#i think i already posted this but it’s funny so it doesn’t matter

[gerardwayoftheday]

today is sunday, august 27, 2023. happy sunday!! finish your weekend amazing and enjoy your gerard way of the day.

[catiuskaa]

𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬.

syn. the nights were mainly made to worship all that we loved during the day —in chan’s case, there’s nothing else, as he crawls back to you, always.

wc. 3.8k

cw. minsung mentioned, chan is a simp, they are whipped for each other, someone has daddy kink (and it’s both of them), teasing, explicit content, oral (f.rec), a healthy dose of marking, protected piv sex (love to see it), soft soft aftercare, fluff + smut convo honestly, and i think that’s all, folks!

req! by annonie right here. i see ur vision pookie, and i hope i did it justice! i fear i maybe did more smut than aftercare…? idk… sorry i took so long too</3. hope you like!

[☆★🤎★☆]

Honey, I’m home.

It’s such a common statement. A way of not only announcing the fact that one’s finally back from the hardships they had to endure during the day, there it be copious amounts of work, bullshit from dumb colleagues who wouldn’t know common sense from a toaster even if it burned their house down, how Jisung managed to forget his lyrics yet again, and his phone is dead, so he has to call his “husband” —his words, not mine— and make Minho bring him his charger to the studio…

Overall, in broad, general sense, the statement is used to express the feeling of welcomeness that being not just back in one’s house, but home, always brings. Not only that, but it too serves as a way of expressing it to whoever waits within those walls of comfort.

And, for the first time in a long while, it so happens that Chan was already home when you arrived.

But there was none of that when you closed the door behind you, took your shoes off by the entrance and headed to his room, knocking on the already open wooden surface.

Chan turns his head first, moving the desk chair on its axis to face you propperly.

“You’re back,” he smiles.

His eyes don’t leave your figure, not as you lean on the doorframe, not as you let out a soft chuckle and finally get close to him.

For some people, love is felt most clearly through touch—the warmth of a hand on the back, a lingering brush of fingers, a head resting on a shoulder. Being touchy isn’t about neediness, but about closeness, about wordless ways of saying “I’m here” and “you matter.” It’s how comfort is given and connection is deepened, in gestures that feel small but speak loudly. Whether it’s an absentminded thumb tracing a palm or a full-body hug after a long day, physical affection becomes the language that says everything else doesn’t have to be said.

That’s how Chan knows something’s up. Because, instead of throwing yourself to his bed face first, ready to tell him about the day you had —common when your day was specially bad—, you make it a point to stand between his parted legs, your hands traveling to his neck, threading in his hair.

You’re biting your lip. He’s one second from cheekily offering to bite it for you, when you finally speak.

“I was scrolling down Twitter in the bus,” you say softly, your voice smooth. His hands travel to the back of your thighs as you keep on speaking, a sheepish smile on your face. “Someone… someone posted something I think it’s funny.”

He blinks. He’s a bit lost now, but you chuckle, seeing it in his eyes.

“It was a reply to a post a stay made,” you giggle, blushing. “About your solo act in tour.”

“What did it say?” He smiles, giggling with you.

There’s a light pause, and in your eyes you’re pretty sure it’s obvious the ginger hesitation from stating what the post said out loud, but then, staring at his eyes, you just let it out.

“I hope someone can give him head to thank him for this amazing performance.”

Chan dies.

It’s the way you say it—soft, almost teasing, like you know exactly what you do to him. Your voice brushes against his ear, low and playful, and something in him just short-circuits. His hands, already resting on your waist, tighten instinctively, fingertips digging in just enough to make you shift closer. Suddenly his pulse is everywhere—thudding in his chest, his throat, and lower. His breath hitches, and he drops his head a little, trying to compose himself, but it’s no use.

Get fucked, ‘honey, i’m home.’

“I liked it. Reposted it, too.” You confess with a soft chuckle. “And then I thought, you know.” You swallow dry, blushing , which almost kills him again. “I can. Matter of fact, I have.”

He hums in response, and tugs you closer, making you sit on his lap.

“Okay,” he chuckles, sinking his head in the crook of your neck, into your hair, and you move your arms around his neck, giggling too. “That’s a way of getting me off my computer.”

“Good,” you tease softly, next to his ear. “It’s late anyways.”

“It’s going to be so much late when I’m done with you,” he confesses in a low voice, not bothering to think if that’s correct grammar or not.

Instead, he presses a soft kiss on your cheek, then your jaw, until he moves back, one of his hands moving from your ass to cup your cheek.

It starts with a single kiss. A soft peck, quick and familiar. Then another. And another. Each one lingers a little longer, his lips pressing into yours like he’s testing the edge of restraint —whether yours or his, he doesn’t really know, merely wsiting to see who breaks first. Secretly, he knows he will.

His hands pull you closer until the chair that holds the both of you groans from the combined weight. When he finally pulls back, just a breath apart, he’s already smiling—low and crooked, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“I missed you today,” he says, voice rougher than it usually is. Then he’s kissing you again, deeper now, slow and intense, like he’s trying to make up for every second you were apart. His mouth moves with purpose, stealing your breath, and when his fingers slide up your spine, you arch into him without even thinking.

You move from him, peppering kisses all over his face. It’s coaxing, or at least you attempt it that way, until you notice him smirking.

“Don’t tease me,” you whine, pouting.

“Why, princess?” He smiles, faking innocence, letting out one of those squeaky laughs of his. “Something wrong?”

You groan dramatically, hiding your face in his neck as he laughs and holds your body closer.

“You’re a meanie,” you mumble against his skin.

“And you’re blushing.”

You huff. “Meanie.”

His hands stroke your thighs slowly, up and down. “You’d like me even more if I was meaner,” he grins teasingly. “Wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

Moving away from his neck, you pout again.

“I’ll leave,” you squint your eyes at him, crossing your arms over your chest.

Chan tongues his cheek. He wonders if he can tease you a bit more, which he knows he probably can, but there’s only so much he can resist you. So he licks his lips, smiling at you.

“Really, princess? You’d leave daddy alone, even after what you’ve told me?”

You can’t stop smiling, not as he looks at you like you hung the stars, as your stomach flutters and as your cheeks burn. You try to play it cool, but your laugh comes out a little too breathless, and he definitely notices. The way he touches you doesn’t help either—his hands cheekily going anywhere they want, fingers brushing your arm, his hand resting low on your back like it’s always belonged there. You’re giddy, lightheaded, way too aware of how close he is, how good he smells, how your body is already leaning into his without asking permission. Not to him, exactly —that’s saved for a different night—, but to you, your own brain closing the door behind and leaving you all alone.

“Finally,” you kiss him cheekily. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

The kisses start playful. You’re still giggling when he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, and you feel yourself melt against him, warm and dizzy from how good it all feels.

Yes. Home. Finally. Sitting in his lap feels too easy, too natural—like you were meant to be there. And then, without thinking, your hips shift—just a small roll. Unintentional, but nevertheless, the second it happens, you both freeze. His breath catches against your skin. Your cheeks flare hot, the air between you thickening.

Chris lets out a somewhat breathless chuckle next to your ear, threatening to send shivers down your spine. He bites your cheek, teeth not sinking in, but rather like a way of teasing you back. Judging by how your breathing stops and hitched, he stands corrected.

He smirks. The look he gives you threatens to rip your clothes off one by one, undoing you almost entirely. That slow, knowing smirk curls at the corner of his mouth, equal parts smug and hungry.

“Oh,” he says, low and teasing, like he just discovered something dangerous. His hands slide over your hips, firmer now. “You sure you missed me just a little?”

Your face goes warm immediately, and you bite back a smile, ducking your head just a little. Of course he noticed. Of course he’s smirking like that. You nod, sheepish but honest, and he chuckles softly—the sound low and familiar, the kind that always makes your heart do a flip.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, already slipping his hands lower, settling them on your hips like he’s done it a thousand times before. He moves you slowly, guiding your body against his with that quiet confidence he only ever shows when it’s just the two of you.

The grind is subtle, teasing, but the heat it stirs is immediate. You let out a shaky breath, forehead brushing his as your fingers curl into the back of his neck.

“Missed you more than a little,” you whisper, and he grins—cheeky, warm, already leaning in for another kiss that promises he missed you just as much.

“Daddy missed you too, princess.”

His lips find yours again, deeper this time, and the way he shifts beneath you makes your breath hitch. The chair creaks softly under the weight of both your bodies, his hands steady at your hips, but it’s not enough—not anymore.

He kisses you once more, slower, like he’s making a decision, then pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

“Come here,” he murmurs, voice rough with warmth, and in one fluid motion, he stands, lifting you with him like it’s second nature.

Your legs wrap around his waist without thinking, arms around his shoulders as he carries you the few steps to the bed. The room blurs around you, all focus narrowing to the way his hands hold you, the way your bodies stay close, connected. When he lowers you to the mattress, it’s careful—reverent almost—but there’s a promise in his touch, in the way he leans over you again like he can’t stand being even a breath apart.

The mattress dips under his weight as he follows you down, never quite breaking the kiss, just shifting it—slower, deeper, until it’s all heat and breath and the soft rustle of the bedsheets. Chris’ hands roam, familiar, but still making you shiver.

He kisses you again, deeply, tasting you like a candy he’s been craving to have before he starts trailing those kisses lower. Down your neck, over your collarbone, taking his time, savoring every inch of skin. His hands glide down your sides, smooth and steady, until he reaches the hem of your shirt and helps ease it off with a sudden softness that somehow he always carries and still it makes your breath catch.

He glances up at you as he shifts lower, and there’s something in his eyes—affection wrapped in heat, like he wants to give, not just take.

He watches you the entire time, eyes dark with focus, with want. “God, I love when you look at me like that,” he murmurs, voice rough.

Your hips shift slightly under his hands, your fingers mindlessly scratching his hair, as they lock around his neck.

“Like what?”

“Like I could ruin you,” he says simply, before kissing your collarbone, “and you’d let me.”

His mouth never fully leaves your skin—kisses trailing down your stomach, each one slower than the last, until he reaches the waistband of your jeans. He looks up at you with that teasing glint in his eyes, the kind that makes your pulse trip. “Let me,” he murmurs, voice rough and low, and then he leans in.

You feel the scrape of his teeth first—light, playful—just before his lips close around the zipper. He tugs it down slowly, deliberately. The sound of it lowering fills the quiet between your breaths, each inch building the anticipation curling low in your belly. When the zipper’s undone, his hands take over, easing both the denim and your panties down your hips with a touch so gentle it borders on worshipful. And then he’s leaning in again, kissing the newly exposed skin with a smile against your thigh, like he’s exactly where he wants to be.

When he settles between your thighs, he doesn’t rush. His hands stroke your hips, your thighs, grounding you as his mouth finally finds you. The first touch of his tongue is slow and warm, and the sound you make earns a satisfied hum from him. He keeps going like that—unhurried, attentive—learning every reaction, every twitch of your hips, every moan and every gasp.

It’s not just about pleasure to him. It’s about you.

And when your fingers slide into his hair and your back arches off the bed, he only holds you firmer, as if to say, I’ve got you. I’m not stopping until you fall apart for me.

You shiver and tremble beneath him, letting out heavier moans and whines. He hums, the sound traveling through you, threatening to make you come already.

Your fingers tug his hair, and he smiles against your thigh. “Seems you’re already letting me ruin you,” he bites your thigh, cheeky. “Like when daddy ruins you, princess?”

You gasp at the bite, a shiver running down your spine. His words send a thrill through you, and you can feel yourself growing more excited by the minute. You feel your cheeks flush as you imagine what he's promising.

"Yes, daddy," you whisper, your voice already a little breathless. "Please ruin me, make me yours."

He chuckles, the sound low and husky. "You're such a good girl for me, aren't you?" he murmurs, his lips tracing a path up your thigh, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake. "And you know that I always take good care of my princess, don't you?"

His fingers slide along your inner thigh, his voice dipping.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You shake your head, hand still in his hair. “If you stop now, I swear I’ll kill you.”

Your fingers curl and your nails scratch his back without thinking, and he lets out a soft gasp, his shoulders going slack as he leans into your touch.

“Anything for you, princess,” he whispers, licking his lips, almost drunk on the taste of you, his gaze already completely under your spell. “I’ll give you whatever you want, but please, keep touching me like that.”

He moves up and kisses you, relishing on the moans he swallows that spill from your lips as his hands move to take place where his mouth has just been, his fingers moving, slipping inside with wet ease.

“Oh, princess. You’re close already?” He watches you nod, moaning almost breathlessly, and slows down. He chuckles softly at the sound of your whine, unable to resist the adorable look on your face. "You're so cute when you're needy."

Nibbling on his lower lip, he pulls back just enough to reach toward the nightstand, eyes still on you, lips parted like he doesn’t want to be away for long. He grabs the foil packet and flashes you a look —half teasing, half focused—before tearing it open with his teeth. It’s effortless, practiced, but the sight alone makes your stomach flip.

His smile fades into something softer as he finishes rolling the condom on, hands steady but reverent, like he’s handling something precious. Then he’s back over you, fitting between your legs with ease, his skin warm against yours, his mouth returning to your neck, your collarbone, every place that makes your breath catch. The pace slows for a moment—like he wants to savor it, like rushing would be a waste. His forehead presses to yours, noses brushing, and he whispers your name like it’s a secret, grounding you both in the quiet, electric space between heartbeats.

When he finally presses into you, it’s slow—measured, but deep. You gasp, legs tightening around his waist, and he groans low in his throat, the sound rough and honest. His hands slide under your back, pulling you impossibly close, his mouth finding yours again in a kiss that’s all heat and promise. The rhythm builds naturally, guided by every stuttered breath, low whine, and whispered name, until it’s just you and him.

He builds a steady pace, slowly losing it’s rythm as pleasure takes the lead.

“You sound so… so good… so, so… f-fuck…” he moans against your skin, his body holding you so tight, his movements getting just a bit more desperate and rough as he attempts to hold back, trying to last just a little longer.

“S-so close… I’m so… so c-close…” You moan, desperate, your body shaking and trembling, on the very edge of a release.

His hand finds yours, interlinking your fingers. He whines lowly as you come, his heart pounding and body shaking. He can’t hold back any longer, his body completely overwhelmed by the feeling. He moans your name, every second feeling more intense as you continue to move against him. Holding onto you tightly, he comes not too long after you, almost letting his body fall over yours, unwilling to let you go.

He clings to you, feeling completely raw and vulnerable, his body trembling with the aftermath of such intensity. The world goes black and white, and for the smallest moment, time seems to almost stop between the sounds of your breaths in sync, the trembling of your body, the heat your body lets out… It’s all so intense, in his mind almost impossible to explain or describe.

The two of you stay like that, for a few moments, breathing in sync, holding onto each other as the aftershocks take over. You feel him pull away, and you can feel the loss of him, but in the blink of an eye, he’s right there, condom discarded, but he’s still right there, as he helps you get under the bedsheets. Holding your face in his hands, he kisses you, softly, gently.

He stays close, arms wrapped around you like he needs to keep you there, grounded against him. His fingers trace lazy patterns along your back, and his voice is quieter now, softer.

“You okay?” he asks, brushing your hair away from your face.

You nod, smiling. “Yeah. You?”

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Never better.” He shifts slightly, reaching for the blanket at the edge of the bed, draping it over both of you. “How’s that? Warm enough?”

You hum, already melting into the calm of him, nuzzling into his neck. “Mmhm.”

You’re curled up against his chest, legs tangled with his, your breath soft and steady as your fingers absentmindedly trace circles on his arm. He’s quiet—so quiet you glance up to check on him. But he’s already watching you.

That look in his eyes makes your breath catch. It’s intense, unguarded. Like he’s seeing you for the first time and falling all over again.

“What?” you whisper with a smile, almost sheepish under the weight of his gaze.

He shakes his head a little, smiling like a fool, like the feeling in his chest is too big for words.

“Nothing. Just… you.”

You giggle.

“That’s not an answer, mister.”

He laughs under his breath, then kisses your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Want me to run you a bath?” He offers softly.

You lay your hand over his, stroking the back of it as he cups your face. “Only if you join,” you wink.

His answer is immediate. “Done.”

He shifts to sit up, but not before giving you one more kiss—slow, sweet, like a promise. “I’ll be right back. Stay cozy.”

You hear the soft creak of the faucet turning on, the gentle rush of water echoing faintly from the bathroom. He moves around quietly, opening drawers, setting things down, and humming under his breath as he prepared this little ritual he’s done a hundred times for you.

When he returns to the bedroom, he’s shirtless, damp towel in one hand, and smiling like he just lit every candle in the world just for you. “It’s ready,” he says, voice warm. “Perfect temperature. Bubbles and all.”

You sit up, letting the blanket slip off your shoulders, and he immediately steps forward to wrap it back around you, his hands brushing down your arms with affection. “Want help getting there?”

You nod, and he lifts you easily, bridal style, because of course he does, earning giggles from you. He carries you into the softly lit bathroom, where the tub is already steaming, the scent of lavender and something faintly sweet in the air.

“There we go,” he smiles, helping you in. The water ripples as he steps in behind you, warm and careful, settling in with a low sigh. His arms come around you almost automatically—slow, steady—and you melt back into him with a sleepy grin.

His chest is pressed to your back, his legs on either side of yours, and his chin rests on your shoulder. He exhales deeply, his breath brushing your skin.

The warmth of the water surrounds you, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his skin against yours, the way his fingertips draw slow patterns along your arms beneath the surface. Every now and then, he presses a kiss to your shoulder or cheek, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world just to love you like this.

Your fingers stay twined with his. You don’t talk much—there’s no need. It’s one of those rare, quiet silences that says everything. He leans his head against yours and lets out a little hum, content.

Eventually, the water cools just slightly, and he shifts, his lips brushing your ear. “Come on,” he whispers, soft and coaxing. “Let’s get you dry before you fall asleep on me in here.”

You let him help you up, both of you dripping and a little giggly as he wraps a towel around you and one around himself. He dries you off gently, his hands sweet and familiar, pausing to kiss your shoulder, the curve of your neck, your forehead.

You step out of the bath, feeling the steam cling to your skin, and glance at him with a sheepish smile. “I just need to pee real quick,” you say, before slipping away toward the toilet.

Bathtub empty, both of you dry and spent, he pulls the blankets down and helps you crawl to bed first, then slides in behind you, pulling you into his chest like it’s instinct. His arms wrap around you again—just like in the tub—and this time, the sheets are warm, the room is quiet, and your skin is still damp in that post-bath glow.

He kisses the back of your shoulder once more before whispering, “You okay?”

You nod, sleepy and safe. “Mhm. You?”

His reply is immediate, low and sincere.

“Never been better.”

Home has never felt so warm.

[☆★🤎★☆]

~kats, who has listened to hozier’s cover of “do i wanna know?” an unhealthy amount of times.

permanent taglist! @svckrpvnch @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @lyramundana @cheeksung @staytinyluva

[swtheartz]

i loved your little drabble of the “breaking up with mark doesn’t work” post and i’d really like to hear your thoughts on how that would go down with some of his variants if you have the time pretty please🫶✨

ohh of course dear !! been thinking abt it and this req inspired me even more info : obsessive behavior, mentions and acts of murder, stalking, he’s crazy in every universe. gn!reader a / n : this is a gift to you guys for 348 followers. i’m soo grateful n happy <33

SINISTER MARK

he thinks it’s a joke at first. you’ve no real reason to actually want to leave him, right? he’s utterly convinced that there was nothing wrong with the relationship. and to be fair, there wasn’t. other than the fact he was possessive as shit and always had tabs on you. would scare off your friends and constantly linger around you whenever he wasn’t terrorizing the masses. the second he realizes that you’re serious? he doesn’t take it very well. you won’t ever find someone better than him. he won’t let you. just what human could ever be better than him?

