#my writers block is finally no more :3

[ranilla-bean]

Baby, you've got it bad for me

Rating: E Fandom: Avatar the Last Airbender Pairing: Azula/Suki Words: 8,370 Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern with Bending, Gym Sex, Athlete Suki, Barely Redeemed Azula, Character Study, Light Dom/sub, Azula is complexes georg, copious amounts of lesbian sex that make everyone worse, don't try this at home i won't be held responsible for any injuries

Summary:

“What about you?” Azula snipes back. “What makes a promising young athlete turn the club gym into her personal sex dungeon?”

This time, Azula doesn't know—she swears she doesn't—how she gets roped into fucking Suki at the gym.

and this one's for @ashcremated, buon compleanno mio fratello di brutte vibes! 😘🎂

[watery-melon-baller]

lads a script is being written!!!

[universalsatan]

how am i supposed to collect my gay little shows when i am sleeby and work and have to rewatch the multi-seasoned shows i literally just finished

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[neuvistar]

Biker! Dan heng, Sunday and aventurine?

Sfw and NSFW

Like I'm brain dead for them

DREAM RIDE. biker! honkai star rail men part one

— featuring ┊aventurine, sunday, (il) dan heng x fem!reader (all separate)

— warnings / content warnings ┊all consensual! sfw + nsfw, feminine terms used (she, girl, etc), cunniligus (aventurine #1 pussy eater strikes again), orgasm denial (sunday), jus a tad bit of subby dan heng, semi-public s3x? (sunday), blowjob (dan heng), use of vibrators (sunday), riding (dan heng) use of nicknames, multiple orgasms, bath s3x (aventurine), sunday is a MENACE here, reader implied 2 be a lil smaller than them, v4ginal fingering (aventurine), more tba! | 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

— a/n ┊NOT PROOFREAD ! might correct tmr if i’m not sleepy! <3 anyways hi guys writers block stopped biting my ass anyways guys i’m SOOO attracted 2 aventurine it’s acc insane he needs to be jailed from how majestic he is.. erm! whoever keeps sending asks abt biker! hsr men god bless u and ur entire family | reblogs r appreciated

⊹ 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄

sfw.

⊹ BIKER!AVENTURINE who would take you out for late night rides! he’s a total drama queen, let’s get that out of the way. he loves you, yes, but he’d get so pouty whenever you turn him down for your daily night rides with him, he sulks and sulks.. clinging onto your figure until you finally say yes! jokes aside, aventurine really does enjoy your company, he really does value quality time as he would go as far to even take you out to see the stars, feel the breeze and have some fresh air, or just have a midnight snack!

“come on, baby.. 2am is nothing! just come and ride with me for a bit, i promise i’ll have you back til 3?”

⊹ BIKER!AVENTURINE who always finds himself buying you gifts before visiting you and such! sometimes he’d just be riding around on the road and all of the sudden his hands are full of bags and gifts just for you before he gets to your place! he’s a huge gift giver, spoiling you to the brim.

“would [name] like this one.. no no, maybe this one. hm.. maybe both.”

⊹ BIKER!AVENTURINE who can be insecure at times, sometimes he thinks about whether he’s truly right for you or not. like, usually he wouldn’t give in to these thoughts but there are times where he’s just riding around at night n he suddenly stops n goes.. “what if [name] is bored of me?” even though he might not show it, poor thing needs A LOT and i mean A LOT of reassurance from you, please tell him he’s good enough for you!

“my darling.. are you sure i’m right for you? i mean, you know. i’ve just been.. thinking. you’re not gonna leave, are you.. hm? ‘gonna stay with me, right?”

nsfw.

⊹ BIKER!AVENTURINE absolutely loves having sex while you both take bubble baths, i mean.. it’s essential to have good hygiene, isn’t it? aventurine pumped his fingers within your pussy, circling his thumb over your clit as he licked his lips, nuzzling close against your neck. “mmh.. you like that?” his voice, husky and low as his fingers reached the deepest parts of your cunt, a sharp gasp caught in your throat as he held you firmly against him. watching you struggle to stifle your moans made him feel a combination of pride and surprise. aventurine gripped your waist lightly, offering support and reassurance. "damn, sweetheart.. are my fingers that good?" he murmured, his voice low and steady.

aventurine growled softly, pleasure coursing through him at your reaction. his fingers deeply thrusted in and out of you, feeling your tight walls spasm around his digits. with a lick of his lips, he added another finger within your drenched pussy.. the sound of water splashing against his fingers, his speed rising more and more.. stretching you delicately. "missed this," he groaned, adding more speed to his rhythm. "missed the way your body responds to me, my darling girl..” his eyes locked onto yours, seeing the desire mirrored back at him. he wanted to make you cum, that was his goal for the night.. to hear you scream his name again. the roughness of his fingers grew, the sounds of water splashing against his hand was enough to embarrass you, aeons.. he was going fast alright. “c’mon, sweetheart.. it’s been ages since i made you squirt. mmh.. these fingers are good enough to make you squirt, right?”

⊹ BIKER!AVENTURINE who would eat you out almost all the time, whether it’s on his motorcycle seat while he holds your body, or maybe his table filled with tools, or just a plain old bed. aventurine is willing to eat you out literally anywhere, his tongue piercing made it even better. aventurine savoured every second of this, allowing his senses to be consumed by your intoxicating flavour. your body trembled above him, carefully laid on the seat of his motorcycle as he chuckled against your pussy.. your hands buried in his hair as he delved deeper into your depths. the blonde’s tongue danced expertly, exploring every hidden crevice while his fingers played with your swollen bud. “you taste divine," he murmured against your sex, causing you to arch your back sharply. "just like the finest wine, only better." his words hung heavy in the air between them, fuelling your rising passion.

aventurine attacked your cunt hungrily, devouring your folds with complete vigor. aeons, he was obsessed with your pussy, and your taste. the way your wetness spilled out onto his tongue, mixing with the warm atmosphere surrounding the both of you drove him crazy. his large hands held you firmly against the seat of his motorcycle, hands roamed freely over your body, tweaking one of your nipples roughly while diving deeper inside your drenched pussy. your boyfriend groaned into your folds, feeling your walls tremble around him. “good darling.. such a good girl taking my tongue so well.” “.. ‘turine.. you’re gonna make me fall on here.. j—just eat me out on the desk..” you murmured, wincing when you felt a slap on your pussy. “whoops, sorry angel,” ugh.. this tease. “mm.. no-can-do, sweetheart. i like seeing you like this. just imagine, my cum leaking out of your pussy and right onto my bike.” he licked a single stripe on your cunt, chuckling when he noticed your legs quivering. “oh how fascinating would that be.”

⊹ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘

sfw.

⊹ BIKER!SUNDAY who has a habit of grabbing onto your waist, or just snaking his arm around it! i mean, he does this for many reasons.. one, to show you’re taken, and two, mm.. he just feels like it! sunday would do it on random occasions, whether he’s talking with his biker friends, at the cashier, anywhere! he loves grabbing your waist and he makes that very clear, maybe if he’s in the mood.. he’d slide his hand beneath your shirt as well wink wink

sunday glanced at your form, a small smile forming on his face when he saw you examining your surroundings. he snaked an arm around your waist, pulling your body firmly against his.

⊹ BIKER!SUNDAY who’s jealousy is intense. sunday would get angry at you, give you the silent treatment, or just bluntly ignore you if you were found talking and laughing with another guy other than him. he refuses to believe that you can be happy with other guys other than him. he would glare at other people he catches staring at what’s his, he was.. possessive. and whenever you catch sight of it, he would try and manipulate you to thinking he’s doing it for your own good! because all those men that were staring at you were bad! (wow, he’s a bastard) saying this, he’s a huge manipulator.. it can be a handful dating him.

“trust me, my love. can’t you see how those men were staring at you?” his voice was soft, dangerously soft. the malicious glint in his eyes didn’t hide anything. “they’re after you, angel. they’re after what’s mine. i’m only trying to protect you. why are you so doubtful of me, hm? do you not love me anymore? are you perhaps.. bored of me?”

⊹ BIKER!SUNDAY who loves being in control, this can be taken in a sexual or non sexual sense <3 sunday is assertive, and he knows what’s right for you. (most of the time!) he can be a bit controlling at times, but he means no harm! he just wants to keep you safe, promise! sometimes sunday would give you that look whenever you would try n defy him, he means business.. trust me. because of this, he can be cold and stubborn towards you at times without even knowing, geez.. he really needs to work on that.

nsfw.

⊹ BIKER!SUNDAY loves being in control, as i’ve mentioned.. but especially in bed. besides that, he’s so damn mean.. he doesn’t let you cum unless he tells you to, kissing your tears away with his lips. “ah ah ah, darling.. what did i say about cumming?” his eyes devoured your small frame, taking in every curve and angle of your body. sunday couldn't help but feel a surge of dominance and control over you, chuckling lowly. you was his, every fiber of your being was his, and he'd take care of you properly. his thrusts were hard to take in, his size and speed.. aeons. the way his cock slides in so easily had him biting his lip, he’s so mean and strict whenever you both make love, spanking you a few times whenever he sees you dozing off!

his eyes never left yours, even when he would immediately pull out when you were on the verge of orgasming, earning a sweet whine from your lips. “please.. please let me cum! sunday, baby please.. i can’t hold it anymore!” oh, how if only you knew how much he loves it when you beg. “oh baby.. i love it when you beg like that.” sunday groaned deeply from pleasure, landing another smack to your ass.. grinning at the sight of you swirling beneath him, “it only makes me wanna do this more.. it makes me wanna keep you here, stop you from cumming all over my cock. do you want that?” “n—no please.. please let me cum, sunday.. i need it—“ “keep begging, my angel. maybe i’ll let you cum if you keep begging and whining for me. come now, speak up.”

⊹ BIKER!SUNDAY who absolutely loves using vibrators on you whenever you both go out together, it’s amusing to him! (stupid bastard) he would increase it’s speed at random times to catch you off guard.. for his own amusement. listen, you really love your boyfriend but sometimes you just wanna slap that stupid smile off his face. you were casually picking out some candy in the candy aisle, a soft smile on your face before you felt that same old sensation within you.. causing a gasp to leave your pretty lips. “mm.. what are you looking at here, my love?” sunday murmured softly, chuckling at your vulnerable state. “sunday.. lower the speed please..” you begged, aeons! you were stupid to even think he’d decrease it’s speed!

your boyfriend smirked, the vibrator’s speed only grew more by the second as you could feel the wetness of your pussy seep through your panties, filling you with humiliation and embarrassment as you could barely walk, holding your hand over your mouth. “fuck.. sunday please..” you knew begging wasn’t gonna get you anywhere.. you knew you would have to have that stupid thing inside you for hours on end, overstimulating your pussy and entire body while your boyfriend watched and held you with pure amusement. to your bewilderment, there were times where sunday would go as far to fingering you by a nearby alleyway, his hands drenched in your juices. this man.. you wanted to be mad at him but you couldn’t bring yourself to be. sunday’s pretty fingers dug deep into your drenched pussy, knuckles deep while he had that same stupid sadistic smile on his face. “i should put that thing in you more.. look how wet your pussy is. it’s practically drooling for me, angel.”

⊹ 𝐈𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐆

sfw.

⊹ BIKER!DANHENG who is more of a private relationship typa guy, he prefers to keep his relationships private! despite this, he still shows his love for you in many other ways, it’s easy to say that some people are even surprised he was dating you, because of how reserved he is when it came to personal matters <3 he values his and yours’ privacy, you can trust me on that!

⊹ BIKER!DANHENG who struggles putting on his helmet because of his horns (lol), you find it really cute! whenever he leaves your house, sometimes he takes 10 minutes trying to figure out how to wear a helmet because of his horns. he found this so annoying to the point he probably had a custom helmet made for him and his horns!

you nearly let out a giggle when you gazed at him, struggling to wear his helmet over his head. dan heng’s tail swished against his leg, glancing up at you with a slight frown. “[name], it’s not funny.”

⊹ BIKER!DANHENG who would teach you how to ride a motorcycle so you and him can ride around together, i mean.. you can’t blame him! he doesn’t show it much, but he really does hope to spend more time with you, and he thinks this is effective and efficient! dan heng would guide you through it slowly, keeping his hands on your waist while he helped your practice with the brakes and all you needed to know! to be honest, this was really just an excuse to touch you, but can you blame him? his large hands would brush against your hips, helping you adjust and sit properly, it’s a good thing these things take awhile to learn!

“mhm, i got you.” his thumb rubbed circles on your hips, humming. “you’re a fast learner, [name]. you never fail to surprise me.”

nsfw.

⊹ BIKER!DANHENG who just loves having your pretty mouth wrapped around his cock after an exhausting day of biking all day and night. soft gasps and whimpers left his lips as he showed a completely different side of him that night, full of pure desperation and need. “am i.. doing this right?” your voice was muffled against his dick, sending vibrations to his nerves as his hand was carefully placed atop of your head, body aching for release. “yes.. keep sucking me off like that..” with a grunt, he closed his eyes briefly while savouring the warmth of your tongue tracing circles around the sensitive slit.

"more please, baby..“ dan heng begged, arching his back slightly as your warm, wet tongue caressed the head of his cock, teasing him mercilessly before sliding down its veiny shaft. the sensation was foreign yet familiar, sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body. unable to resist any longer, he reached down, gripping your hair tightly as he thrusts his hips upward, pushing deeper into your waiting mouth.his breathing became heavier, the sound of each labored gasp echoing in the otherwise silent room, punctuated by the sloppy sounds of your mouth working him over. your tongue swirls around the base of his cock, teasing the sensitive area underneath his balls before returning to suck and stroke him feverishly. “you’re so good to me.. s.. so good to me..”

