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poisonofthepaint · 3 months ago

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Day After Tomorrow

read part two here!

a/n: hi! this is my first time writing for abbot so i hope this is okay! hoping to make this a series, it was really fun to write this :-) and i would love to hear if u liked it!!

content warnings: none serious, age gap between abbot and reader, lots of dialogue, spiraling reader a tinsy bit, maybe ooc jack? definitely some wacked up medical school hoopla i made up to make it fit my abbot backstory headcanons, reader is a barista who's studying philosophy, this is their first meeting. i barely proofread this. enjoy!

It was early. Way too fucking early. You could not believe that your boss had bumped up the hours again. The shop opened at 4:00 now. Four in the morning. You couldn’t believe your eyes when you got the text. You had woken up at 2:50, the latest you could sleep in and also get to work at 3:30. Honestly, you think you’ll get used to it, but right now, in the transitional period? This felt like hell. Who even gets coffee at 4:00 A.M.?

You regret the thought the second it enters your brain, because, of course, the bell goes off on the door to signal someone is walking in.

“One second, sorry, getting my bearings,” you say, not bothering to look up at the first of many customers.

“That’s okay. You are open, yes?” he says while walking to the ordering counter

The deep voice makes your eyes shoot up, and his attire makes them linger longer. He’s adorned in black scrubs, a gray t-shirt peeking out from beneath them. You draw your eyes away quickly, probably not quick enough for him to not notice you were staring, but again, it’s early, you’re just moving slow.

“Yes, open, and– shit,” you mumble. “Shoot,” you correct yourself as if your boss is around to hear it. The stranger smiles and huffs out a laugh.

“Sorry, this drawer is a pain in the morning, it never wants to unlock itself. Technology,” you say and shrug. You grab the physical key and unlock it, which has the computer registering you’re open.

“I get it, I prefer to do things the old fashioned way.” he says. You shoot him a look. “I just mean, no technology.” he shakes his head, and pulls a hand down his face.

“What can I get you…”you glance down at his badge, “Jack.” A smile finally warms on your face, and it brings a small one to his too.

“Just a small hot coffee, nothing in it.”

“Easy enough,” you turn around to the machine and start pouring the fresh coffee into a cup. “Starting or ending your shift?” you ask.

“I’m almost done, few more hours, just needed something better than whatever the hell they serve in the cafeteria.”

You nod your head, and put a lid on the coffee. “Well consider this a courtesy, on the house.”

He looks shocked, and… a little bit offended? You can’t tell. Honestly, he’s pretty mysterious. You feel like you can read him, but maybe you can’t?

“I don’t mind paying.” he says, pulling out some cash from his wallet.

“I’m sure you’re good for it,” you push away the cash in his hand, softly grazing his knuckles, “But, I’m really trying to prove a point to my boss that no one comes in this early. You’re kind of putting a fork in my master plan.”

He laughs, a genuine laugh. You smile, again. You want to impress him, but you’re unsure why. Maybe it's kind of like a kinship thing. Like, hey, I’m up this early too. I see you, we’ve got the night covered while almost everyone else sleeps.

“Oh, I see. You don’t want to be up this early.” Jack’s back to, what you assume is his normal, stoic, expression. You didn’t even notice he stopped laughing

“Do you like the night shift?” you ask. You don’t deny his claim. Who wants to be up this early to work?

“I do, yeah, I do.” Jack does, apparently.

“Is it quieter?”

“Is it ever quiet?”

He stares at you. You open and close your mouth– look around the empty cafe. “I mean, here? Yeah. in a hospital? I’m gonna go with no.”

He nods his head slowly, and looks down. He doesn’t leave, though. Even though the transaction is over. He needs someone to talk to, you realize. Someone who isn’t dying, and someone who doesn’t know what the hell is going on in a hospital at 4:00 A.M. He doesn’t pick his head up, fiddling with the stopper you put in the lid of the coffee.

“Well, I hope that coffee doesn’t make your hands shake, I don’t want to be implicated.” That gets his eyes to meet yours. He looks like he forgot he was still standing there. “You’re free to stay however long you need, say the line was long, or, whatever. I am gonna set some more stuff up but, feel free to hang out. It’s kind of nice having someone to talk to.” You turn the blame on yourself; make him feel like he’s treating you instead.

You’ve always been kind of attuned to people’s emotional baggage. And a few years of customer service in a city has certainly bumped up that ability for you. People came and went, but you could remember who was hurting, and who needed the extra bedside manners that baristas could sometimes supply. You catch his eye while you make yourself a shift drink. A London fog today, with an extra tea bag, because you do need the caffeine.

“A barista who doesn’t drink coffee?” he says, gesturing with his cup.

“Oh, I drink a lot of coffee. But, I try to save those for when it gets busy. Right now, I’m okay with just tea. If I drink the coffee now, I’ll crash by the rush, and there won’t be time to make a drink. But if I drink it closer to the rush then…”

“Smart girl,” he says.

The comment makes your face feel hot. It’s your turn to put your head down, you polish the espresso machine in front of you instead of meeting his eyes.

“Are you in school?” he asks.

“I am, I’m getting my Masters. Last semester,” you smile.

“In what?” His bluntness is more attractive than you care to admit. It feels like an interrogation, but also like a first date. You wonder why he’s stayed this long.

“Philosophy,” you say as you exhale out.

“Plans after?”

“I thought everyone knew they weren’t supposed to ask people that?”

He laughs, again. Two laughs from mysterious brooding Doctor Abbot. Three if you count the tiny one. You want to go for four. You want to go for sixty.

“I guess it’s easy for Med School students. Very clear plan there.”

“Very clear. But I took a work around.”

“Oh yeah?”

He gets a small smirk on his lips, “Yeah, I served, and was a medic out there.” Your face drops, everything you think you know about anything leaves your brain, you have another stupid 4 A.M. thought and think maybe you should salute. Luckily, you don’t.

“That always stumps people. But, I loved what I did so much I did an expedited Med School program to get me in as an ER doctor.”

“So, here you are now.” you regain your thinking.

“Here I am,” he says. “Hey, are you here alone?”

“You should know there’s cameras everywhere.”

“Whoa, whoa,” he says, understanding your joke. Another laugh, that makes four. “I just wondered.”

“No, I’m not. There’s other people in the back doing, what needs done in the back.” You say, not wanting to bore an ER Doctor with what goes on at a coffee shop.

“Good, you shouldn’t be here alone.”

“You worried about me, Doc?”

The nickname, and question, sends him for a loop, that he can’t hide. His gaze seems to change, and he stares at you with such intensity you have to look away for a second before you can look back. When you do, his eyes are still there. He clears his throat, does a little pace around the spot he was standing. He seems like he’s stalling. You peak over his shoulder at the analog clock. 4:30 A.M. Long coffee run for a doctor, he’s probably thinking so too.

“Do you work this early every morning?” He asks with furrowed eyebrows.

So, ignoring your question then. “Mostly, yes, but not tomorrow, thankfully.”

“But after that?” He asks with urgency.

“I’ll be here the day after tomorrow, yes.” You try to keep a cool demeanor, but his nonchalant nature is rubbing off on you. You’re starting to get antsy. You spin the ring on your pointer finger around to try to calm yourself.

“Okay, good. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.” Like it’s nothing. Like it’s not a fucking second date type plan. Like he doesn’t even think of it.

“Okay, good.” You say, parroting him. He walks toward the door backwards, not breaking eye contact with you. He pushes it open with his shoulder, tossing the empty cup into the trash bin right next to the front door. He stands there for a second before leaving. And when he is forced to turn around from you, he shakes his head.

You’re off the rest of your shift. Everyone can tell. You’re not as fast, you’re making mistakes. You feel like you’re in a fucking dream. You can’t remember if he was even real. Jack Abbot. Jack Abbot. Jack Abbot.

You repeat the name until you feel like you’re gonna choke on it. Doctor Jack Abbot. You try to remember everything you said, and you try not to feel embarrassed by any of it. God, he caught you off guard. And it wasn’t fair! You could’ve handled it so much better if it wasn’t so, fucking, early. And he had hours of consciousness on you! When he came in, it had been, what, maybe an hour since you had woken up?

And you really try not to think too much about it. He said he’d come back, so it couldn’t have been too bad. But you like him, and you have never had a crush on a customer. It was a rule you had always followed. Anyone you thought was cute, you didn’t let yourself spiral about, you cut it in the bud. You didn’t want to have someone the whole staff knew suddenly disappear because you two went on a bad date.

But the staff didn’t know Jack! It was just you two, there wasn’t even a goddamn transaction on record! So of course you’re spiraling! And he’s a doctor, a good doctor, who obviously cares about his patients. You wanted to pry his brain open, have him teach you all the science knowledge you didn’t get from your Philosophy degree. You wanted him. And all you had was a promise.

You do get yourself under control, about an hour before your shift ends. You didn’t let yourself google him. You didn’t let yourself think about him. You focused on your work, and honestly, it got so busy it did kind of get pushed to the back of your head. But he was lingering around. He was like a piece of sticky gum on your shoe. It was a promise that you would not let yourself be sad if it was broken. You will yourself to not spiral about a promise from this man you didn’t really know. Your whole life wasn’t going to be over if Dr. Jack Abbot didn’t come in promptly at 4 A.M. the day after tomorrow.

He didn’t seem like the type to break a promise. You don’t know why he would have been so adamant about asking you when you work if he was lying. No, you’d see him again. You just had to be calm, and wait. Tomorrow was going to kill you, though. A day off with nothing to do but classes. You hoped the coursework would be interesting enough to distract you from him in your brain. For a brief moment, you wonder if you should change your thesis to applying different types of philosophy to ER Doctors. You couldn’t believe you were so caught up by a thirty minute conversation, but you were. There was no changing that. You just had to get to the day after tomorrow.

Yes, the day after tomorrow, maybe you’d get another thirty minutes.

#jack abbot x reader #the pitt fanfiction #dr abbot x reader #jack abbot #jack abbott #the pitt #jack ⋆⁺₊❅. ㅤ

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xviruserrorx · 2 years ago

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I hate when there's a character that is pretty involved in canon that I have no clue how to write...

#yes this is about percival from bbc merlin #i never know what to do with him #like hes just standing there and just some guy XD #which i find hilarious because hes pretty fricken important when it comes to arthuriana #but also the only time ive been able to write him is the elyan/percival fic that i never finished #other than that he just stands there XD #ive rewatched his scenes to even try and get is character down and his dialogue but no its just not clicking #and its bothering me because i like to write for a lot of one off 25-second of screen time characters #and he has quite a bit of screen time and yet i still cant write it its frustrating at this point #virus rambling #writing

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gooutsidenerd · 23 days ago

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Something something you tell Pope Cody he doesn’t have to pull out and he really, really takes it to heart.

———

A/N: baby’s first smut. No beta. Minors not welcome. Miners over 18 c’mon in, but we’re checking IDs at the door.

———

Pope Cody is equal parts control and chaos, and even with next to no context, it’d be pretty easy to see why he is the way he is. You don’t mind a bit either way. His diligence, attentiveness, and relentlessness are intoxicating, but sometimes he’s absolutely feral, and that’s even better. Like right now, for instance. You’re between a rock and a mattress-at least that’s how it feels-with his considerable bulk pressing you down into the bed, his chest sliding against your own as he continues driving home inside you with deliberate, delicious snaps of his hips. He’s starting to unravel though; you can tell when his rhythm begins to stutter and his stream of groans and whines and filthy, filthy dialogue goes up in pitch. You know what’s coming-well, aside from the both of you-he’s going to ask the question.

“Where-fuck-where do you want it?”

He’s obliging like that. Always puts the question to you, even though you know he has his favorites. Since you’ve known him, he’s taken a particular shine to coming on your tits, purely so he can experience the sublime pleasure of cleaning them off with his tongue. You know what he really wants though. It’s only that classic Pope Cody control that’s kept him from begging you for it. But you also know that he’s been deprived of kindness after kindness his whole life, and so you decide to give him what he wants-without making him ask.

“Inside,” you gasp with what little breath you can spare. You’re not on birth control, and you both know it, so that single word is chock full of implications. It becomes clear immediately that not a single one is lost on him.

Pope stills almost entirely. His pace slows and his thrusts become shallow, but it’s almost as though he can’t stop himself fucking you. Even in light of this kind of revelation.

“You want…you want me to come inside?”

Pope’s brain appears to be short circuiting, and if that isn’t just goddamned adorable. Even your emphatic nod and shit-eating grin don’t seem to help matters, and he attempts to clarify further.

“You mean you don’t…I usually…you don’t want me to-“

“Don’t,” you interrupt firmly, snaking a hand from its place ‘round the back of his neck and gliding it into his damp curls, tugging at the roots to drive your point home. “Andrew Cody, don’t you fucking dare pull out.”

He comes back online right before your eyes. The line of his mouth tilting into a smirk as he regains his rhythm, going even harder than before.

“Yeah? You want that?” He growls down at you.

“Please-Andy-yes!”

“Yeah? My babydoll wants me to fill her up?”

You nod, it’s the only assent you think you’re capable of giving when he’s stuffing himself so deep inside, but clearly it’s not enough.

“Say it.”

That little demand, growled against your throat, sends you right over the edge, and you’ll be damned if you’re going to leave him behind.

“Fill me-ah-fill me up Andy.”

And oh does he ever. A broken, beautiful sound escapes him as you feel his warmth coating your insides. There’s so much of it you can only imagine what the mess will be like when he pulls out. As you come down from your peak, eyes fluttering open, you’re somewhat surprised to find Pope watching you intently. He’s pulled away slightly, balancing on his forearms, but he hasn’t stopped shallowly thrusting into you.

“Andrew?”

The meekness in your voice makes him shiver, for you have a duality of your own, equal parts his assertive, indulgent lover and his sweet, soft babydoll.

You squeak out a pitiful sound as he rolls the two of you over and cages you against his chest with his strong arms. He’s softening slightly inside you, but he’s apparently not in any hurry to leave your warmth. Indeed, he uses one arm to tug the covers up over both of you and presses what is evidently a goodnight kiss to your hair.

“Andy, what-?”

“You think I’m gonna reward you for taking me so well by leaving you empty all night? I don’t fucking think so. Besides, you told me not to pull out.”

As if participating in the conversation, his cock twitches inside you, making you squirm, but you’re not getting out of this bear hug until he lets go.

“Anyways, how’m I supposed to fuck a baby into you if I just let it all leak out afterwards?”

It’s not until the next day that you realize how far he’s going to take your heat-of-the-moment directive. He finds you in the office where you work from home after returning from his morning workout and shower. He hasn’t bothered to put on more than a pair of boxer briefs, and when you look up from your screen, you can still see droplets of water clinging to his chest. Wordlessly, he motions for you to stand, and you do so, brows raised inquisitively. He moves to take your place in the comfy desk chair he’d bought because you’d mentioned one whole time that it looked nice.

You open your mouth to put your confusion into words, but all that comes out is a little squeak when he hauls you down on top of him. Another question-or possibly the same one, things are getting a little hazy-is foregone in favor of a moan when he tugs your panties to the side and works a finger inside of you. A thick second digit joins the first, and you finally find the wherewithal to say a word or two.

“Andrew I…need-oh-I’m working.”

“Then work,” he counters mildly, his other hand fumbling beneath you momentarily, “doesn’t bother me.”

You choke on your rebuttal when he begins stuffing his cock into you, and makes good on his word, even going so far as to reach in front of you to place your hand back on the mouse as he starts bouncing you on his dick.

After completing approximately zero work tasks, or even coherent thoughts, you come on a scream that might have been his name. He follows right behind, and then, well, nothing. Pope reaches up to smooth your hair over one shoulder so it doesn’t get trapped when he collapses back against the chair, and pulls you against his chest, still seated inside you as far as he can get in this position. He doesn’t leave the chair-or more notably, your pussy-until he ambles off to the kitchen muttering about making you lunch. You have no choice to stare incredulously at him when he returns, letting you know he’s got an errand to run and placing a turkey sandwich and a clean pair of underwear, folded with military precision, on the corner of your desk.

It happens again that night after dinner. You’re both on the couch, decidedly not watching whatever’s on the TV, and he coaxes you into his lap, stretching you lazily with his fingers, fucking you silly, and keeping your slick heat wrapped around him for so long that you actually doze off against his shoulder.

And on it goes. Not every time, but often enough that you’re getting rather good at keeping your hands steady enough to type in the aftermath of one of your office sessions. Some days you’d swear he spends more time inside you than not. Then, one day, after you’ve produced two positive tests and received word from your doctor, after he’s disengaged from his family for the most part and become a brighter, happier version of himself than either of you thought possible, you decide to bring it up.

Yet again, you’re settled on his lap, chests pressed together, but no longer heaving. Pope massages your thighs, something he’s prone to when you’ve been riding him. Some documentary about deep sea life murmurs away over your shoulder. And yet again, he’s made no retreat. He’s still fully seated inside you.

When you lean back slightly, depriving him of the soft skin of your throat where he’d been sucking a bruise, his hands immediately grip your hips, preventing what he’s clearly perceived as an escape attempt, when in reality you just want to look him in the eyes for this next bit.

“We did it, Andy. We’re going to have a baby,” You begin, voice barely above a whisper.

Andrew responds to this pronouncement the same way he always does. His gaze softens, and he looks at you, the mother of his unborn child, with complete and utter reverence. And, as usual, it almost derails you to be looked at that way, but you press on, trying to ignore the fact that you can feel him getting hard again. You stroke your hands up and down his arms and gentle your voice just a little further.

“You don’t have to stay inside anymore.”

He chuckles, chest rumbling against yours as he pulls out just enough to draw a whimper from your lips when he slips back in.

“I know that,” he says softly, one of his big hands rising to cup your cheek as he leans in close enough to rest his forehead against yours. “But you’re my favorite fucking place in the world. Why wouldn’t I stay?”

And as his thick fingers find your clit, rubbing in those tight circles he knows you love, you can’t remember why you asked in the first place.

#pope cody #pope cody x reader #pope cody smut #animal kingdom #questionable use of italics

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cuteandhughesy · 3 months ago

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Shatter Me With Your Touch ╰┈➤ AS41

summary: your older brother mitch marner has only ever asked for one thing: never, under any circumstances, hook up with one of his teammates. and you're going strong....right until anthony stolarz shows up. (the 3 times you and anthony push the limits of your secret relationship, and the 1 time it bites you in the ass).

