#these were just the ones that immediately popped into my mind :)

[goldfades]

hiiii idea popped in my head seeing joey on the phone but like imagine he’s away and trying to help y/n get kids to bed but it’s hard since he’s away 🥰😭 sorry i have to share the imaginings happening :-))))

no, baby i love when people share their cute little ideas!!! i hope you enjoy this one<3

The second Joe’s face popped up on FaceTime, Hayes let out a dramatic gasp—like he had just seen a celebrity in the wild.

"Dada!"

You winced as his little voice echoed through the house, far louder than necessary. "Hayes, baby, inside voice," you reminded him, but it didn’t matter. The damage was already done.

From down the hall, you heard the unmistakable wail of your youngest, jolted awake by his big brother’s sudden outburst. You closed your eyes for a brief second, sighing, already bracing for the next half hour of chaos.

Joe must have heard it, too, because his face twisted in sympathy. "That bad, huh?"

You turned your attention back to the phone, where Joe was sitting in his hotel room, half-smiling, half-wincing, freshly showered with wet curls sticking to his forehead.

"That bad," you confirmed, shifting Hayes further onto your hip. He had his tiny fingers fisted in your shirt, but his eyes were locked on the screen, grinning so big it made his dimples pop.

"Hi, buddy," Joe said, his voice warm and fond.

"Dada, when you coming home?" Hayes asked, tilting his head.

Joe’s face softened. "Couple more days, bud. But guess what? We have a game tomorrow. Are you gonna watch?"

Hayes nodded enthusiastically, kicking his legs in excitement. "I wear my jersey!"

"You better. Gotta match me, right?"

Hayes nodded again, his little hands now gripping the phone like he could somehow pull Joe through the screen.

It wasn’t the first time he had gone through this phase. As you liked to say, Hayes had his "favorites"—rotating obsessions that switched every few months. Sometimes it was dinosaurs, sometimes it was a specific pair of socks he refused to take off for days at a time, and sometimes, it was Joe.

This was one of those times.

For the past couple of weeks, everything had been about Joe. Hayes only wanted to watch football, only wanted to play "catch" in the backyard, only wanted to FaceTime his dad 24/7. If Joe was around, you were nothing—completely cast aside.

Which, really, you didn’t mind. Because the way Joe lit up every time Hayes showed even an ounce of excitement over football or his job in general—it was worth every second of being ignored.

What you did mind, however, was getting him to sleep without Joe here.

"Okay, buddy, we gotta say goodnight to Dada," you said, shifting Hayes in your arms.

"No!" Hayes protested immediately, curling his little fingers into fists. "Not yet!"

Joe chuckled. "C’mon, H, listen to Mama. You gotta go to bed."

Hayes pouted. "Don’t wanna."

"Yeah, well, I don’t wanna deal with a grumpy toddler tomorrow, so you kinda have to," you muttered under your breath, earning a soft laugh from Joe.

"How about this?" Joe offered. "I’ll stay on FaceTime while you get in bed, and I’ll tell you a story, okay?"

Hayes perked up immediately. "A story?"

"Yeah," Joe grinned. "But only if you’re in bed."

Hayes was already wiggling out of your grasp before Joe had even finished his sentence, making a beeline for his room. You sighed in relief, grabbing the monitor from the counter before following behind.

By the time you got to his room, he was already under the covers, clutching his stuffed tiger, eyes bright with anticipation.

"Alright, let’s hear it, Burrow," you said, settling into the rocking chair, phone still in hand.

Joe laughed, then launched into one of Hayes’ favorites—something about a football-playing dinosaur that you were pretty sure Joe had made up on the fly one night, but Hayes had loved it ever since.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, Hayes’ blinks got heavier, and his tiny body started relaxing into the mattress.

By the time Joe reached the end of the story, his voice had dropped to barely above a whisper, and Hayes was out.

"Thank God," you sighed, carefully tucking the blanket around your son before stepping out into the hallway.

Joe was smirking when you looked back at the screen. "See? Easy."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, ‘easy’ because you get to do the fun part. Try dealing with the bath time tantrums before you get cocky."

Joe laughed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I miss you, though. And I miss Hayes."

Your heart clenched. "He misses you, too."

"I’ll be home soon, I promise."

"I know."

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, voice softer now.

"You’re doing such a good job, you know that?"

You felt it—the warmth spreading through your chest, the way your shoulders relaxed at his words.

"Thank you," you murmured. "Now hurry up and win so you can get back home to your biggest fan."

Joe grinned. "I think that’s you."

You huffed out a laugh. "Not even close. That title officially belongs to your tiny clone."

Joe laughed, shaking his head. "Fine. But you’re a close second."

And somehow, that was enough.

--

Joe had barely stepped foot through the door before Hayes came barreling toward him, arms wide, cheeks flushed with excitement.

Joe barely had time to drop his bag before scooping him up. "There’s my boy!" he grinned, pressing a kiss to Hayes’ chubby cheek. "Missed you, bud."

"Missed you too," Hayes said, but before Joe could even savor the moment, Hayes was already wiggling out of his grasp.

Joe blinked in confusion as his son ran right past him and straight to Maisie, who was lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone.

"AUNT MAISIE!" Hayes shouted, climbing into her lap like she was his long-lost hero.

Maisie barely looked up, smirking. "What’s up, little dude?"

Joe stood there, stunned. Mouth slightly open, arms still mid-air from where he had just been cast aside like a used toy.

You were trying so hard not to laugh.

Maisie shot Joe a cocky look, ruffling Hayes’ curls. "Told you. I’m officially the favorite now."

Joe scoffed. "That’s not possible."

You snorted. "Oh, it’s possible. It happened while you were gone. Apparently, Maisie’s the ‘cool’ one now."

Joe crossed his arms. "I thought I was the cool one."

Maisie let out a dramatic sigh, adjusting her sunglasses (which she was still wearing inside, for some reason). "You had a good run, but the people have spoken."

Joe turned to Hayes, genuinely confused. "Buddy, what about football? What about watching game film with me? What about—?"

"I like Aunt Maisie’s music better," Hayes cut in, matter-of-factly.

Joe looked genuinely offended. "What’s wrong with my music?"

Maisie let out a loud laugh. "Oh my God. You’ve been replaced by Taylor Swift and the Encanto soundtrack."

Joe’s face dropped. "That’s not fair. Encanto has bangers."

"You don’t even know the words to ‘We Don’t Talk About Bruno,’" you pointed out.

Joe gasped, pointing at you accusingly. "You’re enjoying this too much."

"Oh, absolutely," you grinned.

Joe groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. "Unbelievable. Gone for one week and I’m completely irrelevant."

Maisie patted his shoulder. "It happens to the best of us, man."

Joe sighed, finally giving in. "Fine. But just so you know, he’s gonna want to play football with me again in, like, two weeks."

Maisie smirked. "We’ll see."

And honestly? You weren’t so sure. Because the way Hayes was currently clinging to Maisie’s side, giggling at whatever TikTok she had just shown him?

Yeah. Joe was gonna have to work really hard to win back his title.

