#THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS SO ENDEARING AT ALL TIMES

[wttcsms]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ adore me, mark your territory !!

ᝰ.ᐟ after having to endure locker room conversation since his blue lock days all the way up to his pro days, yukimiya realizes that if he wants to show you just how serious he is about his thoughts on his relationship with you, he needs to make his mark on you. ( fem!reader )

pairing kenyu yukimiya x reader word count 3.6k content contains corruption kink/innocence kink, loss of virginity (both you and yukki), first time, creampie, breeding kink, slightly manipulative!yukki, you two attended the same private catholic high school, mentions of purity culture, coercion, very naive reader, talks of marriage, dark(ish) content kinktober masterlist

To love someone is to know them. 

You love Kenyu Yukimiya with all your heart; you know his hopes and his dreams, his fears and the tiny voice in his head that serves to either goad or encourage him. The two of you grew up together, attending all the same Catholic private schools up ‘til he went pro fresh out of high school graduation, and you decided to attend a tiny, private all girls university. 

You know that he’s kind and funny, much more outgoing and adventurous than you. You know that he can be gentle, and that he chooses to always be gentle with you. You know that he loves you just as much as you love him. 

But while distance makes the heart grow fonder, perhaps it’s the distance that has caused this newfound unfamiliarity between the two of you.

“Kenny, I don’t… I don’t understand.” You’re lying down on your painfully small twin-sized mattress in your dorm room. Kenyu’s on top of you, his body hovering over your own. He gives you that familiar, comforting smile of his as he asks you gently (your Kenyu’s always so gentle with you), 

“We love each other, don’t we?” 

“Of course we do.” You say softly. Your arms are by your side, and you’re playing with the frills on the oversized comforter of your bed. Your whole entire room still screams girl. Yukimiya finds it endearing; he finds everything about you so damn endearing. Your floral quilts, and the stuffed animals he’s won for you from claw machines and unfairly rigged carnival games. Your fluffy comforter, and the way you always love to wear dresses, even when it’s just to attend a lecture. 

And your unwavering innocence. 

Everyone knows that Catholic private schools aren’t as pristine as the parents of the students like to claim it is, but you’re the only one who remained devout. The only one who genuinely stayed true to the lessons taught. You didn’t drink, you didn’t smoke, you didn’t sneak out. The only parties you attended were birthday parties chaperoned by a trusted adult and held in the early afternoon. You always followed the dress code and never tried to get away with folding the waistband of your school-issued skirt to make it shorter, like some of the other girls did. Hell, Kenyu had to literally ask your father for permission to date you before he asked you out. 

And while Kenyu’s always been on his best behavior, it’s not like he’s unaware of the world. He’s not naive like you. And that’s okay. One of you has to know enough to lead the other; Yukimiya’s more than happy that he’s the one taking on that role. 

The thing is, Kenyu truly does love you. It’s why he doesn’t rush you, doesn’t try to force you to go further than what you think you’re capable of, than what you think you’re allowed to go. He ignores the hard on he gets every time you two make out, the way your hips sometimes move on their own, grinding against him with no thought to strip out of your clothes and let him finish. You’ve been together since the first year of high school, and now you’re in college, and he’s playing professional soccer, and he loves you, and he still hasn’t even seen your pussy. Honestly, his closest friends tell him he must be a saint. 

But the talks in the locker room, the snide comments from his least favorite teammates, the jokes and the teasing and the mocking, condescending tones — gotta protect Yukki’s ears, can’t let him Mr. Private School hear this, as if he’d even know what we’re talking about; damn virgin — all of it is chipping away at his pacifist, mild-mannered demeanor, revealing the feral, greedy egoist that lies underneath. 

You had been so excited to hear your beloved boyfriend was flying down to your college town this weekend, just to see you! Your roommate’s out on a holiday with her parents, leaving the dorm room all to yourselves. In your cute mind, this just means more room for the two of you to hang out.

For Yukimiya, it means he has no more obstacles to get in the way of him fucking you for the first time. 

“And you know what two people who love each other do, right?” He’s still using the same pacifying, soothing tone he always uses when he’s trying to calm you down. When you skinned your knees and cried from the sting of the alcohol wipes used to clean the cuts, he had used this voice on you. When you cried at the airport because he was leaving the country to meet the team who paid an exorbitant amount to have him on their starting lineup, he had used this voice on you. Right now, you can’t understand why he’s using this voice on you. You’re not hurt; just confused. 

“Kenyu, wh-what are you talking about?” 

“I’m talking about making love, [Name].” One large palm is rubbing up and down the smooth skin of your thigh. The movement causes the thin fabric of your sundress to rise up. Yukimiya’s never touched you down there before. You don’t know why his touch feels so good, but you do understand what he’s talking about now. 

“But Kenny—” Your voice is reduced to nothing more than a nervous whisper, almost as if you’re scared someone is listening in. “—we can’t. That’s for married couples.” 

Well, if it’s any consolation, Yukimiya’s always planned on marrying you. 

He kisses your forehead, his hand never relenting from its position on your thigh. Your dress remains lifted up at an angle on one side. He can see part of your cotton panties; plain and white. If he moves his fingers up a few more centimeters, he could tug at the waistband of them. 

“I know, sweetheart. But I’ve been thinking…” His hand travels from up your thigh to rest on your hip. The one side of your dress is now all the way up, and his thumb rests on the thin waistband of your panties, rubbing reassuring circles to get you to remain calm underneath him. “We’ll get married soon, anyway, right? I love you so much that I need an outlet to show you just how much I love you.” 

“Married? Soon?” Your eyes widen. You find yourself daydreaming about marrying Yukimiya, starting a family. Yukimiya’s smile stretches wide across his handsome face. His sweet girl, he knew you’d be putty in his hands after he mentioned that. 

“Of course.” He kisses you on your lips sweetly, his hand never leaving your hip. “And I want to give you all the love a husband has for his wife. Won’t you let me, [Name]?” 

Kenyu’s always been handsome. You have a collection of all his professional photoshoots, and you know that he has a bunch of fangirls from just his looks alone. It’s so unfair of him, really, to give you that imploring look of his. You can’t say no to Yukimiya, and you think you never want to.

And so you do let him. 

Kenyu’s quick. With the speed he normally reserves for on the field, Kenyu’s mouth meets your at the same time his other hand grips your neglected hip. Now both of his hands are bunching up the fabric of your dress, pulling the skirt up to reveal your simple, plain panties. 

“Mmph.” You moan into the kiss. This is a bit different than what you two normally engage in; somehow, everything feels a lot heavier, headier. You can’t seem to think straight. All you can focus on is chasing after his lips, matching his hungry pace. 

The heat radiating off the two of you is enough for Kenyu to separate from you momentarily. The lens of his glasses are fogged up, and he grins at you, satisfied at the progress you’re making, before taking his glasses off and setting them neatly on your nightstand. 

And then he’s back to kissing you passionately again. You’re lost in the pleasure of his kisses, unknowingly bucking your hips up, not knowing why your body is craving friction, for some attention, down there. Your hands reach up to grip the front of Kenyu’s shirt, tugging at him, trying to bring him closer. You’re getting desperate, and he finds it so cute. 

“Lift your arms up for me, sweetheart.” He mumbles against your lips, and your head’s too hazy for you to properly register his request. He repeats it, still as gentle as ever with you, and this time, you manage to comply. 

“Fuck.” You don’t hear Kenyu curse often; he says it’s impolite to do so in front of his girl. He breathes out the word, and you feel shy all of a sudden as his eyes roam over your body. He tossed your dress to the side unceremoniously, and because the dress itself had padding, you decided not to wear a bra. You’re laying on your bed, nothing to protect your modesty besides your cotton panties. 

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. The only girl I see.” He praises you, and you don’t feel too shy anymore. 

“K-Kenyu—” You look up at him, all doe-eyed and sweet. You’re pressing your thighs together, drawing his attention to the plush of your thighs, the way hiding in between your legs is your special place that only Kenyu will be allowed to see, to touch, to taste, to love. “What do we do now?” 

He leans down, whispering in your ear in his familiar, kind voice, “Now, you lay down, and let me show you how much I love you.” 

You love Kenyu so much, you think it should be impossible for your heart to have so much room for him. You know Kenyu must feel the same way, but never before has his love for you ever felt so overwhelming. Kenyu pries your thighs apart, forcing you to open your legs for him, but you didn’t know showering you in his love meant that he was going to take his fingers and rub against the mound in your underwear. 

“W-wait, Kenny!” You yelp, trying to shut your legs, but he’s too big, too strong. He blocks the movement, keeps you nice and spread for him. “I—” You don’t know what to tell him, and you don’t know how to explain why there’s a tiny puddle gathering in the thin fabric of your panties. Sometimes, you feel funny and this starts to happen, usually after a long makeout session with your boyfriend. 

“You’re so wet for me, [Name].” He almost sounds in awe, staring down at your covered pussy almost as if in a trance. The pace he’s using is rather slow; he’s content, for now, with just stroking his fingers up and down your covered slit, fascinated with the way he can watch you slowly drench through the cotton. The wet spot only continues to grow; he bets he can get his fingers damp with your arousal soon, and he wouldn’t even have to take your panties off to do so. “Do you always get this wet for me?” 

You want to cry, and you can even feel the tears welling up in your eyes. He looks up, instantly stopping his ministrations, his concern written all over his expression. “Hey, hey.” He shushes you, peppering kisses all over your face. He’s not stroking you anymore, but his large hand is cupping your pussy, the heat of his hand encasing your special place. You’re practically throbbing against him, your cunt aching and hungry for his touch. He just has to get you to open up for him, to understand. “There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re supposed to get wet right here for me, you know that?” 

You sniffle, unsure if he’s just placating you. “Really?”

“Really.” His smile is so gentle, his tone so soothing and reassuring. He’s back to grazing his knuckles across your cunt, enjoying the way the fabric keeps on getting damper. “It means your body is happy, and it lets me know that you love me as much as I love you.” 

His other starts to tug at your waistband, dragging down your panties until he’s pulling them right off. His breath catches in his throat as he looks down and stares at your pussy for the first time. Your folds are glistening, your little clit peeking out at him, begging for him to suck on, to rub against. 

“Cute.” He tells you, tracing a finger curiously against your slit, the tip of his index finger so close to entering your clenching, unbreached hole. “I’m going to make you feel really good now, okay, [Name]? Tell me, have you ever played with yourself down here?” 

“Wha-?” You’re confused, appropriately so. The boys and girls were separated during sex education, but you remember your teacher drilling it into your heads that under no circumstances should a young girl ever touch herself. You had been confused at the time, confused as to why anyone would ever. You’ve been taught that only your husband should ever touch you right there. But Yukimiya loves you, and he’s going to be your husband, and now you’re starting to think you know why girls may want to touch themselves. You’ve felt this heat in between your thighs before, this mysterious hunger for something, but now you’re feeling it tenfold. You shake your head, too choked up to speak. 

“No? Not even like this?” You don’t expect Kenyu to insert his finger. The intrusion is foreign, but not entirely unwelcome. Your walls instinctively clench around his digit, and he has to remind himself to breathe, to remain collected, to take things slow so you can enjoy yourself properly. “You’re clamping down on just one finger.” He breathes out, curling his finger, moving it against your walls. He brushes against a spongy spot inside of you, one that has you jerking up, a shocked, pleasured moan escaping from your parted lips. “That feel good?” He asks, before adding a second finger, both of them bumping against that same sweet spot. 

Your legs feel like jelly, and you nod weakly. It does feel good. Too good. So overwhelmingly good that a foreign, euphoric sensation is taking over you. You can’t seem to control your body, and you can’t stop the flow of cute, pleasured mewls flowing from your mouth, and you manage to scream out a warning to Yuki. “S-something is—” 

A clear stream of liquid spurts out of you, splashes onto him, soaks your cute comforter. 

“Fuck, you’re amazing.” Your walls are too sensitive now, but throughout the whole process, Yukimiya never stops thrusting his fingers in and out of your inexperienced cunt. His eyes are wide, but the gleam in them is sharp, hungry, calculating. “I didn’t even get a chance to mess with your cute little clit. You came just from penetration?” He finally removes his fingers, examining the way your juices are dripping off his digits. “You didn’t just cum, you squirted.”