⊹ BIKER!DANHENG who would let you ride him just like how he lets you ride his motorcycles! he just wants to put your pleasure first, really. dan heng’s mind raced as he watched you ride him. he was going to lose it, he knew it very well. the sight of you bouncing on his cock, your pussy coating his cock with pure white juices, the sound of your gasps, and the feeling of your breasts against his chest created a whirlwind of emotions. he watched you struggle to stifle your moans while gripping your waist lightly, offering support and reassurance. "you’re doing great, love. fuck.. take your time and do what feels good," he encouraged, his voice low and steady.

he hoped his presence provided comfort, guiding his precious girlfriend to enjoy the sensations without feeling pressure to perform. their bodies moved in harmony together, lust fuelled by the thrill of victory as dan heng’s breaths grew ragged. his face flushed at the sight of your breasts bouncing, biting his lip at how overwhelming this was.. the sound of skin slapping against each other was all that came through, their moans punctuated the intensity of their shared moment. your hands grabbed everywhere.. his biceps, his chest, and oh.. even his horns. he was absolutely losing it. “sh—shit.. use my cock, use my cock for your own pleasure, beloved.. you’re doing so well..”

@ NEUVISTAR. do not plagiarize, claim my work as your own, translate or share my posts on any platform outside of tumblr.

[lvrclerc]

✶ STRANGER, DANGER AND VANILLA SWIRL

summary: the night you met franco colapinto involved stealing, melted ben & jerry's, blunt honesty, and kissing a complete stranger, because you were pretty sure you were never going to see him again. except, by morning, you do see him again, and he looks way more familiar this time around.

F1 MASTERLIST | FC43 MASTERLIST

pairing: franco colapinto x journalist!f!reader wc: 6.5K cw: meet-cute, tooth-rotting fluff, stealing, reader doesn't know anything about f1, like one suggestive joke, slightly ooc franco note: requested here! i think you healed my writer's block with this request actually because it was so much fun to write, and it's been a whileeee since i had fun writing. hope u like it <3

BEING A JOURNALISM major wanting to step into the world of sports implicitly meant that one had to possess few unofficial prerequisites: unwavering neutrality for the times the players you so heavily supported got royally screwed over by the game, a rabid competitive edge for the mere opportunity to write half a column in an outdated magazine because you topped the class, mastering the ability of a poker face when thrown in a den of sexist, castrated cats—not to confuse with lions.

Nowhere on that imaginary list was lying with practiced ease. And yet, as the last student in your year without an internship for the final semester, you’d reached an inevitable conclusion: desperate times called for desperate measures. What harm could one tiny fabrication really do?

Staring at the empty white of your document screen-burning your already hyperventilating computer, the title blinked at you smugly as if it knew better: INNOVATIVE F1 QUESTIONS FOR DRIVERS AND STAFF. See? That one little white lie was already taking you places, as you’d somehow landed an internship at a motorsport-based social media company. 

Your only problem was that you didn’t know a single thing about Formula One, or motorsports, or racing. At all.

The ad popped up as you were wasting away your time on social media, a pathetically common occurrence when procrastinating for your finals. It was a golden opportunity, you weren’t dumb enough to let it slide— they were looking for temporary staff to help cover the Imola race, whatever that was, and you were looking for anything that might convince the administration that your academic year hadn’t been a total joke. Unfortunately, you were dumb enough to believe it could actually work.

They were sending you, along with a small team, to interview drivers and staff alike. Being the intern, and supposedly in training, meaning expandable, you’d been put in charge of coming up with questions—original ones, at that: no ‘What’s your favorite track?’ nonsense, they precised. 

You learned the difference between the Driver’s Championship and the Constructors Championship yesterday. You usually covered hockey, the NHL, a real punch-in-the-face sport. There was no way you could go beyond asking them what shade of tires they were using unless they decided to do a 180° and start racing on ice.

So here you were, in your rented Italian apartment with decaying paint, a squeaky couch, and the muffled chorus of your snoring colleagues. Your laptop screen buzzed diml,y and the void of your thoughts stared back at you as the clock crept dangerously close to one in the morning. Ten sentences, that was the goal: ten measly, coherent, original questions. The cursor blinked at you like it could see right through your sad attempt at powering through your lie. You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand, your body aching for sleep, but you couldn’t allow yourself the sweet deliverance of unconsciousness until you’d typed something. Tiredness, you told yourself with misplaced pride, was not an option.

However, ice cream was.

Five minutes later, you were half-dressed for crime in an old hoodie three times too big for you, sleep shorts honoring the adjective, and the great fashionability of flip-flops with sports socks, slipping out the front door with the grace of a goblin. The streets were mostly quiet, save for the occasional whir of a moped in the silence, and you could feel the cooling asphalt beneath the plastic sole of your shoes. The flickering fluorescent glow of the 24-hour convenience store, growing more intense the longer you walked, called to you.

You didn’t know what you were looking for exactly, whether it be comfort, an escape from racing cars and your withering GPA, or a much-needed sugar rush, but you were pretty sure it came in pint form.

You entered the store under the obnoxious screech of a bell. It didn’t seem to faze the cashier, who was fully slumped behind the counter, head tipped back in a mouth-breathing slumber. If someone walked in to rob the place, you had a feeling they wouldn’t be met with much resistance apart from the occasional belted note from the ambient europop.

Tempting.

You shuffled further inside, wandering among the empty aisles in search of the frozen section, and physically recoiling when the temperature dropped a certain amount of degrees as you reached it. The freezers hissed and cracked, the strip lights illuminating the stacks of sad frozen meals and desserts. You dragged your feet along the tiles, arms wrapped around yourself, eyeing the glistening line of tubs in front of you. You needed something sweet, vaguely comforting.

Your heart finally settled on the Ben & Jerry’s Half-Baked pint, your favorite and, as fate would have it, the last one left. You smiled to yourself, already imagining the therapy-like comfort of vanilla, brownie chunks and cookie dough it would bring you. You reached out for it.

But so did someone else, and your fingers brushed.

You flinched, instinctively yanking your hand back a little too dramatically. You hadn’t even heard him walk up, he just appeared at your side in a strange warmth, his palm colliding with yours on its way to reenact the world's least romantic meet-cute. 

Your eyes finally snapped to the intruder. He looked just as startled, if more amused, brows lifted in mild apology. He was tall, a good fifteen centimeters above you, and his tousled dark curls were half-hidden by the hood pulled over them, accentuating the drowsiness in the darkness of his eyes. The sleeves of his hoodie were pushed halfway up on his forearms, and a slight redness flushed his cheeks, which might have been from the cold or eventually the awkwardness of this exact moment.

“Sorry,” he said, an accent you couldn’t quite place swirling around the words. “Didn’t see you there. Didn’t expect someone to also be craving ice cream this late, either.” He offered you a lazy grin, and your stomach did something deeply irrational. He was objectively good-looking, for a stranger.

“You’re alright, don’t worry,” you answered, voice light but guarded. You were tired, unarmed, which weren’t ideal conditions to spar with a man, even though you wouldn’t expect someone who looked like he belonged in a mildly expensive cologne ad to come to fists in the middle of a convenience store.

His eyes dropped to the pint of ice cream, still sitting in the open freezer. “Half-Baked, huh?” he asked. “Strong choice.”

“It’s the best one,” you shrugged.

He tilted his head, as if considering. “Eh… debatable.”

Nonchalance thrown aside, and any desire of survival with it, your jaw detached from your body along with your carefulness. Debatable? “I won’t even dignify this slander with an answer.”

“It’s not my favorite,” he answers, looking far too entertained. “But I respect it. Like… top five material.”

“Top five? You’re insane.”

The smile he already wore on his lips widened and—great—now, he was laughing. The disbelieving sound pleasantly echoed around the quiet store and empty aisles, leading you to cross your arms on your chest as if the gesture could protect you from the charming presence of the stranger. 

Somehow, the pint was still sitting between you, dangerously unclaimed.

“Soooo,” you dragged off, cutting the brown-haired man short in his semi-mockery. “By that logic, you wouldn’t mind letting me have it.” 

His head tipped back just slightly, studying the flickering lights as if wisdom might descend on him and save him from this moral dilemma. “No,” he ends up saying after agonizing seconds. “I want that one.”

“You don’t even like it.” You stared at him, incredulous.

“I do,” he countered. “It’s just… not my favorite.”

You groaned,dragging a hand down your face. Frustration rose through you like molten lava, enough to make the frozen rows next to you melt. “Listen,” you start, as calm as you could muster, “I had a shitty day. I’m having an even shittier evening. If you had even an ounce of decency in your body, you’d let me walk out of here with my favorite ice cream and my last shred of will to live.”

You reached for the tub. You weren’t even surprised that his hand followed, yet you had to fight the urge to scream. Now, your fingertips were dueling on the cardboard.

“Big talk about dignity from someone wearing flip-flops with socks,” the stranger retorts, that shit-eating grin growing wider by the minute.

This time, you were actually offended. It was one in the morning, you were getting a subjective necessity, not walking the Met Gala. The fact that he, out of all people, had the nerve to make fashion commentary in his wrinkled basketball shorts and downright ancient sneakers was next-level ridiculous. “Oh, please,” you snapped. “Big talk from someone trying to steal ice cream he doesn’t even believe in.”

“Oh, so we’re believing in ice cream, now?”

You stab your finger in his chest. “This is about morals.”

“Right,” he hums, nodding. “You’re the one trying to emotionally blackmail me with your tragic backstory.”

The daggers you were trying to stare at him with didn’t seem to reach his back nor his smugness. The two of you were still standing in the middle of the aisle, each with a hand on the poor tub of Half Baked. The bright, white lights above you were becoming more overwhelming the longer you spent underneath them.

“So we’re really doing this?” you asked. “Neither of us is backing off?”

The stranger leaned closer, and the slow movement had you pausing at the soft delicateness of his features. The maddening smirk tugging at the corner of his lips sobered you instantly. “You’re admitting defeat?”

You scoffed, inching your grip tighter on the ice cream. “In your dreams, maybe.”

He held your gaze for a long moment, amused and searching, before finally tilting his head with a tired sigh, giving the impression he was oh so generously offering the solution for world peace. “... We could share it.”

You frowned in confusion. He rolled his eyes, gesturing toward the pint with a nod. “There are plastic spoons near the register. We could do split custody— ten bites each, top.”

“There’s literally other ice cream. Like, so much,” you said, gesturing vaguely to the frozen aisles around you. You paused, then added with a pointed look,  “Also, I don’t know you?”

“Well, I’m Franco Colapinto,” he replied with a lopsided grin.

He laughed. It was an easy sound, coming out low and deep from his chest that rumbled more than it echoed. It sent an involuntary flutter up your spine, which you firmly blamed on your lack of sleep and not the stupidly attractive curve of his lips.

The name tickled something in the back of your brain. It was somewhat familiar, even though you couldn’t quite pinpoint in what way. Frankly, you were too tired and too emotionally invested in your current argument to attempt to dig deeper in the drowsiness of your memories. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you said cautiously, unsure of the reason why you were even entertaining him.

His smile widened. “Great. Now we’re not strangers anymore.”

“That’s… not how it works.”

“Sure it is,” Franco nodded, serious. “I know your name. You know mine. We’ve shared an argument, introductions… that’s practically a friendship. What’s an ice cream after that?”

Your eyebrows shot up to high heavens, though your mouth still tugged up at the corner in the semblance of a disbelieving smile. This entire interaction felt like a fever dream, and Franco Colapinto might have been the strangest man you'd ever met, which explained why the two of you now stood side-by-side at the front of the convenience store, facing the soundly snoring clerk, both patting down your respective pockets.

A curse escaped you when you hit the bottom seam of your hoodie pocket and found nothing: no wallter, no leftover coins, not even a crumpled receipt. Nothing. Franco glanced over, two pathetic white plastic spoons in hand, with his brows raised in a silent question.

“Uh…” you started, wincing. “I may, or may not, have… forgotten my wallet. In my apartment.”

One second passed. Another. Before you knew it, Franco was trying his very best, which was to say, not at all, to hide his snorting. He was doing so openly, no longer bothering to attempt to cover his amusement. His shoulders shook with the force of i,t and the only thing you could do was stare at him, dead-eyed.

“Oh my God, good thing we decided to share, huh?” the brown-haired man managed through a laugh. “Just imagine if you were alone in there, broke as hell.”

You threw your very empty hands in the air. “You act like you’re about to save the day!”

“I am,” Franco taunted, a mock heroicness in his voice as he patted his shorts’ pockets with an exaggerated flourish, only for the performance to crumble when his face fell. He patted again, and again. “Oh shit.”

Words couldn’t possibly be put on the satisfaction rising inside you. You crossed your arms, a smugness usually unknown to you dripping from every word. “Don’t say it.”

“I left my wallet in my hotel room,” he said anyway, sheepishly.

You both stood in front of the counter, spoons in hand, and the pint of Ben and Jerry’s still clutched protectively between you. The soft buzz of a fluorescent light filled the awkward silence as you stared each other down, unsure how to proceed.

“Well…,” Franco started eventually, voice dropping low, almost conspiratorial. “He is asleep.”

As if in agreement, the clerk let out a snore, louder than the others.

You turned to him comically slow. The idea, which settled comfortably among your thoughts earlier, came back full force as you waited for him to explain his own thinking process.

Franco shrugged with one shoulder. “We could just— take it? I could always come pack and pay tomorrow.”

“That is literally stealing.”

“You were thinking it too,” he pointed out.

“I was not!”

“You definitely were.”

“I thought about it,” you corrected, “but I never said it out loud, which makes me the moral compass in this situation.”

“You and your morals,” he laughed, only to promptly try to hide with a small cough, throwing a quick look at the clerk.

You stared at him. Condensation was gathering between your fingers, seeping into your skin, and truth be told, your eyelids were growing too heavy for your own good, and a pitifully blank document was still waiting for you in your crumbling rental. You didn’t have enough faith in yourself, nor enough patience, to go back and get your wallet. Frankly, you doubted Franco was any more motivated. ”You’re really gonna come back and pay?” you asked, hesitant.

“Promise,” and the glint behind the depth of his eyes looked sincere enough for you to believe him.

He slipped the pint from your hands, balancing the two spoons in the other, and nudged the door open with his shoulder. The bell above it gave a lazy jingle at the movement, echoing in the stillness around you.