[word count] 4.7k

a/n: this is purely stemmed of this blurb—and you will be seeing the same scene in this story. I just knew I had to further explore this story line and share this cute and love story! plus there’s never enough stoly!

see my other brothers teammate 3 + 1 series here

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one

your brother mitch marner has always been protective. like the kind of stereotypical protective that makes you want to rip your hair right out of your scalp, and gauge your eyes out anytime you're at the family dinner table and he starts asking your boyfriend a million questions—questions that are nothing but patronizing. honestly, protective doesn't do it justice, unreasonably overprotective is a much better fit.

you're his younger sister, two years younger than him to be exact, and because of that age gap, mitch has always felt the need to look out for you and your feelings—especially when it comes to dating.

and it's not for no reason, because you? you've always been the kind of person who would give the shirt off your back if someone else was cold, and the kind of girl who would think bare minimum behaviour was god sent. you are almost too kind and forgiving. maybe even a little naive.

from a young age, mitch saw the way people took advantage of you and your kindness, and felt that it was his responsibility to keep you safe and out of harms way. when you started highschool—and begun dating and going out—mitch's protectiveness only got worse. no boy was good enough, even when they were. your brother would drive boys away with menacing looks, and what he called 'stern talkings'—which are also known as straight up threats.

high on changing hormones and left feeling trapped, it didn't take long into your junior year of highschool for you to break. you sat both your brothers down—because yes, they were both ridiculously protective—and begged for them to chill the fuck out. you yelled and cried and practically shook their shoulders until they agreed to relax.

christopher was never really the problem, so he backed off instantly. mitch though? he took a little bit of extra convincing. after you got to your knees and pleaded, he had sighed lowly, meeting your eyes before reluctantly nodding. but before you got too excited, mitch had said—"under one circumstance."

and that circumstance? you will never, under any circumstance, date his friends, and you certainly will never date his teammates. obviously, with this new found feeling of freedom and independence that came with mitch’s compliance, told your brother that he'd never have to worry about that.

and for years, everything was going according to plan. your and mitch's relationship grew into a friendship now that he felt he no longer needed to constantly hover over you, and you kept your dating pool out of mitch's circle of friends. it wasn't difficult considering most of mitch's friends where your friends, and you didn't see them in that way. and then when mitch started getting more serious about hockey, he barley went out or had his teammates over at the house—so you never had the chance to met them, never mind get to know them.

you can remember steph, all bleach blonde hair and bubbly grin, would beg for you to join her at the games. small hands pulling and tugging at your arm like an over excited kid in a toy store. but you weren't really interested at that point in your life. you were still a few years younger than them and with your last year of high school being so busy, frankly, you didn't the have time to sit at a cold arena for three hours.

"maybe you'll find a guy," steph used to tease, winking at you discreetly in the dim light of the family living room.

you always responded the same way, "im not into hockey players."

when mitch made it to the nhl, that's when you started going to games more often. your schedule was less hectic and more open, and you always jumped at the chance to spend time away from dorm rooms and frat guys. plus, you got to drink beers that mitch was paying for, and chat with steph about school and boys without the prying ears of your brothers or your parents.

as the years passed, and you and mitch got older, his dating rule or protectiveness over you never wavered. sure, he wasn't as intense as he once was—keeping his cool like you asked him too—but mitch never truly changed. he just became better at hiding it. and now with his life in the spotlight, your brother truly just wanted to keep you safe. from the media of course, but especially from the new group of sleazy guys that are coming in and out of toronto.

much to his relief, you never planned on rebuking mitch's dating rule. you had a job, and aspirations and went out with your own friends and found guys on your own accord. hockey players were long gone in your mind.

but then, anthony stolarz waltzed into toronto with a summer tan and a perfect smile and completely turned your world inside out. anthony is older than you, 6 years older than you to be precise—he's mature, but doesn't take himself too seriously. he's outgoing and sweet and fucking huge. seriously, he could crush your head with his bicep. anthony had introduced himself to you with a playful and intriguing gleam, and it instantly had you feeling…things.

anytime after that, if you were in anthony's presence, you automatically became flustered. it doesn't help that he always chose to sit next to you, and talk lowly to you, and smile at you from across the room. anthony's had all those new faces and teammates to spend time with, and yet he only seemed interested in spending time with you.

and steph? she knew you like him. your sister-in-law is your number one supporter but also your biggest enemy, you swear. anytime mitch or someone else in a room would mention anthony's name, or she would spot you and the net-minder within five feet of one other, steph was wiggling her brows at you and grinning like the devil.

and it's fine, you thought. it's just a stupid crush on a new, older man. you'd get over it. it's not reciprocated. that flurry of feelings you grew for anthony would soon blow over and you won't have to walk on eggshells around mitch anymore—too afraid that if you breathed the wrong way, your brother would find out about your embarrassing crush.

expect it was totally reciprocated, and after too many glasses of wine and access to a private bathroom at some fancy toronto bar after an important win, you and anthony snuck off—giggling like tipsy kids in between kisses and breathless moans as anthony's length slide through your gummy, arousal coated walls.

just when you thought it would be a one time thing—a one night stand that helped get your feelings for anthony out of your system—it happened again in a supply closet during a marner foundation event. and then again in anthony's car after you two went to dinner as 'just friends'. and then again in your apartment, and then his and before you realize it, you are having sex every other night.

and kissing and laughing and ordering in your favourite take out and watching movies together.

in the blink of an eye, anthony stolarz is your secret, older boyfriend.

in the first few months, you're both really good at keeping your relationship under wraps. you set struck rules for yourselves—like standing at separate ends of rooms, no longing stares in each others direction, no dates in public, and certainly no sneaky displays of affection in places where someone could see.

but as you fall more and more in love, it's harder to hold back, resulting in more than risky situations that might as well have you begging to get caught.

—

the chatter flows around you, warm and breezy, the contagious laughter of william nylander and rumbling voice of john tavares familiar sounds where they cut through the chimes of utensils on plates.

your dinner sits in front of you, mostly untouched, but not for a lack of hunger. in fact—you're starving, maybe just not for food. because with anthony beside you, looking extra large and delicious in comparison to the dining room chair he's sitting on—a dining room chair that isn't that small...he's just that big—it’s hard to focus on anything but him.

casually, you stab some of the mini roasted potato's with your fork, keeping your eyes trained on aryne tavares and jake mccabe’s wife on the other side of the table—the latter of the two women talking about some new palates class she's started.

everyone is either listening to her, and if not her, a different conversation that’s happening along the stretch of the tavares’ dining room table. without looking away from the girls, your free hand leaves your own lap, and ever so gentley—as if not to startle him— it finds anthony's knee.

you scratch along the taut muscles underneath his jeans soothingly. teasingly. each pass of your fingers climbing higher up his leg.

and anthony knows what you're doing. he's all too familiar with it. he fights off a smirk and the urge to look over at you, clearing his throat quietly before taking a large gulp of water. you’ve got him all hot and bothered and he’s definitely getting hard in his pants.

you catch the movement out of the corner of your eye and a grin grows across your face. flattening your hand on the top of his thigh, you let your pinky finger brush over his bulge like the little shit you are.

that makes anthony choke on his gulp of water, which gathers the attention of a few of the guys and their significant others around you.

quickly, before you get caught feeling up the newest leaf goal tender under the table, you bring your hand back to your lap—playful smirk never wavering.

"you good stoly?" max domi asks curiously, eyes squinted in a mixture of concern and humour. anthony can only hum while wiping the dribble of water from his chin with the back of his hand.

casually, you rest your chin on your palm—the same palm that was just on anthony's leg. your eyes flicker with something teasing, "yeah, everything okay?"

anthony lets out a short laugh, shooting you a look—a look that others may just think is friendly, but you recognize it as a warning. a wordless demand to behave. it only sends your stomach into a twirling thrill.

"yeah, just swallowed down the wrong hole."

but even still, anthony can't resist teasing you back once all eyes are once again distracted, ring finger slipping under your skirt and passing over your lacy underwear until you're biting down on your knuckles to ensure no sighs slip out.

steph shoots you a look, which makes anthony pull away—sporting a smug grin on his face as he chews the piece of asparagus he pushes past his upturned lips.

two

it's not very often you get tipsy at leaf games. usually you're too busy hiding your face behind your hands in a stressful manner, or entertaining the gangle of children running around the suite. but today, for some reason—and that reason being $1 beer night—you're not just tipsy, you're borderline hammered.

it takes steph a whole 10 minutes to get you out of the suite and down to the tunnel—coaxing you out of there with reassuring words and an amused glint in her eye. because yeah, drunk people are annoying—especially when the other party is sober—but you're so funny and floppy right now that it makes up for the amount of alcohol you consumed.

and when steph manages to finally get you down to the tunnel, and you lean you against the wall, and you stay there...she considers it a small victory. but that all changes when anthony makes his way out of the locker room, looking divine in his dark suit and hair damp from a shower—smile wide and high off a win.

you sigh dreamily, head rolling back against the concrete wall as you watch his movements. anthony hasn't spotted you yet—which is probably a good thing for your sake, because the sight of his eyes right now would send you into cardiac arrest. but then a frown is pulling at your lips. because pontus holmberg pulls his girl into his arms and kisses her, and you just want to act normal and be able to go up to your boyfriend. kiss him silly in front of everyone.

it wasn't uncommon for you to wait in the tunnels with steph after games, especially when you've driven to the rink together. which is the case nine times out of ten. typically after a win, steph would want to see mitch before heading home, especially because mitch likes to go out for dinner after good games.

so everytime you'd be waiting in the tunnels, you'd have to physically restrain yourself from runnning towards anthony. he will always smile at you when your eyes catch—definitely a little too sexy of a smile for trying to be discrete. but that was always it. besides some eye playful eye tag, neither of you ever pushed those boundaries.

not when your brother could walk out at any moment and catch you.

but once again, you're well passed tipsy, and you just want to love up on your man like all the other wags get to do. so before you can even think logically about your actions, your feet are moving, and moving in anthony's direction, heels clicking on the floor as you make your way through the lingering crowd.

and steph doesn't try and stop you. she just covers her eyes with an exhausted hand, blowing a quiet raspberry to herself as she represses a laugh. you told her about your secret relationship with the newest leaf goaltender 4 hours after that team dinner. because like usual, your sister in law read you like a book and had in incline before you even said anything.

anthony's in a casual conversation with morgan, completely unaware of the way your striding towards him—not until you're right in front of him and the defence man.

you wrap your hand around anthony's bicep, blinking up at him with glassy eyes just as you stumble on your own feet. if it wasn't for your hold on your boyfriends arm, you'd be halfway to the floor by now.

"hi," you beam unashamedly, glossy lips tempting him in ways you'll never understand.

anthony swallows, his bright eyes squinting down at you with amusement. he shoots a tentative glance at morgan, who is just stifling laughter like he knows—which, god damn it tessa, because obviously you had to tell her too and clearly she’s told her husband. "hi," anthony parrots after a beat.

"missed you," you slur, pushing up onto the toes of your heeled boots and puckering your lips expectantly, "can I have a kiss?" you hum, body swaying.

anthony laughs shortly, rubbing the back of his neck while he subtly scanning the room—checking to see if anyone is watching. more specifically, anybody who definitely shouldn't be watching. also known as mitch marner, who is one of the many people who still don't know about your relationship.

and for now, you'd like to keep it that way. not that drunk you cares though.

morgan has slipped away from you both now, and there's only a few lingering bodies left in the tunnel. anthony spots steph, now eyeing you sneakily. which means your brother is still here. in the locker room, yeah, but still here.

"we really shouldn't." anthony mumbles, eyes finding your glossy ones again. despite his words, anthony lets his hand wrap around your waist, keeping you against his chest to steady the drunk sway you have going on. slowly, he licks along his bottom lip, words no louder than a whisper, "your brother could catch us."

"so?" you huff, pushing even further up his body. clearly, you don’t give a damn. "just a quick kiss." you say, hands flat against his chest, still searching for a smooch. you're too happy on beer and in love to think about your brothers stupid rule right now. you couldn't care less about anything besides your gigantic, sexy boyfriend—who is grinning down at you like you're the best thing that's ever happened to him.

and you are. more than the nhl. more than the stanley cup. more than breathing.

so quickly, anthony leans down, free hand enclosing on the side of your face as he tilts your head up, and connects your lips together. he's just a man after all, and with a pretty girl like you begging and blinking up at him, who's he to say no?

the kiss doesn't last nearly as long as you need it to, and you whine pathetically when anthony pulls away from your mouth. you're not caught, thankfully, and that only makes you want to kiss him over and over again.

"i'll see you later, kay?" anthony whispers softly, talking his hand off your hips once you drop back down to your heels.

you nod, taking your bottom lip between your teeth, "love you." you sing song dreamily.

he smirks, "love you too."

three

to say you and anthony became comfortable in the secrecy of your relationship was an understatement. you were really pushing your limits now, making out in the guest bathroom of auston's matthew's condo like a pair of porn stars—slow, syrupy and messy.

once you told steph and tessa about anthony, it wasn't soon after that the rest of the wags found out—all of them sworn to the upmost secrecy—and in turn, a lot of their men found out as well. which wasn't your most ideal situation, but after threatening to cut their balls off, they seemed to be able to keep their lips zipped.

that knowledge amongst the majority of the leafs roster definitely contributes to the more relaxed approach you and anthony find yourselves in, in regards to your relationship. you tell yourself that's the reason you decided to sneak off to the bathroom today—even though you would've ended up here regardless. anthony is looking way to sexy today to just ignore.

and you? you've been driving him insane all evening with your pretty skirt and top and the perfume clinging to your soft skin—perfume that smells like sex. anthony can't help but trail his lips down your taut neck, inhaling the smell like it's his own personal drug.

the sound of your breathless gasps and mewls quickly has anthony returning his mouth back to yours though. because you're truly irresistible to him. always have been. as soon as your lips are back in their familiar dance, everything else fades away. the distant chatter and rapid heart beats between you—none of that exists anymore.

anthony's large hand slides up the side of your bare thigh, lifting your skirt higher and higher up your leg, while his tongue prods the plump skin of your bottom lip. you allow him the entrance he's seeking instantly, which makes anthony smirk into the kiss.

the counter top is cool under your skin where you sit on top, making your arch away and further into anthony's hold. but he doesn't mind one bit—grabbing at your skin and pulling you even closer, your barley covered core rubbing against his and creating delicious friction.

it's erotic and dangerous and you really should've double checked that the door was locked. because the feeling of dread and anxiety that surges through your boood stream when that bathroom door is thrown open is other worldy.

anthony pulls off of your mouth just as you let out a breathless gasp, both of your heads turning towards the entry way.

"holy fuck—sorry." auston matthews familiar voice has turned high pitched, which can only be a result of embarrassment and surprise as he registers the scene in front of him. and just as quick as he opened the door, the captain is slamming it closed.

silence envelopes the bathroom once again—but you can't hear anything over the blood pumping in your ears. you're both frozen in place—you, on the bathroom counter, legs still spread and lips glistening with a mixture of your and anthony's saliva. and anthony, 5 steps away from you, shirt wrinkled, hair tousled and chest heaving.

once your brain catches up to what the fuck just happened, your quickly slipping off the counter. you stumble briefly, but that doesn't slow you down as you practically run after auston matthews.

you could try and deny it, but your actions speak for themselves. and what auston just saw? there's nothing in the world that you could say that would make it innocent. so that only leaves you with one other option: begging.

thankfully, auston didn't get far, and you catch him easily, fingers enclosing around his thick wrist to halt him. he spins around to face you, dark eyes still wide with disbelief and...maybe a little bit of amusement? it's hard to tell when you're so panicked.

"auston," you start, gaze all but frantic, "please please please, don't say anything about what you just saw to anyone. especially mitch. he doesn't know yet, and if this is how he finds out—"

"hey," auston interrupts with a short laugh. "calm down, you're stressing me out."

you blink what feels like a hundred times and you drop his arm. auston's gaze flickers over your shoulder briefly, eyes glimmering with something unknown. curious, you find the subject of his attention.

anthony is behind you, lips slightly parted as his gaze narrows in on the goal scorer. it's then you understand that look in auston's eyes—it's understanding. it's a promise to anthony's wordless plea.

"don't worry kid," auston says once you turn back towards him, "your secret is safe with me."

+one

the leafs have a rare off day today—only two days before their two week long road trip over on the west coast—which means that anthony had no other plans but to be with you. more specifically, in bed, taking turns with either licking into your pussy until you're making a mess on his tongue, or pounding into you until the headboard is smacking against the wall.

it's very rare that the two of you get to have alone time, never mind getting to have proper sex. so when this kind of opportunity arises, both of you are taking it without a second thought.

you can't complain really. not when your legs are over your boyfriends thick shoulders, his cock perfectly massaging your gummy walls as he thrusts into you. the sounds between you are lewd—slapping and squealing and desperate, needy pants and grunts.

you've gone dumb on anthony's cock as he splits you in two, your jaw slack and eyes glazed as you peer up at him. and anthony fucking loves it. his hand grips your jaw firmly, keeping your eyes trained on him. the pad of his thumb pulls down your bottom lip, slowly, as a smirk grows on his face.

"gunna miss you when i'm gone baby," he pants, movements never faltering, "i'm gunna miss your pretty pussy—fuck."

the only responses you can manage is another drawn out moan and your fingers gripping his bulging biceps even tighter.

—

mitch marner pushes the front door of your place open with his hip, too busy balancing your moms homemade casserole in his hands to open the door properly. it’s your favourite home cooked meal, ready to go in a glass dish, that bonnie marner insisted mitch drop off at yours before making his way home.

his car keys are held tightly between his lips, giving him limited opportunity to make a coherent sentence, but he calls out a muffled greeting to you regardless.

no response.

mitch's brows furrow as he puts the food dish on your kitchen island. he drops his phone and keys beside the dish before spinning on his heels, peering into the living room where you're normally hiding—tucked under some fluffy blanket with a book in your lap.

the books there, open and face down on the coffee table—blanket at the foot of the pink chair—but you're nowhere in sight. a rush of panic washes over your brother. mitch had texted you 10 minutes ago, just as he was leaving your parents, to tell you he'd be stopping by with a mountain of food, but he didn't get a response then.

and then once he got here, your front door wasn't even locked. which wouldn't of been that crazy if you knew mitch was on his way over, but your lack of response has mitch second guessing your knowledge of his arrival.

"y/n?" he calls your name again, spinning around for good measure to make sure he didn't miss you the first time.

it only then does he spot a pair of shoes next to your usual slip ons—shoes that are definitely way to big for you and definitely belong to a man. logic goes out the window in that moment because mitch hums curiously, walking down the hall towards your closed bedroom door.

mitch doesn't even hesitate before turning the handle, "y/n? who's here?—ah, what the fuck?!" your brothers words die on his tongue at the sight of you and his goaltender in bed...together...doing things that make mitch want to bleach his eyes out.

it's bad enough to walk in on a family member having sex, but when the guy pounding said family member just last night was laughing and chatting like nothing was happening, makes mitch fucking shiver. oh god, he literally congratulated anthony on his win last night. little did mitch know the real prize for anthony stolarz was getting to fuck mitch marner’s little sister.

"oh my god!" you shout, wrapping the floral bedsheet around your very naked torso. "get out!"

and mitch doesn't need to be told twice. the bedroom door slams shut—so loudly and with so much force that the pictures hanging on your wall shake. regardless of the door now being shut, mitch covers his eyes with his hand while he physically moans and cringes for extra measure.