[meadowfics]

no mercy

yandere!cho sang-woo x f!reader

one of the players grows obsessed with you since you were similar to him

warnings: yandere!sangwoo, reader/you have questionable morals since you commit a huge betrayal due to a strong sense of survival. mentions of death. age gap relationship, since reader is intended to be between 20-23 while sang woo is 46. changed plot from season one. the original character who is not reader is player 102.

you never thought you'd end up here.

your eyes tired, wearing a green tracksuit, number 111 stitched onto your chest like a mark of your desperation.

the scent in the room was thick with fear, tension, and unspoken threats.

everyone here had something in common: debt, misery, nothing much left to lose.

you? your debt wasn’t from reckless gambling or bad business deals like most of these other people here.

yours was from surviving.

years of hospital stays, surgeries, medications.

your childhood was spent in the hospitals, making sure that your body could grow healthily.

there were bills that kept stacking up even after you were finally healthy.

they said you were lucky to have made it out alive, but now you owed more money than you could ever pay back.

so when the salesman offered you a chance, you took it.

you didn’t suffer through years of hospitals, pain, and fear just to come here and die in some twisted game.

you were going to survive. no matter what it took.

the first night in the dormitory, you kept to yourself.

somehow, she found you..

player 102.

hot pink hair, too bright for this place, too carefree for someone stuck in a death game.

"hey, you look miserable,"

she plopped down beside you, stretching her legs out.

you didn’t respond.

just kept your arms crossed, watching the others.

"so, we’re both young. everyone else here is nearly middle aged, I think we should stick together,"

she continued, ignoring your silence.

"not a fan of getting stabbed in my sleep."

you eyed her for a moment before shrugging.

"fine."

you didn’t trust her, not yet.

she was right...it was better to have someone.

however, there was another player keeping a lookout on you.

player 218. sang-woo.

the man who kept his expression unreadable but watched everything.

at first, you didn’t notice him.

however, he noticed you. immediately.

you weren’t like the others.

you weren’t crying, begging, or making desperate alliances.

you were calculating. quiet. smart.

and he liked that.

before the second game is when you knew that 218 existed.

you overheard player 067 whispering to 218, the words

"melting sugar" slipping through the cracks.

your brain clicked instantly.

dalgona.

so when the masked men led you into a room filled with symbols

circle, star, umbrella, triangle.

you didn’t hesitate.

you immediately walked toward the triangle line, yanking 102 with you.

"what the hell? why so confident?"

she asked, letting you drag her along.

"just trust me."

sang-woo saw you move first.

his lips twitched.

you knew.

not a second of hesitation.

not a moment of doubt.

you had figured it out just like him.

he almost smirked when he saw you pull your ally along without question.

good girl, he thought.

you know how to survive.

he didn’t take his eyes off you as you worked on your honeycomb.

you handled the needle too well.

precise. careful. controlled.

when your triangle popped out perfectly, you even gave 102 a little smirk.

"told you,"

you murmured to her.

sang-woo clenched his jaw, barely paying attention to his own work.

you were dangerous.

smart.

capable.

and he wanted you.

he watched the way your fingers moved, steady despite the sweat on your skin.

the way your lashes lowered when you focused.

the way your lips parted slightly as you concentrated.

you had no idea he was studying you like prey.

"don’t worry, y/n," he thought.

"i’ll protect you."

"i’ll make sure you survive. you don’t even need to know."

because in sang-woo’s mind, you were already his.

back in the dorms, you and 102, who turns out to be named anya, sat on a shared bed, splitting the bland, dry rice and kimchi they gave you.

it wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep you alive.

"so, what brought you here?"

you asked, poking at your food with the tiny spoon they handed out.

anya stretched her legs out, sighing dramatically.

"oh, you know. influencers, shopping sprees, lavish trips. that kind of stupidity."

you raised an eyebrow.

"influencer?"

she scoffed.

"was. past tense. brand deals, sponsorships, all that shit. i thought i was rich when i really wasn’t. I got "cancelled" for some stupid shit and now I am here!"

she rambled for nearly thirty minutes, talking about her reckless spending, the money she blew through, the fake friends who ditched her when she went broke.

you let her talk, not minding the conversation.

she was easy to listen to, and at least she had a sense of humor about her downfall.

she turned the question on you.

"what about you, y/n?"

you took a small bite of rice, hesitating for a second before answering.

"hospital bills."

anya paused mid-chew, glancing at you. then, she nodded.

"ohhh okay."

something inside you twisted. maybe you should have kept that to yourself.

maybe that was something she didn’t need to know.

did she see it as a weakness?

did she think you were fragile?

you didn’t know her true intentions yet.

from across the room, sang-woo was wondering the same thing.

he leaned against the metal bunk, arms crossed, eyes sharp as he studied you and anya.

he didn’t trust her, not when she was getting that close to you.

she seemed harmless, but so did a lot of people before they revealed their true colors.

the girl had bright pink hair.

she didn’t exactly scream dangerous.

still, he didn’t like how easily you opened up to her.

as gi-hun talked to play 001 beside him, he looked ahead at you.

anya was the first to notice him watching.

she smirked, leaning in slightly.

"don’t freak out, but that player has been staring you down since we got back from dalgona."

you frowned, confused.

"who?"

anya subtly tilted her head toward player 218.

you followed her gaze and met his eyes.

sang-woo was staring right at you.

the first thing that crossed your mind?

he's sexy.

it wasn’t just that.

he wasn’t like other people who got caught staring and looked away quickly.

he held eye contact, unbothered, as if he was waiting to see what you would do.

only when player 456 called his name did he finally turn away.

anya snorted.

"oh no. you’ve got that look in your eye."

you blinked.

"what look?"

"the ‘i think he’s hot’ look."

she grinned, wiggling her eyebrows.

"don’t fall for it, y/n. he might stab you in your sleep."

you giggled, nudging her.

"shut up!"

even as you joked, you could still feel the heat in your face.

from across the room, sang-woo nearly smirked.

he had seen the way you looked at him.

he was going to make sure you kept looking at him.

when it was lights out, you lay there, staring at the dark ceiling, listening to the slow, steady breaths of the other players.

the dorm was eerily quiet, except for the occasional rustle of someone shifting in their sleep.

beside you, anya was curled up, her pink hair spilling over the pillow.

the girl's breathing was soft and even.

peaceful.

untouched by the paranoia that clawed at your mind.

you waited, making sure she was truly asleep before you carefully pushed yourself up from the bed.

this was stupid.

you knew it.

you didn’t care.

moving quickly and quietly, you weaved through the rows of bunk beds, walking across the open floor and walking through bunks until you reached the other side of the dormitory.

you knelt down in front of player 218’s bed.

sang-woo’s eyes were closed, but the moment you got close, you could feel it...he was awake.

sangwoo's breathing was too steady, his posture too tense, as if he had been expecting something.

his eyes flickered open.

and the second he saw you, he sat up.

"sorry if i woke you up,"

you whispered.

he stared at you, his face unreadable.

then, his lips twitched just slightly.

"no, you’re not."

you swallowed, caught off guard by how easily he read you.

"i just… i just wanted to talk to you."

"can’t sleep?"

his voice was low, smooth.

you shook your head.

he studied you for a second, then shifted, making space beside him.

without thinking, you scooted closer, sitting down next to him on the bed.

both of you sat in silence, eyes scanning the dark dormitory, watching the scattered bodies of sleeping players.

"what brings you here?"

he asked, his tone casual, but his eyes sharp.

you hesitated, already regretting your answer before it even left your mouth.