“You’re not very good at jokes,” Mark says—voice and expression both hauntingly blank. It sends chills down your spine for the simple fact he’s never had such an empty tone. The way he looks at you is something that you can’t exactly put into words. Maybe he’s disappointed. Maybe he’s annoyed, or expectant, or some other emotion that you cannot be bothered to decipher. Not when there’s blood staining your clothes and his, the floor, your cheeks and his hands. Whatever ‘friend’ you were hanging out with was dead before they’d hit the ground. It’s been twelve days since you had gathered the courage to tell Mark you wanted a break, and it took him this long to take you seriously. Thought, it hadn’t taken much effort for him to take a life. “I don’t know why you thought this was a good idea. . .” He hummed, tilting his head as he crouched down in front of you, watching you tremble like a deer in front of an incomprehensible creature. ”But let’s not do this again, hm?”

OMNI MARK

calm. at least, he seems calm. but he also doesn’t take you very seriously. acts as he usually does, even asks you when the next date night is. as if he’ll even be able to make it with his schedule and how often he cancels on you. looks at you as though you’ve said something ludicrous when you answer that there isn’t a date night—you’re not together anymore. surely, you don’t know what you’re talking about. if you wanted him to plan the next date, you could have just told him. he’s usually the one that does all the thinking, anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. honestly, what made you think you could walk away from him? the one human he cares for, and you’ve the nerve to try and separate from him? funny.

“We’re not dating, Mark.” The way the two of you stare at each other for a few tense moments is a little awkward, though he doesn’t seem to care. He holds eye contact with you before sighing—like you’re a child who doesn’t know what they’re talking about. Like you’ve garnered the nerve to tell some dry joke. “If you have a problem,” Mark starts, arms crossed against his chest as he ignores your exasperated expression, “we talk it out. Like a couple is supposed to do.” “But we’re not a couple anymore. That is what I’m telling you.” You’re attempting to be reasonable, you really are, but you swear up and down he’s making you feel like the crazy one. This has got to be the third time you’ve had this conversation with him, and it hasn’t even been a week. There isn’t any way you can get through to him and you just don’t understand why. Mark scoffs, again, ignoring you. “I’ll make sure I’m not busy. Crime’s been going down, so it should be fine. They’ll manage without me.” “Just kill me already.” You mutter to yourself, unable to decide whether or not you’ll be able to ever get your point across. . . . You’ll just try again tomorrow.

FULL MASK MARK

more pathetic than mainstream mark. this man is like a wet cat in the rain. tries to maintain distance, but ends up following you everyday, texts you without thinking about it while he attempts to reason that it’s okay. you just need some distance and time, and maybe you’ll both get better. ends up outside your window after a particularly bad fight with a villain he had. he didn’t do it on purpose, he just sort of ended up here. call it muscle memory if you will. all he knows is that he’s a mess without you—needs you like oxygen, can barely think or focus on anything without you. probably the only one that tries to be the best he can be for you outside of the main universe. and probably the only one you didn’t really want to break up with.

“ ‘m sorry.”

“Markus.”

“ ‘m sorry,” Mark sniffles, face tucked into your neck as he clings to you. You’d think of it as pathetic if it were anyone but him, honestly. He’d shown up with your favorite candy and drink, bloody and looking like a stray abandoned on the side of the street. You practically had to drag him through the window when he tried to turn back around. It took a bit of insisting and a med-kit to get him cleaned and patched up, despite him reminding you that he technically didn’t need it. You snapped at him to shut up before inevitably pulling him to your room again—letting him stay the night was an easy decision, almost too easy. As of right now, he was simply listening to the sound of your heartbeat, your soft breathing, enjoying the way your gentle fingers tangled in his hair. It was sweet. Familiar. Something Mark had missed so much it made his heart ache and hurt, to the point felt as though it was being ripped apart. Though, if it were done by your hands, he wouldn’t mind.

a / n : i liked writing this, i might make a part two to this and i’m gonna make the healer reader thing a series if you guys are up to reading that. mwah mwahhhh

taglist : @lxkoluvsu // @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha // @tokoyamisstuff

[whatsupsonnyboy]

the first time || Joseph Quinn

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: The first time you and Joe meet, something clicks—quiet but unmistakable. Like the start of something that doesn’t need to be explained. And really, who were you trying to fool?

wc: 7.3K

warning: smut (mdni!!), p in v sex, protected and unprotected sex, fluff, midly slow burn (but not really lol), there's just lots of sweet boy joe and amazing sex

a/n: hey, so as i've already post about, i've been writing a bunch of one shots of how it might feel (in my mind ofc) to be in a relationship with this golden boy... so here it is, the first one. I'll post more eventually, it’s not really a story with parts but more like a collection of scenes that pop into my head. They’re not directly connected, but they all belong in the same universe. Hope you enjoy it! 🫶🏾

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open  | masterlist

You hadn’t planned to stay long.

Just a drink or two. Say hi to Wes. Smile politely, maybe sneak out before midnight with the excuse of a fake early morning.

But then he was there.

You didn’t even notice him at first—just another face in the mix, half-shadowed by the glow of string lights and the low thrum of music. But then he laughed. God, that laugh. Low and rough and golden around the edges. And when you turned to look, really look, he was already looking at you.

That was the first hit. The first crackle of something electric and new.

Wes introduced you. Casual. Effortless. And suddenly you were standing closer than necessary, drinks in hand, eyes locked, trading names like they meant something more.

He was funny. Way funnier than he had any right to be. And warm. Charming in a way that wasn’t performative, but lived-in. Like he didn’t need to impress anyone but couldn’t help doing it anyway.

You asked about his work—half curious, half testing. He didn’t dodge, didn’t show off. Just smiled, scratched the back of his neck, and said, “I love it. Even when it’s a mess. Maybe especially then.”

You nodded, because you got it. Because you were already thinking the same thing about him.

Time blurred after that. Drinks refilled. Conversations spiraled—music, books, worst dates ever, the best breakfast food after 2 a.m. You laughed so hard at one of his stories you had to cover your mouth with your hand, and he just grinned at you like you were his new favorite thing.

When people started leaving, neither of you moved. You were leaned into each other now, shoulders brushing. His fingers drummed absently on his glass. Yours curled around the edge of the sofa like they wanted to close the space.

So when he offered to walk you home, it didn’t feel like a decision.

It felt like the natural next breath.

You walked through the quiet streets, city humming softly around you, your conversation dipping into silences that weren’t awkward, just charged. Your arms bumped once. Then again. And neither of you apologized.

By the time you reached your building, the air felt thicker somehow. Like it knew.

You paused outside the door, keys in hand, heartbeat tapping like a warning or a dare.

“Do you wanna come up?” you asked.

And he—of course he did.

The elevator was quiet, slow, and small enough that your shoulder brushed his again. This time, he didn’t pretend it was an accident.

He looked at you—really looked at you—and that was it.

You kissed him.

There was no hesitation. No awkward pause. Just the sharp inhale before your mouths collided, hot and eager, like you’d both been waiting for permission all night.

His hand cupped the back of your neck. Yours slid into his hair. You kissed like the elevator could betray you at any moment, like you only had seconds, and every one of them mattered.

When the doors slid open on your floor, your lips were still touching, your breath caught between kisses.

And you have no idea what you were doing, but it felt so right that questioning yourself about it wasn’t even an option. 

-

The door clicked shut behind him, but he barely registered the sound. Your hand was still in his, and your smile—soft, a little crooked—was the only thing anchoring him.

You tugged him gently into the apartment, fingers laced with his like it had been that way for years.

No small talk. No tour. No hesitation.

Just the unspoken hum that had been building all night, finally breaking the surface.

When you turned to face him, your lips already parted, he didn’t wait. He kissed you like he needed to. Like the moment he’d felt your mouth in the elevator hadn’t been nearly enough.

You tasted like wine and something sweeter he couldn’t name. Your arms circled his neck, pulling him closer, and he groaned into your mouth when your hips pressed into his.

It hit him all at once—how good this felt. How easy. The way your bodies seemed to move in sync, like instinct, like muscle memory from a dream he hadn’t realized he’d been having.

You gasped into his mouth, and that sound—sharp and breathless—lit him up like a live wire.

His hands found your waist, then your back, then slid lower, gripping your ass as he pulled you closer. He was hard already, pressed up against you through his jeans, and when you shifted just right, grinding into him with a little roll of your hips, he swore under his breath.

“Fuck, okay,” he muttered, eyes half-lidded, mouth dragging down to your neck. “You—god, you feel insane.”

You laughed, but it caught in your throat when he bit gently just beneath your ear.

Then everything sped up.

Your jacket hit the floor. Then his. His fingers were under your shirt, warm and demanding, tracing up your spine as if memorizing you. You didn’t hesitate—you lifted your arms, let him peel the fabric off you like a second skin.

He stared.

Because shit.

You stood there in a bra that barely held you in, chest rising fast, eyes blown wide. You looked wrecked already—and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

“You’re...” He exhaled hard. “Jesus, you’re unreal.”

And when he kissed you this time, it wasn’t sweet. It was starving.

He backed you into the couch, hands everywhere—pushing, pulling, gripping, needing. You tugged at his shirt until it was gone too, and your hands ran across his chest like you couldn’t decide where to touch first. He loved that. The urgency. The want in you.

When your mouth landed on his jaw, then slid lower, biting down on the edge of his collarbone, he groaned—loud, filthy.

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he panted, rutting against your thigh without even meaning to.

Your hand dropped to his waistband, teasing. “Yeah?” you whispered, voice wrecked and dangerous.

He nodded, helpless.

“Then let me.”

The way you said it—it wasn’t a question.

You palmed him through his jeans, slow and confident, watching the way his breath hitched, the way his eyelids fluttered. He wasn’t used to being this undone this fast. But you had him—already.

His hands slid behind your back, unclasped your bra with practiced fingers, and when the straps slipped off your shoulders, he barely gave you time to react before his mouth was on you. Tongue and teeth and lips, worshipping, making you moan—fuck, that sound, he’d chase it forever.

The way you arched under him, like every touch was too much and not enough.

The way you gasped his name like it was the only word you remembered.

It was pure heat. Messy and fast and real.

And when you whispered, breathless, “Come to bed,” your lips swollen, pupils blown wide, he didn’t even hesitate.

He didn’t care about tomorrow. Or what this was. Or where it might lead.

All he knew was that he needed to feel your body under his. Needed to hear you fall apart.

And if he was lucky, he’d get to wake up beside you.

You led him by the hand, your steps quick, your breath even quicker. The apartment wasn’t big, but every second it took to reach the bedroom felt like an eternity stretched tight with want.

The moment you were through the door, you turned to face him, pulling him in again like you couldn’t stand the distance. Your back hit the edge of the bed and you kissed him like you meant to steal the air from his lungs.

He smiled against your lips when you fumbled with the button of his jeans, your fingers slightly clumsy in your rush. You cursed softly, laughed under your breath.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“Don’t be.” His voice was low, rough. “It’s perfect.”

And it was.

Every little misstep, every shaky inhale, every wide-eyed second of wonder—it was perfect.

His jeans hit the floor. Then yours. You tugged at each other’s underwear with a mix of eagerness and surprise, and when he finally kicked his off and you stood in front of him completely bare, his breath caught in his throat.

You were stunning. Not just beautiful—though, fuck, you were—but alive. Lit up from within. Chest rising fast, lips parted, looking at him like he was something you couldn’t wait to taste.

And god, he wanted to be tasted.

You lay back on the bed, pulling him with you, and he followed without hesitation, settling between your legs, both of you skin-to-skin for the first time. It was overwhelming. It was right.

Your hands roamed his back, his shoulders, your mouth brushing along his jaw, and he felt everything. Every inch of contact. Every trembling breath.

And when he dipped his head to kiss your chest again, slower this time, your fingers tangled in his hair, your hips lifted into his without thinking.

“I don’t have—” he began, breath hitching.

“In the drawer,” you whispered.

He reached blindly, found the condom, tore the wrapper with shaking fingers. You helped him roll it on, your touch so tender it nearly broke him.

He looked at you once more, one hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“You good?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded. “Yeah. I want this.”

Fuck. So did he. More than he could admit out loud.

The second he pushed into you, slow and deep, your mouth fell open with a gasp that echoed straight through his chest.

“Fuck—” he groaned, breath catching, head dropping against your neck. You were tight, so wet around him it was almost unbearable. His fingers dug into your hips, like anchoring himself was the only way not to lose it too fast.

And you—you arched into him, legs curling higher around his waist, nails dragging down his back.

“You feel so good,” you whispered, voice already wrecked. “So fucking good.”

Joe swore under his breath. He could barely think. Could barely hold back. The heat between you was blinding, raw, something feral clawing at his insides.

He pulled back, thrust in again, and your body met his with such perfect rhythm that his control slipped a little—hips snapping harder, breath rough in your ear.

Your hands roamed down his back, fingers brushing the dip of his spine, then slipping between your bodies until they were there—on your clit, teasing yourself as he fucked into you.

“Oh fuck, yes,” you moaned, back arching, head thrown back. “Right there, just like that—”

Joe looked down at you, eyes dark and hungry, and the sight of your hand moving against yourself while he was buried deep inside you… it undid him.

“Jesus, you’re gonna kill me,” he growled, grabbing your wrist, replacing your fingers with his own. “Let me.”

You whimpered, hips jerking as he rubbed slow circles, watching you unravel for him. Your face. Your breath. The way you bit your lip to muffle the sounds that wanted to break free.

“Let them hear you,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Don’t hold it in. I want every fucking sound.”

You obeyed.

You moaned like the world was ending. Like no one had ever touched you right until now. His name on your tongue, over and over, like a spell that made you shake.

He was losing it.

You clenched around him, again and again, dragging him deeper, and he couldn’t stop the filth that poured out of him.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he muttered, voice shaking. “So perfect. Taking me like you were made for it.”

You whimpered beneath him, hips rolling in rhythm with his, and then your hand was on him, cupping the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss you like it was the only way to stay grounded.

You kissed him open-mouthed, messy, tongues sliding together, both of you panting, slick with sweat, chasing something neither of you could name.

When you broke away, your voice was hoarse, breathless.

“Harder, Joe. Please—fuck, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

He grabbed your thigh, lifted your leg higher over his hip and started thrusting harder, deeper, until the sound of skin against skin filled the room.

You cried out, high-pitched and desperate, and your walls tightened so suddenly around him he swore.

“Oh my god—” you gasped, and then you were falling apart, shaking, clenching around him so tight it pulled a raw, broken moan from his chest.

Your orgasm hit you like a wave, and he felt it—watched it—his fingers still working your clit through it all, not letting up.

“Fuck, you’re so—so fucking perfect—” he stuttered, barely holding on. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come—”

Your mouth brushed his ear, breath hot. “Come inside me, baby. Come for me.”

And that was it.

He came with a groan, hips stuttering, pulse racing, holding you so close he thought he might crush you. You took every second of it—his shaking, his panting, the broken way he whispered your name like it was salvation.

Then silence.

Then breath. Tangled limbs. Sweat. Skin against skin.

And the most beautiful fucking quiet.

He stayed inside you, forehead resting against yours, both of you trembling.

You exhaled a shaky laugh. “Holy shit.”

He smiled, dizzy and wrecked. “Yeah. Holy fucking shit.”

-

Your breathing was still uneven when he collapsed beside you, chest rising and falling in erratic waves. His skin was warm and damp, and yours probably wasn’t any better. But when his arm instinctively reached for your waist and pulled you closer, it didn’t matter. Nothing did.

There were no words. Just the soft rustle of sheets and your fingertips drawing lazy, invisible patterns over the curve of his bicep. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head—gentle, almost reverent—and you let out a quiet sigh, one of those that come not from tiredness, but from fullness. Overwhelmed in the best possible way.

And you stayed like that. Breathing together. Letting your bodies cool down but your connection settle in deeper. There was nothing awkward. No pressure. Just warmth. Familiarity. His thumb brushing your side. Your knee nudging his softly under the sheets.

You didn't mean to fall asleep. But you did.

And somehow, when your eyes blinked open hours later, he was still there.

The light was pale and golden, sneaking in through your curtains. Your bedroom looked dreamlike, still hazy with sleep and the remnants of the night before. You turned slightly and found him already looking at you, face resting on the pillow, eyes still heavy-lidded, hair a mess of curls flattened on one side.

And it didn’t feel weird. Not at all.

“Hi,” you whispered, voice still raw from sleep.

He smiled, lazy and crooked, and it made your stomach do something ridiculous.

“Hi,” he echoed, voice low and warm and sleepy. “You drool a little, you know.”

You gasped, pushing at his chest with the back of your hand, laughing despite yourself. “You liar.”

“Swear on my life.” He grinned. “Just a little. Cute though.”

You groaned and buried your face in the pillow, but he only laughed, that soft, raspy morning laugh that already felt too intimate. Too familiar.

Like you’d heard it a hundred times before.

When you peeked out again, he was still watching you, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize something.

“I usually hate sleeping next to someone,” he murmured.

Your heart skipped.

“But with you…” He shrugged slightly. “Didn’t even notice. Slept like a baby.”

You smiled then—slow, genuine, a little unsure. Because what were you supposed to say to that?

He shifted closer, his forehead gently bumping yours, and you felt his hand stroke slowly up and down your arm. His thumb brushed over a spot on your shoulder, then traced lazy circles on your skin.

Neither of you said anything else. There was no need. 

Eventually, you turned, slow and careful, until your back was pressed to his chest and his arm slipped around you without hesitation. His hand settled on your stomach, warm and still.

You let out a soft sigh and nestled into him, your legs tangling under the covers. For a moment, everything was quiet—breath and body, shared warmth, the steady thud of his heart against your spine. Then his fingers shifted, just slightly. Slid lower.

The first thing you felt was heat—his chest pressed against your back, the slow roll of his hips, still half-asleep but already there, already hard. Your breath caught as his hand skimmed your stomach, fingers brushing lower, exploring like he hadn’t had his fill last night. Like he’d only just begun.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice thick, scratchy with sleep. “You’re already—”

“Yeah,” you whispered, shifting your hips back against him, shameless.

He groaned, the sound low and desperate, and you could feel it vibrate through your spine. His lips found the spot behind your ear, open-mouthed, warm, lazy like everything about that morning, but hungry in a way that made your pulse spike.

“You sure?” he murmured, fingers sliding between your thighs now, stroking through the wetness he found there, drawing a sound out of you that was all need. 

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes, and he looked wrecked already—his curls a mess, his gaze still soft with sleep but blown wide with want.

“Yeah,” you breathed, not hesitating. “Just finish outside.”

He stilled for a moment. Just a beat. Long enough for the gravity of it to flicker in his eyes. But then you reached back, guided him to you, and that flicker turned to fire.

“Fuck—okay. Okay.”

The first push inside was slow, careful, but deep—achingly so. You both gasped, your body stretching to take him, his hand gripping your hip like it was the only thing anchoring him to the planet.

“Jesus… you feel amazing” he whispered, half in awe, half in disbelief. 

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, forehead dropping to the pillow as he began to move, drawing back, then pressing in again with that maddening control. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

And he didn’t. He couldn’t have even if he tried.

It wasn’t frantic—this wasn’t a race. But it wasn’t slow either. It was deep. Focused. Like he was trying to memorize every inch of you from the inside. His hand slid under you, fingers finding your clit, stroking in tight circles as he thrust, eyes fixed on the spot where your bodies met like it might disappear if he blinked.

“You take me so fucking well,” he muttered, voice shaking. “So good like this. So—shit—warm. Wet. Fuck.”

Your mouth dropped open, hands gripping the sheets as the pressure built, deep and consuming. Every snap of his hips sent sparks up your spine, every stroke of his fingers wound you tighter.

“Joe—”

“Say it again.”

“Joe—oh my God—”

He bent over you, his chest flush to your back, lips brushing your shoulder, your neck, your ear.