“C’mon,” he called with a wink, casual as anything. “Let’s go be criminals.”

Against all logic, reason and legality, you did. Your steps were slow and sure, forming an unspoken pact in their trajectory.

At least, they would have been if the clerk hadn’t stirred at that exact moment. 

A low rustle could be heard from behind you, followed by a sleepy grunt and the unmistakable sound of someone shifting behind the counter. A groggy mutter in Italian filled the air, low and accusatory. Your Italian was rusty at best, but you were pretty sure it wasn’t anything kind or a wish for a good night. Judging by Franco’s face, he seemed to have caught enough of what the man said to make him pause. He turned to you slowly, lips parted. Your eyes widened in a silent question to which he didn’t answer.

In that moment, frozen in amber, you saw your entire career flash in front of your eyes. Your major, thrown away in flashes of red and blue.

You mouthed one word: Run.

“Wait, are you serious—?”

You were already gone.

You bolted out of the door, Franco hot on your heels, the bell above you clanging in metallic indignation. The hoarse complaints of the clerk faded to background noises, swallowed by the wild slap of your flip-flops against the cobblestones. The wind tore through the loose strands of your hair as street lights passed by in a delirious blur. Franco’s breathless laugh reverberated against stone walls, so reckless and uncontainable it made you laugh too, even as you sprinted around a corner, then another, burying yourself further into a maze of sleepy streets you had no idea how to escape from. Finally, the knotted gravel gave way, spitting you both into the hush of a small, empty park.

You collapsed onto the nearest bench, doubled over, panting and wiping the sweat beading on your forehead. Franco was quick to drop beside you, clutching the pint of Ben and Jerry’s to his chest. “Okay,” he gasped, grinning widely through labored breathing. “I think we’re in the clear.”

You chortled, a deeply unattractive sound of such magnitude it turned into a cough. You buried your face in your hand to try to stifle it, just like  the growing grin thinning your lips. “Oh my god,” you managed to say, strangled with disbelief. “I’m going to get arrested. I’m going to get fired. I’m going to get banned from Italy for stealing.”

“It doesn’t sound like you believe in Half Baked anymore,” Franco teased, leaning back. You elbowed him with a groan.

In the comfortable silence, broken by giggles every now and then, the brown-haired man ended up prying the lid off the ice cream you so valiantly fought for with a triumphant flourish, which you fondly rolled your eyes at. You both stared down the pint, impatient to dive into your prized possession.

Soup.

The only word that could be used for what was once ice cream was soup. A sad, goopy mess of once-frozen chocolate and vanilla now swirled lazily in the container, brownie bits drifting. The heat of your argument, during which you left the freezer door open, along with the sprint across town, had completely melted it.

There was an awkward pause as you stared at the liquid. “Well,” Franco started, “can it be considered as a milkshake?”

You glanced his way and as soon as your eyes met, you couldn’t hope to hold the pretense of seriousness. Another snort escaped you and morphed into a loud, unstoppable laugh that you were sure the neighboring houses could complain about. Franco stared at you, a glimmer of wonder in the dark of his irises, before following suit until you were both wiping at the corners of your eyes, entirely done with the ridiculousness you managed to bury yourselves into.

“Criminal masterminds, truly,” you managed to wheeze out. “We really took that long to make up our minds?”

Franco offered you a spoon between two laughs. “After you, partner in crime.”

You took it, and for a split second your fingers brushed against the others’, making you pause just enough to see his smile twist into something reserved for the depth of the night. You felt a familiar warmth tighten your face, yet tried not to pay it too much mind as you plunged it into the puddle. You took a bite. The taste and consistency were objectively disappointing.

Still, cold sugar was cold sugar, and it was perfect.

You passed the pint back and forth, settling comfortably deeper into the bench, still warm from the remnants of the day, as the quiet of the very first hours of the morning wrapped around you like a blanket shared at a sleepover—something uniquely yours. The adrenaline faded slowly, making way for gentler words and inflections of voice, as well as the stunning realization the stars above you shone a little brighter than they did before.

Topics went and passed easily. You found out Franco Colapinto was an easy man to talk to: he was laid-back and attentive, slipping subtle jokes and flirtations in-between sentences you could almost miss if he wasn’t looking at you the way he did. You would huff at his attempts, but never quite push him away.

You conversed about every insignificant detail of your lives. The horrible state of your rental apartment and your colleague Maggie’s incurable snoring problem as well as the catastrophic, overpriced pizza you ordered on your first night here. Franco went on about his incredibly passionate vendetta against decaf coffee. Along the way, you learned he wasn’t Italian—well, only by his father—and that the interesting swirl of his tongue around words was Argentinian, that his favorite movie was Interstellar. You told him you never watched it. He berated you for half an hour.

In an interesting turn of event, the conversation drifted toward fashion. “Wait,” you interrupted with a mouthful of ice cream, pointing your spoon at him. “You’re not allowed to judge my flip-flops ever again.”

“The whole combo is a crime against fashion,” he answered, without missing a beat. “Even in the dead of the night.”

You rolled your eyes at him for what felt like the hundredth time tonight, yet none of them had contained any animosity. The spoon clinked against the nearly empty tub as you scooped again. “Well, can’t blame me. This night’s been… weird. The whole day, actually.”

Franco’s gaze turned toward you, not quite literally, as his eyes hadn’t left you ever since you sat down. “You said you were having a shitty day earlier.” A simple affirmation, to which you nodded without much thought. It was true. “Why?” he asked.

You hadn’t noticed how close you had physically gotten until your head dropped backward to face the sky, only to meet Franco’s arm replacing the wooden edge of the bench. He had an arm around your seat, you were tucked to his side, and the balm of his presence enveloped you whole. It eased you into confession with a compassionate simplicity.

“Because I’m a fraud,” you admitted, not without the addition of a largely over-dramatic sigh. 

His eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he didn’t interrupt. The inevitable sign that you had to explain the pathetic situation your hubris had gotten you entangled in.

“I… sort of, maybe, eventually bluffed my way into an internship with a motorsports media company,” you explained. The second his lips parted in surprise, embarrassment pooled hot in your chest. It might have been the first time you were ashamed of your actions. “Do you know anything about F1?” you blurted, hoping to get ahead of it.

Franco stared at you for several seconds, facial traits comically deprived of any expression. “Not at all,” he deadpanned. “Apparently, they race cars?”

You debated whether to laugh or groan. He was teasing, and it was working— you chuckled against his shoulder as your head dropped to the side. “Me neither! I didn’t expect to do something useful during this internship, so I thought one little lie couldn’t hurt!” you exclaimed. “Now they have me interviewing drivers and staff with ‘innovative’ questions before the race. Innovative. The only team I knew of was Alpine because I liked the blue and pink combo. I thought they were winning the championship!”

Franco choked mid ice cream bite, halfway through a laugh.

“And apparently they’re swapping drivers left and right?” you pressed on, waving your hands around. “How does swapping drivers midseason make sense? It can’t be efficient. It sounds more like a swinger scandal than a strategy!”

The longer you spiraled, the more Franco’s features disappeared in the dark of his hoodie, the shoulder you were lying on shaking in what looked suspiciously like a laugh. When he finally emerged at the end of your rant, he threw his head back, no longer concealing his giggling. He finally calmed under the stern look you gave him.

“Well,” he said, voice hoarse and warm, “maybe don’t say all that to their faces.”

“I’m not going to!” you scoffed. “I’m already one imaginary question away from losing my job and my opportunity at graduation and humiliating myself on the paddock.”

The arm Franco had around the bench was now resting on your shoulders, pulling you further—if discreetly—closer to him. “What type of questions did you have in mind?”

You listed out the sad sentences you’d typed and deleted in your document, and the brown-haired man next to you could only answer with a few snickers here and there through every few words. You shot him a raised eyebrow, daring him to do better, and that was all he needed: your voices echoed across the empty park as the night stretched thin and silver around you. He navigated you through the strange language of Formula One with ease, translating jargon you’d only ever skimmed past into something that made sense. Focus on their personality, make it human, he insisted. You reminded him that you didn’t even know most of their names.

Still, it spiraled— like it often did with him, you’d grown to notice. From brainstorming about questions on the ethics of DRS to what races they put on to hype themselves up, you found yourselves answering the questions instead of directing them. The topic of who would survive the longest in a zombie apocalypse came up, and your restricted knowledge of the sport only made the conversation more ridiculous by the minute. You threw out the name of George Russell. Franco had tears of laughter in his eyes.

“You know a lot for someone who supposedly doesn’t know anything about F1,” you noted

He gave you a one-shouldered shrug, accompanied by a smile. “Just picked stuff up. My entourage is really into motorsports.” Then, as if confessing a secret, he leaned into your space, his voice dropping levels to lower down to a whisper. “And I enjoy helping pretty girls.”

Your laugh came out in a breath at the comment, yet something in the air had inevitably shifted—slightly, but there nonetheless. The quiet amusement between you faded into silence, which only left the distant hum of the waking city and the occasional buzz of a street lamp above the park as a soundtrack. The ice cream pint was empty. The sky was lazily painting itself pastel.

Franco was close, so much you could feel the heat of his breath sweeping over your lips, the intoxicating depth of his perfume engulfing you whole. Your knees were brushing hesitantly against each other, your body pressed to his side like gravity kept inexplicably pulling you in, deciding what you wanted before your mind could catch up with the situation. The shadows of the rising light painted his face a sharp golden. His eyes were on yours. They never left.

Were you really about to kiss a man you had known for no more than five hours? You weren’t sure, but Franco didn’t seem to be pulling away. Neither were you.

“¿Vas a besarme?” he murmured, barely above a whisper, his pupils dilated and trained on the curve of your mouth.

You didn’t know what it meant and truthfully, you couldn’t care less. You didn’t want to ruin whatever it was with overthinking, and logic had been left in aisle seven the second you accepted to share that damned ice cream. All you could really tell was that your heart beat loud in your chest, from nerves and anticipation alike, and he was just there. Waiting.

Screw it.

You pulled him in.

It was heated, reckless, and you abandoned yourself into it, leaving caution thrown to the wind. His lips met yours halfway between a laugh and sigh and you swore you’d felt him smirking against your lips before you opened your mouth, giving him the access you both hopelessly desired. Franco kissed the way he talked: smooth, disarming, anticipating your every move with a hand on the dip of your waist and guessing what you liked, gauging your reactions by swallowing every exhale he could tease out of you. He tasted like vanilla, like bad decisions, like everything you could have possibly wanted in the span of a night. Your hands curled in the fabric of his hoodie, his fingers brushed along your jaw, and for a brief, dizzying second, it felt like the spark of something unexpected.

But when you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, the first ray of sunlight brushed your features at the same spot his fingers caressed.

“I… We should go,” you managed to breathe out.

He nodded, the shadow of a smile thinning the pink of his lips. The silken chill of dawn crept through your hoodie as you both stood up, exchanging awkward sentences you barely registered amidst the buzz of your brain. Franco kissed your cheek, uncharacteristically gentle. “See you soon.”

You grinned because it was the polite thing to do, not because you believed him. No one ever really meant that. See you soon was only the prettier version of a goodbye, which is where you were leaving him. Overwhelmingly bittersweet, contrasting with the empty ice cream tub in his hand.

You walked back to your crumbling Italian apartment, trying not to turn around—the scent of his perfume on the hood of your sweater and the lingering taste of him on your lips made the task remarkably more difficult than you thought it would be. The air seemed to smell like vanilla swirl. A smile stuck to your face like melted chocolate.

By the time your fingers hit the keyboard, the questions you both brainstormed spilled easily onto the page along with the few terms and techniques Franco had clarified for you. You didn’t even reread them, you just wrote until the sun was fully filtering through the blinds and your colleagues had gotten up to make coffee. Maggie asked you where you went—apparently, your little escapade had woken her up as you left. You didn’t tell her about Franco, nor did you tell any of them.

After all, you didn’t expect to see him again.

Which is why you wholeheartedly believed he was a hallucination when you bumped into him on the paddock later that afternoon.

The day had been a confusing series of events. Your all-nighter, no matter how pleasant, had taken a lot of energy out of you, and was the reason you spent your morning alternating between getting ready and ten-minute naps, much to the team’s dismay. Even in the burning afternoon sun hovering above the Imola track’s paddock, you weren’t quite awake enough, and carbureted solely on your third can of Redbull—the iron grip you had on it threatened to split the metal in half.

They had sent you and Maggie, your unofficial camera woman, in search of the Mercedes hospitality to find the infamous George Russell that wouldn’t survive a zombie apocalypse according to Franco. The memory took your attention off your surroundings for a single second, pulling a chuckle out of you.

The impact jolted through your shoulder, nearly knocking you off balance.

You stumbled back a step, hands fumbling to protect the expensive media badge swinging from your lanyard. The paddock was alive with voices, soon-to-be rolling wheels—and you were about to become very acquainted with its asphalt.

The same hands that tripped you were the ones that caught you. You were about to curse out whoever had the audacity of being so inconsiderate, but stopped as the words were about to leave your mouth. “Careful there, partner in crime,” came an amused voice, with an overly familiar vocal timbre.

Your gaze shot up.

The brown curls, hair damp with heat, were the first thing to come out of the tired blur hindering your vision. Then was the infuriating smirk you had grown accustomed with, only to make way for the delicate traits of his eyes. The pink and blue racing suit was last, with white letters and sponsors across his chest. Alpine.

Your stomach dropped. “... Franco?” You were not sure if you were asking for him or accusing him.

He helped you up, detaching you from the grip of his arms only to face you with a proud smile. One you were itching to slap off his face. “Told you I’d see you soon,” he commented. Soon was an understatement—you had kissed him mere hours ago.

“You— You told me you didn’t know anything about F1.”

Franco hummed in agreement.

“You’re an F1 driver. For Alpine.”

“Maybe.”

Your jaw slackened. Franco Colapinto’s name had sounded familiar for very good reasons that were included in the hundreds of articles you went through, you realized, along with the mortifying understanding that you had openly called his team’s strategy a swinger scandal. Still, the words that left your mouth weren’t apologetic, and not even close to a stutter.