You turn your head, trying to bury your face in a pillow so he can’t see the embarrassed and debauched expression on your face, but he takes his dry hand and forces you to continue looking up at him.

“That’s a good thing, sweetheart.” He coos, sucking at his fingers obscenely before releasing them from his mouth with a pop!. “It means you’re perfect and all ready for me.” 

Kenyu knows that his cock is the first cock you’ve ever seen, and he’ll make damn certain that it’s the only one you’ll be seeing for the rest of your life. There’s no frame of reference for you to use, but you don’t think that men should be so big. When he frees his dick, making a show of squeezing tightly at the base and pumping it, showing off to you, you swallow hard. 

He taps the head of his cock against your swollen, needy clit, teasing the both of you. He’s losing all sense of restraint, and even rubbing the underside of his cock against your glistening folds, trying to slick up his cock so it’ll be easier to glide into your soaked cunt, is enough to make him want to cum. 

“I’m going to fuck you now, sweetheart.” His voice sounds strained, the gentle tone hanging on by a thread. “We’ll be making love for the first time. Aren’t you excited?” 

You nod. Excited and nervous. His cock much larger than his fingers, and maybe he should have prepped you more, but you came so easily. He always knew you were perfect for him. Pleasure is so unknown to you, the tiniest taste of it is enough to take you out. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

He holds your hand and kisses you to distract you from the sting of his cock breaching your virgin cunt. You gasp into the kiss, pain registering in your mind first, but Yukimiya is quick to take your breath away, to swallow up any potential protests that might have come. He keeps on kissing you, his fingers intertwined with your own, and he’s pushing himself as deep as he can go. He only lets up from the kiss the second he’s buried to the hilt, and you greedily swallow up the oxygen you’ve been deprived of. 

The feeling of a hard cock inside of you is foreign, but your body clings to his length. Unlike his fingers, with its dexterous ministrations that had you keening and squirting when he brushed them against a special spot, his cock fills you up, stuffs you full. Your cunt is greedily sucking him in, and when he whispers that he’s going to really start moving now, it’s not just one spot that he’s hitting.

You’re not sure what’s happening to your body, but it feels like Yukimiya is wringing out pleasure from you from every angle inside of you. 

“Ah, fuck, you feel so good for me, sweetheart. Such a tight pussy, so wet, so warm.” The heat encasing his cock is nothing like he’s ever experienced before. The wet warmth of your pussy is so inviting, so intensely pleasurable, that Kenyu doesn’t think he’ll be able to last. Cumming so soon might be embarrassing, but it’s not. Not when it’s his sweet girl’s pussy that’s begging for his cum. 

You wail out his name, your legs reflexively encircling around his waist, locking him in, keeping him close to you as you cum again. This orgasm is practically ripped out from you, your cunt way too sensitive, the repeated battering of his cock drilling into your hole too much for your inexperienced mind and body to handle. 

“Kenyu, Kenyu, Kenyu!” When you say his name like that, it makes it hard for him to not immediately bust a load inside of you. Gone is the gentle expression from your boyfriend’s face; in its place is something feral, dark. 

When he pulls out, he sees your white cream coating his cock. When he thrusts back in, he hears the lewd squelch of your wet, overstuffed pussy. It’s enough to drive a man insane with lust.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He grunts out, and your head struggles to remain straight, to not loll to the side and let yourself be used. You look up at him, but your eyes are glassy and your mind seems to be in a far away place, so far gone, so fucked out. “We’re going to get married soon. So it’s okay if I get you pregnant right now, right?” His bare cock fucking your virgin pussy raw. He’s going crazy. “I’m gonna fill you up, get you all nice and bred for me. Make you my wife, make you a mommy.” 

The domestic daydream makes you tighten up around him, even though your body is too weak to cum again. That’s alright. He’ll just have to cum enough for the both of you. 

“Hang onto me, sweetheart.” And you do. Your legs are still wrapped around him, but you weakly raise your arms, holding him close to you. He starts pounding at your pussy, his unrivaled speed and strength turning you into mush. You have to dig your nails into the muscled skin of his back, feeling like you’re on the edge of a cliff, about to crash. 

“Fuck, I’m about to put a baby in you, love. My sweet girl, my sweet wife.” He kisses you, messy and sloppy, and he stills. The aggressive thrusts stop, and you realize why. 

There’s a new heat entering inside of you; hot spurts of his cum are pouring into you, and he only moves his hips a bit to plug you up further, to make sure none of his seed can trickle out of you. 

You’re about to lose consciousness, your brain fried from pleasure and exhaustion. All you do is weakly mumble out his name before the world goes black.

You think if this is what making love is, you love love.

“Holy shit, Yukki.” Isagi gapes at his shirtless teammate. 

Yukimiya glances up, about to pull his jersey over his head. “What?” 

“What the hell happened to you?” 

“Hm?” He asks, before turning to try to examine his back. Across the pale muscles are thin, red scratches, fading slightly from the time it’s been etched onto his skin by your nails. He smiles serenely, his mild-mannered attitude ever present. “Oh, this? My fiancee likes me close to her at all times.” 

[lostingrayrain]

hello hello!! i bought homicipher the day it came out and i'm so in love with it.. but there's no content whatsoever and i'm so sad 😭😭 could you write literally anything for any character.. i just need to see more homicipher content!!! 😭😭💗

I GOT YOU ANON I've clocked in like 20 hours since the release on November 1st omg....

I've been cooking up something for my first Homicipher post.....here's some general thoughts on the relationships/dynamics with the main guys.

Characters: Mr. Crawling, Mr. Silver Hair / Mr. Silvair, Mr. Gap, Mr. Hood, Mr. Machete, Mr. Scarletella

Word Count: 1454

Warnings: sfw, some mentions of canon-typical violence

Mr. Crawling

He loves you!! He loves you so, so, so much!!!

Do you love him?

He asks you that. A lot. He loves to be reassured that you adore him. And he's always vocal about how much he adores you.

He follows you everywhere, like a lost puppy. It's honestly so endearing and sweet. He's constantly on the lookout for you.

He also adores physical touch, once he knows it's fine. Other than the little headpats, he likes to touch your legs, especially your calves. In times of rest he's incredibly cuddly and loves to nuzzle into you.

Pet his hair and he'll melt immediately. It's so relaxing to him.

He's usually with you, but when he's not he's often on the lookout for gifts and trophies to bring to you. He just wants to make you happy, in any way possible. The second there's anything you mention liking or being fond of, it's a priority for him to see if he can scrounge it up.

If you'll let him, he'd love to touch your hair. He will play with it and make silly nonsensical braids and giggle quietly to himself all the while.

He's a bit of a chatterbox. He loves to talk to you. Any time he's been away he likes to give you little reports of what he's done or what he's seen. And he wants to hear all about your day or your dreams, too. There's never a time he won't want to hear what you have to say.

Mr. Silver Hair / Mr. Silvair

You are so very interesting to him! He wants to study you.

But not hurt you. Normally, he probably would have already dismembered you to watch how your body pulls together again, but since you're friends with Mr. Chopped, he's put aside that urge.

Instead it's been replaced by something else, though he doesn't really understand what it is. He's never felt it before. Or maybe he has? Maybe he doesn't remember? Could you help him remember?

Whenever you’re feeling ill, he finds that he wants to make you feel better. He’s trying hard to learn how to keep you together just as you are.

He’ll get you to lie down when it seems you’re feeling faint, and carry you to bed when you collapse in the middle of an errand. Before he realises it, he's massaging your hair. Think nothing of it. Your head hurts, right? So it makes sense to pet you.

He likes to watch you sleep. He can’t put a finger on why. He likes to tell himself he’s doing armchair research when he’s really just….zoning out.

He's extremely perceptive and observant. He's always checking your reactions to things and events to figure out what you like or don't like, or to try to understand how you're feeling in the moment.

He's the type to politely ask if it's okay to touch you before doing so.

He would never hurt you unless your urges became unbearable, in which case it's self-defense, right? He'll make sure you'll turn back to normal and he'll be there for you every step of the way.

Mr. Gap

He's probably...one of the strangest denizens of the otherworld. You're still not sure if he has a body. But he has helped you on multiple occasions. You've found yourself growing fond of him.

You often see him peeking at you from various holes and gaps. Sometimes he tries to get your attention, sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he just watches.

When you find a bag in the underworld, you begin carrying it around with you.

He's usually inside, but sometimes not. You have no idea where he goes.

He'll often bring back little gifts like weapons or food, like some bizarre cat. When he finds out you like candy, he tends to focus on that.

He always asks for your heart before he gives you anything, and you always say no, and he always grumbles.

But somehow you'll always find those same things coincidentally in your path or somewhere in the room after you wake up, if you've taken a nap.

He likes to scope out newspapers and magazines too, and show them to you, especially if they feature himself. He's so proud of that.

Over time, his requests for your heart grow less and less frequent. Sometimes, you forget he used to ask you for it at all, until he suddenly pipes up with the query again.

Is his wanting your heart the same thing as wanting your love? Things to ponder.

Mr. Hood

He's quiet and reclusive but he's there for you whenever you need him.

You need or want anything? Just ask. He'll give it to you immediately with hardly a question.

No harm will ever come to you whenever you're with him, and he hardly lets you out of his sight. He's incredibly protective of you.

He loves to carry you in his arms or on his shoulder, whether you're small or not. It's no bother to him. He's more than strong enough.

Hand touches are so pleasant to him -- whether you're touching his hands, or he's touching your face. He's secretly touch-starved. As long as you don't shy away, he'll continue to hold onto you.

He enjoys quizzing you on your knowledge of the otherworld language. When things are slow, he’ll randomly ask you if you know the names of certain things.

Whenever you both encounter something new during your travels, he’s quick to ask you if you know what it is or outright tells you what it’s called.

He seems a bit self-conscious of having minimal form. What is under his robe? If you don't ask he'll be grateful. He doesn't know himself.

But if you're not repulsed by his anomalous form, that's just -- incredibly touching.

He claims to not understand love, but he'll never abandon you.

Maybe he doesn't understand. Maybe he's forgotten.

But there's something about you that comforts him, and makes him feel safe. Quite paradoxical -- he's the one doing the protecting, after all. But your presence soothes him.

Mr. Machete

He's just looking for a way to not be bored. And being with you -- somehow, it's fun.

Maybe because he's usually alone, so he doesn't often have anyone else to talk to. It's...fun to banter with you, even if sometimes your words confuse him.

It's unquestionable that he's the brawn, you're the brain of this duo. Maybe the beauty and the beast, too?

He's always, secretly, been a little bit of a coward. The second things don't look like they'll turn out well for him, he ditches and flees.

But, oddly, you give him the courage to stand against things or monsters he would have thought were impossible to defeat.

Sometimes, you die -- whether by accident or because something else got to you before he could. But he always sighs and waits for you to wake up again. If you're mad, it's a little funny. You were just too slow that time.

He likes sparring with you. You have to get faster, right? Your weapon is pretty funny, too. So small and yet somehow you manage to not get overwhelmed by him. He's not holding back. He never would. Right?

He likes to pick you up and sling you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Likes to hug you like a teddy bear, too. You're soft and warm. You feel nice against him.

He's not the type to ask, but if you made any indication of not liking anything, he'd stop. He doesn't want to break you.

Mr. Scarletella

You are his queen. He literally worships the ground you walk on.

You are so fascinating to him. He just can't believe he's found someone as perfect as you. Someone who likes to destroy and kill people, just like him? Immaculate.

You haven't and never will give him your name. That's fine. He can live with that, as long as you're with him.

You've likely given him something else to call you. It's not quite your name -- maybe it's not your full name, and he knows it, because he can't quite grasp your essence. But it's enough to be able to give a sound to the person -- thing -- he likes most in this world.

He likes to say that not-quite name, and he says it often, just to get your attention.

He's fascinated by everything about you -- including how small you are in comparison to him. He loves that he can easily dwarf your form and loom over you. It's exhilarating in a completely different way from mindless violence.

Speaking of which, his favourite thing is without a doubt to commit violence with you. There's a new urban legend steadily growing in the human world, of a pair of murderers characterised by their red and white umbrellas. You're the perfect perfectly awful duo, truly.