“Feel how deep I am?” he murmured, cock pulsing inside you. “I can feel you gripping me, baby, fuck—don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.”

You came with a strangled cry, your body locking around his, muscles fluttering, your whole self unraveling in waves. He thrust once, twice more, desperate now, but then pulled out with a groan—messy, hot, and helpless as he came on your lower back, one hand braced on the mattress, the other gripping your hip like it might keep him from flying apart.

His breath was ragged, your name half-formed on his tongue, and for a second, all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears and the high-pitched whine of satisfaction in your bones.

You lay there, both of you trembling, panting, your bodies still joined, sweat cooling between your skins.

There were no words. Just the beat of your hearts, too fast and completely in sync.

He kissed your shoulder, once, twice. You reached back to touch his thigh, his hip—anything to anchor him to you. To keep him right there.

And for a moment, neither of you moved. No guilt. No fear. 

Just skin. Breath. Fire. Somehow, trust.

You lay there, breathing together, warm and safe beneath the quiet weight of morning. Your legs tangled again. His hand resting on your hip. His thumb started drawing circles along your arm as he could memorize you by touch.

And when you finally started drifting off again, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, he pressed one last kiss to your temple.

Soft. Unthinking. Like second nature.

You smiled against his chest.

Neither of you meant to fall asleep again. But you did.

And somehow, that felt like the most intimate part of all.

- 

The second time you woke up, it was to the scent of coffee and the quiet sound of someone humming off-key in your kitchen.

For a moment, you thought you’d dreamt the whole thing—until you stretched, and the ache between your thighs reminded you vividly that you hadn’t.

You reached for a hoodie, padded barefoot into the living room, and there he was—standing by the stove in nothing but his boxers and one of your oversized mugs in hand. His curls were still a mess. His back was turned, but when he heard your footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder and grinned.

“Morning, again,” he said, handing you the mug without missing a beat.

You took it, fingers brushing his for a second too long. “You made coffee?”

He shrugged, modest and smug all at once. “Well, I didn’t burn anything, so technically I made magic.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and sat on the edge of the couch as he poured his own cup.

It was easy. Too easy.

The kind of morning where you both felt like you’d skipped a few steps. Like you were already past the awkward stage. You talked about nothing in particular—your mutual distaste for early mornings, how Wes never mentioned either of you to the other (the bastard), the fact that you both hated people who didn’t rinse their dishes before putting them in the sink.

He made you laugh. A lot.

And at some point, still barefoot, hair wild and shirtless, he leaned against the counter and said, “Last night was… not what I expected.”

You looked up from your coffee, raising an eyebrow. “Disappointed?”

“God, no,” he said immediately, then softened. “It was just—better. More. You know?”

You nodded. Because you did know.

There was something about it. About him. About this. And you could both feel it pulsing under the skin, but neither of you tried to name it.

Eventually, the time came. He went to grab his things—shoes, phone, jacket—and you trailed after him, not quite ready to say goodbye, but not wanting to be that person either.

He stood by the door, pulling his jacket on, one arm still half out of the sleeve, when he turned to you with a smirk.

“So… am I allowed to ask for your number, or is this one of those magical one-night-stand rules where I disappear like a gentleman and we pretend we don’t exist?”

You blinked, then laughed, genuinely caught off guard. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Flattering,” he replied. “But I’ll take it as a yes?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your phone. “Give me yours. I’ll text you.”

He rattled off the digits, and you sent a simple “Hi” before he even finished spelling out his last name.

He looked at his screen, smiled, then looked back at you like he was about to say something else—but didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in and kissed your cheek. Soft. Warm. Familiar, again. Like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“See you around,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the edge of your jaw.

And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut, and the silence he left behind was anything but empty.

It was full.

Full of something unnamed but very, very real.

-

You never had the talk.

No labels, no declarations, no drawn-out conversations about what this was or where it was going. It just was.

He texted you that same afternoon. Something dumb and funny. A meme you still had saved in your camera roll. You answered. And he answered back. And suddenly, you were talking every day. Not constantly, but consistently. Steadily. Like the kind of tide that always comes back to shore.

The first time you met up again, it was spontaneous. He was nearby. You had an hour to kill. You grabbed coffee and sat in the park. He stole your cookie. You punched his arm. He kissed you mid-laughter, with your cup still in hand, and just like that—there it was again.

That thing.

And then came the nights. The way his hand would slide against the small of your back as you opened the door. The way he’d kiss you like he’d been waiting for days, even if it’d only been hours.

You’d fuck on the couch. In your kitchen. Sometimes barely making it to the bedroom.

It was intense. Messy. Addictive.

But never rushed.

He made you laugh mid-moan. You pulled his curls just to hear the sound he made when you did. He always made sure you came first—sometimes second—and then held you like he couldn’t stand the idea of leaving. Sometimes he stayed. Sometimes you did.

You shared breakfast. Showers. Bad TV. Inside jokes. His hoodie. Your leftovers.

Somehow, he learned how you liked your tea. You learned what cologne he wore. He kept a spare toothbrush in your bathroom. You found one of your scrunchies on his nightstand once.

And none of it felt like a big deal.

It was just natural.

You’d text him something random at 1AM. He’d reply with a voice note that made you laugh out loud in bed. You'd call him when your day sucked. He'd show up at your door with snacks and that face that made everything easier.

You never talked about exclusivity. You never needed to.

Because even if no one had said it aloud, you both already knew.

It wasn’t casual. Not really.

And still, neither of you used the word "relationship."

But it didn’t matter.

Because every time he kissed your forehead before leaving, every time he whispered “sleep tight” like a secret, every time you caught him staring like he was still surprised you were real—something in your chest softened.

Something in you knew.

And maybe you weren’t officially together.

But your hearts hadn’t gotten the memo.

-

He didn’t really notice when it started to change. Maybe that was the point.

There was no sudden shift, no dramatic realisation. Just a quiet accumulation of small things that began to matter more than he expected.

Like the way his phone would light up and he already knew it was you. The way your name on the screen felt like a hit of dopamine—something in his chest unclenching without him even realizing it. The way the days stretched a little too long when he didn’t hear from you.

He started keeping snacks you liked in his apartment without thinking. He started recognizing your routines—how you stole his hoodie when it got cold, how you took your coffee with oat milk and exactly one sugar, how you always asked if he’d eaten after a long shoot. He noticed the way you hummed softly when brushing your hair, and how your laughter lingered in his apartment long after you'd gone.

He hadn’t planned to stop seeing other people. It just happened. Not out of obligation. Out of instinct.

You stopped replying to those flirty messages. He stopped swiping right out of boredom.

It wasn’t something you ever discussed. There was no awkward conversation, no labels. Just a quiet understanding—like turning down the volume on a song that didn’t hit the same anymore.

One night, Wes texted him asking if he was going out to their usual bar, and Joe found himself replying, “With her tonight.” He didn’t even think twice.

“You seeing her now?” Wes asked.

He stared at the screen for a while. Not officially. Not technically. But yeah. Yeah, he was.

And maybe the most surprising part was that none of it scared him. Not like it used to.

There was this night—you were curled up on his couch in his shirt, eating cereal at midnight, laughing at something stupid he’d said. And he watched you, spoon halfway to his mouth, thinking, Fuck. I really like her.

He didn’t say it. Of course not. But it was there. In the way he touched your back without thinking, or the way he waited for your laugh to fade before kissing you.

He got used to you without realizing.To the way your shoes sat by the door when you stayed over. To the way you wrapped yourself around him in your sleep, like his body was where yours belonged. To the way the silence between you didn’t press down—it settled around you both, warm and easy, like a shared blanket.

He hadn’t realised how much space you'd taken up in his life until he was scrolling through his photos one night and found more of you than anything else. Pictures you didn’t even know he’d taken—your head thrown back in laughter, curled up with a book, sleeping against his chest.

He remembered waking up before you one morning, the light slipping through the blinds, your arm thrown across his stomach, your hair a mess, your face half-buried in the pillow. He just laid there, watching. Not because he was having some big epiphany. Just because it felt nice.

Then came that Tuesday. You were in the bathroom, hair up in a messy knot, brushing your teeth with one hand and scrolling on your phone with the other, wrapped in his old t-shirt like it belonged more to you than him. Joe sat on the edge of the bed and watched.

Not in a creepy way. In a shit, this feels good kind of way. In a please don’t let this go anywhere kind of way.

You caught him staring—of course you did. You always did. Mouth full of toothpaste, you raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He just grinned. “Nothing.”

But he meant everything.

Because it wasn’t just the way you looked in the morning, or how you always denied stealing the blanket.It was the way you’d become his soft place to land. It was the cardigan draped over his chair. The mugs in the sink with your lipstick on the rim. The playlist on his Spotify titled hers.

The lines between you and him had blurred so gently, it didn’t even feel like change.

It just felt right.

And no, he hadn’t said it out loud yet. But when you fell asleep with your head on his chest and his arm pulled you closer like instinct, he didn’t need to.

You probably already knew.

-

He’d been pacing around the apartment for most of the afternoon, fingers stained with ink from scribbled notes, corners of scripts folded and dog-eared, empty mugs lining the coffee table like some modern art installation of a man losing his grip. The flat smelled faintly of coffee, highlighters, and the Thai food box he had grabbed in that small local in front of his gym and barely touched.

His phone buzzed earlier—your name lighting up the screen like a small calm in the storm.

“hey, out for a bit but I’ll swing by around eight?”

He’d smiled when he read it. A quiet kind of smile, the kind that tugged at the corners of his mouth even as his eyes were half-glued to a page of dialogue he couldn’t get right.

“Perfect. I’ll order pizza.”

And then he forgot about it. Not you, exactly. Just the time. The waiting. The worrying about whether you’d show or not. You’d said you’d come, and that was enough. You’d always done what you said so far. He trusted that. Trusted you. It was himself he didn’t quite trust lately.

The new script was a minefield. The director intimidating. The pressure building behind his temples like a storm he couldn’t quite outrun. Somewhere between scene fourteen and seventeen, he pulled his hair back into a tie and rubbed his face with both hands, muttering something half-human under his breath.

He hadn’t even realized the sun was already setting when Wes’s name lit up on his screen.

“you bailing on us tonight?”

He blinked, thumb hovering over the keyboard. “Had plans. Next time i swear”

A beat. Then another buzz. Wes had sent a photo.

Dim pub lighting. Clinking glasses. And you—laughing. Head tilted toward someone familiar. Keith. A friend of a friend. All easy charm and textbook good looks. The kind of guy who always had too much confidence and not enough shame. His arm wasn’t touching you, not exactly. But it was close.

“well… maybe you should reconsider”

And that—that—was when it hit.

A flash of something ugly and electric shot straight through his gut. Not quite anger. Not quite panic. Just that instinctive, animal sting of I don’t want anyone else that close to her.

He tossed the phone onto the couch, harder than necessary.

Fuck. He didn’t want to care. Hadn’t planned on caring. You weren’t his girlfriend. You hadn’t talked about exclusivity, or commitment, or any of that. You were just… seeing each other. Spending time together. Sleeping together.

But still.

He ran a hand over his mouth and stared at the photo again.

Just a few hours ago, he hadn’t had a single thought like this about you. You were the one thing not stressing him out.

Now, you were burning a hole in his brain.

He flipped his phone face down. Then face up. Then picked it up again. He’d stared at the photo so long it had burned itself into his vision. The way you were laughing, the exact curve of your shoulder leaning toward Keith. The lighting didn’t help. It could’ve been a casual moment, an ordinary conversation. But in his head, it had already become something else. A whole story.

Keith. That charming asshole with an ego bigger than his biceps. The kind of guy who calls waitresses “princess” and still manages to get dates. It wasn’t jealousy—at least, not exactly. It was a sharp, nagging sting of insecurity. Of fear. Fear that you were out there realizing you could be with someone easier. Less complicated. Someone who didn’t have their brain split between you and a script that read like ancient code.

He stared at a fixed point on the floor, leaning back on the couch, arms crossed, legs tense. The script beside him felt more like a threat than an opportunity. The notes he’d taken—now scattered across the table—looked like pieces of a mind that didn’t know where to begin.

He went to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, stared at himself in the mirror. Didn’t like what he saw. Came back to the living room. Sat down. Stood up. Turned on the TV. Turned it off. Checked the time: 8:04 p.m.

Not late. Not really. Four minutes was nothing. But to Joe, it felt like a century.

He walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge without knowing what he was looking for, then closed it again. The pizza he’d ordered—maybe a little too early—was already getting cold. Like him. Like everything.

He forced himself to sit back on the couch. Put on an old record—one of those he used when he needed to focus. But the needle barely hit the first chords before he got up again, restless. He went to the window. Pulled back the curtain. You weren’t there. Closed it. Opened it again. Closed it once more.

8:11.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his hands down his face. He didn’t want to be that guy. The one spinning drama in his own head. The one building stories before the movie even started.

But there he was.

And the knot in his chest was pulling tighter by the minute.

Everything about the new film was overwhelming him. He wanted to scream at the ceiling. Throw the script against the wall. Nothing made sense. And the only thing that did—was you. It was you, goddammit. The one thing that didn’t need decoding. That felt simple, and somehow, impossibly huge at the same time.

That’s why it hurt. Because exactly for that reason, the idea of losing you—or worse, realizing you weren’t as in it as he was—felt unbearable.

And then, at 8:16, the doorbell rang.

His heart did this stupid little jump. He got up too fast. Felt that ridiculous urge to pull himself together, to act normal, to pretend he hadn’t been falling apart on the inside.

He wanted the sound of your arrival to reset everything.

But it wasn’t enough to quiet the noise. Not when the doubt was already echoing in his throat.

And when he opened the door… he didn’t know if he wanted to pull you into his arms or put you on the spot. If he wanted to kiss you or yell.

And that—exactly that—was what pissed him off the most.

-

You knew something was wrong the moment you saw his face. 

It wasn't the kind of wrong you could smooth over with a kiss or a joke about the pizza going cold.  It was the kind of wrong that sat heavy in the air, thick in your throat.

"Hey," you said, stepping inside. Smiling, out of instinct, even when your gut already knew better. "Sorry I’m late. I stopped by the pub for a bit, lost track—"

"Yeah," Joe said. Short. Sharp. Already turning away.

You shut the door behind you, heart picking up speed. The living room was a mess hunched over, papers scattered around him like a small, personal storm. 

He laughed, low and humorless. "I didn’t know if you were still coming."

You blinked. "I told you I was."

"Right," he muttered. "But maybe you were grabbing pizza with Keith instead"

You stared at him. "What?"

He grabbed his phone from the couch, tossed it onto the table. The screen still lit up with the photo: you, standing close to Keith, laughing over something stupid, a drink in your hand. Frozen mid-smile.

"Are you checking up on me now?" you said, a little sharper than you meant.

"Wes sent it." He raked a hand through his hair. "He was concerned."

Your stomach twisted. "No. You were concerned."

He laughed, but it was hollow. Bitter. "Yeah, well maybe I was, especially when I saw you smiling at him like that."

You stared at him, anger flickering up, hot and defensive. "You don't get to say that. You don't get to throw that at me when we never—"

"I know!" he cut you off, standing up suddenly, voice breaking. "I know we never said anything, okay? I know we were both just... assuming things and pretending it was all casual and cool and whatever the fuck, but it's not. Not for me."

The words hung there, raw and electric.

You stepped back, heart hammering, because it was true for you too. You just hadn’t said it. Hadn't dared.

"I’m not seeing anyone else," you said, almost without thinking. "I haven’t even thought about it since you."

He stared at you like you’d just said something unbelievable. Like maybe he didn’t deserve to hear it.

You swallowed hard. "And yeah, I was talking to Keith. Didn’t realize that’d be a fucking crime”. 

Joe closed his eyes for a second, like the weight of it physically hit him. When he opened them, he looked wrecked. And beautiful.

"I’m sorry," he said, hoarse. "I’m fucking scared, alright? I’ve got this project that’s swallowing me whole and half the time I think I’m gonna fail, and you’re the only thing that makes me feel like maybe I won't. Like maybe I’m not a complete fuck-up."

You felt your chest tighten, emotions crashing all over you.

"Then don't push me away," you said, stepping closer. "Don’t look for reasons to doubt this when I’m standing right in front of you."

He shook his head, almost helpless. "I don't want anyone else," he said, voice rough. "I don't even see anyone else anymore. It's just you."

You could feel your throat tightening, that sting behind your eyes, but you forced yourself to stay steady.

"It's you for me too," you whispered.

The silence felt thick and heavy and full of everything you hadn't said before tonight.

Then Joe moved — fast, almost clumsy — closing the space between you, pulling you into him like he couldn't bear the distance for a second longer. His mouth found yours in a kiss that wasn’t soft or careful — it was desperate, claiming, full of everything that had been burning between you for weeks.

And you let him. You let yourself fall into it, finally, completely. Because you knew. He knew. It was real.

You didn’t make it to the bedroom. You barely made it past the couch.

Joe kissed you like he meant it now. Like every inch of his mouth on yours came with a promise. No more holding back, no more ifs. Just you and him, here and now, and whatever the hell this was that had already swallowed you whole.

He pressed you against the wall, hands threading into your hair, breath hot and ragged against your cheek. "Fuck, I missed you," he groaned, like the hours apart had been unbearable.

"You had me yesterday," you gasped, tugging at the hem of his shirt, needing him bare, needing him now.

"Not like this." He pulled it over his head and dropped it to the floor, eyes hungry and tender all at once. "Not after hearing you say it."

You stilled for a second, chest rising too fast. "Say what?"

He leaned in, mouth brushing your jaw, your cheek, your ear. "That you wanted me. That you weren’t going anywhere."

You cupped his face in your hands, staring into those stupidly beautiful, frantic eyes. “I didn’t say it tonight, Joe.”

He blinked.

“I’ve been saying it every time I’ve come back.”

And then he lost it.

He picked you up, hands under your thighs, your legs wrapped tight around him, and carried you blindly through the apartment until you crashed into the edge of the bed. He didn’t even bother pulling the covers down.

Clothes disappeared like they were on fire.

His mouth was on your neck, then your chest, then lower—devouring, tasting, worshipping. You were already shaking by the time he slid inside you, both of you gasping like it hurt, like it healed.

“Jesus—fuck—you feel like home,” he choked out, burying his face in the crook of your neck, thrusting deep, slow, relentless.

You grabbed at his back, his hair, anything to ground yourself. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop.”

He didn’t.

He moved like you were the only thing keeping him together. Like if he stopped touching you, he’d fall apart entirely. The rhythm grew rougher, faster, but still so full. Not desperate. Claiming.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping down his temple. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You gasped, eyes wide and wild. “I’m yours, Joe—fuck—I’ve been yours.”

He groaned into your mouth and slammed into you harder, and it wasn’t careful. It wasn’t sweet. It was real. It was raw and feral and exactly what both of you needed.

Your orgasm hit like a wave you didn’t see coming—hot and electric and blinding. And he followed almost instantly, moaning your name like it was a sacred word, collapsing on top of you, chest heaving, heart pounding against yours.

Silence.

Just the sound of breath and skin and the world finally slowing down.

You felt him shift, just enough to look at you. His eyes—open, vulnerable, like he’d just been cracked wide.

And then, softly, so softly—

“I love you.”

You blinked, breath still uneven.

And smiled.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I love you too.”

And just like that, there were no more questions.

Only answers written on skin, on sighs, on mouths still swollen from too much kissing.

