried to keep up with his long strides. “We’re wasting time.”

“You mean you’re wasting time,” he shot back, glancing over his shoulder with a grin that was equal parts teasing and determined. “Me? I’m having a blast.”

You tried to tug your hand free, but his grip only tightened, his strength a quiet reminder of the power imbalance you hated acknowledging.

“Let go,” you demanded, your tone sharp enough to cut glass.

“Nope,” he said cheerfully, pulling you closer until your shoulder bumped against his. “Boyfriend privilege. Now stop sulking and try to look like you’re having fun.”

Before you could argue, he steered you toward a brightly lit stand selling oversized stuffed animals and cheap prizes. The attendant handed him a small air rifle with a grin, and he lined up his shot with an exaggerated flourish.

“You’re kidding,” you said flatly, watching as he aimed at the array of moving targets.

“Don’t underestimate me, golden girl,” he replied, his tone dripping with mock seriousness as he squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out, and a tin can toppled off its perch. He turned to you with a triumphant grin. “Told you.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as he handed the attendant a crumpled bill for another round. “This is ridiculous.”

“This is fun,” he corrected, his eyes narrowing in playful focus as he took another shot. Another can fell, and the attendant handed him a large, garish stuffed cat. He turned and thrust it toward you with a flourish.

“Here. For you.”

You stared at the stuffed cat, its glassy eyes staring back at you with an absurdly cheerful expression. “I don’t want it.”

“Too bad,” he said, pressing it into your arms. “Consider it a reminder to loosen up once in a while.”

You glared at him, but the faintest flicker of warmth crept into your chest, uninvited and unwelcome. He caught the twitch of your lips and grinned wider, his satisfaction practically radiating off him.

────────────

The roller coaster clattered upward, its chain mechanisms grinding with a metallic groan that reverberated through the skeleton of the ride. Each tick of the ascent was a promise, a prelude to chaos as the world below shrank into a mosaic of glittering lights and blurred figures. Beside you, he was practically vibrating with excitement, his grin a wolfish slash of white against the neon glow.

“You nervous yet?” he asked, his voice carrying easily over the mechanical din.

“No,” you replied flatly, your tone as unflinching as your posture. Your hands were clasped loosely in your lap, your expression an unmoving mask of calm.

He huffed, his grin faltering into something more incredulous. “Seriously? You’re not even a little scared?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

The drop came suddenly—a violent plunge that pulled the breath from everyone around you, their screams mingling with the wind's roar. The car tilted, twisted, hurtled through the loops and spirals with bone-rattling speed.

And you didn’t flinch.

When the ride screeched to a halt, his hair was wild, his cheeks flushed with adrenaline, and his grin wide enough to split his face. He turned to you, fully expecting to see some crack in your armor—a flicker of unease, a faint trace of thrill.

But you were already unclasping your seatbelt, your face a portrait of indifferent calm.

“Wow,” he said, dragging the word out as he climbed out of the car behind you. “Not even a scream? Not even a little ‘oh no, I’m gonna die!’?”

“It was fine,” you said, brushing invisible dust from your jacket as if the entire experience had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

“Fine,” he repeated, his tone a mixture of disbelief and mockery. “It’s a death machine on rails, and all you’ve got is ‘fine’?”

You shrugged, your gaze drifting to the next ride. “What’s next?”

He stared at you for a moment, a mix of frustration and amusement flashing in his eyes before his grin returned with a vengeance. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

———

The next stop was a haunted house. The entrance was cloaked in fog, its jagged letters dripping with artificial blood as distorted moans and sinister whispers spilled from within.

“This,” he declared, throwing an arm around your shoulders and steering you toward the dark maw of the attraction, “is where you’re finally gonna break.”

You stepped inside without hesitation, the darkness swallowing you both. Animatronic ghouls lunged from the shadows, their plastic claws snapping inches from your face. A specter floated above you, its hollow eyes glowing red as it let out a guttural scream.

But you didn’t flinch.

By the time you emerged on the other side, his grin had soured into a frustrated scowl. “You’re kidding me,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Nothing? Not even a ‘holy crap, that’s creepy’?”

“They tried too hard,” you replied evenly. “The suspense was predictable.”

“You’re a robot,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “An actual, emotionless robot.”

———

At the dart-throwing booth, he claimed he’d win you another stuffed animal to add to the growing collection he’d forced on you throughout the night. The attendant handed him a set of darts, and he aimed with exaggerated focus, his tongue poking out slightly in mock determination.

You stood beside him, arms crossed, your expression as neutral as ever.

“Bet I can hit all three bullseyes,” he said, tossing a dart into the air and catching it with a flourish. “And if I do, you have to smile. Deal?”

“I’m not making that deal,” you replied, your voice as dry as the desert air.

“Scared I’ll win?” he teased, launching the first dart. It missed the bullseye by a hair.

“Not particularly,” you said, watching as he threw the second dart, this one landing even farther from the center.

By the third throw, he groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up as the dart barely grazed the edge of the target. “Okay, maybe I’m a little rusty,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Or maybe you’re just bad at this,” you said, your tone cool but tinged with the faintest edge of amusement.

He turned to you, his grin returning full force. “There it is! A hint of a smirk! I knew you had emotions buried under all that ice.”

You rolled your eyes and started walking toward the next attraction. He followed, his steps quick and eager, like a hunter who’d finally glimpsed their prey.

The night stretched on, filled with more teasing, more dragging you to rides you didn’t care for, and more attempts to crack your facade. By the end of it, he was exhausted but victorious, a spring in his step as he carried yet another oversized stuffed animal under his arm.

“You had fun,” he declared as you walked toward the exit.

“You’re delusional,” you replied, but there was no venom in your voice.

“Admit it,” he said, leaning closer, his grin practically glowing in the dark. “You loved it.”

You didn’t respond, but for the briefest moment, the corner of your lips twitched upward—a flicker of something you didn’t even recognize as a smile.

And that was enough for him.

────────────

The Ferris wheel loomed above like a spinning constellation, its skeletal frame outlined in garish neon light that flickered against the starless sky. You were already seated, arms crossed, gaze fixed forward as the car rocked gently in the breeze. He slid in beside you, the faint scent of cologne and adrenaline trailing in his wake, and the metal bar clamped down with an ominous click, locking the two of you in place.

“Relax,” he said, his voice a shade softer than usual, though still laced with that persistent edge of mischief. “This is the best part of the night. Views like this? They don’t come often.”

