#lets hear it for NOISE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[princesssmars]

it's getting sticky!

a little vi x reader

wc : 1.166

inspired by this tweet. don't look at me.

contains : boxer!vi ib this, fem!reader, scissoring, vi's a horndog wbk.

a/n: can't wait for act 4 to drop next week don't worry they just took a week's break guys. pitfighter vi changed my life i had to keep pausing the episodes to scream into my hands baby girl come home.

ever since vi had met you, she had been discovering quite a few new things about herself.

she is apparently an active sleeptalker, has a habit of biting her lips when thinking, and once she gets you in bed she needs to keep going until she passes out.

she’d always known she had a soft spot for pretty girls, constantly flirting with and taking home the girls who showed up to her matches with her face plastered on their shirts and phone cases. but eventually, she started to grow a bit bored with the routine of a night of rough sex with a stranger before parting ways, never to meet again. well, hopefully. unfortunately, some of the girls could get a bit obsessed. one of the cons of being too good with a strap.

but like a deity above heard her secret prayers she spots you in the crowd at one of her shows, oh-so-pretty face stuck staring down at your phone as a girl she assumes is your friend looks on to the match with glee. as cliche as it was, she was instantly intrigued.

she had no choice but to come up to you after the show, black leather jacket slung over her shoulders as she greets you with a flirty smile and one of her most trusty pick up lines to make you laugh.

you aren't impressed. you do call her cute, which is a win in her book. luckily your friend is a huge fan, and manages to persuade you into giving her your number for an autograph. she swears she hears the girl call her hot when your friend drags you away, and she doesn’t hear you disagree.

you make it very clear at the start of the relationship that you know about her reputation with other women, and that you don't want to have sex until you are sure she is committed to you. and while she obviously respects your boundaries, taking the care to make she never goes too far whenever things do start to get a little more intimate, she has to admit it’s a bit of a struggle to keep it in her pants. she swears after a few weeks you start teasing her, hugging her from behind when you're in a towel fresh out of the shower and wearing tops with lower and lower necklines.

and once you finally do tell her you're ready to go all the way? the girl is stuck on you from sunset to sundown, wringing countless orgasms from you until you have to use the last of your energy to tap out.

she adores how you can keep up with her, especially after she successfully wins a match. the adrenaline from the fight is still pumping through her veins, sweat and bruises dotted over her skin as she rushes over to you once she’s cleared of injuries and lifts you up in her arms, twirling you around until she starts to get dizzy. the sound of your squeals and giggles as she bites and kisses at your neck one of her favorite sounds in the world.

it can only be paralleled by the noises you’re making now, desperate and pitched-up whines and gasps as you sit across from her, eyes drooping and head falling back as you grind your hips into hers. she had been so desperate to get her hands on you that she couldn’t be bothered to pull down either of your underwear, the friction from her boxers and your panties making her eyes roll into the back of her head. she’s sure the grip her hand has on your leg propped up next to her is too tight and sure to leave a slight bruise, but you only subtly push it closer to her grip, biting your lip when her nails dig into your skin.

“come on, come on pretty girl, keep giving it to me.”

her hoarse voice pants, tilting her hips just the slightest to the side so that her clit rubs even harder on the wet fabric below, brushing against yours the slightest bit to make you let out a needy moan. normally her dirty words are enough to send you into overdrive but she can tell that tonight the euphoria is getting to you, too deep in the experience to register what she’s saying. her other hand that's not gripping onto you for dear life reaches over, her breath hitching when her cunt presses even harder into yours, and gently but firmly grabs you by the back of the head so your head is upright again.

“vi, ‘h my god-” your moan is cut off by her plush lips harshly pressing into yours and sticking her tongue in your mouth, muscles massaging each other before she pulls away and watches the string of spit that connects you to each other. a dopey grin grows on her face before she ever so slightly tilts your head down, laughing at the strained gasp that leaves your throat.

even with fabric there you’re obviously both soaked, dark and light materials stained by yourselves and each other and only growing more intense by the second. it creates a perfect blend of embarrassment but arousal in you that forces you to grind yourself into her harder, chasing that high for the both of you as you hear the audible noises of your bodies meeting.

as you both get closer you start to get clingier, your trembling hands resting on vi’s shoulders as a subtle hint that she picks up on immediately. she helps you to wrap your arms around her shoulders as hers moves to your back, squeezing your sides and rubbing over the skin when your teary exhausted voice calls her name over and over as you get closer and closer to the edge.

“vi, vi, ‘m so close, please, oh shit harder-”

“i know, i know, baby. just a little more, fuck you feel so good, prettiest girl, god prettiest pus-”

she smiles and bites into your shoulder when your orgasm finally hits you, the desperate grinding of your hips paired with the breathy whining from your throat right next to her ear sending her to nirvana right after you, broad hands pulling your overstimulated into hers so she can keep using your pliant body to carry her through her orgasm.

you sit in each other's arms for a minute, hands softly brushing through each other's hands and pressing kisses to each other shoulders. she loves these little moments with you where she can just bask in the fuzzy post-sex bliss with you. she loves it even more when she delicately rubs herself into you to test the waters, always met by your lovesick giggle as you hold onto her tighter and return the movement, ready to go as soon as she gives you a sign.

im pregnant and pifighter vi is the father

[mcrdvcks]

love me do

summary: Logan likes to mark you.

word count: 1.6k+

pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

notes: i don't know what came over me. i had a dream a few nights ago about logan marking you (me??) up during sex and i just couldn't get it out of my head so here ya go

warnings/tags: no use of y/n, porn with no plot, pet name (sweetheart), marking, bite marks, hickeys, lots of kissing, scent kink, fingering, slight praise kink, unprotected piv, creampie, not proofread

There was one thing that Logan did constantly: leaving marks. Whether it was hickeys or actual bite marks, your skin was constantly littered with dark marks along your neck, shoulders, chest, and even down to the plushness of your thighs.

Sometimes you wondered if he was really just teasing you or if he really enjoyed trailing his lips along your body; you got your answer fairly quickly when he plunged two fingers inside you all while kissing your jaw and down the side of your neck. His teeth grazed your skin as his lips moved lower, leaving behind more of those marks you’d come to expect.

“Logan,” you said, barely above a whisper, your hands gripping the edge of the bed beneath you.

“What?” he murmured against your neck, his voice low, almost rough. His thumb found that sensitive spot between your legs, pressing down in a way that made your breath hitch. “Can’t hear ya, sweetheart.”

You hated when he played dumb, but the heat pooling in your stomach made it hard to care. Your hips bucked slightly against his hand, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he kissed just under your ear.

“I said…” Your words were cut off by a sharp gasp as his fingers curled inside you, brushing a spot that sent a wave of pleasure through your whole body. “Oh, my God.”

“Not quite, but keep calling me that, and I might get used to it,” he teased, voice gravelly, his lips now trailing down to your collarbone.

You rolled your eyes even though they were fluttering shut. “You’re such an—”

“An what?” He pulled back just enough to look at you, raising an eyebrow. His fingers didn’t stop moving, though, and the smugness in his expression only grew when your body betrayed you, your thighs trembling around his hand.

“An asshole,” you managed to get out, though it lacked any real venom.

“Yeah? This asshole’s making you feel pretty good, though.”

You didn’t dignify that with an answer, biting your lip to stifle the noises threatening to spill out. He noticed, of course, and immediately decided to make it harder for you. His thumb circled over that sensitive spot again, this time more deliberately, and his free hand came up to hold your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t do that,” he said, his tone suddenly serious.

“Do what?”

“Hold back,” he said, his thumb pressing down a little harder as his fingers worked faster inside you. “I wanna hear you.”

The intensity in his eyes made you shiver, and any attempt at holding back crumbled. A moan slipped out, and his grin widened as he leaned in to kiss you again, this time on the lips. It was messy, all teeth and tongue, but you didn’t care.

“Good girl,” he muttered against your lips, his hand still working between your thighs.

“Logan,” you whimpered, your hands gripping his shoulders now, nails digging into his skin through his shirt.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice rougher now, almost like a growl.

“Logan,” you repeated, louder this time, your voice trembling as the tension in your body built to a breaking point.

“That’s it,” he said, his lips finding your neck again. “Let go for me, sweetheart.”

The way his voice dropped, combined with the relentless rhythm of his fingers, pushed you over the edge. Your whole body tensed, and a broken moan escaped your lips as the pleasure washed over you. He didn’t stop right away, working you through it until you were practically trembling beneath him.

When you finally came down, you let out a shaky breath, your forehead falling against his shoulder. His fingers slipped out of you, and he brought them to his mouth without hesitation, his eyes locked on yours as he sucked them clean.

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, still trying to catch your breath.

“Unbelievable in a good way or a bad way?” he asked, his tone playful now as he reached up to brush a strand of hair out of your face.

“You know the answer to that,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Do I?” He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Why don’t ya remind me?”

Before you could respond, he was pulling your legs around his waist, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed himself against you. The heat and hardness of him through his jeans made your breath hitch again, and the teasing smirk on his face told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Logan,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“You gonna keep teasing me, or are you gonna do something about it?”

His grin widened, and he leaned in to kiss you again, this time slower but just as intense. “Oh, I’m gonna do something about it,” he said against your lips, his hands sliding up your thighs.

Logan’s grip was firm, possessive, the rough pads of his fingers tracing up your skin like he was mapping you out. “You smell so fuckin’ good,” he murmured, his voice deep and low, the words almost growled into your ear. “Can’t get enough of you.” His lips grazed your jaw, then your neck, leaving soft kisses before his teeth nipped the sensitive skin just below your ear.

“Logan…” Your voice was shaky, breath catching in your throat when his hands hooked under your knees, spreading your legs further. You felt the heavy, warm press of him between your thighs, still confined by his jeans but unmistakably hard. The denim’s rough texture teased your skin, making you squirm beneath him.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he said, his lips quirking into a smirk as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. He made quick work of unbuttoning his jeans, the metal clinking softly. When he shoved them down his hips, you caught sight of him—thick, hard, and already glistening at the tip.

Your breath hitched as he leaned back over you, one hand gripping your hip, the other guiding himself to your entrance. The anticipation made you ache, every nerve in your body on fire as you felt the blunt heat of him pressing against you.

“Look at me,” Logan said, his voice suddenly commanding. His fingers caught your chin, holding your face steady so your eyes stayed locked on his. “I wanna see you when I take you.”

You nodded, biting your lip as his hips shifted forward, the thick head of his cock pushing inside you slowly. The stretch was intense, almost overwhelming, but the heat in Logan’s eyes grounded you. His gaze never wavered, watching your every reaction with a mixture of hunger and something softer, deeper.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his teeth catching his bottom lip as he pushed in further. “You feel perfect.”

Your hands found his shoulders, nails digging in as he filled you inch by inch, the slow, deliberate pace making you gasp. Logan paused when he was buried fully inside, his breath heavy against your cheek. “You okay?” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

“Yeah,” you breathed, your voice barely audible. “Move, Logan.”

His smirk returned, but his movements stayed slow, deliberate. He pulled out almost completely before sliding back in, his hips rocking in a rhythm that had your toes curling. The drag of him against your inner walls was maddening, each stroke deliberate, like he was savoring every second.

“You like that?” he asked, his voice rough and low, his lips brushing against your ear. He didn’t wait for an answer, his teeth grazing your neck again as he set a steady pace, each thrust hitting deep and hard. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer with every movement.

“Logan—oh, God,” you gasped, your nails raking down his back. The tension in your core coiled tighter with each slow, deliberate thrust, the way his hips rolled driving you closer to the edge.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” Logan growled, his forehead pressing against yours. “Takin’ me so good, sweetheart. Fuck, I could stay buried in you forever.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and your body arched into him, chasing every bit of contact you could get. Logan’s grip shifted, one hand sliding up to your jaw again, tilting your face toward his. His lips crashed against yours, the kiss messy and consuming, his teeth catching your bottom lip as he drove deeper into you.

“Logan,” you whimpered against his mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders, desperate for more.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice a rough growl. His thrusts grew harder, each one deliberate, his hips rolling in a way that had you seeing stars. “Lemme hear you.”

“Logan!” Your voice broke, your body trembling beneath him as the tension inside you snapped. The orgasm hit you like a wave, your walls clenching around him, pulling him even deeper as you cried out his name.

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, his pace faltering as he chased his own release. “So good, sweetheart. So fuckin’ good.” His thrusts turned erratic, and with one final, deep stroke, he buried himself completely, his hips pressing flush against yours as he came with a guttural growl.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, his body heavy on yours, his breath hot against your neck. Logan’s hand brushed against your cheek, his thumb tracing your jawline as he pulled back to look at you. “You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now.

You nodded, a tired but satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he said, leaning down to kiss you again, this one slow and lingering, his hands never leaving your body.

[solxamber]

stay w me in this one, kiss cam w the first years 🙂‍↕

Kiss Cam with: The First Years

a/n; anon you brain is so big!! i got so happy??? when i saw this?? i kinda blacked out for a while and ended up writing it

Ace Trappola

The arena was packed, the air buzzing with energy as the Magift team dominated the field. You were sandwiched between Deuce and Ace, the latter chugging a soda while obnoxiously yelling at the players.