[iwaasfairy]

I need to start posting the deranged things I think about on a daily basis instead of pretending like I’m well adjusted bc I ! Feel like im losing out on so much good shit to share w you guys because I don’t wanna be too manic but I’m going back to my roots no beta readers no full fics just absolute channeled horny

tw incest, coercion, grooming ish

Satoru nii who calls you into his room to help out while he’s already snuggled under his blankets, flush working up his neck. asks you to go here and there and please just hand him that water bottle and his phone he’s just so comfy rn and you’re so sweet you will, right? you’re a good little sister right? thank you for helping him!! but wait don’t run out yet

yea he’s holding onto your wrist and his palm is all sweaty and he looks too hot under the duvet but just slow down, he’s been thinking. you bend weird at the waist when you’re picking things up you know? can you show him how you do it? doesn’t matter that you’re just wearing an oversized shirt to bed, he’s not looking at you like a guy looks at a girl silly. just do it again for him. and while you’re at it, show him your tummy and the inside of your thighs

he’s not being weird, just making an observation. you look so womanly now, don’t you? you’re no longer the little tike storming into his room at the most inopportune times. yea, he’s flushed, he’s a little sweaty- don’t worry about it. you can sit on his bed, sit right here next to him. why don’t you lean in to let him see something. oh, yeah, your lips have become fuller too, they’re soft and plush and if he squeezes between his long fingers, doesn’t that feel sort of nice. weird, but nice right?

he’s got all kind of things he can show you. you’ve really been pretty sheltered sure, but he might be able to teach you a few things. it’s just satoru nii, you trust your big brother don’t you? you two love each other and you’re close. how about you stay right there as he sits up and let him hook his chin over your shoulder, like that— and now let him check something. it’ll feel a little strange but he’s just checking. because his hands just seem to fit soooo much better on your chest, look at that. you’re sooo cute arent you, so cute with your tits in his hands as he squeezes them. you ever notice how soft your body has become? yea, you’re way softer than big brother is, look. wanna feel? feel his strong shoulders and his arms and thighs. you’re so sooo much softer than him, he doesn’t wanna stop touching you.

he just wants to see without the shirt real quick, just for a second. it’s only weird if you make it weird you know, he’s your brother. let him see real quick, please? just a second. just slip - your shirt over your head and let him look at you just like that. you’re so cute and pretty. yea you are pretty, you really are. maybe he just loves you more now you’re not such a brat, but doesn’t it feel good like this? hm? doesn’t that feel good?

and do you wanna see something funny too? yea, come here, give him your hand. it’s really funny look, you made your big brother hard as a rock. don’t be so shy, it’s just because of all the touching! you’re siblings, don’t have such a spaced look on your face — you can touch him. doesn’t it feel nice to be so close like this?

[noctiva]

Toby and reader with a massive breeding kink,,, it doesn’t matter if they actually want a kid or not, every time they fuck its just endless dirty talk about how toby’s gonna put a baby inside them,,, thinking thoughts,,,

- 🔌 anon

okay. the people have spoken and this is definitely the most anticipated ask I’ve received so far LMAO (…you nasties)

also, this is the last request im posting before I post sweet thing pt.2!

here we go!

-

Fulfillment

Toby Rogers x F!Reader

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WC: 6.5k

Summary: You and Toby don’t want kids. This was a fact that you had established long ago, at the very beginnings of your relationship. But, well… A girl can dream.

CW: 18+ content, explicit sexual content, breeding/pregnancy kink, unsafe sex, praise kink, hair pulling, spit and drool, wet and messy, sweaty nasty sex lol, possessive behaviour, absolutely filthy dirty talk, creampie (duh!), multiple orgasms, oral sex (female receiving), size kink ig?, Toby’s got a big dick (it’s what he deserves)

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For any german, just highlight then click translate! <3

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NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

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You and Toby don’t want kids.

This was a stipulation that was brought up pretty early into your relationship, and was also something that you had been expecting before he had even said anything.

It just… Didn’t make sense. Not in the universe that you lived in. One where your chosen partner was a dangerous, wanted criminal. Leaving for hours - sometimes days - at a time, only to return covered from head to toe in blood and gore. His mental state, was also spotty. You loved him dearly, but you wouldn’t sugarcoat that fact either. Toby was prone to bouts of mania and depression, having to live his day to day life with an already fractured mind strained more by the influence of the entity he served.

That was simply not an environment for a child to be born into. To grow up in. You think it would be cruel, to force them into a life so isolated. So rocky, and filled with uncertainties. You had chosen that for yourself. You had consented to all of the troubles and constraints that came with sticking by Toby’s side. Your unborn child, would have no say in any of that.

And you could only assume that if they did have the choice, they’d decline. It took a certain kind of person to fall into this way of life so willingly.

So, no kids. That was alright. You weren’t the type of person who had grown up fantasizing about it - being a mother, raising a little version of you - and so it wasn’t all too detrimental when Toby had told you it wasn’t in the cards. Of course it wasn’t. You hadn’t gotten into a relationship with a literal serial killer, expecting to domesticate him. That would be like, trying to train a wolf to be an obedient dog.

You were okay with all of that. The risk and thrill was what had drawn you to Toby in the first place. The excitement, the danger. All things that having a child definitely didn’t fit into.

But… It never hurt to dream.

You thought about it, sometimes. What it would be like. To carry his child, belly growing rounder and rounder by the day - body swelling as the product of your love grew within your womb. Looking in the mirror, knowing that it was him that did that to you. That it was his child in there. Feeling it kick, trying to contain your excitement at that little proof of life within you.

A pipe dream, but you couldn’t help but indulge. Luckily, neither could Toby.

Actually, if anything, he was worse than you. Which was funny, because he was the one that was so adamant about not having children in the first place.

But he just couldn’t help it. Was it hormones? Something primal, deep within him? Maybe, you were his soulmate, and so his body wanted nothing more than to stake a claim on you that no one else could.

He wanted to watch it happen. You, growing with his child every day. You, so round and plush and beautiful - waddling around the cabin, body so sore that you can’t help but depend of him for anything and everything. He wanted to see you change, wanted to feel it as you grew more and more sensitive by the day, your body pushed to its limits simply for the purpose of bringing forth his child into the world.

You would be so, undeniably his. You already were, but the visual… It would really bat it home. Going about his day, catching a glimpse of you, and being slapped in the face with the fact that you were his. His woman. His life.

He was possessive. He would admit that easily, because he knew it was the truth and he wasn’t ashamed of it. You were his. His sweet girl. His darling. If anyone even came close, his fingers itched with the need to shove them a few feet back. He’d love it, if no one even questioned it anymore.

Couldn’t question it. Because how could they, when you were carrying his baby?

But again, that was a dream. Something only possible in some alternate universe where he was a normal member of society, and you lived a life stable enough to care for something so fragile. In this universe, he’d just have to settle for making a bloody mess out of whoever got too friendly.

Which, he was content with, and so were you.

Of course though, the fantasies would slip your tongues from time to time. Especially, when you were beneath him.

It’s a hot summer day. Too hot, for two people that lived in a cabin with no air conditioning. You never thought about that fact in any of the other seasons, because spring was comfortable, and the colder months were easily forgotten about with a genuine log fireplace to warm the air. Right now though, you were cursing every god that might exist as you lounge on the couch - a book in your hands as a positioned fan blows directly in your face.

Your skin is clammy, and it’s difficult to not be restless - especially with clothes on. You had originally been wearing a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, but those pieces of fabric had very quickly turned suffocating, only expediting that rate at which sweat beaded up on your skin. So, you had stripped them, and were now lying on the couch in nothing but a pair of cotton panties and a cropped tank top, hair pulled up into a haphazard bun to get the strands off of your neck.

Toby was out in the backyard doing… Something. You weren’t quite sure what. The sound of metal meeting wood rang through the air, signalling that he was either chopping logs or practicing his axe throw. Either way, you can’t wrap your head around how he was managing to stay alive out there, when the heat was so unbearable.

You felt like you were going through the wringer and you weren’t even moving, you couldn’t imagine actually engaging in physical activity while out in that heat. But, it was Toby, and he did things that baffled you on a day to day basis. So, it really wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

With a huff, you push a few sweaty strands of hair out of your face, grumbling in discomfort to yourself. It’s hard to even focus on the words of the page in front of you, despite it being a book you’ve been pretty engrossed in. Your whole body feels lethargic, brain foggy and disgruntled from the effects of the summer heat.

You’re in the middle of rereading the same line for the third time because you just haven’t been able to comprehend it, when you hear the sound of the front door opening - and your attention is very easily directed elsewhere.

Toby, comes shuffling inside, looking - well, how you’d expect him to after spending so much time out in the sauna outside. His hair was damp, skin glistening with a sheen of sweat that made the light bounce off of him. He had been wearing a t-shirt when he left the house, but now the sleeves were cut off - fabric jagged and torn where the sleeves used to be, most likely hacked off by one of the hatchets that was fastened to his belt.

And he’s panting, chest heaving with each breath as he reaches up to wipe sweat from his brow, cheeks flushed pink from the heat consuming his entire body.

You can’t help the way your heart flutters at the sight. How could you? You don’t think anyone could contain themselves, when faced with the man they loved - sweaty, and panting from exertion.

And it only gets better when he looks at you.

Toby’s eyes meet yours for a total of five seconds before they’re roaming the rest of your body. Over the slope of your back, the curve of your ass, the plushness of your thighs. So much bare skin for him the feast on, all flushed from the heat and glistening with a sheen so enticing. Not what he had been expecting to walk into after an hour and a half of practicing his aim, but he wasn’t complaining. In fact, he couldn’t even if he wanted to, because his mouth had gone drier than a desert the moment you graced his line of sight.

“Hey, baby.” He manages to choke out, having seemingly been frozen to the ground in the entryway. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t been able to since he caught sight of you, caught sight of your plush ass covered only by the flimsiest piece of fabric - sprawled out on the couch like a full course meal. “W-What’s- Uh-“ He clears his throat, reaching up to awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “What’s goin’ on here?”

He’s so cute. You think to yourself. So easily flustered by the sight of your bare skin, as if he hadn’t seen it a million times before. As if he hadn’t been two knuckles deep inside you, just this morning. It was flattering, really, how his attraction towards you never seemed to wane, even as the years passed. He still acted like some lovesick teenage boy, drooling at your bare ass like he’d never get to see it again.

Absolutely adorable.

“It’s hot.” You laugh softly, before closing your book and dropping it on the floor. You stretch out a little bit, resting your cheek against the armrest of the couch as you gaze at him. “I’m trying not to burst into flames over here.”

“Uh huh.” Toby murmurs back to you, as if he wasn’t convinced. You watch as he unclasps his tool belt before setting it on the bench in the entryway, the metal of his hatchets clanging against the hard surface. “W-Well, one thing’s definitely hot.”

You roll your eyes and snort out a laugh, gaze tracking him as he approaches you. Kicking off his shoes before he makes his way into the living room, his steps slow and steady - like a predator on the hunt. That’s definitely what he was right now, if the look in his eyes was anything to go by - fogging up more and more with each second that passed, glazing with desire as his eyes passed over your nearly bare form for the hundredth time since he first walked in.

“Oh, shut up.” You scoff, raising an eyebrow. “What are you, sixteen? Can’t handle the sight of your girlfriend’s ass?”

“No, I c-can’t.” Toby chuckles, not an ounce of shame in his voice once he finally comes to stand before you. He’s not standing for long though, before he’s sinking down to his knees to get level with you - one hand lifting to rest against the small of your back. “Sorry for loving you.” He pouts softly, lips pursing as his hands slowly starts to drift, just barely grazing the curve of your ass. “I-If you could see what I see, you’d g-get it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You hum back to him, watching him with drooping eyes. The sight of him, so enticing you know exactly where he’s coming from. Sweat slick hair pushed off of his forehead, eyes darkened with desire, the ripped sleeves of his t-shirt leaving his biceps on display for you to rave over. You may not have been as obvious about it, but you were just as - if not more - riled up than he was right now. Just from the view of him stumbling through the door after a workout in the sun. “At least let me have a shower first, you freak.” You crack him a playful smile. “I’m gross right now.”

Completely ignoring your words, Toby’s hand wanders. Down lower. Lower. Until his palm is completely splayed against one of your ass cheeks, before he’s giving it a nice firm squeeze. His gaze following, watching how your flesh yielded to his touch. How the meat of your ass indented as his fingers sunk into it. Slippery with sweat, but maybe that just made it better. Maybe, your words had some truth to them.

But, he’d gladly be a freak when it comes to you.

“You’re n-never gross.” He murmurs back to you, his voice taking on a lower tone as his eyes snap back to your face. His hand, doesn’t stop though. Kneading the flesh beneath it, making you squirm a little bit under his touch. You were already hot, but the heat he was bringing to you was different. This heat wasn’t outwardly suffocating - it came from within. A flame that he stoked so easily, making the fire burn brighter just from the simplest touch. “You-You’ve got no idea how I see you.” He leans forwards a little, pressing the gentlest kiss to your shoulder blade. “Lookin’ like a fuckin’ goddess dropped onto my couch.”

Another kiss meets your skin, sloppy and unrestrained - smearing saliva against your shoulder as his mouth moved against your skin. Up your shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, breathing in the pure scent of you earnestly. “You’ve got no- no idea.” He mutters against you again, his hand dipping down even lower - fingers just barely grazing the shape of your cunt through your panties. “All the things I want t-to do to you.” He presses down lightly, just enough for you to really feel it. Enough to elicit a sharp inhale through your teeth. “Things I should never say.”

“Say them.” You gasp out immediately, arching into his touch as you bury your face into the couch cushions. Already trembling, just from the anticipation. “Tell me, Toby.” It was laughable really, how easily he melted you. Barely even in the house for more than a few minutes, and he was turning you to mush. All his words picked out carefully, knowing just what to say to make your brain go foggy. Knowing just how to touch you, to make your panties go damp.

“I wanna…” You feel it as he rises, before joining you on the couch. Positioned right behind you, his hands only leaving you for a second before they’re back on your skin. Calloused palms kneading your ass as he watches with drool pooling in the corners of his lips. It’s only time until it starts seeping out of the cash in his face, but that’s just a part of it. He always got messy. A fact that was so enticing. Always just as much of a mess for you as you were for him. “I wanna worship every i-inch of this skin.”

He dips his head down low, hands sliding up your sides as he presses a kiss right between your shoulder blades. So much bare skin for him to lave at already, and he hasn’t even had to strip you. What a treat. “Wanna t-taste every inch of you. Get you shaking and crying before I even stuff you full.”

His words invoke a downright visceral reaction, the softest of moans slipping from your lips as you bury your face further into the cushions. You can feel your cheeks burning, can feel your cunt throbbing within the confines of your panties - and it’s agonizing. Agonizing in the way he’s barely even done anything, and yet you’re already falling apart. Mind hazy, pussy pulsing - desperate for his touch

He knew your body so well. Using every time with you as a chance to bookmark everything you liked the best, and now it was all being thrown back in your face - leaving you powerless in the wake of your all-consuming desire. “And I’ll get you full. I know that’s what you want.”

His lips trail down your back, leaving a slick trail in its wake. Tracing the line of your spine, moving lower languidly - letting you really feel it as his lips dance against your skin, licking up all the salty sweat that had already accumulated. God, you tasted so lovely. Every inch of you. And, he hadn’t even gotten to the good part yet.

He shifts backwards on the couch, letting his lips trail down further - his calloused palms sliding back down your sides before he’s gripping your hips. Giving them a nice squeeze, his grip firm and insistent. “Acting all i-innocent.” He mutters softly, one hand slipping under your body to lift your hips upwards - getting your cunt perfectly in line with his drooling mouth. Exactly where he wants you to be. “As if this pussy isn’t begging for it.”

You feel it when his fingers hook under your panties, peeling the material from your body. Too impatient that he doesn’t even pull them off all the way, just slides them down your thighs. It’s enough to get your glistening pussy on full display for him though, so it’s good enough in his books. “Luh-Look at you. So wet already.”

His hands move to splay against your ass cheeks and spread you apart further, giving him a full frontal view of the feast before him. Your desperate cunt, already dripping with slick. Your clit already visibly swollen, and he can see it when your pussy throbs. Clenching around nothing - literally begging for more. And what kind of man was he, if he were to ignore such pleading? “D-Du kannst es nicht vor mir verbergen, süßes Mädchen.”

He dips his head down low, breathing out a hot puff of breath against your cunt that immediately has you squirming in his hold. The position you were in was downright humiliating, and so you can’t help it when your stomach twists in embarrassment. Face down into the couch cushions, spread open for Toby’s eyes to feast on. To think, just an hour before this you had been innocently lounging on the couch - unaware of the wolf that would soon walk through the door and pounce you. “So feucht. U-Und ich weiß, du schmeckst süß.“

“Toby, please-“ You murmur out, voice partially muffled by the cushions below you. In an act of desperation, you nudge your hips back towards him - seeking anything at this point. His tongue, his fingers, his cock - you didn’t really care. You just needed something, anything to extinguish this fire you were consumed in. So wet you could feel it dripping down your thighs, only adding to the embarrassment that was already churning in your gut, because you knew Toby was getting a front row seat to all of it.

“Du bettelst so schön.” Toby sounds breathless when he speaks, his words husky with every letter absolutely soaked in lust. If you could see him, you could imagine the look on his face. You’ve seen it before, how he gets when he’s like this - skin flushed, pupils so blown out they practically swallow his irises whole. Staring down at you like you were a feast to be consumed.

Maybe, that’s exactly what you were to him. It sure seemed like it, with what he does next.

With no warning, no further words, he closes the gap between his face and your leaking cunt. Making you jolt when his tongue comes into contact with you - licking a long, flat stripe from your clit to your how hole. Gathering up all the slick you had already leaked out. Drinking it up so eagerly, moaning into you like the mere taste of you brought him pleasure.

It did. It definitely did. Toby could feel himself just grow harder in his jeans once the taste of your essence met his tastebuds. So sweet. So, you. It was absolutely intoxicating. It was, every single time he went down on you. Never got old, no matter how many times he was granted with the blessing of having a face full of your cunt.

And having his face between your thighs, truly is a blessing. For both parties. Because the love Toby had for eating you out showed in every action that he made. He savoured it. Tongue dipping into every inch of your folds, licking you clean of all the slick that was seeping out of you. Sucking on your clit as his fingers clawed at your ass cheeks, groaning into you in a tone so deep it only intensified the tingles going down your spine.

“F-Fuck, Toby-“ You can’t help but moan out, your mouth dropping open in pleasure as he laps at your heat. Swiping his tongue against you like it’s his only purpose in life - using his grip on you to pull you against him, getting his face completely buried in that treasure between your legs. “S’Too good-“

And it was. It was too good. So good, you could barely even form a coherent thought. Especially not when you felt his tongue dip inside you - hot, slick muscle sliding against your walls. Licking into you, the vibrations of his moans making your knees go weak.

He doesn’t respond, can’t, with a face full of pussy - but your words only seem to spur him on more. He dives into you with fervour - clawing at your skin as his tongue flicked inside of you - eyes rolling back in his skull from the combination of the feel and taste of you. You just got better every time, he was sure of it. So tight and warm, so slick and sweet. He would live between your thighs if you’d let him. Would worship you for hours, drink up every drop of essence that leaked out of you.

He felt so lucky, every day, that he was the one you chose to bestow that honour to.

“Du b-bist köstlich.” He slurs against you, his breathing coming out as shaky huffs of breath when his tongue slides out of you. Then, he’s giving all the love to your clit. Sucking at it, flicking his tongue against it - revelling in the way your pussy throbs with each swipe of his tongue. So responsive. You always were. And it was so gratifying, knowing that he could bring you the height of pleasure. That he was the only one who knew just how to take you apart. “Pussy’s gettin’ so w-wet for me. You’re gonna cum, aren’t you baby?”

Yeah, you were. It had been building and building, ignited the moment his tongue met your sensitive flesh. You had been trying to hold it off, but that was an impossible feat when faced with Toby. When he got you like this, his one and only goal was to make you crumble apart before him.

And he knew just how to do it.