"hospital bills."

as soon as you said it, you cringed.

you had made the same mistake again.

telling people things they didn’t need to know.

you had no idea what sang-woo’s intentions were, no idea what kind of person he really was.

when you glanced at him, there was nothing threatening in his expression.

he nodded, and his voice was calm when he said,

"debt."

you nodded in return. most people were here for that.

suddenly, a wave of exhaustion hit you, making your body feel heavier.

you let out a soft yawn, rubbing your arm.

sang-woo noticed immediately.

"you should get some sleep,"

he said.

you sighed, not wanting to go back just yet.

"i don’t know if i can."

he thought for a moment, then said,

"i’ll walk you back."

you looked at him, surprised.

the idea of him walking with you made you feel… safe.

some kind of invisible shield was around you just by being near him.

you nodded, and together, you slipped back through the darkness.

when you reached your bed, you laid down beside anya, adjusting under the thin blanket.

sang-woo crouched beside you, his presence lingering.

you blinked up at him sleepily.

"you don’t have to stay."

but he did.

he stayed for another half hour, sitting silently by your bed, watching.

making sure no one tried anything stupid.

making sure no one touched his girl.

later on after the tug of war game, something inside you shifted.

the feeling of your body being pulled toward death, the sheer force it took to survive, the way you had to trust complete strangers just to stay alive

it made you realize something.

trust was temporary.

survival was everything.

you could feel some of your morals slipping, piece by piece.

it was only a matter of time before trust meant nothing.

anya didn’t seem to take the same lesson from it.

she was freaking out.

you noticed how she started muttering under her breath, shaking more often, picking at her nails until they bled.

she wasn’t built for this.

sang-woo? he was the opposite.

cold. calculating. calm.

you found yourself sticking closer to him, not entirely sure why, but knowing he was the safest option to be around.

when it was time for the glass bridge game, all hell broke loose.

you were in front of sang-woo, anya was in front of you, and some random man was in front of anya.

the tension was suffocating.

one by one, players were screaming, falling to their deaths, bodies smacking against the floor below like insects against a windshield.

the only ones left were 456, 067, sang-woo, you, anya, and the man at the front.

the man was trying to inspect the glass, claiming he could tell which one was weak, taking his sweet time.

the clock was running out.

three minutes left.

anya snapped, her voice sharp, full of panic.

"can you take any fucking longer?"

the man turned back, offended, but didn’t say anything.

two minutes, thirty seconds.

finally, he made his move.

he chose wrong.

the man's scream echoed, his body disappeared into the void below, glass shards flying.

"all of that for nothing,"

player 067 muttered.

you nodded, feeling your heart hammer against your ribs.

now, it was anya’s turn.

she froze.

the slavic's hands were shaking, her breath coming out in sharp, uneven gasps.

you tried to keep her calm.

"anya, it’s okay, you’ll pick the right one."

she didn’t move.

sang-woo suddenly stepped onto your glass tile.

your breath caught in your throat.

for a split second, you thought.. was he going to push me off?

no.

instead, he pressed himself right behind you, his body warm, solid, steady.

the man's big hand found your arm, gripping it gently, keeping you in place as you both watched anya.

"anya, come on!"

your patience was wearing thin.

anya sucked in a shaky breath, eyes darting between the two tiles in front of her.

"i’m sorry, i’m trying to guess."

two minutes.

finally, she jumped.

the right one.

everyone let out a breath of relief as they followed onto the next safe glass ahead.

except sang-woo.

he stayed right behind you onto the next glass.

you smirked slightly at the way his body heat pressed into yours.

one row left.

you looked at anya.

"okay, you got it right last time, now do it again."

you hear player 456 from the far back yell.

she was trembling, sweat dripping down her forehead.

"i don’t—i don’t know."

one minute, thirty seconds.

"anya, pick one, goddammit!"

your voice cracked, frustration leaking through.

"i’m sorry,"

she whispered, eyes darting between the last two panels.

one minute.

something inside you snapped.

you couldn’t wait anymore.

sang-woo shifted slightly, sensing it.

you turned, moving him off your back slightly.

then, you did something terrible.

you jumped onto the same glass tile as anya.

the russian's breath hitched, her whole body going rigid as you stood right behind her.

"anya, i’m sorry. forgive me."

she barely had time to turn her head before you shoved her forward.

she hit the glass.

it shattered.

anya's scream pierced through the air, her arms flailing as she plunged onto the ground below.

the pink hair was the last thing you saw before she disappeared.

you didn’t even breathe before hopping onto the correct glass, your heart hammering against your ribs.

twenty seconds left.

everyone else followed...sang-woo, 067, 456.

all of you had survived.

when you turned back, searching for any sign of anya’s body, it was too far down.

you couldn’t process it before—

the entire bridge exploded.

glass shards flew in every direction, slicing through your skin like razor blades.

you shielded your face, feeling the sting of cuts across your body, blood trickling down your arms.

everything blurred.

you felt yourself stumble, someone’s hand grabbing your waist, holding you upright.

sang-woo.

his grip was firm, keeping you from falling.

when 456 and 067 walked ahead, sangwoo stayed beside you.

the man's lips were close to your ear, his breath steady while yours was ragged.

"you did what you had to do."

your hands were shaking.

anya was gone.

the girl who had slept beside you.

the girl who had joked with you.

you pushed her to her death.

the worst part?

you didn’t regret it.

by the end of the last game.. the dorms were empty now.

just you and sang-woo.

no more screams.

no more bloodstained floors.

no more players, just two survivors standing in the aftermath of hell.

you had won.

you both had.

the massive room that once held hundreds of people was now eerily silent.

the beds, the sheets, the steel walls.. it all looked the same, but it felt different.

everyone else was dead.

you turned, facing sang-woo.

the man's expression was unreadable, always was.

the man's eyes locked on you like he was memorizing this moment.

"so," you exhaled, voice hoarse.

"we made it."

he nodded.

"we did."

"and we split the money."

the words left your lips, but something about them felt off.

sang-woo agreed.

he had said it himself.

you would split the money, go your separate ways, start over.

the way he looked at you now...

you knew that was never his plan.

"right,"

sang-woo murmured, stepping closer.

"we split the money."

sangwoo's tone was smooth, but there was a finality to it.

you understood exactly what that meant.

he wasn’t letting you go.

he had killed for you.

067. 456. gone.

you weren’t stupid.

he and 456 had some sort of a connection, something deeper than just the games.

maybe they were friends? you had no clue since he did not tell you.

shoot, he did not even tell you 456 and 067's real names.

you had seen the way they looked at each other before it all came crashing down.

however, sang-woo chose you.

he had to.

there was no hesitation when he ended 456.

no second thoughts when 067 bled out.

he did it all for you.

the 45.6 billion wasn’t just his money.

it wasn’t even just your money.

it was yours together.

blood money. tainted, filthy, but yours.

"i hope you understand,"

sang-woo said, his fingers brushing against your wrist, his touch deceptively gentle.

"i didn’t do all of this just to watch you walk away."

sangwoo's grip tightened slightly, firm enough to send a clear message.

you were his.

the man's breath was warm as he leaned in, eyes dark with something unreadable.