"oh my god," his voice sounds from the hallway, all dramatic and whiny. "my eyes."

you and anthony share a look—a look that's a mixture of terror and concern. because not only does mitch now know that you’re together in this capacity, but he's also just seen his baby sister having sex. you jump out of bed, tangled in your bedding, and stomp towards the door.

you don't open it, not yet, but you smack the wood wildly. "mitchell, what are you doing here!"

"I was trying to drop off some of mom's casserole—I texted you! I can't believe what I just saw." the latter party of his scentence trails off, tone low like mitch is saying it to himself. mitch swallows dramatically, rubbing at his face. "I'm gunna puke."

you laugh in disbelief. "you're gunna puke? i'm going to die."

the springs of your mattress creak behind you as anthony gets out of bed. slipping on his boxers, he makes his way towards you—all broad and warm as anthony comes up to stand behind your bare, glistening back. he reaches for you, squeezing your bicep comfortingly.

guilt prickles at your skin, and you take your bottom lip between your teeth as a nervous habit—gnawing your plump skin until it feels sore. anthony kisses your head subconsciously, a gesture that calms you down just enough to enable you to squeak out an apology. "i'm sorry, mitchy."

emotion clogs your throat and it makes your brother sigh, hand falling from his scruff and hitting his leg with a soft thud. "don't cry, y/n."

ever so slowly, the door squeaks open—not fully though, mindful of the sheet covering you—and your head pokes out. your eyes are glassy and your lip wobbles and the protective older brother side of him wants nothing more than to fix this.

"are you mad at us?" you sniffle.

us.

through the slim space between the door and the frame, mitch has a harsh reminder that anthony stolarz is with you—his t-shirt strew across the bench at the end of your bed, his cologne clinging to the sheet around you. hell, mitch can see anthony’s fucking gigantic hand holding the back of your neck softly.

he's comforting you.

mitch sighs reluctantly. because yes, he's not thrilled with this entire situation, but clearly, anthony is a good guy—your brother has a front row seat to that—anthony is a man who clearly cares for you. "i'm more mad about you not knowing how to lock doors than anything else."

you breath hitches, a glimmer of something that feels like hope tickling your heart, "really?"

a slow nod, "yes." mitch's eyes fall over your body, or rather, your sheet, and he shivers again, turning away to give you privacy and himself some fucking peace of mind. "now just...get dressed and we can talk about it."

#🤍⊹˚₊ cute and hughesy fic #anthony stolarz imagine #anthony stolarz x reader #anthony stolarz smut #anthony stolarz #anthony stolarz blurb #nhl smut #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #nhl blurb #nhl x reader #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #hockey x reader #hockey imagine #hockey blurb #hockey smut #hockey fic

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vibelladonna · 4 months ago

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✑ 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝑔𝑒𝑜 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

Here we go again—since my most popular fanfic just happens to be about kinks, I might as well keep feeding the masses, right?

Kinks, round two, featuring the second-best guys, really the first-best guys in my opinion in the TKATB fandom. You know, the ones everyone secretly (or not-so-secretly) wants to romance but, unfortunately, the game just refuses to let us have.

Boo hoo. Tragic. Heartbreaking.

We’re out here, thirsting over a handful of drawings and barely-there dialogue, while the game just sits there like, "Nah, you get scraps at best." Like, oh, cool, thanks. Totally what I asked for. Not like I wanted actual interactions or anything.

Nope, just gonna sit here, simping in silence.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

You know the drill—I blended a bit of canon with my headcanons for Geo and Hyugo. Kept it to just four kinks to keep things short and spicy, then topped it off with a little sweet treat at the end.

Hope you enjoy! [ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

Starting off, I’ve noticed that TKATB fans have their unique preferences when it comes to Sol or Hyugo.

Geo fans? They love a strong, silent, towering wall of a man who could probably carry all their groceries in one trip and still have a free hand. He’s dependable, steady, and intimidating in a hot way. But when it comes to suggestive content, some struggle to picture it—he’s asexual, after all.

As an asexual writer myself, I get it… and yes, I just called myself out. No excuses.

Hyugo fans, though? Y’all are wild. He’s a short shit menace, runs on sugar, and has the energy of a raccoon that found an energy drink. Cute? Absolutely. Safe? Questionable. There’s something about that playful, borderline-chaotic vibe that makes him irresistible—like a gremlin you can’t help but love.

Ngl Hyugo deadass scares me compared to Geo.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

Naturally, I have to start with my husband—Geo, aka Subaru Oogami. Now, let’s be real, if I actually called him that to his face, he’d hit me with the nastiest side-eye known to mankind. But do I care? Absolutely not. I play too much.

Geo is mysterious, sure, but let’s not act like he’s some enigma wrapped in a riddle. He’s smart, tall, and built like a damn fortress, and yeah, no one in their right mind wants to be on his bad side. But honestly? I cannot take him seriously. Like, okay, sir, you’re glaring at me—what now? You gonna keep staring? Blink twice if you need help.

Honestly, it’s more fun to make it a game at this point.

His style, like my guy stays rocking ripped black jeans, what appears to be fishnet tights (??), a dark purple hoodie, and underneath that baggy hoodie, I thought he was wearing some kind of undershirt.

But no. You know what it is? A tight, white workout shirt. I had to double-check, and yeah, that’s definitely a compression shirt. Why does he layer like this? I don’t know. Maybe he’s secretly a gym bro. Maybe he just likes the aesthetic. Either way, I support him.

Alright, onto the real question: Can you see Geo as kinky?

Uhhhhhh... no? But also, maybe? Listen, most asexuals know about the freakiest topics known to humankind (we do our research, don’t ask why).

That’s the reason why I headcanon him into some non-sexual bondage thing.

But Geo himself? He’s not out here scheming, plotting, or forcing anything—he’s more of a “handle things on his own” kind of guy. That said, if you offer or if he really wants to show appreciation for you... yeah, he’s got a bit of a freak in him. Not the overwhelming kind—just enough to keep things interesting. He’s calculated about it, never too much, always just enough to leave you wondering.

✑ Hella Vanilla (Soft Dom Baby!)

Now for Geo preferences!

Look, I’m really trying my best not to write Geo too close to Crowe, but let’s be honest—they’re both vanilla. The difference? Geo is vanilla with a capital V. Crowe at least has some experience, while Geo?

He’s new to all this.

Like, be nice to him, he’s still figuring things out. That being said, don’t think for a second that Geo’s gonna let you take full control. Oh no, he’s independent. You can tell him how you want to be touched, how you like to be held, but he’s stubborn—he wants to learn on his own and figure out the best way to please you himself. Trial and error, but make it hot.

Soft Dom Energy. That’s Geo. He can be broody, moody, and mad at everything, but when it comes to you, this is the only time he lets himself be vulnerable. He’s surprisingly affectionate, and during an intense make-out session?

You will not be able to breathe.

This man is obsessed with littering kisses all over your skin, like he’s trying to memorize you with his mouth. And let me tell you, do not try to push him away. I mean, you can try, but the second he’s out of breath, looking at you with those intense-ass eyes, he’s pulling you right back in.

It’s almost desperate, like he physically needs you. And when you’re on his lap, instead of taking it further, this man will deadass just stare at you, call you pretty, rest his head on your chest, and hug you. Like sir??? That’s illegal???

This is why Geo is the definition of a Soft Dom. It’s not about control—it’s about connection. He doesn’t just want to do things to you, he wants to make sure you feel everything. His dominance is all about guidance, care, and making sure you know just how much he worships you.

And don’t get it twisted—just because he’s soft doesn’t mean he’s weak.

He still has control. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he takes his time. Yeah, he can be mean, a little asshole-ish sometimes, but listen… poor Geo just has trust issues. Deep-seated daddy issues, confirmed by Fantasia herself.

As for kinks? Light bondage, teasing, and lots of sensual play. Everything with him is slow and intentional because it’s not just physical—it’s emotional.

He gets in your head before he ever gets in your bed.

✑ Body Worship / Size

Geo is the kind of man who doesn’t need to say how much he loves you—he’ll show you instead. And when it comes to you? Yeah, he’s obsessed.

He’s 100% into body worship. All shapes. All sizes. Every single inch of you. Geo doesn’t just admire you; he memorizes you. Every dip, every curve, every little detail that makes you you—he knows it.

It’s in the way he touches you, his fingers dragging slowly over your skin like he’s mapping out something sacred. It’s in the way he kisses you, lingering at the places you don’t even think twice about—your shoulder, your wrists, the space behind your ear—just because he can.

And the most insane part? This is all before he even considers taking it further. Sex isn’t even on his mind at this point. He just wants you close.

Also, Geo absolutely has a size kink, and you cannot convince me otherwise.

The man is huge. Tall, broad, and built like he was specifically designed to make everyone feel tiny in comparison. And if you happen to be taller or close to his height? I’m so sorry, but that does not save you.

Geo will find a way to make you feel small—whether it’s the way he looms over you, stepping just a little too close so you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes, or how he deliberately slows his movements, reminding you just how much bigger and stronger he is.

And let me tell you—he eats that shit up.

Not in an obvious way, though. Geo isn’t Crowe; he’s not gonna outright tease you about it. But the moment he catches on how do you react?

Oh, he leans into it.

Casually backing you into a counter like he just happened to move that way, dropping his voice a little lower when he speaks, making you hyper-aware of just how much space he takes up.

And then—the worst part?

When you say something to him, he doesn’t just answer like a normal person. No. Geo has to lean down, real slow, get right in your space, eyes heavy-lidded and unreadable before letting out a low, amused “Mm?”

Sir. Sir. You heard me the first time.

And he knows. He knows exactly what he’s doing. The little shift of his lips, the faintest smirk in his eyes—he gets a kick out of watching you react. He won’t admit it, but he definitely enjoys making you flustered.

Now, about his strength. Because Geo isn’t just big—he’s ridiculously strong. And instead of being normal about it, he’s just out here carrying you whenever he feels like it.

This man is a Great Dane in human form. Yes, I get why people compare him to a cat—he’s broody, standoffish, and acts like he doesn’t care. But the second he’s comfortable around you? Boom. Massive, clingy, overgrown puppy. A whole 6’2” worth of muscle that has zero concept of personal space.

Like picture this: You’re in the kitchen, minding your business, when suddenly—boom. A wall of man is right behind you, hands casually gripping your hips, chin resting on top of your head. "What you doing in here?"

Sir. SIR. You nearly throw the spatula. You didn’t even hear him come in, and now he’s just standing there, pressed against you like your own personal shadow. And the worst part? He does this constantly.

Geo will randomly sneak up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, and rest his chin on your shoulder—unbothered. He’s not even trying to start anything; he just likes being close to you. Like some big, scary-looking human-weighted blanket with zero boundaries.

And honestly? He thinks it’s cute.

(It is cute, but we are not feeding his ego.)

Now, let’s discuss his obsession with carrying you. Because Geo will carry you. And no, not just when it’s "necessary." This man will find any excuse to pick you up.

Can’t reach something? He lifts you. Feeling lazy? Over his shoulder, you go.

Trying to argue with him? Congratulations. You have been physically removed from the conversation. He doesn’t even struggle.

"Geo, PUT ME DOWN."

You could be fighting for your life, yelling at him to put you down, and he’s just walking away, completely unbothered.

"Nah." And the worst part? He’s lowkey smirking.

This man is carrying you like you weigh absolutely nothing, while you’re over here kicking your feet in protest—and he is loving every second of it. I swear to God, you’re his weakness.

Right, let’s talk about Geo’s weaknesses.

Because for all his composure, all his brooding, mysterious, cold-hearted bastard energy, the man is insanely sensitive. His chest? His stomach?

Absolute weak spots.

You don’t even have to try hard—just a light brush of your fingers along his torso, and suddenly, boom. His breath hitches, his muscles tense, and his whole body betrays him. And oh, he hates that.

Geo, who prides himself on being unshakable, unreadable, completely in control, and yet? A simple touch has him slipping. Just for a second—but it’s enough. Enough for you to see it. That momentary flicker in his expression, the way his brows furrow like he’s fighting off a reaction.

Geo is not immune. And if you really want to break him? Focus on his chest. And since he is an asshole that also means that he is petty.

Like what you’ll do to him he will absolutely do it right back at you in the unexpected moment so— that’s how he ended up becoming obsessed with your body because you simply just could not stop touching him which I don’t blame you so.

Like doesn’t even matter even why, he’s obsessed—no possessive… of your body like he would never tell you what to wear personally, but he would definitely like to keep it for his eyes view, depending on what you’re wearing.

Trust me on this like he doesn’t even need therapy as long as that you’re exist, and that’s enough. There is not a single session where his hands aren’t on you in some way. And the worst part?

Half the time, he’s not even aware he’s doing it.

It’s absentminded.

Resting his palm over your chest while cuddling? Check. Idly tracing patterns against your skin while zoning out? Check. Acting like a human-weighted blanket with grabby hands? Double check.

But when is he aware of it? Oh, he’s shameless.

Like I know, I’m rambling at this point. I’m supposed to be talking about kinks but like let me ramble—please after all the researching I have done for his character???

Also, Geo is so touch-starved, it’s almost pitiful.

This man hates people. Hates when they fawn over him. Hates when they get too close. He keeps his distance, keeps himself cold, and it works. It suits him. Until you come along and absolutely ruin him.

Because now? He notices everything.

You, brushing your hand against his? Feels like a goddamn brand. He’ll be scrubbing the memory from his brain while on his morning run, furious that it’s still there.

You, touching him even casually? Oh, he’s doomed.

And of course, because Geo is the worst, his response is to be even more of an asshole to you. His usual indifference turns cutting. His words get sharper, his tone a little meaner—we love a toxic man. I’m lying. But does that stop him from wanting you? No.

Geo wants his hands on you. Constantly.

Kissing, touching, staring—he’s got to feel you under his fingers. And the best part? He doesn’t even bother to pretendlike it’s anything other than pure obsession.

You ask him, “Why are you so obsessed with touching me?” And he gives you that look. The one that says, “How dare you ask something so stupid.” The one that could reduce you to ash if it were any more intense.

His face is unreadable, as if you’ve just asked him why the sky is blue or why pizza is delicious. And then, with all the seriousness in the world, he mutters in that tone of his, “Feels nice.”

Like it’s a universal truth—as if you were the crazy one for not getting it. Duh. Yeah, he's intimidating. Yeah, he's moody. Yeah, he gives off serious "I’m a brick wall with emotional issues" vibes. But when it comes to you?

Oh, he’s a whole different kind of animal.

He’s a soft, body-worshipping, touch-starved menace who refuses to let you out of his grip. Ever. And you know what? It’s kind of cute, in an incredibly irritating way. He’s like a big, clingy puppy with a very dangerous bite.

And when it comes to sex? Forget it. Geo’s not just here to do the bare minimum. No, no. He’s going to make sure you feel every single second of it.

Geo? He’s slow. He’s deliberate. He’s the kind of guy who’s in no rush because he wants to savor it.

The way your body clenches around him, the way your breath catches when he pushes deeper. The way your lips stretch to fit him and your little hands look like they could barely wrap around his.

Every single tiny detail drives him absolutely insane, and he’s not going to rush through any of it.

He’s going to take his sweet time.

And Geo’s Version of Aftercare: Affectionately Rude

Listen, if you’re expecting Geo to be the type to light candles, whisper sweet nothings, or pull you into a warm, cozy embrace post-intimacy, I have some unfortunate news for you. That is not happening. Not in this lifetime, not in the next.

Soft blankets? No.

Gentle forehead kisses? Absolutely not.

Deep emotional talks? He’d rather perish.

But!—and this is important—he’s not about to treat you like some random one-night stand either. He might be an asshole, but he’s not that much of an asshole.

So what does Geo’s version of aftercare look like?

Step 1: The Bossy Bathroom Break

Before you can even catch your breath, he’s already on it. “Go to the bathroom.”

If you protest, he doesn’t argue—he just picks you up like a damn sack of flour and drops you off there himself. “I’m not carrying your ass to the ER for an infection. Move.”

Step 2: The No-Nonsense Cleanup

When you get back, he’s already waiting—arms crossed, tossing you a towel like it’s a mandatory post-battle debriefing. “Here. Clean yourself up.”

Oh, you’re tired? Sore? Struggling to move? Tough luck. Geo isn’t about to baby you, but if he sees you wobbling, he’ll just exhale through his nose, snatch the towel back, and do it himself. And of course, he won’t say why—he’ll just grumble under his breath like it’s some massive inconvenience, but his hands?

Ridiculously gentle.

Step 3: The Hoodie Toss

Cleanup done? Great. Now brace yourself, because a hoodie is coming straight for your face. “Get dressed.” No further explanation.

You’re putting on his clothes, and that’s final.

Step 4: The Food Situation

Geo’s not completely heartless—let’s get that straight. He knows you’re probably starving after he just ruined the living shit out of you, so he’ll either begrudgingly make you something himself—while fucking complaining the entire time or order takeout like a responsible adult.

And listen, I’m willing to bet that he’s shirtless while he’s doing this. Not for your benefit, of course—no, Geo doesn’t do things just to be nice. It’s probably because he’s too lazy to put a shirt back on after throwing his hoodie at you earlier.

But hey, I’m not complaining. NEITHER OF YOU

Just… be careful. You might think you’re sneaky, watching him from the bed, enjoying the view as he moves around, all toned arms and broad shoulders. But trust me—he will catch you staring.

And when he does? That knowing scoff of his will be downright insufferable.

“Like what you see? Take a picture, simp."

And just like that, any last bit of dignity you had left?

Gone.

Step 5: The Accidental Softness

But here’s where it gets interesting.

At some point, you notice it. The way his hands—big, warm, and calloused from years of archery—start slowly running over your sides. Not in a calculated way, not in an obvious way. Just absentmindedly. Like he’s not even thinking about it, just feeling.

And for all his gruffness, there’s something about the way he touches you that feels different. Like he’s grounding himself. Like, without even realizing it, he’s making sure you’re still there.

His fingers trace over your skin, gentle but firm, almost possessive. As if he’s silently reminding himself, Yeah. This happened. You’re mine. You’re still here.

And the moment you point it out?

Oh, he snaps out of it so fast. LIKE DUDE STOP RUINING THE MOMENT!!

You’re forced to sit on the living room, couch, waiting for Geo begrudgingly ordered or what he cock on the couch because—God forbid do not eat in this man’s bed he will curse you out, which I don’t blame him. I hate people eating in my bed, too.

When you pause, squinting at him.

“The hell are you looking at?” he mutters, catching your stare.

“You were touching me.”

Geo barely reacts, just raising an eyebrow. “…And?”

A smirk tugs at your lips. “So you do care.”

His jaw tightens, and for a second, it looks like he’s about to argue. Instead, he exhales sharply, shoving your food container or plate closer to you.