Even when he's not with you, he's always somehow got an eye on you. Most of the otherworld residents know by now who you belong to, and they'd never lay hand on the one cherished by the red umbrella man.

[megwritesriddles]

Just Can't Hide it ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Mike Schmidt x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 20 - Premature Ejaculation. Mike is determined to ask Reader to be his girlfriend, Reader is determined to have sex. Mike can't quite keep up with his own desires, but is happy to compensate.

Tags: Premature ejaculation, Unprotected sex, Oral sex (f receiving), Cum-eating, Workplace sex, Over a desk, Coworkers, Getting together, New relationship, Fluff, Not canon complaint (no evil animatronics).

Word count: 2.8k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: This is a part two to Call Me (Anytime!), I had one request for it and I kinda thought it fit this prompt so I did it!! This can be read alone though!! It's short and sweet because... well... you know... lol!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

PART 1 HERE !!

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Mike was running late to work. He was furious with himself for letting it get to this, but it turns out he had severely underestimated how time-consuming it would be to buy flowers. The last time he’d bought flowers, for his mother’s funeral, he had just been trying to get it all over with as soon as possible. This was different. He stood in the surprisingly vast flower section of the supermarket, just staring at all of the various options. His eyes had immediately drifted to the more decadent assortments, but he had also quickly come to realise how expensive flowers were. As much as his bank account wanted him to, he couldn’t get you any of the cheapest bouquets, you were worth so much more to him than that, worth more than even the most expensive assortment of perfectly organised roses in the store. Yet, he had to stay realistic, he had himself and Abby to feed until the next payday. He browsed the mid-priced bouquets, even asking the store assistant for help. He’d been an entirely uninterested teenage boy who had offered no help whatsoever. Eventually, Mike realised the time, you would be sitting at work waiting for him to arrive and he was stuck umming and ahhing over some flowers. He settled on a bouquet in your favourite colour, praying you’d like them, and checked out at the self-checkout to save time. 

You were pissed. Mike always lets you know when he is going to be late and why. Even at times when you felt he would have been perfectly justified not to tell you, such as the time last year that Abby was rushed to hospital with a high fever, he had texted you. Yet, you heard nothing. Usually, you might give him the benefit of the doubt, but the telltale sting of rejection is creeping up on you. His lack of communication left you feeling rejected, especially after the nature of the last conversation the two of you had together. When he finally burst into the building, carrying his backpack oddly in his arms, you were feeling huffy. He reaches the security office and grins at you lopsidedly. It takes a lot of effort not to smile back, finding his expression incredibly endearing despite yourself. 

“You finally showed up then?” you frown, tilting your chin up haughtily. You didn’t know why you were acting like this, you knew Mike, he’d have a reason, but you couldn’t seem to stop yourself. You felt vulnerable. Mike's face falls a little.

“I’m sorry, I have a reason, I promise! I-“ he starts. You keep frowning. You’d had a vision of how this night would go, and it was no longer going that way. It wasn’t his fault, you had never shared your plans, but you still felt… bad. You would’ve arrived at work after him like usual, and you would have gone over to sit on his lap instead of your own chair, preventing him from starting his rounds. You would have teased and toyed with him until he gave in and bent you over the desk like you (and he) had been wanting for so long. But now, the whole thing was messed up. You watch with feigned disinterest as he unzips his backpack. “Here, f-for you,” he smiles nervously, gently extracting the bouquet from his bag and holding it out to you. Your expression melts instantly. A bouquet in your favourite colour, no man had ever been so thoughtful for you before. You take them from him, sniffing the sweet floral scent, your nose brushing the silky petals. 

“Oh Mike…” you sigh, all your previous tension and upset disappearing. He blushes, staring down at where you sit as you inhale the scent of the flowers. He takes a deep breath, summoning all the courage he has.

“I would… I would really like it if you would… uh… be my girlfriend?” he stammers out, immediately cursing himself for his phrasing. That hadn’t come out like he’d practised in the bathroom mirror earlier this evening. “I-I mean… only if you want to, of course, but I would be so happy if–”

“Yes,” you respond, smiling up at him, the lower half of your face still behind the bouquet. He stares at you, momentarily dumbstruck, mouth slightly ajar. Then his expression transforms, he grins wide and slightly crooked with excitement.

“You will?” he exhales.

“I will, come here,” you gently place down the bouquet on the security desk, still wrapped in its paper. You stand and open your arms for him, he’s immediately surging forward into your embrace. He needs this like he needs air. He can’t remember the last time he embraced someone who wasn’t family, and even then, if Abby wasn’t counted, it must have been at least years. It would have felt good if it was anyone, but it was you. The object of all his desires and adoration, the most beautiful woman in the world, his closest friend. He wraps his arms tight around your middle, lifting you ever-so-slightly into the air as he embraces you. This makes you giggle a little, your arms settling around his neck. He places you back down and looks at you, deep into your eyes. He’s never felt so overjoyed in his life. His girlfriend. He can barely process it, but you’re right there, smiling sweetly, the corners of your eyes crinkling in the way he adores. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers in awe. You just blush a little and shrug him off. 

“Says you,” you huff, smiling more as he pulls you even closer. 

“You think I’m beautiful?” he chuckles. “You must just be seeing your reflection in my eyes,” you laugh softly, staring into his eyes, certainly not paying any attention to the impression of yourself in them. You lean forward and press your lips to his. His eyes slip shut immediately, as do yours. His hands settle on your waist, kissing you back a little tentatively. It’s been a long time, and he doesn’t dare to mess it up, but he needs it more than anything. You take the lead, feeling his nerves, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling yourself closer. Softly, you toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, enjoying the way he keens into it. You’re like a dream to him, the best dream he’s ever had, completely blissful and unhaunted by the past. He gently drags his tongue along your bottom lip and you part them in response. He hums, carefully letting his tongue explore your mouth, all his movements soft and controlled. “You’re perfect, you taste perfect, sweet,” he mumbles between kisses, his hands sliding up and down your body, getting to know every outline.

“Imagine how I might taste elsewhere,” you whisper against his lips, instantly shifting the mood, grinning when he chokes out a moan. He’s certainly imagining it now, his hands tightening on you.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his cock hardening rapidly in his jeans. “Don’t say stuff like that, I’m a desperate guy,” he laughs lowly, trying to sound jokey, but meaning it completely. With you so close and beautiful and best of all willing, he’s having a hard time holding it together.

“Take me then,” you whisper, excited that things are finally going as you planned, even though becoming Mike’s girlfriend had turned out to be a rather nice diversion. He groans, leaning in to kiss your neck.

“Are you sure?” he questions shakily as you push his hoodie off of his shoulders. 

“So sure, this is what I want, and I know you want it too,” you murmur, leaning your head back so he can kiss under your jaw, sucking softly. You hope he’s leaving marks. The two of you pull away from one another briefly to shed your clothes. A coating of pink dusts the tips of Mike’s ears and you can tell he’s a little insecure, but you find him unbelievably sexy. He’s broad and muscular in the arms, with a bit of softness around his belly and, not to mention, incredibly well-endowed. He stands at full attention, twitching and leaking pre-cum as he watches your body be revealed to him. Every insecurity that might have existed in the back of your mind is gone as soon as his eyes are on you, drinking you in like you’re a piece of art. He exhales needily, moving toward you. 

“You look unbelievable, fuck, I need you bad,” he chuckles deeply, one hand coming to gently cup your breast, the other sliding behind you onto your ass. He closes his eyes, trembling slightly in excitement. He can’t believe that he’s being blessed with this, there were no words in all of language to explain how grateful he was. He nuzzles into your neck, inhaling your scent. “You are a dream,” he promises against your skin. You giggle softly. His hands massage you for a moment, drinking in your form and presence. You definitely shouldn’t be doing this at work, but the door is closed, and no one ever comes here. Neither of you was stopping in any case. You move out of his arms and he groans in protest but quickly recovers when he sees you bending yourself over the desk. You gently move the keyboard and bouquet out of the way, lying yourself on the cool surface, tipping your ass into the air. “Oh God, yes,” he whispers huskily, stepping behind you. His cock rests heavily on your ass and he shivers at the sight of it. He can’t wait to sink into you, he needs it bad and based on how wet you look, you do too. He smooths his hands up and down the curve of your back for a while, taking a deep breath to ground himself. “Can I? Please?” he sighs, squeezing your hips and tugging you a little closer. You wiggle your ass enticingly, making him bite his lip.

“Fuck me, Mike,” you purr, making him moan a little. He’s so weak for you, completely overwhelmed by your presence. He slowly eases himself into your welcoming heat, letting out a groan between his gritted teeth at the way you squeeze around him. He can barely think, his mind clouded and spinning from the sensation. He remains still, unable to move out of fear of immediately falling apart. You’re so warm and tight and God… he’s never felt so good in his life. His cock twitches inside you as you beg him to start moving, but he can’t do it, he knows what will happen the second he does. He doesn’t want to disappoint you, but he’s unsure what to do now. Even the action of pulling out would make him come, the feeling of your walls sliding over him- Fuck. He’s so unbelievably close, biting down on his lip so hard he draws a little blood. Peripherally, he can hear you pleading with him, clearly even getting a little confused. You move, only trying to turn your head to look at him, but the shifting of your body against him has him falling apart. He chokes out a moan, grabbing your hips and slamming fully into you, making you squeak in surprise. 

“Fuck! Fuck! Oh God,” he wails, his head dipping forward to rest between your shoulder blades as he empties his cum into you in several thick spurts. Your mouth forms a surprised ‘o’ shape, realising he’s already coming. You lie there, waiting it out as he comes down. You’re surprised by just how much he pumps into you, it becomes abundantly clear how little he’d been joking when he called himself desperate. “I’m so sorry, so sorry, you felt too good, I couldn’t help it,” he sobs, kissing over the back of your shoulders as he twitches a final few times. “I’m so sorry baby,” 

“It’s okay,” you sigh, leaning your cheek on the desk. While part of you is undeniably a little disappointed, you also feel a little flattered by how quickly you had him falling apart. You feel him slowly and carefully withdraw himself from you, hissing with sensitivity. He kisses down your spine, making his way down your body so that he has time to catch his breath properly. You try to stand yourself up, but feel a firm hand on your back, pushing you back down. You gasp in surprise and confusion, trying your best to look over your shoulder. Mike kneels between your legs, watching in awe as his seed is slowly beginning to dribble out of you. He groans at the sight. 

“You are breathtaking, I can’t believe you’re my girlfriend now,” he breathes. “Can I clean up the mess I made?” he asks quietly, smiling when he spots you clenching around nothing, making a little more of his cum trickle out of you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, relaxing against the table. “Please do,” He leans forward, taking a second to smell the pure sex radiating off of you. That smell was way more delightful to him than it should have been. He then licks a broad stripe up your folds, gathering your mixed essences on his tongue. He takes a deep satisfaction from the mixture of both of your flavours, moaning softly. Another lick, then another, then another. He forgot how much he loved to do this, not having had the chance for so, so long. And you taste better than anyone he’s ever had before, even when mixed with him. Your little moans and gasps drive him insane, pushing him to keep going. He begins to devour you with intent, lapping and suckling in patterned succession, drinking you up completely. His taste fades away, leaving only your own increasing arousal, which is impossibly even more addictive. You grip aimlessly at the surface of the desk as he pleasures you, your eyes rolling back each time he sucks your clit between his lips. He’s incredibly good at this, more so than you expected, which makes you excited for when he will finally have the patience to show off his other skills. He shakes his head, nuzzling closer and flicking his tongue back and forth over your clit with gusto. He grips your ass, spreading you open so he can press his face completely into you. He groans and hums against you, making desperate sounds that prove how much he’s enjoying this. Your moans grow more and more loud and frequent. Slightly, you rock back against his face, he moves perfectly in tandem with you, barely taking a breath, desperate to bring you there. He gives a particularly well-timed suck to your clit and you’re done for. With a loud cry of his name, you fall apart, your body tensing and trembling as you see stars. Your mouth falls open as you ride out the shocks going through your body, only heightened by his tongue still gently caressing your most sensitive spot. You twitch and your hips buck and he happily takes it all. 