"you're coming with me."

you didn’t argue.

you didn’t fight it.

deep down, you had already accepted it.

you didn’t mind at all.

masterlist

[imhappierthanever]

💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋

Your lipstick clung to her lips, and her cheek, and down her neck leaving a trail of your love down her body. It was Valentine’s Day, and you made plans. Of course you did. Somewhere sat in a restaurant were two glasses of champagne, two chairs at a table waiting for two lovers to come dine in. To share their love in a beautiful, public setting. But you didn’t make it there.

Not when she saw you wearing what you knew got to her the most. You didn’t do it too often, just during special times. But since tonight was special enough, you decided a red lip for Billie was the way to go. You never quite understood what it was that drove her so crazy when you wore it, but you loved what it did to her. The way she would always want to stay home and cancel everything and have you all to herself. But you never let her.

But tonight she would finally get her way. When her fingers danced along your barely there black lace dress, exploring as much of you as she could before letting it fall to the floor. Before she revealed your matching red strapless bra and panties. She could hardly contain herself.

“Get on the bed, Angel.” She growled in your ear. “You’re fucking killing me tonight. Need you so bad.” She said almost pushing you down, straddling your body. She discarded her own clothing along the way not even giving you a chance to comment on how incredible she happened to look.

The last article of her clothing made its way on the floor, leaving her completely opened to you as her body met yours yet again. Her warm skin collided with yours as her kisses begin their journey on your neck, down to the valley of your breasts, freeing some part of you but never taking your bra off completely. She let her tongue swirl around your sensitive nub, teeth grazing, sucking before releasing it with a pop. Her other hand rolled the other between the pads of her soft fingers. You moaned, pulling her head against you, melting from all the love she had been showing you.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me right now she said straddling your thigh as she pressed her own between your legs. Her bare clit was rubbing directly on your thigh, letting you feel exactly what you had been doing to her as she marveled at the sight of you coming undone beneath her.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. You don’t even know. Such a pretty girl. My girl.” Billie said running her fingers along your lacy red panties, brushing against you, collecting your wetness on her fingers before she invited herself in, pulling the fabric to the side.

Your hands danced along her skin, pulling her into you. You needed her just as badly. You couldn’t think of anything else. Just you and her and the moment you were in. The way her lips tasted so sweet, and how needy she was as she kissed you so passionately, letting your tongues dance. Her fingers trailing fire, her love beginning its way down your leg ever so slightly before she shifted her body, tangling her legs with yours and letting your pussies connect.

Immediately your hands landed on her hips, pushing her down further against you, wanting to feel it all. Everything she had to offer. Wanting to be even closer to her somehow, even if it wasn’t possible at this point.

You watched the way she moved as she hovered above you. So beautiful and focused on your bodies. So focused on pleasing you and being in the moment with you. You bit your lip as whimpers fell from hers. You just knew this was a sight you could never tire of. Her gorgeous hooded blue eyes staring deeply into yours, her plump pink bitten lips now swollen but looking even more kissable somehow. Her gorgeous skin being coated in a thin layer of sweat making her glisten, the way her breasts moved as she grinded on you. Everything was almost too much to handle. The sounds of the wetness between you and the way she was making you feel sent your mind into complete overdrive.

You closed your eyes for only one second before her thumb made its way to your clit, rubbing circles, forcing your eyes opened and back to hers.

“Every time you even think about putting that red lipstick on.. I want you to remember this. I want you to think about how I fuck you..” she said leaning down to whisper in your ear and connect your bodies. I want you to think about what it feels like to be with me. Only me.”

Billie continued to rock her body against yours, her wet hand moving up from her home to your neck, wrapping her hand around it.

“Only you.” You managed to choke out as you felt your body start to shake. “Billie. I’m-“ you began feeling that tight feeling inside you ready to snap at any given second. “Can I?”

“Do you think you’ve been a good girl?” She asked tightening her hand, increasing her pace making it even harder for you. “Mmm so good Bils. Only wanted to make you happy please. You feel s- so good. I can’t-“

“Go ahead, baby. Let go. Give me everything.” She said pulling you into her arms, letting your bodies be closer to feel it all. To feel bodies trembling and releasing, pussies throbbing and the what remained of your red lipstick fading finally. You released together, moaning and screaming, riding out the moment together before your back hit the bed again.

Billie fell onto your body, resting her head on your chest. “Fuck.” She breathed, kissing anywhere her lips landed. You chuckled letting your fingers trace her curves.

“Well Happy Valentine’s Day to you too, my love!” You said kissing her head, smiling. “I don’t think we’re going to make it to dinner tonight. I don’t even know if I can walk properly.” You joked

“Let’s just lay here for a little more. I just want to be close to you.” Billie said. Still coming down from her high. You smiled running your fingers through her now tangly hair, helping her come down.

“Well I can’t say no to that!” You said giving her a little squeeze before kissing her head. She laughed a little, snuggling herself further into your body. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love. You’re everything.”

“And you’re even more my darling.” You said wiping one of your red lipstick stains off of her cheek, knowing you wouldn’t be leaving your room anytime soon.

[jamdoughnutmagician]

Head Over Heels.

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader (Fluff)

Hastily written yesterday evening, because I just wanted to write something tooth-rottingly sweet (seriously call your dentist, you're gonna have some cavities!) just in time for valentine's day with my beloved Stevie <3

also this is a Steve Harrington song and you can't change my mind

Word Count:1, 449

*dividers made by @strangergraphics

Masterlist // Steve Harrington Masterlist

A sweet vanilla bean milkshake shared with two straws, and a basket of hot and salty french fries sit between Steve and his sweet girl in a booth of a small, kitschy diner on a bright and breezy February fourteenth in Hawkins. Valentine’s Day. Steve can’t help the giddy thrum of his heart against his chest as he looks across the table at you. Sugar-sweet hearts cloud his vision when he’s with you.The diner’s stereo seems to play that same Tears For Fears song that he swears he hears every time you’re near.

I wanted to be with you alone, and talk about the weather…

His teenage years he was so concerned about being Mr. Popular. Always seen with a new girl under his arms seemingly every month, with no prospect of anything permanent in his love life. But, now as he sits opposite the girl he could only dream of in his wildest fantasies, there’s the free-falling feeling of being dizzyingly head over heels. 

 When he thinks about how you two met for the first time, he couldn’t imagine how lucky he would be that you would stick around for him.

It’s another slow and boring day in family video. The radio is quietly playing an endless loop of dumb pop songs through their crackling speakers. 

…but traditions I can trace against the child in your face, won't escape my attention…

Steve takes stock of all the missing, overdue return tapes when Robin nudges him a pointy elbow to his ribs and a pair of raised eyebrows.

He shrugs it off, figuring Robin’s just trying to annoy him, but then it happens again and this time there’s slightly more force behind this jab to his ribs and the raised eyebrows come with a little noise at the back of her throat as if she’s trying to tell him something without squawking to the rest of the shop about what’s going on.

“Total babe, heading your way at one o’clock, dingus.”

Steve checks his watch with a flick of his eyes down to his wrist 

“It’s only ten o’clock by my watch…oof! Hey! What are you hitting me for?” 

But it’s only too late before the reason for Robin hitting him so hard is standing right in front of him. 

He'd recognised you immediately, how could he not? He'd had a raging crush on you all throughout his high school years, but he'd never dared to do anything about it. You weren’t part of his popular clique, choosing to hang around with those more academically-inclined than himself. If he could have throttle his teenage self for believing in such stupid constructs like social suicide, then he would have. 