You didn’t respond. The city below unfolded in a sea of chaotic lights, each one a reminder of the noise you’d been forced into. A quiet hum of tension coiled in your chest, a restless ache that he seemed to notice, though you wished he wouldn’t.

The wheel began to ascend, the creak of its movement loud in the silence between you. His gaze flicked from the cityscape to you, studying the profile of your face as though trying to decipher a puzzle he didn’t know how to solve.

“You know,” he began, leaning back against the seat with an exaggerated sigh, “you’re really bad at this whole ‘fun’ thing.”

“I’m aware,” you said dryly, not bothering to look at him.

“You’re supposed to be amazed by the view,” he teased, gesturing toward the glittering expanse below. “You know, lean in a little, say something like, ‘Oh wow, it’s so beautiful.’”

“Do I seem like the type to do that?” you asked, finally turning to meet his gaze.

“No,” he admitted, his grin lopsided and warm in a way that caught you off guard. “But it’d be nice to see you try.”

The Ferris wheel stopped suddenly, your car swaying slightly as it perched at the very top. He looked out over the city, his grin fading into something quieter, something uncharacteristically reflective.

“Pretty high up, huh?” he said, more to himself than to you.

You followed his gaze, the city spread out like a map, its lights blurred and distant. The air up here felt thinner, cleaner, as though you’d left the chaos below and entered some liminal space where nothing could reach you.

And then he looked back at you.

———

For the first time in a long time, the constant noise in his head—the laughter, the jokes, the relentless chatter that kept the silence at bay—dimmed into something else. Something quieter. Something unsettling. He wasn’t used to this kind of stillness, this kind of weight pressing against the walls of his ribcage.

You didn’t notice, of course. Your gaze was fixed on the view, your profile illuminated by the cold, artificial light of the Ferris wheel’s cabin. To anyone else, you might’ve seemed serene, but he knew better. There was tension in the set of your jaw, in the way your fingers gripped the edge of the seat as though you needed to hold onto something to keep from slipping away entirely.

He hated that he noticed these things. Hated that, for once, his usual shield of irreverence and detachment wasn’t enough to keep this gnawing feeling at bay.

It wasn’t love—not the dizzying, saccharine thing he’d seen in movies or read about in books. It was something darker, sharper, as though you were a shard of glass lodged under his skin. He couldn’t stop himself from turning you over in his mind, dissecting every detail, every flaw, every crack in your otherwise impenetrable armor.

You were fascinating in a way that felt dangerous.

He didn’t know what to make of it.

His hand twitched on the seat between you, the urge to reach out almost unbearable. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. The thought of touching you—of closing that impossible distance—was terrifying in a way he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t fear of rejection; he could handle that. It was something else, something far more primal.

Because if he touched you, if he broke through that careful veneer of professionalism and indifference, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

“Do you ever wonder what it’s like?” he asked suddenly, his voice low and uncharacteristically quiet.

You didn’t turn to look at him, your gaze still fixed on the view. “What what’s like?”

“To feel alive,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Your brow furrowed slightly, but you didn’t respond.

He let out a soft, humorless laugh, leaning back against the seat. “Never mind. Stupid question.”

But it wasn’t. Not to him.

Because for the first time in years—maybe ever—he felt something. Something real.

And it unsettled him.

———

“I don’t get you,” he said, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “You’re impossible to crack, and for some reason, I can’t stop trying.”

You raised an eyebrow, more out of habit than genuine curiosity. “Sounds like a personal problem.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Yeah, maybe it is.”

The silence between you two was a taut string, stretched so thin it felt as if the smallest sound might snap it. Outside the cabin, the Ferris wheel creaked as it swayed gently, the city sprawled below like a graveyard of flickering lights. Inside, the air felt heavier, dense with something intangible and electric that neither of you dared to name.

He shifted closer, so subtly that you didn’t notice at first. The slight groan of the seat’s weight-bearing joints was drowned out by the pounding of his own heartbeat, a rhythm he suddenly couldn’t ignore. His arm rested casually against the back of the seat, but his entire body was taut, every muscle coiled as if anticipating some unspoken impact.

His gaze drifted to you, no longer playful or teasing but something else—something raw, a little desperate, and utterly unfamiliar to him. He could see the faint outline of your lashes against your cheek, the soft curve of your lips as your expression remained distant, detached.

And yet, to him, you were a storm barely contained, your quietness thrumming with an energy he could feel in his bones.

He didn’t notice the way his own breathing had shifted, deeper now, as if his body were bracing for something he couldn’t quite define. His eyes flicked downward—just a moment, a heartbeat—and caught on the soft shape of your mouth. It wasn’t intentional, but once he saw it, he couldn’t unsee it.

He swallowed hard, the sound audible in the tight confines of the cabin.

“I—” he started, his voice faltering like an engine choking on its own fuel. He barely recognized the sound coming out of his mouth, stripped of its usual bravado and swagger.

He should’ve stopped there. Should’ve cracked a joke or leaned back with that cocky grin that had always been his armor. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

His hand lifted almost on its own, shaking slightly as it reached toward your face. The tips of his fingers brushed against a stray strand of hair, tucking it behind your ear with a gentleness that felt alien to him. It was clumsy, hesitant—nothing like the smooth confidence he usually exuded.

The heat radiating from you was intoxicating, pulling him closer even as his mind screamed at him to stop. His breath hitched as he leaned in, so slowly it felt as though time itself had slowed to a crawl.

He wasn’t thinking anymore. The usual whirlwind of his mind—sharp, quick, always moving—had stilled completely.

All he could focus on was you.

The curve of your lips. The faint rise and fall of your chest. The way you still hadn’t looked at him, so lost in your own world that you hadn’t yet noticed the dangerous proximity between you.

His breath mingled with yours now, warm and unsteady, as his lips hovered just a hair’s breadth away from yours. His eyes half-closed, the edges of his vision blurring as every instinct in him screamed to close the gap.

And then—

Your eyes snapped to his, sharp and unyielding like a blade cutting through fog.

It hit you like a jolt of electricity, the realization of just how close he was, how dangerously near his lips hovered to yours.

But it hit him harder.

The sharpness in your gaze was like a bucket of ice water, dousing the fire he hadn’t even realized had been consuming him.

His eyes widened slightly, his breath catching as he froze in place. He looked at you—not just at you, but into you—as though seeing something he hadn’t been prepared for.

