#at first thought to steal the painting from the game

[siyuri]

"The domestication of all of it made Astarion’s teeth hurt. " Palmarosa by amazing @not-poignant

[sh1-n0bu]

♡︎ 𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙮 𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙! ♡︎

characters: sub!yandere!AFAB!characters x dom!gn!reader

warnings: character uses he/him pronouns but has female genitalia/tcock (words such as pussy, vagina, cunt will be used), character is transmale, reader has you/your pronouns, cock/strap, yandere character, established relationship, protected sex, unprotected sex (don’t do that folks), breeding, creampie, belly bulge, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of death and light torture

notes: you can think of any character you want with this fic, i just had a wild thought during a car ride at my vacation. divider from @/cafekitsune

yandere! husband who has been in love with you since they first met you. what started out as a simple fascination developed into an unhealthy obsession until he finally got the courage to ask you out on an official date

yandere! husband who gets surprised when you accept his ask for a date, sheepishly smiling as you tell him that you found him pretty and had been building up the courage to do the same. who nearly fall into his knees right then and there with sheer nervousness yet also giddiness at your confession, finding the wobbly smile on your face endearing

yandere! husband who gradually built a stable relationship with you over time. there were moments where he thought of just drugging you up and stealing you away to keep you all to himself but he chastised himself for such thoughts when you have been nothing but loyal and honest. he thought of killing those annoying bitches and assholes who tried to hit on you or blatantly flirted with you in front of him, imagining cutting out their tongue and burning their eyes with scolding hot iron only to snap back to the present when your hand wound around his waist, introducing him as your lover excitedly

yandere! husband who got scared when you accidentally walked in while he was changing after a shower, terrified that you will leave him after having seen his top scars and cunt. who could hear his heartbeat in his own ears, rapidly beating like a frightened bird thrown into a cage while he waited your reaction. who try to apologize only to be cut off with your comforting words and accepting hug

yandere! husband who proposed to you first, getting on both of his knees as he presented you the ring in the box. who lets out a sweet laugh when you kneel down in return, showing your own ring that you bought for him

yandere! husband who definitely cried on your wedding, wiping away his tears silently as he turns his back to you, not wanting you to see him in such a weak and vulnerable state. turning back to you with the wet handkerchief still in his hand, who can feel the tears coming back once again as he sees your knowing look and comforting smile

yandere! husband who is happy with your married life. the new adventures of moving into a new house, decorating it to your liking and modifying your rooms being an exciting life for him. he loved the moments where you two put paint of each other’s faces instead of painting the walls, choosing the colors on complete random with an eeny, meeny, mini, mo game, dancing with you bare feet in the kitchen as you both wait for the water to boil for the cup ramen at midnight. he would want to hold your hand in his own, the wedding rings clicking against each other softly as he giggles

yandere! husband who wants to try for a baby after years into the marriage. it was a surprise to him how he managed to wait patiently for so long after your marriage. while he wanted desperately to get himself knocked up at the night of consummation of your marriage, he understood your wishes to wait until the perfect time. finally, he thinks it is the perfect timing, after years of protected sex and daydreams of feeling his cunt get filled, tells you of his plan

yandere! husband who purposefully poked a tiny hole into every condom there is at your home, who huffs a fake annoyed noise whenever the material tears as you try to put it around your strap. he may have a pout on his face and talk about trying it raw on the outside but on the inside he is fucking giddy. he wants to feel your cock constantly pushing into his wet pussy walls so bad and he couldn’t help but curse silently under his breath when you take out a lone condom that was thankfully reserved in the pockets of one of your pants

yandere! husband who suggests on riding you instead of taking it as usual. a sudden change in your usual sex life but you didn’t mind trying new things out. laying on your back, you watch and let out occasional groans and low moans as you see how his sweet pussy swallows you whole, the fat of his ass higgling every time he bounces himself on your strap, asking you to slap and squeeze it. which you do gladly, lightly slapping as the jiggling flesh, making your husband giggle

yandere! husband who gets annoyed as the feeling of the condom around your cock, skillfully bouncing himself until he ‘accidentally’ slips your strap out. he swears it was the amount of lube you used, grabbing your cock with his hand and tapping his dripping pussy with the tip. your husband who makes a show, wiggling his hips as he slides the tip inside and sinking down until he feels full again. not yet, he thinks to himself, knowing that you would get suspicious if he tries his plan too early on

yandere! husband who keeps ‘accidentally’ slipping your strap out of his gushing cunt, whining until his patience finally ends. the next time it slips out, his fingers pinch at the tip of the wet condom, pulling on the material with a pout and a mumbled “it’s in the way..” until it comes off with a lewd pop!

yandere! husband who disregards your frantic words of protection and taking a second for you to put on another one, turning around to face you now as he sinks down onto your strap with one move. the feeling of your own cock, without any annoying latex in the way making him cream around your fat cockhead instantly, a drawn out satisfied whine falling from his lips

yandere! husband who clenches around your strap on purpose every time he moves. his hands guiding yours to touch his chest, the top scars that healed beautifully and to squeeze and fondle his nipples “u-until i sta—anngh ah haagh mmgh♡︎! start to lactate, just like your sweet baby momma uungh♥︎!!” while his pretty pussy squeezes your strap like a vice, unwilling to let go or not even daring to think so. he wanted to feel your cum, hot seeds painting his walls white and making his legs shake

yandere! husband who silences your weak protests for a protection with a messy kiss. noses knocking together, tongue immediately pushing into your mouth and wanting to ‘connect’ with you on a deeper level. he wanted everything you have to offer and seeing the small trail of saliva left behind as you pulled back for a gasping breath made him giggle deliriously

yandere! husband who increases his pace when he hears you struggling to talk, words of cumming together coming out in a jumbled mess as he sits himself fully in your lap. pushing your pelvises together until no gap was between them, throwing his head back with a satisfied mewl when he finally feels it. that warmth he’s been craving so long, filling up his womb, mixing with his love juice as the excessive mixed cum drops down your strap

yandere! husband who gets pushed into his back, legs pushed up and over until his knees were beside his head. put into a mating press with your annoyed face staring down at him just made him clench around you, a drunk giggle of your name falling from his lips. he gladly spreads his weeping pussy open further, with you still inside him, letting you see the mess you two made

yandere! husband who drops his act entirely, wiggling his hips with heart shaped pupils as he asks you to breed him. cum inside him as many times as you want, he wants a baby with you, it’s about time you two take your relationship to the next level. “i’ll be a good baby momma… and you’re already a wonderful lover who would become a wonderful parent. come on [name], breed me full of your seeds♥︎”

yandere! husband who gets fucked thoroughly to his wish. crying out all sorts of filthy words every time your cock sinks back into his cunt. thin drools on his chin, old tear stains constantly being replaced by new ones as his pussy clenches around you for the nth time, forcing you to cum earlier than you usually does. overwhelming amount of your mixed cum wetting the bedsheets, your thighs and his own as well as his butt. not like he cared, he wanted to make sure he gets knocked up, that you get him knocked up as he creams around you again, creating an even thicker halo of white around your strap

yandere! husband who shows his filthier side, holding your head against his chest and asking you to suck on his nipples, who place your hand over his tcock, telling you to “s-stroke! my cock too ahh haagh♡︎ mgh n-not fair that mmuungh uunghk my cock is being left alone♡︎!”

yandere! husband who lets out one last hoarse wail, the wetness of his cunt making you groan as your strap cums inside him for the nth time that night before collapsing on top of him. he had passed out, tired from the continuous pounding he received as he lay there peacefully with flushed red cheeks, tearstains and drools on his chin and cheeks while pretty bruises and lovebites cover his skin. the most notable bruises being the ones on his hips and thighs, making you grimace at the painful wound you saw. but hey, the small bulge in his belly from your excessive cum inside his womb made you happy. it definitely made him happy too

yandere! husband who occasionally regains consciousness during your aftercare for him. who groans and refuses to let you pull out for bath, straddling your lap inside the warm water filled bathtub. he couldn’t help but slur out a “noo… don’t pull out” as you push his pelvic away from yours, feeling the cum inside his pussy to drip down his legs

yandere! husband who now eagerly wait for the signs of pregnancy with a full boxes of pregnancy test at his side of the nightstand, who still poke secret holes into your condoms because when did he said he wanted only one baby with you?

⇨ characters i think fits: jing yuan, dan feng, yingxing, sunday, aventurine, argenti, dan heng il, gepard, sampo, luocha, caelus, luka, jiaoqui, itto, baizhu, ayato, thoma, childe, pantalone, dottore, kaeya, kaveh, lyney, neuvillette, sethos, heizou, venti, rubedo, aalto, xiangli yao, scar, yoriichi, haganezuka, douma, kaigaku, jyugo, uno, kiji, honey, trois, kenshirou yozakura, musashi, houzuki sanzou, ruka gojou, seitarou, tsukumo, mitsuru, sinbad, sharkkan, spartos, koumei, titus, muu alexius, sphintus, rafayel, mammon, asmodeus, mephistopheles, diavolo, belphegor, simeon, solomon, satan + anyone you like

[enhard]

lee heeseung — “bullseye”

pairing: loser roommate!l.hs x fem!reader

cw: smut, loser hee i can’t stress this enough, lowk a pervert and dirty minded, very very down bad but jealous af, lots of masturbating, usage of toys, stealing your underwear, mentions of nudes, he’s a virgin, cute breeding kink for my boy (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

hee is the biggest loser in enhypen. try to change my mind.

@hoseokteardrop you gave me a brain itch (。ˇ ⊖ˇ）♡

not proofread ! (MDNI)

you always knew your college roommate was a loser, he played games all day and night in his dorm, never attended parties or outings. you liked him as a friend though. he’s sweet.

if only you had known that he would think about you all the time, whenever you came back home from a college party with a dress shorter than usual, he couldn’t help but quickly excuse himself to the bathroom just to fist his cock thinking about you.

he can’t stand it. he can’t accept seeing you in clothes so revealing going to parties where other men are there. why would you need attention from other men from campus? isn’t he enough?

he likes you. a bit too much. he’s horrible at flirting though. he has no experience in relationships or intimacy it’s pathetic.

“fuck, i’m cumming” is all that echoes through his room late at night, hoping to not wake you up.

he’s a virgin, hoping that you would be his first, but at the same time he’s terrified that he will do something wrong and you’ll hate him forever.

he would offer to do the laundry, just to look at your underwear, imagining you in it. how the panty straps would hug your hips with your skin glowing so bright.

he would steal some panties from you just to fuck them when he was feeling needy. you haven’t noticed they were missing to this day.

when you weren’t home, he would quickly go to his desk, pressing away at the pc to find his favourite videos. he would close his eyes imagining that those sweet sounds were all yours.

he wishes he would get at least one nude pic from you, but he never got it, obviously. that was one of the things he dreamed of at night, simultaneously something that kept him up at night. he needed your body. he needed you.

he wanted to breed you. he wanted to fuck his cum into you. he wanted to paint your pussy with it instead of a tissue or his abdomen. he wanted to fill you up so good, every time you talked he was fantasising about filling up your pretty mouth with his cum. he couldn’t help it.

you wondered why so many packages came through the door and why he was so strict about you not touching them. you respected his wishes, but now you wished you had opened them.

he would buy so many toys and gadgets for him to try out, he could open up an entire account for posting not-so-innocent videos of him relieving himself with them.

from different pillows, to rubber toys, fleshlights anything you could think of. he had it.

he knew he was dirty but not himself, oh he was clean compared to other college guys. his room was a mess though. but he never ever let you see all of those toys, he kept them nice and locked away.

one day you were at the dorm, feeling it in your room. you just got that urge. you felt needy.

you didn’t have a boyfriend or friends with benefits to call, so you decided to do it solo.

you had some hot but horrible boyfriends in the past, none of which you wanted to think about right now.. so who would be better than your loser gamer roommate?

“i know he’s crazy, but he’s also crazy hot.” you thought. he might be a nerd but he’s also so attractive it’s perfect.

you travel your hand down, rubbing yourself through your panties. it doesn’t take long before you stop to take your panties off and insert your fingers inside. you close your eyes, imagining that your roommate is fucking you right now.

you start moaning out his name, those noises sneaking through the halls. you thought he wasn’t home, but as he was walking across the hall, he could hear your moans.

as he stops by your door, luckily for him it was ajar, he sees you shoving your fingers inside.

he thought he was dreaming, getting so excited over the sight. someone pinch him.

he licked his lips seeing a slight hint of your pussy he wanted to fuck. he wanted to claim it like it was his.

at one point, you stop fingering yourself to take your top off, exposing your tits with a bounce.

he almost moaned on the spot seeing those tits. oh how he wishes he could touch them.

he promised to himself that he’ll suck on them so good it’ll leave you weeping.

he promised that he would fuck you so good it would leave you craving for more and more.

he wanted you to ride him, your tits bouncing up and down with each move. his favourite position.

once you start fingering yourself again and moaning out his name, he leaks precum through his pants, getting a painfully hard dick, oh how he wished for this.

he takes out his cock right out his pants, stroking it and abusing his swollen tip while staring at you.

it felt good. way better than it normally felt. he was doing good at keeping quiet until you let out the hottest moan he’s ever heard, that tipped him off the edge. his moan followed yours and you instantly stopped what you were doing to stare at the door.

with a confused look on your face, but way too horny to scold him, you sighed.