But now you were here in front of him, and Steve was silently thanking the universe for giving him a second chance.

“Hi, I’d like to check out these videos, please.” you smile sweetly, placing down a copy of Sixteen Candles and The Breakfast Club on the countertop.

Steve used to pride himself on being a confident, and nonchalant kind-of-guy when it came to girls. Pretending not to care as a way to get girls to like him, but as he looked at you he couldn’t help but feel a little tongue tied at how pretty you were.

“I-is it a-uh- a double feature for you tonight?” he stumbles as he begins to ring you up.

“Yeah, I guess it is. Molly Ringwald is such a great actress y’know?” you reply.

“Yeah, she’s pretty cool.” he says, fighting against the flaring pink blush that's rising to his freckled cheeks. 

Robin is behind him, hiding behind her hands, watching this car crash of an interaction. She was going to have to do something to rescue this floundering doofus.

“Say, Steve, isn’t there a showing of that new Molly Ringwald film at the drive-in theatre next week?” Robin says, laying her hand on his back with a reassuring pat. “

“Uh, I think so?” he says, thankful for his friend for jumping in to save him.

“Pretty in Pink?” you pipe up. “I haven’t seen it, but I’d really love to.”

Robin slyly nudges him again and this time Steve takes the hint.

“Would you like to, perhaps, if you’re not busy that is, go with me to see it?” he manages to get out with minor fumbling.

“Sure, that sounds great!” you quickly scribble something down the stack of post-it notes before handing it over with the money for your video tapes. “Here’s my number, I’m free on Saturdays.” 

“It’s a date.” he smiles dumbly. “I mean..I-uh-I look forward to seeing you on that day.. on saturday..” he scrambles quickly to correct himself.

“It’s a date.” you smile, and with that you flounce out of the door.

He looks down to the note in his hand.

Your number, and your name.

“I thought you used to be good at this, King Steve?” Robin teases mercilessly.

“I did too.” he chuckles to himself. 

I'm lost in admiration, could I need you this much?

Saturday night rolls around, and after gaining the confidence to actually call your number and set up a time for the date Steve is ready to go.

His hair ruffled and his favourite casual jeans and shirt are thrown on before he goes to pick you up.

Bouncing on his heels as he rings your doorbell as he eagerly awaits your answer.

You look down-right adorable in your soft pink sweater, and matching plaid skirt. 

“Ready to go?” he grins, as he offers you his arm to take.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

..Something happens and I'm head over heels, I never find out until I'm head over heels…

The scent of candy-sweet popcorn and your floral perfume are swirling in Steve’s senses, and the way you're leaning into him as his arm carefully snakes around your shoulders makes him feel like he’s floating on cloud nine.

It’s cosy and delightfully nice to be in your presence, and the quiet chatter that flows between you in between the movie scenes is so easy.

The credits start to roll on the movie, and yet Steve can’t find it in his heart to care about moving quiet yet. The way you slot so perfectly tucked under his arm just feels so right.

“Thanks so much for this Steve, I had a great time.” you smile, turning your head to gaze up at him in the dusky evening glow. 

Your eyes are on his honeyed hazel eyes, his soft caramel brown hair, and the scattering of sun-bronzed freckles across his tan skin. He's so effortlessly handsome and sitting so close to him like this makes you giddy.

Your gaze flicks down to his lips, wondering if they feel as soft as the look. 

And then in a break of the comfortable silence that had fallen between the two of you, Steve asks you the question you had been hoping to hear all evening.

“May I kiss you?” he asks, his own eyes tracing over the curve of your lips.

“You may.” You beam.

Then in a moment of almost cinematic proportions, his lips are on your. An insistent, but plush press of tender romance igniting a warming fire in your heart. His warm hand gently cupping your cheek, as if needing to hold you close will help to ground him in the reality of the moment. To reassure him that he isn't floating away into some kind of candy-coated dream.

Your lips slot against his so perfectly, that you can't stop yourself from smiling into the kiss as you follow his lead. Your cheeks are blooming with heat under his gentle touch.

And when you part, a strawberry sheen of lip gloss shared between you, both of you sporting kiss-pink lips and matching love glazed expressions there is a beat of silence before Steve speaks up again.

“I know it’s only our first date, but I really enjoyed being with you. Can I take you out again next week too?”

“It's a date.” You reply, kissing the soft peach of his cheek.

“What are you thinking about over there, Stevie?” you ask, as you pluck the glassy red cherry from swirlied cream top of your milkshake.

“Just thinking about how much I love you. About how lucky I am to have you in my life.” he answers honestly, a sugar-pink sheen blushing across his freckled cheeks. 

He’d always been a loverboy, but now, with you in his life, he finally had someone who was going to accept him for all that he was, lover-boy tendencies included.

..Something happens and I'm head over heels, I never find out until I'm head over heels.

@penguinsandpotterheads @abitchyouhate @mrsjellymunson @eddiesxangel @rebelfell @songbirdmunson @ali-r3n @seatnights @daisy-is-a-writer

[cloverapple]

hello!! just wanna say I've discovered your blog and it's been incredibly helpful. thank you so much for all the effort you put into your posts they're very insightful :)

my 'problem' so to speak is simply belief. any ways to get around that?

no matter how much I try to change perspective/mindset, reinforce positive beliefs and/or assume, I feel like I'm gaslighting myself :') and i simply find it hard to get rid of that/not let it consume me.

some eg of my thinking:

'shifting is real' -> no you're being delusional.

'it's possible for me' -> girl it'll never happen stop lying to urself.

'i trust myself' -> ok but not with extreme things like shifting!! you're being hopeful for nothing!

'i can shift, it's natural and inherent' -> stfu assumptions never do anything. it's not. you can't. you never will.

'i believe in and accept loa/shifting as real' -> right!! you are crazy. none of your assumptions came to fruition both good nor bad.

'im going to shift' -> liarrr you would've done so by now.

'not everyone would be lying, its real' -> you've fallen for cult tactics don't believe anyone.

'let go, don't put pressure on it's -> you've done this for years, nothing will change. you'll never shift.

...I don't need to go on. it's so exhausting. constant loops of it.

I hope you understand how exhausting it is and how strongly I want to overcome this 😭 I tell myself it's ok, this can't stop me but alas they continue and become overbearing so I end up ultimately succumbing into believing them. and every time I sit down and shift, I basically don't believe I will.

any advice? I'd be so so grateful for any help and thank you for your time <3

Stop ❌ crossing the bridge of despair and hop onto the carousel of reason 🎠

'shifting is real' -> no you're being delusional. -> "My doubts don’t erase reality. If I can question it, I can also prove it to myself. And I will."

'it's possible for me' -> girl it'll never happen stop lying to urself. -> "Just because it hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean it won’t. The possibility exists, and I am aligning with it."

'i trust myself' -> ok but not with extreme things like shifting!! you're being hopeful for nothing! -> "I’ve trusted myself in things I once thought were impossible before. Shifting is no different. I am capable, even if my doubts try to convince me otherwise."

'i can shift, it's natural and inherent' -> stfu assumptions never do anything. it's not. you can't. you never will. -> "Doubts are just old conditioning. My body and mind already know how to shift. I don’t have to force what’s already natural."