And for the first time in his life, he felt utterly and completely exposed.

———

His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and rough, as though he’d swallowed gravel. “You’ve never been kissed, have you?”

You stiffened, your brows knitting together in a glare that could have frozen the sun. “That’s none of your concern.”

He laughed softly, the sound devoid of its usual bravado. “Oh, but it is, sweetheart. I’m your boyfriend, remember?” His voice dipped into that familiar, playful lilt, but there was something else beneath it now—a hunger, a yearning he didn’t fully understand.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and you didn’t pull away. Not yet. That tiny sliver of hope spurred him on, his heart pounding so loudly it drowned out every rational thought in his head.

“I bet no one’s dared,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your skin as his thumb traced slow circles against your jaw. “You’re too intimidating. Too untouchable.”

He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. “But not to me.”

And then, he closed the gap.

It wasn’t a calculated move, nor was it born of confidence. It was instinctive, driven by a force he couldn’t name. His lips brushed yours, tentative and hesitant, as though afraid you might shatter beneath his touch.

For a fraction of a second, everything else fell away—the city lights, the Ferris wheel, the constant cacophony of his mind. All that existed was you, the impossible warmth of you, and the way your lips were softer than he’d dared imagine—

And then, the world snapped back into focus.

Your palm connected with his cheek in a sharp, resounding slap that echoed through the tiny cabin. The force of it sent his head snapping to the side, his lips tingling from the abrupt end of the kiss.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you hissed, your voice as sharp and cold as a blade.

He blinked, stunned for a moment, before his signature grin broke across his face. His cheek was already reddening, and he rubbed it with a dramatic wince, leaning back in his seat as though to put some distance between you.

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I get it. Ice queen stays frosty. My bad for trying to thaw you out a little.”

His tone was playful, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—something raw and uncertain that he buried as quickly as it surfaced.

You glared at him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. “This is a transactional relationship. Don’t forget that.”

“Transaction noted,” he quipped, the grin never leaving his face. “But for the record? That slap was totally worth it.”

You rolled your eyes, muttering something under your breath that he couldn’t quite catch, and turned your attention back to the window.

But he didn’t stop watching you.

As he rubbed his sore cheek, his grin softened into something quieter, something closer to a smile. He didn’t fully understand what had compelled him to kiss you, nor did he understand why your rejection didn’t sting the way it should have.

All he knew was that, for the first time in his life, he wanted to try again.

———

“Did you think that was going to work?” you interrupted, your tone sharp enough to cut steel.

He let out a short, incredulous laugh, shaking his head as the initial shock melted into something more familiar: that damn grin. “Wow, okay. I go for one kiss—one—and you act like I tried to steal your soul.”

“You did try to steal something,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “My patience.”

“That’s already gone,” he countered, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. “You can’t slap me twice for the same crime.”

“Try me,” you said, your glare unwavering.

He chuckled, the sound low and genuine as he rubbed his cheek. “Man, you’re vicious. It’s kind of hot.”

────────────

He watched as you rubbed your sleeve across your mouth, your motions brisk and unrelenting, as though scrubbing the very memory of him off your skin. His grin faltered for just a second, invisible to anyone who wasn’t looking too closely. Of course, you weren’t—you never were. Your focus was singular, your eyes narrowed and lips pressed in a thin, disapproving line as though he’d just committed a cardinal sin.

It stung more than he cared to admit. Not that he’d let you see it. No, no. His ego may have been bruised, but he wasn’t about to lick his wounds in front of you. Instead, he leaned back in his seat with a dramatic sigh, one hand pressed over his chest as though your rejection had physically pierced him.

“Wow,” he drawled, his tone laced with exaggerated disbelief. “I didn’t realize my kiss was that traumatic. Should I be offended or impressed by your dedication to erasure?”

You shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass, but it only fueled the smirk crawling back onto his face.

“Seriously,” he continued, ignoring the icy tension radiating off you. “I’ve seen people wipe ketchup off their mouths with less vigor. I mean, I’m not that bad, am I?”

You didn’t respond, too busy swiping at your lips like a woman possessed, as though the mere memory of his touch was a poison you needed to purge.

He leaned closer, the teasing glint in his eyes sharpening to a dangerous edge. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re gonna scrub your skin raw. And here I thought I was the one who left a mark.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snapped, your tone colder than the winter wind.

“Oh, but it’s so easy when you’re this much fun.” He rested his chin in his palm, his grin widening as he studied you like you were his favorite puzzle. “Though I gotta say, you’re hurting my feelings here. Most girls would be swooning right about now. But you?” He whistled low, shaking his head. “Stone cold. A real ice queen through and through.”

“Good,” you bit back, finally lowering your sleeve. “Maybe you’ll think twice before pulling another stunt like that.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, but there was a flicker of something more behind it—something softer, unspoken. “You think I’m gonna stop? Not a chance. You’re way too fun to mess with.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your gaze back to the window. “Whatever. Just…keep your distance.”

“Sure thing, princess.” His voice dipped into a mock-serious tone, but the glint in his eyes betrayed him. “But don’t blame me when you start dreaming about it later. They say first kisses are unforgettable, after all.”

Your hand twitched like you were debating whether or not to slap him again, but you refrained, choosing instead to glare daggers at the glass.

He leaned back with a satisfied hum, crossing his arms as his grin softened into something quieter, something almost contemplative.

You might have been disgusted, but at least you weren’t indifferent. That thought alone was enough to keep his grin intact.

———

The cabin settled into a tense quiet, broken only by the faint creaks of the Ferris wheel as it descended. You’d stopped scrubbing at your lips, though the memory of his clumsy attempt lingered, palpable and unwelcome. With a slow, deliberate breath, you turned your focus outward, toward the sprawling view of the amusement park bathed in fractured, golden light.

“I’ll have you know,” you said softly, your voice sharp yet devoid of its earlier venom, “that wasn’t my first kiss.”

The words were like a scalpel, slicing clean and deep, leaving behind a sting that lingered in the pit of his stomach.

He didn’t show it. He never did.

Instead, he let out a short laugh, tilting his head as though brushing off your statement with his usual flippancy. “Well, color me surprised,” he drawled, his tone laced with mock astonishment. “The ice queen has a romantic history. Who’d have thought?”

You didn’t respond, didn’t rise to the bait. The apathy in your gaze was unyielding, and that, more than your words, struck a chord he couldn’t name.