“Ace, they can’t hear you,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as he yelled, “PASS THE DISC, YOU IDIOT!”

“I don’t care! They need to know how bad they’re screwing up!” Ace shot back, waving his drink wildly.

Deuce leaned over, clearly mortified. “Can you not embarrass us in front of the whole school?”

Ace just smirked. “What? Embarrassed to be seen with your cooler, more handsome best friend?”

You snorted. “Handsome? In your dreams, Trappola.”

Ace turned to you, feigning offense. “Oh, so I’m not handsome? Guess I’ll have to let the kiss cam settle this one.”

“What does that even mean?” you asked, rolling your eyes.

As if the universe decided to spite you, the lights dimmed, and a giant heart frame appeared on the jumbotron.

You froze. “No. No way.”

Ace leaned forward, his grin turning devious. “Oh yes.”

Deuce, ever the supportive friend, burst into laughter, slapping his knee. “This is the best day of my life.”

Meanwhile, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “This has to be a mistake.”

The announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Come on, lovebirds! Don’t be shy! Show us some NRC spirit!”

“I’m going to die,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

“Not without giving the people what they want,” Ace teased, turning to you with an exaggerated smirk. “Come on, for school pride.”

You glared at him, your cheeks burning. “Ace Trappola, I will—”

Before you could finish, Ace leaned in, his smirk fading into something more genuine. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Relax. It’s just a little kiss, right?”

Your breath hitched. The crowd was chanting louder now, and your heart was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the embarrassment.

“Just a little kiss,” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

And then it happened.

When his lips met yours, the crowd erupted into cheers, whistles, and applause. Time seemed to stop as the noise around you faded into a distant hum.

His lips were warm and surprisingly gentle, and the faint taste of soda lingered as he pulled back, his face flushed but grinning like an idiot.

“Well,” he said, his voice slightly breathless, “that wasn’t so bad, huh?”

You blinked at him, your brain short-circuiting. “You… You just kissed me!”

“You kissed me back,” he shot back, his grin widening.

Deuce, still laughing like a lunatic, clapped Ace on the back. “Congratulations, Trappola. You finally grew a pair.”

Ace turned to the jumbotron, where your kiss was being replayed in slow motion. “Man, we look good together,” he said smugly, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

You shoved him, your face burning hotter than the sun. “Don’t push your luck.”

The rest of the game passed in a blur. Ace was insufferably smug, Deuce wouldn’t stop teasing you, and your heart refused to calm down.

As the crowd filed out of the arena, Ace caught your hand, stopping you just outside the gates.

“Hey,” he said, his usual grin replaced with something softer. “So, uh… about earlier.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“I wasn’t kidding, you know,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I like you. Like, a lot. And this is not just because of the kiss cam thing.”

You stared at him, your heart skipping a beat. “Ace…”

“I mean, no pressure or anything!” he added quickly, his face turning red. “But, you know, if you did want to be more than friends, I wouldn’t mind…”

You smiled, stepping closer and leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re such an idiot.”

His jaw dropped. “Wait—does that mean…?”

“It means yes, Ace,” you said, laughing. “But you better not let this go to your head.”

Ace grinned, grabbing your hand. “Too late.”

Spoiler: Ace tells everyone at school, and now half the campus thinks the kiss cam was staged. You’re stuck with him, but honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Deuce Spade

The stadium buzzed with excitement, the crowd alive with cheers as NRC's Magift team scored another point. You sat beside Deuce, who was yelling encouragement so earnestly you swore the players might actually hear him through sheer determination.

“Come on! You’ve got this! Pass it—yes!” he shouted, punching the air.

You couldn’t help but smile. Deuce’s enthusiasm was contagious, even if he had accidentally knocked over your popcorn in his excitement earlier.

“You’re going to lose your voice,” you teased, nudging his arm.

“I’ll be fine,” he replied with a grin. “This is important!”

What wasn’t important, however, was the dreaded kiss cam that appeared on the giant screen moments later.

The heart-shaped frame zoomed in on various couples, each one receiving cheers as they nervously or enthusiastically complied. You laughed, thinking nothing of it—until your own face appeared on the screen.

You froze. “Oh no.”

Deuce, oblivious, kept clapping until the heart frame zoomed out to reveal him beside you. His face turned crimson so fast you worried he might combust.

“W-What?!” he stammered, pointing at the screen as if denying its existence might make it disappear.

The crowd erupted in laughter and cheers, the announcer’s voice booming. “Come on, lovebirds! Let’s see some NRC spirit!”

“Deuce, say something,” you hissed, your face burning.

“I—uh—I—” he stuttered, looking everywhere but at you. “They—uh—made a mistake! Right?!”

The announcer wasn’t letting up. “Looks like someone’s shy! Don’t leave us hanging!”

Deuce looked at you helplessly, his face a mix of panic and mortification. “I-I’m so sorry about this!”

You sighed, your own heart racing. “It’s fine, Deuce. Just a quick kiss, and they’ll move on.”

He nearly choked. “A kiss?!”

“It’s not a marriage proposal!” you shot back, trying to keep your cool despite your own nerves.

He nodded frantically, visibly psyching himself up. “O-Okay! Let’s do this!”

Deuce leaned in slowly, his eyes shut so tightly you thought he might be praying for divine intervention. His lips brushed your cheek in the softest, most hesitant kiss imaginable before he pulled back like he’d just touched a live wire.

The crowd cheered wildly, but Deuce wasn’t done. In his panic, he’d miscalculated the kiss angle, and his forehead accidentally bumped yours as he pulled away.

“Oh no! Are you okay?” he asked, horrified.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your nervousness melting away at his sheer awkwardness. “I’m fine, Deuce.”

“Are you sure?” he asked again, his hands hovering like he wanted to check for injuries.

You smiled and, feeling bold, leaned forward to kiss his cheek in return. The crowd’s cheers doubled, and Deuce looked at you like you’d just announced he’d won the lottery.

“Um,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “That was… uh… nice.”

You laughed. “It’s just a kiss, Deuce.”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just a kiss.”

Deuce spent the rest of the game sneaking glances at you, his face perpetually red. By the time the match ended, you were sure he’d worn a hole in the ground with all his nervous foot-tapping.

As the two of you walked back to the dorms, he finally cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I… I really like you.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden confession. “Deuce—”

“I mean it!” he said quickly, his words tumbling out like he’d been holding them back for ages. “I’ve liked you for a while, but I didn’t know how to tell you, and the kiss cam just kind of—”

You cut him off with a quick kiss to his lips, effectively silencing his rambling.

“Does that answer your question?” you asked, smiling at his stunned expression.

Deuce nodded, his face practically glowing. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

Spoiler: Ace finds out and teases Deuce relentlessly, but Deuce doesn’t care. He’s too busy walking you to class and holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Jack Howl

The stadium was alive with energy, the roar of the crowd reverberating through the stands as NRC's Magift team dominated the field. You sat beside Jack, who had insisted you attend because "It's good to support our school." Truthfully, you didn’t mind—watching the game with Jack was its own kind of fun.

He sat rigidly in his seat, tail swishing lightly as his sharp eyes tracked every play on the field. You chuckled at how serious he looked.

"Jack, relax. It's just a game," you teased.

"It's not just a game," he replied, his ears flicking. "This is about teamwork, discipline, and—"

He stopped mid-sentence when the crowd erupted in cheers. You both looked up to the big screen, only to see a giant pink heart frame around… you and Jack.

Cue Panic.

“Wait, what?!” you exclaimed, your face instantly heating up.

Jack’s ears flattened against his head as his eyes widened in sheer panic. “Oh no.”

The announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Looks like we’ve got a shy couple! Let’s hear it for them, folks!”

The crowd cheered louder, and you groaned. “Oh, come on…”

Jack was frozen in place, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. His tail puffed up slightly as he asked, “They’ll move on, right? They’ll pick someone else?”

You glanced at the screen, seeing your own mortified expression reflected back at you. “Not unless we do something.”

Jack’s face turned impossibly red. “You mean…?”

“Yes, Jack,” you said, trying to suppress your own embarrassment. “A kiss. Just a small one! It’s no big deal.”

Jack looked at you like you’d just asked him to leap off a cliff. “I can’t! What if it’s weird? Or awkward? Or—”

“Jack,” you interrupted, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s just a game. Let’s get it over with.”

His ears twitched nervously as he nodded. “Okay. But, uh… where?”

“Where?” you repeated, confused.

“I mean, do I… your cheek? Your forehead? I—I don’t want to—”

“Jack!” you laughed, despite your own nerves. “Cheek is fine.”

He nodded again, his tail wagging nervously behind him as he leaned in. Just as his lips barely brushed your cheek, the crowd erupted in cheers—only for Jack to try to jerk back so fast that his forehead bumped yours.

“Ow!” you yelped, rubbing your head.

“Are you okay?!” he asked, panicking.

“I’m fine,” you said, trying not to laugh at his flustered expression. “But you might’ve just knocked me into next week.”

The announcer’s voice interrupted. “Let’s hear it for our lovebirds! What a show!”

You both sank further into your seats, faces burning. Jack mumbled an apology, looking like he wanted to crawl under the stadium.

“You know,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “You could’ve just kissed me properly.”

Jack froze, his eyes snapping to yours. “What?”

“Yeah,” you teased, grinning. “You’re already on the big screen. Might as well make it count.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his ears flicking nervously. Then, to your surprise, he leaned in again—this time more confidently—and pressed a quick, warm kiss to your lips.

The crowd lost it, cheering so loudly you could barely hear yourself think.

When Jack pulled back, his face was crimson, but there was a small, shy smile on his lips. “There. Was… was that okay?”

You smiled back, your heart racing. “More than okay.”

Jack spent the rest of the game sitting a little closer to you, his tail wagging uncontrollably. As you left the stadium, he finally cleared his throat.

“So… does this mean we’re—uh… dating?” he asked awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

You laughed, grabbing his hand. “What do you think?”

Jack’s tail wagged even harder. “I think I’m really lucky.”

Spoiler: Ace, Deuce and Epel find out later and tease Jack mercilessly, but he doesn’t care. He’s too busy walking you to class with his hand in yours.

Epel Felmier

The game was electric, with the crowd roaring as NRC held a narrow lead over RSA. You sat near the bench, cheering loudly for one player in particular. Epel was a blur of determination on the field, his every move brimming with adrenaline and a grit that made your heart race just watching him.

During halftime, the players jogged off the field to hydrate and strategize. Epel wiped the sweat from his brow and spotted you by the bench. You held up an electrolyte drink with a proud smile.

“Here, you earned it!” you said, handing him the bottle.

He accepted it with a quick grin, gulping it down like a man dying of thirst. “Thanks. Didja see that shot I made earlier?”

“I did!” you replied enthusiastically. “You’re playing amazing out there!”

Your encouragement had him standing a little taller, his eyes shining with a mix of pride and affection. “Well, I ain’t done yet. Gotta show those RSA guys what we’re made of.”

But before he could head back to the huddle, the crowd’s noise shifted. You both turned toward the massive screen above the field, where a familiar heart-shaped frame surrounded… the two of you.

Epel froze for a fraction of a second, his flushed face turning an even deeper shade of red. You stared at the screen in surprise, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

“Is that… the kiss cam?” you muttered.

Epel glanced back at his team’s huddle, where his teammates were laughing and giving him exaggerated thumbs-ups. The crowd began chanting, egging him on.

In that moment, with the adrenaline from the game still coursing through his veins and the giddy rush of your praise in his chest, Epel made a snap decision.

Without a word, he leaned in and kissed you—hard, fast, and with enough confidence to leave you absolutely stunned.

The crowd erupted into cheers and whistles as Epel pulled back, his violet eyes sparkling mischievously. “Thanks for the drink,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just turned your world upside down.

Then, with one last grin, he jogged back to his team, leaving you standing there, breathless and staring after him.

The rest of the game was a blur. Epel was on fire, scoring two more goals and securing the win for NRC. The crowd was ecstatic, the team celebrating wildly, but your mind was stuck on that kiss.

When the post-game frenzy finally settled, Epel approached you by the bleachers. He was still sweaty and flushed, but his usual nervousness was nowhere to be seen. The adrenaline from the game still seemed to fuel him as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Hey,” he started, his accent thick and his voice a little raspy. “About that kiss earlier…”

You raised an eyebrow, your heart pounding. “What about it?”

Epel took a deep breath, his violet eyes locking onto yours. “I ain’t just kissin’ people for fun, ya know? I… I like you. A lot. And I’ve been wantin’ to say somethin’ for ages, but I didn’t know how. Guess the kiss cam kinda forced my hand.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his honesty. “So what are you saying, Epel?”

“I’m sayin’... would ya go out with me?” he asked, his cheeks turning red again.

You pretended to think for a moment, but the truth was, you already knew your answer. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Epel’s face lit up, his grin wide and genuine. “Really?!”

“Really,” you said, laughing.

He fist-pumped the air triumphantly before quickly trying to play it cool. “Well, uh, that’s great. I’ll, uh, plan somethin’ nice, alright?”

“Looking forward to it,” you replied, your smile as wide as his.