“So sweet, you taste so good,” he mumbles against you, the vibrations making you whimper. He eagerly licks up your release and finally withdraws, smoothing his hands over your ass where he spots some finger indents before letting go. You slowly turn around, your movements still a little shaky. He stands, smiling sheepishly, the passion now subsiding into embarrassment once more at his earlier speedy performance. “I’m really sorry about that… it’s been so long and you’re… you and–”

“Hey, it’s alright, at least you didn’t leave me hanging,” you assure, reaching up to wipe his glistening chin. He blushes but relishes your tender touch. 

“I would never do that,” he promises seriously, and he means it. He loves the thought of getting you off almost more than he likes the idea of getting off himself. Though, ideally in future, like tonight, he could have his cake and eat it too. Literally. He pulls you into an embrace, which you immediately reciprocate, the action like a balm to his soul. “You’re perfect, everything about you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your neck. 

“You too,” you sigh happily.

“Even though I have no control over myself?” he laughs self-deprecatingly.

“Even so,” you agree with a soft giggle. “I was kinda flattered, honestly,”

“Thank God for that,” he hums, rubbing your back and holding you close. After a while, the two of you part long enough to redress. He helps you to zip up your jeans while you pull your shirt over his head. His hoodie ends up on you, but he says nothing about it, smiling fondly. The two of you cuddle up on the small ratty couch in the corner of the security room after filling a mug with water to rest your bouquet in. He spoons you from behind like he promised he would, his head tucked against your shoulder, arm lovingly around your waist. At that moment, everything feels alright in the world. Mike finally has you in his arms, as his girlfriend, and nothing has ever felt better. 

Neither of you do a single second of work that night, but really, who will ever know?

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

xoxoxo

[creamflix]

nanami kento x reader; dark content. no reader gender implied. parasocial relationship. unhealthy obsession. comp sci! major kento. slightly inspired by my psychological horror choso fanfiction, but takes place in the same time as my perv! suguru fic and perv! satoru fic. i can't see this man doing anything outright perverted, sorry. — masterlist here ☆

nanami kento had always been a man of discipline, rising quietly to the top of his field.

when he graduated, he left university with the prestigious “golden compiler” award, a testament to his brilliance in coding. classmates admired him, professors hailed him as a prodigy, and everyone seemed to want a piece of his attention.

everyone except you.

you, the one person who hadn’t been captivated by his accolades.

you, who didn’t know him as the revered coding genius.

you weren’t even a comp sci major — your world and his couldn’t have been more different. he still remembered your clueless but endearing question the first time he’d met you: “so… you’re, like, a math tutor or something?” you’d looked up at him with an innocent curiosity that sent him reeling. he hadn’t known what to say, hadn’t known how to approach you at all.

so he kept his interest hidden behind his calm, stoic exterior, locking away every fleeting moment you shared.

and then he graduated, diploma in hand, awards stacking up behind him, and his career in game development waiting on the other side.

but he didn’t have you.

not a confession, not even a final conversation.

he was left with only memories, seared into his mind, of the way you’d looked at him that day, like he was just another stranger.

the emptiness gnawed at him.

so he buried himself in his work, crafting a career that would soon make him a legend.

but even as he rose to prominence in the industry, his memories of you remained vivid, unchanging, as if frozen in time. no matter how many years passed, he couldn’t shake the image of you, every detail so clear it hurt.

it started innocently enough.

the first time he modeled a character after you, it was just an otome game. your likeness became the sweet, cheerful npc, with wide, curious eyes that echoed your own. he even pulled phrases he remembered you using, weaving them into dialogue, until he could almost believe he was talking to you.

but that simple otome character wasn’t enough. the feeling of you — the memory of you — haunted him, driving him to re-create you again and again. his projects became shrines, monuments to a version of you that he preserved so obsessively in his mind. he put you into a fantasy RPG as a fierce warrior with steel in your gaze, strong and fearless. he lingered over every detail, crafting your voice, your mannerisms, your expressions, until he could practically hear your voice in his headphones.

“perfect,” he’d murmur to himself, his gaze fixed on the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “don’t change. stay like this.”

it was as close as he could get to having you. every new game was another world he’d build around you, another excuse to lose himself in the memory of you, pixel by pixel, line by line.

outside of work, he tried searching for people who could fill the void, partners who looked or acted like you. he’d sit through dates, waiting for that flicker of your smile, the same tilt of the head, a laugh that even remotely sounded like yours. but every time, he left disappointed, feeling the hollow ache grow deeper.

they weren’t you. none of them ever could be.

so he dove deeper into his work, pushing the boundaries of what he could do.

eventually, he was given the chance to develop a virtual reality role-playing game. this was his opportunity, his magnum opus. in it, he recreated you in every possible way — the exact shade of your eyes, the smallest quirk of your smile. the game’s interface allowed him to craft custom responses, and he wrote your lines himself, based on every memory he’d held onto so fiercely. when he slipped the headset on, it was like you were really there, like you were speaking directly to him.

“you’re perfect,” he whispered to the screen one night, fingertips tracing your face on the display, entranced by the illusion he’d created. “you haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

he kept tweaking the game, pushing the realism, adding tiny details that only he would know. the memory of you was a drug, a compulsion he couldn’t stop feeding.

and yet, despite his creations, he found himself haunted.

you’d gone on to live your life, and he had no idea what you were doing, who you were with, what you’d become. you were out there, living a life he wasn’t a part of.

but then, every now and then, he’d catch a glimpse of you in the city. you looked different now — older, maybe a little more serious. you wore new clothes, your hair styled in a way that didn’t match his memory of you. each time he saw you, it sent his mind into a frenzy, but he’d convince himself these were just surface changes. he didn’t want to believe that anything about you could truly change.

because in his games, you were forever the same, perfect and unchanging, untouched by time.

on those nights after he saw you, he’d dive back into his code, adjusting little details, building yet another character with your likeness. he was trapped, bound to the memories of you that he’d preserved for himself, his own twisted devotion spiraling deeper.

“just stay with me,” he’d murmur to the screen, his voice barely above a whisper. “stay like this. don’t change.”

and in his virtual worlds, you never did.

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[storiesabouteli]

Romance (Maybe it's a place) // Elijah Hewson X fem!Reader. PART 1

prompt: Eli is a vampire who falls in love with a human. The story explores the passage of time and the challenge of maintaining a relationship between two very different beings. It’s a guide on how to date a vampire/human while seeking a place of comfort in someone—and all the complexity that this longing brings.

words: 4K

(it'll probs 2 or 3 parts, it won't be long promise!)

There was nothing to expect, no prospects for the next day. Everything felt empty, his chest heavy, despite the absence of a beating heart. He wasn’t tired of the life he led; it was simply that so many years had passed, and he felt he’d experienced it all. Then, you showed up.

“Uh, she has this endearing look when she’s around me, like when you discover something new and know it’s going to be worth every moment. It’s still like that, even though we’ve been together for a while. I think I’ve gotten used to the idea that she knows who I am and isn’t afraid of me, even though I still watch my every move, thinking it might come to the surface one day. My point is, Josh, my human is kind and deserves a beautiful life. We’re not on the same page, but I can’t let her go.”

His voice cracked, eyes filling with tears, and he welcomed the feeling—it had been a long time since he’d felt anything like this. Over time, he’d grown numb to so many things. Josh sighed, understanding the weight of what Eli was going through but knowing there was little he could do.

“Eli, you’ll know what to do. You can agonize over it and delay all you want, but not making a decision right now is already making a decision.”

Josh had offered advice—he was a bit more adaptable to modern trends, though he knew how to use a phone just fine. He had tried getting Eli on board with it, considering up until recently, he still received letters, written as outdatedly as Eli sounded when he spoke on the phone. It was like he was composing his words with an old-world elegance, carefully phrasing each sentiment. But then you came along, and suddenly, he found himself adjusting to screens and adopting habits a bit more in tune with the present day.

Eli rubbed his face with a frustrated urge to shout. He had hoped his friend would offer a practical solution, but he knew this was the truth. Many of them had been through something similar. He knew what he wanted; he’d seen both paths before. And yet, he kept overthinking it, as if that would help somehow.

...

Eli chose heavier coats when he went out with you—usually something soft, like wool, more inviting to touch. “You alright, love?” His thick accent made you glance up at him. You couldn’t answer right away; all you wanted was to stay pressed against his chest, arms wrapped around his waist. There were no steady heartbeats to listen to, but his breathing—always at the same, calming rhythm—was comforting in its own way.

“Yes, El,” you murmured, slipping your hands into your own hoodie pockets. The cold air wasn’t helping. ���You’re freezing,” he said, with a hint of guilt, the words lingering like it should’ve been obvious this would happen. But you didn’t mind. You chuckled; sometimes he was quick to worry. “I’ll go grab more blankets, alright, grumpy?” You didn’t want to downplay his concern but hoped to ease the way he saw it.

You took his face in your hands, kissing his naturally flushed cheek, then pressed closer, brushing a kiss to his lips. He savored the warmth eagerly, even though he could feel the chill in your fingers and nose—areas that must’ve ached from the cold. Embarrassed, he looked away for a moment, until you returned with more blankets. Wrapping yourself in one and placing another thick layer between you and him, it wasn’t ideal, but it worked; you could hold onto him, enough to count as a hug; proper physical contact.

He took in the scent of your hair, and it was enough—these little moments that reminded him you were his human, seeing every detail about him as a feature, never a threat (which was a little worrying, if he was honest). Eli held you close between the blankets, feeling a bit better.

“You know, El,” you said, turning your face to invite him in for a soft kiss, “your body temperature is going to be really useful in the summer. It’ll be nice.” He laughed, noticing your lips were warming up again.

...

Eli was waiting for your shift to end at the bar, his usual spot reserved with that easygoing smile. You'd started a weekend night job, one that fit around your studies, and he'd made it a point to pick you up every night so you wouldn't walk home alone. There he was, leather jacket, cigarette between his fingers, his hair charmingly tousled. He leaned on the bar, a soft, inviting smile playing on his lips as he ordered a drink. "You look beautiful." He tilted his head, letting the dim light catch his gaze as he took you in. You'd put in a little extra effort tonight – waves in your hair, a cinched dress under your apron, all for the quiet thrill of seeing Eli at the end of it.

"You too," you murmured, cheeks heating up as he let out a soft chuckle. His hand met yours briefly, the contrast in temperature catching you off guard, so he held onto them a little longer than usual. You slipped off your apron, glancing around to make sure everything was in order, and turned back to him. Eli rarely smiled fully-one of those open, toothy smiles. But whenever he did, you couldn't help but imagine those sharp canines showing, a detail he'd told you only appeared at his choosing. You had never seen them before, but fairy tales made you think it would be cute. Eli wasn't the tough type.

"And you're hot," he whispered with that thick accent, words lingering just long enough to leave you wanting more. You felt his cold hands at your waist, fingers resting lightly, and wrapped one hand in his hair, pulling just enough to get that quick intake of breath, followed by the softest sound that showed he liked you being a bit bold. "I like the dress," he murmured faster, hands resting on your hips as he nudged you back against the wall at the exit, his body pressed close against yours. It was quick, a thud against the wall that didn't hurt, but he caught himself, realizing you weren't quite like him. His apologies were soft, but you just whispered, "I like that, to be honest," which made his eyebrows raise in a mix of excitement and teasing.

The hem of your dress hitched a bit as he held you close, your pulse quickening against him, and the smirk on his lips only grew. Your eyes traced the freckles across his nose, his pink lips near yours, and it left you a bit breathless. "You're dying for me to kiss you, aren't you?" And you were. He cradled your face, pressing a kiss to your cheek, trailing down to your jaw. Your hands trailed up his arms, reaching his neck, pulling him closer. He nestled into the crook of your neck, his soft hair tickling your skin. "Missed me that much, El?" you asked before his eyes lifted to meet yours. He finally pressed his lips against yours, slow and deep, and you sighed into it, feeling everything melt away.