“hee..? come in. please.” you breathe out.

you can see him walking in, with his cock still out. you slightly smile, seeing at how desperate he was for you.

“come here, let me give you what you want.” you say, seeing a cute stupid smile plastered on his face.

he comes up to you just to pull you into a kiss, and to pin you under him. but he clearly didn’t know where to rest his arms so you softly laugh at him. “is this your first time?” you say smiling.

he nods, visibly embarrassed by it. you find him adorable, and the thought that he’s a virgin makes you even more excited. he doesn’t know what he’s doing but you’re there to teach him.

“that’s okay, don’t be embarrassed. i’ll guide you.”

he smiles. he knows he just hit bullseye.

[kagamesayu]

shidou ryusei x bimbo!reader

c/w . implied female reader, implied smut, fluff, shidou ryusei is crazy for you wc: 1 k a/n . shidou ryusei my beloved. literally obsessed with his crazy ass ugh <3 reblogs and comments appreciated ✧*.

pt 1, pt 2

imagine...

shidou who loves every bit of you. your short pink skirt that shows off your panties every time you jump around, your too tight shirts that show off your body and the way you make him feel like the smartest person in the world.

like - no baby, pikachu is not a real animal.

you bounce off each others energies so well, your dynamic is literally popular jock x popular cheerleader. he'd be at games and look for you in the stands, pointing and blowing kisses in your direction. and you'd return them in fervor, shaking your 'ryu-baby you can do it!!!' sign that was decorated with pink glitter and cut-out hearts.

he once flashed his tits to you while sticking his tongue out. you'd almost returned the favour but your friend stopped you. truly lucky for everyone, cause if you had done that ryusei would , firstly, destroy every camera in that stadium and then give everyone concussions because nobody but him could look at your bahonkers.

shidou who adores how your hands look in his. your acrylic nails that leave a delicious sting whenever they touch him beautifully contrast his own dull short nails that you manicured yourself.

"babe you need to look after your nails! at the very least let me paint a base coat!" you'd pout at him, fluttering your pretty eyelashes at him while holding his hands close to your chest.

usually when you went out together he'd hold you by the waist, but every time you get new acrylics he'd hold you by your hands. he loves playing with your nails, feeling the new textures you'd gotten.

he'll let you paint his nails too, makes you promise to get your painted the colour of his tip.

shidou who tells everyone about his beautiful partner. at this point, everybody in the world knew you were together, with how obnoxious he was about your relationship. in every interview he's able to bring you up. doesn't matter if no one asked him, he'll talk about you.

and he almost always gives them a little too much info.

"what i think of the other team? think they all suck. saw one of them lookin' at m' doll and i was gonna knock 'im out! i mean - i get it. they're fuckin' hot but they're mine."

"o-ok, well-"

"ya'll know about us right? i'm taken by her," he shows a polaroid picture of you he put on the back of his phone. "and she's mine. she's so cute too, almost sued dog treat companies cause she thought they were made from actual dogs."

"yes, let's move on-"

"and look - she painted my nails. painted them the colour of m' eyes."

"alright that's cute-"

"she painted hers the colour of my tip-"

"ANYWAYS."

shidou who loves doing makeup with you. yes he only has to do eyeliner, but he loves distracting talking to you while you get yourself ready to go out.

he absolutely adores helping you put on lip gloss. he has you seat on his lap, a hand holding your jaw while the other holds the applicator. he definitely steals a few kisses first though. wets your lips he says and you just nod along, too dumb to realise that the lip gloss does that for you.

that doesn't mean he doesn't kiss you after applying the gloss though. after making you smack your lips together he dives in like he's going for a goal, sucking and biting your bottom lip. you'd get so angry cause you'll have to clean your makeup up, but he doesn't care too much. he'll just sit there, pink smeared over his lips as you fret over your appearance.

he also loves when you help him draw on his eyeliner. he'll have his chin pressed on your fantastic titties, one of your hands on the back of his head as the other held the liner.

when this happens his eyes always seem to take in your features. the wrinkle of your eyebrows or the way your mouth is slightly open, he loves looking at you.

shidou who has to be pulled back by you every time he gets into a fight. it could be for any reason. they were looking at him funny, they were looking at you periodt, they were getting too close, anything and everything gets him riled up. especially if it involves you. his special little doll he loves so much.

he's got to protect what is his after all.

you'd hold him from behind both hands on his chest as you try to pull him away. "baby they're not worth your time!"

"those fuckers called ya dumb doll! ain't no fuckin' way i'd let that slide!" only he was allowed to call you that. he's growling, dangerous smirk on his face as the veins on his arms and neck stand up. this, you think, is when he's the most sexy.

the only way to stop him is to direct his anger into a different place.

you step closer, pressing your plush breasts against his back, the hand on his chest sliding up to his neck as the other moved to hold his shoulder.

"mm...but baby it's getting really hot here, and i really really want you." you stand on your tippy toes, pouted lips pressing against his ear as you whisper into his it.

his anger almost fully vanishes, gone with the guys who 'insulted' you. now his anger changes to something else, something more...dangerous.

to you, that is. cause you won't be walking for the next few days.

shidou who after tussles with people, lets you nurse him back to health. loves when you play doctor cause he get's all of your attention to himself.

doesn't matter if it's a bruise or if its his cut up knuckles, you tend to all his injuries with loving care. of course, you don't really know what your'e doing but it's the thought that counts! and he won't stop you when you use cute kuromi plasters on his wounds.

yes they are glittery, and pink and cutesy. yes everyone at training talks about how lovesick he looks when he stares at his fingers. but does he care? no.

[robo-writing]

Toxic ex-boyfriend Simon 🫠🫠

It’s the same routine ever since you broke up with Simon. Call after call, decline after decline, you’ve changed your number twice now and he’s still managed to find you.

He doesn’t take no for an answer, though I suppose you knew this already—The break-up was a pretty big indicator of that, or in his words, your “break.”

“You’re just a bit overwhelmed,” he said to you, not budging a little even with your full weight on him, trying and failing to push him out of your apartment. It’s as if you weren’t even there. “Never had a man treat you like you need to be treated, scared of new sensations?”

That certainly wasn’t the problem, but it was in one ear and out the other with Simon. Honestly, you’re not even sure if it even managed to go in one ear.

“Please, don’t make this difficult,” you begged, giving up on your attempt to push him out. “Just…leave. I don’t want to call the cops.”

At the mention of police he laughs, almost mockingly. It almost scares you.

“Alright then, I’ll entertain your little tantrum for now,” he says, stepping out into the hallway. “But when you’ve finally come to your senses, know that I’ll be waiting for you.”

A pause, and then: “Of course I’ll have to teach you a lesson about being a brat when you do, but you always love my lessons don’t you pet?”

Weeks later his words still ring in your ears.

Weeks later your phone still rings in your hands.

You don’t need to check the caller ID—it’s always an unknown number, but you always know who it is. You let it go to voicemail like usual, but today is a first—a small notification being visible from the corner of your eye.

One voicemail left by: Unknown Caller

Your curiosity peaks, with stubbornness quelling it soon after. It’s a voicemail from your ex, what could he possibly say to you that you haven’t heard a million times before.

Still, it eats away at you. It wasn’t like him to leave a message when he could just call. Hell, knowing him he’s more likely to show up at your door.

It lingers in your mind. You think about it for the rest of the day and it’s now you truly understand the plight of the cat when curiosity seems so enticing.

You relent when you lie awake restless, a losing battle as you find your inbox and hit play.

Your ears are greeted with ambient silence, unsure if maybe Simon left his voicemail open on accident. The moment the thought crosses your mind you hear it, the distinct rumble you know as wholly and purely Simon. There’s a shuffle, then his voice cuts through the empty air.

“Hey there pet. Missed ya.”

You find your eyes rolling as he continues.

“I know, I know, you want to keep me away,” he says breathlessly. “But I’m not sure how long I can keep playing this game.”

There’s a rustling, a deep inhale followed by the sound of something squirting.

“Had to take a minute, forgot I had these,” he says, then takes a moment to laugh. “I’m talking like you can see me, so lemme paint you a nice, clear picture.”

A rather familiar sound of skin against skin has your face growing hotter. You’re in disbelief, willing to deny what you think you’re hearing until Simon confirms it for you.

“Hear that, pet?” He growls. “That’s all me. Could be yours too, if you’d stop being such a fuckin’ brat.”

The sound of his hand is slow, methodical in his purpose. “Nice and wrapped up in those panties I love so much. Pink and satin, the ones you got for valentines—you know the ones.”

A sigh, as if he’s reminiscing. “God, you were a real animal that day. Purred so nicely when I stuffed that cunt of yours.”

Whatever anger you have towards him for stealing your underwear is soon replaced with lust, the sound of the fabric in sync with his hand enough to have you squirming in your bed. His voice like gravel echoes through the speaker, even worse is the slick sounds of what you’re certain is your panties stroking his cock, stained with pre-cum.

More noises, his breathing getting faster and faster. “So fuckin’ soft. Feels good wrapped around me, reminds me of when you’d get so needy you’d need to grind yourself on my thigh.”

Long stretches of time where all you can hear are his breathless moans and his hand moving faster. On instinct your thighs close around nothing as you listen to your ex-boyfriend jerk off in your ears.

“Should see me right now, nice and hard just for you,” he gasps.

Your pussy throbs as if on instinct.

One of your favorite traits about Simon was his undeniably large cock, how it would blush the prettiest shade of rouge at the sight of you, how you struggled to take it every time and how you could feel it in your chest when he fucked you. It’s all you can think about now, any reason you had for breaking up seemingly lost to you.

Another laugh drags you from your thoughts. “You were thinking about me just then, weren’t you?”

Embarrassment burns through your body. You have half a mind to turn off your phone, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. You can practically hear the smugness in his tone.

“Don’t worry, I’m thinking of you too.”

You hate the fact that he’s right. You hate the fact that he knows you so well. You hate the fact that you’re still listening.

You especially hate the fact you want him to do something about the increasing wetness in your panties.

“Just the thought of you, your body—that tight cunt of yours…” He cuts himself off with a moan, the distinct sound of slickness echoing in the speakers.

“God, just thinking about how hungry you must be for my cock…the things I’ll do when I get my hands on you.”

The laugh that emits from him is unhinged, animalistic. It excites you, as guilty as you feel for admitting it.

The sound of his hand speeds up as he talks. “You been taking good care of her in my stead? Touching yourself, getting her nice and prepared for when I come back? I’d hate to re-train her back into my shape.”

He’s so damn vulgar and you love it.

“Just remember, when you’re awake at night, and your thighs are pressing together so pretty, begging for something between them..”

His voice is clear as day, dark and unchained. It sends a full-bodied jolt through your own body, just barely resisting the urge to call.

“…That my cock will always be better than your hand.”

[adiraargent]

How Daiki Aomine likes to show affection

wc:0.9k Warnings: fluff, slightly suggestive, swearing summary: just cute things Daiki does to show you he loves you :P

The sun had barely risen when Daiki found you in the kitchen, flipping pancakes and humming a tune. You knew he had practice this morning so you wanted to make him some breakfast that he could eat before he went so he wouldn't have an empty stomach.

He sidled up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as he nuzzled his face into your neck, a warm smile playing on his lips as his large body enveloped yours.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he mumbled, peppering your neck with soft kisses, his kisses tickling your skin, making you pull away slightly with a few giggles falling from your mouth. His grip on your waist made it impossible for you to actually move away from him.

You laughed, turning your head slightly to steal a quick peck on his cheek. "Hey, you're gonna distract me, and then these pancakes will burn."

A mischievous glint sparked in his eyes, and he tightened his hold around you. "I'd rather have you than perfect pancakes," he murmured, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

"Daiki... you have training," you reminded him, your tone firm

He spun you around, hoisting you up onto the bench and stepped between your legs, holding your thighs apart with his hands as he leant forward, a smirk on his lips, "Training can wait... I want my breakfast first"

You push him back with a laugh and hop off the bench, going back to the pancakes and quickly flipping them, "sorry Dai, not this morning."

His affectionate nature often spoke louder than words. Daiki had his own way of expressing love without needing to say those three little words outright. Forehead kisses were his specialty, his lips meeting your forehead with a tenderness that spoke volumes about his feelings.

As the morning sun painted the kitchen in hues of gold, Daiki pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before resting his forehead against yours. It was a silent promise, an unspoken declaration of his affection.

He noticed a few stray strands of hair falling over your face and tucked them behind your ear, his thumb brushing your cheek softly. "There," he said, a small smile gracing his lips. "Now I can see your beautiful face properly."

You leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth and familiarity of his presence. It was those little gestures, the way he'd interlace his fingers with yours unexpectedly or pull you into a sleepy back hug while you cooked, that made your heart flutter.

"Want me to help?" Daiki asked, his chin resting on your shoulder as he reached for a spatula, his closeness adding a sense of comfort to the morning routine.

"Nah, I've got this," you replied, feeling his arms still wrapped around you, a sense of contentment settling within.

His protectiveness often shone through in subtle ways. Walking down a busy sidewalk, Daiki would switch positions with you, guiding you to the safer side, always keeping a watchful eye to ensure your safety.

Even in the busiest of mornings, when his off days clashed with your work commitments, Daiki's playful clinginess never wavered. He'd hold you a little longer, steal a few extra kisses, and reluctantly let go when it was time for him to leave.

"Hey, I remembered you mentioned liking this snack," Daiki grinned, producing a pack of your favourite treats as he returned home from training. "Thought it'd make your day better."

It was those thoughtful gestures that made your heart swell. Daiki always seemed to remember the little things, the details that made you feel seen and appreciated.

During his overseas trips for games, Daiki would often send pictures of random things he saw, every single one a silent reminder of you. A text accompanied each picture, a simple 'reminded me of you.'

In social situations that made you uneasy, Daiki's reassuring grip on your hand grounded you. He'd squeeze your hand gently, offering silent support throughout the event, his presence a calming anchor in a sea of discomfort.

Sometimes, tears would fall, and Daiki would kiss them away, his touch a balm to your pain. He never hesitated to let you cry on his shoulder, his t-shirt soaked with your tears, never once complaining.

"Everything okay?" Daiki would ask, concern etched on his face, always meeting you where you were, emotionally and mentally.

He wholeheartedly supported your dreams, making concrete plans and ensuring they came to fruition. Daiki would often drop encouraging texts before an important event, his words a source of strength.

Surprises were his forte. He'd bring home flowers for you, just because. No occasion, no reason, only his desire to see you smile.

If he was ever away for basketball, each morning and night, a text would pop up on your phone. "Good morning," or "Goodnight," accompanied by a heart emoji or a simple 'miss you.'

His way of saying 'I love you' without uttering the words explicitly extended to the little details. Daiki made you a Spotify playlist, songs that reminded him of your relationship or just songs he thought you would like. His memory was impeccable, recalling your preferences and quirks with ease.

One day, as you studied, flipping through pages of your textbook, you found post-its with little notes Daiki had left for you. Words of encouragement, doodles, and hearts, all scattered within the pages, each note bringing a smile to your face.

Hope you liked it ;P Written by: adiraargent Please do not take credit, steal, or repost anywhere else Requests are open :)

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Curly Shepard headcanons

-Once fought a seagull that tried to steal his fries and lost

-Undiagnosed autistic and ADHD (it’s the 60s, duh)

-Can and will do anything to get out of having to do English homework 

-His dad gave him so many concussions as a kid that Tim legitimately worries he has brain damage (but Curly just thinks he’s dumb)

-Is as fascinated by Ponyboy Curtis as Ponyboy Curtis is (seemingly) indifferent to him

-Physically incapable of shutting up even when he really REALLY should

-Is super close with Angela

-Is well aware Angela is scarier than he ever will be. Refuses to ever admit it

-Once got suspended from school because he cut the legs off a bunch of grasshoppers and put them on his teachers desk. He called them ‘grass walkers’ and thought he was hilarious

-Can’t stand Johnny Cade and Johnny Cade can’t stand him. Neither of them know why 

-The first and only time he went to a hospital is when he broke his arm falling off that telephone pole and that was only because the bone was coming out of the skin

-Will do literally anything to get Ponyboy Curtis’ attention. It doesn’t have to be good attention— he just needs Ponyboy to be looking at him with those huge green eyes as much as humanly possible

-Favourite foods are chorizo and red twizzlers

-Has beat up every single one of Angela’s ex boyfriends

-Hates the colour yellow

-Angela’s nickname is Angel, but when Curly’s mad at her he calls her ‘devil’ instead

-Will fight ANYONE who mentions his height (except Tim ‘cause he’s kinda scared of Tim)

-Once stabbed himself in the hand playing the knife game (yet another injury Angela helped him hide from Tim)

-Will paint Angela’s nails for her but only if she bribes him

-Is EXTREMELY good at first aid. Like, can make a tourniquet or a sling out of anything. Everyone thinks it’s because he’s had to patch himself up after he hurts himself in dumb ways, but really it’s because he took a couple free courses at the YMCA he never told anyone about. The instructor actually really liked him, because he actually tried and didn't cause problems even once

-Is the only person in living memory to win against Tim in poker, and it won him a stupid amount of respect from the rest of the Shepard gang. Tim maintains he cheated (he did not)

-Will never admit it but still loves when Tim ruffles his hair (one of the very few ways Tim ever shows his affection)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lmk what character you want me to do next!

[undying-love]

Everything that Paul and John's ex-girlfriends/wives have said about them

Cynthia

"John and Paul always had a special link between them, a chemistry that added to the heat."

Linda

"I was just some chick from New York when I walked into all of that. God, if I’d known what I know now…All I could do was sit there watching them [John and Paul] play these games.”

"They loved each other… they were friends, and it was deeper than any of us will ever know".

Yoko

"He [John] did put it that way, he was 'riding on the boat called Paul, and now I'm going to ride on a boat called Yoko." "I knew there was something going on there. From his [John] point of view, not from Paul’s. And he was so angry at Paul, I couldn’t help wondering what it was really about." "I’m sure that if he [Paul] had been a woman or something, he would have been a great threat, because there’s something definitely very strong between John and Paul." "I’m sure that in the case of Paul there’s that feeling that I’m the woman who took away his partner – it’s like a divorce." “I think it was like he was married to Paul. And now he was married to me so it was like a situation that he didn’t feel like he wanted to go back."

Jane

“When I came back after five months, Paul had changed so much. He was on LSD which I hadn’t shared. I was jealous of the spiritual experiences he’d had with John”. She told Ray Connolly that "to Paul, his relationship with John was more important than his relationship with her".

Peggy Lipton

"John didn't like me being there at ALL. He was mean and sarcastic [...] I got the idea that he thought Paul was an idiot to take a girl so seriously he'd actually invite her to dinner, when all he really needed to do was fuck her AFTER dinner."

Francie

"I have no doubt Paul loved John deeply. But as I said on the Westwood One show, he is twice widowed now. His two great loves [John and Linda] are gone." "He wasn't happy. But the big things that were driving him mad were beyond me. He kept on working and writing, but when John came over, all he could talk about was how much he loved Yoko. That disturbed Paul." "That Paul started painting after John's death is no coincidence. That competition, the clash, the ebb and flow of *that* relationship, was so central to Paul's being, the only love that comes close to being a reasonable comparison is his marriage to Linda and the births of his children." "Please remember, Jane Asher was his first great love (after Lennon)." "For a reason to hold a grudge, think about the possibility of this: She [Yoko] took John from him. And she didn't particularly want to share John with his "ex significant other" on certain levels." "Paul hates Yoko for stealing the love of his life away from him. No, not Linda.... John! Paul has never forgiven her for that." "When John and Paul split up (think of them as a couple for a moment) their second mates had to stand by them."

Dot

"Paul hated Stu. It's true that Paul had his eye on Stu's bass, but in fact, he was jealous of Stu, especially of Stu's friendship with John. What's more, Stuart flaunted it. Time and again, he put it under Paul's nose and gave it a scornful swish."

Maggie

“They would bounce off each other. Their perceptions were different. Paul was softer and John sharper but they could change roles. They were so intertwined and so tight on so many different levels."

[bucketbueckers]

I'D RATHER PRETEND

PROLOGUE

tags: @angryflowerwitch @avvwritesstufff | lmk if you want to be added! wc: 1.0k notes: see masterlist for content warnings! they are pretty much the same thematically for the whole fic but if anything changes i'll make a note. super excited to be sharing this, i hope you all enjoy, and as always lmk if we're rockin w it 🫶

Every time Tess closes her eyes, it’s the same song and dance.

MARCH 31, 2023

The match-up against Iowa had been challenging. Tess was in her element. While the first few minutes of the first quarter were slow for South Carolina, the Gamecocks quickly found their stride and locked in. They trailed behind Iowa until the end of the second quarter when the scores evened out. Each one of Kamilla’s blocks only energized the team; every point scored lit a fire under them. It was a neck-and-neck game with each team trading points, blocks, and shots. Seven minutes into the third quarter, Iowa was only up by two – it was anyone’s game, and Tess was willing to do everything in her power to ensure it was South Carolina’s. Tess had managed a solid fifteen points, four assists, three blocks, and a steal, but she was never worried about her stat line. The only thing that mattered was the win.

With three minutes left of the third quarter, Iowa had possession of the ball. Caitlin Clark dribbled it up to half-court, seamlessly weaving around Raven Johnson despite her best attempt at defense, and locked eyes with Tess in the paint. The Iowan guard spun, her back to Tess as she looked for an opening, but Tess was glued to her. Caitlin made a break to weave around Tess’s left and she responded instantly, but everything went wrong as soon as she moved. She pivoted too suddenly, left knee bending awkwardly, and Caitlin dashed to her right for an easy lay-up as Tess fell to the ground clutching her knee.

The blood rushed to her head as she writhed in pain. She heard the pop. She knew what happened to her. She just never thought it ever would.

Tess’s DMs had been overflowing for days with support. She texted her parents long enough to let them know she was okay and that they didn’t need to leave New York to check up on her. She didn't bother opening the rest of the messages. Her teammates didn’t let her run too far – they showed up to her hospital room in groups with flowers, cards, and threats to get better because they were going to win the natty next year, damn it. She had an unread DM from Paige Bueckers, who expressed her condolences and offered support as she’d torn her own ACL the year prior. She even had messages from various Iowa players, including a heartfelt apology from Caitlin Clark, as if Tess tearing her ACL was Caitlin’s fault. If there was any fault to be had, it was Tess’s – she’d been playing basketball long enough that she knew how to move on the court.

Despite the outcry of support, she couldn’t help but feel incredibly alone. It was hard-hitting at night when she was left in the quiet of the hospital room after all her teammates had left and she was feeling guilty for being so caught up in her downward spiral that she didn’t listen to anything they had to say. They were all there to cheer her up and all she could do was wallow. But they wouldn’t have understood; they didn’t tear their ACL. After the Final Four upset, they would still go on to play basketball. The doctors told Tess that depending on how her recovery went, she may never get to play basketball again. They had futures. Tess’s future was at the end of a line of gunpowder and the fire was rapidly approaching it.

Tess’s entire life revolved around basketball. Story of any basketball player’s life, she’s sure. She grew up playing it and she’s convinced that basketball is all her brain is wired to do. Several middle school tournaments (not that those really mattered once she got to college), high school championships, AAU, and Team USA were the only tangible things she had to prove that her life had any sort of meaning. She was attending South Carolina purely for basketball, on an athletic scholarship, majoring in marketing – seriously, if she can’t play basketball, what the fuck is she going to do with a marketing degree? Slap a “FOR SALE” sticker on her useless knee? One knee, handled with care for (almost) 22 years, slightly damaged! That was not happening.

So, here she was. At the end of her junior year in college with a torn ACL, unable to live up to the pressure of a back to back championship win.

It only gets worse for her as she’s discharged from the hospital officially. She struggles to use the crutches. She can hear the rattle of the painkillers in her backpack. Everything is a blur – she's out of it mentally, having been weaned off of her anxiety medication for the surgery. Her sporadic emotions and the throbbing pain in her knee are enough to set her off; she snaps at Kamilla when she wraps a gentle arm around her shoulders to help keep her stable – as if Tess can’t do anything on her own. Kamilla’s eyes flash with hurt, but she releases Tess and hovers like a concerned parent. The taller woman drives her back to her dorm, attempting to make small talk with Tess, but she gives up only minutes in when she realizes Tess isn’t humoring her.

Once Tess is settled in her dorm room, Kamilla makes sure her water is full and her painkillers are on standby. She props the crutches up at her bedside and leaves Tess with a pint of strawberry ice cream. She makes sure her phone charger is close by and her knee has sufficient elevation. “You need me to get anything else for you?” Kamilla asks her, but she knows the answer. Tess gives her one last desolate look before sinking into her pillows wordlessly. Kamilla purses her lips, flicks off the light, and shuts Tess’s door with a resounding click.

Once she’s sure Kamilla is gone, Tess breaks down into tears, silent body-shuddering sobs wracking her entire frame. She isn’t sure how to describe it best – the helplessness. She feels as though she’s stranded in the middle of the ocean; she’s wearing a life vest, but it only does enough to keep her afloat. She’s stuck, and by the time she’s able to paddle her way out, it will be too late and all of her effort will be for nothing. The echoing mantra of “What’s the point?” circulates on repeat in her head before she makes a decision.