“Eat your damn food.” But here’s the theme as he’s looking away. You can tell the redness on his pale face so you definitely did something.

Classic Geo. Affection? Accidental. Care? Hidden under layers of attitude. But at the end of the day, he’s not letting you go.

And what’s the best part of all this?

He’s not letting you go anytime soon.

✑ Bondage (my fav…)

Y’all knew this was coming. I mean, how could I not talk about Geo and bondage? It’s honestly one of my favorites, and you’re about to see why.

Geo? He’s the type to be meticulous about it. We’re talking intricately tying your wrists and ankles—none of that rushed stuff.

He’s all about making sure the ropes are perfect, each knot tight and precise, just the right amount of pressure on your skin. The way the ropes caress your body as he pulls them snug—there’s something almost artistic about it.

He’s not just tying you up; he’s painting you with every knot and twist, his hands slow and deliberate as they move over your skin.

And then, when he's done, Geo doesn’t rush it. Oh no, he stands over you for a few moments, just watching. And he’s not watching with concern or any weird sense of urgency. Nah. He’s watching you squirm—studying you, as if he’s seeing how you react to being bound in his ropes, how you shift and struggle.

He loves seeing how the ropes hold you in place, watching how you can’t move the way you want, like you’re completely at his mercy.

His eyes—those unreadable, sharp eyes—never leave you, and in that moment, it’s like everything is just about you. The way you tug at the restraints, the way your body shifts trying to find some freedom, the soft little gasps as you move.

And he’s loving every single second of it.

He’s a tallllll guy, so the way you’re all tied up beneath him just makes him feel even bigger, like you’re trapped in his world, and there's no escape. And don’t even get me started on the way he’s so smug about it. He knows exactly how much control he has, and he’s not shy about relishing in it.

And just when you think he’s about to do something, he’ll pause—making you wait. Because if there’s one thing Geo loves more than anything, it’s the anticipation. That long, drawn-out pause before he decides to make his next move.

Oh—oh my god, let’s talk about sensory deprivation—because Geo has a bit of a thing for that. And guess what? It goes hand-in-hand with his extensive love of tying you up.

Geo’s collection of soft rope, however his silk ribbons is practically a work of art. Seriously. He’s got them all—every color you can imagine. But his favorites? Dark purple, black, and maybe a bit of red for that extra flair.

You know the red ribbon that always be in his hair? 🤭

You know, the same ribbons he uses to tie his hair? Yeah, those ones. But here’s the thing: those same ribbons are going to be used to tie YOU up.

It’s almost like a twisted little fashion show, except this time, you’re his model.

Add little more fun ask him take pictures of you, I’m sure he’s willing to comply. I’m pretty sure he’s gonna be hesitant at first, but trust me it’s a fair trade.

He loves the way the silk glides through his fingers as he ties you up, each knot like a little secret, a personal touch only he knows. And then, once you're tied up and helpless, that's when the fun begins.

Again, he’s all about the build-up.

He’ll take his time, letting the anticipation hang thick in the air, like you both know what's coming but he’s not in any rush. He might even brush a finger over your skin just enough to tease you, before pulling away like he’s got all the time in the world.

He does. He always does.

And once you're all tied up, there’s this weird moment where everything is heightened. Without sight, without sound, every little thing Geo does to you feels more intense.

You can feel the air shift when he moves, the heat of his body close by but never enough. You hear the slightest sound, and your entire body tenses, wondering what he’s going to do next.

Then, just when you think you can’t take it anymore, he’s there, his fingers brushing over the silk ribbons, admiring how they look against your skin.

And that? That’s when he smirks HE DOES IT WHEN HIS BOBY IS FACING AWAY FROM YOU. Because he knows exactly how much this is driving you wild, and he’s not even close to done.

And trust me, you’ll be squirming in more ways than one.

✑ Katoptronophilia

Let’s talk about Katoptronophilia, or as it’s commonly known, mirror sex.

Oh yeah, Geo is totally into it, he have to be, and honestly?

I’m shocked you didn’t see this coming. The man is a walking contradiction of brooding intensity and twisted fascination with aesthetics, and mirrors?

I’m not saying that he see himself as perfect, but he definitely wants to keep up his clean appearance.

Well, they’re his perfect tool for both.

Geo? He has mirrors everywhere in his place. It’s almost a little excessive, honestly, but then again, it makes sense. He’s constantly checking his reflection, especially after those private workouts.

MAYBE a few flexes here, a few glances there—just to make sure his ‘I’m too cool to smile’ vibe is intact, right? But here's the twist: it’s not just about his reflection anymore.

Geo loves watching you in front of a mirror. He’s not obsessed with his own reflection, oh no. He’s captivated by you—your movements, your expressions.

He loves it when you catch yourself in the mirror, when you get distracted by the way your body looks. It’s like you’ve given him an excuse to slip in behind you, without a single word.

Imagine this, theses are my delusions: You’re putting on a simple gloss, just trying to get ready for the day, glancing at yourself in the mirror.

But then… you feel him.

Geo’s presence is like a shadow that makes the air a little thicker. He stands there, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, but you’re too focused on your lips to notice. He watches as you press the gloss on, lips glistening, your reflection sparkling under the light.

And then, the moment you don’t expect it, his hands are on your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as his eyes trace the mirror. His voice is a low, teasing murmur, almost playful: “You look good. You know that, right?”

You think he’s just commenting on your outfit. Oh no.

Geo’s temptation? To mess it up.

That’s right, his eyes flick down to your lips, and the only thing stopping him from ruining that glossy shine is his overwhelming urge to keep you distracted. His lips are close to yours, and he can practically taste the anticipation, his hands tightening around you just enough to remind you he’s there.

It’s like he gets a kick out of making you aware of the fact that he’s behind you, studying your reflection. And maybe just a little bit more into watching you lose control of that mirror.

For example, It was one of those rare, lazy days where neither of you had any pressing work to do, and Geo was not thrilled about it. The man is built to be active, always on the move, constantly lifting or running or pushing himself to the limit. But today? He was stuck at a slower pace, and honestly?

He was grumbling about it.

You, on the other hand, were doing your best to get him to actually relax—something he hates with a passion, but deep down, he knew he needed it. So, with a few gentle suggestions, you managed to convince him to settle down on the couch. But knowing Geo, it didn’t take long for things to take a turn.

There you were, sitting in his lap, your back against his broad chest as his face buried into your shoulder. He was mumbling into your skin, the low hum of his voice sending shivers down your spine as his arms wrapped tightly around you.

He was trying, trying so hard to be calm, but the proximity, the way your body moved just slightly under his hands—it made it harder for him to focus.

The thing was, Geo couldn’t stay still for long.

Not when you were close.

So, as you shifted in his lap, trying to get more comfortable, he couldn't help but tighten his grip, pulling you just a little closer. His face pressed deeper into your neck, the weight of his body felt warm and heavy, his breath ghosting along your skin.

"Stop squirming," he mumbled against your ear, though there was an edge to his voice—one that made it clear he wasn’t as relaxed as he let on. His fingers began to trace over your sides, gradually finding their way lower, guiding your movements with soft but firm pressure.

And then, you noticed it—right in front of you two, the full-length mirror.

It was like the universe had set it up just for this moment. You caught a glimpse of yourself, your body moving against his, his fingers rubbing in time with your shifts. The reflection only made it worse—made you more aware of the fact that every tiny movement of your body, every little gasp or twitch, was being mirrored, amplified, observed.

Geo was watching you carefully, studying your reflection as much as he was focused on how you were guiding him. He could see your fingers fidgeting on top of his hands, guiding him where to rub your clothed pussy, where to touch—each motion becoming more deliberate as you tried to maintain some semblance of control.

“Geo, please…” you breathed, unable to help the way your own body responded, shifting to meet his touch. Geo’s breath hitched, his eyes flicking between your reflection and your face, watching as you squirmed in his arms.

There was something electric about this—something that pushed all his patience to the limit, something he couldn’t ignore. His hand moved again, more firmly now, following your lead as you guided him, your body responding to every slow, deliberate movement.

The way the mirror captured everything—the way your body arched against his, the quiet moans slipping from your lips, the way your eyes locked with his in the reflection as you both lost track of time—it was almost like you were both trapped in a moment, caught between the pleasure of the present and the art of watching you unfold.

Geo might’ve been the one leading the way, but you were the one showing him just how much control you had, even in a moment like this.

Now watching his bare cock lined up on your stomach as you sat on his lap, reaching way past your belly button, talking about just how small you are compared to him, and wondering how he’s gonna make it fit.

As the minutes ticked by, the air in the room thickened, almost like it was holding its breath. The only sounds were the soft rhythmic movement of your bodies pressing together, and the small, breathless noises that escaped you as you rode him.

Geo watched you with those predatory eyes, his grip tightening around your waist as you squirmed above him, just enough to drive him insane. He was nothing if not patient—insufferably patient, in fact—and he knew exactly how to draw this out. Every movement you made, every quiet whimper that slipped past your lips, only served to fuel his sick little plan.

He wasn’t going to let you win. Not yet.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, and you felt the heat of his breath on your neck, each exhale making your skin prickle with anticipation.

But you couldn’t hold back anymore, could you?

You were close, so close to the point where you needed him to take control, to make it stop. You were whimpering now, clinging to him, begging for him to take over.

Geo’s lips sighed into that knowing look. He could hear it in your voice—how you were unraveling on his cock. He keeps you close until his abdomen is drenched in your slick, chuckling under his breath when you whine.

And he loved it. His thumbs traced slow circles over the plush flesh of your waist, the pressure light but deliberate.

Every time you tried to hold back a mewl, he'd hum in response—low, condescending, almost amused by your desperation.

"Giving up already?" he’d tease, his voice like velvet, coated in that dangerous edge of satisfaction. "Pathetic."

But the truth was, Geo was bone-tired.

Not in the sense that he was worn out, but in the way that only you could fill the void for him. He didn’t need anything but you, right there, straddling him, your body pressed against his. His face buried into your neck, savoring the warmth of your skin, the sweet, familiar scent of you that drove him wild. It wasn’t about control anymore.

It was about feeling you, grounding himself in the sensation of being with you, connected in the most primal way.

And still, even when you were frozen, not moving an inch—your body so deeply connected to his—he felt it. The pressure, the way you clung to him, the way it was making both of you dizzy. It was too much.

You were too tight, too perfect, too intoxicating.

And then, just when you thought it was too much to bear, when you were on the edge, your mind fogged with lust, Geo pulled away.

Just a little. Enough to make you ache. Enough to make your whole body tremble in frustration. You could feel the absence of him like a physical pull, and your breath hitched. The tease was unbearable.

He wasn’t done with you yet. Not by a long shot. Geo enjoyed watching you suffer, toying with you, letting you think he was finally going to let you have your release. And then, when you were this close—he'd pull away again, dragging out the torment.

Just enough to send you spiraling into your own frustration.

And that? That was when he felt alive—pressing himself up away from the mattress, just enough to lift you off the bed too with ease. He doesn’t waste time, picking you up like you're weightless and pulling you flush against his chest, your arms snaking around his neck and your legs wrapping tightly around his waist.

You’re not going anywhere—not that you’d want to.

And that’s when he goes to town, fucking into you with a brutal, relentless pace. Every thrust is calculated, every movement intentional, as he watches the mess you're making in the mirror.

You can see everything—the way you squirm, the way your lips part in breathless pleasure, the way your body trembles against him. And just when you think you can’t take anymore, he’s there—pushing you further, harder, faster. You sink your nails into his shoulders as he held you close, the sting of your grip only making him press into you deeper.

Geo doesn’t just push you back onto the mattress—he somewhat shoves you, forcing you to feel the weight of his strength as he pins you down.

There’s no hesitation, no softness, just raw, unrelenting dominance. His hand presses firmly against your stomach, palm splayed out possessively, applying just enough pressure to remind you exactly how deep he is.

And then, because he’s an absolute menace, he leans down, voice a low, mocking drawl right against your ear.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with condescension. “Taking me so well… like you were made for this.”

He watches your reaction with that signature smirk—half amusement, half arrogance—because he knows he’s wrecking you. And when you’re struggling to respond, barely holding yourself together?

Geo just chuckles, pressing down on your stomach a little harder.

“C’mon,” he taunts, voice dark and teasing. “Where’d all that attitude go? You were talking plenty of shit earlier.”

Oh my god, am I actually into degrading?

Then, that beautiful moment when you cry out his name, torn between wanting him to keep going or begging him to stop. It feels so damn good you can't decide.

Your body shakes and trembles, not sure whether it’s from the pleasure or the overwhelming sensation of being so completely consumed by him.

You tell him you’re in control this time.

You insist you’ll fuck him this time—you’re going to win.

But deep down, you know how it ends every single time. No matter how much you try to convince him, Geo always wins.

Who wouldn't want a man like that, who knows exactly how to leave you breathless, on the edge of losing yourself?

And frankly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

Here’s sweet baby boy Hyugo—Hyugo Sugimoto !Honestly, writing him is lowkey a challenge, especially compared to someone like Geo, but since I have a soft spot for the brothers more than the main leads (yes, even with all their complex personalities), I’m doing it for y’all.

But anyway, let’s talk about Hyugo.

He’s literally the sweetest person you’ll ever meet, hands down. Even though his outfits are on the simple side, his youthful energy just makes him glow.

He’s got this oval-shaped face, a bit baby-faced, and his sky-blue eyes are sparkling with that innocent charm. His lips are thin, but there's this softness about him that makes you want to believe he's just the nicest guy ever.

But, and here’s the thing—don’t let that sweet face fool you.

We all know the cutest, most innocent-looking ones can hide some serious secrets, right? They say looks can be deceiving, and trust me, with Hyugo, that’s an understatement.

So, the big question—can you see Hyugo as kinky?

For me? Hell yeah, absolutely.

For others? Maybe they think he’s just sweet and harmless, but I’m not taking any chances. After the stuff he pulls in the game? Nah, I’m not falling for that "good boy" act. That man’s got layers, and some of them are not nearly as innocent as they seem.

I mean, let’s be real, the guy knows how to get exactly what he wants without ever breaking a sweat.

✑ Switch (Sub side…)

Now, let’s dive into baby boy Hyugo's preferences, shall we?

Just like his best buddy Sol, Hyugo is a switch—and when I say switch, I mean capital S to the H—A. SWITCH. No questions asked.

Now, imagine my surprise when I learned he used to be a virgin, and the dude did it with a man?

Yeah, he's a switch.

I have no idea who's doing the bending (or maybe that’s the whole point, right?), but I’m calling it like I see it. Hyugo can take both roles and absolutely slay in either of them.

Meanwhile, Sol's out here second-guessing every text he sends, wondering if he's being too much or not enough, texting wrong men for validation. We love him, but come on, bro. Hyugo, on the other hand, is living his best life.

Like, imagine this: Hyugo, all giggly and kicking his feet, waiting for you to reply to his sweet dinner invitation text. You send back a “Can’t wait!” and he’s over the moon, practically bouncing off the walls. He’s so happy you’re with him, it’s honestly the cutest thing ever.

And when you’re together? Oh, he holds your hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world. He’s got that combination of shock and glee—like he can’t believe you’re actually here with him.

You’re tugged into his side with every step, and he’s showering you with little kisses on your temple, just so happy to have you close.

Like, Hyugo is a sweetheart, but don’t let that fool you. Beneath that cute, giggling exterior is a switch who knows exactly what he wants—and trust me, he’s not afraid to get it.

Hyugo? Yeah, the moment that door to your apartment clicks shut behind him, he’s a completely different person.

All that sweet, baby-faced charm? Gone.

He transforms into someone much wilder, more needy. It’s like the minute he's in private with you, he’s letting down all his defenses.

And yeah, most of the time, Hyugo’s a sub. He’s got that soft, touch-starved side that craves affection and care. He wants you to baby him, in the way only you can—gentle, but with that touch that makes him feel seen and wanted. You can tell he's a little starved for it, much like his brother Geo.

However Hyugo knows how to hold it back a little more, unlike his best buddy Sol. No offense to Sol, but he’s just a tad more... obvious about it, right?

Anyway, Hyugo? It’s like a delicate balance of needing you while still holding on to his cool exterior until it all comes crashing down.

Now, don’t get me wrong, like I said Hyugo loves when you baby him.

He may not openly admit it, but the way his eyes soften when you shower him with attention? Yeah, it’s more than enough evidence. He might even have a little bit of a thing for being pampered and cared for, but I won’t dive into that—not my cup of tea. Mommy kink.

But that doesn’t mean his desires stop there. Oh no, once you’ve got him behind closed doors, the sweetness can turn into something else entirely.

Because let me tell you something—Hyugo does NOT do slow and sensual. The second he hears anything remotely related to sex, it’s like flipping a switch. He’ll be pounding into you like it’s the last time you two will ever touch, and he’s not exactly taking his time. There’s an urgency there, like he’s starving for you in the most primal way.

And your breasts? Forget about it.

You cannot keep him off of them. He’s all over them, kissing, sucking, mouthing at them like they’re the best thing in the world. Hyugo’s hands are never far away, especially when they’re roaming, taking every chance to squeeze, kiss, or just touch whatever he can get his hands on.

But here’s the thing: he loves being told what to do. He thrives on direction, on being guided, and the more you tease him, the more he wants.

Deny him just a little, though?

Oh, that’s when he gets even more worked up. Being denied? It’s like a whole new level of arousal for him, something about the frustration only makes him more desperate.

Hyugo’s a mess in the best way—he craves attention, craves being controlled, and craves all of you. So when you finally give in and take control, he’s lost to the feeling, ready for whatever comes next.

And trust me, you will feel it.

✑ Semi-public (My lord…)

Hyugo? Baby, he’s got a serious thrill-seeking side, and it shows.

The boy is daring, and when he wants you, he doesn’t waste time hiding it. You think he’s just a sweet, baby-faced guy? Think again. He’s into semi-public situations, and he thrives off the danger of it. No place is off-limits for him, even the college roof—the place he loves to hang out at when he needs some space, away from the rules and prying eyes.

But with you? He doesn’t care about the risk.

When he’s on that the college roof, staring out at the world, there’s a fire in his eyes, and the second he gets you alone, the rules don’t matter. He wants you ‘right there’, right then, and you can bet he’s not shy about it.

The thrill of being seen, even just for a second, turns him on more than anything. He wants the world to know you're his, and he’ll do anything to get a taste of that danger. The whole atmosphere is thick with anticipation, the tension between you so palpable that it almost crackles.

And when it comes to foreplay?

Don’t even get me started on how obsessed he is with dry-humping. The second the two of you are close, it’s like an instinctual need for friction. You can feel the heat building as he presses into you, his body grinding and frotting against yours.

There’s no subtlety here—he’s desperate for that contact, desperate to feel your body move against his. Every little roll of his hips, every grind, is a game of inches as he gets closer and closer to losing control. He’s completely lost in the sensation, like he can’t get enough.