"I did. So much." His eyes had a soft gleam to them, a smile lingering, one that felt like it was just for you. Seeing your shaky breaths, he peppered your lips with little kisses until you settled, or at least got used to the fact that he wasn't about to stop. "Do... do your teeth ever show?" It slipped out before you could stop yourself. His eyes dropped for a second, awareness hitting him, and you instantly felt bad. "Sorry, you said I could ask."

"It's fine," he reassured you, fingers still gentle. His rings brushed your skin – a subtle reminder that he was there, by your side, despite whatever thoughts he kept to himself. "I won't bite you, okay?" His voice had a deep warmth, cautious but reassuring, and you let yourself believe him. He kissed you again, the same trail as before, from your cheek to your jaw, then this time letting his lips brush along your neck. You melted, fully aware of the way he held you. The kisses were soft and warm, pulling your eyes shut, and truthfully, you didn't fear much. Eli wasn't cruel, and you'd give him the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise. You felt a faint graze, almost a scratch – it felt good. This was good. "I won't hurt you, little one." You'd talked about it before, those early questions you had about his predatory nature, and he'd told you he could handle it. He needed things but managed them.

"Maybe I'd like it if you did," you teased, part joke, part honest. He drew back, clearly content with all of it. "We should go. We're in public, miss." You groaned, laughing in playful protest.

...

The first time, you sent him a message saying you needed company, that you weren’t doing well. That way, he’d have the choice, the option to decide not to stay if he didn’t want to. But Eli called immediately—there was no time for your mind to spin into catastrophic scenarios. He briefly asked what was going on and if you needed anything (he didn’t even remember the names of medications anymore). It was clear he’d be spending the weekend by your side.

There was something about his presence that made you feel better, and knowing he’d be there in person filled you with a renewed sense of relief.

“I can turn my back, even if I’m in the

bathroom.” He said it so casually, and he was hard to read sometimes; every now and then, he seemed almost detached. You curled your toes, wrapped in a towel and seated on the edge of the toilet. He stood in the doorway, trying to figure out the best way to help. You needed a shower—your temperature was all over the place, and it would ease things a bit. But your feet ached at the slightest touch of the floor, and your shoulders were so heavy that you felt you’d collapse if you stood for too long.

“Can you?” Your voice came out low, soft, as if admitting just how much you needed him, even though you didn’t want to. Eli looked at you, and his expression softened as he came closer, kneeling down in front of you. His hands cupped your face, brushing your hair out of your eyes. You looked so tired, and instinctively, your cheek pressed into his palm, despite the chill of his skin against you. He pulled back, but you held his hand there, keeping him close.

“You know you shouldn’t wait ‘til things get worse before calling me, don’t you?” He spoke gently. You nodded, but dealing with this on your own was second nature; it was just how things had always been. Your eyes lingered on his tank top, the small star tattoo peeking out alongside his necklace, and a few scattered freckles across his shoulder. Your warm fingers traced over them, grazing those little dots softly. He smiled, and you looked up to see his eyes crinkling at the edges, that pointed nose and unruly curls, with a few locks twisted just perfectly.

He was beautiful, maybe that was why he wasn't human. Pale, rarely a fan of sunlight, but not repelled by daylight either. He didn’t sleep in a coffin or flinch at garlic; he’d answered all your questions, even if he felt uneasy talking about it. You often avoided asking too much. He needed blood but had assured you it wasn’t as dire as the movies made it seem—he didn’t hurt anyone, didn’t kill innocents.

You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him close. The intimacy of being wrapped only in a towel didn’t faze him; he was there just to help. “It’s chronic,” you admitted, barely holding back tears. “It’ll keep happening, and I don’t want to depend on you… but I’m just, uh, so tired.” He heard the strain in your voice, the soft sniffle, and drew you closer. His hands moved gently along your back as your cheek rested against his shoulder, forehead pressed to his neck. He kissed the top of your head, feeling a deep ache he hadn’t felt in years. For a fleeting moment, he felt the exhaustion you bore—aching shoulders, tired eyes, a sudden warmth creeping into his skin.

He couldn’t take this from you, but he’d stay with you as long as you allowed. “Well, then, I’ll be here with you more often, and as often as you need,” he said, and you simply held him a little tighter, eyes meeting his. He noticed the subtle dark rings beneath them, a telltale human weariness he found beautiful, something unique to you. Morning puffiness, the way your scent changed with the seasons—these little shifts only added to your charm in his eyes.

Feeling a bit lighter, you were ready to try standing. “I won’t look, I promise, love,” he murmured, and you knew he wouldn’t. Slowly, you stepped into the shower, letting the water pour over you, hoping the fever would slip away down the drain. Through the steam, you could just make out his silhouette, back turned, his posture more relaxed with you nearby. You’d seen him tense up in public around you, but you understood.

He didn’t look, not even once. When you were done, you let him know, narrating as you dried off and dressed. When you finally said you were ready, he turned around with a soft smile, placed a gentle hand on your waist, and kissed your forehead. Then he led you out, guiding you with a steady grip.

Lying on your back, you stared up at the ceiling while he lay beside you, careful not to touch, as if he knew it might not be what you needed right now. The bed felt small with him so close. You took his hand and guided it to rest at the crook of your neck and shoulder. “The feeling of warmth happens when the fever reaches the new set point the body establishes. At that moment, blood vessels dilate to release heat, and you start sweating to cool the body down.” Your words came out so precise, almost like a textbook. Eli smiled, clearly thinking you’d looked it up somewhere for him. Still, your temperature was finally stabilizing, and his natural coolness seemed to help. “Do you still feel any pain?” he asked, his eyes growing heavy, yet relieved to see you were getting better.

“Just a little, I’m much better now. You’re like an angel,” you murmured, watching his nose wrinkle slightly. You found it curious how he felt emotions without any functional organs. His body didn’t give him trouble; he was visually healthy, able to just… live. You weren’t sure if you wanted to be like him, but something about it felt unfair. Silence settled over you both, and he turned on his side, his deep, amber eyes holding yours, drawing you in.

“Can you turn people? Just anyone?” The question tumbled out suddenly, genuine, raw. He looked away, as if bracing himself. This was bound to come up, sooner or later. “It’s like when you asked if I’d move away when you leave for college because, otherwise, I might not be here anymore,” you added, trying to ease the weight of your question. You were getting to know him better.

He nodded slowly, knowing he’d answer you honestly if you asked for it. If you wanted, he’d let you be like him. “I can,” he whispered, keeping it brief, not wanting to linger on the subject.

You hesitated, taking in the idea. He knew how much you suffered from chronic pain, how sometimes you just wanted relief, independence. And while he wouldn’t think twice about offering you this existence if you wanted it, he couldn’t shake a selfish feeling—the thought that, in giving you this choice, he’d be binding you to him and trapping you in your current form for eternity. Even so, he’d never refuse to help you if you needed him.

“So… it’s just a bite? And that’s it?” you asked, curiosity shining in your eyes without a trace of fear.

“Biting’s just for blood,” he clarified, his voice softening as he took a deep breath. “To turn someone, it takes a witness and making sure the person won't die, y’know?” He sighed, and you noticed, arching a brow.

“I thought you didn’t feel tired,” you teased, sensing his discomfort and wanting to lighten the moment.

“I don’t,” he said, brushing off the feeling with a small lie. You let it go, realizing you were also getting sleepy, even though he didn’t need sleep the way you did.

He’d once told you he’d been at this for around 300 years, adapting quickly but feeling his enthusiasm fade with time. He didn’t even remember who’d turned him, just that he’d woken one night alone, with the pain of transformation, figuring everything out by himself. That always made you think about your own fear of being alone, especially when pain flared up and made you feel trapped to someone.

“Can you… have kids?” you asked softly, eyes tracing the constellation of freckles on his nose.

“No,” he replied simply.

“I was going to say I’d have your kids if I knew they’d inherit that nose and those freckles, but I didn’t want to offend you or anything.” He chuckled, that familiar, comforting nasal laugh. Eli felt pain, but holding you like this made it melt away. He’d met thousands of people over the years, but you were the one who made him want his world to keep turning.

“Do you want kids?” he asked.

“No,” you said without hesitation. “I wouldn’t want anyone else to go through this just because of some unlucky genes.” He looked at you, an emotion in his eyes that made you wonder if he’d learned to mimic human reactions, replicating them when needed, though Eli had never done that with you.

“Would you have wanted them? If you were still… you know,” you asked.

He wrapped you both in the blanket, creating a cocoon. The light smell of cigarettes and mint gum surrounded you. His curls tickled your face, and you reached out to touch his lips with your fingers as he spoke, feeling the faint movement of his mouth. “I don’t know. I never thought about it when I was human, and now it doesn’t make much sense. Maybe I’d be happy, maybe I’d be sad if I’d had kids in a life that isn’t mine anymore. But I’ve stopped dwelling on what I can’t control.”

He said it with a calm acceptance that made you wonder just how long one had to live to reach that kind of peace. You liked living in the moment, but only when it was good. And you understood that Eli wasn’t always okay; he just knew how to deal with what life had given him.

“You don’t see a future with me, do you?” you whispered, voice thick with unshed tears. His arms tightened around you, but his silence broke something in you. Still, you reminded yourself to cherish the present because, as much as it hurt, you understood the complexities of it all.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his words soft and full of regret.

...

“Dear Jenkinson, this will be a brief update, yet a necessary one. I’ve bought a cellphone and shall be more present. I still prefer to avoid the daylight; perhaps it’s simply the desire to remain unseen. I enjoy a quiet life—or at least, that’s what I believed. Recently, I’ve noticed a girl at the café near my house, yes, the same place here in Dublin. She comes around midday, doing something on her little black screen, though that detail hardly matters. I simply like knowing she’s there, and that she’ll likely be there tomorrow. I don’t speak to her, and I don’t imagine I will. Is it wrong for me to want to be near her but not seen with her? I mean her no harm, yet my human bears little resemblance to me. I write to you in confidence, as I suspect you’ll advise me to approach her. In any case, it’s a curious feeling, waking with this small excitement, the uncertainty and hope that she’ll be there, sitting in her usual spot.”

You scanned the first letter; they were all unsealed, unhurried in their elegance, as if they weren’t truly hidden from you—yet he kept them private all the same. You didn’t recognize the name, “Jenkinson,” but something in the writing made you imagine an old friend of his. Strange that you hadn’t heard of any friends. He knew all about your life, perhaps because you were far more open than he was. A pang of guilt hit you for reading his words. You’d picked them up from the mailbox by accident, and now you’d leave them where you found them, pretending you hadn’t seen any. Still, a gnawing question lingered in your mind. Eli cared for you, and you’d told yourself you were fine with this arrangement, just living in the moment—but you wanted something more, didn’t you? Eli seemed so sure of what he wanted from the beginning. You’d hoped maybe he’d change, but could you truly resent him? He wrote such beautiful things about you, didn’t he?

Your pulse quickened as you ran your fingers over the heavy paper, catching another letter. “Dear Jenkinson, I had forgotten that humans suffer, not just from their own mental wanderings like us, but from very real, very physical pain. My human has a condition that keeps her days limited, wrapped in intense pain. I’ve been there for her, and you’ll understand the significance of that, won’t you? It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this. Anyway, she’s full of a light-heartedness you’d never picture me having. She deserves so much more, you’d like her, but I don’t intend for things to reach that point—” You felt a sting behind your eyes, frustration and a sense of discomfort flaring up. How could he be so dense, filling these white spaces with beautiful words about you while being so unthinking about the future? After all, he’d have a future, regardless of what happened. His nature was certain that there was a tomorrow.

“Dear Jenkinson, I would never hurt her, truly, nor do I feel any inclination to do so, yet there’s something in her calm, gentle scent, and the eyes that makes me wonder what it would be like to bite her. Am I a bad person for thinking this? I know what it’s like—the taste and the quiet satisfaction when it’s with someone we truly appreciate. I don’t think of it as feeding, but rather as a form of cultivation.”

It was sweet, kind of sexy, in its way, yet left you with a hollow ache. Eli had a life, a very long one, yet he’d never shared any of it with you—not his past loves, this friend, or why, of all places, he still stayed in Dublin. You wanted all of him, but a part of him wasn’t there to be yours, was it? The letters lacked dates, having only found their way back to him. Why were you committing yourself to something that felt like it had an expiration date?