She takes the life vest off and lets herself sink.

[quest-for-pluto]

(b • h)/2

NeteyamxAvatar!Female!ReaderxAo’nung

Summary: Ever since you were gifted with an avatar body, two of your friends have been acting really weird.

Okay, this was getting ridiculous.

“Neteyam,” you said. “What the fuck?”

“What, you don’t like it?” He frowned, bringing the string of decorative beads closer to his face for further inspection.

You barely restrained yourself from taking it from him and smacking him with it. How could someone possibly be this dense? “Look,” you started in a pained voice. “It’s not that I don’t like it. It’s just that this is the twentieth hair ornament you’ve given me in a week. What am I going to do with twenty hair ornaments?”

You had even started secretly giving some away to the young Metkayina girls when he wasn’t paying attention. They would at least find better use for it.

Neteyam’s ears drooped dejectedly as you scolded him. “But,” he protested in confusion. “I thought you liked hair ornaments?”

Eywa give you strength.

You stepped closer to him and poked him harshly in the chest. A slight flush broke out over his cheeks at your proximity.

“I do like hair ornaments,” you hissed at him, your right under-eye twitching from the strain of keeping your composure. “It was sweet like, the first three times. But I’m afraid if you give me anymore, my head will snap off from the weight of carrying an entire tree’s worth of wood!”

With that you pushed past him, stalking back to the village with a huff and leaving Neteyam staring at your retreating figure in shock.

“Shit, that was rough!” Lo’ak snickered, elbowing his brother in the side.

“Shut up, skxawng,” Neteyam glared, sulking deeply. It seemed he would have to step up his game.

From a distance, another boy with lighter skin and a topknot scowled as he watched the situation unfold, the spear he was carving suddenly snapping in his hands.

****

You were sitting on the shore, collecting materials to weave into clothing.

Someone cleared their throat above you, causing you to look up.

“Ao’nung?” You said questioningly, raising a brow. “What’s up?”

“You hunt?” He demanded, not looking you in the eye. He was hiding something behind his back.

“Uh, yes?” You furrowed your brows, looking up at him in confusion. Usually Ao’nung wasn’t like this, if he had something to say to you, he would just come out it say it. But now it looked like there was something holding him back, making him fidget uncomfortably.

A handcrafted spear was abruptly shoved in your face. You reeled back at the sudden movement, falling back on your hands.

“What—?” You startled.

“For you,” he said lowly, clearing his throat.

You blinked in shock, taking the spear from him and inspecting it. It was beautiful, with a sleek wooden staff and a polished bone tip. Designs specific to the Metkayina clan were carved into the staff and the idents were painted black to stand out. The bone tip was expertly sharpened and secured tightly with the strongest twine on the island.

“Woah,” you breathed in amazement, but feeling a sudden confusion take root. “Why would you give this to me?”

He scowled, crossing his arms defensively. “It’s an old one I don’t use anymore, and I figured you could use all the help you could get.”

A pang of annoyance shot through you, but it was soon overrun by disbelief. There was no way this was his ‘old spear’. The spear had zero scuff marks, as if it had never drawn its first blood.

You glanced back up to call him out, but stopped yourself when you noticed the slight flush on his cheeks.

Okay. What the fuck was going on?

“Get down!” Neteyam hissed from behind a bush not too far away, pulling Lo’ak down by his ear. “They’re going to see us!”

“The hell bro?” Lo’ak complained, rubbing the side of his head with a scowl.

Neteyam glowered under the shade of a tree leaf, yellow eyes flashing with jealousy. Who the hell did fish lips think he was, stealing his girl? He had obviously made it very clear that he was courting you.

He watched with increasing irritation as Ao’nung ogled you like a piece of meat, a dark flush spreading across his face.

Neteyam growled, his tail swishing dangerously behind him. Oh, it was on.

Thwack.

“Fuck!” Lo’ak yelped, holding his face as he fell over. “Are you serious bro?”

****

“Y/n!”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up in dread as the wool slipped out of your hands.

“Quick, hide me!” You hissed suddenly, startling Kiri enough to drop the basket she was weaving.

“What?” She spluttered as you lunged under some woven tarps, curling yourself into a ball to hide yourself completely.

“Y/n!” Neteyam burst into the marui not a second later. He paused in confusion, having thought he saw you here a second ago with Kiri, but now you were nowhere to be found. “Kiri, have you seen Y/n?”

A bead of sweat trickled slowly down your forehead. Come on Kiri, you pleaded. Get the hint.

Kiri blinked as the puzzle pieces started coming together in her mind. “Uh, no, it’s just me in here.”

Neteyam frowned skeptically. “Really? Because I thought I saw at least someone else in here.”

Kiri raised a brow. “You must have hit your head hunting or something, brother. There’s no one else here.”

With one last dubious look, he turned and trudged slowly out of the marui, tail swishing in irritation behind him.

Once you couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore, you carefully peaked your head back out from under the tarps. “Is he gone?” You whispered cautiously, eyes still wide and on edge.

“Yeah,” Kiri looked at you strangely. “Wanna tell me what that was all about?”

You sighed, crawling out tiredly from under the tarps and slumping against the wall. You slung an exasperated arm over your eyes. “Ever since I got my avatar, Neteyam and Ao’nung have been acting so weird.”

Kiri shuffled closer, her curiosity piqued. “Really, how?” She raised a questioning brow.

“I don’t know, like,” you huffed in frustration. “All of a sudden, they started giving me so many things I didn’t need. At first it was nice of them, since I thought it was their way of welcoming me officially into the Na’vi culture, but now it’s getting ridiculous. I now have like twenty hair ornaments, an accessorized dagger and a crossbow from Neteyam, and a spear, two necklaces and assorted handpicked Metkayina sweets from Ao’nung. I have no idea why—hey,” you paused as Kiri started to snicker, and soon enough she was bent over as full belly laughs shook her collapsed body. “What—why are you laughing?”

“Oh my Eywa,” she snorted, wiping a stray tear away as she picked herself back up. “This is too good. Y/n, you can’t possibly be this oblivious.”

You stared at her in confusion and slight irritation. This was a serious issue that had been bothering and worrying you for weeks, and now she was laughing? “Want to tell me what I’m missing here?”

Kiri grabbed your shoulders, shaking you lightly with a gleeful smile. “Y/n, they’re courting you!”

They’re courting you.

As soon as the words sunk in, your jaw dropped. “No,” you shook your head, rejecting the idea immediately. “There’s no way.”

“Oh but there is,” Kiri giggled, a touch too deviously for your liking. “Oh this is great! We can have so much fun with this.”

“What? No! What are you even saying Kiri?” You scowled, looking at your friend in disbelief. “How could you think that?”

“Y/n,” she said seriously, raising an unimpressed brow. “Think about it. A bunch of sudden attention? Showering you with gifts?” She leaned closer, wiggling her brows suggestively. “Your bangin’ new bod?”

“Ewww,” you shoved her face away, gagging. “You’re crazy, there’s no way they’d like me. We’re just friends.”

“That’s how you see them,” she smirked knowingly. “But I guarantee you that they don’t. Trust me, next time they try to approach you, tease them a little, and watch how they react. If they get flustered, well you know I’m right. If they’re friendly like usual, then you’re right.”

****

It had been bothering you, what Kiri said. In fact, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Tease them a little, and watch how they react.

A dark flush creeped over your face, warming your cheeks. “No,” you shook your head aggressively. “That’s stupid. I’m not going to do that.”

But what if she was right?

What were you even going to do with that information if she was?

It was at that precise moment when you heard something that sounded suspiciously like a punch.

“Ow! Let go!”

“No, you let go!”

Splash.

Feeling a thick dread pooling at the pit of your stomach, you hurriedly followed the grunting and splashing sounds until you pushed aside some foliage, greeted with a view of the two culprits trying to viciously drown each other.

“What are you doing?!” You shrieked in horror, dropping whatever you were carrying and running towards them as fast as you could.

At the sight of you, the two of them abruptly let go of each other, standing up as stiff as poles.

You stopped right by the shore, shoulders heaving as you glared at them. An embroidered headpiece floated innocently towards you, brushing up against your ankles.

“It’s for you,” Neteyam cleared his throat, wiping the water from his face. “I was going to find you to give it to you, until this skxawng attacked me.”

“What?” Ao’nung exclaimed in outrage, turning towards Neteyam angrily. “You threw the first punch, idiot!”

“Only because you slapped Y/n’s gift out of my hand!” He growled back.

“Enough!” You hissed, shutting them both up. “This has gone on for long enough. I don’t know what your goals were, if this was supposed to impress me or something, but all it did was make the two of you look like the biggest idiots on the island.”

Neteyam lowered his gaze in shame as Ao’nung averted his eyes with a scowl.

“I don’t know how you could be so dense,” he grumbled. “I was obviously courting you.”

Neteyam whipped his head up, an angry snarl pulling at his lips. “What are you saying? I was courting her first! You were just interfering.”

“What?” Ao’nung snapped in indignation. “Who said—”

“It doesn’t matter who was courting me first!” You bared your teeth. “I choose no one! You’re both morons!”

“What—”

“But—”

Holding your hand up, you silenced the protests, glaring at both of them heatedly. “Don’t talk to me until you’ve both started acting like adults.”

You turned on your heel, angrily stomping away from the water and leaving the two boys shocked to silence as they floated in the water beside each other.

Neteyam was the first to blink out of it, giving Ao’nung a grimacing stink eye.

“The hell are you looking at, forest bitch?” Ao’nung snapped back.

Neteyam rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Obviously nothing impressive.”

“You piece of s—”

***************

This might have been slightly OOC lmao, oops. I might make two alternate continuations where the reader ends up with one or the other, not sure yet.

[scuderiasundays]

happy wife, happy life

summary: flights on air verstappen, a game of padel, and declarations of love + a little insta au at the end 💌

words: 919

a/n: here’s part two to better together. i’m considering making this a multi-part story so let me know if that’s something you’d want! hugs and kisses 🫶🏼

"Austin, Mexico City, São Paulo, Las Vegas, Abu Dhabi. Any preference?"

Lando’s voice was drowned out by the celebratory air coursing through McLaren Hospitality. He was calling from his driver room in Lusail, still soaked in champagne after a phenomenal comeback drive.

“I think you’ve earned the right to pick. My God, three podiums in a row, Lando!”

You squealed, as if you weren’t speaking to the very man who had accomplished this feat.

After a quick pause, he replied, “Vegas, it is then. I think I can secure seats on Air Verstappen if I use my charm.”

-

Max, the first of Lando's friends you’d been introduced to, extended his hand as you stepped onboard.

"So, this is 'airport girl.' I've heard quite a bit about you," he said, stealing glances at a blushing Lando.

You shook his hand. "Only good things, I hope."

The setting sun painted the cabin a soft orange as dinner was served, seamlessly shifting the conversation toward plans for the weekend. "Are we still up for padel on Friday?" Max asked, the anticipation evident in his voice.

"We're short a player. Jon busted his shoulder last week, so I'm in need of an alternate," Lando replied.

Max gestured towards you. "She's right next to you, mate."

Mid-bite, you wagged your finger at both Max and Lando. Racket sports weren’t your forte, and the idea of padel with ragingly competitive Formula 1 drivers made you queasy.

-

You’d assumed the 12-hour flight had been long enough for Lando to let go of the whole idea. He, however, promptly proved you wrong as he lifted your bags into the back of a blacked-out Escalade.

“Remember that book you were reading? The one about love languages?” You nodded, climbing into the car.

“Well, I figure my love language is quality time. And what better way to spend our time than with a game of padel?”

You hesitated, jokingly glaring at him. "I never thought that book was going to come back and bite me in the ass.”

“Karma is your boyfriend,” he whispered as he laced his fingers around yours.

The casual mention of "boyfriend" (and his general knowledge of Taylor Swift lyrics) caught you off guard and, as your heart raced, you made a desperate effort to maintain composure. You couldn’t possibly say no to his desperate gaze and, so with a loud sigh, you caved.

-

The days that followed felt more like a haze. DJ Lando stole the show at Omnia, carrying a wasted Oscar home in the aftermath. Golfer Lando took you to glow-in-the-dark mini-golf, subsequently blaming his loss on a lack of practice (“You should see me at my best”). F1 Lando gave you a little peck before disappearing into the media pen. You’d been so engrossed in it all that you were on the padel court before you knew it.

As the points went back and forth, you and Lando found yourselves in a playful dispute over who was the rightful owner of the five dollars you’d won at the slots. Lando had paid but you had pushed the button that had brought you sweet victory.

Max quickly interjected, "Maybe you two should save the bickering for the post-game press conference."

George, echoing Max, teased, "He’s got a point. Beware or you’ll be immortalized as a sassy TikTok sound.”

“You know, I’m here to fight. I’m here to win.” Lando said, taunting George as he prepared to serve.

Much to everyone’s surprise, you and Lando turned out to be a stellar team, securing a hard-fought win. Instead of the traditional champagne spray, you spritzed a sweaty Lando with your perfume.