And then, when he can’t stand it anymore, when that desperation peaks and you’ve been teasing him just enough—he rips your clothes off. Right then. Right there. It’s not even about taking his time anymore; it’s all about the raw need. He’s done holding back, and in that moment, all that matters is the frantic urgency to have you, to touch you.

There’s no question in his mind—he needs you now.

Like that boy will get off any way he can if it means getting that release. And it’s not even about subtlety, he just needs to do it.

Now, for a fun little twist: He’s definitely into pegging. I’m not saying he’s screaming for it every minute of the day, but when the right time comes, he’s all about it. There’s just something about it that turns him on in a way nothing else can. He will beg you to fuck his tight little asshole until he makes a mess.

But honestly, that’s Hyugo—always a little more complicated than you might think.

And when it comes to moaning? That boy whines and moans like a fucking bitch when you’re going at him. It’s like every little sensation sends him spiraling into this blissed-out mess. He just can’t help it, and you’ll quickly learn that his whimpering is one of the sexiest sounds in the world.

But don’t get it twisted—he loves being treated right.

He loves that softness, that attention.

But there’s a part of him that wants to be pushed a little, taken advantage of in a way that leaves him desperate. You can take your frustrations out on him, just a little. He won’t break. He might even love it more than you expect.

When it comes to degradation, Hyugo’s not into anything too harsh, but call him your slut? Oh, you’re speaking his language now.

That little spark in his eye will light up every time you remind him who he belongs to. He won’t admit it, but he loves being labeled that way, that submissive title making him feel just a little bit more desperate, a little more needed. So yeah, don’t be fooled by the baby-faced charm—Hyugo is a lot more than he lets on.

Treat him right, give him what he craves, and you’ll be surprised at just how wild he gets when you push his buttons.

✑ Overstimulation

And then there’s overstimulation.

Sometimes, it’s not even intentional, but it’s inevitable with Hyugo. You feel so damn good above him, your body responding to every touch, every thrust. He’s chasing that high, pulling you closer to the edge again and again until your body can’t take it.

And Hyugo’s a man who knows what he wants and may ur may not beg for it, and he loves when you take control, especially when it comes to pulling his soft hair.

The way his breath hitches whenever your fingers tangle in his hair—that’s his weakness. He’s yours, every inch of him, and he’s not shy about showing it. Each time you yank his hair, you can hear the shameless moans slip from his lips.

It drives him crazy, his body reacting to every tug, and it only fuels the fire between you two. He’s not just giving—he’s taking, fully immersed in the feeling, and you can tell by the way his tongue works at your trembling walls.

And let me tell you, this man is all about cunnilingus.

There’s nothing soft or shy about it; Hyugo’s a big eater, and he’s hungry for you. When his lips press to your pussy, it’s like he’s starving, devouring you like he hasn’t eaten in days. His arms wrap around your thighs, holding you in place as he feasts on you.

He licks, sucks, and nibbles with a feverish intensity, working his way through every inch of you, as if he’ll die if he doesn't get every drop.

Sometimes it feels like it’s too much, his tongue relentless, but you can’t stop the heat it builds. You’ll squirm and tug at his hair, urging him on, and he just pulls you closer, deeper into the sensation.

Hyugo’s eye contact is deadly. When he wants you, he’s not looking away. His hand grips your jaw, tilting your head, forcing you to look at him. He demands that you keep your eyes on him, guiding you with his fiery gaze.

Those eyes of his? Thoes soft eyes turns Intense. Piercing. He’s studying every little thing about you—the way your pupils dilate with desire, the flutter of your lashes as he pushes you further, deeper.

The intensity of his gaze makes it all feel so much more real. He doesn’t need to say a word; his eyes speak louder than anything.

You’re a shaking mess in his arms, your muscles aching, your mind overwhelmed with the pleasure he’s giving you. But that’s the thing about him—he won’t stop.

He doesn’t care about your begging, about how much you can take; he wants to see you lose yourself, to feel you break into a thousand pieces in his arms.

And when you finally do, he’s yours.

Completely, utterly yours.

✑ Role play

Oh, baby boy is all about the roleplay.

And no, let me clear that up right now, he's not into anything dangerous or dark—no gunplay, no assassin fantasies (he never even brings up his questionable word side to you, thank you very much).

But when it comes to the playful stuff? Oh, he’s all in. His absolute favorite? Cops and robbers. But here’s the twist—he loves being the one arrested.

There’s something about you in charge, giving him that commanding look, your fingers brushing over the cuffs, the way you look him up and down like you’re about to throw him in the back of your car that drives him wild.

Humiliation? Oh, Hyugo lives for it. You can see it in his eyes when the teasing starts, the way his entire demeanor shifts—there’s a naughty little spark that lights up in his gaze whenever you call him out.

You both know the game, and you’re always more than happy to play along.

It starts simple enough, just a teasing glance or a casual remark. But the more you push him, the more he wants to be pushed. You lower your voice, your hand brushing over his thigh as you lean in, whispering in his ear, “Such a good little whore for me, huh? You can’t get enough of it, can you?”

His breath hitches, a flicker of a smirk crossing his face as he tries to hold it together. But, oh, you know better. The words trip over his tongue as he fumbles, his voice dropping a little—just enough for you to hear the hesitation, the vulnerability he’s trying so hard to keep under wraps.

“W-wait, I didn’t… I didn’t say—” His words stutter, barely escaping, and you can already see the flush rising in his cheeks. The little twitch at the corner of his lips betrays him, and the smug grin you're wearing only deepens.

Gotcha.

“Oh, but you’re looking so cute right now, all flustered. It’s adorable how easily you fold under just a few words.” You can’t help but tease, watching him squirm under your touch. His cheeks are flushed, his breath uneven, and his eyes are flickering, darting away, trying to avoid the weight of your gaze.

But you won’t let him escape.

You never do.

He tries to play it off, shifting uncomfortably, biting his lip as he avoids looking you directly in the eyes. His fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for you, to make it stop, but he can’t. Not yet.

“You know,” you continue, letting the silence stretch before adding, “you look so cute when you try to act like you’re not loving every second of this. You’re my slutty little toy, and you know it, don’t you?”

The words sink in, and you watch his entire body tense. His throat works as if he’s about to protest, but all that comes out is a frustrated little moan. “S-stop… I’m not—”

“You’re not?” you cut him off, raising an eyebrow, “Then why are you blushing so much? Why do you look like you’re about to come just from me saying those words?”

He stammers, unable to form any coherent argument, his voice cracking with embarrassment. “I-I didn’t… you can’t—”

You lean in closer, your breath hot against his ear. “It’s okay, Hyugo. I know you’re mine. You’re just too cute when you try to act like you’re not my little slut. You’ll never be able to hide that from me.”

And with that, his face burns even brighter, his attempts at deflecting your words turning into soft, desperate whimpers. It’s game over for him, and he knows it. His body betrays him every single time.

You can’t help but love watching him squirm under the weight of your teasing, his mouth opening, but no words coming out as he struggles to keep his composure.

This game? You’re always the winner. And Hyugo?

Well, he’s always more than happy to play.

✑ Cheirophilia

Hear me out—Cheirophilia.

Oh, Hyugo? That boy lives for touch. He’s naturally affectionate, always finding little excuses to run his fingers along your skin, tracing lazy circles on your palm, interlocking fingers, brushing his knuckles against your cheek like he just hasto be touching you at all times.

So let’s be real—he’s got a thing for hands.

And not just in the oh, I like holding hands kind of way. No, no, this man will obsess over your hands. The shape of them, the way your fingers move, the strength of your grip. He notices everything.

How your nails look when they drag across his back, how soft your palms feel when you cup his face, how effortlessly your fingers wrap around his throat when you push him down and remind him exactly who he belongs to.

Hyugo melts when you play with his hands, too. Run your fingers along the lines of his palms? He shudders. Press a kiss to his knuckles? He’s giggling like a schoolgirl. Lace your fingers with his and tighten your grip just slightly? He’s already giving you those fuck-me eyes.

And don’t even get him started on watching you use your hands. The way you gesture when you talk, the way your fingers curl when you beckon him closer—he’s hanging onto every movement, completely entranced.

If he’s sitting across from you, he’ll grab your hand mid-conversation just to absentmindedly play with your fingers, pressing them to his lips like it’s second nature.

But in the bedroom? Oh, baby, you’re in trouble.

Hyugo adores watching your hands work on him. Gripping his hair, clawing at his back, holding him down—he’s watching every single twitch of your fingers with rapt attention.

He lives for the moment when your hands tremble just slightly from the pleasure, when you grip the sheets so hard your knuckles turn white, when your fingers sink into his shoulders, desperate to hold onto something while he ruins you.

And let’s be real, he loves having your hands around his throat. Not too rough, just enough pressure to make his breath hitch, his pulse racing under your fingertips. He’ll grin at you, eyes dark with mischief, voice breathy as he teases, “Tighter, please. You know I can take it.”

And you already know Hyugo’s got stamina for days.

He’s insatiable, always riled up and ready to go again before you’ve even caught your breath. One round isn’t enough—hell, two barely cuts it. If he’s spent one session melting under your touch, panting and begging for more, then the next?

Oh, he’s flipping the script, pinning you down, and making sure you remember exactly who he is.

And he takes his time with it.

Who’s spreading you apart, just fucking staring until you’re squirming?

Hyugo.

"No, pretty girl, let me look." His hands hold you still, thumbs pressing against your trembling thighs, watching with those hungry, sky-blue eyes—eyes that burn with amusement and desire as you try to close your legs.

But he won’t let you. Not until he’s had his fill, memorizing how ruined you already are before he even touches you properly.

Then, when you whimper his name, he just grins. "There she is." And then he’s diving in, suckling, licking, dragging his tongue over every inch like he’s starving.

Who’s got the nastiest mouth on him when your thighs are tossed over his shoulders, his cock pounding into you, relentless?

Hyugo.

"Hear how good you takin’ me, honey?" His voice is deep, ragged, lips curling into that cocky little smirk when he feels you tighten around him.

"Tryin’ to squeeze every last drop outta me, huh? Greedy thing." His fingers dig into your hips, holding you down, making you feel every inch of him, and he’s watching you—eyes locked onto the way your face twists in pleasure, the way your hands grasp at the sheets, at him.

And let’s be honest, who’s absolutely wrecked the moment he feels your walls start to flutter around him?

Hyugo.

"Fuck—lemme inside one more time, yeah? Will ya let me, beautiful, please?" His breath is hot against your neck, lips brushing against your ear as he pleads, as he begs.

"Wanna have me leaking outta you for days, please—" His body trembles, overwhelmed and desperate, rutting into you with everything he has left. And when you finally give in, whispering his name, he shatters.

And afterward? He’s all clingy and cuddly, wrapping himself around you, arms locked tight like he never wants to let go. He buries his face in your neck, pressing lazy kisses against your skin, murmuring, "Was I good for you? Made you feel good, yeah?"—and the way he says it, voice soft, needy, full of quiet vulnerability, makes your heart ache.

But oh, when he’s the one pushing your buttons?

That’s when the real game begins.

Hyugo lives for a power play. He’ll push and push, teasing you with every filthy little comment, every smug remark slipping from his lips, knowing exactly how to make you crack.

The more you try to act unaffected, the harder he digs in. Hands wandering, lips ghosting over your skin, voice dropping into something slow and deliberate, thick with amusement.

"Aww, what’s the matter, babe? Tryna act all composed? Cute—" His fingers lace with yours, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles, all innocent, but his grin says otherwise.

"But you know I see right through you, don’t you?" His lips brush against your ear, and he laughs when he feels the shiver that runs down your spine.

You pretend you don’t care.

But Hyugo? He knows better.

#the kid at the back x reader #the kid at the back vn #tkatb #tkatb vn #tkatb geo x reader #tkatb geo #the kid at the back geo #geo oogami #subaru oogami #tkatb hyugo #hyugo sugimoto #the kid at the back hyugo #hyugo x reader

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dismalflo · 4 months ago

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left behind

Sirius Black x reader who feels left behind when everyone else is in a relationship ✩ 1.6k words

cw: modern au, little bit of angst, little bit of fluff, hurt/comfort, reader has never been in a relationship, reader is a lil insecure

an: my fellow never been in a relationship people rise up also some amy march inspired dialogue for you all <3

Usually nights like these would make you feel lighter after a long week. Crammed into a booth in your favourite pub, surrounded by all the people that mean the most to you. But tonight, a strange heaviness is settling in your stomach, a hole that keeps growing bigger the more you think about it.

And you can’t stop thinking about it. Looking around, everyone’s happily coupled off—James glued to Lily’s side, Remus and Regulus whispering to each other in a little bubble of bliss, Marlene and Dorcas teasing each other playfully across the table. You’re happy for them, truly, but there’s a bitter sting when you remember that they don’t go home to cold, empty flats. They have each other at the end of the day. It’s a strange longing, to want something so badly, to miss it even though you’ve never had it.

And of course there's Sirius, the only other single in the group, but he seems to be seeing different girls all the time and has never looked your way, so you really don't think it's comparable nor do you want to talk to him about it and risk being mocked.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when someone calls your name. You turn, catching Lily’s concerned gaze. A frown tugs at her lips.

“Are you alright? You seem a bit... stuck in your head.” You flush, embarrassed to be caught, relieved it’s only Lily who’s noticed. The air feels suffocating now, and you can barely breathe.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” you murmur, “I… I’ll be back in a minute.” Not being able to deal with the stuffy air anymore, you race out of the pub and into the alleyway next to it.

You should probably go home. You don’t want your mood to ruin the evening for everyone else. As you pull out your phone to send a text letting them know you’re leaving, the door of the pub slams open. Sirius, looking flustered, spots you and makes a beeline towards you.

“Hey, what's going on with you?” he asks, to the point straight away as is Sirius’ way.

“Nothing, I just think I’m gonna go home, I'm not feeling great.” You’re avoiding looking at him, eyes glued to the pebble you're kicking between your feet on the floor.

“Really?”, something in his voice gives away his suspicion, then, “You’re a horrible liar, Y/N.”

You cringe away from him, turning your body in an attempt to make sure he sees less of you. “I'm fine, Sirius, leave me alone.” your voice has taken on a sharper tone now, sadness has given way to frustration.

“You’re obviously not fine, and you're much too pretty to be stood out here upset by yourself.” There's a furrow in his brow, his face somewhere between confusion and concern, through the haze of your overwhelming emotions you see something else, something antagonising.

You scoff, your lip trembling. “Stop making fun of me. You’re being mean.” You’re fighting against tears now, desperate not to break in front of him.

“What—what are you talking about?” His expression falters, clearly trying to understand.

“You’re mocking me, i'm upset and your fucking mocking me!” you've turned hysterical now but you can bring yourself to care, it feels good to let out some of these emotions that have just been piling on top of you.

“Babe, I'm not I swear–”

He’s interrupted by you flinging your hands up exasperated, “Yes you are! You're calling me pretty and pet names as if you would ever look my way, when I know you wouldn't. And it's… it's fine, no one ever has for very long but I feel like I've fallen behind and it's horrible and being around everyone tonight got to me, okay?! Because they all have something I might never even experience.” you're practically shouting at the boy standing with you now.

Sirius is quiet for a second, mulling over your words, trying to figure out what to say in response. The silence makes you break the staring contest you'd been having with the floor, looking up at Sirius, his expression is devastated, as if you'd struck a killing blow against him with your words. It makes you want to shrink down to nothing, embarrassed by that outburst.

“That’s not– you’re not…” he pauses again, not sure what to say, “Is that really how you feel?”

You shrug, “That’s how it is, how it's always been.”

“I don’t believe you, people definitely look your way, i just think you don't realise it”

You shake your head, the frustration bubbling up again. "I do realize it, Sirius. It’s just—no one really sticks around. They look, they flirt, they leave. It’s fine. I’m used to it."

Sirius steps closer, his posture softening. “That’s not... you shouldn’t be used to being treated like that, Y/N. You deserve more than that.” His eyes meet yours. It makes your heart squeeze, and you look away again, your stomach twisting in knots

“You don’t get it. I don’t even know what I’m looking for. Maybe it’s just too late for me to figure it out," you mutter, voice cracking just slightly.

Sirius seems to hesitate, his usual flippancy replaced with something quieter, more thoughtful. "You’re not too late. You’re not behind." He pauses. “We all do things at our own pace.”

You let out a shaky breath, and for the first time tonight, you actually meet his gaze. His dark eyes are soft, intense, as if he’s trying to reach something deeper inside of you that you’ve been hiding. You want to look away, but you can't. You’re stuck.

"I—I don’t know how to fix it," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I don’t want to be the only one left behind. It’s like I’m watching everyone else move on, and I’m stuck in this weird limbo where nothing changes, where I’m always just... alone."

Sirius doesn’t break eye contact, and for a moment is lost in his own head. Then, in the quietest voice he’s ever used, he speaks.

"Darling, you’re not alone."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and full of something you can't quite place. You blink, unsure if you heard him correctly. "What?"

Sirius takes a step closer again, his gaze never leaving yours. "I mean it," he says softly. "You’re not alone. Not now, not ever. I think you’ve been so focused on what you don't have that you’ve missed the people who do care. I care."

"You’re just saying that," you mutter, though there’s no real conviction behind the words anymore. You want to believe him, but part of you is terrified of what that might mean. Terrified that you’ll open up only to be let down.

Sirius’ hand reaches out hesitantly, as if unsure whether to touch you or not. The air feels thick, charged.

"I’m not just saying it," he insists, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. "I wouldn't. You're not invisible to me. I've noticed you for a long time.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you take an involuntary step back. “But… you never— I mean, you’re always with other people. Girls who are… Well, not me.” Your voice wavers again.

Sirius doesn’t look away this time. His gaze is laser-focused, intense. “That doesn’t mean anything. I’ve been an idiot, honestly." He takes another step toward you. "I’ve always been too caught up in other things, other people. And I—” He hesitates, seemingly choosing his words carefully, “I didn’t want to mess up the friendship we have. I didn’t want to fuck up something or risk it.”

Your heart races, the words he says sinking in but feeling almost impossible to believe. You swallow hard, trying to process everything. "But you never said anything... I mean, all those times I—" you stop yourself, shaking your head, trying to steady the whirlwind inside you. "I always thought it was me, you know? That maybe I was just... not enough."

Sirius flinches, as if your words had physically hurt him. His expression crumples, a mixture of regret and longing in his eyes. He steps closer, the distance between you both closing.

"I’m sorry for making you feel that way," he says quietly, his voice sincere, each word weighted with meaning. "The last thing I ever wanted to do was make you feel like you weren’t enough. You’re everything to me. More than I even knew how to admit to myself."

You look up at him, the vulnerability in his gaze catching you off guard. "But we’re friends," you whisper, unsure of what this shift means, of what it could become.