[rougepancake]

i hope this isnt weird to ask, i was just curious at how you think stands would act with each other when people clearly have crushes on each other, like a jotaro x reader but its like star platinum and the reader’s stand holding hands or hugging ya know?

let me know if theres a chance that anything of this could be written, i love your work <3

Shy away

FT. Jotaro Kujo, Star Platinum, Gender Neutral reader

WARNINGS: None; headcanons

With Jotaro, it’s so hard to tell what he’s feeling. So, you often use Star Platinum as a gauge.

Whenever you’re cuddling with your stone-faced friend, you like to turn to his stand. Star is (more often than not) very excited to see you, and it’s very hard to upset him, even if Jotaro himself claims to be upset with you.

Star has a habit of invading people’s personal space bubbles, especially when it comes to people that he and Jotaro like.

And boy do they like you

It’s every other minute that you’re being tackled by Star and ignored by Jotaro

It’s weird, really. To have one like you and the other one pass you by as if you’re an ant

But you can’t help falling for Jotaro. It was simply unavoidable.

“You know, for being such an off putting ass, your stand is quite friendly,” you hummed, playing rock paper scissors with the stand. Star was quite fond of games, and even more fond of being close to you. His behavior towards you was starting to make you wonder if his user secretly returned your feelings. It wouldn’t totally be out of the realm of possibility. There was still a small chance that Jotaro simply saw you as a good friend. Which in itself wouldn’t be too awfully bad. You’d be able to live with that.

“Whatever,” Jotaro rolled his eyes. He watched closely as Star beat you in yet another round of rock paper scissors. He had to refrain from smirking at your loss, his heart swelling in his chest. It ailed him to think that he might be falling for you, but he’d be a fool if he didn’t come to terms with it. He wanted to strangle his stand. If only Star were as cold as he was. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about giving himself away.

When you enter your relationship with Jotaro, Star is absolutely giddy. Like over the moon

He can’t stop poking and prodding at you, appearing at random to squish your cheek, or play with your hair. He definitely uses your relationship with Jotaro as a way to inspect you up close

Beforehand he had been under strict instructions to keep his hands off, but Jotaro hadn’t told him what to do this time, so he was acting on his own free will

And it showed

Jotaro isn’t too big on public displays of affection, but Star is

Whenever Jotaro holds your hand, Star has to join in too. He’ll hang off of you and just watch

Why? Who knows

He’s very insistent on not being left out, and Jotaro is incredibly embarrassed by it

Like SO embarrassed

Imagine cuddling with him and having Star suddenly appear to join in. You’re all pressed up against Jotaro on the couch when suddenly you’ve got an extra weight on your back

Jotaro often tries to shoo him away, but you insist that he sticks around.

You really find it to be quite endearing. After all, Jotaro is so cold, but Star is warm and happy

Of course, you know Jotaro is always happy to see you, but it makes you feel slightly better whenever you see Star behind him, grinning like an idiot.

[drabbles-mc]

Missed It

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Written for @narcosfandomdiscord 's Book of Abduction: "Somebody has to be paying attention."

Warnings: 18+, language, established relationship, fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: despite the name of the prompt, no one is getting abducted in this fic 😂 idk what it is about Bradley Bradshaw but whenever i want to write a fluffy fic with that man i put him in the kitchen alongside his partner. don't ask me why my brain always goes there because i just Don't Know lmao

When the two of you had gotten everything set out on the counter to make dinner, you had been asking yourself why you didn’t cook together more often. Most day-to-day things you tackled together, things like grocery shopping and laundry. Even so, whenever one of you was cooking, it was always just one of you. You could try to chalk it up to work schedules or one of you not bothering to ask the other for help because it was just part of the routine now, but there was no actual reason for it.

Things had been going fine for the first fifteen minutes while you were prepping everything. You couldn’t help but to rag on him a little bit about his knife skills, remarking that it was pretty impressive that he managed to do all of that without chopping the tip of his fingers off like you’d thought he would.

He’d laughed and shaken his head at you, but it didn’t pry his focus away from what he was doing. If anything, now he was even more determined to stay dialed in and not mess up in front of you—he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of getting exactly what you were waiting for. His competitive streak followed him home form the base, but he was fortunate in that most times you found it to be a little endearing or at least amusing.

The two of you playing chef was going fine until you’d started to sauté everything together in the pan on the stove. For the first two minutes you were perfectly focused on that while Bradley busied himself getting the bowls and silverware. The two of you were moving around each other without any issues, each in your own lane, until you felt him stop and linger behind you.

Turning your head, you saw him looking over your shoulder, watching as you deftly moved the noodles and vegetables around in the pan. You laughed, raising your eyebrows at him. “Can I help you with something, Bradshaw?”

His eyes drifted from the pan on the stove to your face, and once he was looking at you, a smirk immediately pulled at the end of his mouth. “No, but looks like I could help you with something.”

You rolled your eyes, but still smiled. “And what’s that?”

He nodded towards the pan. “You missed one.”

The laugh you let out was equal parts humor and sarcasm. “I missed one?”

“Yeah,” he replied as plain as ever.

You made a brief gesture towards the pan that was sizzling nicely on the stove. “Where? I would love if you could point it out.”

“If you can’t see it,” he shook his head admonishingly as he placed his hand on your hip, “then I don’t think I can help you.”

You turned the rest of your body to follow your head and Bradley made sure his hand didn’t stray from your hip as you did so. Once you were facing him, your back to the stove, you held out the chopsticks that were in your hand. Pushing them towards him, you lifted your eyebrows in a way to wordlessly communicate that he was more than welcome to take care of it himself.

He held his hands up, palms facing you. “No, no. You said that I could help with the prep and then you’d handle this part. Your words. I wouldn’t wanna take that away from you.”

The false sincerity that he said it with got you to break your silence with another laugh. “Yeah, okay. I’m sure that’s what it is. Chivalry, or whatever your approximation of that is.”

“I’m very chivalrous.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Is that your final answer?”

He mirrored your expression. “What else would it be?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you dragged the word out for all it was worth before pointing at him aggressively with your chopsticks. “Maybe you don’t want to admit that you still haven’t learned how to cook using chopsticks.”

He waved you off as though you’d said something ridiculous, but he didn’t reach for them to prove you wrong. That’s how you knew you had him, because if there was one thing that Bradley Bradshaw was always going to do, it was take advantage of an opportunity to be right in any debate that the two of you got into a home.

“Go ahead,” you held your hand out, palm-up with the chopsticks resting across it like a peace offering. “Prove me wrong.”

Bradley looked at your hand, and then at you. He saw the smirk that was on your face, and even though he was shaking his head at you, the warm smile that was crossing his face was giving you a different message entirely. While Bradley might’ve been the one out of the two of you known for being stubborn, especially outside the four walls of your shared apartment, you knew how to give him a run for his money on that. More often than not you were happy to go with the flow, but when you decided that you were going to pick a point and stand on it, Bradley hardly ever stood a chance. Lucky for him you usually only used those powers in small, silly debates like the one you were currently in.

“I don’t have to prove anything to you,” he finally said, grin splitting a little wider.

You barked out a laugh, head dropping back as you did so. “Really?” Instead of giving you a verbal response, he just kept the smile on his face as he shrugged at you, like he was daring you to try something else. As tempting as it was to take the bait, you shook your head at him. “You know, I tried to be so nice and invite you to cook with me. And this is what I get!”

“Invite me?” he parroted back incredulously, trying not to laugh. “Invite me to cook with you, my own girlfriend? In our own kitchen? In our own apartment?” Taking his hand off of your hip, he pressed it against his own chest with the type of dramatics he saved just for you. “How did I get so lucky?”

You were both breaking down into fits of laughter as you said, “Keep asking your—”

The rest of your sentence was drowned out by the sound of the smoke detector in your apartment going off. Both of you looked around, and while it wasn’t bad at all, the alarm in your apartment had always been on the sensitive side—luckily your neighbors had yet to complain.

“Shit!”

“Fuck!”

You both cursed at the same time, still laughing as you each made yourselves busy trying to get the alarm to shut off again. You turned off the stove, moving the stir-fry pan to the cool burner at the back of the stove. Bradley swiped the dish towel off the counter and went over to stand underneath the smoke detector. Unfolding the towel all the way, he flapped it in an attempt to get the smoke to dissipate enough for the incessant beeping to stop. It only took about thirty seconds for it to stop, but it felt like so much longer when the noise wouldn’t abate.

Once it did, Bradley tossed the towel so that it was draped over one shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

You laughed as you checked to see if any real damage had been done to what the two of you had been planning to eat for dinner. A few noodles on the bottom of the pan caught the worst of it, but it wasn’t unsalvageable.

“This is why I cook alone,” you said as you tentatively turned the stove back on, using your chopsticks to pick out the few pieces that were just a little too crispy to keep and tossing them in the trash with expert precision.

He chuckled as he walked up behind you, his chest pressing against your back as he loomed over your shoulder again. “What’s that supposed to mean? Like this happens to you all the time.”

You shook your head at him. “Well somebody has to be paying attention, and clearly we can’t—”

“If I remember correctly,” he interjected, and you could feel the tickle of his breath against your skin as he spoke, “this all got started because I was paying attention.”

You hummed in amusement. “That’s how you remember it, huh?”

He nodded before pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head. “Yep.” Another kiss. “You’re welcome.”

You could feel the way he was leaning in for another kiss, and before he could you reached behind you with the hand that wasn’t holding your chopsticks and playfully pressed your palm to his forehead, lightly pushing him back away from you.

“No more distracting me—we’ll set off the smoke alarm again.”

He laughed as he took a step back, leaving a small gap between you. “Worth it.”

Top Gun Maverick Taglist: @garbinge @justreblogginfics @proceduralpassion (If you'd like to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

[purple-plum-petals]

Hi!! I saw you have requests open for Homicipher! Could I ask for a drabble with Mr. Gap? I feel like he's underrated but he's my favorite. Maybe a first kiss with him?

⊱ Connection ⊰ || Mr. Gap X Reader

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Character(s): Mr. Gap (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Spoilers for Homicipher (specifically Return End), Canon-typical Mentions of Violence (and horror-elements), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms (Reader briefly uses physical pain to distract themselves from their emotional discomfort; they also sleep to avoid their emotions), Creature/Monster X Human Relationship (Mr. Gap doesn’t fully comprehend or understand the concept of love the way that humans do, but that’s a barrier for, like… the majority of the cast haha). Anything spoken in the other world’s language will be bolded. Genre: Drabble, Fluff (Hurt/Comfort), Slight Angst, Romantic or Platonic Relationship (It’s Complicated, honestly). Word Count: ~2,685 Request: “Hi!! I saw you have requests open for Homicipher! Could I ask for a drabble with Mr. Gap? I feel like he's underrated but he's my favorite. Maybe a first kiss with him?” Author’s Note: Yipee, my first Homicipher request! Thank you for sending one in! I find Mr. Gap’s character quite entertaining – I loved the running gag of him asking the MC for different parts of their body and being like “for real?” whenever you said no. I found his desire to brag to be quite endearing, too, strangely enough. A lot of the moments that had me chuckling involved Mr. Gap, so I’m somewhat fond of his character as a result. I haven’t written any horror-meets-romance stories since my Creepypasta days, so I apologize if this is a little rough or OOC. I’m still trying to finish the game and digest all the lore haha. 

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡

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⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Living within the other world had become your new normal at this point, even if you spent most of your days curled under the covers of whatever bed you could find. You slept whenever you had the chance. It wasn’t necessarily because you were tired, but rather a desire to keep your mind from wandering too much. You still found the occasional earthquakes and frequently shifting dimly-lit hallways confusing to traverse at best or frustrating to deal with at worst, but you hoped you would slowly grow to get used to them with more time. 

You run your hands down your face as you lay on the strangely pristine white bed, staring down at the blue bag that rested by your feet on the floor. For whatever reason, there was a strange feeling of loneliness that was deep-seated in your chest. It was a weight pulling you down, and it was one that had lingered for quite some time now. 

When you returned to the other world, you realized that you would most likely never be able to see Mr. Silvair or Mr. Crawling again. Despite telling yourself it was fine, that life was all about encounters and departures, that horrendous emptiness in your heart hadn’t diminished yet. 