He shifted in his seat, suddenly restless, the smirk on his face becoming harder to maintain. Something stirred beneath his practiced exterior, an unfamiliar heat that crawled up his spine and settled, uncomfortably, in his chest.

Why did it matter?

He leaned back, forcing a casual posture, though the muscles in his jaw tightened. “Well, good for you,” he said, a little too quickly, a little too brightly. “Guess I can’t claim to be your first, huh?”

There it was again, that strange burning sensation. It twisted and coiled, feeding on itself, until it became something dark and unrelenting. He told himself it was nothing—just his ego stinging from your rejection. But deep down, in a part of himself he rarely acknowledged, he knew it wasn’t that simple.

You tilted your head slightly, your profile illuminated by the faint glow of the park below. “It wasn’t anything special,” you said, your tone devoid of emotion. “Just another transaction.”

Another transaction.

The words settled like lead in his stomach.

He laughed again, louder this time, but the sound rang hollow in his own ears. “Figures,” he said, his voice pitched light and teasing, masking the weight behind the words. “Trust you to make even romance sound like a business deal.”

You glanced at him, one brow arched, and for a moment, he thought you might say something else. Instead, you turned back to the window, your posture relaxed but distant, like the space between you was a chasm neither of you could—or would—cross.

His gaze lingered on you, tracing the delicate curve of your jaw, the subtle tension in your shoulders, the way the faint light cast shadows across your face. That burning sensation flared again, sharp and insistent, as though it were trying to tell him something he wasn’t ready to hear.

He didn’t understand it—this sudden, inexplicable need to prove himself to you, to earn something that no transaction could buy. It gnawed at him, a quiet fury that wouldn’t be silenced, no matter how much he tried to brush it off.

For the first time in his life, he felt unsteady, uncertain, as though the foundation he’d built himself on was beginning to crack.

And he hated it.

“Must’ve been a hell of a boring kiss,” he said, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Bet I could’ve done better.”

You snorted softly, but didn’t take the bait.

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with something unspoken, as the Ferris wheel continued its slow descent.

And for the first time that night, he didn’t feel like laughing.

────────────

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[signanothername]

Hi Anó! Do you have any advice for writing characters like killer? How do you achive that nuance? I love your comics and would love to learn about your artistic process a bit!

Hi Gal!! A delight to see you in my inbox! <3

Omg thank you sm hcchhcchch (have you seen your own comics???? *shakes you* /pos)

Ok but I say this genuinely, I think your ideas and comics are such a beautiful and refreshing take on these blorbos, you’re doing such an amazing job both writing and art wise (your 2 Killers idea is so fucking good eeeeee) <3333

Ok to the question xgzggxzg

Killer is definitely.. complicated to write, I struggle with him sometimes ngl shshhdh

I honestly went and reread his entire comics, lore and answered asks to get a deeper look into him to be able to write him

But when it comes to writing him, I generally try to keep 6 things in mind at all times

1-trauma: how does the resets, working for Chara, having his code get manipulated and killing over and over again till what was new became something old affect him? (the whole idea of Killer killing people started as an offer of trying something new, so he kept killing till he got bored and killing became something stagnant)

This can easily be portrayed in Killer’s canon inability to till what’s real or not, as well as his hallucinations and the guilt he’s ridden with, always running from his past yet never outrunning it, as it always catches up to him

2- conditioning: his conditioning started from the days of Chara, then continued into his days with Nightmare, how does his conditioning affect him in his daily life?

How was he conditioned specifically? And how does that contribute to Killer’s perception of self, autonomy, self worth, and life in general? How does it change his body and mind?

Does it make him believe he’s just a machine meant to please others even when it hurts him, does it make Killer perceive vulnerability as a death sentence

How does he feel about his masters? Does he hate them down to every bone, or does he not care?

3-personality: Killer’s personality always change depending on the stage, but what are the main traits that you know Killer will always have regardless of the stage? Being quiet is one thing, he keeps to himself (as much as the fandom loves to portray him as extremely hyperactive, he’s not at all the loud, talkative, hyperactive skelle the fandom makes him out to be)

He’s also extremely secretive, seems to have knowledge that others don’t, and seems to always be up for a social interaction regardless of who’s with him

He’s also actually extremely patient (another thing the fandom stripped away from Killer’s character), and is very docile (isn’t aggressive unless pushed and never is an attack on sight kinda person) yet holds a grudge big time

He seems to see himself as superior over others, he’s extremely fucking intelligent it’s actually scary

These traits are something I try to keep consistent within my writing for Killer

4- relationships: what are his relationships with other characters like, and why?

Taking the 3 points before into consideration, how does Killer’s trauma, conditioning, and personality make him perceive others and others perceive him?

Are his relationships healthy? Toxic? Are they one sided or mutual? Does he care about the person in his vicinity or are they just another nobody? If he cares why? If he doesn’t what would he do to them?

Would he take advantage of his relationship with someone or is it a relationship he wishes for it to vanish?

5-stages: I think this is truly what makes Killer extremely complicated, cause see all of the 4 points above? how does each stage differ from each other?

How does stage 1 deal with his guilt/truama and conditioning? How does stage 2, 3, and 4 deal with them?

Depending on each stage Killer’s outward perception, personality, attitude, thoughts, and actions change

But how do they change exactly?

This is something that you need to understand each stage for to be able to integrate into writing

Stage 1 is the stage where he’s most sans like, yet never sans enough, stage 2 is when he’s apathetic to everyone and everything and perceives killing as “fun” because he’s painfully understimulated , stage 3 is when he’d attack whoever is in front of him, and stage 4 is when killer is no longer present mentally

How does each stage deal with his environment, with the people around him, how does he deal with the dissociation and how does he perceive himself in each stage?

6-environments: how does the environment Killer lives in affect him?

Killer starts in an environment of time loops, how does that affect his perception of time and reality? He then becomes Nightmare’s subordinate, a dangerous environment with constant threats to his life from every angle, how does Killer feel about it? How does he deal with it?

Will he get to try his luck and escape, or has he given up on himself and the idea of freedom? Does he even believe he has a chance for a better life in a safer environment? Will he go for a safer environment or will he cling to the comfort of what he knows?

When he does finally go to a safer environment, how would that affect him? Both positively and negatively? Would he feel like something is missing? Would his mind constantly tell him that this safe environment isn’t really safe?