The kiss cam video was all over campus the next day, much to Epel’s embarrassment and your amusement. Still, neither of you could deny how it sparked something wonderful between you.

And yet, every time someone teased him about it, Epel would just grin and shrug. “What can I say? I go for what I want.”

Sebek Zigvolt

The Magift stadium was loud and lively, the crowd cheering wildly as NRC battled RSA in a fierce match. You sat next to Sebek, who was practically vibrating with excitement. Not for the game, mind you, but for the honor of cheering for his young master.

“Do you see that?!” Sebek shouted, practically jumping out of his seat. “The precision! The sheer grace! Lord Malleus is unmatched on the field!”

You smiled, resting your chin on your hand. “Yeah, Sebek, I see it. You’ve mentioned it about... ten times now.”

“Only ten?!” He gasped, scandalized. “I must rectify this immediately—”

Before he could continue his speech, the crowd erupted into cheers. Confused, you looked up at the massive screen, only to freeze.

There, framed in a gigantic pink heart, were you and Sebek.

“What… what is this madness?!” Sebek’s voice boomed over the crowd noise, his face quickly turning beet red.

“It’s the kiss cam,” you explained, already feeling the heat creeping up your neck.

Sebek blinked at you, utterly baffled. “Kiss cam? What nonsense is this?!”

The announcer chimed in cheerfully. “Looks like we’ve got a lively one, folks! Give the crowd what they want!”

The audience clapped and whistled, clearly entertained by Sebek’s outburst. Meanwhile, you wished you could melt into the ground.

“Sebek, we’re on the big screen,” you hissed, trying to keep your voice low. “Just a quick kiss, and they’ll move on!”

Sebek recoiled as if you’d suggested dueling Malleus. “What?! A kiss? In public? In front of—of all these people?”

“Yes!” you snapped. “It’s not that big of a deal!”

“But—! But—!” Sebek sputtered, his hands flailing in an uncharacteristically awkward display. “I cannot—this is—HOW DARE THEY IMPOSE SUCH A THING?"

The crowd was relentless, chanting louder as Sebek grew more flustered.

“Sebek,” you sighed, leaning closer to him. “If you don’t just do it, they’ll keep us up there forever.”

His eyes widened, darting between you and the screen. “I—fine! But only to end this nonsense!”

Sebek sat up stiffly, his face as red as his dorm uniform. Slowly, he leaned toward you… only to stop halfway, completely frozen.

“Sebek,” you whispered, trying not to laugh at his deer-in-headlights expression. “You’re overthinking it. Just a little peck.”

He shut his eyes tightly, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “For the honor of the young master.” Then, with the precision of someone about to execute a high-level spell, he leaned in and pressed the briefest kiss imaginable to your cheek.

The crowd erupted into cheers, but Sebek immediately pulled back, clutching his chest like he’d just fought a dragon.

“Well, that was…” You paused, trying to find the right word. “Anticlimactic.”

Sebek glared at you, still blushing furiously. “What more do you want?! I have upheld this ridiculous tradition to the best of my ability!”

You smirked, leaning closer. “Oh, come on. You’re supposed to kiss me on the lips.”

“WHAT?!” Sebek practically shouted, earning another wave of laughter from the crowd.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” you teased, leaning in just a bit more.

Sebek’s brain seemed to short-circuit for a moment, but before you could follow through on your teasing threat, he surprised you by leaning in and kissing you properly.

It was quick and clumsy but sincere, and when he pulled back, the people sitting around you erupted into wild cheers.

Sebek, meanwhile, looked like he was about to faint. “There. Are you satisfied now?!”

You laughed, touching your lips. “Actually, yeah. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

For the rest of the game, Sebek sat ramrod straight, refusing to look at you.

When the match ended and you both walked back to campus, he finally broke the silence. “That… that was purely for practical purposes!”

You grinned. “Sure, Sebek. Whatever you say.”

He glanced at you, his blush returning in full force. “It—it meant nothing!”

But the way his hand brushed against yours—and stayed there—told a very different story.

Masterlist

[rafecameronssl4t]

Ferrari's Golden Boy and his Girl || F1 driver!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: ur first appearance in the paddock with Rafe :)

Warnings: noneee

Word count: 1,936

A/n: if you couldn't tell by my pfp of Alexandra, i love her and she's who i imagine when i write these f1 fics but of course its up to you!!!!

MASTERLIST (f1 driver x fem!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The world of Formula 1 was glamorous but intimidating, and you felt the weight of a thousand eyes on you. Speculations about your relationship with Rafe, Ferrari's Golden Boy, had been swirling for months, growing louder with every blurred paparazzi photo and cryptic comment he let slip in interviews.

Coming from Rafe’s hometown in the Outer Banks, you weren’t accustomed to attention from the public eye and a sea of flashing camera. Paparazzi had caught glimpses of you together over the past few months—dinners at intimate restaurants, quiet walks along the beach, stolen kisses on his yacht—but this was different.

This was your official debut as his girlfriend, stepping into the spotlight for the first time. Your heart raced, not from the adrenaline of the sport but from the nerve-wracking reality of being here, surrounded by people who lived and breathed Formula 1. You’d spent countless nights scrolling through social media, seeing how some fans could be—relentless in their opinions, cutting down a driver’s girlfriend simply because they didn’t like her.

It was tough sometimes, imagining yourself on the receiving end of that scrutiny. Would they think you were good enough for Rafe? Would they nitpick your every move, your every word, just to find flaws? The thought had kept you awake the night before, despite Rafe’s reassurances.

Rafe, walking beside you, was as confident as ever, exuding the easy charisma that had made him both a star on the track and off. His hand rested at the small of your back, guiding you through the chaos, even outside the paddock gates, with practised ease. Your hands were slightly shaky as you scanned your paddock pass, “You good?” he asked, leaning down so only you could hear.

His voice was low and steady, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy around you. You glanced up at him. “I think so,” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the noise. “Don’t think,” he said, his tone teasing but affectionate. “Just walk in there like you own the place. Because, baby, you kind of do.” He adds, kissing the side of your head.

You couldn’t help but laugh, though the nerves didn’t completely fade. Rafe had an unmatched ability to make you feel like you belonged, even when you doubted yourself. You smooth out your red dress—one he had personally insisted you wear. "You'll match the car," he'd teased, a boyish grin spreading across his face. "And I'll look like the luckiest guy in the paddock."

As you walked past the throngs of fans lined against the barriers, the buzz grew louder. Their cheers grew louder, a cacophony of voices calling out Rafe’s name—and, to your surprise, your own. Phones were raised, the flashes of cameras capturing every moment. Your heart raced, a mix of nerves and exhilaration coursing through you.

"See, they like you already," Austin, Rafe's personal trainer teased gently. His tone was lighthearted, a deliberate attempt to ease your obvious unease. He nudged your arm, grinning as you chuckled softly, trying to shake off the nerves that clung to you. Rafe, ever composed and effortlessly charming, raised his hand in a casual wave to the crowd.

You followed his lead, offering a small, tentative wave and a smile that you hoped looked more confident than you felt. Rafe checked his watch before glancing at the crowd again. “We’ve got time, don’t we?” he asked Austin, though it was more rhetorical than a genuine inquiry. Without waiting for a response, he veered toward a particularly animated group of fans near the front of the barrier.

You stayed back with Austin, watching as Rafe transitioned seamlessly into fan mode. He moved with ease, signing caps, shirts, and posters, pausing for selfies, and exchanging quick banter with his supporters. Your gaze softened as you observed him, pride swelling in your chest. He looked so at home in this chaotic environment, his bright smile and relaxed demeanor making him seem untouchable yet entirely approachable.

Then, as if he could feel your eyes on him, Rafe turned his head to look at you. A mischievous smile danced on his lips as he said something, his words lost in the roar of the crowd. “What’s he saying?” you asked Austin, tilting your head in confusion. Rafe then blew you a kiss with an exaggerated flair, his grin widening when he saw the shy smile it drew from you.

“Rafe, is that your girlfriend over there?” a girl asked as he scribbled his autograph on his photo. Her tone was curious but warm, not laced with the venom you’d feared. Rafe glanced back at you, his smile softening into something almost tender. “Yeah,” he said proudly, not missing a beat. “That’s her. She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” The fans erupted into cheers, their excitement palpable as they turned their attention to you.

You froze for a moment, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks, but Rafe’s unwavering confidence in you gave you the courage to offer another small wave. “I hope you guys love her as much as I do,” Rafe added, his tone light but sincere. After a few more photos and quick goodbyes, Rafe made his way back to you, his stride confident and purposeful. As soon as he reached you, his arm slipped naturally around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

“What were you saying back there?” you asked, looking up at him with curiosity. Rafe didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering just enough to make your heart flutter. “Just telling them how gorgeous you are,” he replied casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You felt the blush creeping up your neck, your cheeks warm as you let out a soft, embarrassed giggle.

Rafe chuckled, clearly pleased with your reaction, and squeezed your shoulder. The paddock was a whirlwind of activity. Team members darted around, engineers shouted commands, and reporters lingered, waiting for their chance to snag an interview. Rafe navigated it effortlessly, introducing you to key people as you clung to his side, trying to take it all in.

As he prepared to leave for his pre-race routine, he turned to you, the confident façade slipping just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his vulnerability. “You’re gonna be okay?” he asked quietly, his fingers lingering at your side. You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. I’ll be fine, I'll hang out with Sofia," You say, glancing back at Sofia who was Rafe's teammate's girlfriend.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead that lingered just long enough to make your cheeks flush. “Good. Because you belong here with me, whether you believe it yet or not.” As he walked away, you felt the cameras capturing the moment, and for the first time, you didn’t feel out of place. You felt proud. Proud to be by his side, no matter how intimidating the spotlight might be.

~

"Rafe Cameron wins the Spanish Grand Prix, and it is a 1-2 finish for the Scuderia Ferrari!" The commentator's jubilant voice rang through your headphones, the words igniting an explosion of joy in the Ferrari garage. The moment the announcement registered, you and Sofia turned to each other, your faces lighting up with pure elation.

Without thinking, you both started squealing, your voices blending into the symphony of celebration around you. You grabbed her hands, jumping up and down like giddy schoolgirls, the weight of nerves and anticipation finally melting away. “They did it!” Sofia shouted, her wide grin matching yours as you both clung to each other, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the victory.

The rest of the Ferrari garage erupted into cheers, a sea of red erupting with applause, hugs, and celebratory fist pumps. Engineers and crew members were already spilling out onto the pitlane, sprinting toward the podium to catch a glimpse of their drivers and bask in the glory of the victory. You could barely hear yourself think over the noise, but it didn’t matter.

The joy was infectious, and you found yourself swept up in the chaos, laughing and cheering along with everyone else. Sofia nudged you with her elbow, her face flushed with excitement. “We’ve gotta get to the podium!” You didn’t need to be told twice. Linking arms with her, you followed the stream of Ferrari personnel down the pitlane. Your heart pounded in your chest—not from nerves this time, but from pride and exhilaration.

As you reached the podium area, the roar of the crowd hit you like a wave. Thousands of fans filled the grandstands, waving Ferrari flags and chanting Rafe’s name. The energy was electric, the entire circuit seemingly united in celebration. The team’s staff ushered you and Sofia forward, guiding you both to the front row, just behind the barriers, giving you the perfect view. And then you saw him, climbing out of his car with a triumphant smile that lit up his entire face.

He threw his arms up in victory, basking in the adoration of the crowd. Your heart raced as Rafe's eyes locked onto yours in the midst of the roaring crowd. His grin widened, that familiar spark of mischief in his gaze, and he pointed directly at you. It felt like the world slowed for just a moment—just you and him, amidst the chaos.

The cameras snapped furiously, capturing the fleeting connection between you both, and a wave of pride surged through you. Without thinking, you blew him a kiss, your smile so wide it felt like your cheeks might burst from the effort. His response was immediate. With a joyful laugh and a skip in his step, Rafe jumped down from his car, making his way toward you as if nothing else in the world mattered.

As he reached you, he pulled you into a tight embrace, lifting you off your feet for a moment, as the crowd's cheers grew louder around you. The cameras followed you both closely, documenting the raw, unfiltered joy of the moment. "You did it, baby!" you exclaimed, your voice muffled slightly by the noise around you, but the sentiment was clear.

Rafe held you close, his arms strong around your back, his helmet still on, the sweaty material of his racing suit rubbing against your skin. He laughed, a deep, satisfied sound that resonated with the energy of the victory. "Couldn’t have done it without you," he murmured, his voice low but filled with emotion. Then, with a playful grin, he lifted his visor, revealing the intensity of his eyes beneath.

You leaned up and placed a quick, soft kiss on his helmet, the action gentle and affectionate. The cameras caught the moment, and you could hear the claps and whistles of Rafe's teammates in the background. You pulled away, giggling shyly, feeling the heat rush to your face as the attention turned to you.

Rafe chuckled and pulled you close again, wrapping his arms around your waist as his team started to gather around, congratulating him, giving high-fives, and sharing the celebratory moment with the driver of the day. But even as they swarmed him, Rafe never let go of you, his hand resting possessively on your back as he basked in his well-earned victory.