'i believe in and accept loa/shifting as real' -> right!! you are crazy. none of your assumptions came to fruition both good nor bad. -> "Skepticism is normal, but so is change. Just because I haven’t seen every result yet doesn’t mean my assumptions hold no power."

'im going to shift' -> liarrr you would've done so by now. -> "Progress isn’t measured by how fast it happens. I am shifting at my own pace."

'not everyone would be lying, its real' -> you've fallen for cult tactics don't believe anyone. -> "Reality shifting has existed for thousands of years across different cultures. If generations of people have explored states of consciousness, why would I be the exception? It’s real, and I am capable of experiencing it just like they did."

'let go, don't put pressure on it's -> you've done this for years, nothing will change. you'll never shift. -> "My past doesn’t dictate my future."

I know it’s repetitive to hear, but persist, persist, persist. Any time these thoughts pop up, say “not today satan” and immediately combat it with different affirmations. Do this until the natural occurence to these unavory assumptions you have about yourself are the positive ones.

★ They don’t even have to be the ones I came up with here. Find ones that your mind immediately absorbs and accepts easily.

[petriwriting]

Summary: A Valentines date with JJ.

Blurb/Oneshot, short story, a little messy did not proofread.

February 14. The breeze was carried all the way through the dancing palm trees, a warm humidity embraced everything as the evening came along, making the katydids sing their Melody. The perfect evening for romance, sure it was cliche but you didn’t mind the fuzzy feeling. You took a deep breath of fresh air and scent of the sea filled your senses. You were wearing a a flirty sundress with sunflowers scattered across the fabric, the fabric fell at your thighs loosely, only suggesting what was underneath. You were heading to a date, with yours truly, your adoring boyfriend JJ Maybank. You weren’t expecting an expensive dinner, or extravagant gifts today, just seeing him was enough. 

He had told you to meet him at the dock, and the wooden boards creaked as the marshlands welcomed you, greeting you at the end of the doc JJ smirked. “Hey Baby,” he said tenderly, you walked up to him excitedly. “Hi JJ,” you chimed. There was a modest sailboat behind him, with fairy lights strung all around the rails, it twinkled almost matching the moonlight that now shined on the two of you. You stood facing him. “What’s all this?” You said. “Just a surprise,” he said trying to act modest. “It’s not much but I do what I can for my girl.” He said, your arms reached up and found his, fingers embracing. You giggled softly. 

JJ hopped aboard, taking your hand as he reached for yours to welcome you onto the boat as well. He led you down into a small cabin, illuminated by candlelight, with the table set with bright red flowers and beer on the table, chocolate strawberries and all. It was funny, considering you had joked with Sarah just earlier that day about wanting to receive chocolate covered strawberries and a romantic massage for Valentine’s Day. 

“JayJ,” you said in a soft exhale. “This is beautiful.” He stepped towards you, pushing the hair behind your ear. “This is nothin’.” He said. “I think you look beautiful tonight.” He said exaggerating the word like it was some exotic words that hung on the top of his tongue. “And this dress…” he said, as you leaned on the counter his hand found your waist gently resting on the soft fabric while his thumb brushed over it. “We have to do something about this dress,” he smirked inches apart you smiled into his lips, then pulled back toying with him. “What’s wrong with my dress?” You quipped. 

“Nah,” he clicked his lips together, you gazed into his eyes, mesmerized, his blond hair falling in his face in a mess. Your fingers found their way though it, something he wouldn’t admit he loved. “This dress has got to go,” he shook his head his flirty banter making your knees weak. He was such a sweetheart, so loving and romantic. “You don’t like it?” You chuckled softly. “I think you should take it off…” he said biting his lip. Your knees became complete putty. His fingers slipped lower until they snuck their way up underneath your dress, a few inches from your underwear. 

“Jay, dinner first.” You said sternly. “Fine,” he said pulling away, “you know if do anything for you,” he said with a chuckle. “In fact, I spent an hour coating these bad boys in a chocolate sauce,” he said popping one of the strawberries in his mouth. “My hard work paid off, delicious,” he said with chocolate melted to lip his. You giggled. “What?” He asked, “you want one?” He said offering you one of his gourmet strawberries, holding it out for you. You took a bite, your eyes lit up immediately. It was those juicy perfectly ripe strawberries from the farmers market. Someone had been stalking your Pinterest… JJ popped another in his mouth, smearing a bit of the dark goo on his lip again.

“J, you’ve got a little chocolate, uh right there,” you said in a seductive way, playing along with the banter. He was such a flirt. “Where?” He cooed. “Right, there…” you said, bravely stepping forward and kissing him again, you couldn’t get enough of his touch. His warm hand found it’s way to the small of your back as your lips intertwined, it meant you were safe, he’s got you. You felt loved, and adored by his gesture. 

. . . 

Insert your favorite smut here.

Your head rested on JJs head as his soft hoodie covered your chilly body as you sat at the nose of the sail boat, you watched as the joint JJ had lit painted a warm glow across his face and the puffs of smoke that erupted from his mouth after, he offered it to you and you took a few small hits, admiring him.

He caught on, and looked at you with loving eyes. “What?” You giggled. “I love you.” He had said. That was the first time he uttered those words to you, and it would not be the last. 

[zeppeli-reelstallbun]

Did Something Slip Your Mind?

Chapter 3/? <- previous ⋆ coming soon-ish -> [masterlist]

[PAIRING] Rohan Kishibe x Reader (she/her)

[SUMMARY] Read previous chapters first! You return to a sense of normalcy (?)

[WC] 5.4k

[!!!] Sfw for now, but will not be in the future. Heaven’s Door is a warning in itself. read warnings on previous chapters for more info!! formatting is different so lmk if it’s bad plz you wont hurt my feelings, want this to be readable!

[A/N] I am so tired. might be too many elipsies here and maybe I'll go back and fix that later, it doesn’t matter. nothing matters. nazis are back again. have I mentioned that I’m tired? on a lighter note, four am writing sessions and dyslexia are a mfing deadly combination so please tell me if you spot a typo! I thought this was gonna be like, 3000 words max hahaha.

The notification popped up on the corner of the screen, pulling your attention from the assortment of thumbnail sketches you had been drafting all morning. After letting out a solid groan, you reluctantly clicked it, already bracing for what was likely another overly specific demand from the most frustrating man in all of Morioh. How someone could manage to be just as annoying in text as they were in person, you had no clue. What you did know, however, was the fact that your stomach was now churning with a different sense of unease from the single face-to-face interaction you’d had with the man. As far as you were concerned, Rohan Kishibe might have been one strike away from your immediate resignation, contract violation or not.

Subject: Upcoming Cover Design Rohan Kishibe: 10:26 AM I hope this email finds you well. I wanted to touch base regarding the progress on the cover for the upcoming volume. While your initial concepts are strong, I’d like to see a version that incorporates more dynamic elements—perhaps something that better captures the intensity of the narrative. Additionally, your attention to detail is always appreciated. I trust you’ll bring your usual level of creativity to this project. Let me know if you have any questions. Rohan Kishibe

Your hands froze, halting over the keyboard as you reread the email. Strong. He said your initial concepts were strong. Rohan Kishibe didn't use words like strong. Ever. Your first instinct might have been to write it off as a backhanded compliment—especially following the investigation trainwreck—but the wording was ambiguous enough to give you second thoughts.

Which only made you more irritated.