You feel the tips of his fingers prod at your entrance for just a moment - circling around it, gathering up your slick - before they’re sinking into you. Two fingers. Two, long, calloused fingers, sliding into you so effortlessly. Making your body bend to his will, stretching you open in anticipation to take more.

He pumps them into you as his lips suction to your clit, thrusting them into you at a pace that leaves you breathless. Curling them into you just right, knowing just what spot to press into that would just get you wetter.

The coil in your gut ties tighter. Heat growing hotter. Legs trembling when he scissors his fingers, just spreading you open wider. The stretch is mind numbing. Godly, even. And with how his assault on your clit is as relentless as ever, it hardly takes any more effort from him for you to be tumbling over the edge in a flurry of gasps as moans.

You take in a sharp breath as your orgasm hits you with full forth, pushing back against his face as you soak him with you slick - and he loves it. Slurping up every drop that you give him. Fingers curling into your skin as you tremble and shake, fingernails leaving behind little crescent shaped indents in the supple flesh. “Das ist es. SS-So gut für mich.”

He licks at you until you’re trying to pull away from him, not content until he’s swallowed down every little bit of your release. And he does. Slurping at your heat with the filthiest sounds until you’re licked clean - but he isn’t. His face is absolutely soaked when he pulls away from you. Coated in a sheen of your release and his spit, to the point where it’s dripping down his chin.

So messy, so filthy. And it’s all for you.

Toby leans up and straightens his back, gazing down at you from above with a mind clouded with lust. You look so… Appetizing. Still trembling, back arched with your ass up in the air - slick still dripping down your thighs, fingers curled into the couch cushions. If his cock wasn’t quite literally aching in his boxers, he’s probably just dive right back in and eat you out until you were sobbing from oversensitivity. But, he just can’t take it.

If he was being honest, he’d been hard since he first caught sight of you. Walking through the door and seeing you sprawling out on the couch like that, so much bare smooth skin for him to touch upon, causing all the blood in his brain to rush south at an almost worrying speed.

How could you blame him? You were just too gorgeous. So gorgeous it was absolutely maddening. On a daily basis, when you were fully clothed, he had to restrained himself from pouncing on you when you were doing something as mundane as cooking dinner.

So, walking into you, barely clothed, skin shiny with a layer of sweat - it was simply impossible for him to hold himself back. And especially not now, still shaking from the bliss of your relief. All hazy eyed and pliant, laying below him like some sort of angel. “Hübsches Mädchen. I-Ich weiß, du willst mehr.”

You feel his fingers swipe through your slickness again, before he delivers a light slap to your cunt. Just enough to make you jolt, and let out a little squeak of surprise. “This pretty cunt’s b-begging for my cock. Practically crying for me t-to knock you up.”

If you couldn’t breathe before, those words knocked out whatever air was left in your lungs. Because, fuck. Fuck, he was right. He knew he was right, just as much as you did. You wanted that, so badly it made your bones ache. Needing nothing more than for him to absolutely flood you with his cum, for him to really, really make you his - as if you weren’t already.

“Please, Toby-“ You gasp, arching your back more, wiggling your ass a little just for good measure. As if you needed to entice him more, but the action makes his hands absolutely fly to his belt buckle. “I need it-“

“Y-Yeah?” You hear the jingle of his belt as he pulls it free, hear the rustle of clothes as he kicks his jeans off with an enviable speed. “W-Want me to get you full of it? Mark this cunt as mine?” Please. That’s all you can think. The only word bouncing around your brain as you feel the weight of his cock rest against your ass.

You’ve seen it enough times to know what you’re dealing with, but the size still gets you every time. So thick, so long. Absolute brain numbing. Like he was moulded by god, strictly for the purpose of making you drool from pleasure. “Ich werde dich damit vollpumpen.” His cock grinds against your folds, slipping against your slickness and getting himself all lubed up and slippery with your essence. “Du kannst hier auf keinen Fall weggehen, ohne dass mein Kind in dir ist.“

Your German is spotty, but you don’t need to be fluent to know exactly what he’s saying to you. To know the promise he’s making. A promise that you know you can’t fulfill, but it doesn’t fucking matter, because you want it. Need it. Just as bad as he does.

You feel it as the head of his cock notches on your entrance, almost slipping in aided by the amount of slick gushing out of you. You were so ready for it. So ready for anything he could possibly want to give you. “G-Gonna get this cunt so full-“ Again, he grinds against you, leaving you whimpering and whining for him to please just give it to you. To fill you up, just like he said he would. “S-So lucky to have such a- a Hübsche Schlampe like you.”

And then you feel the head of his cock press against you, at the same time that his hands slide up to grip your hips. Pressing you down, forcing your body into an arch so provocative it makes his cock throb before he even enters you. But when he does? Good lord.

Even after being fingered open, the stretch still leaves you brainless. His cock sliding into you so easily because of how fucking wet you are, absolutely drenching every inch that he sunk in. Literally dripping for him, like you always were. So desperate. So willing. Begging for it, like he had said before.

It was no wonder his hormones were so out of whack around you, with a pussy that was literally crying for it.

His hips rock into you gently at first - slow, gentle thrusts, letting you really feel it as his your pussy stretched around his cock. Two hands on your waist, fingers curling into your flesh - gripping you like he’d die if he ever let you go. “S-So good.” Toby can’t help but groan out, his voice strained and gravelly. “Fuck, you j-just get better every time.” And that was nothing but the truth. No matter how many times he sunk into you, he’d never get sick of it. Never get sick of you. You were just too fucking good. Too good, for him to be the person who got to indulge in it, but there was not an ounce of guilt in his veins as he thrust his cock into your velvety heat.

You were his. Only his. His to defile, and take apart. His, to leave his mark on. “Y-You’d look so pretty, you know?” One of his hand slips down beneath you, cupping your stomach as his cock slid into you. “All s-swollen with my kids.” And you just get wetter, gushing all over him as he pumps his dick into you, enveloping himself in that tight heat of yours over and over and over again. Because, christ, you could imagine it. Had imagined it, many times before. “I-I’d give you as many as you want.”

The hand that’s not pressing against your belly, presses down on your back - forcing you into an even meaner arch, face pressed into the cushions as his hips snap against yours. “I-If I had it my way-“ The head of his cock presses against your gspot and your knees buckle, but he keeps you held up effortlessly. “This pussy would be full of my cum 24/7. You’d n-never not be knocked up.”

The dream. The absolute dream. You could imagine it. Giving birth just to be stuffed full all over again. Throwing your birth control pills in the trash, never needing them again.

God, if only life was just a little bit different.

“Please, Toby-“ You cry, gasping against the couch cushions. Rocking your hips back to meet his every thrust, the sound of skin on skin filling your once quiet living room. It was a good thing your cabin was secluded, because you knew that you were being loud. Absolutely unabashed with the way the filthiest moans and cries were slipping off of your tongue - staining the cushions below you with drool and tears.

You couldn’t help it. Not when the feeling of his cock filling you was so delicious, so perfect. Nudging right up against your cervix every time he sunk in to the hilt, a sure fire way to knock you up if life allowed it. “I-I need it-“

“Yeah, I-I know you do.” Toby murmurs back to softly, breathing growing more and more ragged with each thrust he dealt upon you. “You need it b-bad huh? Want me to mark this cunt as mine?”

“Fuck, yes-“ Your eyes roll back, the position he’s got you in letting him sink in so deep. So deep it made your toes curl and your thighs tremble. “Toby, please-“

“I know baby, I-I know.” His pace only quickens, driven by this primal urge that you were encouraging so wholeheartedly. Endorsing his sickest wishes, so perfect for him in every single way. “Du wärst so eine wundervolle Mutter.”

His hand slides up your back until it’s curling into your hair, tugging you upwards with a force that makes you squeal - unable to do anything but take it as his hips smack against yours. He pulls your body flush to his, your back meeting his chest as your head comes to rest on his shoulder. Drooling, gasping, crying for more with each punishing thrust. You almost felt dizzy, completely consumed by pleasure as his cock stretched you open - sinking into you like you were just made to take it. Maybe you were. “Das willst du d-doch, oder?”

Yes, yes it was. More than anything you’ve ever wanted before. And as you feel your pleasure start to crest, thighs shaking as your cunt pulses around him - your brain is filled with nothing but that need. You need him to pump you full. Need him to absolutely soak your cunt with his cum, get you so full that you’ll be dripping with it for hours to come. And if you had it your way, it would seed. You’d be so, completely his, by the time this was all over.

“I want that-“ You gasp, your whole face scrunched up in pleasure as his cock abused your gspot - one hand on your stomach and pressing down, adding a pressure that only took you higher. “Wanna- Wanna have your babies, Toby- Please-“

Christ, if he couldn’t fall even more in love. Those words do him in. Sending a white hot wave of pleasure straight to his dick. Because you just sound so desperate, tears in your eyes as you literally cry from him to knock you up. Was that not every man’s dream? It was like you had dropped straight out of one of his darkest fantasies. An absolute goddess of a woman, all his to dirty up.

“Fuck-“ He hisses through his teeth, jaw clenched as his hips start to stutter. His sweat mixing with yours, his breath so hot against your neck as he panted out heady huffs of breath against you. “G-Give me one more then.” His voice is a borderline growl, so low and raspy as it reverberates right next to your ear. “Cum on my cock, show me h-how much you need it.”

Easy. Especially when you’re so pent up it’s making you near delirious. His cock is hitting all the right spots, and the sounds of his husky groans right next to your ear only amplifies your needs. He sounds near animalistic, obviously struggling to hold back his release just as much as you were.

And so, you let go. Cumming with a cry that rings through the empty air, so raw and visceral in the way it’s absolutely ripped from your lungs. The pleasure is almost blinding, leaving you near limp in his hold as your eyes roll back - body trembling in his arms as wave after wave of ecstasy wracks you.

Your hands fly up to claw at him, scratching at his shoulders as he fucks you through it, nails sinking in deep enough to break skin. That’s what he liked though, being left with evidence of your desire after all is said and done.

He doesn’t let you grasp at him for long though, because as your cunt milks his cock, he’s shoving you back down again. One hand on the back of your neck, pressing your face deep back into the cushions as his hips start to stutter. Holding you down with a firm grip, leaving you to do nothing but take it when he tumbled over the edge after you.

Once, twice, his hips meet yours, and then he’s crumpling. Letting out a deep, low groan as he buries himself in deep, nestled right up against your womb when he spills inside of you. Rocking his hips into you lazily to make sure it’s all stuffed in deep.

He’s shaking too by the time he completely empties himself into you, curling his body over yours as he gasps and grunts against your shoulder blades. Absolutely reeling from the ecstasy you had given him, barely able to bring himself back to earth, even as his cock started to soften inside of you.

When he finally did pull out, he left nothing to waste. Watching with hazy eyes as his cum started to drip out of you, before he’s scooping it up with his fingers and pushing it right back into you. Right where it should be. “So dreckig.” He murmurs softly, his voice strained from the lingering effects of his release. “M-Mein schmutziges Mädchen.”

You let out a soft little whine, face scrunching up at the feeling his fingers prodding against your incredibly sensitive walls. Pumping his cum right back into you, not satisfied until he’s sure your body’s swallowed up every last drop.

When he is satisfied though, he gently flips you over - strong arms flipping you onto your back so that he can finally get a good look at you. At those watery eyes of yours, and all the tears streaking your flushed cheeks. So pretty. So fucking pretty. “Hey, beautiful.” He murmurs to you, his eyes so warm and full of adoration that it makes your stomach flip. His sweat drenched hair falls over his eyes, lips stretched into a satisfied smile. “Missed th-that pretty face of yours.”

“Oh, shush.” You giggle softly, before reaching your hands up to grab at him. He concedes easily, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush to his chest - revelling in the warmth of your body against his, even if the air was so hot around the two of you. “Now I really need a shower, asshole.”

Toby lets out a snort of laughter and rolls his eyes, before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Yeah, act mad about it.” He chuckles. “Want me to r-repeat some of the things you just said?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Want me to repeat some of the shit you just said?” You counter, and he must know it’s a good argument, because he’s rolling over so incredibly easily.

“Touché.” He laughs, rubbing his nose against yours. “I’ll start the sh-shower.”

—————————————————————————☆

ok you nasties. i know you’ve been waiting for this

EVERYONE wants toby to knock them up. he’s boutta be a deadbeat father

[quarterlifekitty]

okay, I had been thinking about but after you commented on my post it’s just— [explodes]

maybe a weaknesses post with the CoD men on your monthly? I’m begging on my knees, I’m sure they (König) could fix me❤️‍🩹✨also thinking about how König probably refers to it as “strawberry week” (German euphemism for it) [explodes pt 2]

Maybe? Machveil. For you? Anything. Also, please look at my favorite period euphemisms, found while researching for this post:

ペリー来航 - Arrival of Matthew Perry

Le petit clown qui saigne du nez - The little clown with a nose bleeding

Weaknesses part 9: the red death

cw: period play, breeding mention, exhibitionism mention

Gaz grew up with a sister— he is no stranger to the ill tidings that come with owning a uterus. He’s a man that probably already has pads and tampons at his place for guests. And Gaz is the kind of son of a bitch who kinda likes it when you’re sick, cause it means he gets to spend time nursing you— so he loves your period. Picking up comfort foods, doing a bit of extra laundry, making sure your vibrator is charged. He calls it “Lady time”.

Soap is not very sympathetic in this matter. He finds it kinda funny, to be honest. He’ll still do anything you ask, but he has a condescending little smile on his face. Calls you his little ketchup packet. Tickles you, knowing it makes you gush a little. That said, he will eat you out during it. His doglike nature knows no bounds. Refers to it as being “on the rag”.

Ghost is like a knight in your royal service when you’ve got a rough menstrual. At your command in any matter, no matter the inconvenience, with no complaint. While he will fuck you and make you cum, it’s purely for your benefit. Blood usually reminds him a bit too much of work for it to be a huge turn on. But he does melt under the praise of “none of my boyfriends before would do this for me— they all said it was gross :(“. Makes him feel like a real man. He calls it Shark Week.

Price feels, in just the tiniest way, like resources have been wasted when you get your period. Like… you’re paying rent on an empty apartment (your baby chamber) when it could be full (with a baby). He’ll never say that, but it’s in the back of his mind. And if you loudly complain about being on you’re period a lot he’ll be like “I know a way to make it stop for a while :{)” (the curly bracket is his mustache). Like man, shut up. Also, blame it on being English, but he’s constantly offering tea for every single symptom. He calls it “code red”.

König. This is a sick man. He feels a bit bad about it, but he does like that your period makes you so slick, and so sensitive— he doesn’t even have to do anything to get you going before he fucks you. Despite his career, he rather likes the look of your blood all over his cock and splashing up his pelvis. And he gets super proud if he’s the first man to ever fuck you on your period. He buys you a big, expensive box of imported chocolate truffles when you’re having a terrible period. Calls it “Erdbeerwoche” (strawberry week).

Nikolai… patron saint of your helplessness. Thinks of your period as a part of his responsibility as your man. Happy wife happy life type of thing. He does a lot of cooking. And he keeps you perched on his thigh at every opportunity for as long as you can stand it. He’s got a hand dipping into your panties and playing with you throughout the day (his non dominant, but that’s never stopped him) while he works, relaxes, entertains guests (Price). Makes you cum until you’re a boneless mess, your blood soaked clean through his jeans. Calls it “Красная шапочка (krasnaya shapochka)” (little red riding hood)

[acowardinmordor]

I only had Steve repeating his senior year because I wanted the kids to know Eddie already, but thinking about it? This messes Steve up so so much more. He obviously met Robin, who asked a few pointed questions that made him go oh. about his life and his identity.

He’s back for another year in high school because of post concussion symptoms. His parents are probably pissed. He’s trying to rebuild his own sense of self without defining it with popularity, but he’s stuck in the place where he was the most popular before. And is now one of those loser super seniors.

Enter Eddie, who had been on Steve’s radar as a vague awareness of maybe-attraction in previous years. And the guy is protecting his kids. Encouraging them. He’s also as close to Out as he can be in Hawkins. He knows who he is. He’s unapologetic and doesn’t let trends define him. He’s who he wants to be. Of course there’s hearteyes.

But Steve isn’t comfortable with himself enough to talk to him directly. Hence the letters.

And maybe at first he wasn’t even sure that Eddie liked getting them. Or was even reading them. Probably wrote about how he was anonymous because he didn’t think Eddie would actually like him if he knew. It’s been a theme from the start, and it was probably the first thing that Eddie talked about when he could finally write back.

Eddie totally said that anyone who wrote letters like that, who was that kind and clever and generous and funny, would always be someone Eddie liked. Loved. That it wouldn’t matter if X was ugly, that it wouldn’t even matter if X was a girl. That Eddie would still want to know them.

And that’s when you have those insults. When Steve was finally finally brave enough to be around Eddie. To come to Hellfire. Because Eddie had promised in the letters to teach X how to play, that he’d be so so patient because X told him that he probably wasn’t smart enough to play.

Eddie has to betray everything he’s said.

And it is specifically because Steve Harrington is anathema to Eddie.

Proof that who Steve wants to be, tries to be, is wanted, but who he is in real life, not on paper, isn’t good enough.

(Yes, Robin had to be hugged into submission to keep her from slashing Eddie’s tires)

But, tag writer whose user name I can’t recall, Steve didn’t write his last letter in the car. He dropped off the boys, went home, and wrote something longer at first. He tried to find a way to explain to Eddie that he’s trying. That he wants to be a better person who Eddie would be happy to discover is X. He writes it, and he doesn’t believe that it will ever happen. That he can ever be better.

Anyway, Steve totally gets Vecna’d in this AU, and Eddie is one of the focal points.

[kxsagi]

OUGHHHH MAY FIRST CAME 😈 at least here in Poland. You can ignore this if it’s something you don’t wanna write btw!!!

Can I request BL men that are already pro players, and they’re dating a reader that has chronic pain and uses mobility aids because of it? And the media is super weird ab it cause how dare a pro athlete date a disabled person. Maybe he comforts her because she stumbled upon a weird ass article or a hate comment idk.

Uhhh ness shidou bachira and whoever u want 🙇‍♀️ I love you and your writing I hope you have a good day!

SORRY if this is too specific. Shout out to my fellow disabled girlies 😔✊

“𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐝”

a/n: NOOO I LOVE THIS, I LOVE YOU AND YOUR COMMENTS AND I AM SO HAPPY I GET TO WRITE THIS FOR YOU

ft. ness alexis, shidou ryusei, bachira meguru, kaiser michael, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, isagi yoichi

ness alexis

ness is literally the definition of a gentle boyfriend, so the moment he sees that one trashy gossip headline – “Pro Athlete Seen With Disabled Girlfriend: Fans Concerned?” – his jaw drops like someone just slapped him. 

“concerned for what?” he whispers like he’s in a horror movie. 

you find it first, though. you're just scrolling while curled up on the couch, using your heating pad, when you freeze mid-scroll and go, “hey, do you wanna see something funny, but soul-destroying?” 

ness peers at your phone and immediately climbs onto the couch to wrap himself around you like a human blanket. “do not let stupid people ruin your mood. you are my favorite person. also, what is this site even called? ‘goalz4gossip’? this looks like it was made by a 12-year-old with an ipad and rage issues.” 

he goes on a small rant in german under his breath and then kisses your forehead 400 times. 

“you’re literally the strongest person i know. the media can go date each other if they’re so pressed about us.” 

shidou ryusei

shidou finds a comment that says, “how is she even keeping up with a guy like him? she uses a cane 💀” and immediately screenshots it. 

not because he agrees, but because he wants to roast it on his private story. 

his post is just a screenshot with the caption: “buddy she keeps up with me just fine, she made me cry last week for stealing her fries. sit down.” 

shidou doesn’t sugarcoat stuff, but he’s aggressively supportive. like, if someone tries to come at you sideways in public, he’ll bark at them. 

literally bark. 