Then of course, beyond these main 6 things, there’s the in between, what are Killer’s likes? His dislikes? How does he feel about sleep, food?

Generally when writing characters, it’s important to keep in mind interpersonal factors, intrapersonal factors and environmental factors that ends up affecting the character’s behavior, or in this specific situation, Killer’s behavior (god I’m realizing how much my uni major affects my writing of characters rn chchc)

But I say the biggest life saving advice I have that helps with writing characters in general (and especially complicated ones like Killer) is having the question “why” as your closest friend

When you make a statement about a character, in this instance Killer, always attach the question “why” at the end till you can’t attach it anymore, until you reach a point where asking “why” becomes unnecessary and annoying

For example:

“Killer loves golden flower tea”

Why?

It reminds him of the bed of golden flowers he passed out on

Why does that matter?

Because it was the point of no return from a change that will always dictate who he is

Why is it a point of no return?

Because his soul had deformed beyond recognition and it can never be brought back to how it used to be

Why would it dictate who he is? Why can’t he just choose to be someone else?

Because he was conditioned to be this killer by a higher power out of his control

At this point, there are no more “why”s that would make something as simple as a golden flower tea statement more nuanced than it already is, so when you ask why again, you find that you’re unable to continue giving an answer, that’s the point of where you stop

In fact, allow me to test you by giving you a quick question about your own interpretation of the characters, why does your Nightmare admire Error? What is in Error that Nightmare admires specifically?

Of course, you don’t really need to answer me, but I’m just giving you an example of how asking “why” can help you make so many simple things more nuanced

Ok but what if you know there should be an answer to a “why” but you don’t know it yet? Then you keep it in mind for later, you won’t always have the answers to everything on the get go, sometimes, you need a bit of time to figure things out and write characters the way you feel satisfy you, until then, you can work on other things about the characters

*Cough* anyway, this is honestly everything I can think of off the top of my head? Hopefully I didn’t miss anything ydfhgchchchc

Do let me know if you’d like any more help or need clarification on anything, I’d be happy to help where I can <33333

Now have a sketch of your 2 Killers cause I love them dearly, they have a special place in my heart (genuinely adore how you write Killer already btw)

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° i'm addicted to the ' if only '

♡ a/n — for a new childhood friends to lovers series :) a little shorter than i wanted but yk

♡ word count — 1.1k

♡ content — sae itoshi x gn! reader, gn! reader, childhood friends to lovers, sae and reader are the " sit by this quiet kid so they rub off on you " kids i fear, mentions of sae going to spain, starts when they're in 5th grade ( does japan do elementary grades like that? idk. ) and goes all the way to the U-20 game, wrote this at midnight so sorry if it's confusing

♡ synopsis — From the moment Sae Itoshi said he loved you, you were his. The long-distance relationship wasn’t easy, but it didn’t matter. You had Sae, and that was enough. He was all you needed after all.

You met Sae Itoshi when you were ten, in the fifth grade. You were the loud one, always raising your hand to answer questions, always running up to classmates to start games during recess. Sae, on the other hand, was quiet. His answers were sharp, direct, and to the point. He preferred to sit at the edge of the classroom, observing rather than participating.

When the teacher paired the two of you together for a science project, you knew immediately that this was going to be difficult.

"Can’t you just sit still for five minutes?" Sae asked, an exasperated edge to his voice as you twirled around with the sheet of paper that was supposed to outline your project plan.

"Nope!" you said with a grin. "Sitting still is boring."

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You’re impossible."

You should’ve hated him. He made it clear he found you irritating, and you had no interest in someone who acted like they were better than everyone else. But there was something about Sae that intrigued you—maybe it was the calmness that always seemed to settle around him, or the way he never tried to impress anyone.

To your surprise, by the time the project ended, he hadn’t abandoned you. Instead, he’d begrudgingly started helping you organize your thoughts, muttering under his breath every time you got distracted but staying by your side nonetheless.

Halfway through the school year, he stopped rolling his eyes when you dragged him outside to play soccer after school.

By the end of the year, you were spending every recess together. You teased him endlessly, calling him your best friend, even though he would only shrug in response.

But he never corrected you.

It wasn’t until you were twelve that you realized how much Sae had become a part of your life.

He wasn’t just your best friend—he was your favorite person. He was there for everything, from the boring group projects to the secret candy stash you shared during recess. He wasn’t just the quiet boy in the corner anymore. He was Sae, the person who made your days brighter without even trying.

One day, when you were both at the park, it hit you.

He was practicing soccer, as always. The golden light of the setting sun bathed his figure, making him look almost ethereal. He didn’t notice the way you were staring, too focused on juggling the ball with practiced ease.

You didn’t understand it then, but something inside you shifted. You found yourself watching him more closely, noticing the way his expression softened when he talked about soccer, the way he always let you have the last piece of candy, even though he’d complain about it afterward.

You liked him.

The realization was terrifying, but you pushed it down. Sae was your best friend, and you didn’t want to ruin that.

When Sae told you he’d been scouted to train in Spain, you didn’t know how to react.

You were happy for him—of course you were. Soccer was his dream, and this was everything he had ever wanted. But as you stood in the airport, watching him get ready to board his flight, all you could think about was how much you were going to miss him.

"Don’t cry," he said, his voice steady. He stood in front of you, his suitcase at his side, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looked so calm, so sure of himself, that it almost made you angry.

"I’m not crying," you lied, blinking furiously.

Sae’s gaze softened, just for a moment. "You’ll be fine without me," he said. "You always are."

But you weren’t.

High school was different without Sae.

The loud, hyper child you used to be was gone, replaced by someone quieter, someone who didn’t raise their hand as much in class or run around during lunch breaks. The hole Sae left behind was too big to fill, and you didn’t know how to be yourself without him by your side.

But at night, when your phone buzzed with his Facetime calls, everything felt okay again.

When you were fifteen, one of those calls changed everything.

You were sitting on your bed, rambling about your day, filling the silence with every little detail you could think of. Sae’s face on the screen was calm, as always, but there was something different about his expression.

"I love you," he said suddenly, cutting you off mid-sentence.

Your heart stopped.

"What?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"I love you," he repeated, his tone steady, like he had been waiting to say it for a long time. "I’ve loved you for a while."

Tears welled up in your eyes. "I love you too," you said, your voice trembling.