Instead, you stabbed a finger in his chest. “You lied to me!”

Franco arched an eyebrow, his gaze going from the nail you had buried in the softness of his suit to your offended expression. “Ah, I thought you wouldn’t be the one telling me off about one little omission.”

The callback to your late-night admission caused heat to flare up your cheeks, which seemed to greatly please him. He continued, his smug smile not faltering a tiny bit. “So… are you going to interview me here or…?”

“No,” you answered, words sharp and eyes narrowed. “We’re actually here for George Russell, so if you’ll exc—”

“Ohhh,” Franco cut in. “The zombie apocalypse non-survivor. That George Russell.”

You opened your mouth—ready to deny, deflect, eventually flee from the most delirious situation known to mankind—but Maggie appeared beside you, making her presence known with an obnoxious cough and eyes darting between you and Franco. “I’m sorry to interrupt whatever that is,” she starts, “but do you guys know each other?”

“No,” you blurted.

“Yes,” Franco said at the same time.

Maggie narrowed her eyes, flicking from the F1 driver to you. “Ooookay, because if you did it would be amazing on camera, with this whole…,” she made a vague hand gesture, “chemistry and all.”

“There’s no chemistry,” you insisted, silently pleading with her.

“There isn’t? I thought we had at least some, after everything,” Franco countered, not even bothering to hide his glee.

And before you could try to snark back with something, anything, that could save this interaction from the clout-chasing endeavors of your colleagues, Maggie was already pulling her phone out from her back pocket. “That’s great! I’ll tell the team we’re bumping Russell up,” she chirped, already sliding away and ordering the second half of your group around.

You slowly turned back to Franco, mouth agape in disbelief. The silence between you was thick, filled with lingering memories and entirely too proud on his end. His arms were crossed on his chest, and his cheeks tinted a light shade of pink.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair.

Feigning ignorance, Franco threw a grin your way. “Come on. If your first interview is with me, it’ll be easier. We already practiced, remember?”

He seemed to revel in your squirming. You remembered alright. You recalled the warmth of his arm around your shoulders, the roughness of his hands threading through your hair, and the icy aftertaste his lips left on yours that no coffee, as strong as you could possibly make it, could wipe out. It was all too vivid in your mind, despite the drowsiness. It lingered, stubborn, just like him.

Franco didn’t need to be made aware of that, he already looked too pleased with himself. “Yeah, when you lied about not knowing anything about motorsports.”

“And you lied about knowing F1 for your internship,” he fired back. “It feels like fate, doesn’t it?”

You let out a slow, dramatic sigh, pinching your nose bridge. “It feels like an addition to my headache.”

He studied you. There was a difference in the light of day, switching perspectives on what happened when the blanket of nighttime wrapped around people, but his eyes seemed to strip off all those artifices bare. The chatter around you narrowed down to white noise as he took a step forward, shrinking the comfortable gap you had installed.

“Interview me,” Franco breathed, eyes boring into yours, “and I’ll make it up to you for messing with your schedule, and for our questionable first meeting.”

You scoffed at him, but taking a step back was a thought too far removed from you. You basked in the heated air, whether it be from the sun or the man in front of you, much to your own incomprehension. “And how would you make it up to me, Franco?”

Franco’s lips curved slow and deliberate. “With a date.”

“A date?” Your heart paused, catching up with his words before your brain could.

“Yeah. A real one, this time. No heist.” Obviously, that was too normal a sentence for him, because he added almost immediately, “unless you’re into that. Then there will be a heist. Again.”

You punched his shoulder, albeit with not much conviction behind it, which made him chuckle, the sound pooling like liquid sunlight on your skin.

A date. Franco Colapinto was definitely the strangest, and boldest, man you had ever met in your entire life. You would be lying to yourself if you even attempted to deny the fluttering of your chest when the idea crossed your mind. “No stealing,” you affirmed, steadier than you expected yourself to be.

A visible weight seemed to have been taken off his shoulders as he answered. “Promise,” and the glint behind his eyes had a whole other shade, this time around.

Just as you were about to respond—with what, you didn’t know yet—Maggie’s voice cut through the bubble Franco and you had carefully stepped in. All of a sudden, the overwhelming presence of other journalists, staff members, commentators and fans were noticeable enough to break the moment you both became engulfed in.

“You two ready to set up the interview?”

Franco didn’t move. He glanced in your direction, waiting.

Taking a chance on a man you had met in the dead of the night over stolen ice cream and fake identities was a dubious decision, at best. Kissing that same stranger on a park bench like a hormonal teenager, even more so. Every instinct, every rational thought was screaming in bright, flashing red to turn around from this uncharted territory.

And yet—

“Yeah, we’re ready. Just… give us a second.”

Franco flashed you a smile, shameless, just as bright as the midday sun washing over you, and somehow, impossibly, it made your heart ache. Not from regret, but from the terrifying thrill of wanting more of it.

It was probably a terrible idea, but so were all the ones that led you here. Look how far they’d gotten you.

What was one more?

©LVRCLERC 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

[mcrdvcks]

Could I request a one shot of Old Man Logan? Something with fluff and angst like a huge argument between him and his other half and Laura works to get them to make up after days of not talking

things i wish you said

chapter summary: You and Logan get into a fight and Laura tries to get the two of you to see the errors in your ways.

word count: 2.8k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: thank y'all for sending in requests! i've been working on the last chapter of i love you, in every time but i ran into a bit of writer's block so the requests really helped <3

anyways, i hope this was what you wanted anon!

warnings/tags: au of 'logan (2017)' aka logan doesn't die at the end, arguments, angst, laura being smarter than reader and logan, really this is just laura being a smartass, fluff

"I can’t believe you!” You set the dish towel angrily down on the counter, glaring at Logan. “You are the most stubborn man I have ever met.”

Logan leaned back against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression hard. “Yeah? Well, someone’s gotta be stubborn, considering you’re trying to fix a situation that ain’t broken.”

“It is broken, Logan!” you snapped, pointing a finger at him. “You just refuse to see it because that’s what you do! Shut everything out, pretend like nothing’s wrong until it all blows up in your face.”

His jaw clenched, and he shook his head. “What’s wrong is you makin’ a mountain out of a molehill. I said I’ll handle it.”

“You handling it usually means disappearing for a week and coming back bloodied and brooding!” You threw your hands up, exasperated. “God forbid you actually let someone help you for once.”

“I don’t need your help!” he barked, his voice rising. “I’ve been doin’ just fine on my own for years.”

“And look where that’s gotten you!” The words came out sharper than you intended, but the frustration boiling in your chest wouldn’t let you stop. “You’re not on your own anymore, Logan. When are you gonna get that through your thick skull?”

Logan’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, his voice dropped to a dangerous low. “You don’t think I know that? I didn’t ask for any of this, but here we are. I’m doin’ the best I can, and it ain’t enough for you, is it?”

“That’s not what I said!” You took a step toward him, shaking your head in disbelief. “But you don’t even try to meet me halfway. You just... shut down and push me out the second it gets hard.”

“Maybe I’m tryin’ to protect you,” he shot back, his words laced with frustration.

“From what? From you?” Your voice cracked, the argument chipping away at the walls you’d built to keep your own emotions in check. “I’m not scared of you, Logan. What scares me is losing you because you’re too damn stubborn to let anyone in.”

Logan’s mouth opened as if to retort, but no words came. He stood there, breathing hard, the weight of your words hanging heavy between you. Without another word, he turned and stalked out of the room, the screen door slamming behind him.

You stood there, staring at the door, your heart pounding. Part of you wanted to go after him, to yell more, to make him understand. But another part of you was too tired—too hurt.

The house was quiet now, save for the faint creak of the floorboards as Laura walked in from the hallway. She didn’t say anything right away, just hovered in the doorway, her arms crossed in that way that made her look far older than her twelve years.

“You two are so loud,” she finally said, her tone flat but edged with something that sounded suspiciously like annoyance.

You groaned, dropping your hands and looking over at her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. We didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Laura replied, stepping further into the kitchen. She pulled out a chair and sat across from you, her sharp gaze studying your face. “You’re crying.”

You swiped at your cheek quickly, though you weren’t sure why. Laura didn’t miss much. “It’s nothing, kiddo.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing,” she said, her tone even. She leaned her elbows on the table, her small hands clasped together. “You and Logan fight all the time now.”

“That’s not true,” you replied automatically, though the words felt hollow as soon as you said them.

Laura just stared at you, unblinking. “It is.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Sometimes grown-ups argue. That’s just how it is.”

“Yeah, but you’re mad at him all the time. And he’s mad at himself. It’s annoying.” Her bluntness cut through you, and she tilted her head. “Are you going to leave?”

“What? No.” The question startled you, and you leaned forward. “No, Laura. I’m not going anywhere. I love Logan. I just... wish he’d stop shutting me out.”

Laura didn’t say anything for a while. She just stared at you, her gaze as sharp as ever, like she was picking apart everything you’d just said.

Finally, she shrugged. “Then tell him.”

You blinked. “I have told him.”

“No, you yelled at him.” Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact, and it made you feel about two inches tall. “That’s not the same.”

You sighed, running a hand over your face. “It’s complicated, kid.”

Laura tilted her head. “No, it’s not. You’re mad. He’s mad. You both stop talking. Then you stay mad.”

You stared at her, caught off guard by how simple she made it sound. “It’s not that easy.”

Laura didn’t respond to that, just gave you a look—one of those looks that made you realize this twelve-year-old could probably win a staring contest with the Grim Reaper. She stood up without another word and walked back toward the hallway, leaving you sitting there with a mix of frustration, guilt, and... something else you couldn’t quite name.

---

The next few days were... quiet. Too quiet. Logan didn’t come around much, and when he did, it was brief—mostly to grab a beer or say a gruff goodnight. You didn’t push him, not yet, but the silence between you was its own kind of argument.

You also knew that he wasn’t sleeping in bed with you. You could tell because you’d wake up early for work, only to find Logan sprawled out on the couch, his legs dangling off the armrest. You would’ve woken him up—told him to go to bed while you left—but you stopped yourself every time. The anger hadn’t completely faded, but it had started to feel hollow, replaced by something heavier.

This morning was no different. You paused in the living room doorway, coffee in hand, watching him. He was fast asleep, one arm thrown over his face, the other hanging off the edge of the couch. You sighed quietly to yourself.

“Just go to bed, idiot,” you muttered under your breath, knowing he wouldn’t hear it.

---

Laura stood in the doorway of the garage, watching Logan fiddle with the same part of the truck he’d been pretending to fix for the past twenty minutes. She didn’t say anything at first—just stood there, arms crossed, her quiet presence heavy enough that Logan eventually sighed.

“You gonna say somethin’ or just stand there starin’?” he muttered without looking up, his voice rough.

Laura shrugged. “You’re not fixing anything.”

Logan’s hands paused for half a second before he went back to the wrench, a little harder this time. “Truck needs work.”

“It doesn’t,” Laura said bluntly. “You’re hiding.”

Logan froze again, jaw tightening. “Ain’t hidin’.”

“You are,” she insisted. Laura took a step closer, eyeing him like he was some kind of experiment she was studying. “You and Y/N are mad. It’s annoying.”

Logan finally looked up at her, scowling. “What’s annoying is you stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong.”

Laura didn’t flinch. She just stared at him, unfazed as ever. “If you don’t talk to her, she’s going to leave.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, and his grip on the wrench tightened. “She’s not gonna leave.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Logan stared at her, expression unreadable, but he didn’t answer. He looked back at the truck instead, as if the bolts and metal could give him something to focus on. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, kid.”

Laura stepped closer, crossing her arms tighter over her chest. “I know you. And I know her. She cries when you’re not looking.”

Logan stilled, his shoulders tensing, but he didn’t look at her. He didn’t want to hear it—didn’t want to think about it.

Laura didn’t stop. “You think shutting her out makes her safer, but it doesn’t. It just makes her sad.”

“Laura,” Logan said sharply, his voice low.

She ignored the warning in his tone. “You don’t want her to leave, but you’re acting like you do.”

That hit something, and Logan finally set the wrench down, exhaling harshly. “You don’t get it.”

“I do.” Laura’s voice was calm, but there was something pointed beneath it. “You’re scared. You don’t want to need her.”

Logan looked at her, his scowl deeper now, though it lacked its usual bite. “Yeah? Where’d you get all that from?”

Laura shrugged. “I watch you. I listen. You’re both loud.”

Logan shook his head and ran a hand over his face, grumbling under his breath. “You’re a real pain, you know that?”

She just tilted her head. “You’re worse.”

Logan let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Great. So now I’m gettin’ life advice from a twelve-year-old.”

Laura shrugged again and turned to leave. “If you don’t talk to her, I will.”

That got his attention. “Hey—”

But she was already walking out of the garage, not bothering to look back. “You’re welcome,” she called flatly.

Logan swore under his breath, watching her disappear. He sat there for a moment, hands resting on his knees, staring at the half-fixed truck. He hated that kid sometimes—hated how she could cut right through him like that.

And worse, she was right.

---

You came back from work late, opting to eat out instead of at home to avoid any awkward interactions. By the time you walked through the door, the house was dark except for the faint glow of the kitchen light. You set your bag down quietly, not wanting to risk waking anyone up.

But as you turned toward the living room, you noticed Logan sitting on the couch, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. He wasn’t looking at you—his gaze was fixed on the floor, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely together.

You hesitated, debating whether to say anything or just go straight to bed. Before you could decide, his gravelly voice cut through the silence.

“You didn’t come home last night.”

You froze, then blinked. “What?”

He finally looked up at you, his expression unreadable. “Laura told me. Said she noticed. I didn’t.”

You frowned, your heart sinking a little. “Logan, I—”

“I should’ve noticed,” he interrupted, his voice low, almost too quiet. He leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. “That’s on me.”

You crossed your arms, unsure what to say. “I didn’t stay out because of you.”

“Yeah, you did,” he replied bluntly, cutting you off again. “You’re avoiding me. I get it.”

The way he said it—so matter-of-fact, like he was resigned to it—made something twist in your chest. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I’m not avoiding you. I just needed... space.”