He nods, his hand slowly reaching for yours, fingers brushing against yours before closing the space. "I know. But maybe we could be something else. If that’s something you… y’know"

The world feels like it slows for a moment, and in the quiet that follows, everything you've been holding inside seems to rise to the surface. All those feelings you kept buried, the doubts, the fears, and the yearning—it's all there, raw and untamed.

You search his eyes, as if trying to see if this is real, if it’s truly what he wants. You take a deep breath, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

"And if I’m scared?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sirius gives you a soft, reassuring smile, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. "I’ll be here. No matter what. We’ll figure it out together."

Slowly, you nod, the first step of what could be something entirely new—something thrilling—beginning.

"You’re sure?" you ask, a flicker of doubt still lingering, but less pronounced now.

"Positive." His voice is steady now, as steady as his hand around yours. "But only if you’re ready."

You take another breath. "I think I’m ready."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! I love any feedback! <3

#flo'sfics #marauders era #marauders fics #marauders au #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #sirius black x reader #sirius black fic #self insert #sirius black #sirius black angst #sirius black fanfiction #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic

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curatedcurios1ty · 1 month ago

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CW: Idia x reader. continuation-ish/expanding of my last post. little dialogue. I love this idea sm, I’m thinking of more :)

—

You know someone is looking at when you walk into class everyday. You’ve felt a gaze bore into you since your first day, but you could never tell who it was.

You were never too concerned, but it had made you curious

One day you catch them- No, you catch him staring at you.

And wow. How’d you not notice him before? You spot bright yellow eyes, and even brighter blue hair (is it glowing??) at the back of the classroom.

You know it’s him because he’s looking in your direction. Looking down at…your bag? It’s not anything you’re unused to, most people don’t understand the pins, or the people on the pins.

But blue-hair isn’t looking at it with confusion, or curiosity. He’s just, staring and…staring. Honestly he looks a little scared, and is he even breathing?!

He must have sensed your gaze. You make eye contact with him and he practically jumps out of his seat to look away.

…Okay then?

—

It’s not until class is almost over when you come up with a reason for your new spectator. He must read it too, right? That wouldn’t be that crazy to say, and maybe he’s just too shy to approach you. That’s fine.

So you decide to confirm your suspicions and talk with him after class. Fair enough, yeah?

So when everyone starts packing up to leave you turn back around to greet your new friend and-

There’s no one there. Seat empty like no had been there in the first place. You whip your head around in confusion.

You almost miss it. A tall frame, hair cascading down his back, and some of the worse posture you’ve even seen zipping out of the classroom at the speed of light.

That’s okay. Maybe he’s busy? You’ll get him next time.

—

You don’t get him the next time.

Or the time after that.

You miss him the whole week.

It’s the same routine every time. Class ends, you get up, you blink, he’s gone. You swear he gets faster everyday. Then you can’t even find him in the hallway because it’s so crowded.

How can someone so large be so fast?

You haven’t even asked your friends about him because what would you say? “Oh hey, have you ever seen this guy? He’s six foot something, hair as bright as flames, and he stares at me like he trying to uncover the truth of the universe?”Absolutely not.

You think about giving up. Mr. Mustard-eyes can keep his secrets.

But an opportunity comes. Maybe it’s fate, or manifestation, or just the fact that you’re taking a shortcut through a different hallway.

You see someone in an oversized hoodie hunched over a vending machine in the corner. You’d know that posture anywhere.

You feel yourself grinning as you approach him. You tap him and he actually jumps this time, curling into himself as he turns to you.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you all week!” Your voice comes out a bit louder than expected, eyes a little crazed, but who can blame you? You’ve got him, you’re not letting him slip away again.

You watch his eyes dart around for an escape, before landing back onto you and widening in recognition. You half anticipate a hello, or an apology for making you track him down but you get-

“You have a yaoi ita bag.” It’s rushed out, quieter than you expected. It’s stuns you, just for a second. Then your eyes go wide too, in glee.

“Yes! I do! I do! Oh my gosh! I had thought- well honestly I still wasn’t sure, but now I know and oh my goodness!” You swing your bag from off your shoulders and into your hands, pointing at the pins inside. “You know them?!?”

You his face go from its normal color, to bright red, then all color drains from his face. He doesn’t speak. He looks like he’s about to pass out.

You’re pretty sure he’s about to pass out.

#Reader isn’t extroverted per say #just unashamed of thier interests #k writes #k mmunicate #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #idia shroud #twisted wonderland idia #twst idia #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia x you

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andcars · 17 days ago

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PRODUCT TESTER ━━ MV33

﹙ 33 ﹚ ─────── love like you deserve it

you put lipstick on your boyfriend's lips, he ends up painting your body with your own signature colour.

relationship(s) max verstappen/you

tags established relationship, body worship, fluff, domestic dialogue

wc 1k

౿ MASTERLIST ⠀REQUEST ME ⠀ TAGLIST⠀ PATREON GUIDE

radio "comments and reblogs are much appreciated!"

▶︎ ❝ lips ❞ haiden henderson

There's meowing somewhere in the penthouse. It goes unheard as the dad of the cat has his eyes closed, embracing his new role as a mannequin and a chair for you. It's almost ridiculous how easily he said yes when you asked to try lipstick on him. You think that if you asked him to buy a yacht for you, he'll simply ask, “When do you want it?"

A laugh leaves you. Max opens his eyes in worry, "Does it look bad?” You shake your head, smiling. The shade is not the best with his colour, you think. Maybe something darker? Though he might not like the shades.

“I think I put too much," you say instead. He shuffles you two around so he can find your mirror. Looking at his reflection, he hums.

“It looks… okay,” he says intelligently. "Is it bad?”

You shake your head. "Just gonna take a while to try and wear off.”

Before you could reach for your box of tissues, he tightened his hand on your waist. “Can't you just wipe it off?" he asks.

“Max," you laugh, “it's going to be messy if I just wipe it off. Let me up—"

He whines, refusing to loosen his grip, “You're comfortable right here, though."

“You mean you’re comfortable with me right here?"

He pretends to ponder about it. His mouth in a pout and eyes running around the room—“Isn't that the same thing though?" You shake your head in disbelief, the man driving you crazy. He ‘pap’s his lips, copying you, “Maybe we should test out how good your lipstick actually lasts."

The question hangs from your tongue before he ravages your mouth. You smile into the kiss, his chest pressed against yours. Like this, you believe that if you were stripped down to your bones, you and Max’s ribcages would simply slide together for your hearts to touch. A bit of an odd image, but it's what it feels like. Love that feels beyond your body. It's something more that feels horrific but raw.

Your legs wrap around his waist. In a warm embrace, your clothes start to feel intrusive. His tongue pushes your mouth open, letting him in. The kiss is full of love, and your clothes are getting to be fully annoying. Max knows this before you can tell him—barely pulling away to take off your shirt.

He doesn't do the same with his. No, he doesn't even prioritise himself in this scene. Max’s red lips make their way down to your throat. His tongue pokes out, licking the underside of your jaw. It contradicts quickly when he bites down yon our shoulder.

“Mmpf," you wince, “Max, come on…"

His laugh vibrates through your skin. It feels like a satisfying buzz. “What?" he asks, pressing innocent kisses now. “Is there something you want?"

This fucking man.

"Don't bite me, baby,” you ask for, simply. "It hurts.”

Max moves down to your collarbone, not saying a word. He looks up at you with a tight grin as he seems to enjoy the very sight of you. "Your lips are very red,” he points out. He's proud of his accomplishments. "Maybe you did put too much on me.”

You tap your finger on your lips, curious. A very faint red shadow where your lip has touched your skin. Max, clearly, has made it his mission to kiss every part of your skin. He leaves a trail of wet cherry kisses around your exposed chest. Carefully, he guides the both of you to lie down. You're on your back, gazing down at Max’s head as he kisses down to your stomach.

“M-Max!" you giggle, ticklish with Max blowing raspberries on you. That, paired with his hands on your waist, you're unable to get away from the funny feeling. “Come on!"

“What? What!" Max pulls up, pouting. His lips really must be cherry. One look at it and you wanna eat him. “I can't bite you, I can't blow on you, what next? You're going to prevent me from loving you?"

You're in awe of how much this man will try to break your heart with things like these. “I'm ticklish, Max!" You laugh, sitting up in your bed.

"Well, suck it up then,” he answers, moving down to your knees. "I'm a very simple man, love. I want to test out makeup products to see if they are as long-lasting as advertised.”

He kisses your knees, praying for its health when you inevitably kneel and ask him to marry you. "That's not why I put that lipstick on you.”

“No?" He rests your leg on his shoulder, kissing just underneath your knee. “I'm not a product tester?"

“No, Max," you hum, his kiss trailing up to your thighs. “I just wanted to put lipstick on you."

You can see how red one spot of your skin is becoming as he continues to kiss it like it's your lips. It's… fucking ridiculous. Still, your heart calls for his name in Morse code. Your ears go to the same shade as your kiss-covered chest. With a hand on his head, you pull him back up to your stomach.

There's nothing more than an I Love You than being painted with your lipstick, his lips as his brush. “Hm?" He asks, seeing the thoughts flash in your head.

Yet words can't ever describe how much you wanna see him covered in your possessions, like he has with you. Not a word can tell him how much you want to mark him up like he has with you. If you were a wild animal, you would not allow him out of your bed just because you don't want a second away from him.

“You're so stupid," you laugh out instead, three words enough to tell a thousand.

He goes back up to you, heart-coloured lips on yours. Max smiles so warmly as his weight presses onto you like a weighted blanket—”Only because you are," he tells you, and you think it's enough to tell a thousand more.

@Delululeclerc @hiireadstuff @fallingforpvris @rtorresblog @Tribbisweetdear @Jamie2305 @nichmeddar @vannylen2144

#🔖 . MV33 #: 🔗 above 1k #: 🔗 fic #max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic #f1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 scenarios #formula one imagine

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stellar-haikyuu · 2 months ago

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it's on me ☆ nishinoya yuu x reader

synopsis: when you go to your favorite café for your usual morning fix, you don't expect to see a new face at the counter. details: café employee (ish) x customer | fluff | first meeting | strangers to friends/lovers | ~1.1k words | gn! reader | timeskip! nishinoya a/n: dialogue heavy + i am not a barista pls don't kill me for inaccurate drink making! not my best work tbh, but i gotta write myself out of this block! also this was meant to be my last ebg entry (the phantasma peeps know what's up)

“Hi, good-” You stop mid-sentence when you look up from your wallet. “Morning…”

The usual barista isn’t behind the counter today. Instead, there’s a new face: a boy with dark spiky hair and a blonde tuft. You notice slight tan lines on his arms.

“Good morning!” He greets, practically vibrating with energy. “What would you like to order?”

“My usual,” you respond automatically.

There’s a pause as he blinks at you, his hand hovering over the cash register. “Um…sorry, it’s my first day.”

“Right, my bad,” you chuckle at your mistake. “Mm, I get the hojicha latte almost every day. Hot, medium size.”

He nods, punching the order in. “Hojicha. Medium.”

The barista takes some time, glancing between the screen and what you assume is a cheat sheet tucked off to the side.

As he squints at the codes, you take a moment to glance at his nametag.

“So, uh, Nishinoya-san?”

“Yes?” His head snaps up immediately, tasks momentarily abandoned.

You smile at his infectious enthusiasm. “Sooo, you said it’s your first day here, right?”

“Mhm!” His eyes light up, prompting you to ask more questions.

“Happy first day!” You congratulate him with a small laugh. “I was just surprised Watanabe-san hasn’t told me about you yet. She always tells me about new trainees or hires.”

“Oh, is that so?” He scratches the back of his neck. “Well, the funny thing is…I’m not actually from here.”

His answer catches you off guard. “What do you mean? Like, you’re from another part of town?”

“No. I’m from Miyagi.”

Your eyes widen. “Miyagi? That’s pretty far. You moved here?”

“Not exactly,” he admits with a chuckle. “I’m traveling, actually.”

You’re slightly confused by his answer. “Wh- traveling? Like, now?”

“Yeah, I’m traveling all over Japan,” he clarifies, beaming proudly like it's a grand achievement.

“I see.” You nod slowly. “But, if you’re traveling, why are you working here?”

His grin falters for a second. “Well uh, someone stole my wallet yesterday.”

After taking a moment to process this, your jaw drops. “Wait, wait, wait. Stolen?”

“Yeah,” he repeats casually, like it’s not that big a deal.

“But, where are you even staying? Do you have enough to eat or something?”

Nishinoya frantically waves his hands in response. “It’s fine! I promise!”

“Are you sure?” you press, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t think I’d be as calm as you are.”

“Don’t worry, the hostel I’m staying at already knows. I paid in advance too,” he reassures you. “And, that’s why I’m here now. I asked to work for free in exchange for food. Just until I could figure things out.”

You have no words—what a situation to be in. “That’s one way to handle it.”

He grins. “Right? Pretty clever, huh?”

“I guess so,” you chuckle.

“I’m on dish duty, but the others haven’t come in yet.” He glances to the back as he explains. “But, Watanabe-san told me a special customer comes here early, so I'd have to be in charge for a bit. I guess that’s you?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. Seven in the morning. I usually come here before work.”

After your response, both of you grow quiet, unsure of what to ask next. Nishinoya is briefly reminded of his tasks, continuing to punch in all the relevant details.

“You’re not gonna ask me for my name?” You tease lightly.

“What?”

“They usually ask and write it on the cup,” you point to the item in his hand.

“Huh? Oh, right. Sorry.”

“I’m just messing with you,” you snicker. “But yeah, let me spell it out for you.”

He gives you his undivided attention as you tell him each letter. When he attempts to read your name, he even gets it right on the first try.

As you pay and wait for the receipt, a part of you thinks that Nishinoya would probably be a great barista, especially this early in the day.

“Why do you always get these drinks in the morning?” Nishinoya asks as he starts to prepare your drink. “Watanabe-san told me it was super important to get your order right.”

“Ah, it’s just like her.” You think fondly of the café manager, who has come to treat you like her child. “Well, I just like having something good to start the day.”

“Is work stressful?” He peers through a couple of cabinets before pausing and looking at you over his shoulder. “Uh, if you’re okay with answering that.”

“I don’t mind,” you smile as he takes out some more measuring cups. “I love my job, actually. I work at the local museum.”

“Wait, really?” He glances up at you, momentarily frozen. “That big famous one?”

“Yes. Nagoya City Science Museum.”

“That’s so cool! I saw some pictures online and it looks amazing!”

“It is! I work in the life sciences building as an engagement officer. I design lots of fun events and workshops. Both for adults and kids.”

“That’s awesome,” he says, starting to mix some powder and hot milk together. “Adults, too?”

“Yeah. Everyone deserves a fun museum experience, right? I mean, sometimes exhibits can be boring, even when there are fascinating things to learn.”

“That makes sense.” Nishinoya continues stirring, staring intensely at the mixture. “I didn’t really pay attention during our field trips to museums. Nothing caught my eye, so it was hard to answer the field trip homework. Ended up having to copy from someone.”

He pauses for a moment before a very panicked expression appears on his face. “No offense!”

You nearly double over in laughter. “None taken! It’s precisely why I do my job.”

Sighing, you think back to your childhood days. “Growing up, I was always told to hurry up during museum trips. It also took me a while to realize that my friends or classmates didn’t want to nerd out about the exhibits.”

“We were opposites then.” He grins, amused. “But, I’m happy there are people like you. You seem to know what you’re doing.”

Nishinoya finally sets your steaming cup on the counter. “Man, I’ll see if I have enough saved up to check it out soon. I’ll definitely come back.”

As you take the cup, an idea forms in your head.

“Actually, why don’t you come by the museum this weekend?” you suggest.

“Huh? To the museum?”

“Yeah. I can give you a personal tour.”

His eyes immediately light up, brighter than you’ve seen all morning. “Seriously? You’d do that for me?”

“Of course,” you reply with a grin. “Think of it as a proper Nagoya experience, considering everything that happened.”

Nishinoya beams, leaning on the counter. “That’s so cool. It’s a deal, then!”

“Great, I’ll be-”

“Wait!” he interjects. “Is there any sort of admission fee? I can pay you back soon. How much-”

You wave your hand with a small laugh. “No worries. It’s on me.”

masterlist

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luludeluluramblings · 10 months ago

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Conner Kent's Obsession with Smalltown!Reader

A/N: I saw a few people liking the Superfam stuff and finally went nuts attempting this Conner bit. I tried. I tried so hard. I added dialogue. I'm used to the YJ Conner, but this is my attempt at Comic Conner. If he's OOC, oops. Yeet. (I attempted to research, I swear.) Might edit this some later.

A/N: I write Reader with an accent. One, cause that's how I talk. Two, cause I like it like 'dat.

A/N: I'm also almost done with Part Seven, but I'm adding dialogue to that too to make the breaking point a tad bit more impactful. I've never really written dialogue before.

Warnings: Slight Yandere themes. Romantic Yandere. (Very subtle.)

Conner’s run-ins with Reader always seemed to piss Tim off. Especially after Tim started researching into Reader. He would occasionally always beg Tim to invite Reader to hang out. And, he would find himself rejected every single time. Before it was probably due to Tim being dramatic. Now, he certain of this, it's because Tim dramatic and jealous overprotective.

On other occasions, he'd just by pass Tim, leaving him to his cases (and creeping) so hecould sneak and bother reader. They’re kinda cute, in his opinion. Of course they call him a big city boy and said he clearly lived off of his daddy’s money. Which was only kind of wrong. But, they way they said it made his a trail of heat crawl down his spine.

After some time had passed, he knew that Tim and the other members of the family were suspicious about him coming to the manor so much. He never tried to hide his reasons There was no point in hiding behind weak excuses. He respected the Bats too much to even think he could fool them. Plus, lying to the Bats was a good way to get stabbed with a kryptonite knife. Even though they had made it pretty clear that they disapproved of him coming around so often, He was still going to keep visiting. Could they really blame him? It wasn’t his fault he was enamored so easily.

He kept his distance just a bit. Like he was silently (commanded) requested. He could tell he made the newest addition to the family a bit uncomfortable. And, he understood. The clone thing was kinda freaky after all.

Well, at first he had assumed it was because he was a clone. That would make any normal person feel a bit weird. But, then he heard them keep call him that nickname. City boy. The way it rolled off their tongue and how often it was said was clearly a sign. They weren’t bothered by the clone thing. They just didn’t like his personality. He could fix that. That wasn’t that hard. He was adaptable.

So when he approached them again, for the million time, he tried to play up the cool and collected act. Going as far as to emulate the Batman. Which, surprising made the ice break. When they laughed at him.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

"No, seriously why are you acting like that?" You're still giggling at how hard he was trying to play up the serious act. Cause that's all it was. You don't doubt he could genuinely be serious for a moment, but this wasn't one of those moments.

"I'm just letting you see a different side of me, is all." Conner replies, trying to keep it up even though he had been quickly caught.

"You mean the imaginary side, city boy? I didn't realize you liked to play pretend." Another teasing snort. God, how you needed that laugh.