[ghostofhyuck]

NCT Dream and the look of love.

Mark Lee

Trust that Mark's the type who'll just be lost by just staring at your face. He loves every detail of your face that he had engraved it on his mind. He loves how your eyebrows dance like it has its own body, he knows if you're happy, sad, or angry by just looking at it. Or maybe he knows where your beauty mark is and he automatically aims at it for a kiss. Barefaced, with makeup on, or even when your makeup's melted, he had engraved it all in his memory. "Mark?" "What?" he automatically replied, realizing that he's been staring for too long. You only let out a laugh, "nothing, you're staring." "Well, can't help but to admire my girl." 

Huang Renjun

Renjun looks at you like you're the last existing person in this world --- in his world per se. He just stares at you with much fascination as if it's just the two of you alone in that room. Everything is just blurry, he couldn't hear any other noise except your voice and laughter despite being in a crowded room, and that's just pretty sums up how much Renjun loves you. "Renjun!" the man snaps out when he felt a smack on his arms. "Hey! I've been calling your name for an hour, what the fuck man?" Haechan angrily said. "Sorry, didn't hear you there, I was talking to yn." his friend could only rolled his eyes because he just witnessed Renjun's whipped moment. 

Lee Jeno

Everyone thinks that Jeno looks at you lovingly when his eyes disappears, but those are just during the light-hearted moment, during the cases where he can feel his heart jump in joy because of you, along with the soft laughters and endless teasings. But Jeno looks at you lovingly when you're oblivious by it. When his eyes were gazing at you wide yet soft, and gentle but you don't know that because you're used to his eye smiles. It's the type of look that will make him think, "damn, I really got myself lucky with you." without looking away.

Lee Donghyuck

You're used to Haechan's mischievous and playful side that it always surprise you whenever he stares at you with a softer gaze. Childlike stare as if you're a fragile thing, accompanied with actions that are also soft like the way his hands slide onto yours or the way he brushes your hair without breaking the contact. You know that he's whipped but you couldn't help but to laugh, ruining the sweet atmosphere. "What, why?" your boyfriend asked, confused. "Sorry, I'm just not used to you being sweet." you confessed. "What!? I can be sweet!"

Na Jaemin

When Jaemin looks at you, he'll just be in deep to it that he doesn't realized that he's not blinking at all. He can't help it! What if at the blink of an eye, you're just out of his sight? He won't let that happen! That's why he'll just admire you for so long and he doesn't even realized that he's not blinking at all until you snapped him out of it. And as he blinks, tears formed from his eyes and as he opened it, you're there looking at you with worried. "Have you not been blinking at all?" you asked, a bit appalled. He only smiled, "Can't let you out of my sight." 

Zhong Chenle

Just like Jeno, Chenle will be the type that when he stared at you, he'll be like, "she's my girlfriend? you're kidding me right?" he'll be eyes wide, mouth a bit open because he just couldn't sometimes fathom that you exist and you're his girlfriend. He'll be taken aback by that fact that he has to sink in all those thoughts while staring at you. You raised an eyebrow at your boyfriend's expression that you snapped your fingers in front of him. "Are you okay? Do I look weird?" you asked. "No! Of course not! It's just --- you're beautiful. Damn."

Park Jisung

Jisung looks at you the same way he looked at you the first time he saw you. A bit surprised expression but this time, he has a smile on his face because he knows that you're his girlfriend. He looks at you with much admiration that it is painfully sweet for others, because in his point of view, you two are like in a film where everything is just moving while you two are staying still. "What's that look?" you teased. "What look?" he asked, but there's a smirk on his face. "You know what I mean Ji." 

[liiixsturniolos]

"Pretty..little..noises.."

in which... rapper!chris has a little kink.. for singer!readers moans, wanting to add them into the background of his songs, he has to make you moan just how he wants too.

warnings!: smut (p in v unprotected.. wrap it b4 ya tap it guys!), moaning kink.

Chris always loved your voice, especially when you sang, often even begging you to sing him to sleep. He even put you on his songs, the fans' favourite duo, he claimed your voice was angelic. But more than that, his bigger obsession, the sound of your beautiful, sweet moans, he has a thing for it, I guess you could say. You'd tease him with it too, moaning into his ear in a public place and watching a tent grow up in his pants just from a quiet whisper...

He loved the whines and whimpers that would flow out of your mouth when he fucked you. It was his favourite part of it, the uncontrollable melodies that spewed out of your gorgeous mouth. He took pride in knowing he made you feel like that and wished he could show everyone, and maybe he could...

An idea sprung into his head one night, with you led next to him. He tapped his fingers onto your shoulder to wake you up, "what..?" You groaned awake. "I have an idea.." he mumbles cautiously, explaining his perverted little plan to film a sex tape, in which he'd use your moans in his newest song.

You accept happily, loving the concept of this slightly insane idea, letting Chris take off your panties, set up his phone beside you and start a voice recording.

"kay baby, lemme' hear those pretty little noises," he mutters, lining himself up with your gap, sliding slowly inside of your warm walls. You start to whimper at the feeling of him inside of you, filling you up to the brim. He pumps himself inside of you, your moans getting raspier and louder. "Yes-f-fuck baby moan f'me." He tells you.

Speeding up his pace, he thrusts into you ruthlessly, aiming to make you moan as loud and pornographically as he could, which you do, letting out a high pitched moan, rolling back your eyes and shouting his name, as you come to your high "fu-fuckkk c-hris.." you stutter out, both of your simultaneous releases pouring out from you suddenly.

"Perfect, darling." He says, pulling out of your leaking pussy, and stopping the audio recording, "You did so good baby." He tells you with a slightly smirky smile.

Weeks later as his new song drops, fans notice the faint ad-lib noises playing in the back of his rap verse, and question it on instagram live... to which he responds with a soft giggle, and pulls his hands around your waist, sitting you onto his lap.

thanks for reading darlings! consider interacting, so I can keep posting more of these! Feel free to ask to join my taglist too! <𝟑

taglist: @matthewsroses @chrislilcumslvt @pvssychicken @ivysturnss @chrisfavoritewhore @mattsbitchh @sturniolo-fann @matts-myloverboy @emely9274 @sophand4n4 @uncannyguava

[gooobraghhh]

I take overstimulation extremely seriously just so we’re all aware.

Most I’ve ever made a guy cum was 27 times in one session and all of those happened in the span of about 5-10 minutes

Got him really warmed up and started fucking him with a dildo while I alternated between whispering in his ear, biting his neck, playing with his chest etc. After only a minute or two he shyly muttered out that he was going to cum. I stopped, stared directly at him and we had this brief, telling moment of eye contact before he got so embarrassed he had to turn away. We both knew he was under the impression he couldn’t cum without touching his dick and the fact he almost just did was so fucking hot to me.

I pinned his leg over my shoulder and continued. Within a minute he was back to how he was before, just on the verge and I kept moving it while he shook beneath me. Finally let up after he came all over my hand and I asked if he’d cum sarcastically to make fun of how obvious and hard it was and he just whimpered out “… I came twice”

He absolutely should not have told me this because as soon as I knew making him cum over and over was on the table I was determined to go as far as I possible could, and hearing him say two like that was addictively cute. I Pinned him even more and continued, told him to count every time he cums before quickly getting back into it.

27 times I made this very masc dude cum. 27!

Didn’t even think that was a possible number. Every 15-30 seconds I’d feel him tense up and clench on the dildo then I’d hear his little chocked voice murmur out a number before I kept going. He made a giant fucking mess, squirting basically each time in the beginning. I kept moving the goal post further and further, “come on let’s just get to 10 puppy!”, “I think we could do 15 don’t you?”, “Whoops that was a 16th one, well we might as well get to twenty, right?”. He was fully trembling, shaking, crying. His eyes were in constant state of being rolled back and the noises he was making were so intense. The best part was hearing him count though, it was the only coherent thing he would say and he struggled to get out each number but if he didn’t count I’d start choking him.

Hearing a grown man moan out “25” or whatever ridiculous number we were on has to be one of the hottest things I’ve experienced. I would have kept going forever but he was begging and pleading for me to stop and for some reason I don’t think he believed that I’d really let him be done at 30

He was a complete fucking mess after as you’d imagine. Basically just sat there in a daze for 10 minutes but I made sure to make fun of him. I mean 27? Really? Just an embarrassingly high number. He also physically couldn’t handle any play for like several days after this so safe to say I throughly worked him out.

I guess now my goal in life will be to get someone to 30

[creamflix]

HOW DO THEY GRIEVE? — featuring sukuna, choso, gojo, geto, nanami, toji content warnings: no reader gender/anatomy implied. implied reader death, heavy angst no comfort. established relationship. reader is a mortal in sukuna's part. mentions of murder in toji's part. they/them pronouns used for reader in gojo's part.

the quiet haunted him most.

it wasn’t a noise, nor a cry, but the absence of it — a void left behind where your voice once existed, tugging at his mind like an insidious echo. sukuna sat still, his broad frame rigid against the edge of his throne, clawed fingers wrapped tightly around the curve of his jaw. he wasn’t one to cling, yet here he was, torn by shadows of something he couldn’t clutch tightly enough.

“pathetic,” he muttered to himself, the words bitter against his tongue. his voice cut through the silence, but it wasn’t yours. it would never be yours again.

there were moments, fleeting and infuriating, when he could almost remember you. a flash of a laugh — was it sharp? or soft? — your expression — smiling? or frowning? — your warmth, tangible yet distant, slipping through his memory like grains of sand. sukuna slammed his fist into the wooden armrest of his throne, splinters flying.

"damn you," he growled lowly, though he wasn’t sure if it was directed at himself or at you.

he knew this would happen. of course, it would. you were mortal. fleeting. time was never kind to mortals, and neither was he. what place did someone like you have in his world? he had convinced himself you’d be nothing more than a passing indulgence. but then you had dared to linger in ways no one else had, and sukuna, fool that he was, had allowed it.

he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. "what was it you used to call me?" his voice cracked — just slightly, a whisper against the still air. not king. not lord. no, you’d stripped him of those titles in private.

ryo.

the way you used to say his name — it hadn’t been reverent. not like others. you said it like it was yours, like he was yours.

but the sound was fading now, no matter how tightly he clung to it. sukuna’s fingers twitched against his temples, nails digging into his scalp. his crimson eyes burned, not with fury, but with a hollow ache.

“you dare slip away from me now?” his voice cracked in the empty room.

he stood abruptly, the motion nearly knocking the throne back. pacing, prowling, his footsteps thudded against the cold stone. his hands clenched and unclenched as though grasping for an answer.

“what was it —” he hissed, his tone a dangerous edge of desperation, “ — that made me let you in?” he paused mid-step, shoulders sagging under the weight of what he knew.

everything. everything about you.

he clenched his jaw, exhaling a breath that rattled with suppressed rage and sorrow. sukuna’s hand reached to his chest, curling around the fabric of his robe where his heart still stubbornly beat.

“if i ever hear your voice again…” he muttered, the words half-prayer, half-promise, “you won’t escape me a second time.”

choso sat in the quiet of his apartment, the hum of the fridge filling the silence. his fingers ghosted over the countertop, tracing invisible patterns that led nowhere. on the table sat a piece of toast, untouched and cold, its edges curling from neglect.

he stared at it, a lump forming in his throat. the memory hit him like a wave, vivid and all-consuming.

"it's just toast, cho!" you had laughed, your voice bright and teasing. he could still see the crinkle of your eyes, the way you covered your mouth to stifle your giggles when he flinched at the toaster's pop.

his chest tightened. "just toast," he echoed to the empty room, his voice hollow.

but it wasn’t just toast. nothing was ever just anything with you. every moment, every mundane thing, had been infused with the light of your presence, leaving pieces of you scattered throughout his life like breadcrumbs.

the laundry machine buzzed faintly in the background, and he shut his eyes. another memory clawed its way forward, unbidden.

“choso! what are you doing?!” you’d yelled, pulling his arm away just as he reached into the spinning drum. “you’ll lose a hand doing that!”

“but it wasn’t —” he had started, confused, only to be cut off by your exasperated sigh.

“don’t. just… don’t.”

and yet, after scolding him, you’d taught him how to sort clothes, how to fold shirts, how to care for the things that mattered.

“you’ve got to take care of things, cho. take care of people, too,” you’d said, softer that time, as you’d brushed lint off his shoulder. “it’s what makes us human.”

human.

his hands balled into fists on the countertop. you had taught him what it meant to be human — how to live, how to feel, how to care. you taught him to look beyond himself, to see others as more than just moving parts in the chaos of life.

“be kind,” you’d told him once, standing at a crosswalk as you watched him glare at a group of kids. “help the ones who need it. give up your seat. hold the door. even when it’s hard, choose kindness.”

he had rolled his eyes back then, muttering something about how the world didn’t deserve it. but you had smiled, patient and unyielding.

“do it anyway.”

the toast sat there, forgotten, as choso stared into the distance. how could he forget you? when you were everywhere? in the hiss of the washing machine, the smell of burnt toast, the sharp pang of guilt when he didn’t offer his seat to someone in need.

you were a part of him now, woven into his bones, etched into his heart.