Logan scoffed, his lips curling into a humorless smirk. “Space. Right. Because I’m such a walk in the park to be around.”

“Logan—”

“I get it,” he repeated, louder this time, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “You don’t have to explain it. I know what I’m like. Hell, Laura reminds me every day.”

You shook your head, stepping closer. “This isn’t about Laura. It’s not even about you being... difficult. It’s about you not letting me in.”

He stiffened at that, his jaw clenching. “I’m tryin’.”

“Are you?” Your voice softened, but the hurt was still there. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re just waiting for me to give up.”

His eyes flicked to yours, and for a second, you thought he might argue. But then he sighed, slumping back against the couch. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice rough, almost bitter. “I don’t know how to let someone in without... screwin’ it all up.”

You stared at him, the anger you’d been holding onto slipping away, replaced by something softer. “You don’t have to have all the answers, Logan. I don’t expect you to be perfect. I just need you to try.”

“I am trying,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “It just... doesn’t feel like it’s enough.”

“It is,” you said firmly, stepping closer until you were standing in front of him. “But you can’t keep shutting me out every time things get hard. That’s not how this works.”

He looked up at you, his expression guarded but vulnerable in a way you rarely saw. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, just studied your face like he was trying to decide whether to believe you.

Finally, he let out a long breath and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” you said softly, your voice steady. “But you have to let me stay.”

Logan nodded slowly, like he was finally starting to understand. “Alright,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “I’ll... figure it out.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” you said, offering a small, tentative smile.

He didn’t smile back, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. He leaned back against the couch, his eyes meeting yours. “You eaten?”

You blinked at the sudden change in topic. “What?”

“You look tired,” he said gruffly. “Bet you skipped dinner.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I grabbed something on the way home.”

"Good," he muttered again, leaning back against the couch with a long exhale. His hand moved to the bottle of whiskey, but instead of picking it up, his fingers drummed against the glass absently.

You hesitated, then walked over to the couch, standing just in front of him. “Logan.”

He looked up at you, his brow furrowing slightly, waiting for you to say whatever was on your mind.

Instead, you sat down beside him, close enough that your knees touched. For a second, neither of you said anything. Then Logan let out another heavy sigh, reached over, and pulled you into his lap with a quiet grunt.

“Logan—”

“Just sit,” he said, his tone softer than usual, though still carrying that gruff edge. One of his hands rested lightly on your hip, the other settled on your thigh. His forehead dropped against your shoulder, and you could feel the tension in him start to ease as he let himself rest against you.

Your hands moved up instinctively, one settling on his arm, the other gently threading through his hair. He didn’t say anything at first, just breathed deeply, the weight of the past few days pressing down on both of you.

“You should come to bed tonight,” you murmured after a while, your voice quiet but steady.

Logan didn’t move, but you felt the way his body tensed under you. “I’m fine out here.”

“You’re not,” you said simply, your fingers brushing through his hair again. “You look miserable on this couch.”

He huffed a quiet laugh against your shoulder. “I’ll survive.”

“That’s not the point,” you pressed. “I want you in bed. With me. Where you belong.”

Logan lifted his head then, his eyes meeting yours. His expression was guarded, but there was something softer there too, like he was considering your words. “You sure you want me there?”

“Of course I’m sure,” you said, your hand moving to cup his jaw. “I always want you there, Logan. Even when I’m mad at you. Especially when I’m mad at you.”

That earned a faint smirk from him, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t think I was much for sharing a bed with someone.”

“Well, you’re not great at it,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. “You steal the blankets, and you snore.”

“Don’t snore,” he muttered, his lips twitching slightly.

“You absolutely snore,” you shot back, smiling despite yourself. “But I don’t care. I just want you there.”

Logan studied you for a moment, his hand tightening slightly on your hip. Finally, he gave a small nod. “Alright.”

You smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. “Good.”

For a few minutes, you stayed like that, the silence between you no longer heavy but comfortable. Logan’s head rested against your chest, and you could feel the tension slowly draining out of him as your fingers moved lazily through his hair.

“Y’know,” he muttered after a while, his voice low, “Laura’s a pain in the ass sometimes.”

You chuckled softly. “She’s just looking out for you. For us.”

Logan grunted, his arm tightening around you slightly. “Kid’s too damn smart for her own good.”

“She gets that from you,” you said, smiling.

That earned another faint smirk, though he didn’t argue. Instead, he let out a quiet sigh, his eyes closing as he rested against you. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

“Good,” you said softly, your hand continuing to stroke his hair.

For the first time in days, the tension between you felt like it was beginning to mend.

[emberwhite]

I spent the last 11 months working with my illustrator, Marta, to make the children's book of my dreams. We were able to get every detail just the way I wanted, and I'm very happy with the final result. She is the best person I have ever worked with, and I mean, just look at those colors!

I wanted to tell that story of anyone's who ever felt that they didn't belong anywhere. Whether you are a nerd, autistic, queer, trans, a furry, or some combination of the above, it makes for a sad and difficult life. This isn't just my story. This is our story.

I also want to say the month following the book's launch has been very stressful. I have never done this kind of book before, and I didn't know how to get the word out about it. I do have a small publishing business and a full-time job, so I figured let's put my some money into advertising this time. Indie writers will tell you great success stories they've had using Facebook ads, so I started a page and boosting my posts.

Within a first few days, I got a lot of likes and shares and even a few people who requested the book and left great reviews for me. There were also people memeing on how the boy turns into a delicious venison steak at the end of the book. It was all in good fun, though. It honestly made made laugh. Things were great, so I made more posts and increased spending.

But somehow, someway these new posts ended up on the wrong side of the platform. Soon, we saw claims of how the book was perpetuating mental illness, of how this book goes against all of basic biology and logic, and how the lgbtq agenda was corrupting our kids.

This brought out even more people to support the book, so I just let them at it and enjoyed my time reading comments after work. A few days later, then conversation moved from politics to encouraging bullying, accusing others of abusing children, and a competition to who could post the most cruel image. They were just comments, however, and after all, people were still supporting the book.

But then the trolls started organizing. Over night, I got hit with 3 one-star reviews on Amazon. My heart stopped. If your book ever falls below a certain rating, it can be removed, and blocked, and you can receive a strike on your publishing account. All that hard work was about to be deleted, and it was all my fault for posting it in the wrong place.

I panicked, pulled all my posts, and went into hiding, hoping things would die down. I reported the reviews and so did many others, but here's the thing you might have noticed across platforms like Google and Amazon. There are community guidelines that I referenced in my email, but unless people are doing something highly illegal, things are rarely ever taken down on these massive platforms. So those reviews are still there to this day. Once again, it's my fault, and I should have seen it coming.

Luckily, the harassment stopped, and the book is doing better now, at least in the US. The overall rating is still rickety in Europe, Canada, and Australia, so any reviews there help me out quite a lot. I'm currently looking for a new home to post about the book and talk about everything that went into it. I also love to talk about all things books if you ever want to chat. Maybe I'll post a selfie one day, too. Otherwise, the book is still on Amazon, and the full story and illustrations are on YouTube as well if you want to read it for free.

[gojos-version]

hii!! :D can you write nsfw oneshot about pervy + nerd!gojo x reader after they had a huge fight?? 😳 pls pls pls ☹☹

Nerdjo pt 2 <3

Pairings- Y/N x Nerd! Satoru Gojo

Word count- 1.7k <3

Proof read- ✅

Warnings- Mating press, Stupid argument, fluff if you squint, doggy style, riding.

A/n- hey guys!! I’ve had some writers block lately but this request helped me come out of it. So thank you so much for your request <3 I've had alot on my plate that delayed me posting this, im so sorry </3 but its been a bit difficult to do anything i want to do lately. Besides being very busy i finally had time to post this. Thank you so much and I hope you all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it <3 Nerdjo..save me..Nerdjo..

⋆ ✩°｡⋆ 𖦹｡˚ ⋆ ✮ ༺ ⟡ ݁₊ ⊹ ა ✧ ໒ ⊹ ₊ ݁ ݁⟡ ༻ ✮ ⋆༺ ⟡ ݁₊ ⊹ ა ✧ ໒ ⊹ ₊ ݁ ݁⟡ ༻ ✮ ⋆

“No Satoru, I’ve had enough.” You angrily spit out and walk to your bedroom and shutting the door, sitting behind it as a way to lock it. “W-wait- baby-!” He gasps out, “Please open the door, my love I’m so sorry please let’s talk about it more calmly!” He puts his head on the door trying to hold back his tears from forming.

Maybe you did have enough of your panties being stolen because now you have absolutely none! Anybody would be frustrated that they have no panties ! I mean would want to walk around panty- less???!! Sure, your boyfriend would enjoy it but what if you have to go in public! You sigh in frustration and grumble under your breath.

Satoru felt guilt wash over him, making his throat tighten up and shame for giving into his sexual desires. How could he be so selfish? You're going to leave him for sure. Thoughts were streaming into his head causing him to spiral, his glasses fogging up and his heart thumping against his chest in panic.

He didn’t even realize tears were streaming down his face, but he ignored them sitting in front of the door hearing your breathing that somewhat calmed him down. “You’re not going to… leave me right..?” He says quietly, sniffling softly. You felt your heart shatter a bit, you’d never want that. Ever.

Silently you open the door and peer down at his glossy cheeks and puffy eyes. You felt awful. But that didn’t excuse him from stealing your panties. He did it every day! And your previous panties weren’t returned so each new one you brought was taken by him. It was insanely frustrating but.. maybe you could’ve come about it a different way.

You sigh as you crouch in front of him, his blue puffy eyes boring into yours. “No, I’d never leave you. I just want you to stop taking my panties because I’m out. Again.” You cup his face in your hands, and he nods his head frantically- you're half surprised he didn't get whiplash, “it won’t happen ever again. I’m so sorry. I’ll return them all right now!”

Before he can get up you throw your arms around him in a somewhat hug since he’s still got his knees to his chest, he returns your hug almost instantly- wrapping his arms around you as he shoves his head on your shoulder. “I love you, ‘toru, okay? I’d never leave you. Especially over something stupid like this.” You reassure softly making his grip on you tighten.

“So…. What do you do with my used panties?” You pull back slightly and his entire face turns red. “U-uh..” he stutters out, “Why don’t you show me, hm?” You put a stray hair behind his ear, and he looks like he’s a second away from exploding.

“O-okay.”

Fuck you really shouldn’t have said that. You find yourself folded in half like a lawn chair and Satoru's swollen cock buried deep inside of you to the hilt. He only pulls out until the tip is left just to slam it back inside of you, hitting your sweet spot deliciously.

He’s got his biceps flexing as he has one hand pinning you in the position and well… the other has your soaked panties on his face as he inhales your scent pathetically. “F-fuck- hah-!” He cries out, “‘m sorry baby- I’m so sorry-ooohhh!!” He gasps out rambling mindlessly, his glossed lips in a constant o shape.

You hitch and moan underneath him, your body felt like it was tingling all over like popping candy was in your bloodstream, your sweet spot being hit over and over again. Was this your 3rd orgasm? or your 5th? You’ve lost count and you never would have thought your nerdy boyfriend was so damn filthy. “I-I’m gonna-!” He whimpers out and fuck you're on the brink of squirting all over the both of you. Again. The sheets are soaked beneath you both and it’s been a couple of hours by now all because Satoru's inhaling your sweet little panties.

“Gonna take it for me like a good girl, huh? Yeah?” he babbles, and you nod your head teary eyed from the sheer amount of pleasure coursing through you. “A-all y-yours ‘toru-! Angh-!!” Before you know it, you’ve soaked your thighs, tummy, his thighs and abdomen. Your eyes roll back, and you feel like you’re on fire, your toes curling deliriously while your eyes roll back and shut. You swear you see the white pearly gates for a good moment. You sob under him and shake as you pathetically grip onto him for some stability.

He pants above you and flips you over. “Wha-more-?” You whimper out and you get your answer as he sinks his swollen cock into you, and he’s balls deep into you again. You grip the pillow beneath you as your walls clench and spasm around his hard, thick cock. He pulls your head up by your hair and shoves your panties in your mouth, “im-sorry- fuck- you wanted me to show you- what I do and-hah- think about-shit-!” Fuck. You think you’re about to pass out at this point. It felt like his cock was ripping your insides apart, you could just feel him. Nothing else. Nothing mattered except the two of you. All you could do was just sit there and take it. “A-and if I..go a bit deeper..and t-thrust up-! I’ll hit your-hah- g spot- again-!” He gurgles into your ear and squeezes your ass cheeks apart to get a better look at his cock in your sweet cunt.

“Shiiiiittt” He whimpers out, thrusting his cock up in need and he fucking laughs when your back arches deeper and you let out a muffled scream. “Found it.” He presses his chest onto your back and wraps his lets arm around your stomach pressing against the lewd bulge in your stomach and his free hand pinches your clit. “hah-! I’m sorry- I’m sorry- im shoorrrrrryyyyy!!” He cries out, “You- wanted this as much as I do- please- please! Please! Anngffhhhh!!” Fuck you couldn’t even find any strength to let out a hum in acknowledgment.

You felt pleasure in so much different places, and you didn’t have anywhere to run. Your clit, his cock deep into you, his arm squishing the bulge in your stomach- fuck it was all too much- your panties in your mouth and your head shoved in the pillow-your body felt half unconscious, but the pleasure was 0h so good and addictive you didn’t want it to stop.

Never in a million years would you have thought your nerdy boyfriend who rambles to you about Digimon or the one that lets you cock warm him while he helps you study or have soft vanilla sex would ever be this filthy. But who were you to complain when you’ve come about God knows how much. 7? 8? At this point your brain felt fuzzy and your body felt every single bit of pleasure coursing through your veins, head to toe like lightning flashing through the sky, the pleasure you were feeling was flashing through your veins deep and sharp. “Baby- love you- love you so much- don’t wanna ever make you upset at me ever again- please- hah- forgive me- please-“ He whimpers and the last thing you feel is his cock releasing thick spurts of cum deep in your womb, and you can barely process it before you’re joining his high and squeezing his cock like you walls wanted to strangle it.