"I smell like you now," he said with a smirk.

You caught your breath on a bench as George strutted over, towering over you.

"You’re already on his mind 24/7. Now, you want to linger on his clothes too? Greedy!"

As you and Lando were about to head back to the car, a few fans hurried over, their elation palpable.

“We’re huge fans, Lando. Could we get a quick photo before you go?”

Lando was quick to oblige and asked you to hold their gifts (a snapback and a handful of bracelets). You offered to take photos of him with the girls, his aura radiant as he took his time to thank each of them.

Little did either of you know, the photos of you and him at the padel courts would soon be circulating all over social media, your phones blowing up with notifications from countless F1 gossip accounts.

-

In the dim glow of the car's interior, you caught a glimpse of him, jaw clenched and a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. The not-so-soft hum of the engine roared as you cut through the tension.

"Hey, what’s on your mind?"

"I just never want you to feel suffocated by all the noise that comes with being my girlfriend."

"Your girlfriend?" you teased, masking your anticipation with feigned innocence.

He sighed, his hands momentarily tightening on the steering wheel. The car smoothly veered into an old gas station, its solitary lights flickering in the night.

He turned to face you, his eyes searching yours. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

A smile lit up your face. "I thought I already was.”

He shook his head, a mixture of exasperation and affection on his face. "You truly are impossible, y’know."

"Snap a picture of your girl then, Mr. JPG," you quipped.

His hands searched the backseat for his Leica.

"Happy wife, happy life.”

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

liked by martingarrix, yourusername, and 41,414 others 

landonorris: on a roll! two more to go 👊🏼

ciscanorris: couldn’t be more proud. i sense a mclaren 1-2 coming!

mclaren: mother knows best ✨

fan1: king of the soft launch

oscarpiastri: let’s finish the season off strong!

maxverstappen1: some of the line calls made by your doubles partner were questionable 🤨 

max_fewtrell: a partner other than i? whoever could it be?

landonorris: i’m starting to doubt my friendships with guys named max

fan2: i’m all for it so long as mystery girl gives us the boyfriend content we deserve 🫶🏼

tags 📝

@silverstonesainz @monzabee @sainzcaleruega @vamossainz55 @0-atmilklatte @aacherrylips @merchelsea @al-luvx @itsjustkhaos @allenajade-ite @simp4f1 @strawberrysainz @avenger122 @405rry @lpab @thebrccoliwasdone @antiheroleclerc

[amethystarachnid]

CLINGING TO CHRISTMAS

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Request: Please, "Time Together" with Tony/f!reader, because it's my dream to share a quality time with him! Spend some time in bed in the morning, cook breakfast together, watch movies cuddling on the couch, eat some snacks, visit a coffee shop in the afternoon, walk on the streets admiring the Christmas decorations and of course buy some decorations for their house 💖 you can add all the fluff you want, love! Thank you! 💖 (@little-angel-oc)

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.2k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing pure fluff

ᯓ★ Sorry if I'm not posting much, I didn't expect this period of the year to make me so busy :(

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The morning light filters into the penthouse through curtains half-drawn, painting soft, golden streaks across the room. The December chill whispers against the glass, but none of it reaches you. Wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and luxury, you stretch lazily, your toes brushing against the silk sheets and your back pressing into the solid warmth behind you.

Tony Stark, self-proclaimed genius billionaire and undoubtedly the clingiest man alive, has you locked in his arms. His chest rises and falls against your back, his nose buried somewhere near the curve of your neck. It’s a miracle you can breathe at all with how tightly he’s holding you, as though the world might steal you away the second he lets go.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly from sleep but tinged with an unmistakable softness. He doesn’t lift his head, just tightens his hold and presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Actually, scratch that. Let’s stay in bed and make it an all-day kind of morning.”

You laugh softly, your breath visible in the cool air of the room. "We both know you can’t stay still for that long."

Tony’s lips curve into a smile against your skin. “Challenge accepted. If you try to move, I’ll just make a counter-play and pull you back.” His hand, warm and strong, splays across your stomach as he shifts to kiss the side of your jaw. “How am I supposed to work when this—” he gestures vaguely, as if encompassing you, the bed, and the whole moment—“exists?”

“You’ll survive,” you tease, but you don’t make any move to escape his embrace.

It’s rare to see him so utterly unguarded, his usual whirlwind of energy and rapid-fire wit replaced by this tender, sleepy version of himself. You suppose that’s what the holidays do to him—or maybe it’s just what you do to him.

The penthouse feels different this time of year. Warmer. Cozier. The massive space, which you used to think was too cold and impersonal when you first moved in, has been transformed by the simplest of touches. A Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner of the living room, its branches adorned with lights and ornaments you picked out together last week. Tony had grumbled through most of it, claiming he could’ve just hired someone to do the decorating, but the way his face lit up when you found the perfect star for the top told you he didn’t regret a second of it.

“You know,” he says, his voice interrupting your thoughts, “I don’t think I’ve ever really done Christmas right. Not like this.”

“Not like what?”

“This.” He props himself up on one elbow, his dark eyes meeting yours. “With you. The tree. The... not-hiring-a-company part. It’s new, and I like it.” He leans down, his nose brushing yours. “But you’ve ruined me, you know that? Stark Industries is going to fall apart because I can’t focus on anything except this face.”

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks flush at his compliment. “I’m sure Pepper would argue that you’ve been distracted long before I came along.”

“True. But now it’s your fault, so congrats.” He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, and you melt into him, your hands instinctively reaching up to tangle in his already-messy hair. The taste of coffee lingers faintly on his lips, even though he hasn’t left the bed yet—an early morning habit, courtesy of the automated coffee machine he designed to deliver a steaming cup to his bedside at 7:00 AM sharp.

When you finally break apart, he rests his forehead against yours, his grin boyish and carefree. “So, what’s the plan today? More holiday cheer? Gingerbread houses? Are we making a wreath? Stringing popcorn on a garland?”

“None of those things, because you don’t have the patience for them,” you tease, laughing when he huffs in mock offense.

“I’ll have you know, I’m an incredibly patient man when it comes to—” He pauses, as if searching for the right word. “Actually, never mind. You’re right. But I’ll be an excellent assistant. You’re the boss of Christmas around here.”

You sit up slightly, the sheets pooling around your waist, and raise an eyebrow. “That’s a dangerous thing to say. I could put you to work.”

Tony smirks, his hands trailing down to your waist. “Put me to work. I dare you. I’m excellent at manual labor. By which I mean supervising while you do all the hard stuff.”

“Exactly what I thought,” you reply, poking him in the chest. “Lazy.”

He grabs your hand before you can pull it back, bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “Not lazy. Just very efficient at conserving energy for important tasks—like keeping you warm.”

“Oh, is that what you’re doing?” You laugh as he pulls you back down into his arms, burying his face in your neck again. The scratch of his stubble makes you squirm, but you don’t mind.

Outside, the snow begins to fall in lazy flurries, dusting the balcony and the tops of skyscrapers. Inside, the world feels smaller, quieter, and infinitely more perfect. Wrapped in Tony’s arms, the chaos of the world seems a million miles away, and for once, neither of you is in any rush to bring it back.

“Alright, Mr. Efficient,” you murmur, breaking the comfortable silence as Tony’s thumb lazily traces patterns on your hip. “Time to get up.”

He groans dramatically, tightening his arms around you like a human bear trap. “Nope. Hard pass. The bed is warm, you’re here, and there’s no world-ending emergency—why would I leave this paradise?”

“Because you need to eat,” you counter, trying to wiggle free. “And I’m starving.”

“I have protein bars for that,” he says, burying his face further into your neck. “Energy-efficient, calorie-packed, no mess.”

“Tony,” you scold, though you’re laughing. “That’s not breakfast.”

“It can be if you eat it in the morning,” he retorts, smug as ever, and you can feel his grin against your skin.

You twist around to face him, your hands braced against his chest. “What if I promise pancakes? You love pancakes.”

Tony’s eyes crack open, a flicker of interest sparking to life. “You’re not wrong. Pancakes are a pretty compelling argument.”

“And we can make them together,” you add, your voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “It’ll be fun.”

He narrows his eyes at you like you’ve just proposed an evil plot. “Fun, or me getting roped into some sort of ‘domestic bonding experience’ that ends with me covered in flour and you laughing at me?”

“Both,” you admit shamelessly. “But there will be pancakes.”

Tony sighs like a martyr but sits up, the sheets falling from his shoulders. “Fine. But if I’m going to embarrass myself, I reserve the right to wear the apron. The manly apron.”

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. “The one that says ‘Genius at Work’?”

“It’s the only acceptable choice,” he declares, climbing out of bed with a dramatic stretch before extending a hand to you. “Let’s go make the kitchen regret its existence.”

The kitchen, with its sleek, state-of-the-art design, looks more like a high-tech laboratory than a place where anyone actually cooks. You rummage through the cabinets, pulling out ingredients, while Tony stands by the island, watching you with an amused expression.

“You’re really going to make me do this, huh?” he asks, leaning on the counter.

“It’s just pancakes, Tony. Flour, eggs, milk—basic stuff. Even you can’t mess this up.”

“First of all, rude,” he says, pretending to be offended. “Second, I don’t see you factoring in my wild card genius. You might end up with... I don’t know, a soufflé by accident.”

“Pretty sure pancakes aren’t supposed to turn into soufflés,” you reply, laughing as you hand him a mixing bowl.

Tony takes it with exaggerated caution, as though it might explode. “Alright, boss. Tell me what to do.”

You start instructing him step by step, trying to keep it as simple as possible. Crack the eggs. Add the flour. Measure the milk. It seems to go well at first—until Tony decides to get creative.

“Shouldn’t we add something extra?” he asks, glancing at the spice rack. “Cinnamon? Nutmeg? A splash of whiskey?”

“Whiskey? It’s eight in the morning,” you say, snatching the bottle out of his hand before he can pour it into the batter.

“Never too early for innovation,” he argues, grinning as he sets the whiskey down. “Alright, no booze. But we’re definitely adding chocolate chips.”

You roll your eyes but let him sprinkle a handful of chocolate chips into the batter, which he does with far too much enthusiasm. His “help” becomes increasingly questionable as you move to mix everything together, his hands finding more excuses to end up on your waist, your shoulders, or brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Tony,” you warn as his arms snake around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. “If you don’t let me stir this, you’re not getting pancakes.”

“But you’re doing so well without me,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. “I’m supervising.”

“Your supervision is going to make me spill this everywhere,” you say, laughing as you try to keep the bowl steady.

“I’d argue that’s part of the fun,” he counters, but he relents, stepping back just enough to let you finish mixing.

When it’s finally time to cook, you heat the griddle and ladle the batter onto it, the sizzle filling the air. Tony insists on flipping the pancakes, despite your skepticism.

“Just watch,” he says confidently, spatula in hand. “I’ve seen a hundred YouTube videos on this. I’ve got the wrist action down.”

You cross your arms, watching as he slides the spatula under a pancake and attempts to flip it with a flourish. The pancake arcs through the air—almost gracefully—before landing halfway on the griddle and halfway on the counter.

Tony stares at it for a moment, then turns to you with an unapologetic grin. “See? Perfect.”

“Perfectly disastrous,” you correct, grabbing a paper towel to clean up the mess. “Let me handle the flipping.”

“Fine,” he says, stepping back. “But only because I don’t want to overshadow your skills.”

By the time you’ve finished, the kitchen looks like a flour bomb exploded. There’s batter smudged on the counter, chocolate chips scattered across the floor, and Tony has somehow managed to get a streak of flour across his cheek.

“You’re a menace,” you say, laughing as you reach up to wipe the flour from his face.

“I’m adorable,” he counters, catching your wrist and pulling you closer. “And you love me.”

You roll your eyes but don’t deny it, especially when he leans in to kiss you. His lips taste faintly of chocolate, and his stubble tickles your skin. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you forget the mess, the pancakes, and everything else except the two of you.

When you finally pull away, you’re both grinning like idiots.

“Alright,” you say, clearing your throat. “Let’s see if we actually made something edible.”

The pancakes are far from perfect—slightly misshapen and a little unevenly cooked—but they taste good enough, especially with a generous drizzle of syrup. You sit together at the island, plates in hand, as snow falls softly outside the windows.

Tony nudges you with his elbow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “See? I told you we’d make a good team.”

“You mean I made the pancakes and you got in the way?” you tease.

“Semantics,” he says, taking another bite. “The important thing is, we survived. And the pancakes are edible. Mostly.”

You laugh, shaking your head as he leans over to steal a kiss, syrup and all. It’s messy and chaotic and far from perfect, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Because with Tony, even the simplest moments—like making pancakes on a snowy December morning—feel like magic.

“Alright, genius,” you say, stacking the plates in the sink and turning to face Tony, who’s leaning casually against the counter, his coffee mug in one hand. “Breakfast mission accomplished. What’s next?”