“how could i forget you?” he whispered, voice trembling as he sat down, head in his hands.

he couldn’t. even if he wanted to. you had made him human. and now, with you gone, he didn’t know how to be anything else.

gojo satoru was a man of stories. he carried your memory in his words, carefully polished and tenderly spun, until they became legends that danced on the tongues of everyone he met.

"oh, y/n?" he'd grin, eyes glimmering like sunlight on fresh snow. "you should’ve seen the way they handled me. not many can keep up with this." he'd tap his temple, his grin softening.

he told them about how you made the best coffee in the mornings, even though you always claimed to hate the way he drowned it in sugar. how you made him laugh so hard that his infinity couldn’t protect him from doubling over. how your voice could cut through the chaos in his mind, grounding him in ways nothing else could.

you became a part of his stories, not just as someone he loved, but as someone who made him better. greater.

people listened with rapt attention, smiling at the way he spoke of you, as if you were still right there beside him. but when the crowds thinned, when the world grew quiet, and satoru was left with nothing but the weight of his own company, the facade cracked.

the apartment felt unbearably still, as if your absence was a tangible thing that pressed against him. he sat on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed. the usual sparkle in his eyes dulled to a glassy sheen.

his shoulders trembled first, a barely-there quiver that grew into a shudder as the first sob escaped his throat.

“damn it,” he choked out, his voice cracking as he pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes. “damn it, why’d you leave me with this?”

you were the strongest in ways he could never be. while he could manipulate the very fabric of space, you had wielded something far greater: love, compassion, humanity. things that made the unbearable weight of existence lighter, if only for a while.

"who’s gonna remember you when i’m gone?" he whispered into the empty room, voice breaking.

the thought gutted him. satoru lived for you now — not for his students, not for his title, not for his power. it was your memory that anchored him, the fear of losing even the smallest piece of you driving him to hold on tighter than ever.

“i can’t let that happen,” he muttered, fists clenching as fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. his breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. “i can’t let you disappear. not ever.”

so he stayed. fought. lived. not because he feared death — death had always been a fleeting thought to someone like him — but because without him, there would be no one left to carry your memory.

and if there was one thing gojo satoru would never let the universe take from him, it was you.

suguru cursed the gods, cursed fate, and cursed you.

it was easier that way. easier to let the anger scorch him from the inside out than to face the gnawing emptiness that came with your absence. he sat in the ruins of what had once been a temple, the scent of charred wood and blood still lingering in the air. his knuckles ached from where he’d slammed his fists into the wall, and his throat burned from the string of expletives he’d spat at no one in particular.

“why couldn’t you just listen?” his voice was a harsh rasp, cracking as he spoke to the void. “why did you have to be so damn… stubborn?”

you were supposed to understand. supposed to see the world the way he did, to join him in tearing it apart so it could be rebuilt into something better. but you hadn’t.

you stood your ground, unwavering in your righteousness, and it had infuriated him. because for all his power, all his conviction, he couldn’t convince you.

“it’s your fault,” he muttered bitterly, running a hand through his tangled hair. “you and your… your goddamn ideals.”

but the words rang hollow, even to him.

because you were the only one who’d ever made him question himself. you were the only one who’d ever dared to stand in his way, not with malice, but with love.

“you think you’re better than this,” you had told him once, your voice calm but firm. “but you’re not. and i can’t follow you down this path, suguru.”

he hated you for that — for being right. for loving him enough to try and stop him. and for leaving him when he wouldn’t stop.

his fingers tightened into fists, nails biting into his palms. “damn you,” he whispered, though the words lacked the venom they once had.

he wondered, sometimes, if you thought about him as much as he thought about you. if you still believed in the version of him you’d once loved, or if that image had crumbled under the weight of his choices.

maybe, in another life, things were different. a life where there were no sides to choose, no lines to cross, no ideals to clash over. just the two of you.

he closed his eyes, leaning back against the cold stone wall. the anger was gone now, leaving behind only exhaustion and a hollow ache in his chest.

“what am i waiting for?” he asked aloud, his voice barely above a whisper.

there was no answer, just the crackling of dying embers and the distant howl of the wind. but still, he waited.

for you to come back. for the pain to stop. for something — anything — that would make it all make sense again.

and until then, he would curse. and grieve. and wait.

toji didn’t know how to grieve.

his life had never made room for something as soft as sorrow. emotions, in his world, were a luxury — a liability he couldn’t afford. but now, in the absence of you, there was something gnawing at him, raw and unrelenting, that he couldn’t name.

he sat in the dim light of a dingy bar, nursing a half-empty glass of whiskey. the burn was familiar, but it didn’t distract him like it used to. his mind kept circling back to you, dragging him down into memories he couldn’t shake.

the way you used to fuss over his injuries, muttering curses at him for being reckless while your hands worked with tender precision. the way your laughter echoed, rich and warm, cutting through the cold veneer of his life. the way you’d touch his cheek, grounding him, reminding him he was more than the blade he carried.

and now? now there was nothing but silence.

“this one’s for you,” he muttered under his breath, finishing the glass in one harsh gulp before tossing a wad of bills on the counter.

it was always for you. every job, every gamble, every risk — your ghost lingered in every choice he made. toji didn’t bother questioning it; he couldn’t. the thought of you was the only thing keeping him moving, even if it came with a weight that threatened to crush him.

the alley was dark as he cornered his target, the blade in his hand gleaming faintly under the flickering streetlamp. the man whimpered, begging for mercy, but toji didn’t flinch. his movements were fluid, precise, and ruthless.

“don’t beg,” he growled, his voice low and cold. “this ain’t about you.”

and it wasn’t. not really. the man’s life had no meaning to him — just another pawn in the endless cycle of blood and violence. but the rage that fueled him? that was yours.

the blade struck, and with it came a flash of you — your smile, your voice, the warmth he could no longer reach. the man crumpled to the ground, lifeless, and toji stood over him, his chest heaving.

“still not enough,” he muttered, wiping the blade clean with a practiced motion.

it was never enough. no amount of blood could fill the void you left behind. but he kept going, each kill a hollow attempt to feel something other than this aching, unfamiliar emptiness.

toji leaned against the cold brick wall, the night air biting against his skin. he stared at his hands — steady, calloused, and stained.

“why’d you leave me with this, huh?” he muttered to the open air, his voice gruff but cracking at the edges. “you were the only thing that ever made sense.”

his hands clenched into fists, the blade trembling slightly in his grip. this is for you, he reminded himself, even if he didn’t know why. even if it didn’t bring you back.

he ached, and it hurt, but he didn’t know what to do with that pain. so he killed. and he killed. and every time, it was for you.

nanami was a man of routines.

quiet, deliberate, purposeful routines.

he didn’t waver in them, not even after you were gone. if anything, they became his lifeline, a fragile thread tethering him to the semblance of normalcy he desperately clung to.

he set out two plates every night, one for him, one for you. it wasn’t a conscious decision at first; his hands simply moved on autopilot, muscle memory guiding him. but when he sat down to eat, staring at the empty plate across from him, the quiet would settle in — a heavy, suffocating kind of quiet that only existed in the absence of you.

your pillow remained fluffed on the bed, as if you’d be home any moment to claim your spot. sometimes he’d catch himself reaching out to brush a stray hair off it, only to remember it wasn’t yours — it never could be again.

and then there were the chips. that oily, utterly ridiculous brand you adored.

nanami didn’t even like snacks, much less those chips, but he found himself restocking them on every grocery run. he would walk past the aisle, hesitate, and then grab a bag, telling himself it was just habit.

but one day, curiosity — or maybe desperation — got the better of him. he opened the bag, the crinkle of plastic unnervingly loud in the stillness of the house. the scent hit him first, greasy and artificial, and he almost put the bag down.

“what on earth did you see in these?” he muttered under his breath before popping one in his mouth.

it was awful. salty, greasy, overwhelmingly artificial.

and he cried.

the chip barely registered as he sat down heavily, shoulders trembling as tears rolled down his face. it wasn’t the taste — it was everything else. the bag in his hands, the faint smell of your favorite flowers still lingering from the vase on the kitchen counter, the stupid chipped mug you refused to throw away because it was yours.

everything screamed you. your presence was embedded in every corner of the house, in every routine, every object, every space you had once occupied.

and nanami realized, in that moment, how deeply ingrained you were in his life. how even in your absence, you filled it in ways he couldn’t escape.

his fingers tightened around the bag as he let the tears come, quiet and unrelenting.

maybe it was okay to grieve.

maybe it was okay to hold onto the pieces of you that lingered, to let them anchor him in a world that felt so much colder now.

and as he wiped his face with the back of his hand, setting the bag aside, he thought — maybe, just maybe, it was okay to keep buying those ridiculous chips, even if they tasted like crap. because they were yours. and so, in some small, bittersweet way, they were his, too.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost. banners by cafekitsune — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[crimsonbubble]

Bassists Do It Deeper

cw. nsfw, afab!reader, rockstar!joong, bassist!mingi, monster cawk rapper duo, voyeurism, degradation, praise, overstimulation, size kink, alcohol consumption, oral, creampie, cum eating. spit kink *not proofread, just pure horny

[THE VOICES GOT TO ME]

taglist (dm to be tagged); @sidusvenari @sugarnspice630 @ravenempress101 @autieofthevalley @linearities @wisejudgedragonhairdo @madiexuberant @mifuelarts @straytiny127 @yun-fangz @huen1ngk41 @juyeonshour @uniq-tastic @hongjng8 @miyaluvvsyou @everyonewooeverywhere @hongjoongtime117 @oddracha @kingbloopter @jay-0n3s @ane1o2 @shinyj3lly

Hongjoong knows about your silly lil crush on his band's bassist. So he decides to give you what you've been fantasizing about.

“Oh my sweet girl, does he feel good? Hm?” Soft caresses to your hair from Hongjoong as Mingi drives his hips deeper. You can't get the words out, too busy getting drunk off your boyfriend's friend's dick. Mingi’s got his thick, ring-clad hands around your hips, tugging your dripping cunt on his cock. He keeps bullying his thick cock into your soaked cunt.

Mingi forces your back to arch deeper, watching your pretty hole take all of him. “Fuck, baby, look at you. Your pussy just keeps sucking me in like a greedy whore.” Mingi lands a sharp smack to your ass, the metal rings making the hit sting even more. You look up, only to see Hongjoong sitting against the headboard with a drink in his hand. He sends you a wink when your eyes meet, the ice in his glass clinking as he takes a swig of it.

Mingi's eyes meet Hongjoong's as he brings a hand down to toy with your clit. Your body is overwhelmed with pleasure. So much so that you didn't even realize you tried to get away from it. Only figuring it out when Mingi grabbed onto your arms and pulled you back to him. The force he used to pull you back, had his cock driving even deeper into your cunt. Damn near hitting your cervix with each snap of his hips.

Your eyes are blurry as you look up at Hongjoong, eyeing the obvious bulge in his jeans. He quirks a brow at your stare, huffing out a laugh. “You already have one cock in your pussy and you want one in your mouth too?” Mingi chuckles from behind you, sweat dripping down his neck to his chest where the fake tattoo is starting to run. You whine again, drool spilling from your lips.

Hongjoong shakes his head as he unzips his jeans, tugging them down his thighs. He didn't miss the way you licked your lips, staring intently at his leaking tip. Hongjoong threaded his fingers through your hair, tugging your head back as he tapped his throbbing cock against your lips. Your mouth fell open easily, swallowing him down just like you've been trained to do.

Hongjoong pressed his cold drink between your shoulders, smirking at how you jolt and push your mouth further along his cock. Your tongue swirls around him, tracing over the prominent veins. Coarse moans left his lips as Mingi abused your sweet cunt. Hongjoong whistled to Mingi, handing him the drink. Once Mingi held it, he pressed the cold glass to the small of your back, enjoying the way you arched further.

Mingi picked up on what Hongjoong wanted, pushing the glass against your back. Hongjoong leaned back against the headboard, his hand pressed to the nape of your neck. His eyes glazed over as he all but fucked your mouth. All you could do was let the two men have you whichever way they pleased. Hongjoong unceremoniously fucked your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat as he held your warm mouth on his cock.

Mingi was worse for wear, his hands are shaking as he pulls your hips back on him. Your pussy sucks him in hungrily with the lewdest squelching noises he's ever heard a pussy make. It's wet, sticky, and sloppy. Mingi all but loses himself when he hears you choke and gag around Hongjoong’s dick. His cock throbs as he pistons his hips before burying himself inside you. He moves his hand from your hip to the back of your neck, pushing you down onto Hongjoong's cock as he pinned your hips to the bed with his own.

Your pussy fluttered around his cock as he filled you up, fucking deeper into your pulsing cunt. Hongjoong grunted as you sputtered around his cock. The added weight of Mingi's strong hands has you reeling, swallowing around your boyfriend's cock. Hongjoong bucked his hips as he finally came down your throat.

You greedily swallowed it all down, pulling off of him in a daze. You stuck your tongue out for him to see. Hongjoong pressed his thumb to your tongue, holding your mouth open before he spat on it. You whimpered as you felt him spread it across your tongue. He tugged you closer, letting his tongue meddle with yours. Mingi watched with ferocious intent as you made out in front of him. His cock was already starting to twitch again.