“you okay, babe?” he says when you look a little too quiet after seeing one of those backhanded articles. 

you shrug and say, “i’m fine,” but he doesn’t let it go. he walks over, squats in front of you, rests his chin on your lap and goes, “wanna egg their office building? or better yet, light it on fire and commit arson together?” 

instead of actually committing a felony, he picks you up bridal-style and plops you into bed. “you’re hot, you’re smarter than me, and you walk cooler than 99% of the population. who cares what some sweaty journalist thinks?” 

he also gets you custom accessories for your mobility aids with little flames or skulls ‘cause you’re metal like that. 

bachira meguru

bachira is completely unbothered by the hate. but super bothered when it makes you upset. 

like you’re sitting in the park one day and overhear someone whisper “is that her? the one with the crutches?” and he notices how you instinctively stiffen. 

he grabs your hand instantly, leans into your ear and whispers, “they’re just jealous you’ve got me wrapped around your finger.” 

always trying to turn the moment silly so you smile again. 

later, when you’re spiraling a bit in your room reading too many mean reddit comments, he flops beside you dramatically. 

“stop. too much screen. i’m gonna fart on your phone.” 

you shove him away laughing, but he tugs you close with a pout. 

“you know… they don’t get to have you. i do. and i think your pain doesn’t make you less, it just makes you stronger and cooler. like a character in an anime who gets up anyway, no matter what.” 

then he insists on decorating your mobility aids with googly eyes and doodle stickers cause “it’s armor now. i’m your sidekick. beep beep.” 

michael kaiser

he acts unbothered in public, but he absolutely loses it behind the scenes when he sees an article titled, “Can a Pro Like Kaiser Settle for Someone Like Her?” 

“settle for– oh okay. okay. no one tell my manager i’m about to commit slander with a side of defamation.” 

you find him aggressively typing in a notes app. “dear anonymous hater from 'SoccerDailyBuzz': how does it feel knowing you could never even get a date with her, much less someone who calls you ‘baby’ while making espresso at 6 AM?” 

turns his anger into sarcasm but also kisses your shoulder after every sentence to calm himself down. 

“i didn’t fall in love with your pain, but i fell in love with the way you live through it. your stubbornness, your fire, the way you still make fun of me even when you’re hurting. that’s what makes you beautiful, you know? wait, that sounds so cheesy.” 

he makes a point to show you off even more. red carpet? he’s holding your hand the whole way, mobility aid and all. interview? he’s saying “my girlfriend is the strongest person i know” before anyone even asks. 

he sees your worth so clearly. and he makes damn sure everyone else does, too. 

itoshi sae

sae’s already got a reputation for being cold and unbothered, so people are shocked when he’s openly soft around you. 

he doesn’t do PDA or gush about you on TV, but the way he always slows his pace to walk beside you, carries your bag without a word, and makes sure you’re seated comfortably before interviews, it’s noticed. and, of course, dissected. 

you show him a headline that says, “What’s Sae Itoshi Doing With Someone Who Can’t Even Keep Up?” 

and he reads it with a completely neutral expression, then tosses your phone face-down on the table and goes, “well, that’s funny. you seem to keep up just fine when you’re lecturing me at 2 AM about leaving the stove on.” 

you burst out laughing, but he looks at you with the tiniest furrow in his brow. “does it bother you?” he asks quietly. 

you admit it hurts a little. and he just nods, slides over, and presses his forehead to yours. 

“they don’t get to know you. they don’t see how hard you fight. how much you endure. they don’t see you the way i do. and that’s their loss.” 

next time you two are seen in public, he’s the one walking with your cane slung over his shoulder like a sword. the caption on the paparazzi pic reads: “new accessory or relationship statement?” yes. yes to both.

itoshi rin

rin already hates the media, so this gives him another reason to despise them. 

when someone tweets, “idk i just think it’s weird for a high-performing athlete to date someone who can’t even do sports,” he literally glares at your phone like it personally insulted him. 

“what the hell does that even mean. i can’t do ballet, but i’m not out here judging people who can.” 

he’s blunt, but he’s furious on your behalf. he’s also the type to go down the rabbit hole of comments and get angrier by the second. 

when you try to downplay it – “it’s fine, i’m used to it” – he looks at you like you just said gravity isn’t real. 

“don’t do that. don’t act like you have to take it just because people are cruel. they’re wrong.” 

then, more softly: “you’re… more than what your body lets you do. and i fell in love with you, not your physical stats.” 

rin shows his love by doing things for you. adjusting your seat. finding the best accessible routes. learning how to help without hovering. 

someone once asked him in an interview, “how does your girlfriend feel about not being able to travel as easily to your matches?” 

rin deadpans: “she’s the reason i win. so unless you’d like to speak directly to my motivation, maybe pick a better question next time.” 

isagi yoichi

isagi is the type who genuinely doesn’t understand how people can be so heartless. 

like he reads one awful comment and goes, “... do they think you’re not allowed to be loved?” with genuine confusion in his voice. 

he’s devastated that you saw it. “you shouldn’t have to read stuff like that. i promise i’ll protect you from it all.” 

you shrug and tell him you’re used to it, and he immediately goes into ‘motivational team captain’ mode. 

“you being used to it doesn’t mean you have to accept it. people suck. you’re brilliant, and funny, and beautiful, and strong in a way most people will never understand. and you don’t have to prove your worth to anyone.” 

he holds your hand tighter when you’re out in public. makes a habit of stopping to adjust your pace so you’re never rushed. 

also, he subtly drags anyone who says anything ableist during interviews. 

“a lot of people think strength is just about running or scoring goals, but i’ve learned from my partner that real strength is showing up every day, even when your body fights you. that’s the kind of strength i look up to.” 

cue the internet sobbing. cue you sobbing. cue him also sobbing because he made you cry and didn’t mean to. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[docile-dove]

Just playing, right?

Yandere bf x reader

Tw: Overpowering, suffocating, hidden red flag, mention of harming reader, r@pe threats, sickeningly sweet

It had been a lazy afternoon — the kind that made you feel like time had slowed just for you and him. The two of you were curled up on the couch, tangled in a mess, your legs on eachother comfortably. Your head was on his chest, and his arm was draped on your waist.

You could hear the soft thud of his heartbeat through his shirt. Everything felt warm and safe. He was on his phone, as usual, scrolling through something. You’d been half-dozing, fingers tracing little shapes on his chest, until you noticed the little smirk forming on his lips.

"What's so funny?” you asked, lifting your head. “Nothing,” he said quickly, too quickly, tilting the phone away from your curious eyes. You sat up straighter.

“Nothing doesn’t make you smile like that.”

“Just a post. You’d get jealous.” That made you narrow your eyes.

“I would not.”

“Mhm.”

He looked entirely too smug. You grinned. “Gimme the phone.”He raised it above his head. “Nope.” “Are you really doing this right now?” you asked, already climbing over him. He laughed, deep and easy.

“You’re gonna have to work for it, sweetheart.” That was all the challenge you needed.

You pounced, straddling his lap, reaching for the phone. He leaned back further, one arm shielding the screen, the other holding you at bay.

(The thing he was laughing at was some random meme but decided to act like its some big thing)

You were both laughing now — loud and playful. “Cheater!” you accused, grabbing his wrist. “I’m defending my privacy!” “Oh, please!” you huffed, trying to pin his arms down.

“You're acting like you're hiding government secrets or smt! What are u part of the fbi??” He snorted, twisting just enough to roll you off him, but you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him back down with you.

You both collapsed onto the floor, breathless. You landed on top of him, your hair falling in your face. You were flushed, both from effort and from how close you were — your knees bracketing his hips, his breath brushing your cheek.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, wide-eyed and smiling. “You’re such a menace” he said, his voice low and fond.

You tilted your head. “Takes one to know one.” He suddenly surged forward — not threateningly, but fast enough to catch you off guard — and tackled you to the carpet.

You yelped, laughing, as he pinned your shoulders down, hovering above you with that boyish, reckless grin.

“You really thought you could beat me?” he teased.

“I was winning!”

“You wish.”

You shoved at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “Okay, seriously. Off. You weigh a ton.” You groaned under his weight.

He raised a brow. “Oh, do I now?”

“Yes, and—”

Your words stopped. Because suddenly… he wasn’t laughing anymore. His grin faded, almost too slowly. Like a mask sliding off. You frowned up at him.

“Hey. What’s with the look?”

He was staring at you — not angry. Not smiling. Just… staring. His eyes darkened slightly. Something unreadable flickered across his face.“You’re so small,” he said quietly.

The hairs on your arms prickled. “I mean, yeah, compared to you,” you said lightly, trying to steer the mood back. “You’re a literal human boulder haha.. uh—?”

He didn’t smile. “You’re soft. Breakable.” Your breath hitched. He adjusted his grip on your wrists — and that’s when you noticed.You couldn’t move. Not even a little.

“Okay,” you said, your tone shifting, “you’re holding kinda tight..”

He didn’t blink. “You didn’t notice before. You were too busy laughing.” His voice was soft, like he was telling you a secret. A confession. “I didn’t think it’d feel this good,” he murmured. “Having you like this.”

Your chest tightened. “Let go.”

Still, no reaction. He was studying you, drinking in every twitch of discomfort. “I could break every bone in your wrist right now,” he said, so matter-of-factly it made your stomach twist. "Or....do something even worse. Maybe I'll take you, no matter if you gave concent or not? Would you.....would you like that?"

Your heart slammed against your ribs. “Why would you say something like that?” you whispered. You knew there were guys in the internet who would joke about r@pe but you didn't think your innocent boyfriend would be one of them. Little did you know, it wasn't a joke.

He tilted his head, like a curious animal. “Why..? Hm.. let me think. Maybe because you would look pretty crying and begging me to stop?” His voice trailed off, but his grip tightened slightly. Not enough to hurt — just enough to remind you it could hurt. “When I'm deep inside you.. you'd scream so beautifully. Maybe scream for help or pleasure. Who wouldn't want to see that?" He said it so softly, basically a mumble of words like he's reciting a ritual to you. He grinds softly on your hip, giving your throat a light squeeze.

Your throat went dry. Then, just like that, he let go. He rolled off you, as if nothing happened, and offered a hand to help you up. Doing nothing to hide his slight arousal in his pants and that look on his face.

His smile had returned — warm, open, familiar. “Just playing, right?” he said lightly.

You didn’t take his hand. You sat up slowly, your wrists aching where he’d held them, your breath shallow. He watched you with quiet amusement, like you were overreacting.

Like it had all been a harmless game. But you knew better now. Something in him had cracked open — something he hadn’t meant for you to see.

Or maybe he had. Maybe he wanted you to know.

You looked at him, really looked, and realized with a pale expression.

You'd never be able to stop him if he actually tried to use his full strength. He could overpower you, bind you and do whatever the fuck he wanted to.

[f1angelz]

filo girly request for oscar 🧍🏻‍♀️🫶🏼

im thinking of a scenario where reader is part of a love team and oscar gets jealous or she gets questions when shes on a show it interview about him and they love her and oscar together if a fc is needed i love atasha mulach's vibe

𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒏 — oscar piastri x reader

summary: oscar’s girlfriend is a celebrity and has an on-screen partner. when she gets asked about her and oscar’s relationship during an interview, what is she gonna say?

content warnings: none, just fluff. (not proofread sorry </3)

this fic contains tagalog phrases and words highlighted in italics. for non-filipino readers, translations are provided in small text. *(mahal = love)

── .✦

It’s 3 in the morning in Silverstone, and Oscar couldn’t sleep.

Maybe it’s because he arrived a few hours ago and can’t bring himself to rest, or maybe it’s because his girlfriend had an interview on the other side of the globe.

Oscar’s girlfriend is a celebrity in the Philippines, Y/N Y/L/N. She’s had multiple projects, endorsements, and films that have also gone global. Before getting into this relationship, Oscar knew the consequences that he would have to face— long distance, media, and other factors.

But he loved her. That’s what mattered the most, right?

Not until Y/N recently had a TV series that went viral, as she was paired with one of the most famous actors in Filipino TV. Their chemistry was undeniable— weeks after her TV series was released, she was all over the news along with her on-screen partner. There were fan accounts, edits, and even fanfiction about them.

Everytime a new post was written about them, Oscar’s jealousy grew. Although Y/N always reassured him that it was strictly on-screen, He really couldn’t help it.

Oscar’s thoughts stopped when he felt his phone vibrate on his chest.

my love 💞: hi, mahal! i know you’re still up. my interview is almost gonna start. watch me?

my love 💞 has sent a link.

my love 💞: there’ll be a monitor in front of us during the interview. i’ll be able to see it on screen once you’ve joined, okay? i love you!

Oscar smiled.

mahal 🩷: okay babe, i’ll be joining in a few. goodluck!

Oscar sat up and reached out for his laptop which was on the desk, opened it up and clicked on the link she sent.

The show was already starting, the hosts greeting the crowd both in the studio and livestream.

Y/N and her on-screen partner were introduced. Once they both entered, the crowd went wild, cheering for them with their ship name. Oscar looked at the livestream comments and sighed, everyone was crazy for them.

The show went on as usual, asking them about the TV series and how filming was going. Eventually, the hosts asked about their personal lives.

“So Y/N, We’re aware that you’re dating F1 driver Oscar Piastri. Kamusta naman kayo?”

(So Y/N, We’re aware that you’re dating F1 driver Oscar Piastri. How are you guys doing?)

Y/N smiled and let out a nod, “We’re doing really well. Actually, kakapanalo lang nya last week in the Austrian Grand Prix. I was there and I couldn’t have been more proud.”

(We’re doing really well. Actually, he recently won last week in the Austrian Grand Prix. I was there and I couldn’t have been more proud.)

The hosts smiled and fawned over their relationship, “I’m sure he’s proud of your career too. But we’re curious, hindi ba siya nag seselos? For sure aware naman siya sa love team nyo.”

(I’m sure he’s proud of your career too. But we’re curious, does he get jealous? For sure he’s aware about your love team.)

The studio crowd cood and Oscar’s heart started beating.

Y/N let out a small laugh, it was a common question that people asked her since their relationship was public.

“Hindi naman siya nag seselos, I wish.”

(He doesn’t really get jealous, I wish.)

She humored, and the rest laughed. Oscar laughed too at her response, assuming that it was something funny since he couldn’t understand.

“All jokes aside, hindi naman siya nag seselos. He knows very well that strictly for work lang yung ginagawa ko. He’s the best boyfriend I could ever ask for.”

(All jokes aside, he doesn’t really get jealous. He knows very well that what I’m doing is strictly for work. He’s the best boyfriend I could ever ask for.)

One of the hosts asked, “Do you have any message for him?”

Y/N cleared her throat, “Hi, mahal! I know you’re watching right now kahit sobrang late na diyan. Thank you for always being very supportive, you know how much I love you. I can’t wait to see you on Sunday!”

(Hi, love! I know you’re watching even if it’s super late over there. Thank you for always being very supportive, you know how much I love you. I can’t wait to see you on Sunday!)

The crowd smiled and teased, clapping at her message.

Oscar was smiling from ear-to-ear, and somehow, he wasn’t as jealous anymore. He saw the livestream commenting on their relationship and how cute they were. Maybe he shouldn’t be jealous after all.

The show eventually ended and Oscar closed his laptop, returning it on his desk. He opened his phone and sent Y/N a message.

mahal 🩷: you know i’ll always be here for you, right? no matter what time it is where i’m in.

my love 💞: i know, mahal. and i know you’re jealous too 😆

Oscar laughed, maybe he was bad at hiding it.

mahal 🩷: maybe i was a bit jealous.

my love 💞: oscar jack piastri, you literally have my heart and you’ll always have it. okay?

He smiled. God, he loves her so much.

mahal 🩷: i know, and i’ll do everything in my power to keep it safe. i love you ❤️

my love 💞: go to sleep, i know you’re getting tired, mahal. i love you too! see you on sunday ❤️

Oscar gave her message a heart react before turning off his phone.

And off he drifted to sleep, knowing that he was the luckiest man on earth that night.

── .✦

a/n: i had so much fun writing this, it’s been 2 years since i wrote a fic !! also i’m so grateful for those who requested. much love 🤍

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

Hello! I saw your girl dads Bill & Josh posts and I’m wondering if you can do one for Girl dad Jerry & Pete if you please 👉🏾👈🏾

(Absolutely!! I'm sticking true to pete

Pete and Jerry girl dad headcannons !

Pete DiNunzio girl dad headcannons-

1. Old-School Protective to the Point of Madness

Pete doesn’t believe in letting his daughter walk home alone. Ever. She’s 17? Doesn’t matter. “You think some creep’s gonna stop and ask your birth certificate before being a freak? I’ll pick you up.”

2. Calls Her Nicknames Like ‘Principessa,’ ‘Bambina,’ or ‘Dollface’

And says them with real warmth. It’s half mafia-movie, half genuine affection. But if anyone else calls her that? Suddenly Pete’s shouting and cracking his knuckles.

3. Slightly Sexist But Not Malicious

He’ll say things like “This is guy stuff” when working on the car—but if she shows interest? He’ll grumble, sigh, and then teach her everything while pretending it was his idea.

4. Thinks Every Boy is Garbage

“Boys are wolves, sweetheart. They’ll act sweet, then next thing you know they’re borrowing your Switch and ghosting you with some girl named Kaylie.” He gets offended when she says she likes someone. “Him?! He’s got a dumb haircut!”

5. Surprisingly Sentimental About ‘Tradition’

He wants her to know the family recipes, how to make a proper sauce, and the importance of sitting at the table. “Sunday dinner’s not a suggestion—it’s a rule, capisce?”

6. Yells A Lot, But It’s Never Serious

He raises his voice over everything. Lost the remote? Shouts. Someone looked at her funny? Shouts. She’s having a rough day? Shouts at whoever caused it—but never at her in anger. If he does, he apologizes through actions, like her favorite ice cream or fixing something she didn’t even ask about.

7. Obsessed with Making Her ‘Tough Enough’

He teaches her to throw a punch “just in case” and insists she keeps pepper spray in her bag. “I’m not raising some pushover. You hit first, talk later—unless it’s a teacher. Then call me and I’ll hit them.”

8. Doesn’t Know How to Express Emotion—So He Cooks

If she’s upset, he won’t say much. But the kitchen will be full of garlic knots and pasta within 30 minutes. “I’m not good at the feelings crap, alright? Just eat.”

9. Thinks the School System is a Scam

He’s supportive, but suspicious. “SATs? Total scam. Just make sure you’re smart enough not to get screwed by a car lease or some finance guy named Todd.”

10. Would Drop Everything For Her, No Matter What

He acts all gruff, but if she calls and says, “Dad, can you come get me?”—he’s already halfway out the door, jacket half-on, yelling into his phone: “Who do I gotta yell at?!”

“The Incident”

It happened at CVS.

Pete had taken his daughter out to grab chips and Saw II—totally normal dad-daughter outing—when she froze in the aisle with a weird look on her face. Then she muttered something like, “We need to go home,” and walked off holding her hoodie around her waist like she’d been shot.

Pete followed, confused and already bracing to fight whoever made her upset.

Pete:

“What happened? You get sick? Someone give you a dirty look? You need me to yell at a manager?”

She kept walking. Face red.

Daughter:

“I need… stuff.”

Pete:

“…Stuff?”

Daughter: (mumbling fast)

“Girl stuff.”

Pete blinked. His brain short-circuited. Then—

Pete:

“Oh. OH. Jesus, Mary, and all the saints.”

He whipped around like someone had pointed a gun at him, nearly knocking over a display of Tic Tacs. A nearby grandma raised an eyebrow. Pete glared at her like she was to blame.

---

Back at home, Pete paced the kitchen like a soldier trying to defuse a bomb.

He'd dropped a Walgreens bag on the table—filled with the wrong kind of pads, some Midol he wasn’t sure was right, and, for some reason, a mini stuffed bear holding a heart that said "Feel Better."