Once your highs are ridden out, he slips his now soft cock out of you and flips you over softly. He takes your panties out of your mouth and presses kisses all over your face, jaw, neck and shoulders. “Are you still with me?” you hazily blink your eyes and adjust to your white-haired boyfriend pressing kisses all over you making a smile tug at your lips. Without saying anything you bring his lips to yours and kiss him softly making him moan softly into the kiss. You push him down with his back against the mattress and he looks up at you with confusion, “You still have energy?” You smirk and take his fogged-up glasses off his face, grinding your soaked pussy against his half hard cock.

You wipe his glasses clean and put them on his face softly, “Now you can see me ruin you this time.” A red blush decorates his cheeks, and he gasps out a breathy moan as you sink onto his once again hard cock, both of your bodies riddled with sweat and sore from your previous intercourse.

His hands find home on your hips as you start bouncing on his cock, slamming your hips down with a lewd wet noise with each slam of your hips, picking up your pace faster; internally smug at how his eyes roll back and shut. You study his body a bit. The way his toes curl and grip at the sheets bellow the both of you, the way his biceps flex and grip your hips like you’re the only thing keeping him sane, the way his abdomen clenches and the way he moans loudly not afraid to show you how good you make him feel.

In reality, Satoru wasn’t keeping it cool at all. He felt like he was going to explode. Incinerate. Into a million pieces. He got nervous whenever he was close to you and now?? He had no choice but to stare into your eyes and he felt so squeamish. His heart going a million miles per hour, honestly... he could handle it before. But whenever you’re on top and staring into his gorgeous blue eyes he can’t handle it. It’s like the first time you both ever met again. His heart flutters at the thought but he’s pulled out of his thoughts when his eyes blink up to focus on you. Fuck your perfect tits bouncing, your ass jiggling from the sheer force of your hips against his. How did you have any stamina left?

You giggle at his unusual quietness and lean down to kiss him, whimpering into his mouth as the two of you kiss harshly, getting messier and messier. Before the both of you knew it you were cumming all over his cock again, squeezing him so tight and he’s filling you up for the nth time tonight. You pull your lips away from his, rocking your hips against his softly. “So, baby, tell me about that new Digimon card you got.” His eyes light up and you softly bounce your hips onto his while he rambles about the amazing new card he scored.

⋆ ✩°｡⋆ 𖦹｡˚ ⋆ ✮ ༺ ⟡ ݁₊ ⊹ ა ✧ ໒ ⊹ ₊ ݁ ݁⟡ ༻ ✮ ⋆༺ ⟡ ݁₊ ⊹ ა ✧ ໒ ⊹ ₊ ݁ ݁⟡ ༻ ✮ ⋆

Feel free to check out my masterlist for more of my works !

Taglist !

@my-own-au-my-way

[fushitoru]

EDIT: check out the series here!

thinking about writing a bridgerton!gojo fic (series?)....

duke gojo, who has stirred up everyone and their mamas with news of how he is finally joining the marriage scene this season after years of fooling around. of course, to no one's surprise, he is the season's most eligible bachelor. he's the strongest, whether that be in terms of wealth or other manly pursuits gentlemen ought to be good at. gojo isn't marrying for love. he just needs to be tied down to secure his inheritance so he can gamble and fool around at the gentleman's clubs with his friends until he drops dead one day.

you seek to be the perfect daughter in front of your parents. you have been taught to be the picture of grace and nobility, proficient at all things a lady must be good at: needlework, art, music...you name it. but deep inside, you have an affinity for literature---feminist literature. you secretly feel aversion towards the idea of marrying just to be a submissive wife but will not show it. you are perfectly content marrying any man that should not harm you as long as he has the means to provide for you and make your family proud.

upon your presentation to the queen, you are immediately crowned a diamond. the first ball of the season comes, and gojo undoubtedly has his eyes sight on you as the diamond of the season. after all, why would a duke need to settle for anything less when he can buy the shiniest jewel?

on your dance with him, you give all the template responses. "i would sire as many kids as my husband desires." you are afraid of pregnancy and even more so of raising kids. "of course I read byron!" you hate byron's poetry.

gojo is content, and you, tired of all the stares and hushed whispers that have followed you through the night, leave to get fresh air outside in the terrace. only to overhear:

"a bit simpleminded. has no opinions of substance that should cause conflict. she's perfectly fine for a wife. i shall begin courting her and will soon pro---"

at that moment, you have one thought in your mind: you will never marry satoru gojo. in fact, you abhor him.

cue insults thrown back and forth. when it comes down to having to marry gojo, the most eligible bachelor and the option that will make your parents the proudest, will it be a matter of fillial piety or...love?

dear reader, this season has definitely come forth with many promises of thinly veiled hatred, jealousy, and burning passion.

oops this is longer than the silly little thought i wanted to post but welp. the smut i have planned for this is outright nastyyy

comment if you'd like to be on the taglist for this

i also promise i have not forgotten about beach boy gojo :3 running into a bit of writer's block for that so my inbox is always open for ideas <3

[anakinca]

Baby .... I want to read something like this where we have a picnic day with our beautiful general in a meadow with pretty flowers all around us. Anakin with his head in our lap as we stroke his wavy hair, put little flowers on him as he sleeps with a smile. A contrast of the strong general he usually is. 💗💗💗💗

It can be on Alderaan or Naboo wherever you prefer.

The reader can be a princess

—❝every star in the galaxy❞

anakin skywalker x reader

tw ; nothing, just pure fluff

a/n ; I FEEL LIKE I ALWAYS DISAPPEAR FOR MONTHS AND THEN REAPPEAR IM SO SORRY LMFAOAO 😭 i'm so sorry these requests are so delayed, i genuinely have been so busy and my writers block is so intense. BUT IM BACK, WRITING ALL REQUESTS, AND TAKING THEM AGAIN, SO MAKE SURE U SEND IN UR REQUESTS CUTIES. i hope you all enjoy this, angels <3

THE SUN WAS WARM ON NABOO THAT AFTERNOON—GENTLE AND GOLDEN. It was the kind that made you want to stretch out in a field and forget the rest of the galaxy existed. And, for once, Anakin had let you pull him away from everything. No comms, no strategy meetings, no troopers needing orders. Just you, him, your love, and the open meadow dotted with wildflowers.

The basket you packed was practically forgotten by now, just a few feet away, and half-emptied. Anakin had eaten exactly one pastry you made this morning before mumbling something about being tired and dropping straight into the grass with a groan. You’d tried not to laugh as he made himself comfortable, his head ending up in your lap like it belonged there.

Which, at this point, it does.

So many nights and days have been spent with his head on your lap, with your fingers carding gently through his hair. It's a solace of his he's never thought he'd ever get to experience. But, Force, he thanks the stars that he does.

It's what he looks forward to every time he gets to come back home to you. The feeling of your warm embrace and your touch, letting him know that he's finally safe.

Now he was dozing, one arm lazily wrapped around your lower back as you sit up in the grass, the other draped across his chest. His breathing was slow and even, and you could tell by the way his fingers twitched every now and then that he wasn’t fully asleep, but definitely far enough to let his eyes get the rest they desperately need.

You run your fingers through his soft, sandy curls, brushing them back from his forehead as the breeze rolled over the field. A soft smile pulled at the edges of your lips as you picked a few of the little flowers near your legs—daisies, mostly—and started tucking them gently into his hair. It was dumb. Silly. But he looked so peaceful like this, how could you resist?

And it definitely doesn't help how angelic he looks just about now. How could he ever be the one to call you an angel when he looks like this?

He mumbled something under his breath as you brushed a petal against his cheek, gently weaving them into his hair.

“Hm?” You hum questioningly, your thumb caressing his cheek gently. 

“’S nothing,” he murmured, still barely awake. “Keep doing that.”

You bit back a smile, brushing your fingers through his hair again, this time more deliberately. He sighed so gently, the way it sounded so reverent in it's own way. Like it was the first time he’d let himself exhale all week. 

It was a relieving contrast, seeing him like this. The man who usually stood so cocky and commanding, voice sharp and full of purpose, now curled into you like a tired little boy. His boots were off, his tunic soft and rumpled from where you’d tugged it earlier, teasing him for still dressing like he was about to lead his battalion into a war.

“You don’t look like a general right now,” you said softly, just thinking out loud as your fingers trace his every delicate feature. 

One of his lids opened, letting you see one of those ocean eyes that hold so much depth to them, the very ones you fell so deeply in love with.

The way he looked up at you held so much passion, that it was hard to express, and it made your very heart tighten. How could a man love so deeply, that you can see it even with only one of his eyes?

The corners of his mouth twitch, opening both eyes now as his lashes flutter a little, trying to blink the drowsiness away. “Good.” He murmurs.

You blinked. “Good?” You ask, a small laugh in your voice. 

Anakin shifted a little, turning his face so his cheek was pressed fully against your thigh, as that boyish grin you love so much appears on his face. “I don’t want to be a general when I’m with you.”

His tone hit you in a way you weren’t expecting. It's so gentle, honest. So utterly adoring. 

You let yourself trace the edge of his jaw with your thumb, watching the way his eyes fluttered closed again, thick lashes resting. “Then what are you when you’re with me?”

He was quiet for a moment, taking in deep breaths as he relishes in the peace—the peace of you.

“Just… me.” He replies in a whisper. 

While his words are so simple, you know him well enough to know how much meaning they really convey. And truly, he finds that he can just be when he's with you—that he can show his flaws and not be berated for them like he's been his whole life. That you'll love him despite it all, and that's everything to him.

Your heart did a little flip. You didn’t say anything, just leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple. He hummed in approval and relaxed even further, like he could melt right into you.

After a while, his voice floated up again, low and drowsy. “Are there flowers in my hair?”

“Maybe.”

He huffed, but there was no real protest. “You’re ridiculous.” He grins, though you know he doesn't mean it. If anything, he's enjoying this. A little too much at that. 

“And you’re beautiful.” You giggle, twirling one of his curls around your pointer finger.

The sound is music to his ears, and it makes his grin only grow wider. He's really found his peace. What would he do without that melodic sound that keeps him tethered to this very ground?

“You’re making it really hard to go back to the Temple after this,” he said, voice barely above a whisper now.

You kissed the top of his head and smiled against his curls. “Good.” You whisper back, wanting to keep him here in your arms forever. He's always told you that's a dream of his, to be able to never leave your embrace.

It's moments like these that Anakin knows he's found his home in a person. He cherishes these memories with every piece of him, and enjoys them with every fragment of his heart. 

How could he not? He's with the woman he loves more than every star in the galaxy combined, the one he holds so dearly. The one that he breathes the very air for, lives his life to see. Just your presence lights a flame in his heart he doesn't know if he deserves. 

But you let him know he deserves it, you always do. 

And under the blue Naboo sky, Anakin let himself rest—knowing he's safe, loved, and wrapped in a kind of peace he didn’t think he’d ever be able to have. Not in this life.

But somehow, with you, he's able to.

@thesassypadawan @anakinstwinklebunny @sydkneez @dessxoxsworld @nikiloveshayden @sweetcheesecakesblog @throughparisallthroughrome @fredswrite @divineani

let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the tag list, angels <3

[thetoastghost222]

Enemies With Cat Benefits

Overview: You and your neighbor are sworn to be “enemies” but his cat brings you two together

Authors Note: This is longer than my usual fics. Not proofread so there will be mistakes and i’m sorry. Anyways please enjoy i kinda hate it and could use some reassurance <3 Guys please request some stories/drabbles I’m having writer’s block:(

Theme: Enemies to lovers! Fluff! They are barely enemies

Word Count:1874

Moving day was supposed to be simple.

Just you, a pile of boxes, and the hope that nothing expensive had broken in transit. You had about half the boxes inside the apartment already, and you were more than ready for a shower and a long nap.

That was, until you heard a soft noise at the doorway.

There he was a fluffy, orange cat sitting right at the threshold. He looked innocent enough at first, but little did you know the chaos that little ball of fur would bring into your life.

Just as you squatted down to pet him, a cool, smooth voice cut through the quiet.

“Don’t pet him. He’s already spoiled enough.”

You startled slightly at the sudden voice and quickly retracted your hand. When you looked up, your gaze met the unimpressed face of your new and ridiculously attractive neighbor, who was now staring down at you like you’d just committed a crime by stealing his cat’s attention.

“I’m guessing you’re his owner?” you asked, breaking the tense silence.

“What gave it away?” he replied dryly, crouching to scoop the purring cat into his arms.

“You have similar faces,” you quipped, only half joking.

He let out an unamused laugh and rolled his eyes.

“I’m Lee Minho, by the way.”

You gave a small nod. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you, and…”

You trailed off, glancing at the cat, realizing you hadn’t caught his name.

“His name’s Soonie,” Minho said.

You smiled and gently rubbed Soonie’s head, baby talking to him despite the exasperated sigh Minho let out.

“You done yet?” he asked, referring to your cooing over the cat now content in his arms.

You gave him a mock glare but ultimately stepped back to give him space.

“Good luck carrying the rest of your boxes up the stairs,” he added with a smug little smirk.

Your smile dropped as you remembered the rest of the boxes still waiting in the truck. Before you could even ask for help, he was already shaking his head no, like he’d read your mind.

And just like that, without another word, he turned and disappeared into his apartment across the hall, Soonie still purring in his arms.You sigh and plop down on your couch deciding to take a five minute break to rest your eyes.Well those five minutes turned into two hours,by the time you woke up the sun was starting to set.

Stretching and blinking away any remnant of sleep you look around your apartment and are immediately wide awake.Sitting in your apartment are the rest of the boxes neatly stacked.You glance at the door and notice a small light blue square stuck to your apartment door.

Walking over to the door you notice there’s a sticky note written in neat but rushed handwriting the sentence ‘’Don't expect me to always be this kind -M’’ stares back at you.You think about going over and thanking him but ultimately decide against it deciding not to bother him.