From that moment on, you were his. The long-distance relationship wasn’t easy, but it didn’t matter. You had Sae, and that was enough.

When you were seventeen, everything started to fall apart.

Sae’s texts became shorter, his calls less frequent. You told yourself it was because he was busy—Spain was demanding, and soccer always came first for him. But the doubt lingered, gnawing at the edges of your mind.

One night, he called you.

You were so excited to hear from him that you didn’t notice the tension in his voice. You launched into your day, telling him about school, your friends, everything he had missed. He stayed silent until you finally asked, "Sae? Are you still there?"

"I’m here," he said. His tone was cold, unfamiliar. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

Your stomach twisted. "What is it?"

"You’re a bother," he said, his voice flat. "We should break up."

The words didn’t register at first.

"What?" you whispered, your voice shaking. "Sae, what are you talking about?"

"You’re holding me back," he said, his tone as sharp as a blade. "I don’t have time for this anymore."

And just like that, the boy you'd grown to love - your best friend - was gone.

A year later, Sae returned to Japan for the U-20 vs. Blue Lock match.

You hadn’t heard from him since the breakup. Not a single text, not a single call. But even after everything, you couldn’t help but hope. He was still your best friend… right?

You looked for him everywhere—in the streets you used to walk together, in the soccer fields where he used to practice. But he was never there.

The night of the game, you sat alone in your room, watching him on the TV.

He was brilliant. Every move, every goal, was flawless. The Sae on the screen was a stranger, a far cry from the boy who used to roll his eyes at your jokes and share his candy with you.

It doesn’t feel right, you thought, not knowing the Sae that’s out there, shining so brightly.

And maybe, you realized, you never would.

no one said all of these had to be happy. childhood best friends to lovers to strangers anyone ?

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[starzradio]

BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

when your husband’s secretary acts just a little too friendly around him.

FEATURING: office worker! nanami kento x wife! reader

CONTENTS: 18+ content, mdni. semi-public sex, exhibitionism, cunnilingus, fingering, use of pet names (sweetheart & my love)

WORD COUNT: 1k+

AUTHOR’S NOTE: so ik nanami might b too professional for this but 🤫🤫

"you need an appointment to see mr. nanami."

the receptionist spoke in a bored tone, barely looking up from her computer to give you a once-over. all the while she rolled her eyes and obnoxiously smacked her gum, like you were the one wasting her time.

but before you even had the chance to answer, the office door creaked open. "and i thought i mentioned that she could come in without needing one," nanami spoke up, appearing beside her desk.

the receptionist straightened up and busied herself with 'stacking' a couple papers on her desk. fluttering her lashes when she did look up at him, leaning forward just the slightest bit. "sorry, sir. you've just been soo busy and you did mention you didn't want anyone to bother you."

you honestly couldn't blame her, though. not when your husband had walked out of his office without his suit jacket on—the sleeves of his blue button down pushed up and showing off his watch. and well, the most important thing, his wedding ring. which she was blatantly trying to disregard.

"i'm aware. but you should know that doesn't apply to my wife, she's welcome to enter whenever she pleases," you could practically see her jaw clench as soon as he called you his wife, "please don't have me repeat myself. again."

"yes, sir. it won't happen again."

what she'd promised last time.

you stepped foot into the office, ceiling to floor windows decorating the space behind his desk. your heels clacked against the pristine floors, walking over to one of the wooden chairs.

"i brought you some lunch. saw that you forgot your bento at home and i wasn't sure if you brought any money to buy lunch," you spoke up, giving him a soft smile as you offered him the bento.

"thank you," he took the bento from you, setting aside, "but i think i'd like to have something different for lunch," kento cleared the space in front of him, patting on the wooden desk. a silent invitation. the skirt you had on rose up when you took a seat. the perfect offering if you'd ask nanami.

calloused hands ran down your legs, gently spreading them open. taking his time despite the thirty minute time constraint. "i'm sorry about her, by the way," nanami spoke up in a whisper, his lips pressing against your calf. "i don't know how much more obvious i need to be about being happily married."

his lips were reverent as he kissed up your leg, one of his hands holding the other in place. "like i'd ever want anyone but you, my love," he murmured, more so to himself, gently nibbling on your inner thigh. where only he'd be able to see them after. your legs spread apart almost instinctively, giving nanami the perfect view of the lace panties he adored so much.

and as much as he loved seeing you in them, the sight of you without them was much better. kento hooked one finger around the waistband, slowly removing them. sliding them inch by inch down your legs. "you didn't think we should hurry up, mr. nanami?" you questioned teasingly, pushing his hair back to take a look at his face.

"and why would we do that, mrs. nanami? i want to enjoy our time here," he pulled the underwear off, letting it fall to the floor. "well, you know you're sooo busy," you drawled, twirling a hair strand in between your fingers. he let out a small scoff, gently nipping at your leg in retaliation.

"never busy enough for you, you know that," nanami's voice came out muffled, licking a stripe up your cunt. he swirled his tongue around your clit before moving down, running the tip of his tongue down your folds. "never?" you mused, looking down at nanami. he wasn't paying that much attention to you anymore—rather, just your pussy.

"never," he muttered offhandedly, pushing a finger inside of you. your heels dug into his shoulder blades, your back arched when kento curled his fingers to hit your g-spot. and while it'd hurt at first—it was a pain that nanami was more than welcome to receive if it meant getting to lose himself in you.

your nails—paid for by yours truly—tugged on his hair, pulling him closer to your dripping cunt. kento clicked his tongue, looking up at you, "come on, use your words. tell me what you want and i'll give it to you."