Mingi's eyes cascaded down your body, zeroing in on your swollen cunt that's now stuffed full of his cum. He spreads your pussy open with his thumbs, watching as more of his cum flows out of you in thick globs. Mingi hadn't noticed that Hongjoong had pulled away from you, smirking at how intently he was staring at your messy cunt. “Oh bunny baby,” he says with fake concern laced in his voice. “Look at the mess you made.” Hongjoong tilts your head up as he watches your eyes glaze over. “Looks like we'll have to clean you up and stuff you full again, huh?”

Mingi hums from behind you, his thumb pressing against your twitching clit. He doesn't miss the way you clench, making more leak out of you. “Pretty bunnies like you aren't satisfied with one load, are they? Don't worry, we'll stuff you full this time.”

[mintmatcha]

The program continues to roll. Shouto -fucking IcyHot- is waving to the camera with a surprisingly un-awkward smile. He looks natural, calm, humble and it makes Bakugo curse out loud. He's been media trained since practically birth; it's an unfair fucking advantage-

"Congratulations, 'tsuki."

For once, Bakugo hears you coming. Your heels hit the linoleum, one foot after the other, tapping down the hall like you're begging to be noticed. Maybe you are. The neckline of your dress hangs low enough he can see the puckered skin of your scar, hidden between the valley of your breasts. He hopes you don't notice him staring, but he knows you do. At least now he knows you were telling the truth about something.

"Yeah. Congratu-fucking-lations."

You cock your head like a dog, feigning innocence. In your hands in an unopened bottle of champagne, foil wrapped, just like you in your golden dress.

"Thirteenth is an improvement." Your smile with your teeth. "Next year, we'll go for their throats and hit tenth."

He believes it. Frankly, he's a little worried that you'll actually tear out Fatgum's throat along the way. Bakugo leans back against his desk with a huff.

"Whatever. Rankings don't matter."

"Wait until you see your pay increase." You outstretch your arm with the champagne. "Hold this. Stand at your desk."

He takes the bottle and gets into position. One leg cocked over the other, head tilted, arm up for you to slip under: he watches you set up your little camera stand and waits for you to hit the timer.

But you stay behind the camera.

"Put your arm down. Looks bad."

Bakugo listens. The flash goes off twice, then you hum a noise he isn't sure is pleased or sour.

"You ain't getting in the picture?" he asks. You snap a couple more, all big bright flashes.

"I can if you want me to."

It feels like a trick. You're luring him into some sort of trap, just like you always do. If he was smart, he'd just say silent, let you get your little photographs and then dip-

"Take your heels off," he says, jerking his head over. "Makes me look short."

The unwavering smile changes a bit as you slip your foot out of your shoe. You stick your phone to the wall, just the right height to make Bakugo look taller than he is, just like he likes it. The phone flashes once as you slink over, then again as you tuck yourself under his arm. Each picture leaves you back-lit. Your features blur out of focus, with this silver halo around your silhouette.

Bakugo watches his reflection on the tiny screen as you adjust him. In the phone, you're perfectly visible, tangible as you fix the scene. Tilt his head, pull him down: your own face is hidden behind his, like you're sharing a secret. One hand finds his shirt fron and holds it gently, lovingly. It would look better if he was dressed up too, Bakugo thinks. Then you two would match, instead of you being dressed like some golden prize-

"Why are you fucking dressed up if it isn't for a picture?" The thought hits him.

You're so close he can feel your smile against his cheek as you whisper. "Do you like it?"

"Stop doing that shit." He reaches back and places the bottle in his desk. The camera's light flashes again. "Dodging my fucking questions all the damn time."

Your arm loops over his neck. It'll look long and dynamic in the photo, he knows it.

"I have plans tonight," you whisper.

"With Izuku?"

"No." Flash.

"Another guy?"

"Yes."

He clicks his tongue against his teeth and pulls back. It's just far enough thay he can see your face, drink in your features.

"Does he know the world thinks you're dating me?" Jealousy is irritating and irrational, especially when you're right here, close enough to claim. He could reach down and lick that scar anytime he wanted to, he knows that-

Flash.

Your lips are painted dark, dramatic. They make your smile feel forced. "It's why he wants me back."

When did his hand find your waist? When did yours find his cheek, thumb pulling over his scar? The camera flashes again.

"People always want what they can't have."

That's such bullshit. He wants you more than anything and he could have you at any moment-

Flash. The camera catches he moment he breaks. His lips press against yours, not in the passionate fury he always thought would happen, but a soft, fleeting touch. Your breath contains more pressure than your skin and he almost thinks you're disappearing from under him, running away-

Flash.

Your lips are parted and your tongue is against his, hot, searing, desperate-

Flash.

He thinks your lips have touched every inch of his skin, down his neck, into the collar of his shirt-

Flash.

His hands are bunching your dress up and he's unsurprised to find nothing underneath-

Flash.

Oh, he's not in frame anymore. You're both on the ground, tangled, touching, groping. He's liking that damn scar and you're keening and twisting and cumming-

[aelfgiure]

"For the last time," the person holding the gun to your head sighs, trying to sound reasonable, "where is Cheengwun? You're only -"

You hear a distinctive popping noise, louder than you were expecting, and the person threatening you gets a funny, confused look on his face before falling to the ground in a puddle of his own blood. Your brain bluescreens for a moment, trying to interpret what happened through the fog of adrenaline and terror.

When you come back to yourself, you're sitting in the kitchen, a cup of tea with cream and honey in your hand. You've downed half of it, it seems, without thinking, and when you look up from the cup your housemate is standing there, regarding you with a look of fondness.

"Need more tea?" he asks, and refills the cup, topping it off with more cream and a spoonful of honey.

"Ah. Dude. What -" you start to sputter, and he holds up a hand to stop you.

"Finish that tea first, okay? It's going to be a minute before you calm down enough to have a coherent internal narrative, let alone rational conversation."

Okay, fair enough. He seems to know what he's talking about, because after you finish the tea and have a shaking fit that feels more like a seizure than anything else, you actually do feel ready to talk.

"Dude. What the FUCK?!" Not the classiest conversation starter, but it's the most appropriate question you can come up with right then. "And do we need to expect more of this shit? Will we have to move? Ah shit, we gotta clean that mess up or I'll never get the security deposit back, what do we do?"

He blinks at you, surprised, then throws his head back and laughs. "oh my god, Jim, you're the best roommate ever. Save questions till the end, okay? It's a long story."

With that, he launches into a narrative that would make Ian Flemming take notes and Tom Clancy swear in frustration that he hadn't thought of it first. By the time he's done, the sun has set and your brain is full, the information sloshing around like Legos in an industrial washing machine.

"You've been a great roomie," he concludes, "and the Agency owes you a big one, not even touching on my personal debt to you. If you want to move out and move on, that's fair. It'll be covered.

"However, you handled that really, really well, especially for a first time. That asshole came after me because my old boss is getting the band back together again, and, um. We could really use a computer toucher on our team now, so there's a job opening, if you want it."

Well.

You think about it. Your day job is customer facing, which sucks (and also explains how you could stare down a gun without flinching, you'd dealt with homicidal douchebags before) and it never paid well. Besides, you liked having him as your roommate. Liked how he would out of the blue start talking about random stuff, or how he would tidy up after himself without being asked. He paid his part of the bills on time.

"Does this come with dental? because yeah, you're cool. I'd like to work with you." You grin at the expression of relief that crosses his face, and stand up. "But first, you're buying me a goddamn steak dinner and a new pair of pants, because damn. That was one hell of a job interview."

Today you just found out your roommate with strange hobbies, like knowing how to pick a lock, knows how every puzzle and cipher by heart, or how to commit tax fraud, and so many other things, wasn't a guy with ADHD, he was an ex-assassin and now you have a gun pointed at your face

[eatmyheartoutjpg]

𓇻 𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗕𝗟𝗘𝗠𝗔𝗞𝗘𝗥 ᵃʳᶜᵃⁿᵉ ˣ ᵍⁿ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 ;; Multiple short chapters. Platonic. In which you're a teenage troublemaker who ends up on Silco's radar. He ends up taking you in (unofficially adopted). 𝘼/𝙉 ;; Will be a multi-parter! This is a short series and collection of dynamics, interactions, and scenarios. I really wanted to write something about the reader being an unofficial adopted child of Silco's. These are also longer than what I usually post!

11.30.24 Masterlist

You were an orphan, like countless others scraping by in Zaun. But unlike some, you didn’t mourn the absence of family. Having never known your parents or having a guardian figure, you thrived on independence, learning to fend for yourself from an early age.

Without any guidance, you grew up doing whatever you pleased—and that often meant getting into trouble. Fights became your playground, and through sheer stubbornness and repetition, you honed your combat skills. Street scuffles were your life, and though you didn’t start all of them, you were always ready to finish them. You’d end up earning quite the reputation. People either cursed your name or watched their backs when you were around, wary of a flying fist coming their way. To some degree you enjoyed that wariness. 

One day, your bold attitude landed you in the wrong scuffle—or the wrong crowd, so to speak. After an intense fight, you realized (too late) that the people you just beat down weren’t random street thugs; they were Silco’s henchmen, and worse, they were highly respected in the Undercity.

For someone like you, it wasn’t personal, it was just law of the land in Zaun. You didn’t even keep tabs on Zaun’s power dynamics. But your little “incident” painted a target on your back—and it got Silco’s attention instantly.

Now, teens causing trouble wasn’t anything new for Silco, but your knack for stirring chaos caught his eye. The more he heard about your raw combat skill and reckless attitude intrigued him—and irritated him in equal measure. He ordered Sevika to track you down, wanting to know more about the unruly fighter who was making waves across the streets, still debating on what to do with you. Sevika couldn’t help but be somewhat interested in who you were as she gathered intel. The laundry list of curses and complaints thrown your way amused her—maybe even reminded her of herself back in the day. Still, orders were orders, and soon, she was on your trail, something you were not aware of.

It was a quiet moment for you, perched on the splintering wooden railing of a dock, snacking and enjoying a rare moment of peace. The dull noise of the Undercity buzzed in the background, but here, it was calm. Or so you thought.

You didn’t hear the heavy footsteps behind you– it was masked by the sound of the waters below– and didn’t register the looming presence until–

“Gotcha.”

The world tilted as a rough hand yanked the collar of your jacket. Your snack fell into the water below, splashing quietly as you were unceremoniously hauled off the railing, landing hard on the dock with a loud thud.

The impact let out a shock of rippling pain down your spine.

“What the hell?!” you snapped sharply, coughing and groaning as you scrambled to your feet.

Towering over you was Sevika, her imposing figure blocking out the dim glow of the lights behind her. She stood with arms crossed, her mechanical arm gleaming faintly, flanked by a few henchmen you didn’t recognize. 

“Guess you’re the little punk everyone’s been complaining about,” Sevika said, voice dry with amusement, though the amusement didn’t fully reach her eyes.

You narrowed your own. “What’s it to you?”

“You’re on Silco’s radar now, kid. Consider this a courtesy call.”

“Fuck.” you uttered under your breath, holding back a loud groan at your own recklessness. You weren’t the type to keep up with Zaun’s underworld hierarchy, but even you knew the name. “I don’t work for anyone, it wasn’t a hit job or anything, just another street fight.”

Sevika tilted her head, unimpressed. “Right. Let’s just make this easy. You’re coming with us.”

Your fists slowly clenched as you narrowed your eyes at her. “Like hell I am.”

And before anyone could react, you swung at Sevika, aiming squarely for her jaw and landing a very solid hit.

It didn’t faze Sevika in the slightest. She responded with a calculated strike to your side, knocking the air out of your lungs. The henchmen moved in, but you weren’t going down without a fight.

One swing after another, you landed solid hits. One of the henchmen doubled over, clutching his ribs, while another stumbled back with a forming bruise on his cheek. You grinned through the pain, exhilarated by the chaos.

But you were easily outnumbered.

Sevika grabbed your wrist mid-swing and twisted, forcing you to your knees. “You hit harder than you look,” she said, almost impressed, before shoving you toward one of the henchmen.

“Let’s go.”

You struggled and cursed as they dragged you away, your ego bruised more than your body. You lacked self preservation, but you did feel somewhat satisfied that you somewhat held your own.

They dragged you through the dim, twisting back corridors of the Last Drop. The faint hum of machinery and the murmur of voices blended with the steady clink of Sevika's boots. You didn’t bother to struggle much anymore—you’d exhausted your strength fighting them off earlier. Instead, you focused on memorizing every twist and turn, every detail of this place.

Finally, the henchmen shoved you through a large iron door into a dark, smoky room. At the far end sat Silco, reclined in a high-backed chair, one leg crossed over the other. His mismatched eyes, one fiery and orange, the other cool and calculating.

“Ah, so this is our troublemaker,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with curiosity. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair. “You’ve been... busy.”

“You’ve been meddling,” you shot back, ignoring Sevika’s warning glare and subtle shove. 

Silco chuckled softly, gesturing for the others to leave. 

“Stay,” he added when Sevika started to follow. She stepped back to the corner of the room, arms crossed but watchful.