He sets the mug down with exaggerated importance, his brown eyes twinkling with mischief. “My turn to pick. Pancakes were your idea; now I get to call the shots.”

You raise an eyebrow, already suspicious. “That’s fair. But if you’re about to suggest working in the lab or something involving an explosion—”

“Relax,” he interrupts, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “No gadgets. No explosions. Just a simple, low-tech activity that even you’ll approve of.”

You cross your arms, trying not to smile. “I’m listening.”

Tony steps closer, his grin widening. “We’re going to cuddle on the couch and watch one of those absolutely atrocious, cliché Christmas movies that are so bad they’re good.”

“Tony Stark wants to watch a cheesy Christmas movie?” you ask, feigning disbelief. “Who are you, and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

“Hey, I have layers,” he says, pretending to be offended. “Besides, the movies aren’t for me. They’re for you. I’m just the selfless guy who’ll hold you through the ridiculous love triangles, improbable snowstorms, and overacting.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine. But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly. Blankets, snacks, and no interruptions.”

Tony salutes you. “Yes, ma’am.”

True to his word, Tony transforms the living room into a cozy oasis. He grabs every blanket he can find, piling them onto the couch with dramatic flair, while you raid the kitchen for snacks. When you return with a bowl of popcorn and a tin of Christmas cookies, Tony is already sprawled out on the couch, patting the spot beside him.

“Get over here,” he says, his tone playfully demanding. “I’m sacrificing my cool reputation for this. You owe me cuddles.”

“Sacrificing your cool reputation?” you tease, settling in beside him. “Pretty sure that went out the window the moment you flipped a pancake onto the counter.”

He narrows his eyes at you but doesn’t argue, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “Pick your poison,” he says, handing you the remote.

You scroll through the seemingly endless options of holiday movies until you find one with a laughably predictable title. “How about Snowed In for Christmas?”

Tony groans theatrically. “Do you try to find the most ridiculous ones, or is it just a gift?”

“You said cheesy,” you remind him, pressing play before he can protest further.

The movie is every bit as absurd as you’d hoped. The plot revolves around a big-city journalist who gets stranded in a small, snow-covered town, where she falls in love with the ruggedly handsome owner of a struggling Christmas tree farm. Every trope in the book is present: the meddling townsfolk, the magical snowstorm, and, of course, the inevitable misunderstanding that threatens to ruin everything right before Christmas Eve.

Tony provides running commentary throughout, his dry humor making you laugh so hard you nearly spill the popcorn.

“Wait, wait,” he says, sitting up slightly. “Did she just quit her high-paying job in New York to stay in the town she’s been in for, what, a week? Who does that? Do people not have bills in these movies?”

“It’s called romance, Tony,” you reply, nudging him with your elbow. “Suspend your disbelief.”

“Fine,” he says, leaning back again. “But I’m just saying, if you ever ditch me for a lumberjack with a secret heart of gold, I’m suing Hallmark for emotional damages.”

“Noted,” you reply, laughing as he pulls you closer, his hand resting on your knee.

By the time the credits roll, you’re both in stitches, wiping tears of laughter from your eyes. “That was… something,” Tony says, shaking his head. “If my A.I. ever wrote a script like that, I’d have to reprogram it.”

“You loved it,” you counter, snuggling into his side. “Admit it.”

“I loved you laughing at it,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “But the movie? Eh, I’d give it two out of five stars. One of those stars is for the accidental comedy.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can argue, Tony grabs the remote and starts scrolling again. “Alright, my turn. Let’s find another one.”

“Another Christmas movie?” you ask, surprised.

“Don’t look so shocked,” he says, smirking. “I’ve got the spirit now. I’m all in.”

The next movie is somehow even cheesier, involving a magical ornament that grants wishes and an overworked single dad who learns the true meaning of Christmas. Tony is relentless with his commentary, but somewhere around the halfway mark, his snarky remarks grow quieter. His hand strokes lazy circles on your back, and his head tilts until his cheek rests against the top of your head.

“Getting sleepy?” you ask softly.

“Not sleepy,” he mumbles, his voice low and warm. “Just... comfy. You make everything feel... easy.”

Your heart melts a little at his honesty. For all his bravado, Tony has a way of surprising you with these moments of unguarded vulnerability. You turn your head to kiss his jaw, your fingers curling around his.

“Love you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiles, his lips brushing your forehead. “Love you more.”

The movie plays on in the background, but neither of you is paying attention anymore. The world outside the penthouse fades away as you bask in the quiet intimacy of the moment—just you, Tony, and the flickering glow of the Christmas tree lights.

Hours later, when the snow outside has turned the city into a winter wonderland, you wake to find Tony still holding you, his breathing slow and even. The credits of the third movie you didn’t realize you started are rolling, and the room is bathed in a soft, golden glow.

You shift slightly, and Tony stirs, blinking sleepily. “Mmm. Did we win Christmas yet?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep.

“You fell asleep during the movie,” you tease, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

“Only because you’re too comfortable,” he says, pulling you back down into his arms. “Don’t think you’re going anywhere. I’m holding you hostage for the rest of the day.”

You smile, resting your head on his chest and letting the rhythm of his heartbeat lull you into contentment. If this is what being held hostage by Tony Stark feels like, you’re more than happy to surrender.

And as the snow continues to fall outside, blanketing the city in quiet magic, you can’t think of a single place you’d rather be.

When you finally stir from your cozy spot on the couch, the afternoon sunlight is already streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The snowy city below looks like a scene straight out of a Christmas card, and the twinkling lights of the decorated streets are just beginning to glow as dusk approaches.

“Alright,” you say, stretching as you stand. “We’ve been lazy long enough. Let’s go out.”

Tony, still sprawled out on the couch like a contented house cat, raises an eyebrow. “Out? In this weather? Have you seen what’s happening out there? There’s snow, Y/N. Cold, wet snow.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “It’s December, Tony. Snow is kind of the whole point. Besides, you owe me.”

“For what?”

“For all the Christmas cheer you’ve been soaking up without lifting a finger,” you tease, pulling on his hand to get him to sit up. “Come on. We’ll stop by that coffee shop you like. They’ve got peppermint mochas.”

His eyes narrow suspiciously, but you can see the faint flicker of temptation. “You’re using coffee as bait.”

“And it’s working,” you counter, grinning as you toss him his coat. “Get dressed, Stark. We’re going.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re walking hand-in-hand through the snowy streets of Manhattan, the air crisp and cold but not unpleasant. True to your promise, you stop at Tony’s favorite coffee shop, where the barista greets him with a starstruck smile and immediately starts preparing his usual order.

“I have to admit,” Tony says as he takes a sip of his peppermint mocha, “this is a solid bribe.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, your own cup warming your hands as you lead him down the street.

But as you take a turn onto a quieter, festively lit avenue, Tony slows down, his eyes narrowing. “Wait a second. This isn’t the way home.”

“No, it’s not,” you say, your voice innocently cheerful.

He stops in his tracks, glancing up at the string lights crisscrossing above the cobblestone path ahead. The street is lined with rows of wooden stalls, each one festooned with garlands and wreaths. The scent of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon wafts through the air, mingling with the sounds of Christmas carols being played by a nearby quartet.

Tony looks at you, a mix of amusement and betrayal in his expression. “You tricked me.”

“I prefer to think of it as gently guiding you toward holiday spirit,” you say with a grin. “Come on. It’s just a Christmas market. Think of all the overpriced, handmade trinkets we can buy.”

“I’m not carrying bags,” he warns, even as he lets you tug him forward into the bustling market.

Despite his initial protests, Tony doesn’t seem to mind as you wander from stall to stall. The two of you weave through the crowd, pausing occasionally to admire the glittering ornaments, intricately carved wooden figurines, and colorful knitted scarves on display.

Tony keeps a protective hand on your back, steering you gently through the throng of people. Every so often, someone stops to ask for a selfie with him, and he obliges with surprising patience, though not without a few snarky comments.

“See?” you whisper after the third fan walks away, beaming from their encounter. “The Christmas market isn’t so bad, is it?”

Tony gives you a sideways glance, his lips twitching into a half-smile. “It’s tolerable. Mostly because of you.”

You beam at him, squeezing his hand. “I’ll take it.”

As the sky darkens and the market’s lights grow brighter, the atmosphere becomes even more magical. Snowflakes drift lazily from the sky, landing softly on Tony’s dark hair and your scarf. You stop at a stall selling mulled wine, and Tony buys you a steaming cup, his free hand still intertwined with yours.

“This is suspiciously romantic,” he remarks, his voice teasing as you take a sip of the warm, spiced drink.

“Suspiciously?” you echo, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah,” he says, smirking. “It’s almost like you planned it.”

“Almost?” you tease back. “Tony Stark, are you implying that I orchestrated an entire romantic outing just to make you enjoy Christmas?”

“I’m saying it’s diabolical,” he replies, leaning in to kiss the tip of your cold nose. “And I’m impressed.”

As you continue strolling, you stop in front of a stall selling Christmas decorations. The display is dazzling, filled with glass ornaments, sparkling tinsel, and miniature wreaths. You let go of Tony’s hand to pick up a delicate, hand-painted ornament shaped like a snowflake.

“This one’s pretty,” you say, holding it up to show him.

Tony eyes it, then glances back at you. “We already have a tree. We don’t need more decorations.”

You put the ornament back with a sigh, turning to face him. “Tony, the tree is literally the only festive thing in the entire penthouse. It’s sad. Like, single-guy-who-forgets-it’s-Christmas sad.”

“I was a single guy who forgot it was Christmas,” he points out.

“Exactly!” you exclaim, grabbing his arm. “But you’re not anymore. We live there together now, and I want it to feel like home—not just for me, but for you too.”

Tony hesitates, his expression softening as he watches you. Finally, he sighs in mock defeat. “Alright, you win. But I’m not carrying boxes of decorations.”

“That’s what delivery services are for,” you reply, grinning as you pull him toward the stall.

An hour later, the two of you are laden with bags containing everything from garlands to fairy lights to an assortment of quirky ornaments you couldn’t resist. Tony insists on buying a ridiculous set of baubles shaped like miniature Iron Man helmets, claiming they’re “for balance.”

As you make your way back home, you can’t help but smile at the sight of him carrying one of the bags, his usual swagger intact despite the snow and the festive chaos around him.

“You’re smiling,” he notes, glancing down at you.

“You let me drag you to a Christmas market and convinced you to buy decorations,” you say, leaning into his side. “I think I’ve earned a smile.”

Tony chuckles, slipping an arm around your shoulders. “Fair enough. But just so you know, this doesn’t mean I’ve gone full holiday enthusiast. I’m still the same, cool, non-cheesy Tony Stark.”

“Sure you are,” you reply, smirking.

When you finally reach the penthouse, the two of you dump your bags on the living room floor and collapse onto the couch. Tony kicks off his shoes and stretches out, pulling you down beside him.

“You know,” he says, his voice soft as he glances at the tree in the corner, “you were right. The tree looked a little lonely.”

You smile, resting your head on his shoulder. “It’s going to look perfect once we put everything up.”

Tony kisses the top of your head, his arm tightening around you. “If it makes you happy, then it’s worth it.”

As the snow continues to fall outside, you sit together, the glow of the tree lights casting a warm, golden hue over the room. For all his grumbling and sarcasm, Tony Stark has embraced the holiday spirit in his own way—and you couldn’t love him more for it.

[imaginespazzi]

We finally got to watch UConn WBB play and as always I have thoughts!

I'm ngl, I almost jumped off a cliff after that first quarter but I'm very glad I didn't because the rest of the game didn't actually make me want to kms!

We'll start with the obvious which is: PAIGE. BUECKERS. NATIONAL. PLAYER. OF. THE. YEAR. 27 points on 12-14 (!!) shooting and 9 rebounds. My double-double prediction (even if it was point/assists) was almost true and really she should have had more assists but as the story goes, her team sold her dimes as per usual. But the main thing is don't let no fucking list fool you, PAIGE BUECKERS IS THE BEST FUCKING PLAYER ON THE PLANET.

I told y'all Kaitlyn was gonna get the first points didn't I? AND SHE DID!! In general I thought she was really good and everything I expected her to do well, she did. She's a great veteran presence and I think she's really gonna raise her draft stock at UConn

YEE FUCKING HAW. ASHLYNN SHADE THE WOMAN THAT YOU ARE. I said four 3's, she gave me 3 but the main thing is that her feet did move one defense!! She was aggressive on both sides of the ball and my favorite part of her stat sheet is the 4 steals. Feeling like a proud mom about my sophomore.

Sarah Strong YOU are my NFOY. I was so impressed with her and I knew she'd be good but I think she was even better than expected. The 3s didn't fall today but I very much do expect them to eventually fall and when they do, well it's basically game over!

Jana's hustle is going to pay dividends. She's aggressive and as soon as she's able to do that in a more controlled manner that doesn't lead to fouls, it's going to be something special. She and the team have both got to work to make sure she's getting up more shots though.