"more, please," you responded almost immediately, your grip on his hair loosening up. just a bit. he replaced his tongue with two fingers, slowly getting past that initial resistance before pushing them in and out of you.

even with his glasses fogging up with every heavy breath that he took and your slick covering his mouth and chin, nanami continued to push his fingers inside of you. coaxing out all the pretty little noises you were making. "you can be a little louder, no? just a little bit, sweetheart," nanami curled his fingers, drawing out a whine from your lips.

you dripped onto his digits with each thrust, the golden wedding band on his finger glistening against the office lights. "k-ken, don't stop," your nails dug deeper into his hair, messing up the time he took fixing it this morning. you weren't even sure what was louder anymore—the squelching in between your legs or your moans.

your thighs clamped tightly around his head, holding him in place. "open them, darling. you can take it, you even asked me for more," kento felt the way your legs trembled—the way you were almost hesitant to open your legs again. you were close. "too much, too much," your moan had come out louder this time—loud enough to bleed through the walls.

not that it mattered.

you felt that familiar pressure build up in your lower tummy, your legs threatening to close again all the while your toes curled against the leather heels. too much, you'd said, and you still found yourself needing even more. "cum for me sweetheart, you can take it. take what's yours," his words served as a final push, your orgasm washing over you like a wave.

nanami pulled his dripping fingers out from your cunt and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping them off. effortlessly, he wiped away the spit and slick dribbling down his chin before carelessly tossing the handkerchief to the side. like it was nothing more than just a bother.

your chest heaved as you leaned back against the desk, watching your husband stand up from his spot. a wet patch adorned the front of his khaki pants, his cock practically twitching against the confines of his boxers. "i think i'll just skip ahead to the main course."

needless to say, you didn't have any more trouble coming into nanami's office after that <3

[estranhossonhos]

It's obviously not a requirement I look for, whenever I meet someone (friends, bf/gf, doesn't matter - I mean people I want to keep around and nourish a relationship with); but I would love to have a significant other with this kind of mindset. That cooks with joy, plans every mealtime with ease, and feeds on other people's reactions to their food. In fact, whenever I get invited to eat at someone's house, and they complain that the food didn't turn up how they envisioned, or state that «it's nothing fancy» - oh, you have no idea how moments like this warm my body, heart and soul. And I wish I was writing all of this out of nostalgia, with that magical, slow-motion like remembrance about everyone gathered around a table, enjoying themselves, talking, laughing, ... but for me, it goes beyond that.

tw: mental health + unhealthy eating patterns

I try not to feel ashamed by confessing this, but I can't help but notice how people look at me weird. It's such an automated/basic thing everyone does, and I can't do it? «What do you mean? You need food to live, yet you can't cook nor do the groceries? ». Not quite, but I do need a whole day to do it, and a few days in advance to get myself ready for this mundane task. You see, my brain shuts off whenever I look at what's inside my fridge or pantry - if there's even anything in there to begin. I simply cannot put combine ingredients like you do (and it's not due to lack of knowledge). And whenever I can, it will most likely become my go-to meal for the next few weeks. It's a logistical nightmare to even consider going out to the supermarket. Yes, I could order online - but that's another task on itself. 80% of the times this gets me so overstimulated that, I've ended up (discreetly, I hope) crying in public, on a few occasions.

Don't worry, it's not an everyday occurrence. And for better or for worse, I am too self-conscious and pragmatic for this bad habit to take over. But whenever my neurodivergent brain is going through the slumps (you know: those occasional rough patches that resurface every once in a while, sprinkled with anxiety and depression), I prefer to stay in bed, disassociate and lose track of time, with an empty stomach. Even though I merely switched that moment with another filled with more guilt and shame towards myself. And yes, that also includes going out to eat. That's why I (while trying to play it cool) usually choose what somebody else ordered, or what the waiter recommended. This way nobody suspects anything is wrong with me, right?

Now, if this all seems childish and overly dramatic, congratulations: you are a typical functioning human-being. Believe me when I say this: I feel the same way you do, whenever I hear myself complaining about this «first world problem». But unfortunately, this drains the little energy we have to navigate our daily lives as neurodivergent individuals in a neurotypical world. Especially for those with a very tight monthly budget, who live alone or share a place with people they are not close with. Just like you, I used to find unnecessary and environmentally unfriendly all of those pre-packed, peeled and/or frozen meals, veggies and fruits. Nowadays I am thankful whenever I find them, since they quite literally have saved my life multiple times. Chemicals? Not healthy? Never heard of them. I need fuel to get out of bed and to not rot away. And if that fuel is a frozen lasagne with a weird ingredient list, so be it. I promise I'll compensate in a near future, when I am mentally and physically out of the slump, and I feel capable of asking for help (if needed) or to mask myself again as a typical functioning human-being 💪 So, next time you catch yourself complaining about those «unhealthy and ready to eat meals» or any other «unnacessary invention» that promises to make someone's life easier: take a deep breath, question everything but always try to do it out of pure curiosity. This way you're always reach the correct answer, be apart of less judgemental world, with more acessibility, compassion and solidarity towards one another.

Cooking for you is my love language.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Can I Ask You a Question?

Eddie Munson x reader

You invite Eddie to hang out and he has a very important question for you

based on this ask

The door to your bedroom opens and as soon as you’re about to turn to see who it is, you feel the bed dip beside you, Eddie now lying on his stomach in the same position you are, feet up and everything. He’s kicking his legs back and forth as he takes the magazine you’re reading from you. He notices that you’re doing one of those quizzes to see who your perfect boyfriend would be and decides that he wants to be yours.

He’s felt this way for a while now but lying here with you as he looks into your eyes, he’s sure. He just doesn’t know how to get the words to come out. He’s not a shy guy so he doesn’t know why he can’t just ask. 

He sets the magazine down on the bed and begins to spin one of his rings around his finger as a way to take away some of that anxiety and it does help, but only for a little bit. You can sense his unease and the two of you sit up before you pull Eddie’s hands into your lap. 

The weight on his shoulder instantly lessens as you hold his hands, that soft smile making its way upon your lips that he’s come to adore. Suddenly, everything feels so easy. Because it is. You make him feel like he can do anything, like the sky is the limit. You’ve shown him that he’s no longer Eddie “the freak” Munson and that no one’s opinion about him matters but his own. 

He loves hanging out with you as friends, but being your boyfriend would be that much better. He wants to kiss you and hold you and tell you how much you mean to him in a romantic sense. He wants to be able to compliment you without having to subtly flirt, to just tell you how pretty he thinks you are whenever you want.

“Can I ask you something?” He asks before nibbling on his bottom lip. His heart is hammering in his chest as he takes a deep breath, the anticipation of your answer getting to him. He knows that there’s very much a chance of getting rejected and that terrifies him. He doesn’t want his feelings to ruin what the two of you have. 

“Of course you can,” you let out a chuckle as you reach forward, one of your hands threading through his hair, giving his scalp a scratch the way you know he likes. His eyes flutter closed at the feeling, but he quickly shakes his head, hating how quickly he’s able to lose focus. 

“I-I was wondering if…” he takes a deep breath, trying to focus on the way you’re playing with his hair and not how fast his heart is beating. 