She sat at the table, mildly horrified.

Pete:

“Look, I’m not good at this. When I was your age, my ma just yelled at me to do the laundry and left a whole bunch of stuff in the bathroom like it was some sacred rite.”

Daughter: (snorting)

“Dad, you didn’t get a period.”

Pete:

“Not the point! The point is, this is... nature. Biology. A monthly hit job from your uterus. And I wanna be clear, I ain’t squeamish, okay? I saw your cousin Dominic break his pinky playing stickball and I fixed it with a spoon and duct tape. But blood? That just shows up?! Randomly?! And it’s fine??”

Daughter:

“Yes. It’s fine.”

Pete: (waving his hands like a madman)

“I mean Jesus Christ, you’re just walking around with this time bomb in your body like it’s no big deal?! You’re twelve!”

Daughter:

“I’m thirteen.”

Pete:

“Oh that makes it better!”

He paused, breathing heavy. Then glanced at her. She was fighting a smile.

He ran a hand down his face, sighed, and finally sat across from her.

Pete (quieter):

“…I just wanna help. I don’t know how, but if you need anything—anything at all—I’m here. You wanna cry and throw something? I’ll buy you a pillow to scream into. You want ice cream? I’ll buy you the good kind, not that no-name crap.”

She nodded.

Daughter:

“Maybe just… the right kind of pads next time?”

Pete:

“You got it, Principessa. I’ll go in there like it’s a freakin’ mission from God. I’ll get wings, no wings, maxi, ultra, whatever the hell—I’m learning the code.”

He stood up, grabbed his keys, and headed for the door again.

Pete:

“And if your stomach hurts, you get the heating pad with the duck on it. That thing’s magic. Don’t ask me why.”

Daughter: (grinning now)

“Thanks, Dad.”

Pete: (gruff)

“Yeah yeah. Don’t get sentimental on me. I’m already losing hair.”

JERRY STOKES AS A GIRL DAD – HEADCANONS

The Sensible One:

Jerry reads all the parenting books. He doesn’t just wing it—he checks forums, medical sites, and probably even signs up for the baby tracker app. He may not talk about his feelings, but he shows love through quiet preparation.

Subtle Encouragement:

He’s not loud with praise, but when his daughter tries something new—drawing, coding, learning guitar—he gives the soft “That’s actually really good,” and keeps her art on the fridge for way too long. Her old crayon Pikachu is laminated.

The Period Talk? Done Over Text.

He panics too much to do it in person. She gets a calm, slightly clinical message that says:

> "Hey. You might need some products in the bathroom. Everything's labeled. You can always text me if you need more. Also I got chocolate."

And then he disappears from the house for 45 minutes to let her breathe.

Board Game Nights are Sacred.

No phones, no excuses. Jerry insists on family game night—sometimes D&D-style campaigns with just the two of them, where he lets her be chaotic and overpowered. He plays the dungeon master like a pro, even if she steamrolls his traps.

Teaches Her How to Build a PC.

Not because she asked, but because he wants her to know. “One day, your laptop’s gonna die mid-exam. This will save you.”

Protective But Non-Threatening.

If she dates someone, Jerry doesn’t threaten them with a shovel like Pete might. He just asks weirdly specific, nerdy questions until the kid gets nervous and leaves. “What’s your opinion on 'The Thing' vs. 'The Fly' remakes?”

If they answer wrong: "Huh. Interesting." (Meaning: "You're done.")

Worried Sick but Pretends He’s Not.

When she’s sick, he hovers silently, leaving water and soup at the door. If she says “I’m fine,” he nods—but 30 minutes later, she gets a thermometer, lozenges, and Vicks on her nightstand.

Matching Fandom Shirts.

He never forces his interests, but if she likes something he does (like Doctor Who or Star Trek), he gets so excited—buys them matching shirts or mugs. Pretends it’s no big deal, but his smile gives him away.

Teaches Her to Stand Up for Herself.

He might be soft-spoken, but he doesn’t want her walked all over. He teaches her to calmly, effectively shut people down. “You don’t need to yell. Just be smarter than them. Trust me, it ruins their day.”

Loves Her Fiercely, Quietly.

He may not be the most expressive, but his love is steady. Her favorite snack is always stocked. Her weird niche interests are researched. He’s the dad who stays up fixing her cosplay, or making sure the Wi-Fi is perfect for her big presentation.

Ten Going on Trouble

Jerry’s Saturday plan had been simple: coffee, fix the loose shelf, and maybe rewatch The Wrath of Khan for the fiftieth time.

Then his daughter came stomping down the stairs with all the rage and devastation only a ten-year-old girl could contain.

Daughter:

“I hate Mia. I hate everything. And my bangs look stupid.”

She collapsed dramatically on the couch, face buried in her pillow. Jerry blinked from behind his mug.

Jerry:

“…Okay. That’s… a lot. Do you want a snack, or—”

Daughter:

“NO.”

Pause.

Jerry:

“…Okay.”

He set his mug down. Sat on the edge of the couch like it might collapse under the weight of his discomfort.

He’d fought trolls in MMORPGs. He’d debated Star Trek continuity on Usenet forums.

But this?

This was terrifying.

Jerry:

“Alright. What happened?”

She sniffled, pulling her face out just enough to breathe.

Daughter:

“Mia said I was bossy. And that I always act like I know everything. And then I tripped in front of everyone during gym. And my hair is dumb. And I just wanna go live in the woods and be a cryptid.”

Jerry blinked.

Jerry:

“…You know, being a cryptid doesn’t come with indoor plumbing.”

Daughter: (snorting despite herself)

“Maybe I deserve to stink.”

Jerry:

“No one deserves to stink. That’s a universal truth.”

He got up and came back with a granola bar.

She didn’t say thank you, but she opened it and took a bite.

Jerry:

“You’re not bossy. You’re assertive. Confident. Big difference.”

Daughter:

“Mia said I talk too much.”

Jerry:

“Well, if that’s true, it’s genetic. Sorry. You come from a long line of over-explainers.”

She gave him a look.

Jerry:

“I once gave a girl a twenty-minute lecture on the plot holes in Phantom Menace. She still kissed me after, though.”

Daughter:

“Ew.”

Jerry:

“Exactly. But the point is—you’re allowed to be smart. You’re allowed to have opinions. Don’t shrink yourself because some kid can’t handle it.”

There was a pause. She fiddled with the wrapper.

Daughter:

“…You think my bangs look okay?”

Jerry looked at her. Truly looked.

They were uneven. She’d clearly taken scissors to them herself. One side was higher than the other and flared out like a confused anime character.

Jerry:

“They’re… avant-garde.”

Daughter: (groaning)

“So they’re bad.”

Jerry: (gently)

“They’re bold. But we can fix them. If you want.”

Daughter:

“…Yeah. Okay.”

She slid off the couch and held out her hand. Jerry took it like it was the most serious mission in the world.

Jerry:

“To the bathroom, Commander.”

Daughter:

“I should’ve just gone full cryptid.”

Jerry:

“Maybe next time. You’re still young.”

[sweetfuchsia]

ex bf! sae x reader who likes to play around w/ him pt 7

m.list

“okay, now; all you gotta do is just.. pretend we’re getting married!” you beam, a hand reaching up to pat aiku’s broad shoulder. the man’s built well, you’ve got to admit. though, part of you thinks that ex bf! sae is still hotter.

“sure.” aiku purrs, tilting his head at you. his lips curve into a smile, eyes narrowing just a little. he looks good. the man’s wearing a nice suit, fit for a fancy event; because, well. . .

the two of you are having a fake wedding! you even hired all of your friends and even rin to attend. you had to make it believable, after all. how else would you continue to get your revenge on ex bf! sae?

the actual ‘ceremony’ wasn’t too bad. honestly, it was very fun— but if you really think about it, you kind of wish that you could have an actual wedding. a real one, with someone you love.

you wanted that person to be sae— you wanted to marry him and you really wanted it to last. but, unfortunately; the man’s already married to his career. soccer.

so, you don’t feel too bad posting the ‘wedding’ pictures you took with oliver. the guy’s real hot, (not as much as sae,) and you’d be cool with meeting up with him again . . .

but he seems way too into you for someone who you met not even a few days ago. and you’re just not ready for that— i mean, how do you explain to your new partner that you need to prank your ex boyfriend so you don’t feel too bad about the breakup?

when ex bf! sae sees this on his feed, he’s absolutely stunned. you really went through with it?! you married— you married oliver aiku out of all people?!

he doesn’t have a right to be mad and he knows it— but that does nothing to soothe the ache in his heart. did he just get shot? it sure feels like it. his girl isn’t his anymore. but he guesses you stopped behind his ages ago.

so why does this grind on his nerves so badly? he scrolls through the comments— eyebrow twitching in irritation as people gush over you and that— that— that old man! how could you marry someone like that?!

“this was such an unexpected couple but i’m totally here for it!” a comment reads— and ex bf! sae swears he’s about to explode out of pure frustration.

after a day of stewing in his irritation, ex bf! sae hears his doorbell ring. the thought of it being you crosses his mind for a moment, but he has to remind himself thst you’re married. to the most mediocre man he’s ever met, but that’s no matter.

he stands back up, walking over to the door with a sigh— though, the breath gets stuck in his throat as he stares back at you after opening his front door. it’s you.

and… rin?

ex bf! sae’s really confused now. you’re a married woman, yet you’ve come to his doorstep with his brother still wearing your wedding dress and holding a bouquet of flowers. he will admit, this bouquet is much prettier— that can’t mean anything, though.. right?

rin clears his throat, pulling out his phone.

then the second wedding ceremony begins.

“name, do you take sae to be your lawfully wedded husband, to to live together in matrimony, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him in sickness and health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward as long as you both.. uh, shall live?” rin starts, looking over to you. he feels a little awkward doing this; it’s his first time.. acting as a priest for a wedding.

“i do.” you say, your mouth curving into a wide, giddy smile. this is the funniest thing you’ve done in a while— the look on ex bf’ sae’s face right now is better than the one from the death prank.

“cool. now, do you, sae, take this.. beautiful, gorgeous, funny.. name,” rin pauses, sighing. it seems you edited the script a little. “do you take her to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you live?” rin continues, the tips of his ears flushing a subtle pink. he sometimes wonders how he got pulled into this.

and with that, you glance to rin; a clear signal to him to.. switch to another app and click on a video. it’s an interview of ex bf! sae, where he says..

“i do.”

ex bf! sae’s face pales, and he shakes his head quickly— this isn’t fair! he’s so confused?! marriage!? is this real?! you’re crazy—

you immediately burst into laughter, lifting your hand to show a cute ring on your finger.

“name, hey—“

he can’t even say anything else before you turn, running down the pathway again as you hold up the skirt of your pretty wedding dress.

[glossykissies]

i think this was like one of the first scott fics u posted but reader was in college for like fashion design? i think 😭 but anyways reader got a bad grade in one of her classes and scott says she cant touch him cos u cant reward bad behavior!!!

it’s funny because scott thinks he’s handling it the right way.

it’s how he was raised — it’s why he ended up in the working environment he did. his mother was a sweet woman, but his father was hard, never impressed, always pushing scott to achieve more. of course there were times he resented him for being so cold and unyielding, but he supposed he had him to thank for everything. now as a grown adult, scott saw himself in his old man, rearing his ugly head when least expected.

you’d come home to scott, all wired up and manic looking for a distraction. the project you thought you’d been slaving over ended up bringing you your worst grade yet. it wasn’t failable, and you knew you’d be able to pull yourself back — but it was certainly a wake up call. you felt ashamed.

you’d mentioned it in passing to scott as you were toeing your shoes off, thinking that if you treated it as a casual thing, it would be less damning. you were known to work hard, and you’d hate if scott thought any less of you. if there was anyone who’s opinion mattered to you over your professor, it was him.

“— and i’m gonna have to retake that class because i flopped so hard, anyway i had icecream for lunch—”

“hold on.” scott frowns, arms folded over his chest as he leans a shoulder against the wall, narrowing his eyes at you. “retake the class? explain.”

he makes note of the way you swallow and avoid his eyes as you gather up an excuse. “its fine, i failed the class. its fine.” you shrug a shoulder, and scott stares before shaking his head with a sigh.

“look — i told you, if you’re gonna be here all the time you can’t let it interfere with your projects. i think — i think it’s best if you start spending some weekends from home so you can get back on top of—”

“no!” you bark, eyes wide and desperate, which actually silences him in surprise. you are incredibly quick to adjust yourself, releasing a tense chuckle to let it be known that you were on your best behaviour, smile straining your cheeks and not quite meeting your eyes. “scott it’s not that serious, i swear. i’m passing all my other classes, this happens to everyone atleast once.” you figure your tone is reassuring enough, especially as he doesn’t follow you into the kitchen to make your daily green tea.

you spend a little longer than usual in the kitchen as you sip away at your drink, giving your boyfriend time to hopefully forget about the bad grade you received so you could potentially start the evening over, feeling things were a little chaotic. the hot liquid seems to soothe your nerves momentarily too, aiming to leave the day behind as you eventually slink out into the living room, eeking out your distraction as you join scott on the couch.

he’s watching some kind of documentary, naturally manspreading with that concentrated frown like a man much older than he was. you let a mischievous smile slip as you wriggle up to his side, stroking at his arm. this was nothing unusual from your usual behaviour, so scott doesn’t react — continuing on with his show.

“scotty.” you breathe in his ear, beginning to dot kisses gently along his jawline.

“hm?”

“missed you. needed daddy all day.” you pout as a manicured hand rises to rest on his broad chest before sliding slowly down his stomach toward his belt. you nearly jump out of your skin when he grabs your wrist and moves it away.

“no.” he hums, voice low. you blink your wide eyes at him in confusion — maybe you were just spoilt, because it wasn’t often you heard that word so firmly.

“huh?”

it’s only then scott looks at you, raising his eyebrows. “you think i’m gonna reward you for failing a class? you know, if i had been you — i’d already be at the desk with my laptop out, getting to work so i don’t fail my class again.” he’s stern, and whilst you’re used to his blunt ways you’re stunned by how cruel he was being. to him, he wanted the best for you and this was how he showed it in the moment, but to you it was the ultimate rejection.

it’s unnoticeable to the human eye, but he softens when you’re so quick to submit without argument despite his words, bashfully climbing off the couch to silently grab your bag and head to the bedroom where scott’s desk was. he watches you go, arms crossed — before he sighs, closing his eyes. that wasn’t him, it was his father. you didn’t deserve that.

he thinks up what to say to you, standing up to retrieve you approximately seven minutes later. he finds you at the desk where he suggested, laptop open on an empty document, crying quietly into your hands. scott closes his eyes for a moment, taking a breath before starting towards you.

“hey. hey.” his voice is quiet as he scoops you off the chair, replacing you with himself as he cradles you on his lap. “c’mon.” he whispers, feeling you wrack with another silent sob into your hands.

“i’m sorry.” you squeak.

“you don’t have to be sorr—”

“you’re disappointed in me. i’m disappointed in me too i just wanted to forget for a few hours.” you cry like a baby, stripped down to your most vulnerable self and his jaw clenches, mad that he was the one to upset you like this. this relationship shit was harder than it looked.

“hey i’m not, okay? i’m not. i was… hard on you because i think you can be great. okay? i think you are great. most talented girl i know. i don’t wanna get in the way of that, you know?” his large hand slides up your back to pull you closer and he feels you nod.

“i know. i’m sorry i get so upset about stupid stuff. i tried to be a big girl about it. i tried to… start—” you pull away to gesture to the empty document and he breathes out a chuckle, pulling you back to his chest.

“i know. i see… and it’s not stupid. i was mean. you should have kicked my ass.” he shakes his head but hears you giggle against his shirt, likely staining it with tears and mascara.

“next time.” comes out muffled.

“great.” he sarks before pulling you back to mop up your face, trying not to grimace at any snot or drool as he swipes it away with his thumb. “look. get started on… all this tomorrow. i’ll help in any way i can. what do you need right now? hm?” he jogs you on his lap with his knee once to signify that he wants a verbal and decisive answer. you press your lips together, glancing down at his belt once more. “oh yeah?” he confirms in that deep voice that makes between your legs ooze. “still after that?”

you nod, and he squeezes you hip. “alright. i think i can provide.”

[aquamarixx]

breaking the internet

chapter eight when some clout chaser claims to be the mystery girl in the photo, Hiori shuts down the rumors and teases about the girl who truly has his heart blue lock longfic series pairing hiori yo x reader contains fluff, post blue lock timeskip, afab!reader masterlist

The speculations about Hiori’s mystery girl are definitely one of the highlights of his career.

Ironically, he finds it funny how people react to it. He’s already been scolded by both the team manager and the marketing manager, each lecturing him about how careless he’s been. It’s not like there’s anything inherently wrong with dating, especially as an athlete. Though it seems like he was scolded for not giving them a heads up and keeping it a secret. 

His parents, on the other hand, are pretty much predictable. His dad stays quiet about these sorts of things, but his mom? She makes it a huge deal. Despite their issues, she still showers him with love and attention in her own overbearing, only-child-parent way. She’s adamant that he’s been hiding the girl from her because he’s embarrassed or something.

Not to mention, his friends and teammates. His Bastard Munchen teammates—not exactly the epitome of calm, cool and connectedness as how they would look.

The moment he arrived into a field for training, Isagi sprints at him at high speed, like golden retriever finally seeing its best friend. Igaguri and Raichi moan about how unfair it is for Hiori to get a girlfriend before them. The older members, Geisner, Bachs and even Ndiaye praised him as if he scored a goal.

Even Noa himself gives him an approving nod, “at least we know you’re normal-er than the rest of these football heads.”

Again, a wild reaction from everyone.

Sure, he’s not the only eligible bachelor in the field, nay, in his team who have been elusive or secretive about their relationships. But sports gossip writers love to eat up news like this. Like vultures circling around a carcass, the media (even fans) are waiting to pounce on him any moment. 

“Who’s the girl you were caught kissing at the JFA party?”

“Do you finally have a girlfriend?”

“Is your girlfriend a celebrity?”

It’s the same old question every single time. And for Hiori, it gets tiring. He should be answering questions about the game, the team’s performance and plans ahead this season. People are too hung up on who’s his “flavor of the month”, as if he’s Oliver freaking Aiku.

But he knows how to play the game. It’s just like playing a visual novel. His answers already predetermined, all of them would either deflect or shut down the whole topic all together. 

“I have no idea what yer talkin’ about.”

“Are ya sure that’s me? Doesn’t look like me?”

“Looks edited though, don’tcha think?”

Like he promised you, he won’t disclose anything to the media or anyone else. Not that he’s the type to kiss and tell. But he won’t confirm or deny it either. He finds it fun to watch people squirm, teetering on the edge of curiosity and frustration. 

Plus, he values his privacy. That’s how it’s always been, and it’s how it always will be. 

Still, beneath his calm demeanor, Hiori worries he might fumble this. He likes you—really likes you. Enough to avoid making mistakes that might scare you off.

Fine, he likes you a lot. More than he thinks you even realize. 

In the months before you started dating, he found himself looking forward to every conversation with you, whether it was online or during work. He’d take whatever crumbs he could get, so to speak.

That’s why he got so frustrated when you started showing up way less for interviews. He understood it was just part of your job, something entirely out of his control. But when you got reassigned to other teams, it did threaten him. 

You were a natural at what you did—fun, easygoing, and effortlessly charming. No wonder he felt at ease with you from the get go. So it was just a matter of time till others saw you the way he did. 

Athletes like them are human after all. 

When Nagi—and, surprisingly, Reo—tried to squeeze into the picture, that did it for him. He hated how it felt, the simmering jealousy that crept in every time he saw them be all chummy with you. No amount of goals scored against Manshine City could ease the sinking feeling of losing you to one of them. Or, worse, both of them.