Allie baby 2-10 from 3...where's that girl from first night go? But I'm actually not that mad about it. Partly because she's simply just not gonna have the opportunity to do that again and also because I actually like that she keeps on shooting and doesn't let it phase her. The defense definitely needs a fair amount of work.

And finally Ice....*sigh* girlie GET IN THE FUCKING PAINT. Listen it wasn't all bad and I thought she was okay on defense and at least she did grab rebounds but like oh my god PLEASE JUST GET IN THE FUCKING PAINT. Maybe it's a confidence thing, maybe it's that she wants to be a wing but she just needs to get in the paint

I really liked our effort to rebound today. I won't read too much into it because it's a D2 team and we're taller than everyone but hustle can be translated and I hope to see it against better opponents too.

What I really didn't like is how stagnant the offense started off and how stagnant it got a couple of times, especially when Paige was out. But that's a new team thing and it's going to take some time to mesh it all together for 40 minutes and while it's not great right now, I see a lot of potential.

Final thought, y'all see my girl in warmups? MY AZZI BAHAMAS AGENDA IS IN FULL EFFECT!!

[thriftedtchotchkes]

here in the garden [prologue]

pairing: peeta mellark x f!reader

summary: nearly a week into your unique alliance, you and peeta take a quiet bath after a colorful training session. 8 days remain until the games.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, catching fire era, older victor!reader (4 years), aged-up peeta, secret relationship, platonic!katniss/peeta, sneaking around, fluff, smut, grinding, brief accidental piv, mentions of virginity

word count: 2.5k

series masterlist | a/n: a little taste before we rewind to day 1

Today, it’s shades of green.

Some deep and dark like shadowed leaves in a forest, and others bright and mixed with yellow to mimic sun-spotted blades of grass. It takes a decent amount of scrubbing to remove, and by the time you're finished, Peeta's arms are rosy red to match the flush spreading across his chest.

Paint swirls on the water's surface like an abstract portrait. It's as beautiful staining the walls of the porcelain tub you're bathing in as it was on his skin and just as fleeting.

If it weren't for the sweet boy beneath you, you'd allow that thought to linger. You'd dwell on the shortness of life and lament the brief time you have together before your short lives end. But for so many reasons you never expected to find in this hopeless place, you don't.

Instead, you pretend what you’ve found with Peeta is real and hold it close. You sneak around and find quiet moments away from prying Capitol eyes, seeking solace in private suites and fancy bathrooms just like this.

Here, you're not tributes in the 75th Hunger Games. He's not a star-crossed lover from District 12, and you're not breaking up a relationship that was never real to begin with. There's no one else here to convince. It's just you and Peeta.

For over a week, it's been just you and Peeta, falling asleep in each other's arms and stealing slow kisses in the dark. And though your time is dwindling, he still moves cautiously and with intention. Even now, settled between your legs in this bathtub, he's waiting for permission he was already granted.

He looks up at you, heavy-lidded and content, and you know what he's about to ask. It's been a while since he felt the need to, but today is different.

"Can I touch you?" he asks softly, his hands frozen in place on either side of your waist. He's nervous.

This is the first time he's seeing you naked. Bare skin on bare skin where there's only ever been layers of fabric between you. His cheeks are dusted pink, and you know it's not just the heat and steam in the air.

"Of course. Always," you reply, smiling as you lean in to kiss him. But you hesitate, too. "Can I?"

"Always," he breathes out.

Peeta's the one to close the gap, and his kiss is soft but firm. His lips move deliberately against yours with a hint of that tempered hunger you see in his eyes whenever he looks at you. He coaxes your mouth open eagerly, and when his tongue meets yours, he lets out a sigh of relief and finally allows himself to explore your body.

It's so much more intense than you expected. His hands begin to roam your exposed skin, newfound territory for him to map and memorize, and leave a trail of blazing fire in their wake. Settling under your breasts, he teases the undersides until you're whining into his mouth and swallows the sound proudly.

Because he earned it. He spent the last week acquainting himself with your pleasure, guiding you across his lap or thigh until you came apart in his arms. Discovering where to suck and stroke to make you so wet, you soaked right through your underwear and into his.

Your clothes always stayed on as an extra precaution to avoid getting caught, but you have a sneaking suspicion that wasn't the only reason. Something in his eyes and the careful way he handled you seemed too cautious, maybe even a little shy. But it's obvious now that something's shifted. He needs more. You both do.

He smiles against your lips, cataloging your reaction as he shifts higher and above the water's surface to swipe over your nipples. They're already pebbling from the cooling air temperature, so he tweaks one and swallows that moan, too.

But this time, it's not enough to muffle the sound, and it echoes a little too loudly for the precarious situation you're in. Still toying with a sensitive bud, he pulls away and fixes you with a stern, yet tender look. His lips are distractingly kiss-swollen as he speaks, and you're torn between feeling thoroughly chastised and unbearably turned on.

"Hey, we have to be quiet, okay?" he gently hushes you, kissing your cheek, then the shell of your ear apologetically. "You sound so pretty and I don't want you to stop, but it's too risky."

"But you feel so good," you murmur, cupping his cheeks to bring his lips back to yours. He gives in briefly before parting to rest his forehead on yours.

"I know," he mumbles, nosing into your cheek. "But we can't draw attention to ourselves right now. It's just until we get back to my floor. Be patient."

You pout without meaning to and it makes you feel like a petulant child. "I suck at that and you know it. Let's just go now," you sulk. It's an unfortunate new habit you picked up from one of your stylists, and Peeta entertains it. Usually.

He raises an eyebrow, looking pointedly at the dirt and ash still sprinkled across your forearms and caked under your fingernails. Earlier at the training center, you chose to practice fire starting while he picked camouflage, and now it's coming back to bite you in the ass.

"I don't know whose bed you think you're getting into like that, but it sure isn't mine," he jokes, but you can tell he's dead serious. Eyeing him mischievously, you run your fingers along the bath water and swipe a green line across his cheek.

"Mm, then maybe I should see what Johanna's up to tonight. I bet she likes it a little dirty," you tease him, and he rolls his eyes.

"Hilarious," he deadpans, but the subtle quirk of his lips betrays him. He knows as well as you do that she'd probably take you up on the offer, but tonight, like all the others, you're his. If only you could come to an agreement.

"Okay well, we're clearly at an impasse, so unless you can think of a really great plan to soundproof this bathroom—," you inch forward to tease his cock between your folds, and he sucks in a harsh breath. "—we'll have to sit through an entire bath like this."

"Kiss me," he blurts out, tightening his grasp on your waist to hold you in place. "Whenever it—," you cut him off with a tempting swivel of your hips, and he clenches his jaw, unable to stop himself from bucking into you. "—whenever it feels like that, just kiss me. I'll keep you quiet."

You eye him dubiously. If that didn't work before, what makes him think it'll be any more effective now? Before you can question him, he leans forward and kisses you so deeply, it makes you dizzy.

"Do you trust me?" he asks softly as he cups your cheek, and you nod. Of course, you do. What you don't trust are the paper-thin walls of this bathroom and the Capitolites walking the halls, just waiting to rip all of this away. But him? With your life.

He gives you another lingering kiss in gratitude before replacing his mouth with his thumb, gently swiping across your bottom lip. "It doesn't have to be here," he tells you.

His thumb unexpectedly slips into your mouth and gently presses down on your tongue, encouraging you to suck. You both bite back a moan when you comply without hesitation, and his cock jerks violently against your thigh, but you force yourself to ignore it—for now.

"You can kiss me here," he continues breathily, ducking down to trail open-mouthed kisses along the underside of your jaw, then moves lower to dip his tongue into the hollow of your throat. "And here."

He pulls his thumb free and returns to teasing your nipple, circling the bud tenderly as he continues his path downward. The longer he persists, the more it becomes clear how badly he wants this. How badly he wants you. And he's so convincing, you're starting to believe his solution might actually work.

"I've been waiting to get you alone all day," he mumbles into your skin, and the longing in his voice makes your heart ache. "Please don't make me wait anymore."

Your breath hitches as he nips at your collarbone, leaving a faint mark he knows will fade by morning. But the thought of being marked as Peeta's, even for a short while, solidifies your decision.

"You'll keep me quiet?"

"Yeah, I'll keep you quiet," he agrees breathlessly, meeting your gaze.

"And I can be as loud as I want later?"

His hazel eyes darken enough to make you shiver in his warm embrace. He nods slowly, and there's a glimmer of promise in the darkness.

"You're going to be the death of me, Peeta Mellark," you whisper.

His expression falters. The statement is more dire than either of you are ready to accept. Or maybe you, at least, already have.

"God, I hope not," he replies too honestly.

God, you hope so.

Before that thought can fester, you lurch forward and crush his body into yours, choosing to savor this moment instead. Soon enough, you're lost in how incredible he feels against your lips and chest, heavy and searing hot against your core.

The frantic, needy way his body responds to yours is intoxicating. He kisses you with renewed fervor, gasping softly into your mouth every time you rock into him, caressing and squeezing all of the places he knows you like.

You're already starting to quake in his arms, and it only worsens when he shifts your hips higher to reach where you want him most. Without breaking your increasingly heated kiss, he slides his hands under your ass and positions you so every slide between your folds allows the head of his cock to nudge your clit.

The first thrust sends a jolt straight up your spine. Something loud and desperate threatens to escape you, so you quickly bury your face in the crook of his neck to kiss him like he told you to. But in your panic, you bite him.

It sends Peeta reeling. To his credit, he manages to grit his teeth through the shock, turning his head to groan as quietly as he can into your hair, but the rest of his body isn't as easy to control. His heart rate kicks up, strong enough to feel it pulsing in his cock, and the careful self-restraint he tried so hard to maintain begins to crumble. And that sends you reeling.

No one's ever made you feel like this before. Wet and needy, ravenous with a hunger only he can sate. It's hard to believe he's even real, that you didn't dream him up to cope with your terrible fate.

How is he so perfect? Every part of him, from the thick fingers tensed to their limits at your sides to the flushed-pink apples of his cheeks—he's the most beautiful person you've ever seen.

If you had more time to overthink, you'd probably feel insecure being touched so intimately by a boy like Peeta. But you don't. You just feel lucky.

He's been rock hard from the moment your training gear hit the floor, and now he's grinding into your heat like it's all he's thought about for days. He makes you feel wanted. That's a new feeling, too.

Soft whimpers pass his lips, displacing the steam in the air, and you lean in to capture them in a kiss. Threading your fingers through his hair, you tug him closer, hoping to convey everything you're too afraid to say out loud.

Your tongue tangles with his, and it means you're grateful. Your blunt nails scratch lightly against his scalp, and it means you don't want to let him go. You grind onto him harder, willing him to understand.

His hips stutter in response, but as he whines into your mouth, you realize his movements are getting less and less coordinated. Colorful water torrents over the lip of the tub and crashes onto the floor, giving your mosaic an entirely new canvas.

Matching his erratic pace, you inch up his thighs for more friction, but the new angle throws him off. On his next thrust, he accidentally snags on your entrance, and the head of his cock slips inside you.

Stars burst behind your eyelids. With your last remaining shred of lucidity, you hope his lips are enough to muffle your startled moan because you couldn't have stopped it even if you'd tried.

He jerks back, letting out something guttural before he frantically readjusts, almost like he's trying to avoid letting it happen again. Except, now you know what it feels like to be stretched around him and you want more.

"Peeta," you murmur to get his attention. His eyes meet yours, glassy and unfocused. "I want you to fuck me."

It takes a second to sink in, but when it does, his back goes ramrod straight, and not for the reasons you'd hoped for. He doesn't bury himself inside you like you so desperately wanted. Instead, a barrier is raised, and he looks more conflicted than you think you've ever seen him. You wait for him to explain, fighting not to feel hurt and utterly rejected.

"I haven't—," he starts, then stops, thinking better of it. He shakes his head, still panting as he struggles to collect his thoughts, but curiosity is already beginning to eat away at you. You can't help but wonder what he was about to say and why he chose to keep it from you. When he tries again, his voice is softer, imploring.

"I don't want us to have sex for the first time in a bathroom. You deserve a bed," he says gently, brushing his knuckles across your cheek. "To not be covered in dirt and paint."

The sentiment is sweet and earnest enough to relieve some of your apprehension, but something still feels off. He's not being completely honest with you, and you both know it. But you also know he'll tell you when he's ready, so you don't push him.

After a long moment, he continues, but his words are tinged with sadness and something else you can't quite define.

"We don't...," he hesitates again, and you lean into his touch, letting the warmth of his fingers soothe you. It seems to relax him, too. "We don't have a lot of time left. If this is one of the last good things I'll ever get to experience, I want it to be meaningful. No sneaking around, no worrying about getting caught. Just you and me, making the most of the rest of our lives."

Just you and Peeta.

You feel incredibly lucky again. You don't deserve a boy like Peeta Mellark, but you kiss him anyway, deeply and unhurriedly just like he asked. Because he's right.