Over the next two weeks as you’re getting settled in, Soonie somehow keeps ending up in your apartment begging for your attention. Obviously you couldn't deprive him of your attention,so every other day you end up curled up on your couch with your neighbor's cat.

You couldn't help but find this whole situation amusing so one day you decide to boast to Minho.Digging through your junk drawer you finally find some sticky notes and write a quick note to your neighbor.’’Your cat likes me more’’you smile yourself and go across the hallway and stick it to Minho's door.

The next day you check your door and low and behold there lies another light blue sticky note this time with the words ‘’He likes warm surfaces,not you’’you roll your eyes at his stubborn behavior but still respond with your own message ‘’That's not what he said when he was curled up on my chest.’’Thats the last interaction you have with your seemingly emotionally unavailable neighbor for that week.

It’s nearly midnight, and rain is pouring down in relentless sheets. As if the universe hadn’t done enough, your apartment’s fire alarm suddenly blares right as the storm outside reaches its peak.

You rush out of your apartment, forgetting a raincoat or an umbrella in your scramble. The cold rain hits you instantly, soaking through your clothes in seconds as you follow the rest of the building’s sleepy, irritated tenants out into the night.

After a few minutes of standing in the downpour, the initial panic fades, and you find yourself retreating to the covered stairwell just outside the building. You sit down with a sigh, water dripping from your hair and clothes, shivering slightly as you pull your knees to your chest.

The fire alarm continues to screech in the background, and you can’t help but wonder what you did to deserve this kind of luck tonight.

You hear footsteps a moment later, slow, even, familiar.

Minho appears at the top of the stairwell, holding a very displeased looking Soonie wrapped in a towel. He pauses when he sees you sitting there, drenched and shivering. For a second, he just stares, unreadable as ever. Then, without a word, he walks over, shrugs off his jacket, and drapes it around your shoulders.

“You’re going to catch a cold looking like that,” he mutters, settling beside you with Soonie still bundled in his arms.

You blink up at him in surprise, but before you can say anything, he glances your way and adds, “Don’t make it weird. It’s just a jacket.”

Despite his tone, the fabric is warm, and the quiet gesture makes something flutter in your chest.

Soonie purrs softly, nestled between the two of you now. And for a moment despite the rain, the alarm, and the sheer absurdity of the night you feel just a little bit okay.

Suddenly he speaks up again this time quieter and almost shy.’’thank you for letting Soonie hangout with you when i'm not home.’’you smile slightly ‘’thank you for letting him hangout with me,he makes great company.’’ you reply.

As you both sit there waiting for the alarm to stop the air seems to shift and the regular silence between you two seems less awkward and now more comforting.

-skip a couple days-

You had just came home from a rough day at work and all you wanted to do was curl up and sleep. As you're lying on your couch halfway asleep you hear a knock at your door,you groan but get up and open it.

There stands Minho holding a hyper Soonie who looks thrilled to see you.’’He wouldn't stop scratching at the door until I brought him here he's your problem now.’’ Minho says. Despite how tired you are you manage a smile and hold your arms out to Soonie who gratefully climbs into your arms and starts purring loudly.

You go over to your couch and sit down and let soonie curl up.Minho doesn't follow or leave he just stares at you for a moment.’’Are you okay?’’ You don't answer. He takes that as a no and silently sits down next to you. You both sit there in comforting silence.

Suddenly he speaks up’’ He’s not the only one who wanted to come over,” he says, almost too low to hear.

You look at him, brows raised.

He sighs, like he’s already regretting opening his mouth.

“I told myself it was just about Soonie. That it was easier to pretend it was about the cat. But that’s not really true.”

You don’t interrupt. Just let him talk.

He leans back against the cushions, eyes on the ceiling now, voice quieter.

“I like being around you. Even when I act like I don’t. Even when I say the opposite. It’s… easier to keep people at a distance, but you” He stops himself, scoffs under his breath. “You make that kind of impossible.”

Another pause. You can feel your heart thudding a little harder now.

“I don’t know when it happened, or how, but I like you. And it’s been driving me insane. So there. Now you know.”

He turns to you fully now, eyes guarded but vulnerable.

“You can laugh or tell me I’m an idiot, whatever.

Soonie, oblivious, lets out a loud yawn between you.

You smile.

“I think Soonie knew before either of us did,” you say softly, running your fingers through the cat’s fur.

Minho watches you for a moment, lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, finally relaxing just a little, “he’s nosy like that.”

You smile down at Soonie, still curled up contentedly in your lap like this was the plan all along. Maybe it was at least in his little cat brain.

Minho hasn’t looked away. You can feel his eyes on you, heavy with something that makes your chest feel tight. When you glance up at him, he’s already leaning forward a little, elbows resting on his knees, like he’s caught between staying and getting closer.

“You’re not gonna say anything stupid now, are you?” he asks, voice a little lower, a little rougher.

You blink. “Like what?”

“Like, ‘That was cute,’ or ‘You’re kinda soft when you care.’ Something I’ll regret hearing when I’m trying to sleep later.”

You can’t help but grin. “So you do care.”

He groans and tilts his head back dramatically, but there’s color rising in his cheeks.” Don’t push it.”

You laugh quietly, hand brushing through Soonie’s fur, but your gaze lingers on him the way he’s still kind of tense, like he’s holding himself back.

“Minho?” you say softly.

He looks at you then, really looks at you. And for once, he doesn’t deflect with sarcasm. He just stares, eyes searching yours.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Your breath catches. “Okay.”

To most that seems like an awkward moment but to you two it’s perfect.That’s all it takes.

He leans in slowly, like he’s giving you a chance to back away. But you don’t. His hand grazes your jaw, fingers brushing just under your ear as he pulls you in and then he kisses you.

It’s soft at first. Careful. Like he doesn’t quite believe he’s allowed to do this. But then you lean into him, and he deepens the kiss just slightly, his thumb tracing your cheek like he’s trying to memorize the moment.

Soonie lets out a little meow of protest, sandwiched between you, and Minho breaks the kiss with a breathless chuckle.

“He’s such a third wheel,” he mutters.

You smile, resting your forehead against his. “He brought you here. I think he’s earned his spot.”

Minho hums in agreement, eyes flicking down to your lips again.

“Still annoying.”

“But worth it.”

And when he kisses you again, slower this time, it feels like the beginning of something you’ve both been trying not to admit for a long time.

Pretty soon your apartment becomes “the” apartment Minho practically lives there now, and Soonie has claimed both of your laps as his throne. The sticky notes are now inside jokes stuck on your fridge

Taglist: @lixies-favorite-cookie comment if you wanna be added:)

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does not apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.Feel free to reblog. :)

[rain-water-flowers]

Tangerine

Sub!Han x Dom!Reader

WC: 1502

Synopsis: Jisung is so desperate that he can't wait for y/n to get home. Without her there, the next best thing is his pillow but then he gets caught and has some slightly intense sex with y/n

Warnings: unprotected sex (be smart pls), pillow humping, sub!jisung, desperation, choking, slight hair pulling, dom!reader, begging, overstimulation, I was craving tangerines when I wrote this, crying, praise, fluff at the end if you squint rlly rlly hard

A/N: I promise I'm trying lmao. The writers block is SERIOUS for TSSOUL chapter 3. Be patient pleaseeeee. Please. Enjoy this Jisung fic while I try to finish chapter 3. Also writing sub skz is different for me sooo was it good? Thanks to my beta @midnighthazee

SKZ Masterlist

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅-`✮´-⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Jisung whimpered pathetically into his pillow, his hips jerking in a frantic, desperate rhythm. He’d been at this for an hour at this point, trying to relieve the constant ache of his cock. But no matter how hard he humped his poor, abused pillow, he couldn’t seem to get any closer to a sweet release. 

He was on the verge of tears at this point. Just when he started to get extra needy, his girlfriend had to be at work. It didn’t help that her sweet scent of fresh tangerines left on their sheets was surrounding him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted breathlessly, sweat beading on his forehead and hips roughly grinding against the pillow. “Need it, need it, please..”

Jisung was so far gone, so lost in his own desperate lust that he started to shut everything out but his own pleasure. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop the needy movements of his hips against the soft fabric. It wasn’t enough, wasn’t nearly enough to sate the hunger in his core, but it was all he had – all he could do to relieve himself. 

“Please,” he whimpered pathetically into the pillow again, his voice muffled and strained. Who was he even begging to at this point? “Please, I need it. Need it so bad. I can’t…I can’t take it anymore..” He trailed off into a strong moan, arousing himself at the sound of his begging. He sounded so out of it, so pathetic. 

He knew he should wait until y/n got home, knew that he was only supposed to seek out pleasure in her – she even told him to wait until she got home, but he couldn’t make his body stop, the need was too much. He was almost ashamed of how he humped the pillows like some sad, desperate slut. 

He was so caught up in his pleasure that he didn’t even hear the door opening. Nor did he hear it closing softly, followed by the sound of the lock clicking into place. He didn’t even hear the small scoff y/n let out at his shamelessness. 

He finally came to his senses when he felt her breath near his ear. He flinched slightly and whimpered as she placed kisses around it, riling him up more. 

“What do we have here, hm?” Her teasing tone cut through the heat in the room. Jisung felt like he might burst into pieces just from seeing her. 

He couldn’t even stop the movement of his hips – if anything, seeing her made him more desperate to rub himself onto the poor pillow. 

“Please, y/n please, I need…” He couldn’t even figure out what he wanted to say, couldn’t figure out how to beg her properly for what he wanted. 

“You didn’t wanna wait for me, baby?” she purred, trailing a finger down his spine. “Didn’t I tell you I’d take care of you when I got home?” 

Jisung shivered at her tone and bit his lip, his cock throbbing painfully at how softly she was speaking. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I just…I needed…”

Y/n tsked and gripped his throat hard enough to make him gasp. His hips bucked and his cock twitched at the sudden treatment. “You needed what, baby? Tell me.”

“Y-you,” Jisung sobbed, curling in on himself as she brought the hand that wasn’t on his throat down to his red and swollen cock. “Ah-ahh..please, n-needed you, needed to feel you.”

Y/n sighed heavily, almost sounding bored, and moved her hand from his throat to his head, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back. “Begging won’t really get you anywhere, baby. You didn’t listen to me, humping your pillow so pathetically. I don’t think you deserve it.” 

Jisung’s eyes widened in desperation and he let out a high-pitched whine. “Please, please. I’ll do anything!”

Y/n smirked and pushed him onto his back, pushing the pillow out of the way and straddling his waist. She ground her hips down, rubbing her clothed pussy against his aching cock. 

“You wanna feel me wrapped around you, baby? You’re so needy..” Y/n said teasingly, grounding harder against him. 

Jisung bucked up against her, soaking her pants with how wet he was. “Yeah y/n…please I need it! I swear I’ll be so so good for you.” 

“That’s a good boy. Now listen. You’re gonna fuck me until I cum on your desperate, needy cock. And if you’re extra good for me, maybe I’ll let you fill me up, hm?” 

Jisungs eyes rolled back at the thought and he let out a strangled moan. “T-thank you..thank you.” He whimpered out. 

Y/n shuffled out of her clothes, tossing them aside carelessly. She grabbed Jisungs wrists and pinned them above his head as she positioned herself over him. 

She rubbed herself on him, the teasing making Jisung more and more desperate. “Beg for it,” she demanded, biting her lip and smirking down at him. 

“Please y/n, please!” Jisung wailed. “Please let me feel you, I’ll be good, please…I’ll make you feel so good, baby.” The small tears in his eyes started to spill over. 

Y/n let out a soft chuckle and sank down onto him with a low moan. They both gasped as she enveloped him into her tight pussy, Jisungs back arching off of the bed. 

“Fuck..” Y/n moaned, started to bounce on his cock. “Such a good boy for me. Gonna ruin you.”

Jisung could only moan incoherently in response, overwhelmed by the sensation of finally being inside her after waiting for what felt like forever. He thrust up to meet her movement, desperately trying to get deeper. 

“Y-y/n,” he sobbed, feeling himself getting close already. “I’m gonna, ahh-ah..I’m-” He cut himself off with a loud moan as y/n gripped his throat. 

“That’s it, baby,” she muttered. “You can cum. Fill me up.” She started to bounce on him faster, and as she saw him getting even closer, about to burst, she laughed to herself at what she was about to say. 

“I won’t stop though, baby. I’m not gonna stop until I’ve had my fill.”

And when Jisung heard that, he felt his stomach clench, eyes rolling back into his head as he let out a long moan, tapering off into a whimper as he felt himself cum inside her. He shuddered as the intense orgasm hit him, leaving him with more tears in his eyes and his back arching up off of the bed. 

Y/n pushed him back down and held him when he started squirming at the oversensitivity. The only relief he had was the fact that she slowed down slightly as the aftershocks of his orgasm still ran through him. 

“P-please, y/n, I don’t know if I can…I’m so sensitive.” He begged weakly, the whininess in his tone making her clench around him. 

Y/n scoffed lightly and brought her hand to his nipples, brushing over them slightly and making him gasp. “Oh, baby. I think you can,” she purred. “I know how much you love pleasing me, and I’m not done with you yet.” 

She started riding him harder again, impaling herself on his, not-surprisingly, still-hard cock. Jisung cried out at the sensation, his back arching again at her pace. 

“Fuck, you’re still so hard,” y/n gasped, pounding down onto him. “Such a good boy for me, hm? Always ready to make me feel good.” 

Jisung could only moan again in response. At this point his mind was blanking and he was so hot he felt like his thoughts were melting out of his brain. 

His spent cock throbbed painfully as y/n used him for her pleasure. She rode him hard and fast, driving him toward another intense orgasm even as his cock ached with overstimulation. 

“Cum for me again, baby.” She demanded breathlessly. “Fill me up with every last drop, I know you can do it.”

Jisung sobbed and shook beneath her, overwhelmed by the intense sensation. With a hoarse cry of her name, he obeyed, filling her up with his cum. If he was any less overcome with intense arousal and exhaustion he’d be surprised at how much there was. 