You crossed your arms, refusing to show weakness even as your body ached from the earlier fight. “If this is about your guys, tell them not to pick fights they can’t win.”

“Bold,” Silco remarked, a smirk playing on his lips. “But misguided. They weren’t the aggressors, were they?”

You hesitated but quickly masked it with a defiant glare. “You’ve got something to say? Say it.”

Silco stood, slowly walking toward you. He stopped just short of entering your personal space, his hands clasped behind his back. Up close, his presence was even more unnerving, his calm demeanor belying the power he held.

“You’re reckless,” he said, his voice low but firm. “No regard for alliances, no understanding of consequences. And yet...” He tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle piece. “You’ve made it this far. Alone. That takes talent.”

“I don’t need your approval,” you quipped..

“No, but you need someone to temper that fire,” Silco replied. “Without guidance, that strength of yours will get you killed. And quite frankly, I’d rather not waste such potential.”

You frowned, unsure where this was going. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” he said, stepping back slightly, “is that Zaun doesn’t need another wild card running loose. You’ve proven your capability. Now it’s time you prove your loyalty.”

You blinked. “Loyalty? To you?”

“To Zaun,” Silco corrected, though the distinction seemed thin. “But under my guidance, yes.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he raised a hand to stop you.

“Let me be clear,” he said, his tone icy. “You can continue down the path you’re on, burning bridges until there’s nothing left—or you can accept my offer. A place in my network. Protection. Purpose.”

“And if I say no?” you challenged.

Silco’s smirk returned, sharper this time. “Then I let the Undercity decide your fate. The enemies you’ve made won’t hesitate to tear you apart. Sevika, for one, seemed to enjoy your little scuffle.”

You clenched your fists, glaring between Silco and Sevika. The room felt suffocating, the weight of the choice pressing down on you. You hated getting bitten back for all the shit you’ve pulled, and this seems to be the hardest bite.

You’d always been independent, always fought for yourself. The idea of working for someone—even someone as powerful as Silco—felt like a betrayal of who you were and what you pride yourself on. But his offer wasn’t without merit. Protection in Zaun meant everything.

“Well?” Silco prompted, his patience clearly finite.

You stared at Silco, jaw clenched, weighing your options. The fight in you wanted to refuse outright, to spit in his face and walk out the door. But the logical part of you—the one that had kept you alive so far—knew better. You’d already pissed off too many people, and the promise of protection wasn’t something you could dismiss lightly.

“Fine,” you muttered, glaring at the floor rather than meeting his eyes. “I’ll... work with you. But don’t think for a second I’m bowing down or calling you ‘boss’ because that’s really corny.”

Silco’s smirk grew, and you hated how satisfied he looked. “Good,” he said simply, turning back toward his desk. “I don’t need your indifference, just your cooperation. For now.”

Sevika let out a quiet snort from the corner, clearly amused.

“And what exactly am I supposed to do?” you asked sharply, crossing your arms. “Run errands? Break kneecaps for you?”

Silco waved a hand dismissively as he sat back in his chair. “Nothing so crude. You’ll start small—learning how we operate, understanding what it means to be part of something greater than yourself.” His mismatched eyes fixed on you again. “In time, we’ll see where your particular talents are best put to use.”

“You mean I’m on probation,” you said dryly, unamused at your situation.

“Call it what you like,” Silco replied with a shrug. “But consider this: I see potential in you, and I don’t waste resources. Prove you’re worth the trouble, and you’ll find more freedom under my wing than you ever had on your own.”

You hesitated, the words lingering in your mind. Potential. Freedom. They didn’t sit right with you—not yet—but you couldn’t deny the opportunity he was offering.

“Fine,” you said again, more firmly this time. “But don’t expect me to like it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Silco said, his tone light but his gaze piercing. “Sevika will guide you. Welcome to the fold.”

ˢᵉᵛᵉⁿ

[enigmatist17]

Continuation/just ideas I have of the Mecha Pilot Jazz Au by @keferon

First part can be found here :)

A03 version -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/60978709

---

No one is really sure what to think when Jazz finally returns to the general populace, the crowded common room he steps into with Prowl at his side going silent at the mech's arrival.

No, not a mech, a frame piloted by an organic Wheeljack swore to the Pit and back was smaller than most of their servos.

"Soooo, what's up?" Jazz leaned against the closest table as Prowl got himself some energon, no longer keeping up the pretense he needed such liquid.

"That's what you have to say?" Starscream gawked from his seat, the seeker looking like he wanted to start dissecting Jazz's mecha as much as pry the pilot out. "Are all organics from your planet this...this flippant?"

"Not really?" Jazz shrugged, glad no one could see the grin on his face when Prowl rejoined him, placing himself between Jazz and everyone else in the room with a minute flick of his doorwings. "Hell, you sound like one of my commanders, he'd be having a fit right about now."

"Rightfully so, I should say." Mirage commented from behind Jazz, the pilot grinning to himself when he turned, only to see what was supposedly a blank wall. "Then again, you seem to be the type of bo - organic to cause mayhem on the regular."

"Human." Jazz could hear more than a few processors whir at the strange term, and after a moment, grabs a seat at the table next to him. "Organic sounds weird to me, so you can call me human or just my name, I'm not picky."

"Human...weird." Jazz isn't sure who spoke as his visor offlined, ensuring his mecha was supported before fully breaking the connection. The entire room went silent when Jazz's chassis made a soft click before opening, noises of alarm escaping vocalizers as they expected to see a spark, wondering what in Primus' name the org - human was thinking when something moved. What should have been a spark chamber was something else entirely, the central interior some sort of piloting seat that housed the human they'd all come to trust and fight alongside, who waved as he undid a harness. Prowl was the only thing stopping the Cybertronians around Jazz from moving any closer, his doorwings up in a sharp V when he carefully placed one of his servos just below Jazz, Mirage shimmering into view on the other side of Jazz's mecha when the human hopped onto the limb.

"Hey, fellas." Prowl kept his hold on Jazz as he stepped back from the temporarily deactivated suit, setting him on the table's surface as carefully as possible. "Aw, thanks Prowler!"

"You look strange for an organic." Thundercracker tilted his helm slightly, wanting a closer look but not stupid enough to test how close he could actually get.

"I guess?" Jazz reached up to unlatch his helmet, biting back a laugh when there were a few surprised vents at the reveal of his hair. "Back home, I'd say I'm about the best we humans can look."

"With an ego to match." Mirage cycled his optics with a smirk, eyeing his friend curiously while keeping himself between any bot stupid enough to try and sneak up on Prowl's blindside. "Your frame suits you."

"And don't I know it." Jazz winked, setting his helmet on the table by his feet. "Man, you guys are just...so much bigger in person. I mean I know you are, it's just weird ta see it with my own eyes, er optics."

"Trust me, it's weird for us too." Sideswipe commented from his spot among the crowd, amused more than anything when the inevitable questions started pouring in. To his credit, Jazz tries to answer some of them, but he steps back when Prowl draws himself to his full height and silences almost everyone when he crosses his arms, smiling to himself when the bot speaks.

"If you have any further questions, you can ask them another time, most of you are late for your assigned duty shifts, Jazz included."

"Ya wound me Prowler!" The human let out a whine at the supposed betrayal, but the grin never left his face as he turned to his mecha. "I guess I could get movin', don't want to keep Brawn too late."

"Indeed." Prowl offered his servo once more, aware of the many prying optics watching as Jazz hopped onto his palm, slipping his strange helm covering back on as he was safely delivered back to his larger frame. They watched Jazz buckle himself back into the harness within the spa - piloting chamber, the chassis closing up when something connected with the back of his helm covering, the visor on the frame they were all accustomed to lighting up with a slight hum.

"Fun time's over." Jazz waved his servo, everyone murmuring to each other while they slowly dispersed. "Man that was fun."

"You find most activities fun, dangerous or otherwise." Prowl shook his helm in exasperation as Jazz laughed, the human leaning over to gently bonk his helm against Prowl's.

"I'll see you later, gorgeous." With that Jazz sweeps out of the room, Prowl watching him go with a look that made Mirage do a double take.

"You definitely chose someone...interesting." The saboteur chuckled, saving the image of a soft smile on Prowl's face for some future use.

"So I have..."

---

Jazz had wondered what Prowl's face felt like from the moment the met, in awe at how the metal creased and smoothed out much like his own skin did. Would it be cold and stiff, or warm and pliable? Ah the thought plagued him from time to time, becoming worse when he fell for said mech.

So, when he comes across Prowl asleep (no recharge) at his desk, a data pad clutched in his clawed hands, Jazz grins. Locking the door to Prowl's office, more for the tactician's peace of mind than his own, Jazz quietly grabs the only other chair in the room and sets it down on the other side of Prowl's desk, resting one arm on top of the table. Prowl is still asleep when Jazz powers down the link with his mecha, shivering at the sensation of becoming so small before slowly unbuckling himself, setting his helmet aside before starting the (admittedly) long journey across the room. Thankfully his magnetic lock boots made his journey down the arm of his faithful mecha relatively safe, staring up at his boyfriend (boybot? Ugh no, no way in hell) with an amused smile.

"Always gonna be the smallest huh?"

Now, here comes the hard part, one that could end up getting him flung across the room or smashed into paste if he triggered the wrong response from his sleeping partner. Okay, deep breath, and with a quick crossing of his fingers, Jazz activated the magnetics in his gloves before placing them on Prowl's arm as a test run. One doorwing twitched at the initial contact, but Prowl remained still, and with a deep breath Jazz started climbing, climbing up his mech's arm nice and slow. It was a little tricky when he reached Prowl's shoulder, but with a little awkward shuffling and a twist of his upper body, Jazz was within reach of his partner's face.

Now here comes the Hard Part Two: Electric Boogaloo.

It took a few tries to unwrap the base of his glove with his teeth, heart racing when he was only attached to Prowl via his shoes and magnetized knee pads in order to free his hand, but soon he was ready to do the biggest thing he's wanted to since he first laid eyes on Prowl. His hand is shaking slightly, but that doesn't matter when it makes contact with Prowl's cheek, brain short circuiting at how...soft and warm the metal was to his touch. While it didn't exactly move with his touch, Jazz could feel the nanites that were on the outer surface of every Cybertronian react, twitching when he felt a buzzing under his finger tips. He becomes used to the buzz as he takes his time mapping out the dips and curves of Prowl's face, missing the cycling of optics before a loud chirp breaks the silence, Jazz yelping as he jerked back in surprise far enough to detach from Prowl's shoulder. He doesn't fall very far when he lands on a hand (servo dude) with a grunt, Prowl looking worried as Jazz propped himself up on one arm.

"Are you alright?"

"Yep! Next time I need ta clip a harness on you or somethin', don't want to fall again." Jazz waved with his uncovered hand, sitting cross-legged on Prowl's palm. "Saw you asleep, an' I couldn't resist."

"Resist what?" A quick look at his chronometer showed he'd not been asleep too long, optics flickering down to his partner when he felt something strange touch one of his digits.

"This might sound kinda weird, but I've wanted ta touch your face since we met." Jazz had uncovered his second hand and was touching the closest digit, a look he couldn't classify crossing Jazz's face when he gave it a squeeze. "Weird, these are warm, but not as warm as your face."

"Did you enjoy your...examination?" Something fluttered in his spark at the smile Jazz gave him, and once again gave thanks to Primus that he'd been given a chance.

"Mhm! I'd love to again some time, see those pretty lil' optics of yours." Jazz winked, watching doorwings give a full on flutter. "Glad we both agree."

"You shall be the end of me, Jazz." Embarrassment colors Prowl's words as he sits back in his chair, watching Jazz lay back on his palm, hands underneath his head as he sighs happily.

"Your hand is pretty comfy...not a sentence I ever expected to say to my boyfriend, but it is what it is."

"I suppose you shall have to make yourself comfortable then, I still have some reports to finish." Prowl clicked, grabbing the pad he'd been reading before he fell asleep.

"Gives me an excuse to nap then." Jazz moved to remove the outer layer that supported his pedes, his processor supplying the word shoe as Jazz resumed his position with a yawn. "Have fun Prowler."

"Have a pleasant recharge, Jazz."

Jazz doesn't need to know he had already completed his work before his "nap", merely settling in for a novel he'd wanted to get through as his partner slept in his grasp.

[chelseacult]

While You Were Sleeping

Aitana Bonmatí x Reader

Summary: post-movie date shenanigans

Word Count: 1.3k

The theater brightens as the ending credits roll. You begin to stir awake at the feeling of a gentle hand combing through your hair. Attempting to ignore all of the signs pointing toward your needing to get up, you nuzzle further into the plush leather seat. You feel movement in the seat next to you, followed by the press of soft lips against your forehead.  

“You missed the ending,” Aitana whispers quietly. You feel her smile against your forehead before pulling back a sliver, still hovering. The continuous movement of her fingers in your hair aids only in increasing your desire to fall back asleep. 

“Mmm. You should’ve woken me up,” you whisper back, tiredness evident in your voice. Her hand switches paths and moves to rest on your cheek, her thumb moving softly against your skin. 