Because he's been nothing but kind and generous in the six short days you've known him, and you only have eight short days left. Despite the ticking clock, you haven't felt peace like this since your childhood in 11 before it was stolen away from you.

Peeta gives you that. So, you'll give him this.

He deserves it.

thanks for reading! chapter one coming soon <3 divider by @saradika-graphics

[bloodismymedium]

Mona x Tina Toxic Yuri Headcanons because I’m a bad person 🫀🌸🔪🧁

Ya’ll can blame @dollsleeper for giving me the toxic yuri bug. I am officially a Tona shipper thanks to them XD

TW: references to sexual assault, stockholm syndrome, stalking and abuse

☠️ Mona didn’t think much of Tina when she first laid eyes on her, she was just another piece of meat to be used in her art, what really made her fall in love with Tina was when she heard her scream. She heard so many screams before her and always took twisted pleasure in hearing the screams of her victims but Tina’s screams just hit different, it was like a beautiful song to her and she wanted to hear it forever. Ironically, Tina’s screaming was what saved her life because it made Mona do what she never did with any of her victims… she hesitated in killing her. Mona would have many lesbian thoughts about Tina since that fateful day, she often wondered how soft her hair must be and how much she yearned to smell the perfume on her body again.

☠️ Mona became completely obsessed with Tina after hearing that beautiful scream of her’s and would end up stalking her for the next two years, memorizing her schedule, occasionally stealing her belongings but she didn’t make a move on her until after watching her interview. Mona took Tina’s “once you’ve been to hell, you don’t come back” quote as a sign that Tina wanted to come back to her, like a piece of her was still with Mona since that day and she was beckoning Mona to take her back… It was the most romantic thing Mona has ever heard in her life.

☠️ Mona actually tries to make sure Tina is as comfortable as possible. She took her beautiful, bloodstained lace bedsheets with her to put over the dirty mattress she has Tina placed on, she actually cooks her food even if they don’t turn out right most of the time, she’ll cuddle up with her if she looks like she’s cold, she’ll check to see if the pretty pink collar she picked out for her isn’t too tight, she even bathes her semi-frequently.

☠️ Tina is constantly trying to fight off the warm, fuzzy feelings that Mona gives her. She doesn’t want to admit how much she melts when Mona touches her thigh, she hates how good she feels when Mona says things like “you inspire me so much” and “you’re so pretty when you cry”, she finds herself actually blushing when Mona compliments her. Every day is an inner war to stop herself from falling in love with the woman who killed everyone around her, dismembered her and now keeps her hostage in what looks and smells like a lived in sewer.

☠️ Tina hates herself for finding Mona so pretty, she’s a monster, one who killed her sister, her boyfriend and her mother, mutilated her, keeping her alive just to treat her like some kind of toy or pet… and yet she thinks her long, black hair is so pretty, her eyes so beautifully haunting, the expressions she makes when she paints those horrible portraits are strangely charming, that course yet oddly soothing voice that makes her feel a strange combo of fear and comfort. She just can’t keep Mona out of her head and she hates it.

☠️ Mona loves to doll up Tina, dressing her up in pretty outfits and doing her makeup, trying out different hairstyles, she would even do her nails if she still had hands. Tina hates this but she’s learned not to fight back, having come to fear making Mona angry and besides, every day, against her better judgement she likes Mona’s games of dress up a tiny bit more. Mona knows this too, remembering the time when Tina blushed after Mona said she had good fashion sense.

☠️ Mona and Tina surprisingly have a lot of common. They both have a major sweet tooth, they both have a love for nature even though Tina is a deer girl and flower enjoyer while Mona is a rat and bug lady who collects molds, spores and fungus, they both have artistic talent and an interest in the arts (Tina being a knitter and sewer) and they even have a shared quirk in a tendency to play around with their hair when bored or anxious.

☠️ Tina is bisexual but she’s kept her sexuality a secret from her mother since she’s a conservative christian type and she feared she wouldn’t accept her if she found out, Jack and Flora both knew however. It can be surmised that Mona is pan since she has a very “a hole is a hole” mentality when it comes to sex but she wouldn’t identify as pansexual since she doesn’t really care for labels.

☠️ Shockingly, Mona hasn’t gone too far in forcing herself upon Tina. She could easily subject her to her darkest, sexual fantasies like she has done to so many others and you better believe she’s had some real devious thoughts and yet the worst she’s done to her is groping/squeezing her breasts and thighs on a regular basis or licking her face. Tina of course is horrified and disgusted by these acts and yet… why does her face and nethers feel so warm when she does it? And why does she whimper and mew the way she does when Mona bites her neck and shoulders even when she draws blood? And why does she always kind of look forward to when Mona cuddles up to her even when she’s soaking in blood?…

☠️ Bill is VERY jealous of all the attention Tina gets from Mona and is always thinking about murdering and getting rid of her so that he can be Mona’s “favorite” again but has enough smarts left to know that he would be severely punished, maybe even killed if he did so he has no choice but to grit and bare it. His patience will always be tested when Mona talks about her while they’re out murdering like when Mona finds some kind of accessory or article of clothing and will ask Bill “do you think Tina would like this?”. Bill will scare the shit out of Tina when Mona isn’t around in a vain attempt at revenge against her.

[shoyoist]

any thoughts on which blue lock men would absolutely be one of the best fathers out there? <33

ﾟ+* ꔫ — 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 + 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐒

content: fluff. f!reader. marriage. mentions of pregnancy, child birth. an: sobbing they are all such sweet dads nonnie it was so hard to choose </3 gave us four best dads in no particular order because i could not rank them if i tried.

featuring: kunigami rensuke, mikage reo, isagi yoichi, oliver aiku.

° 𐐒𐐚 . kunigami rensuke!

he's a caring father. a little over protective, and a little confused — but he works hard to be a good husband and a good father to your kids, and that makes him perfect<3

he's the perfect man to have as your husband & as the father of your kids. chivalrous, a total sweetheart, doesn't get swayed easily, somewhat stubborn and oh, so loving. he's patient and caring and always available during your pregnancy, and he remains steadfast with those traits when the kids do get here.

he's way more into planning the baby's rooms than you are, honestly. stresses so much over the little details — wallpapers, curtains, sheets and number of pillows, exact furniture placements, everything.

he drives your baby girl and boy to school every single day, steals your duty of fixing their bentos for them, loves braiding your little girl's hair, and cries ("rensuke, are you crying?" "n—no, i'm just feeling a little emotional, a'right?") about how one day they'll be all grown up and people of their own.

none of the blue lock men EVER miss a sports meet, that's for sure — but kunigami? he helped the school arrange it. none of those boring lemon-on-a-spoon games. he pushes the school to replace the regular games with football related ones. a dribble race. the baton in the baton relay is replaced by a football.

one teacher makes the mistake of telling him "but sir, these are football games. what about the girls?" he gave them a whole lecture on how little girls can play and be interested in football just as much as little boys.

his enthusiasm is masked by his gruff exterior, and often it's just you that's left to placate him when your baby girl and boy get tired of listening to their dad explaining football rules and positions to them over and over again.

"rensuke," you hum, walking over to share the seat with him when he flops onto the sofa in defeat. "don't look so down, honey. they're only five and six years old. they just don't have the attention span."

"just wish i knew more ways to spend time with them." he confesses, running a hand through the spikes of his orange hair. "football's all i cared for when i was a kid, y'know? so i'm not sure what else to do."

he's so sweet :( and he feels better right away too, when you kiss his forehead and tell him he could take them to the aquarium next weekend. "they've been dying to go see the penguins."

"really?" he mutters, that contemplative frown that you've gotten so used to seeing and fallen in love with creasing his brows. "hmm, i'll see if i can take the day off."

° 𐐒𐐚 . mikage reo!

he's the fun dad. the life of the party even in the family. he starts off a little rocky, but after that he's so very supportive, lifting his son up into the light and paving the way for his future with everything he's got.

reo didn't have exactly the best relationship with his parents. it was great when he was a kid, but as he grew up and became a man of his own, his dreams and the dreams his parents set for him became obviously separated from eachother — which ended with him getting estranged from them himself.

which might lead one to believe that he would avoid doing that with his own child at all costs — but for reo, it was a shock at first when he realized his son had no interest in football.

"he's into art." you stroke his hair, letting him lay in your lap and mourn the loss of his personal father/son dreams. "he wants to paint, baby. look at him. only five years old and he's already so good at it."

"maybe he'll get bored of it in a few years." reo muses, rolling over in your lap to press his face into your stomach. "maybe he'll get into football later."

"reo." you say his name sternly. "don't push your own dreams onto your son." it's a simple reprimand, but it hits reo hard. he fixes his mindset instantly after that.

he's ready to bribe Tokyo's best art schools to let his son enroll in — but with the amount of top quality supplies, world class teachers and expensive classes reo has made available for his little artist son, he gets in without a hitch.

he takes so much pride and joy in knowing that his son is an art prodigy — showers him with gifts and praise, takes front row seats at every award ceremony, takes him out on celebratory dinners, and he pays for everything.

he'd also find it incredibly funny to buy his son art-related gag gifts, pretending he's innocent and doesn't realize what he's doing. "mom, can you tell dad to quit buying me the cheesy aprons." your son complains to you, showing you the OOPS! DRANK FROM MY PAINT CUP AGAIN! apron that reo had bought him online.

you don't tell reo to quit, though. you're just glad your husband has a happy, healthy relationship with his son.

° 𐐒𐐚 . isagi yoichi!

he serves as the closest and wisest mentor for his kids. he's a little nervous about his duties sometimes, but any time his children need someone to lean on, he's there. and he's there for you, too.

isagi knows what it's like to be average. he knows what it's like to dream. and he also knows what it's like to work hard, hone himself and make those dreams come true.

when the doctor tells you both that you're going to have a child — and when the doctor confirms that it's a boy — the first thing isagi does, is teach himself that your child is going to be a separate person from him, that will have separate interests and dreams of his own.

he's fully prepared to love and support his son in every way, no matter how alike or different he turns out to be from isagi himself. takes a lot of time off for you, especially during the later months of your pregnancy. he's so antsy too, always half-awake and jerking up every time you cough or mutter in your sleep.

checks on you so many times throughout the night that it gets in the way of your sleep and irritates the fuck out of you. he's just doing his best :(

and when the baby gets here, he's so on board with making sure you get enough rest and continue to get enough to eat.

scoops your baby boy up from your arms as soon as he's done feeding and takes him to the living room, telling you to make yourself comfortable in bed and take a nap. hours later, you wake up and head downstairs to see him sitting on the sofa, dozing off with the baby swaddled in his arms.

gets super nervous at parent meets but he attends each one. listens carefully to the teachers' feedback and scolds his son as due — but so gently, in such a reassuring tone that it's impossible to throw a tantrum or get upset with him. he's a real nice dad <3

and he's so lucky both his sons (because you get another little boy two years after the first) are into football. he coaches the school teams sometimes, coming over to give pep talks and offer tips before important games.

tells his boys to stay humble no matter what the outcome, but secretly takes so much pride with each goal they score<3

° 𐐒𐐚 . oliver aiku!

he's his daughter's daddy. his happiness comes in tow with yours and your daughter's happiness. you're both the lights of his life. people say oliver was tamed when he met you — and softened when you both had your little girl. and in a way, it's true.

(dilf dilf dilf dilf) loved showing you off when you were pregnant, and he loves showing of his baby girl to literally the whole world. buys you and your daughter the prettiest matching dresses, and brings you along to every event he attends.

"meet my girls," he says, shaking the host's hand firmly, giving the man a proud smirk as he puts an arm around your waist and brings you closer. "this is my wife, and our daughter."

"everyone knows, oliver." you roll your eyes, picking your daughter up and pressing her to your chest. she clutches the neck of your dress and buries her little head into your neck, tired already of the crowd, the noise and the flashing lights. "what do they know?" he grins, pinching your cheek in response to your eye-roll.

"that i'm your wife and she's our kid." you answer, letting him lead you to the seats reserved for the aikus. "i'm sure you've introduced us at least five times already. they'd know — if the news about our wedding and our baby weren't enough."

"hey, but isn't it fun?" he leans in and kisses your cheek — you just know people are snapping up pictures. tomorrow morning, your friends will send you the latest headlines: mr. oliver aiku is such a romantic!

"hmph," you huff, because it's true, he is a romantic. a show off, but a romantic one nonetheless.

spoils your daughter thoroughly — buying her dolls, pretty clothes, the trendiest school bags, cute shoes, whatever she asks for. and he always pulls up at the school gates in his most expensive car when it's time to pick your daughter up from school.

"you're gonna give her a big head if you keep spoiling her like that, oliver." you sigh, when he comes home with yet another dollhouse set for her. "she's my little princess." he shrugs, smiling nonchalantly as you cross your arms over your chest. "and a little ego never hurt anyone — mhm?"

walking over to you, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a kiss, whispering in your ear, "and it's not like i spoil you any less, is it?"