You remember when Mr. Gap brought you back to the other world in exchange for a heart – your mind is conflicted when you think about the organ you had given him, a heart that wasn’t yours. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to think about it for longer than you need to. 

You try to remember his hand reaching out from the dark void of the bag after arriving in the strange world once more. You remember the way his cold palm felt against your scalp, lightly patting your hair in a way you thought was meant to be comforting… only for him to state he wanted your head with that jokester-esque grin of his. 

You chuckle quietly to yourself at the memory of the expression that crossed his face whenever you told him that, no, he’s not allowed to take your fingers or whatever else seems to pique his interest at the moment. Then, your mind remembers the look on his face when you asked if he was worried about you. Mr. Gap didn’t seem as though he was capable of experiencing emotions the way that most humans were, but, well… it was someone to talk to, at least, even if you run the risk of him asking for an organ or body part or hair. What did he even do with that stuff, anyway? 

Letting out a deep sigh, your eyes fall to the bag on the floor. He really only appeared whenever he wanted, but maybe you could see if he was in the mood to at least startle you as he so often enjoyed doing. With a deep breath, you reach down and grab the bag by its black straps, feeling the somewhat rough fabric against your palms. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, per se, but it was a reminder that at least you could still feel. 

You open the carrier, and the only thing that greets you is that inky blackness. You briefly wonder if it was an infinite darkness held within the unassuming gym bag, and what would happen if you just threw random things inside for the fun of it. However, as you stare into the void, a familiar face pops into view, effectively startling you out of your trance. 

Mr. Gap smiles even wider at your reaction, seemingly proud of himself for still managing to startle you. You’d think that you would be more immune to jumpscares after spending so much time in the other world, but apparently not. 

“Scared you.” Mr. Gap speaks proudly, the language you had slowly been absorbing over your journey becoming easier and easier to decipher and remember. That was good at least, you thought. It would be far too difficult to live in a place where you couldn’t even understand what everyone was saying. 

You roll your eyes at him, speaking under your breath but loud enough so he could hear your muttering, “You’re rude, you know that?”

He stares up at you with an unimpressed expression, waiting for you to speak again. Eventually, you tell him with a frown, speaking to him in a language he understood, “You mean.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes at you, yet he seemingly did not take any offense to your comment. Then, his gaze returns to your face, and you two simply stare at each other in a prolonged silence. Well, now what? How exactly do you explain to a creature that you were lonely when they probably couldn’t even empathize with what you were experiencing? Did you even know the word for lonely in their language, if there was one?

“I, umm…” You pause, taking a moment to try and figure out the words to say, averting your gaze to a crack in the concrete flooring of the room you had made into your makeshift home. Mr. Gap is surprisingly patient, staring up at you while your hands begin to fidget with the textured straps of the bag. You look back down at him and say, your voice is surprisingly soft, “I upset. Want talk.”

Then, almost as if on cue, he smiles and reaches a hand out of the bag, making a grabbing motion as he asks, “Give heart?”

Honestly, you weren’t sure what else you were expecting, and now you felt like an idiot for expecting literally anything else to come out of his mouth. You frown deeply and quickly zip up the bag, disregarding the shocked expression on his face at the action, before tossing it on the floor without a second thought. You let out a groan, clawing your hands down your face while trying to ignore the stinging sensation your nails left in their wake across your skin.

At least the pain raking across your flesh was a distraction from the ache in your chest. 

You decide, once more, to take a nap. Whenever your mind was racing or the thoughts became too much to bear, you slept. Honestly, there wasn’t much else you could do here. After all, you weren’t in the mood to go around swinging at anything and everything with your crowbar, especially since you had vowed to only use it in self-defense. This world was your home now, and you didn’t want to make enemies who would, in return, only make your existence more miserable. 

You close your eyes and attempt to drift off into the world of dreams, a place that wasn’t this world nor the one you came from, yet your attention is grabbed by the feeling of something shifting under the covers. Your eyes fly open faster than light as your fist grabs the thick comforter, lifting it quickly while your other hand went to grab the crowbar you kept by your bedside. 

However, Mr. Gap’s face comes into view, and your hand pauses as soon as your fingers graze across the rusted metal of your weapon. You frown deeply and tell him with a sternness in your tone, “I told you to stop doing that – I’m going to accidentally kill you one of these days.”

“Why upset?” He asks you suddenly, and it’s a question that has your mind stopped in its tracks. You hadn’t been expecting him to come back so soon, let alone ask you a question like that. For a moment, you wonder if he was worried about you, only for the memory of the last time you asked him that question to pop into your head. 

You lay there, staring at the darkness under the covers, debating on whether or not you should tell him your true feelings. After some moment of contemplation, you decide to try and speak with him about what you have been experiencing. After all, the worst thing that would probably happen is him asking for your heart again or something. 

“I…” You start, pausing for a moment to swallow, your tongue strangely heavy in your mouth, “No home. I lonely.”

Mr. Gap’s brows furrow and he states plainly, “This home.”

Just as you thought, he didn’t understand. If anything, your statement only seemed to confuse him further. His expression was also different, one you hadn’t quite seen on him before. You had seen him shocked, smug, and displeased, but the look on his face appeared almost… frustrated? 

You begin to try and snake your way out from under the covers, feeling like going on a walk now instead of trying to take a nap. However, the room suddenly goes dark as Mr. Gap pulls you back under the sheets, covering your entire body in the surprisingly soft duvet. For a moment, you feel panic swell in your veins and you wonder if something you had said upset him to the point of wanting to kill you. However, no pain ever came. You just heard his voice state once more, “This home.”

“No, I know it’s my home now, I just…” You speak, your mind going through word after word, attempting to translate what you want to tell him in his language. It was a little unnerving, being unable to see anything in the darkness that now enveloped your body. You pushed that anxiety aside, though, telling Mr. Gap, “I… miss touch. Miss connection. This world different – lonely.” 

There’s once again no reply, and soon the feeling of another under the sheets disappears. You let out a long sigh as you remove yourself from under the covers, Mr. Gap no longer under the blanket with you. You take a moment to compose yourself before standing up from the bed and grabbing your reliable crowbar – it was walking time.

You walked and walked in circles until your legs felt ready to collapse, returning to your makeshift base after what seemed like hours. You fell face-first onto the bed, your crowbar slipping from your hand to the concrete floor with a loud clatter; you probably would have cringed at the noise if not for the exhaustion in your bones. There’s a long stretch of silence, and you feel sleep start to creep into your mind, when a simple “Hello” snaps you out of your stupor. 

You turn your head from where it was nuzzled into a pillow to look down at the bag you had tossed to the floor earlier, seeing Mr. Gap peeking up at you from inside. You wonder if you should say anything back before eventually relenting, echoing to him the same greeting. 

There’s a shuffling noise, the sound of paper being crinkled before you watch as he pulls out what appears to be a magazine, holding it out for you to take. You sit up in the bed and look down at him with a blank expression, saying with your lips pulled into a flat line, “No head. No finger. No heart–”

“Not want anything.” He replies, effectively cutting you off as he holds out the magazine closer to you. It seems as though he can read the expression of pure disbelief on your face before he clarifies, “Take paper. You have.”

Despite some reservations, you eventually do reach out and take the small book from his grasp, whispering your thanks. It’s a relatively new magazine, surprisingly, and only the edges of the glossy paper seemed crinkled. You flip through the pages, wondering what information you were supposed to be deriving from the book. After all, it didn’t seem like anything special–...

Then, a picture of two people hugging appeared. Two humans, holding each other in a tight embrace with bright and happy smiles on their faces. One was kissing the other’s cheek, and the mere sight alone caused your breath to hitch. Oh, it seemed like ages since the last time you felt the level of comfort with another like the people in the picture, and there was a part of yourself that regretted coming back. It wasn’t like you belonged in your world anymore, either… you really were a monster with nowhere to call home, weren’t you?

“Why upset?” Mr. Gap asks, his voice surprisingly gentle. You look down at him and wonder how he knew you were hurting. Then, you heard the sound of something hitting the pages of the magazine in your hand. Your gaze returns to the book below you, noticing the water droplets that had fallen down your cheeks and onto the magazine, causing the ink on the paper to bleed slightly. You quickly wipe your face yet, before you can do anything else, two arms wrap around your waist and your body is once again shrouded in the darkness under the covers as Mr. Gap pulls you under.

His body is cold to the touch, you note, yet it’s not an unpleasant sensation. Before you have the chance to speak, you hear Mr. Gap tapping the page of the magazine in your hand, asking you quietly, “You want that? Touch?”

“Do I… want a hug?” You ask him, wishing you had the ability to see in the dark. You hum and lay your head back, enjoying the softness of the pillow underneath your skull, “I want good touch.”

You close your eyes and wait, expecting Mr. Gap to ask for something in return or simply disappear… but he doesn’t, and you find your eyes flying open when you feel his arms wrap around your torso. His touch was experimental, uncertain as his palms rested against your lower back. His head is resting on your stomach and although you cannot see him, you know he is staring at your face through the darkness. 

You suddenly find yourself becoming choked up, the tears forming in your eyes as your arms instinctively wrap around him as well, holding him close to your body like one would hold a stuffed toy. Mr. Gap makes a strangled noise, yet you don’t let up on your hold. You sit up on the bed, dragging him along with you, before nuzzling your face into what you assumed was his neck. 

He’s completely frozen, his hold on you never once faltering yet never once tightening, either. A part of you wonders if you broke him or something, especially considering he had never really been the physically affectionate type. You both sit like this under the covers for a long time, and you eventually feel his body and muscles relax under your touch. 

While the ache in your chest wasn’t gone, it had definitely diminished as you both held onto each other with a tinge of desperation in both of your actions. You let out a sigh, and you feel Mr. Gap shiver as your warm breath fans against his cold skin. The dried tear stains on your cheeks made your skin feel tight, but you smiled nevertheless as you whispered to him, “Thank you. I grateful – happy.”

Your hand reaches up, cupping his cheek in your palm as you slowly guide his face to yours. Oh, how you wish you could have seen his expression as you placed a kiss on his cheek, your slightly chapped lips pressing against his marred flesh. You feel him jolt, and you wonder if he’ll disappear right then and there. He doesn’t though, and instead, you feel his hands remove themselves from your hips to hold your face in his grasp. 

Instinctively, you close your eyes, and you feel the slight tremble in his fingers as he leans closer. You smile softly, finding his nervous demeanor to be quite cute considering how smug he tended to be. Then, you felt it, his lips against your cheek. 

Mr. Gap’s lips were in even worse shape than yours, but you found yourself not caring in the slightest as he placed shockingly gentle kisses against the apple of your cheek. You giggle at the sweet action, the noise of your laughter egging him on as his kisses become more confident and more frequent. You do the same, placing feather-light kisses against his skin, whispering to him as you pepper his face in smooches, “Happy, happy, happy...”