“It is okay. I explain to you later.” She’s still speaking quietly as if trying not to startle you. You open your eyes to the sight of her smiling down at you. Her smile brightens when you give her a tired smile in return. 

“Bon dia, preciosa. Good sleep?” You nod, and your eyes flutter shut unconsciously. She makes a noise of disapproval, “Vinga, we need to go. They clean now.” She pulls away from you and stands up from her seat before turning to you. She raises an eyebrow when you make no move to stand up.

You sit up in your seat and reach out a hand towards her, wiggling your fingers, silently asking her to help you up. She rolls her eyes with a small smile and grasps your hand. Before she can attempt to help you up, you use your tangled fingers to pull her into you. She lets out a noise that sounds like a mix between a gasp and a laugh. Her free hand moves back to its rightful place in your hair while your arms wrap around her waist, grasping her shirt lightly. 

“I missed you,” you mumble before pecking her lips several times and pulling back.

“Cómo? I was here,” she laughs. She looks at you lovingly and starts to twirl a piece of your hair around her finger.

“You weren’t in my dream, so I missed you.” She laughs again and shakes her head before leaning forward to capture your lips again, a bit slower this time. You squeeze her hand lightly before she pulls away far too soon for your liking, leaving you to chase after her lips.

“I missed you too. And I miss how you talk during the movie,” she teases. You mock gasp and open your mouth to reply before the sounds of rolling carts and footsteps cut you off. Before you can even fully comprehend what you’re hearing, Aitana grabs your free hand and pulls you up, leading you both to the exit. “Mira! I told you. They clean.” 

“Takes two to tango, baby.” You let go of her hand despite her protest and rush to open the theater door for her. 

“You do not dance,” she responds with a slight pout, stopping to stand in front of you. 

You stifle a laugh and gesture outside the door. She ignores your silent request and steps closer to you instead. “You do not!” she reiterates. You ignore her retort and smile at her, making no effort to hide the admiration in your eyes. The corners of her mouth turn up into a small smile, matching adoration present in her eyes. You tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, and she leans into your touch. 

“You’re cute,” you say softly before leaning forward to press a quick kiss to her cheek. You gently push her out into the hallway before she can reply.

The faint smell of old popcorn and burnt butter takes over your senses as you walk past the concession stand. That, and the feeling of your girlfriend grabbing your hand. “We should see that next!” she gestures excitedly toward a horror movie poster.

“So you can hide in my shoulder the whole time?” you tease her with a smile. She blushes slightly before bumping her shoulder into yours. “No.” 

“Yes,” you press and bump her shoulder back.

“No. Only at home. The theater has a barrier, so I cannot reach you.” 

You chuckle lightly. “You’ll find a way. I have faith in you.” She drops your hand with a roll of her eyes and walks ahead to open the exit door for you, reversing the roles from earlier. 

“Mi amor,” she nods, a big smile on her face as she stands there holding the door. You smile back at her with a tilt of your head before thanking her. You walk out of the building, Aitana not far behind you. A chill takes over your body as a gust of wind comes by. 

“Told you so,” she quips from behind you, laughing affectionately under her breath. You open your mouth to reply but stop yourself upon feeling her touch on your shoulders. Her hands begin to follow a steady path up and down your arms, attempting to warm you up. The sweetness of the gesture causes warmth to swarm through your body, even more so than the gesture itself.

“Helping?” The smirk is evident in her voice. You hum in approval. “Remember I told you bring a jacket?”

“Mhm,” you hum again. “You’re always right, baby. Happy?”

“Yes, I am. Right and happy,” the midfielder says with a soft squeeze of your shoulders, leaning forward to kiss one of them. She wraps her arms around your waist and pulls you into her. “You make me happy,” she whispers in your ear. The feeling of her breath on your ear makes you shiver slightly again.

You turn around in her arms and wrap yours around her neck. That same adoration from earlier is back in Aitana’s eyes. Or maybe it never left. You’re sure it never leaves yours. You pull her closer to you and rest your forehead on hers. You can feel every breath she takes, and the warmth from the wool sweater she’s wearing radiates off of her. She closes her eyes as you gently scratch the back of her neck.

“I love you.” She doesn’t wait for you to say it back before she presses her lips to yours. Warmth once again engulfs your body to the point that you can’t believe you were ever cold. You smile into the kiss at her accented words, the declaration itself, the feeling of her hands squeezing your waist and her lips slowly moving against yours. Just her. 

You pull back hesitantly and open your eyes. She doesn’t let you go too far, keeping you close and resting her forehead on yours. There’s just enough space between your bodies to allow you to breathe out an “I love you” against her lips. She finally opens her eyes at that, and you share a smile as you both catch your breaths.

“Me more,” she counters. Your attempt to oppose her claim of loving you more comes to a halt when she pulls back a bit. A serious look befalls her features. 

“Okay, carinyo. Serious question for you now.” You might’ve been more nervous at her ominousness if it wasn’t for her hands reaching down to play with yours. 

“What’s your question?”

She waits a beat. Her facade of seriousness starts to falter the longer she looks at you. 

“Do you remember where we parked the car?” she finally asks, dropping the serious act altogether and smiling at you.

You scoff but can’t help the laugh she pulls from you. Her laugh follows shortly after.

:)

[rinachains]

"Mhm, should I shave?"

Toji's question makes you look up from your phone, only to be greeted by the sight of him staring into the mirror, rubbing his hand along the lower part of his face, turning it from side to side.

You level him with a deadpan face.

"You ask this now? After I've already complained to you several times in the past weeks?"

Toji being lazy is nothing new, and while he does take good care of himself (most of the time), there are certain things he tends to put off - things like shaving. Selectively lazy, you called him once, and he just shrugged.

Over the course of a few weeks, he has grown a stubble, and while you don't actually mind the look - in fact, you find that he looks a little too good with it -, it scratches your skin whenever he kisses you, whether it is on your face or on other parts of your body.

Ignoring your remark, he makes his way to the couch you’re lying on, leans over the headrest and throws an arm around your shoulders, his lips coming close to your face; but before they can make contact with you, you put a hand against his face and push him away.

"Nope. You're shaving first."

Your partner exhales unnecessarily loudly and grabs your wrist to remove your hand from his face. He clicks his tongue as he throws his head back into his neck.

"Too tired."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah,” he replies, lazily scratching the subject of your disdain.

You cross your arms over your chest, purse your lips, and narrow your eyes. You set your phone aside as an idea pops into your head.

"Then I'll do it."

And that's how you end up in your shared bathroom, with him sitting down on a small stool – which makes for a ridiculous picture since his bulky frame can barely fit on it and you're afraid it's about to break under his weight - while you stand in front of him, applying some shaving cream to his stubble.

Toji is wearing a loose tank top that shows off the bulging muscles in his big arms and his defined pecs, and a pair of gray sweatpants - a supposedly thoughtless combination that he pulled out of his closet, but he is more than aware of the effect this look has on you.

You stifle a snort as you notice him subtly flexing his muscles, obviously enticing you to admire them.

You instruct him to stay still as you hold a sharp tool against his face - but as predicted, the insufferably touchy man grabs at your waist, massages your thighs, playfully pinches your sides - the asshole that he is, he wants to see you squirm and hear you yelp.

"I'm gonna accidentally cut you if you don't keep your hands to yourself," you grumble, trying to slap his hands away and rolling your eyes when they don't bulge from where they rest. "Seriously. Control yourself."

"Can you blame me?" Toji counters, his grin all smug and mischief glinting in his forest green eyes as he cocks his head, "I like it when you take care of me."

As if to further prove that statement, his arms wrap around the back of your knees, holding onto them in a stone grip. Your mouth falls open to scold him again, but the warmth of his touch makes you close it and go soft. Bastard.

“Y’know, you're not bad at this," he chimes in, raising a brow at you, "you've done this for other men before?"

"Oh yeah, just last week for boyfriend number two."

Toji grunts, mouth pressed into a flat frown.

"Not funny."

"You're the one who asked a stupid question," you sing, nodding in his direction. "Besides, I should ask if I'm the first one to do this for you."

"You are,” he immediately replies, "wouldn't let anyone else get that close to my face with that thing."

You hum, "So you trust me. How sweet."

He grunts, again. You're pretty close to making fun of his dad noises.

"Do you actually not like my stubble?"

"It tickles and burns when you kiss me."

"You'd get over it."

"I'll stop kissing you if you keep it."

"…You don't mean that."

"You know I do."

Once he missed picking up Megumi from daycare because he fell asleep in front of the TV; so you, as petty as you are, decided to deprive him of all hugs and kisses, and walked away the moment he approached you, tried to reach out and pull you into the confines of his strong arms. You managed to last a week before your resolve crumbled. You blame the fact that you were ovulating during that week and the dejected looks he kept giving you.

Averting his eyes to the side, he gestures to you with a wave, "Aren't y'supposed to love me the way I am?"

"Sure, but my love grows even stronger when I can kiss you without any damage."

“So I’m harming you with that? Way to make me feel bad, I liked the look.”

"Grown man," you mumble under your breath, moving his head to the other side with a bit more force than probably needed - but still careful, of course. "Be glad that I'm doing this for you. Otherwise, you'd probably walk around with a full beard."

At that he squints his eyes.

"What's wrong with that?"

"You'd look too much like a man."

His nose scrunches up, the corners of his mouth drop down - that's his grumpy face.

"What's that supposed to mean? I am a man."

"Yeah, my handsome, pretty man who doesn't have a beard that will give me a bad rash.”

A huff leaves him, only emphasizing his grumbling.

"...Whatever."

His head tilts, allowing you to carefully run the razor across the lower part of his face and the underside of his chiselled jaw. He leans into your touch, letting himself be vulnerable despite the supposed simplicity of the task.

You know what it means to be able to do that to him. It's not as insignificant as it might seem at first.

A few seconds of silence go by, but then, "Can I kiss you now?”

So needy.

When you first started seeing each other, Toji was all cocky and nonchalant, but when you finally got together, he started clinging to you, following you around like a lost puppy who refuses to let you out of his sight. It's endearing, you suppose - especially since you (and everyone else) didn't expect him to act this way.

"I'm not done yet."

All of a sudden he leans back to free himself from your grasp and get out of your reach, now holding both your wrists in his calloused palms as he stares directly into your eyes, forcing you into a silent debate. Finally, you let out a tired sigh, though you can't stop a grin from tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Okay, just one quick ki-"

Before you can finish your sentence, the plush of his lips meets yours and you melt into each other, not even noticing the shaving cream on his face transfer to yours. Instead of pushing him away this time, you instinctively deepen the kiss and wrap your arms around his neck, letting him nibble on your lower lip until he slowly pulls away.

His mouth twitches as he opens his eyes and zeroes in on a certain spot. A finger comes up to your face, wipes something away, and then shows the shaving cream on it that came from your face.

"Want me to shave your stubble too?"

The slap you give his broad shoulder doesn't move him a millimeter, but it makes him shake with laughter.

"Shut up."

[tsuutarr]

“…eager to whisk you away once you’re more fae than human.”

I can’t help but imagine a tiny little fairy just lifting an entire person above their head and slowly flying them over the rainbow

This inspired me to make a friend for Cot, soooo here's Maple!!

(Who knows, maybe a harem of fairies is coming eventually)

Yandere! Garden Fairy x Reader

Recently, a human has appeared in Maple’s village. For some reason that Maple genuinely cannot understand, his friend, Cot, has brought over a human. 

Even when Cot dotes on his human, Maple can’t see what the appeal is. Humans are so… eugh.

Still, seeing Cot chatter on and on about his human makes Maple somewhat curious, so he decides to venture out one day. You’re the first human he sees in the human realm, and honestly? Maple still can’t really understand what Cot’s thinking at all.

But one thing Maple can understand is how delicious those strawberries in your garden look. Once you’re out of sight, he quietly sneaks into your garden. You won’t miss one tiny strawberry, will you?

Just as he’s about to reach out and grab a strawberry, he hears a gasp. Slowly, he turns around, only to come face to face with your shocked expression. He’s frozen from shock, certain that he’ll meet his demise when you say, “Oh my gosh, you’re so cute!”

Your words startle Maple to the point he can only watch as you reach out and poke his cheek. He makes various noises of discontentment, making you apologize with a smile.

“Here, are you hungry?” you ask, plucking a strawberry off of your strawberry plant and handing it to him. “Eat up!”

Alarm bells should be running rampant in Maple’s head but… but! That strawberry looks so scrumptious that he has no choice but to indulge. And boy, was he right! The strawberry is absolutely yummy and oh so delicious that he can’t help but chow down. 

You allow him to take a few strawberries back home, much to his surprise. He didn’t expect you to be so nice.

Maple, as one of the cooking fairies, has always been a gourmet in regards to food and anyone who’s willing to give him some tasty treats always lands on his favorite list. So, it’s no surprise that you’ve found yourself in the top five of his favorites list. Maybe Cot did have the right idea about humans.

Honestly, Maple can’t wait to visit you again (for the strawberries, of course). And you’ll let him in every time and give him tasty treats because he’s oh so cute. But make no mistake – he’s hardly innocent. He’s a fairy, after all, so it’s only a matter of time before he takes you back home with him whether you like it or not.