The ‘compliment’ was buried beneath his usual exacting tone, whiff of condescension so strong you could almost smell it through the screen. It was a talent, his ability to make even neutral words sound like commands. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t frustrating. God no.

‘Your attention to detail is always appreciated?’ Is it, Rohan? It sure didn’t feel that way last weekend when he essentially trapped you in an elevator.

Maybe you were reading too much into it; if only you could take his words at face value.

Regardless, you weren’t about to leave his comment unanswered. As much as you might have hated Rohan, you enjoyed not starving more. So, you took a deep breath, cracking your fingers to prepare yourself mentally and physically as you typed the most professional response you could muster.

Ok, maybe you could stoop to a little passive aggression. Just this once. What’s the harm in that?

Subject: RE: Upcoming Cover Design Outgoing Mail: 10:38 AM Mr. Kishibe, Thank you for your feedback. I’ll adjust the concepts to include more dynamic elements and send over a revised version within the week. As always, your notes are… thorough. But I appreciate the trust you place in my work and will strive to meet your expectations. Please let me know if you have any additional details or themes you’d like me to emphasize in the revision. Regards, [Name]

You hit send with a mixture of satisfaction and dread, knowing full well he’d find a way to be unbearable in his reply. Sure enough, it came through after less than an hour of tinkering with your sketch work.

Subject: RE: RE: Upcoming Cover Design Rohan Kishibe: 11:18 AM [Name], I’m pleased to hear you’ll make the necessary adjustments. Your willingness to adapt is commendable, though I’d prefer if you didn’t wait a full week to provide the revisions. My readers don’t appreciate delays, and neither do I. Regarding additional themes: incorporate more contrast in the composition. The intensity I’m referring to should feel… intense. Something that reflects the chaotic nature of the storyline without being overly on-the-nose. Subtlety is key. I assume you can handle that? Additionally, I’m aware how my actions might have come across in a certain elevator this past weekend. I’m sorry if you found it inconvenient. Consider this my apology. Best Regards, Rohan Kishibe

Your jaw tightened as you read his reply.

First of all, the intensity needed to be intense????

Sorry, no- one more time. The intensity… needed to be… intense.

This was a new low, even for him.

Second, ‘Apology?’ Sure, that response was generous, but come on… did the guy even have manners? Honestly, you were more thrown off by the fact he went out of his way to mention the elevator; he had done it so casually.

And, 'I assume you can handle that?' Ugh.

He’d also finally decided to use your fucking name, the egocentric self-centered narcist-

Then there was that godforsaken opening sentence.

Your willingness to adapt was commendable.

Self-centered as he might be, Rohan was not the kind of person to feign praise. The notion itself was laughable. This was Rohan Kishibe, after all. He didn’t hesitate to knock others down a peg when presented with the opportunity; why would he compliment someone unless they were absolutely deserving of it?

And he’d done it twice now.

Why were you so caught-up on the one sentence in the email that wasn't entirely infuriating? Why did he follow it up with the most condescending question imaginable? Why didn’t he just look for a different person to do the job all together if you were so subpar?

The message was giving you whiplash, to say the least.

Although you were miles away, you could practically see the stupid smirk on his face as you read the half-assed attempt at regret.

Should you even mention it?

No—you didn’t need to ask yourself that question. He was the one who brought it up; there was no way you could even think about dropping the subject without at least acknowledging how irritating he was being. If he fired you, he fired you. That was your mindset.

Subject: RE: RE: RE: Upcoming Cover Design Outgoing Mail: 11:27 AM Mr. Kishibe, I’ll aim to have the revised concepts to you sooner than anticipated. I understand the importance of staying on schedule and will prioritize your project accordingly. As for the elevator incident: thank you for the acknowledgment, though I’d hardly call your note an apology. I’ll let it slide this time, as I’m sure your schedule is as intense as your themes. Regarding contrast: I’ll incorporate it into the composition and ensure it aligns with your vision. Respectfully, [Name]

Was the connotation too much? No. Not enough? Maybe.

Yes.

Definitely yes.

You could probably fill a book with all the things you wanted to scream at the man, if you were being honest; if given one chance to speak freely with no fear of backlash, you could probably lecture him for hours about this super cool concept called ‘empathy.’

But you couldn't afford to be blunt. This was Rohan, for fucks sake; the man probably wouldn’t respond to direct confrontation at all. No. He expected you to speak his language. You had to be petty.

So, you settled for a closing that could read as sarcastic; one with enough plausible deniability that it could be brushed off if confronted about it’s impoliteness; one that you so very desperately wanted to add an opposing prefix to; one that would have been uttered through gritted teeth if spoken to his face.

To your credit, you did take a moment to consider if it was worth it.

But as far as you were concerned, a little bit of backtalk was entirely justifiable under the living hell that was working for Rohan Kishibe.

Besides, its not like an inauthentic email sign-off ever hurt anybody.

When you finally hit the send button, a small sense of pride found itself nestled in your stomach. You weren't going to let the man steamroll you entirely.

But, as you'd anticipated, his response came swiftly—and, of course, only made things worse.

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Upcoming Cover Design Rohan Kishibe: 11:31 AM [Name], Your dedication to the project is noted. I’m relieved to hear you’ll prioritize it, though I hope the final result will reflect the same energy as your emails. Regarding the elevator: I see no reason to dwell on it further. Let’s focus on the work at hand. I look forward to seeing the revisions, Rohan Kishibe

Your hands curled into fists. The same energy as your emails? Did he think this was a joke? And the way he dismissed the elevator incident as though it were insignificant—he made your blood boil, to say the least.

It almost seemed he was trying to provoke you.

No. Not almost. He was absolutely enjoying provoking you.

You resisted the urge to slam your forehead straight into the keyboard, opting instead to take a deep breath before typing out a measured response.

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Upcoming Cover Design Outgoing Mail: 11:34 AM Mr. Kishibe, I’ll ensure the revisions reflect the level of energy you’re looking for. Thank you for the thorough feedback, [Name]

You left it at that. Short, professional, and pointedly devoid of any acknowledgment of his sarcasm. If he wasn’t going to play nice, then you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten under your skin.

Deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this back-and-forth wasn’t just about the project; better to just ignore that, though.

The bastard would probably still find a way to interpret it as a win on his end.

It started subtly enough. At first, you thought the overlapping routines were just coincidences—the man occasionally popping up at the places you liked to work, or at the quiet bookstore you frequented on weekends. But by the third time in a week, when you spotted him in the same cozy café you’d retreated to for a midday break, you got the feeling it wasn’t happenstance.

Rohan was perched at a corner table, sketchbook open in front of him, pen moving in sharp, deliberate strokes. He didn’t look up immediately, though you were sure he’d already seen you walk through the door. For a few seconds, you even debated leaving, but you’d already ordered coffee… pulling an about-face would be too conspicuous.

It wasn’t like he was bothering you or anything. Besides, you’d never be able prove it was intentional; your intuition was your only guide here, and it wasn’t a reliable source by any means.

So, you decided to muscle through; you paid him no mind, the same way you had been for the entirety of your employment.

You were halfway to your usual table when his voice cut through the low hum of the brunch crowd chatter, deviating from routine to call your name aloud; to acknowledge your presence for once.