You stay quiet, waiting for him to say what he needs to. You’re perfectly fine with being patient as you know how hard it can be for him to voice his feelings. You watch him breathe deeply and then he shakes his head, trying to get back on track. 

“I was wondering if I could be your boyfriend.” His warm honey eyes bore into yours, progressively softening as the seconds pass and for a moment, you swear you can see hearts forming in them. 

The room goes silent as soon as the words leave his mouth. You aren’t sure what you were expecting Eddie to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. But can’t help but smile as you give his hand a squeeze, a light laugh passing through your lips. 

“I’d love for you to be my boyfriend, Eddie,” you tell him as a grin spreads out over your face and his quickly matches yours as he pushes you so your back is flat to the bed, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. He does it over and over until they all melt into one kiss as his lips slot between yours. 

It quickly becomes a mess of teeth clinking together because neither of you can stop smiling, laughs tumbling from your lips as you try to pour your feelings out for each other between kisses, your fingers slotting through his as you eventually figure it out. The two of you fit together perfectly like puzzle pieces. 

Eddie pulls away when you’re both breathless, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek, his thumb swiping along it as you lean into his touch. You lie for a moment and you don’t even have to ask if Eddie’s thinking because you can see the gears turning. But before you can bring it up, he speaks. 

“I think I love you,” he says, his thumb still moving back and forth across your cheek. The words are so confident and matter of fact that you just know that he means the words and isn’t just saying them because he’s caught up in the moment. Every word that comes out of Eddie’s mouth has a purpose and he nevers says anything he doesn’t mean. 

“I think I love you too,” you reply and Eddie goes in for one of many more kisses of the night before the two of you cuddle up for the very first time as a couple.

[melosliving]

I loveeee kelvin and pregnant reader. Can you do a aaron version?🥺🥺

i love when y’all are asking for thingssss pls keep doing this it makes my day. Hope you’ll like it !!

aaron pierre x pregnant!reader

husband!aaron who promised himself he would only get you pregnant after putting a ring on your finger first. (yes he is intentional like that.)

husband!aaron who actually can’t go on with his day without imagining how pretty you would look being pregnant. And he knew you’d be the most incredible mother ever.

It’s the way you coo at any baby looking in your direction or how you would soften whenever you two would pass by the baby section at the store.

"Look papa ! that’s actually so tiny.." you would say, holding a random onesie in your hands.

husband!aaron who softly takes your hand and let you handle things every single time someone asks when y’all will be having kids, wanting to remain calm because he actually hated these type of question.

"I know you’re not all up in my business, cousin." You would say, pointing teasingly at your cousin.

husband!aaron who can’t help but look at you like you were the most beautiful and priceless woman every time he would see you napping with a relative’s kid during a family gathering.

husband!aaron who starts to stress himself when thinking about having a kid with you, leading him to be awake at 3 am but still holding one of your hand in his since he wants to be close to you.

"..baby ?" he would watch you tilt your head towards him, your fingers rubbing your sleepy eyes. "why are you not sleeping ? what’s wrong ?" you would ask, pulling yourself up.

"nothing lovie, go back to sleep."

"uh-uh." you answered, going to take his hand, laying you two down again but this time he had his torso and head on your belly, his arms circling your waist. "tell me."

he would sigh, his fingers tracing shapes on your belly. "actually.. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something but I’m starting to overthink it." he explains. "I want to have a baby with you. I think we’re ready. But I can’t help but wonder if we’re really ready, and if you really want this with me, if we’re stable enough and what if-"

he would stop himself at the feeling of your hand going down his face, using your finger to pull his chin up so he would be looking at you. "doudou, I wouldn’t have married you if i didn’t want babies with you." you say in your typical softness. "I’ve always wanted you to be the father of my kids."

husband!aaron in who from this day, something primal awakes every time y’all make love. Best believe it’s either he asks you if you really want this, or you tell him to just get you pregnant.

husband!aaron who tries to be between your legs every time of the day. He really has no business wanting to make love to you like that.

husband!aaron who is actually the one who tells you that you’re pregnant. He would immediately notice something different about you. that something being your boobies.

"baby have you seen my br- why are you lookin at my tits like that, you freak ?" You would ask, actually bare chest, only your legs covered by your towel.

"baby, have you thought about taking a pregnancy test ?"

"boy you have lost your mind. Help me find my bra, my mom is waiting for me !"

husband!aaron who is so nosy he would ask to be in the bathroom while you took the test.

husband!aaron who only smiled brightly at you when the test came back positive. He would hold you close to him while you started to cry a bit because of the shock.

"I got you, baby. I got you." He would kiss your forehead, actually grateful for this moment.

husband!aaron who would watch your every move, every breath you would take only to make sure you were okay. he would actually get on your nerves.

pregnant!reader who goes full kylie jenner on the world, since she wanted a quiet pregnancy.

husband!aaron who goes to his mom to ask for baby clothes him and his siblings wore when they were born.

husband!aaron who quietly cries after the first ultrasound. Seeing the tiny flicker of the baby’s heartbeat on the ultrasound overwhelmed him in ways he never thought possible.

husband!aaron who started documenting everything, especially every silly craving you had.

"can you hold this for me, pretty ?" He would ask, stopping in one of the grocery store’s aile. Indeed, he was really adamant about taking pictures of every cravings you had.

"bubba needs to know what you put me through,” he joked, snapping a picture while you rolled your eyes.

husband!aaron who sat beside you during every sleepless night, rubbing your back when the discomfort got too much. “I wish I could take this part for you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I wished you could too." You would answer, laughing.

soon-to-be-father!aaron who nearly passed out when you went into labor but composed himself immediately because he knew you were going through one of the most traumatic experiences of your life.

soon-to-be-father!aaron who held your hand, murmuring words of encouragement even as his own hands shook.

“You’re so strong, lovie. You’ve got this,” he said, tears slipping down his cheeks when he heard the first cries of your baby.

mom!reader who sobs as she looks into her baby’s eyes.

"Aaron ! the baby has your eyes color !" you would cry, looking at your baby beautiful eyes.

boy dad!aaron who held your baby boy for the first time with trembling hands, staring at his tiny face like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

“He’s so small… but so perfect,” Aaron whispered, his voice cracking as he kissed the baby’s forehead.

"I’ll forever be grateful for this gift you have given me, baby." he would say, looking back at you with his eyes full of love.

@ melosliving 2025