[theonlyhonoredone]

Satoru BF Headcanons

Pairing: Satoru x Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: my idea of how Satoru is as a partner

Masterlist

bf!Satoru who is absolutely obsessed with you, you can do no wrong in his eyes and he will blindly side with you on anything and everything. Giving you absolute princess treatment and never letting you lift a finger when you’re with him.

bf!Satoru is super clingy and spends every moment he can with you. He wants your attention on him no matter what and he does not care if that means annoying you or embarrassing himself. Anytime he comes home from a mission he claims he’s been so exhausted that he simply needs you to stay in the house and cuddle with him for hours until he’s rejuvenated. Of course you know he’s lying, you always agree though, and remind him that he doesn’t need to make excuses to get you so snuggle with him.

bf!Satoru already knows this but he likes the dramatics and sees his begging as a way to remind you of how much he loves you and how essential you are to his happiness. Since he often has to leave for missions you don’t get as much time together as either of you would like, so he always wants to make sure you know how much he appreciates you. 

bf!Satoru can be immature and annoying, but he also knows the importance of making his partner feel loved. He’ll spoil you in every way possible, with material goods, big romantic gestures, and sweet things he whispers so only you can hear. He

bf!Satoru brags about you to everyone who will listen, any event you attend features Satoru telling every person there how pretty and wonderful you are. Even in the middle of a fight he never has a bad thing to say about you, he can’t stand the idea of you ever feeling insecure in your relationship. He always makes sure you know you're the center of his universe.

bf!Satoru is eternally doting and loving but he still has his fair share of annoying habits. He’s immature in a lot of ways, not cleaning up after himself or teasing you about sensitive subjects. He certainly knows how to get on your nerves, but he also knows when he’s gone too far. He has no qualms about apologizing and while he is reluctant to give you space (he’d rather solve any issues as soon as they arrive) he will if you ask him. He doesn’t believe in going to bed angry and will always push to solve issues before you go to sleep. 

bf!Satoru is naturally protective, and certainly crosses the line into being overprotective around you. You rarely go on missions together because of this, but you're always there to take care of each other when you get home. Outside of work you don’t mind his overprotectiveness as much, it often shows in strange ways you find quite endearing. He’ll carry you over mud puddles and make sure he’s always on the outside of the sidewalk, often he extends his infinity to you when you’re out to ensure your safety. He let’s the students pick on him all they want, but if they try it with you he’ll assign them detention or challenge them to a fight. 

bf!Satoru gets along with your friends wonderfully. He loves when you invite him to girl’s night and he gets to participate in the gossip. He’s always especially interested in the romantic escapades of your friends, assuring them he has the best dating advice because he managed to get you to date him after all. He gets pouty when other boyfriends are brought along because he feels more special when he’s the only one that gets to come. His protectiveness of you extends to your friends too, he’s examining every drink you all order with his six eyes and he’s always happy to be the sober driver. 

bf!Satoru works hard to make sure you know how loved you are and needs the same assurance from you. He loves any gesture that shows you were thinking of him. Picking him up his favorite sweet or sneaking a note into his suitcase before a trip is enough to make his whole week.

bf!Satoru loves laying in bed, his head on your chest and your hand massaging his scalp. It’s the only time he can truly relax. He loves when you lay there and you pour your heart out to him, tell him how much you love and appreciate him and how he is your world as much as you are his. He loves pda, but treasures your moments alone much more. He loves feeling like it's just the two of you in the universe.

bf!Satoru loves the sound of your voice and finds it more comforting than anything on earth. If he’s having a bad day he’ll ask you to read to him or sing to him while he falls asleep. He doesn’t care if it’s over the phone or in person, or whether or not you think you're a good singer. To him your voice is the sweetest thing in the world. If you notice he’s upset and offer to read to him or sing to him it’ll melt his heart and maybe even make him cry. 

bf!Satoru only lets himself be vulnerable with you. He’ll tell you everything about him, his life and feelings are an open book. He needs that sort of communication from you too. Every random story you tell him is committed to his memory. His favorite dates are ones where you can spend hours talking and filling each other in on every little thing that’s happened in your lives.

bf!Satoru is ready to get married the moment he lays his eyes on you. He knows instantly that you’re the one for him and never questions that for the rest of his life. You are his soul mate and his other half. He believes there’s a gold string tying your souls together and he considers himself incredibly lucky to be tied to you. 

[msheadcannons]

blind date

sydney lohmann x reader headcannons

its early 2022, and you’ve never had the best experience with dating. 

for a long time, you thought your type were girls who didn’t play football at all. 

it took two failed relationships, and a failed “situationship” to figure out that maybe you needed to be with someone who understood your career

your lyon teammates noticed the pain you’ve had with dating. one day, you’d show up to training in the happiest mood, the next– you looked like the life was drained out of you. 

after a few failed dates, sara, your german teammate, casually sits beside you on the training ground benches as you’re taking a sip of water. 

“hey, i know someone you’d probably hit it off with.” 

you look at her with a curious look

“what do you mean?” 

sara plays it cool, “there’s someone i know who has been having a hard time with dating as well. luckily, she’s a footballer as well, and you both have similar personalities so i think you will hit it off.” 

she made it seem like it’s a no-big-deal kind of thing. you can tell by her smirk that she’s been plotting this. 

when you ask for details about the footballer. is she a lyon teammate too? is it someone from sara’s last club, PSG?? 

“you’ll find out. she’s amazing and kind, trust me,” 

you shrug your shoulders in defeat when she walks off before you can ask more questions.

as the day of the date gets closer, sara gives you a few hints, 

“she’s funny, a bit of a prankster, and really, really good on the field. besides, you will like how she came to lyon from where she is from for this!” 

that last part intrigues you because you can tell sara has chosen someone special and considerate.

you decide to get there a little early, wanting to make a good impression. 

as you walk in, you can’t help but scan the room, curious if she’s already there. finally, you settle into your table, glancing at the entrance every few minutes, wondering if you’ll recognize her right away or if it’ll be one of those awkward “are you…?” situations.

when sydney walks in, she immediately catches your eye. you should’ve guessed that it could’ve been someone from sara’s national team.

syd has an easygoing look as she looks around the restaurant, and you notice her eyes light up when she spots you, sara’s lyon teammate. 

she strides over, confidence mixed with a little shyness that makes her even more endearing, and introduces herself, giving you a quick hug as if you’re already friends.

 there’s a moment of silence when you both sit down, both of you a little nervous and unsure where to start. sydney breaks it first, 

“so, sara was pretty cryptic about this whole thing. all i know is you’re from lyon, and that apparently, you’re supposed to be cool.” 

you both laugh, and the tension starts to ease.

it doesn’t take long before the conversation turns to football, with sydney asking about your experience at lyon and sharing stories from bayern. you ask her questions about balancing football and uni when sydney mentioned that she is a university student.

as the evening goes on, sydney’s teasing side starts to show. 

she nudges you and says, “you know, i heard a rumor about lyon players,” 

“what rumors?”

“you guys take things way too seriously.” 

you pretend to be offended, which makes her laugh, and soon you’re both in a back-and-forth, her teasing matched by your mock defensive responses.

“well you’re german, and you guys take things seriously the most!” you laugh. 

 as you talk more, you realize there’s a lot you have in common outside of football — like your love for traveling and cooking. 

when the food arrives at the table, you both fall into a comfortable silence, and it’s in that quiet moment you realize how much you’re actually enjoying her company. there’s no need to fill every second with words. 

at one point, sydney blurts out, “you’re way more down-to-earth than i expected.” she freezes, cheeks going a bit pink as she realizes how it sounded. 

you laugh and ask, “and what were you expecting?”

“i don’t know, i was expecting a beautiful and tactical footballer like yourself to be a bit–”

you and sydney laugh as she tried to find the word she is looking for,

“well, i like to keep myself nice and humble.” 

naturally, the conversation drifts back to sara. 

at one point, sydney leans in, saying, “between us, i think sara set this up because she was tired of hearing us both complain about dating.” 

you both laugh, knowing that is the truth.

“oh i know– i just can’t believe you came to lyon just for this.” 

obviously, the night has to end at some point. when you step outside, there’s a lingering moment as you both stand there, neither of you really wanting to say goodbye. 

sydney, looking a bit nervous, says, “so… this was fun. maybe we could do it again?”

you nod, smiling, and she adds, “we should, next time let me come to munich to see you. i’ll let sara know she’s earned a ‘thank you’ from us.”

you got sydney’s number during the dinner.

sydney sends a text later before you’re about to go to sleep.

“you didn’t make lyon players look too bad tonight.” 

you respond, “glad to hear it. you weren’t half bad yourself, miss bayern.”

[mikuyuuss]

Sorry to bother! I hope you don’t mind me adding on the topic of Giyuu and Mitsuri because. I made that comic about Giyuu and Mitsuri friendship before, and It got pretty popular. I also fear that it may have caused some misunderstandings. I made that comic because both of them are my favs and I want them to interact even if it was an unpopular pairing at that time. 

I hope you don’t mind me rambling (in case there was a misunderstanding) that the idea wasn’t to make it seem like Mitsuri is Giyuu's older sister figure or that he only sees Tsutako in her. It just so happens that my comic focuses on how he was reminded a bit of Tsutako through her. Sometimes people do feel endeared by others when bits of them remind you of a loved one, but it doesn’t mean you actually see them as that person. Also, about Mitsuri being younger than Giyuu. Tsutako’s age wasn’t clear and it’s possible Giyuu has already outgrown her. 

Besides that, I can imagine them bonding over other things too. How Mitsuri, like Giyuu is also a lonely person, even if it isn't obvious at first glance. They are also both awkward too. I also didn’t want to make it seem like it was only Mitsuri who was “helping” Giyuu (I should have shown Mitsuris pov more, but comic paneling is hard orz) The idea is that Giyuu was also looking out for her! She messed up her hair so Giyuu is helping her fix it. Mitsuri is very insecure about her hair, so she probably worries that Giyuu finds it gross, Instead, he not only fixed her hair, but even give her a cute hairstyle. She was touched by it! I tried to subtly show the difference between Mitsuri and Tsutako here too. (Mitsuri wearing a pink bow instead of red, her hair being on the front rather than the back, her expression being more energetic etc)

I just like it because Mitsuri, while younger, does have the temperment of an older sister, while the inverse is true for Giyuu, and It reminds me a bit of Tanjiro and Giyuu. It isnt about trying to assign them in big sister/little brother roles, but more on me basing it from my own IRL relationships (I am also friends with people who are a bit younger than me but had an older sibling temperment, and I find them to be comforting to be around) I feel that Giyuu could also find Mitsuri comforting if he got to know her a bit more.

It's possible that Giyuu and Mitsuri being besties still doesnt make sense to some, and that’s fine. These are all just my personal hc that I want to share. I sooooo agree that Mitsuri deserves to be seen as her own person. Just because she doesn’t have a super tragic backstory, doesn’t mean that she doesn’t deserve to be comforted and validated too. In general, I definitely agree that female characters shouldn't be treated as only being a source of comfort for troubled male characters, especially bc Giyuu is a grown man himself.

I’m not super into KnY these days but I follow you and seeing yours and EVERYONE’S thoughts about the woobifying of Giyuu and how using Shinobu and Mitsuri as mother/big sis figures to him is a mischaracterization of him and his relationships was positively refreshing.

I don’t have much to add other than the fact that turning Shinobu into a mother figure when her trauma involves her forcing herself to grow up insanely fast feels disrespectful to me. Yes she is a medic and caretaker but she is that as her JOB, not her core personality (which is more vengeful and angry/frustrated, imo).

So thanks to you and all your followers for putting that stuff on my dash!

ahhh it was really fun to see the pov of someone who isnt as invested in demon slayer! makes me feel less nitpicky and insane haha

i really appreciate your addition to the convo! i completely agree that these interpretations feel like a huge disrespect to shinobu’s character and mischaracterization of giyuu!

with this i think ill stop talking about it, at least for now. everyone has provided really wonderful feedback and im super glad im not the only one bothered by it!

[lotus-pear]

bsd fic authors i understand yalls pain SO well right now why is it so fucking HARD to write dazai. like i have a whole fucking spreadsheet dedicated to tireless analysis i have done on my part so i can accurately characterize him but he is such an unpredictable and morally gray character that it's hard knowing his limits and boundaries and where he draws the line for himself.

[visions--of--collisions]

miles in the pit getting buffeted around like a sweet wrapper bc he doesn't know what tf he's doing and doesn't want to hurt someone or give himself away as enhanced .... hobie having to wade in there to help him out or watch it happening from the stage without losing his shit .....

[puppyeared]

Ouhhhh friendship I love friendship……..

[toxooz]

I have a feeling one of the reasons why cowboy au Ollie is able to get away is because the sheriff of the town has a crush on him PFTT

(And cause cowboy au Ollie is way more willing to kill and not all that peaceful compared to his main Canon version but that's besides the point heheheh)

pffffft MAYBE maybe in one town he can finesse his way into getting away with anything bc of that lmao he's probably been called 'pretty boy' (derogatory) sO many damn times but yeah he did have his lil Villain arch esp when he was with Ramsuse he did all kinds of robbin killin stealin u name it

[cetoddle]

okay what i have to say is lowkey embarrassing but i wanna bitch and it’s probably only embarrassing to me bc im shy about this stuff anyways the moral of the story is i wanna bitch and u should probably just ignore me. god bless