"I'm not pretending."

"Yeah, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yeah."

"No."

"Yes, you are. Don't be lyin' to me now. Or, Imma start gettin' upset."

"Okay, okay... How could you tell?" He conceded after a moment. The way he scratched the back of his head suited him much more than that little Oscar performance he was putting on a few seconds prior.

"I'm observant." Comes the mock arrogant reply. It was hard to give him a cold shoulder when he just made you laugh so genuinely in the last few weeks.

"Oh, look who's playing pretend now." The snark on his tongue doesn't have any heat, but it does bring you some relief. A bit of much needed normalcy.

Maybe it's the fact that the loneliness has slowly crawled into your chest and burrowed it's self deep in that hollow part of you, but it's easy to let your guard down around him for once. You had noticed his efforts to get to know you before, and maybe you let those preconceived notions cloud your little head. But, there was no need for them anymore. The twinge of glee he sparked was enough to burn them away and make you pause before you would rebuild those walls of yours.

"Are you saying I'm not observant?"

"Yep."

"The audacity!" The outrage nothing more than a sham. A simple way to fill the air between them. Cause even if the talk was small, just the hint of it filled something in you. That didn't make your curiosity fade, however. "But, seriously, why are you impersonating Bruce? And in his own house, no less."

The brief silence that washes over you both has you already regretting this. Had it really so long since you've had a proper conversation that you were this out of practice?

When he finally speaks again, it is gives you relief and more regret.

"I just wanted to finally get your attention."

Well, doesn't that make you finally fit in with the rest of your family?

Your tongue brushes over your teeth in an attempt to get the lead coating that made your words weigh heavy in your mouth off of it.

"I'm sorry, Conner. I- I've been smallminded haven’t I?"

"No, I get it. The whole clone thing is freaky." He starts, a light flush on his cheeks. He wasn't expecting an apology, and especially one so soon and so heartfelt.

"Oh, yeah, that... Really it didn't have anything to do with it. I kinda just thought you were a typical concrete jungle flirt. Momma warned me about men like you." You try to hide your sheepishness by adding humor to your voice, praying he catches your sincerity under all the different layers.

He catches something, judging by the beaming smile Conner gives you.

"Really? I had hoped it wasn't, ya know, that."

"Nah, nah. It wasn't. Still, I am sorry." You assume silence is about to befall the pair of you again, but he doesn't let it happen.

"My family owns a farm out in Kansas, you know?" The cheeky grin on his face screams that he's going to be getting his revenge in the form of mild bullying.

"No!" The resounding smack of your palm hitting your forehead nearly echoes in the halls. "I feel even worse now."

"So much for being observant, little detective."

"I never claimed to be no detective. But, I might be more... oblivious then I initially implied..."

Now, it's Conner's turn to guffaw at you.

"The audacity."

"Don't you throw my words back at my. I can't handle it." You can't help by click your tongue. There's hardly any annoyance from your words. "I really misjudged you."

"It's fine! I figured you might still be adjusting to Gotham and the whole Wayne lifestyle. Tim mentioned you're from a pretty small town when I started bugging him about you." He's clearly playing up the charm, but you let it work on you.

"More like I'm still suffering from culture shock." Slowly, you can feel this conversation starting to shift to something deeper than surface level. Things that haven't been allowed into the open air start to ripple underneath.

And, he takes that chance to draw it out.

"Still?" Empathy mixing into his tone. Those icy blue eyes looking incredibly warm. You'd never really taken the time to look at him. Sure, you knew he was attractive. Hell, everyone that seemed to show up at the manor was attractive. But, now you were finally looking at him. Too focused were you in taking in his appearance for the first time, that you completely missed the way those eyes shined with opportunity and desperate want.

"Yeah, still. It's... different."

"Different as in the food's a little weird or different as in the people are a little weird?"

"It's all a little weird, and it's... kinda... lonely?" You can't help the wince. You really don't wanna trauma dump on someone who you had initially misjudged. He didn't deserve that.

But, as he moves closer you can't help it. That desolate part of you longing for comfort when you haven't had it in such a long time and the way he's giving you all this undivided attention when you can barely catch Alfred in the halls these days fills that acute craving in your gut.

"Lonely?" God, the concern in his voice doesn't make you want to cry, but it does make you want to choke

"I... I think it's not here that's different. I think it's me that's too different." The way he sucks a breath in after the words leave your mouth makes you want to backtrack immediately. "I'm so sorry. God damn, am I mess right now."

"No. No. No. You are fine." The reassuring words oddly sound more like a purr, but they capture your attention all the same. "I get it. I really really do."

Why does he have to give you such a disarming smile. He's practically beaming at you now. There's a festering tension blooming around them like spores.

"You are really not helping me fell less like a jerk to you now." The click of your tongue attempting to defuse the budding blooms.

"Hey, if you're feeling guilt... you could, maybe... let me take you out for dinner sometime? Just to make it up to me."

After a stunned moment of thought, you finally find the words to reply.

" Honestly, I'd-"

"CONNER!" Tim's sudden interruption sends the words crawling back down your throat.

"Tim." He calls back in a cool greeting, but he strangely doesn't step back from you. Which is nice. You haven't had anyone close to you other than Dick and a few of your remaining friends at Gotham Academy. And Damian, Cassandra, and Duke get a bit huffy, or in Damian's case murdery, when they are within an arms reach of you.

"Sorry, am I interrupting anything? Conner and I had plans for the day." Tim's pleasant voice sends a wave of unease over you. He's not staring at you when he speaks. Just Conner. It's annoying how he's ignoring you despite you being right. In. Front. Of. Him.

But, then he does finally look at you and his dark grey eyes soften ever so slightly. You're not too mad. Clearly he's exhausted, judging by the bruises under his eyes. There's still a slight reflection in them as he's gaze meets yours, despite how dry the appear. Probably from looking at a computer too much.

"You really shouldn't bother with this guy. He's not worth it." The words are clearly meant to be joking. Casual banter between two close friends. But, you can't help thinking they come off a bit strong.

Conner seems to bristle at them, but he does brush them off.

"That's right, we are hanging out today. Can you blame me for getting distracted, though?" That cocky smirk of his is back, and he actually touches your shoulder. It makes you feels warm, but like a prize at the same time.

All Tim seems to do in response is twitch, but giving nothing away. His grey eyes going steely as they drift to Conner's hand.

When the moment finally passes, Conner lets his hand fall. You can feel it grazing down your back as he pulls away. Slow, like he's trying to strike a match and light something inside you.

"I'll see you later, sweetheart. Just think about my offer and get back to me on it!" Conner calls out as Tim storms behind him. Both heading in the direction of the library.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

As soon as their in the Batcave, Conner can tell he probably pushed it too far. Not that he has any regrets. He finally got somewhere and confirmed all of his previous theories about Reader. They were so adorable apologizing to him, and so deliciously sweet about it too.

He should've realized Tim was watching them, though. Dude was a creep. He maybe his best friend, but he's still a damn creep.

As expected, the rest of the family is also giving him the patented Bat-glare when he sees them. But, as he stated, he has no regrets. He's not stupid enough to stick around, though. He saw Jason loading a suspicious looking green bullet into the chamber of his gun. And, while he knows Tim wouldn't kill him, he's not so sure about the rest of them.

He's confirmed what he's wanted, what he's already suspected. They're absolutely perfect for him and ripe and raw.

#yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #platonic batfam #yandere dc #smalltown!reader #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere superfam #yandere superboy #yandere conner kent #conner kent #conner kent x reader #yandere conner kent x reader #superfam

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overdressedcarp · 5 months ago

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I've been thinking for a while about the optional Magatama dialogue in The Cosmic Turnabout where you can prompt Fulbright about what's bothering him, and for both of the wrong answers, he acts like you got it right, and actively leans into the bit. For example, if you suggest that he's exhausted by life, he agrees and claims he's thinking about quitting his job and going to space. (Honestly, mood.)

(AA 5-4 and 5-5 spoilers below the cut)

It's a good line on its own: funny, and definitely relatable. With 5-5's context, though, it brushes up against a deep-seated desire to disappear, to run away and start over, something the Phantom hasn't been at liberty to do in years. He's shackled to a seven-year-old assignment, strangled by loose ends that he can't tie off. For maybe the first time in his life, he has to wake up every day and live with the effects of his actions, made blisteringly real in the form of the people he hurt.

(Do I think he's walking around harboring deep, profound remorse for UR-1? Not really, no. But the self-protective lie of "my choices don't matter because I'm not really a person" only goes so far when you're clocking into work every day to hang out with the guy who's on death row because of you, who's grieving because of you, and suddenly you're the only person he trusts to hear about the monster that ruined his life, and you planned for this but you didn't plan for this and honestly at that point I'd want to quit my job and throw myself into the vast expanse of space, too.)

Also worth noting, during this entire scene, any time Fulbright goes to answer a question or make an assertion about himself, the tinted glasses go up like a shield. Eyes hidden, hand obscuring the lower half of his face. It's something he does pretty regularly throughout the game, but it's egregious here. My man is on the defensive and he's giving absolutely zero ground.

But the big thing for me is the other "wrong" option, where if you claim that Fulbright is troubled by love, the Phantom's knee-jerk "yes, and," response is to tell a story about a carp named Love who ate a bunch of goldfish because he put them all in the same tank.

In the moment it's supposed to be absurd and comical and one more example of how hapless this guy is, but in retrospect, it's kind of telling that when the Phantom tries to conceptualize love in relation to himself, the first piece of Fulbright-flavored bullshit that comes to mind is about a creature that brings pain and death through mere proximity, not out of malice, but out of nature. As though, subconsciously, he's fixated on the notion of a foreign element that's been dropped into an otherwise peaceful space. A fish that seems like it belongs there until it devours the others.

He really could have said anything—he could have made up a story about a bad breakup, or a really sad movie, or a family member who died. He could have jumped to talking about Blackquill, and how he's concerned for his emotional state given the nature of the current case. But instead, his mind instinctively gravitates to a Love that consumes everything around it: a Love defined by its capacity for violence. There was never a world where the carp could exist alongside the goldfish without hurting them.

And idk. I feel like if he wasn't feeling some kind of way about that, then it wouldn't be bleeding into his Olympic-level improv gymnastics routine to convince Phoenix that he doesn't have any secrets and you can put the supernatural lie detector away now, thanks.

#ace attorney #aa5 #aa5 spoilers #dual destinies #bobby fulbright #aa phantom #character analysis #meta #remember when i said i had more serious thoughts about this guy? at last i am here to deliver #look. if capcom didn't want me to psychoanalyze all of the phantom's sillygoofy fulbrightisms #then they shouldn't have made him the main antagonist of lawyer game: analytical psychology edition #the whole point of his breakdown in 5-5 is that he's a person and it terrifies him!!! and you expect me not to think about that????#anyway this post brought to you by the generous peer review of homicidal-lingonberry #who got to listen to me ramble about this in dms first

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hold-me-lovely · 3 months ago

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how they coax you back to bed pt. 2

featuring: nanami kento & fushiguro toji

warnings: none?, sfw, fluff, probably ooc

jjk x g/n reader

a/n: heyyyy back a year later haha. very dialogue-heavy, my bad. I’m not caught up on jjk so these are probably ooc but I got carried away </3. I like when people are goofy in love, sue me.

part 1

Nanami Kento

being with kento had slowly turned you into a morning person out of pure necessity. too many times you had been burned waking up to see his side of the bed made and the man in question gone. now, you made it a habit to at least wake up in time to send him off.

sunlight was barely visible outside when you began waking up, your eyes adjusting to the dimness of the room. kento always managed to wake up before you and today was no different. his hand was resting on your cheek, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. he smiled softly at you, his voice a low whisper, "good morning, my love."

you hummed, still groggy, "good morning, kento."

he laughed breathily at your tone, still looking at you lovingly. your eyes widened as you looked around, finally settling back on his face with a grin, “you’re still in bed.”

he chuckled, “I am. it’s the weekend, sweetheart, did you forget?”

he couldn’t contain his smile as your face lit up, wrapping your arms around him as if they were the only thing stopping him from leaving. you were then hit with an idea.

you groaned, pulling back slightly with a pout, “I just remembered I said I’d work overtime this weekend. I’m sorry, honey.”

his smile faltered, hand moving down to your waist, but you were already starting to move. he propped himself up on his elbows as you sat up, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice, “ah really? did something happen with that project?”

you yawned and stretched your arms, finally turning back to him with an apologetic smile, “yes, there was a setback earlier so I said I’d come in.”

you leaned down to give him a peck and began shifting off the bed. his hand gently grabbed your arm, rubbing it with his thumb. “do you,” he asked softly, a little embarrassed, “do you have to get ready right now?”

you feigned confusion, forcing him to clear his throat and sheepishly continue, “could you stay in bed for a bit longer? I was looking forward to sleeping in with you.”

your heart surged as you tried not to squeal and throw yourself back into bed, the faint flush on his cheeks tugging at your heart strings. you teased, “how the tables turn, hm? usually, you’re the one abandoning me in bed.”

he simpered, his thumb still rubbing shapes into your arm as he murmured, “perhaps this is my karma.”

his eyes flickered back up to you, voice laced with teasing, “you’re kinder than I am though.”

you looked at each other, struggling to suppress your smiles. you could barely hold on to this facade anymore, finally letting him pull you back down. you giggled at the hint of triumph in his face that he tried to hide from you.

you shifted to hold his face in your hands, “love?”

he made a sound of acknowledgment, smiling into your palms.

“I don’t have overtime today.”

he shot you an incredulous look before laughter took over, his arms engulfing you.

Fushiguro Toji

you and toji’s sleep schedules almost never aligned, something you had both struggled to adjust to after moving in together. you’d be asleep as he trudged into the bedroom, his lips curving up at your figure under the blanket, hand clutching his pillow next to your head. he’d quickly shower (lest you wake him up with a look, pointing at his dirty clothes in your clean bed) and fall into bed next to you.

you’d be long gone to work by the time he woke up, your goodbye taking form in a lipstick stain you left on his cheek every morning.

usually he could sleep through your alarm, but this morning you weren’t so lucky. he groaned and wrapped his arms around your middle, pulling you back into bed. you squirmed as you tried to pry his fingers apart, voice low with warning, “toji…”

he buried his face in your hair, grumbling, “a little longer, sweets.”

you huffed, pushing at his arms. no matter how hard you struggled, he barely flinched, only chuckling lowly. he finally decided he had enough, guiding you closer to flop on top of you. his head laid on your chest, eyes still closed as he smirked.

you yelped at the movement before wheezing at the sudden weight on you. he could only laugh at how out of breath you sounded, your fists pounding on his back doing nothing to stop him. you whined, “toji, I’m being serious. I have to get ready for work!”

his grin only widened, “ah that’s nice, baby. feels like a back massage.”

it took everything in him to resist looking up at you and continue trying to fall asleep. even the thought of your pout made him grin, much to your disdain.

“so you think me getting fired is funny?!” you exclaimed dramatically, your head finally falling back onto the pillow in defeat.

he hummed, giving you no real response. after a few moments of silence, he finally spoke up, “I can hear you pouting. just five more minutes.”

the teasing in his voice did not go unnoticed by you. despite your annoyance, you still reluctantly threaded your fingers in his hair. you murmured, “five, that’s it.”

he turned his head and kissed the valley between your chest, an uncontrollable sigh leaving his mouth as he relaxed into your body. he tried not to sound smug as he spoke, “thank you, baby.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the soft smile that took over as his eyes fluttered close. maybe you could call out today.

thank you for reading <3

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tkomptgoedluv · 4 months ago

Text

tear you apart.

pt.1 | pt. 2 here

grumpycafeworkervampire! joost x f! reader

tags: dead dove do not eat, f! reader, internetcafe & vampire au, very much the ‘he hates everyone but her’ trope, even more so the ‘who did this to you?’ trope, reader’s boyfriend is an asshole and deserves everything he gets, joostie has a crush and it’s bad, hurt angst and comfort all in one, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 5,039.

warnings: descriptions of an un-specific mental illness, light stalking, cheating, descriptions of self harm, mentions of & scenes of DV, violence, gore, rpf.

notes: hello!! thank you guys so much for waiting on this even though it’s been over a month since we all lost our minds a little over vampire joost. i’m very proud of this one, even if the ending is kind of rushed, and i may or may not have already planned out parts 2 & 3 as well so please lemme know if you want a series out of this! (if you don’t say yes then juno might kill you btw). this fic also comes with a MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING so please read at your own risk and stay safe!

love you all lots — enjoy!! 💋

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

the whole point of joost setting up his little internet cafe was that he needed something simple, for a while. something quiet, something normal. he needed to get away from his life with the band, and away from all of the blood and guts that came right along with it. for once, he wanted to be invisible.

that’s what the cafe was supposed to do for him; become an escape, of sorts. he wanted to spend all day, everyday, sat behind that desk of his, with his earphones in his ears and a magazine in his hands. if someone needed help with one of the computers or something, then he’d do so, but only with a roll of his eyes and a scowl on his face. anything more than that and he’d flip them off, flash his fangs at them maybe, and laugh as they’d run out the door, screaming.

he didn’t want to talk to these people, his customers — a lot of them he actually couldn’t stand. they were messy and far too loud for his liking, always leaving their rubbish on the floor and shouting at each other. but at the very least they were simple, so he could handle teaching them how to find youtube and cleaning up after them if it meant that they’d all leave him alone. besides, he still had his ways of disposing of the ones that just wouldn’t behave themselves.

and then you had to come along, didn’t you?

you, with your big sad eyes and your soft, soft smile that was such a rarity to see. this plan of his, you were ruining it and you didn’t even know it.

joost could never admit it to himself, but he was a little infatuated with you. all you ever did was just sit in the corner, as far away from everyone else as you could possibly get, and stare at the computer screen until your eyes would grow too heavy. it made you such a stark contrast to the rest of them that joost couldn’t help but feel something towards you, even if he wouldn’t show it.

he found himself quickly learning your routine, making a note of how you only ever came in at night, no earlier than nine o’clock, and always left before the early hours of the morning. he had no choice but to notice how you always had the same heartbroken look on your face, with red-rimmed eyes and a frown pulling down at your lips. and he could never ignore how you only ever seemed to wear clothes that were at least a few sizes too big for you, always drowning in the fabric of old hoodies and sweatpants.

all of these little things that he couldn’t stop himself from knowing about you…well it was all a little bit weird, wasn’t it? because joost, he was yet to speak to you, to even acknowledge you, really. only when your back was turned would he ever dare to glance in your direction, and even then it was quick, only ever from the corner of his eye.

whatever this was, this thing joost had for you, it was starting to blur the lines between a normal, human crush and borderline stalking. that was why no matter what, it could never be anything more than just a few glances here and there. no matter what, he had to stay away.

joost wanted simple, and you just weren’t that.

but like all of his other plans, you had to go and ruin that one too, because then you started to smell.

not of anything bad, of course, just of blood. and to joost, everyone smelt like blood to some extent; it was one of the many consequences of his particular…lifestyle. he should’ve been used to it by then. the sweet, sweet smell of you shouldn’t have almost knocked him off of his chair when you walked in that day.

at first he just assumed it was nature taking its course; you were a girl after all, and it explained the constant grimace on your face. but after a week, the smell hadn’t gone away — now four months later, it was still there. if anything, it was only getting stronger.

like tonight, there you were, sat in your usual spot right by the window, and joost could smell it. he could barely concentrate on reading his magazine the way it was making his head spin and his heart race. for a human, a scent like that wasn’t normal; despite his better judgment, joost found himself worrying about you.

even more so when you started to cry at your desk.

your head was down and your hands were hiding your face, muffling the sound. no one else around you could hear it, they were too engrossed in playing their silly little video games to really notice. but joost wasn’t like them, was he? he could hear it. he could hear it over the sound of a ‘SUM 41’ song playing on full blast in his ears, in fact.

it made him freeze in his seat, his hands grip the pages of his ‘SPICE’ magazine a little too tightly. then he looked over at you only because he knew that you wouldn’t see it, and caught a glimpse of your shoulders shaking slightly. the sight alone made his eyebrows crease and his knuckles turn white, but it was your small gasp of breath that made him growl.

everyone’s head turned at the sound as the click-clacking of the keyboards ceased, and suddenly joost had sixteen pairs of eyes all staring at him. the only one that hadn’t looked up was you, who merely flinched at the sudden noise as you finally lowered your hands, only to wipe your nose and go back to staring at your computer screen.

in slow movements, joost slammed his magazine down and kicked his feet up off of his desk, muttering a low ‘we’re closing, everyone get out.’ with a cigarette still hanging from his lips. when nobody moved he rose from his chair and stubbed out his cig into his garfield-shaped ashtray, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.

that was all it took to get everyone up, shoving their shit into their pockets, and heading out the door. you went to stand as well, having already pulled your hood well up over your head in preparation for the hard-falling rain outside. but you stopped when you heard the guy at the reception desk clear his throat not just once but twice, his attention only on you as everybody else made their exits.