Hiori never thought of himself as the jealous type. But now he knows better. He despises the feeling. The tightness in his chest, the restless nights replaying imagined scenarios. Yet, there’s also a quiet satisfaction now. You chose him. 

Not publicly known, not splashed across headlines. But still, you’re his. If he gets jealous, he knows he’s not overreacting.

“I know who she is!” Isagi sing-songs, jogging over to the bench.

Hiori offers him a water bottle, cocking an eyebrow. “Whatcha mean?”

Isagi displays a shit eating grin, practically glowing with mischief. “I know who the girl is. Ness knows, too.”

Ness, approaching from behind, offers a polite smile—a polite smile that makes Hiori’s stomach drop.

“Nah, ya don’t,” Hiori says, chuckling nervously.

“We do,” Isagi insists.

“Ya don’t,” Hiori repeats.

“Well, we do,” Ness interjects smoothly. “Reo told us about how you cockblocked him and Nagi at the party.”

Hiori freezes, sweat beading on his forehead. “What?”

“You guys weren’t exactly subtle when you bailed,” Isagi adds, his shit-eating grin growing wider. “Miss Journalist seems to be really into y—what the hell, Hiori!”

A towel smacks Isagi square in the face. “Shaddap!” Hiori hisses, putting a finger to his lips.

Ness snickers, and Isagi pulls the towel off, laughing. “Alright, fine, ya got me. But can ya two keep it down? We just started dating,” Hiori mutters, massaging his temples.

“Relax, I’m not gonna spill,” Ness says with a wave of his hand but he gives a small smile, amused by Hiori’s reactions.

“Gotcha,” Isagi says, mock-saluting. “But, man, I didn’t know you had that kind of ‘HioRizz.’”

Hiori groans, glaring at Isagi. “I swear to God, if ya don’t shut up, I’ll leave ya out of every pass next game.”

Ness bursts out laughing. “Don’t worry, Isagi. I’ll pass to you.”

“Hiori has more rizz than Yukimiya! I should take notes!” Isagi jokes, only for Hiori to smack him on the arm before chasing him down the field.

Despite the chaos, Hiori can’t help but feel a warm sense of pride. These guys might be loud and annoying, but they’re also the ones he trusts most. And in a way, it feels nice to share this secret with them—a small piece of his happiness.

Because you’re his. And he’s yours. And to Hiori, that means everything.

“So… you’re telling me this is you?” Your roommate, Miko, thrusts her phone in your direction, her finger pointing dramatically at the paparazzi photo of you and Hiori plastered on her screen.

It’s only been a week since the photo started making rounds online, but you’ve been caught staring at it one too many times by Miko, your eagle-eyed, ever-curious roommate. Today, you finally caved. The whirlwind of emotions bubbling inside was too much to handle alone.

And now, you just had to tell her because things are driving you crazy at this point. 

“Yup.” The two of you are sitting side by side on the couch. She grills you with her own paparazzi-like questions while you sink in further the couch, the unfinished article on the laptop you’ve been drafting long forgotten at this point.

Miko squints at you, her head tilting as she studies the image like a detective analyzing evidence. Her brow furrows, and then, as if struck by a sudden epiphany, she gasps.

She springs up from her seat, pointing at your face accusingly. “Aha! Is this the guy you—" she gestures vaguely but suggestively with her hand, “—you know, slept with after that work party?”

“Yes, it’s him. No, we didn’t ‘sleep’ together.” You can’t help but laugh as you swat her finger away. “We shared the same bed, yes. But nothing happened.”

Miko raises an incredulous eyebrow. “Sure, sure. A pretty girl like you, and he didn’t try anything? In this economy?” She blows a dramatic raspberry and plops back against the couch, clearly unimpressed.

Your cheeks burn, recounting the night you spent with Hiori. It was intimate—sweet and wholesome in a way that still made your chest flutter when you thought about it. The kisses, his touches. It only makes you yearn for it more.

The morning after was even better. You spending a whole Saturday with him was like magic. 

She idly giggles to herself as she scrolls more on her phone, probably to stalk Hiori. The girl is chronically online so her stalking (research skills as she calls it) skills are on par with yours. She could be a damn good journalist if she wants to. 

“You’re such a perv, Miko,” you say, swatting her with a throw pillow.

“Says the girl who drools on this guy's sweaty photos,” she shoots back, laughing as she scrolls furiously on her phone. “Wait a minute—oh, damn. This guy’s a big deal. National team and Bastard München? He’s a whole package!”

You glance over her shoulder, smiling despite yourself. At 26, Hiori’s resume is nothing short of legendary. Back when you were just another journalist in the crowd, you’d been blown away by his talent. It was his brilliance on the field that inspired you to write that first viral article—the one that caught his eye.

Even now, it feels surreal. How did you go from admiring him from afar to… this?

“And you’re okay with not going public?” Miko asks, her tone softer this time. Her eyes flick briefly to you, filled with concern. She’s seen you through your fair share of bad relationships—flings that went nowhere and heartbreaks that left their marks.

“Yeah,” you answer, though there’s a hesitation in your voice. “Honestly, I’m kind of relieved. I don’t even want to imagine how people would react if they knew I was just… me. An ordinary nobody.”

Miko slams her phone down dramatically. “First of all, you’re not a nobody. You’re the girl who single-handedly brought Bastard München back into the spotlight. You’re the one who made everyone see their worth when they were tanking. You’re that bitch.”

You can’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm, leaning into the side hug she gives you.

“But seriously,” you admit, letting out a long sigh, “it feels unreal. Like… we’re from completely different worlds. If this got out, I don’t think I’d be ready for the fallout. People would rip me apart.”

Miko frowns but says nothing, letting you pass her your phone. Together, you scroll through the endless speculation about Hiori’s mystery girl. Post after post describes someone glamorous and unattainable—completely unlike you.

“That’s ridiculous,” Miko says, her voice dripping with disdain. But before you can reply, she suddenly gasps so loudly that you nearly drop your phone.

“What now?” you ask, startled.

She shoves her phone into your hands, her eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and fury. On the screen is a video of a rising sports influencer, her perfectly curated appearance making her look every bit the part of someone destined for the spotlight.

The interviewer’s voice is casual, almost playful. “So, you attended the recent JFA party?”

The influencer smiles coyly, a soft, practiced laugh escaping her lips. “Oh, of course. I was there.”

You can feel the tension building as the interviewer leans in slightly, their tone dropping to something conspiratorial. “And… given your connections to Bastard München and your shared sponsor, you must know Hiori Yo?”

The influencer’s eyes sparkle, and she lets out a delighted giggle. “Well, who doesn’t know Hiori? He’s incredible—on and off the field.”

Pfft. As if she knows anything about Hiori and his brilliance.

“So… are you the girl Hiori Yo was caught kissing that night?” Your stomach twists as the interviewer delivers the bombshell, their voice taking on an almost teasing quality.

The influencer doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering as if to draw attention to the gesture. Then she twirls a lock of hair, her eyes flitting away from the camera for just a moment before returning with a mischievous glint.

“Well… isn’t that for everyone to wonder?” she says, her lips curving into a playful smirk. The answer is deliberately vague, but the mischievous glint in her eyes speaks volumes, leaving just enough room for everyone’s imagination to run wild.

Miko explodes. “The audacity!” she practically shouts, throwing her hands in the air. “What is wrong with her? She’s milking this for clout! And the interviewer—ugh!”

You can’t even respond. Your gaze is glued to the screen, your chest tightening with every second of the video. The influencer’s words replay in your head, her casual demeanor and sly smile feeding into the storm of doubts you’ve tried so hard to suppress.

Miko’s rant continues unabated. “She didn’t even deny it! She knows exactly what she’s doing. God, people like her make me so mad.” She paces the room, her gestures wild and exaggerated, but you barely register her words.

Your stomach churns as you scroll through the comments beneath the video.

she’s stunning—definitely Hiori’s type. this makes so much sense they’d look so good together

Each comment feels like a jab, their assumptions cutting deeper than you thought possible. The image of you and Hiori, so ordinary and imperfect in comparison, flashes in your mind.

You glance down at yourself: wearing your favorite but worn-out pajamas, the fabric soft from too many washes. Your hair is in a messy bun, a few strands rebelliously sticking out. You’re comfortable, sure, but the reflection from the phone staring back feels painfully ordinary.

The woman in the video, with her flawless hair and perfectly styled outfit, radiates a charisma that seems effortless. She looks like someone who commands attention the moment she steps into a room, someone whose beauty turns heads without trying. 

Normally, you wouldn’t care about looking “normal.” Most days, you’re content in your own skin, finding beauty in your own way. But this? This moment makes you feel like just another face in the crowd. No striking features, no captivating allure. Just plain, unremarkable. And right now, “normal” feels less like a badge of self-acceptance and more like a curse.

Miko stops mid-rant when she notices the look on your face. “Hey, don’t let this get to you,” she says, her voice softening. She sits back down beside you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “People love drama, and she’s giving it to them.”

“But what if people believe her?” you ask quietly, the vulnerability in your voice startling even yourself. “What if they think she’s better for him?”

She shakes her head firmly. “You can’t let strangers decide what’s best for him or for you. Hiori chose you, not some influencer fishing for likes. That says more than any of this nonsense ever could.”

You nod slowly, though the unease lingers. Deep down, you know she’s right. But as you hand her phone back, the thought persists: How long before the world finds out—and what happens when they do?

You spend the next weekend with Hiori at his apartment. Again. 

This routine has become a comforting tradition. Every Friday after work, you and Hiori grab dinner, sharing stories about your day. By the time the last train rolls in, you’re on your way to his apartment, lugging a slightly larger backpack than usual. Inside are the essentials: a change of clothes, skincare, and personal items, neatly packed alongside your work things.

It’s mundane yet romantic, this little ritual you’ve built together. Friday nights are reserved for catching up, sharing laughter, and exchanging updates about work and personal lives.

During one of these chats, he casually mentioned that Isagi and Ness know about the two of you now. You shared that Miko, your closest friend and roommate, knows too. But you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him about the video. Not yet.

That Friday night, you binge-watch movies. This time, some of his favorites, including SPEC. It’s endearing to see him so animated as he talks about what he loves, his passion stretching beyond football.

Curled up on the couch together, a blanket draped over you, everything feels natural. His arm rests over your shoulders, pulling you close as you melt into his side. Occasionally, he leans in to kiss you—your knuckles, your cheek, the top of your head—absentmindedly, his eyes never leaving the screen. The faint scent of his body wash lingers in the air, grounding you in this moment, so intimate yet exhilarating.

By the time the third movie ends, you’re both ready to tuck in for the night. As you drift off in his arms, the comfort and warmth feel whole, complete.

You always wake up earlier than him. It’s a small, heartwarming detail you love about these mornings. He even got you your own coffee mug. A matching set of Nier Automata ones for both of you. With coffee in hand, you lounge in the living room, flipping through a book while the quiet hum of his apartment surrounds you.

Later, you make brunch together, settling into the kind of domesticity that makes your heart flutter. Saturdays with Hiori are always this way—unhurried and easy. You both slip into a rhythm that feels like second nature, each finding comfort in the other's presence.

When he’s gaming on his PC, you’re nearby doing some light work on your laptop, occasionally glancing up to watch his focus. When he switches to his PS5, you curl up beside him on the couch, yapping about the book or manga you’re reading as your fingers absentmindedly play with his hair. He listens quietly, humming in acknowledgment now and then, his contentment reflected in the small smile that lingers on his face.

It’s the kind of quiet companionship that makes everything feel right—as if the two of you were meant to exist in this peaceful harmony.

But this time, something disrupts the vibe.

Standing by the sink, phone in hand, your brow furrows as the video plays again. It’s the same one. The influencer, the coy smile, the teasing comments. You try to push it aside, but the weight of it lingers.

“Hey, you okay?” Hiori’s voice startles you. He’s slipped behind you, his hands resting gently on your waist as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“God, Hiori, you scared me!” You fumble with your phone, but instead of turning it off, the volume spikes, making you jump. Flustered, you quickly lower it.

“What was that?” he asks, noticing the unease in your expression.

You hesitate but eventually lead him to the couch, where you show him the video. As he watches, you fidget, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap.

“I just… it’s been bothering me,” you admit finally, your voice trembling. “Even though we’ve been dating for a few weeks now, I can’t shake this feeling that our worlds are too different. It’s pathetic that I let it bother me.”

Before he can respond, you continue, a weak laugh escaping you. “I know we’ve talked about this, but… it just gets to me sometimes.”

Hiori pauses, then gently pulls you into his arms. “Hey, s’fine. I understand. Don’t worry about them, ‘kay?” His voice is soft but steady, grounding you.

You feel his sincerity, but the nagging fear remains. “I don’t want to scare you with these feelings,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

“And I wantcha ya to know ya won’t scare me. Ever.” He tilts your chin up, meeting your eyes. “Is there anything I can do to help ease yer mind?”

You shake your head, smiling faintly. “Just this… spending time with you like this, it’s enough for me.” But then, gathering your courage, you add, “Actually… I was wondering if I could take you out. On a proper date. Something special. Just the two of us.”

His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but his smile grows almost immediately. “You’re asking me out, huh?” He chuckles, leaning in to kiss on the lips. “Of course. I can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned.”

And for the first time in days, the weight in your chest feels a little lighter.

When midweek rolls in, you know you'll be too preoccupied since it always comes with an avalanche of tasks, and today is no different.

You're neck-deep in work, juggling content planning for upcoming videos and articles while checking in with interns you’re supervising. They're compiling research on volleyball, basketball, and surprisingly, esports, which they’ve informed you is “the next big thing.”

You slump back in your chair, fingers aching from typing, and let out a long exhale. Cracking your knuckles, you reach for your coffee, savoring the warmth as it spreads through you. It’s moments like this when caffeine feels less like a drink and more like a lifeline for your overworked soul.

Your phone buzzes on the desk, lighting up with a notification. It’s a message from Hiori.

Oooh, a Hiori pick-me-up, you think, already feeling a smile creep onto your face. Just what you need to get through this impending burnout.

The message is short:

hiori: watch fer a surprise

Attached is a link. Intrigued, you click it, and a video opens.

It’s a recent press interview featuring Hiori. He looks effortlessly charming in a black hoodie, his hair perfectly tousled in that way that reminds you of lazy weekends spent curled up on his couch. You remember him mentioning this event last weekend, but seeing him on screen still catches you off guard.

The interviewer’s question catches your attention: “So, Hiori, there’s been a lot of buzz about you and a certain sports influencer lately. Any truth to those rumors?”

Your chest tightens slightly at the mention.

Hiori tilts his head, his expression as calm and composed as ever. “Sorry, who?” he replies, his tone laced with subtle mischief. “Oh, you mean the one who has the same sponsor with our team?”

Ness, seated beside him, nudges him gently, a silent reminder to tread carefully.

The interviewer presses on. “Yes. Rumors are that she's the mystery girl you're dating. Is she?”

Hiori chuckles lightly, dismissing the question with his usual nonchalance. “Nope, not at all. We’ve never even talked to each other.”

And then, just when you think he’s moved on, he adds, “Besides, I like my girl who’s a little nerdy, enjoys the same things I do outside of football, and, oh yeah—she talks a lot.”

Your breath catches.

The comments section beneath the video is already buzzing. Fans are losing it over his indirect confirmation of the photo rumors.

did he just confirm he's taken? he’s confirming without really confirming it! whoever the mystery girl is, she’s lucky af. i will crawl in a hole and cry

But you’re not focused on them.

Hiori’s words replay in your mind, each one feeling like it was chosen just for you. He didn’t name names, but the teasing specificity left no doubt in your heart. This was his way of sharing a piece of his life with the world—without giving too much away.

Your shoulders relax as the video ends, warmth spreading through you.

Another message pops up on your screen.

hiori: would you mind writing an article about how yer favorite football player, Hiori Yo, is no longer single? hiori: also, I can’t wait to see where yer taking me fer our date. 😉

You can’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head at his playful tone.

Oh, this man.

The stress of the day doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. With Hiori’s teasing yet heartfelt reminder of how much you mean to him, you feel ready to take on whatever comes next.

amari's notes: i just finished writing this last night, sorry it took so long! i got sick for some reason and still recovering from it. made the bf read this and pointed out that journalist is not my self-insert, the roommate is my self-insert. she is so me lol. also, happy new year to all my hiori loving people! anw, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a reply or drop an ask. i'll greatly appreciate it! Hope you all enjoy this chapter! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ (if you wanna join the taglist, just comment or send me a message!)

taglist: @inu1gf @pookalicious-hq @dontmindtheevie @wannabepoeticischiya

[revelboo]

I was recently on twitter and i came acrost a post that said "A knight in clean armor has not seen battle". I started thinking about Sunstreaker and what it means to him.We all know Sunny has seen battle but we also know he likes to keep his armor clean.So I thought about it and i realized maybe he keeps armor clean not only because of his looks but because he can hide how truly terrible he is inside with a clean exterior....

Idk just a thought more Sunny and Sides?

(P.S. Happy Halloween!>_<)

Ooh, I like that

Can’t Finish What You Started Pt 5

IDW Sunstreaker x Reader, Sideswipe x Reader

• Venting as he tugs you closer by his grip on your arm, Sideswipe hesitates. Noticing the way his servos overlap, because even mass displaced you’re just so much smaller than he is, soft and warm. Fragile. Almost against his will, he remembers Sunstreaker warning him when he’d tried to keep a hold on you while you struggled. Accidentally squeezing so tight you’d been unable to breathe. And he gentles his touch. “For being so small, you sure do make a big mess,” he murmurs, reaching for your face again with the cloth. And little shoulders slumping, you allow him to wipe the corner of your mouth even as you glare at him, defeated.

• Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you tolerate as he fusses over you like you’re a toddler. “You understand I’m an adult, right? That humans are intelligent? Not puppies?” You ask, because you’re not really sure he understands the difference. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. That anger buried under the wary fear is trying to bubble up to the surface, all vitriol. Making you want to lash out at him, especially when he’s a little more your size. Most likely you’ll just break your hand on his face if you smack him, but it might be worth it.

• Laughing at how frustrated you look, he reaches out to tap you on the nose with a servo, grinning as you lean back. Startled expression quickly becoming angry. “You think I don’t know that? Too cute.” Using his grip on your arm to gently tug you closer, watching you go up on tiptoes and slap your free palm on his chassis to keep from crashing into him. That glower you angle up at him does funny things to his spark. “I know you’re not a pet.” And he does, but how to explain the truth? Sunstreaker’s always there, always watching him. Worrying. Sideswipe doesn’t think he can stop at this point. That Sunny needs someone to care for, but he doesn’t need Sunny to look over his shoulder anymore. Always reaching out a hand, putting himself at risk to protect Sideswipe. Because the truth? It’s that he’d deliberately taken you for Sunny, not himself. You’re his responsibility, but maybe having something to focus on instead of trying so hard to protect him, will help Sunny.

• Blowing out a breath as his grin wavers somewhat, you tug against his grip. “Then why are you doing this?” Why ruin your life? For amusement? Boredom? Your absence has to have been noticed by now. Are people looking for you? Assuming the worst? What about your family? “Why?” You thrash against his grip, stumbling back when he finally releases you. That smile falling away completely.

• If you know the truth will you hate him more or less than he’s sure you already do? Sunny won’t open up to him, his twin always on edge, alert for threats since Kaon and haunted by the past. And he knows that Sunny sacrificed so much for him, suffered to keep him safe even if he won’t talk about it. He remembers that jangling fear, of temporary places to rest that had to be abandoned suddenly. Always moving. Never feeling safe no matter where they went, only the two of them. If Sunny can’t talk to him, maybe he can talk to you. It’s a gamble, he knows and not at all fair. But for Sunny? He’ll sacrifice anything, because it’s his turn to look after him.

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