Y/n finally cried out and shook above him at the sight of his orgasm, grinding down to prolong her pleasure. She let out a loud moan at the feeling of their cum mixed together and dripping out of her. 

She collapsed on top of him, the both of them completely spent and utterly satisfied. Y/n cuddled into Jisungs chest with a contented sigh, running her fingers through his hair gently. 

“Such a good boy,” she praised sleepily. “So obedient for me… so eager to please.” 

Jisung could only hum in agreement, feeling sleepy, but also happy and content. The last thing he remembered before he fell into a deep sleep was the feel of y/n’s lips pressing against him and her sweet tangerine scent.

[miyasmagnolias]

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆˙⟡

a/n: we have a lot of new readers here after my last post! thank you so much for supporting my work — i'm grateful to have you here. ♡ and while I would much rather be writing my next fic than doing the administrative work of running a blog, it must be done! (ง'̀-'́)ง

so without further ado, here's a masterlist of all my current works!

𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

in close quarters | miya atsumu

when college athlete and former frat boy miya atsumu moves into your apartment senior year, your only goal is to make him as comfortable as possible. what ensues is an unlikely friendship — and feelings neither of you expected.

what to expect: athlete x literature girly, hurt/comfort, lots of fluff, friends-to-lovers, roommates-to-lovers, slow burn, atsumu's healing arc, language, suggestive/mature themes

(you can read each installment as a one-shot, but there's an ongoing story that unfolds if you read it as a whole!)

1. first impressions

➢ all you wanted was a roommate who enjoyed watching the bachelor just as much as you did. so when a disgruntled frat boy becomes your subtenant for the year, you decide to work with what you've got.

2. writer's block

➢ your menstrual period just so happens to arrive the week of your first big writing deadline. meanwhile, atsumu discovers new sides to you.

3. you deserved better

➢ you always considered atsumu to be a fairly guarded person — that is, until you hear him crying in the bathroom after a particularly abysmal day.

4. limited edition

➢ when atsumu spills coffee all over your new book, he goes to the ends of the earth to make sure you never notice.

5. gnarly

➢ atsumu catches you dancing in your bedroom to a certain viral song.

6. first date

➢ you go on a date with a guy in your major. meanwhile, atsumu finds himself increasingly upset about it.

7. bar crawl

➢ atsumu misses the annual fraternity bar crawl, so you spontaneously decide to plan one for him.

8. she makes ya better

➢ atsumu apologizes to his brother for a years-old argument — only to get ambushed about his feelings for you.

9. give 'em hell

➢ you get to know osamu and suna more at atsumu's first game of the season. meanwhile, atsumu subjects you to a very public display of affection.

10. i missed you

➢ atsumu's out of town for an away game. you're stuck at home, finishing your degree. somewhere in the silence, your feelings for him finally rise to the surface.

11. heels showcase

➢ you invite atsumu and the boys to your spring dance showcase to raise money for a good cause — and maybe get even after the viral video incident. atsumu, on the other hand? he just wants to ask you out and, if he's lucky, kiss you properly this time around.

12. night market

➢ atsumu takes you on a date to the university night market. everything is perfect — until you run into the last two people he ever wanted you to meet.

𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬

pregnancy test | akaashi keiji

➢ you and your boyfriend are no strangers to overthinking — so when your period doesn't arrive on time, you take turns calming each other down.

halloween party | kuroo tetsurō

➢ you never considered yourself a jealous person — that is, until you realize that your cute Bumble date is the life of the party.

blemished skin | yamaguchi tadashi

➢ when the lighting in your hotel bathroom leaves you defeated over your blemished skin, your long-term boyfriend is quick to hold you amidst your insecurities.

job interview | kozume kenma

➢ editing video tutorials for a urinalysis company wasn't exactly your dream job. luckily, your former coworker has a solution involving a certain youtube sensation.

grand opening | miya osamu

➢ long-time friend and soon-to-be restaurant owner miya osamu asks you to be the event planner for the single-most important evening of his career. no pressure.

[https-murdock]

trust me - matt murdock

summary: when you finally get your dads best friend alone, you take your opportunity.

word count: 1,281

warnings: ⚠️ smut, dbf!matt (it’s own warning), age gap (not stated but legal obvs), oral f!receiving

note: heyyy i wanted to put this out to battle through the writers block howeverrr im gonna write either a part 2 or a separate dbf moment cause this one ain’t that gooood sorry :( learning to put the plot in my smut lol <3

maybe it’s because he’s your dads best friend.

you’ve known him for a few years. when he and your dad started working together on a case that crossed both of their paths, they bonded and he started coming over more, and with you living at home for a while this meant you saw him each time.

you can’t help but wonder if you’re seeing it right when you catch him listening to you potter around over your dads shoulder, that smug little smirk gracing his lips again. or the uncomfortable shuffle he does when you tell your dad you’re going on a date. you can’t help but think he may just feel the same as you do.

but you leave all those feelings aside, all those wondering thoughts because that could never happen.

sometimes you can even see his cross necklace, and you almost giggle when you realise how unholy you are for thinking about your dads best friend this way.

they’d known each other years, their relationship building while you were away at school, seeing matt when you came home during breaks or for a couple visits. there was always something in the way his voice had that drawl… the way you had to press your legs together for some form of release even just from a lingering hug. so, when your dad said he was going away for work, you saw your chance.

“i’m going away for a couple days, matt is only across the road if you need him. no messing around while im gone.” your dad had said, and he had no idea what that phrase meant to you when matt was in the same sentence.

seeing your opportunity, you ‘accidentally’ leave your key inside the house after your dad leaves… giving you no other option but to go see if matt has a spare - and you know he doesn’t.

you notice the way your heart flutters, the way it sits differently in your chest as you’re approaching his front door, and you take a second to question whether this is a bad idea, when the door opens for you.

“oh, sorry sweetheart i didn’t realise you were there.” he smirks, and you wonder how he knows it’s you so quickly - matt knows it’s because he recognises that perfume that makes him painfully hard every time he smells it.

matt knows it’s a shared feeling. he can smell you from so far away, and sometimes it feels like he could taste your slick in the air after you hear him talk.

but matt could never cross that line… could he?

“it-it’s ok, i left my keys inside the house but my dads away for a couple days. you don’t have a spare key do you?” you try to speak with your voice straight, tone as it normally would be, but the more you try the more you begin to think you’re making it worse. “oh uh, no i don’t.” he says, and you both stand there in a moment of silence, both wondering what to say next to ease the tension.

“stay here. i have a spare bed you can take ‘till your dad gets back.” he says, and part of you wonders if he is annoyed like he seems, or if he’s just hesitant to let you closer.

“are you sure? i’ll keep out your way, unless you don’t want me to?” you smirk, wanting to see what pushing this a little further would get you.

“you’re trouble.”

—

“we really shouldn’t do this.” he mutters to himself, letting you slip off his dress shirt as you straddle him. “why? who’s gonna know?” you whisper into his ear, feeling his hands mould to your skin as you leave hot kisses down his neck.

“if your dad found out the way i’m touching his daughter, i would loose my head.” he grunts, flipping you so your back sticks to his leather couch. “trust me, we’ll be fine.” you confirm, gasping when he starts kissing your inner thighs.

you toss your head back, basking in the heat his lips bring to your skin, feeling the way they move closer to where you so desperately need him to be. his calloused hands finally grace the waist of your panties, dragging them painfully slow down your legs, tossing them somewhere behind him.

“fuck, wanted to taste this pussy for the longest time.” you’re unsure whether he’s talking to himself at the point, as his head lowers toward your slick.

“p-please, fuck.” the words come out as stutters, almost unintelligible as you wait to be given what you need.

finally, even though isn’t sure why, he lets his trust in you take over. licking a broad stripe up your glimmering folds and groaning to himself at the taste, matt grinds his boxer-only-clad body into the couch, searching for some release.

“god you’re so desperate for this, aren’t you sweetheart?” he chuckles from in between your legs, strong beard rubbing against your skin as you finally let your hands weasel their way into his hair. “so desperate.” you say, and the words tumble out so quick you can’t help the blush that rises on your cheeks.

“little slut, getting this wet for your daddy’s best friend, huh?” he drawls, his voice low and scratching as his lips finally wrap around your clit, a gentle suck making your legs clench around his head.

as you finally feel the exact touch you’ve been asking for, you realise that you’ve both fallen way too deep into this to back out. “i see the way you-ah, fuck, see the way you look at me,” you begin, trying to speak full sentences and failing with his tongue working the way it is, “i know you want this just as much as me.”

there’s a short scoff between your legs, but no reply as you find two of his fingers inside your walls with no build up, the hairs on your body standing up as your moans drift further. “smart mouth isn’t so loud when you’re about to come, huh?” he smirks, wet beard glimmering in the light from his windows.

that’s when it hits you like a train, his fingers still working you through your high, and his hips still grinding into his couch in search of a hint of you.

“holy shit.” is all that leaves your mouth as he sits up, wiping his face with the back of his hand. matt lifts his fingers, fresh with your slick, to your lips - and as you open them and take them in, relishing in the taste of yourself, he says “we should stop now, before it goes too far.” and your heart sinks at the realisation he’s being serious.

“do you not trust me?” you ask him, smirking at your own words from earlier, unsure whether you even trust yourself to keep your feelings separate.

“trust my best friends daughter? not sure if that’s a smart idea, sweetheart.”

tags 🏷️

@lambmurdock @parker-murdock @silas-aeiou @audreyclimbs @pupmurdock @millennial-birkin @poeticbookwormcat

[st0ryf1lms]

is it really you? ➳ ken sato

pairing: ken sato x reader

word count: 866

genre/warnings: fluff, sort of a crack fic, 3+1 things, wrote this with a sarcastic tone LMAO, a bit of profanity, grammatical errors most likely (wrote this at 1AM), reader uses fem pronouns

synopsis: the 3 times kenji sato swore he saw you, and the 1 time he actually saw you.

a/n: yes, i'm finally giving in to the kenji sato brainrot HUHUHUH if i had known he was the reason my writer's block would disappear, would've watched the movie sooner i'm ngl edit: AAAAAA WHAT 600+ NOTES??? U GUYS ARE INSANEEE I LOVE YOU ALL this is now up on my ao3!!

At the New Tokyo Dome at his first game as a Giants player

Maybe he was just dreaming, maybe it was the fatigue actually catching up to him ever since he hopped off that plane, or maybe he did actually see you in that stadium amongst the crowd cheering his name. You, as in his childhood best friend, arguably one of the best parts of his childhood in Japan before leaving for LA. You, as in the childhood best friend he never got to say a proper goodbye to. You, as in the childhood best friend whom he always missed and cried to his mom about whenever he'd get homesick. (You, as in the childhood best friend he'd harbored a secret crush on as a kid. As an adult? Psh, what sane person gets hung up on a person who must've forgotten him all those years ago. Not Ken Sato, for sure, yeah, uh-huh.) He'd never know for certain, of course, because as he was about to stop and look, a Kaiju crashed a KDF plane into the ceiling of the stadium.

KAIJU ALERT, his watch blared in an angry red face. He sighed, making his way to the nearest stadium exit and heading towards the dimly-lit part of the street by the stadium. Not without stopping for a split second because he thought he saw your silhouette. Silhouette, really? My God, Kenji, pull yourself together, he told himself. Of course, that wouldn’t be your silhouette because he definitely doesn’t know what you look like anymore, what food you like, what your job is, how you held up after he left for LA. Of course, he doesn’t know that.

Shaking off any more thoughts of you, Kenji turned into his giant alter-ego to fight off the Kaiju wreaking havoc on the streets of Tokyo. (a distraction, really, as Mina would say.)

2. On a grocery run looking exhausted as hell.

It had been two weeks since he took in the baby kaiju in his basement and Kenji Sato has never been more exhausted. If you ask him, exhausted would be an understatement. Nevertheless, his mind was actually alive (much to Mina's surprise) because he swears this time, that he actually saw you. With his own two eyes. As if locked in a daze, he secretly followed you like a lost puppy with a push cart in the grocery store before realizing you were heading for the exit. He stopped in his tracks as the doors opened for you, realizing the items he got weren't paid for yet.

Begrudgingly, he went back inside the grocery and got the rest of the items he needed before going back to his house.

Next time, I swear, I'll talk to her, Kenji said to himself as he drove back to his place.

3. During Emi's acid reflux rampage.

Shit, shit, shit, he cursed to himself like a mantra as he zoomed across the streets of Tokyo on his bike, trying to chase after the pink baby kaiju that somehow escaped his basement that he explicitly placed under the care of Mina (in case you couldn’t tell, he's definitely glaring at his AI assistant). Looking at the construction site beside him as he sat in traffic, an idea popped in his head. He could use that to give him a boost to quickly get to the baby. He rode up the makeshift ramp and turned into his giant alter-ego, catching his bike in time.

"Holy shit." He froze. Goddammit, had he really been that careless? Changing in front of a civilian? Nervously chuckling, he turned around to face the owner of the voice, mentally preparing his response [read: excuse] only to be wide-eyed and speechless. The owner of the voice was you. You, as in his childhood best friend, whom he's been trying to catch up with ever since he landed in Japan.

"What the fuck! Ultraman is Ke-" You exclaimed before you got rudely interrupted by the giant superhero. "Hey, shhh! Can we, like, stay quiet on this matter? I know I don't have an NDA right now but my bike will suffice, I guess. I'll get it back from you, I swear, I just really have to take care of this right now. Treat you to our usual spot? Thanks!" He said frantically before running away to take care of his huge baby problem.

Not really the best way to reconnect with your childhood best friend.

+1. After the battle at sea with the KDF.

"Hey, sorry for being late, had to take care of something." He apologized as he jogged up to you on your usual hang-out spot when you were children. You reassured him, saying that you had just arrived, too. "I didn't know what kinda stuff you eat now as an athlete superstar so I just went for the safest convenience store options." You said sheepishly, holding up the plastic bags with a weary smile. "I don't mind, I actually like convenience store snacks." He beamed on how you still remember what he used to like as a kid.

"So, Ken Sato, gonna explain?"

"Oh, you're gonna want to sit down for this."