“not you, grey hoodie. you stay.”

joost could hear a ringing in his ears from how silent the room became once the last person had left, the cafe door swinging shut behind them, it’s sign now reading ‘closed: come again soon!’

there was a certain…hesitation behind the way that he moved closer to you. behind the way that he grabbed a new cigarette from his pack, letting it dangle between his lips as he pulled up a chair next to you. the absolute last thing that he wanted was to wind up scaring you, somehow, even if the look on your face told him that you already were.

joost could see you shaking, could see all of the tears welling up in your eyes no matter how many times you tried to blink them away. he could hear your heart hammering away inside your chest, the rush of warm blood inside your veins. for once, maybe for even the first time, joost was starting to regret having the reputation that he did.

“i know i’m not exactly known for my ‘outstanding customer service’, but i just want to make sure that you’re okay.” he paused only to take a drag of his cigarette, the ash falling down and dirtying the denim of his jeans. “are you okay?”

no, you really weren’t.

without a word you turned away to press the ‘on’ button of your computer screen, its cold, blue light casting a dark shadow across your face. it showed him exactly what you had been looking at before you’d tried to leave, having forgotten to properly log out first. whilst the receptionist leaned forward and squinted at the screen, you let your head hang low to hide the fresh tears that burned along your waterline.

you’d been scrolling through facebook rather aimlessly when you came across the picture. at first, you thought that it was just an old one someone had reshared simply for nostalgia sake; one of those ‘on this day five years ago’ type things. then you had seen that it had only been posted an hour ago, so you tried convincing yourself that it wasn’t actually him in the photo — even though he’d been tagged in the fucking thing.

whether you could accept it or not, it was very much him. it was him sucking on the neck of your best friend, at a party he insisted that you couldn’t go to.

“what exactly am i looking at here?”

but to joost, it was just a picture of what he guessed was a house party. the girls were half dressed, the guys were clutching onto their beer cans, and nobody in sight looked sober. not exactly something worth crying over, he thought.

“that’s uh, that’s my boyfriend right there…and that’s my best friend next to him.”

he didn’t say anything for a minute; he didn’t really know what to say. joost just kept glancing back and forth between you and the computer screen, with his lips ever so slightly parted and the cigarette between his fingertips long forgotten about. he understood it now, and couldn’t blame you for any of the tears running down your cheeks anymore.

“for what it’s worth, i’m sorry. dude’s a fucking scumbag for doing that to you.”

you merely chuckled, the laugh coming out all dry and hoarse. “you have no idea.”

it was a small comment, maybe just your own way of saying ‘yeah, i know’, but something about your choice of words made joost frown. he didn’t like the gut feeling it gave him, nor did he like the way he saw you flinch again, this time at the way he raised his hand, though only to toss his now burnt-out cigarette into the bin.

it was making him think, making him realise that, that definitely wasn’t the first time you’d reacted to something so minuscule like that. how even the slightest of movements normally had you ducking your head and cowering, with your shoulders all bunched up by your ears. and it was making him wonder if there was maybe another reason behind the clothes that you wore, besides how you just ran a little colder than the average person.

the crease in joost’s eyebrows deepened as he swivelled his seat more to face you rather than the computer, and rested a careful hand on your knee. as you looked up, he swapped his frown for a smile that you just about managed to mirror.

“i’m here if you wanna talk about anything, okay? i’m joost.”

when you told him your name back, he acted as though he hadn’t know what it was already.

the sudden ringing of your phone cut through the soft silence like a jagged knife, the sound of your shitty, pirated ‘AFI’ ringtone bringing a genuine smile to joost’s face as he got up to walk away. it was merely a formality at this point, stepping away to give someone a bit of ‘privacy’ whilst they took a phone call. joost could be all the way across the street and he’d still hear it, whether he was trying to or not.

although admittedly, this was one he was purposefully trying to eavesdrop on. he caught a glimpse of the caller ID — saw the bright red love heart next to the name ‘levi’. since it matched the name tagged in the photos, it was a safe assumption to presume it was the boyfriend calling.

he hoped to hear the guy grovel, begging on his knees for your forgiveness or at the very least offering you some kind of explanation. anything to prove this gut feeling of his wrong. but even the shouting from the other end of the line made joost wince, his palms starting to sweat as he began tidying up the other desks.

it started out as just pure name calling, accusing you of facebook-stalking his friends and not trusting him, that you were ‘fucking crazy’ and a ‘stupid little bitch’. then it became about how he’d already made it clear that you weren’t to go to the cafe tonight, not under any circumstances, and he could see online that you were.

joost really did try to busy himself, tried to grit his teeth and bear with what he was hearing this asshole scream at you. he wasn’t supposed to have been listening, anyway. he was supposed to have been staying away, like he was always meant to.

but he just couldn’t take it though, could he? he couldn’t handle hearing this boyfriend of yours threaten to beat you black and blue, and not for the first time this week. he had to storm across the room and snatch the phone right out of your hands, flipping it shut to disconnect the call. honestly, he probably would’ve smashed the fucking thing had you not taken it back from him and slipped it into your trouser pocket.

“tell me he didn’t mean that.”

you weren’t given a chance to scold him for his eavesdropping, even though you weren’t entirely sure how he was able to hear your conversation in the first place. joost was already staring you down, his arms crossed and chest heaving as he towered over you. you could almost feel the anger he radiated; see the darkening of his eyes and flare of his nostrils.

it was no wonder that you couldn’t look at him; you didn’t have the guts to.

“tell me he doesn’t fucking hit you.”

you couldn’t.

you couldn’t lie to him like that. you weren’t quite sure why, you were lying to everybody else in your life about it. he wasn’t the first to ask you that kind of question, and he wouldn’t be the last, either. but you just didn’t have it in you to try and feed him the same old bullshit that you always fed anyone else that asks you about it. chances were, he wouldn’t have believed it anyway.

so instead, you showed him. still with your eyes focused on the wall behind him, you peeled off that god-awful hoodie and let it fall to the floor, leaving you to shiver in a thin, white t-shirt. it exposed each and every single one of the bruises that levi had given you, both old and new, as well as those half-a-dozen little cuts that you’d given yourself.

you felt joost’s fingertips trail along every single one of the marks, gently brushing along the skin of your arms and only stopping once he reached your wrists. he hesitated then, though only because he didn’t want to hurt you anymore than you already had yourself. it was with such a delicate hold that he took your arms in his hands, turning them over in the light just so that he could see it all a little easier.

“this wasn’t him, was it?”

you already knew what he was referring to and so you shook your head, still too scared to meet his eyes. if you had, you would’ve seen his own tears welling up in his.

this was what he had been smelling. all those spots of blood pooling underneath your skin, slowly turning into bruises. the thin, red lines that ran up and down each one of your arms; some old and scabbed over, some not. all of it, every single mark, was why he could always smell so much blood on you.

joost didn’t even know he still knew how to cry, it had been so long. he hadn’t shed a tear in years; at least not since his…change. and you were the reason that streak was broken now, because he soon found himself dropping your arms to wipe the wet from his face, further smudging the dark eyeliner around his eyes.

“fuck, okay, we’re gonna…there’s a pull-out bed in the back, we’re gonna make you a bed for the night — for as long as you need. you’re not going back there.”

he was pacing around as he rambled, wiping the snot from his nose as he did so. by the time you’d pulled your hoodie back on he had a whole plan laid out for you, the kind that had you moving into the cafe, sleeping in the staff room, never to see your boyfriend again.

it was getting harder and harder to believe that this was the same guy that you’d heard so many horror stories about. all the gossip, the whispers, the rumours, they all painted joost out to be some kind of monster. yet here he was in tears over you, doing laps of the room with his hands pulling at his hair in a panic, all because he knew your secret now. knew that you’d been dealing with enough monsters of your own to know that he wasn’t one.

“why do you care, joost?” your voice betrayed you as you spoke because with each word it waivered, coming out all cracked and broken until you could barely say anything at all. “you don’t know me.”

“i do! i mean, i know enough to know that a guy like that is gonna fucking kill you one day and that can’t happen, okay? it can’t. do you understand that?”

in a moment of weakness he made his way back over to you and placed his hands on either side of your face, gently tilting your head up so you had no choice but to look at him. under the warm, yellow lights of the cafe you could see every ounce of fear in his eyes, feel the shake in his hands as he tucked loose strands of hair behind your ears.

“i’m sorry. i know that this is a lot and you don’t really know me like that but i need you to trust me, lieverd. i’m gonna keep you safe, i promise.”

just like that, every single one of those little promises that he’d made himself about staying away from you, gone.

you found yourself nodding before you’d really even given a thought to what it was you were actually agreeing to. just as long as joost kept looking at you like that, you’d probably agree to anything.

“okay, okay, that’s good. just…stay here, alright? i’ll be right back.”

you blinked, and you were alone.

the staff room door was open ajar now, with a dimmer, yellow light spilling out. there was a lot of faint rustling around; a few little bangs and crashes followed by some muffled swearing. besides that and the rain hitting against the cafe windows, it was silent — almost eerily so.

it gave you the space to actually try to understand what it was that was happening. joost was back there setting up that bed for you, turning the cafe's staff room into a makeshift bedroom, just as he promised. you wouldn’t be going home tonight, not tomorrow, maybe not ever. as for levi? it was hard to wrap your head around the fact that you weren’t ever going to see him again.

you took a seat back at your desk, closing each one of your tabs and logging out of whatever websites that you needed to. myspace, youtube, facebook; you had to stop and stare when that fucking picture popped up again.

calling her your best friend was a stretch, she was always more his friend than she ever was yours, but still, it stung. besides joost now, she was the only one who knew your secret, who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and seen him hit you so hard it knocked you clean off your feet. she still convinced you to stay, giving you the exact same excuses for it that levi did.

he was always stressed and going through something that you just wouldn’t understand, and you were always the one making him feel worse, so it really couldn’t be his fault then, could it?

you were just about to close that very last tab, the cursor hovering over the big red ‘x’ in the top right-hand corner, when the front door swung back open. the sudden ding of the electronic doorbell made you jump, as did the bang of the door slamming against the wall. you heard his voice before you saw him standing there on the worn-out welcome mat, soaking wet and seething.

“i fucking knew you were here.”

levi.

even from where you were sitting you could smell the alcohol on him, see the glazed-over look in his bloodshot eyes. peaking out from the collar of his jacket were small, dark hickies dotted all across his neck and there was a faint smudge of pink smeared across his bottom lip. he hadn’t even had the decency to clean himself up, to wipe the last speck of her literal fucking lipstick from off of his face.

“you little fucking bitch, what did i say to you, huh? i told you to stay home. why is it that you can’t ever fucking listen?”

“i’m not doing this with you, levi.”

he laughed at what you said, more so chuckled, darkly underneath his breath. he always found it funny when you tried to talk back to him, refusing to do whatever it was he demanded or throwing any of his endless insults right back at him. it didn’t happen often because when it did, you’d pay for it.

“oh yeah? you’re not gonna ‘do’ this with me? who the fuck do you think you are to say that to me?” when you didn’t say anything else and turned away from him, deciding to instead face the now black screen of your computer, he continued. “cmon, get the fuck up, we’re going home.”

you didn’t move. you focused on your breathing, focused on the feeling of the grey cotton between your fingers as you played with the fraying threads of your hoodie’s sleeves.

“i’m not talking to myself here. i said get up!”

levi’s voice bellowed from all the way across the room and you could’ve sworn that it made the keyboards shake. still, you stayed exactly where you were, making it clear to him that you weren’t going to be going anywhere tonight — especially not home, especially not with him.

being ignored like that was almost worse than anything you could’ve possibly said back to him. you've never done that before, never tried to disobey him quite so outrightly. you had always been one to break as soon as he’d raise his voice, a shadow of a smirk curling the corners of his lips as he’d dare you to say whatever it was again.

only this time, you weren’t saying anything at all, and he really didn’t like that.

his strides over to you were so quick that you didn’t have any time at all to react before you were being yanked out of your seat and dragged back over to the door. you were tripping over all of the other chairs as you tried to pull your arm free, begging for him to stop and to let you go whilst he dug his nails deeper into the flesh of your forearm.

it hadn’t even occurred to you that the background noise of joost moving furniture around couldn’t be heard anymore, that the staff room door was no longer closed ajar and instead now wide open. it hadn’t even occurred to you, not until levi was being teared away from you, leaving behind a small rip in your hoodie and faint claw marks in your skin.

from where you were standing now, you couldn’t see much anymore. tall, broad shoulders became the barrier that separated you from levi, keeping you hidden away from him. you weren’t sure how long joost had been back there listening, how he was able to intervene so quickly or how he had the strength to toss your boyfriend almost to the other side of the room. you were just grateful for it, for him, and tightly clutched onto one of his arms so that he couldn’t disappear on you again.

“woah, what the fuck is this? who the fuck are you?”

levi had knocked into a couple of desks as he stumbled but eventually found his footing, his leather jacket hanging off of his shoulders from where joost had yanked at it. he shrugged it back on, eyes glued onto and glaring at the man you were cowering behind. neither of you expected him to start laughing like how he did, a deep, bitter chuckle that somehow made the air around you feel colder.

“so this is what she’s been doing here all this time, huh? been fucking around with some freak behind my back?”

“get out.”

there was no laughter in joost’s voice, no humour peaking through the cracks of his expression. there was only a silent begging behind his anger, a slight pleading in his words because joost already knew how this would end if levi didn’t turn on his heel and run.

but levi just wasn’t one to listen, was he?

instead he made a beeline for what was now your bedroom, supposedly, with no regard for the ‘staff only’ sign that was stuck to the door. without even taking a full step inside he could see the sofa bed that had been pulled out for you, decorated with scattered cushions and a messed up, old white duvet. it didn’t matter that it actually wasn’t what it looked like, because he’d already made his mind up and seeing that was all the ‘proof’ that he needed.

so levi wasn’t laughing anymore as he slowly turned around, now in a position where you were in his full view. he could see how you had yourself wrapped around joost’s arm, almost hugging it, and was starting to shrink under his gaze. he stared you both down for a moment before he locked eyes with you, his teeth gritted and jaw twitching.

“you fucking whore, you’re so fucking dead -”

he’d charged at you with one hand balled up into a fist and the other stretched out, a single finger pointing right at you. you jumped back and away from joost, your arms up and shielding your head as you turned away and readied yourself to feel it. a hard knee to the stomach, a sharp pull at your hair, something.

you only moved again when you heard a small whimper; an impossibly pathetic sound that you’d never heard before, but one that only levi could have made. you lowered your arms and raised your head, and immediately crashed into the desk behind you, choking on a cry that became lodged in your throat.

joost; sweet, misunderstood joost had his hand plunged inside levi’s chest, his fingers wrapped around and squeezing at his heart. those once soft blue eyes of his were now a deep, glowing shade of red, and as he grinned, you caught a glimpse of two long, sharp fangs. blood stained his lips and dribbled down his chin as he took a chunk out of levi’s neck, swallowing down every last piece of flesh and spitting out the odd little bone.

and he started to moan into it with each large gulp that he took, becoming so lost in the pleasure of it all that for just a moment, he seemed to forget that you were there. it had just been so long since he’d last indulged like this — feeling that warm rush of blood slide down the back of his throat, the heavy pulse of his prey slowly growing weaker and weaker.

joost didn’t stop until whatever was left of levi’s head was in one hand and his still heart was in the other, his body already turning cold at his feet. he easily could have stayed there for a little while longer, gone in for seconds and thirds perhaps, when he finally hears you. he hears you choking on your tears, on the single breath that you were holding.

you hadn’t been able to look away even though you had so desperately wanted to; you could feel the image of levi standing there all helpless, his mouth bobbing up and down as he tried so hard to scream out, burning into your eyes.

“lieverd?…”

his voice was so gentle, sounding almost frightened, and yet you still jumped when joost finally spoke. he was just standing there staring at you, eyes all wide, with blood smeared across his face and splattered across his button-up shirt. even as he stood above the body parts of your boyfriend, joost somehow looked small now, like a dog that had been found chained to a fence for a few too many days.

for every step that he tried to take towards you, you took another five back, carefully inching your way closer and closer towards the front door as you did so. you could see it start to click in his head, the welling up of tears in his eyes as he glanced back and forth between you and the door.

“no no no, please, please don’t do that. i’m sorry, i’m so so sorry. please, i’m not gonna hurt you, please don’t go.”

joost took another step forward and you shrieked, bumping hard into the wall behind you, scraping your elbow against the brick. you hadn’t needed to say anything after that, hadn’t needed to beg for him to let you go because you watched him recoil, his hands held up in surrender.

you took one last look at levi, at what was left of him.

“fuck, i didn’t…i’m so sorry, lieverd.”

and you ran, without ever looking back.

#joost klein x reader #joost klein x f!reader #luvvergirlwrites

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