Your stomach twisted at how smoothly he said it, like it was a tool he alone wielded to unsettle you. But, there were people around; this was a public space. And since making a scene was not on your to-do list, you had no choice but to turn reluctantly, meeting his gaze without masking your irritation.

Rohan leaned back in his chair, his pen poised lazily in one hand as he looked up at you. “What are the odds?”

“Getting smaller every day,” you said flatly with a sarcastic smile, gripping the coffee cup tighter.

He smirked, unbothered by the jab—if he’d even noticed it. “Well, since fate insists on throwing us together, why not make the most of it? Sit with me.”

You blinked. He wasn’t asking? He was seriously pretending this was coincidence?

“Fate?” you sneered impulsively before adjusting your tone to one that was more acceptable, “Why?”

“Coworker bonding,” he said, the words dripping with mock sincerity as he waved his hand dismissively. “Or at least, that’s what I’ll call it- I could use a second opinion on some things.”

“Are you going to pay me a consultation fee?” You snarked, cocking your head to one side. “I’m not your editor, Rohan.”

He pursed his lips disapprovingly, “You know, most people would jump at the chance to take creative control on a project like-”

“I’m working,” you cut him off firmly, holding up your messenger bag as proof.

“Perfect. So am I.” He gestured to the chair across from him, flicking his head towards the seat slightly. “Call it what you want—professional development, if you will. Even if it does look like a breakfast outing or study date.”

Your brow furrowed, patience wearing thin. “What, like we’re in fucking university?”

“Thank god we’re not,” he said, his smirk widening. “I would’ve been insufferable if I’d gone. You, on the other hand…” His eyes squinted, piercing with something that made you want to roll yours… like he wasn’t insufferable now.

“Are you assuming I didn’t?” You interjected, determined not to hear whatever assumption he was about to make. “Not all of us struck gold at sixteen. Normal people spend years trying to build a sliver of your reputation. Can you fathom that?”

“I’m shocked you know how old I was,” he quipped instantly, tilting his head forward slightly—of course that was his biggest takeaway from your statement. “What, did they make you write a report on your favorite artist while you were there or something? What else do you know about me?”

There was an insane amount of arrogance needed to make a claim like that without hesitation—to outright assume and definitively state that you’d idolized him at one point in time. He was right, of course, but still.

You returned the comment with a similar air of superiority, tone cutting through his bullshit. “I know your favorite thing to talk about is yourself, but I actually have things to do today.”

“So do them here. That’s what you were planning on doing anyways, right?” He was unbelievable.

You just sighed, weighing your options. On one hand, sitting with him was the last thing you wanted to do. On the other, your usual table was already taken, and if you left now, he’d surely get an inflated ego about it. He’d drawn attention to the fact, for fucks sake; there was no way he’d refrain from mentioning it in an email if given the opportunity. You certainly didn’t need to give the man more ammunition. Plus, he had been… different… over your recent correspondences, to put it politely. Maybe you could give him the benefit of the doubt, just this once.

You didn’t need to watch your tone, you weren't sitting in a professional office or anything. Anyways, you had already made up your mind a week ago that if he fired you, he fired you. It was starting to feel like the preferable option, honestly. If he terminated you, you’d still be on his payroll until your contract ended. Same hourly rate with a decreased chance of pulling out your own hair; it didn’t sound that bad.

“Fine,” you grumbled, admitting compliance as you fell into the seat across from him. “But only if you keep your mouth shut, I have actual work to do and my client is a prick about deadlines.”

You tossed your folder down on the table in front of him, making no effort to hide the name on the cover. Adrenaline rushed through your body as you watched him read it. “Oh, very funny.”

If the comment upset him, he did well at hiding the fact—that smile taking your attention away from the storm you had anticipated approaching. As you adjusted yourself in the seat, Rohan assured you that he’d keep his head down, though the smug look on his face gave you the feeling he’d break that promise sooner rather than later.

To your mild surprise—and to a certain extent, irritation—he mostly kept to himself at first, sketching quietly while you opened your portfolio to pull up the concepts for his cover design. Occasionally, you’d catch him glancing out of the corner of his eye, but you refused to look up. All things considered, the man was leaving you alone like you’d requested, best not to enable his interruptive tendencies.

It wasn’t until twenty minutes in that he finally broke the silence.

“Do you always work like this?” He asked, judgement mixing with disbelief as he let out a dramatic sigh.

You didn’t look away from the page. “Like what?”

“So focused,” he said. “You barely even look up. I’m sitting right here, you know?”

“Believe it or not, the world doesn’t revolve around you,” you replied dryly. You were working on his project right now; why couldn't he let you do the job in peace?

Rohan chuckled at the statement before speaking with a lighthearted tempo, “What a brainless thing to suggest.”

You snapped your head up, preparing to shoot him a quick glare, but his expression caught you off guard entirely. Was that… a joke? Self awareness? Sarcasm? Holy shit; he looked so annoyingly pleased with himself that you couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't an impressive feat by any means—in fact, it was more a soundless chuckle at best—but the man seemed satisfied with the result.

For a second, it felt like you might have actually had common ground… then Rohan opened his mouth, “No but really, lighten up. It’s like you have horse blinders on.”

Yup. The fantasy was ruined when you remembered this was Rohan Kishibe you were talking to. Besides, you still needed to focus.

You kept your reply short, hoping he’d get the hint as you turned back to the task at hand, “Unless I’m home.”

“What distracts you at home?” Rohan pushed, voice making you grind your teeth in slight frustration.

Significantly less than what distracts me here, apparently. “Neighbors dog.”

Your tone was so hostile you were sure he’d get the point, but maybe you’d given him too much credit.

“Figured. So you came here instead? Took the initiative?”

He figured? If you cared more, you might have made fun of him for misspeaking in his rush to seem witty… but, you didn’t. So you kept your answer as concise as possible. “Yup.”

“You know, I just find it interesting,” he continued, leaning forward slightly. “How is it someone with such strong opinions about me can still work so diligently on my projects?”

Your fingers froze around the pen in your hand, stomach dropping slightly at the breach in professionalism. You looked up slowly, eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he said innocently, though the curve of his mouth suggested otherwise.

“Then don’t say it.” You said, looking back down at your work with the same apathetic demeanor.

Out of your peripheral, you saw that he tilted his head, studying you like some kind of puzzle he was determined to solve. “You’ve got a sharp tongue when you’re defensive,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

You felt a compelling urge to pour your coffee in his lap, but you didn’t need an assault lawsuit on top of dealing with his constant pestering. “Are you aware that you’re exhausting.”

“You’re still here,” he mentioned, voice quieter this time. “If I’m so exhausting, why is that?”

Your fingers clenched around the pen, any tighter and you might have even snapped it. “Because I’m not easily pushed away from a paycheck. And believe it or not, I enjoy the work; I appreciate a good challenge.”

Rohan’s expression shifted slightly, and for a moment, you thought you saw something almost remorseful in his eyes. But then he smiled again, and whatever vulnerability you’d thought you’d seen vanished. “I’m flattered you consider me worthy of the honor-”

You furrowed your brows as you cut him off… you couldn’t help yourself, he made it so easy. “Who said the challenge was you?”

The patronizing tone was jarring, even to your own ears. Understandably, Rohan jerked his shoulders back slightly—like he was offended at this dismissal. As you locked eyes with him, you almost had to bite your tongue to keep a straight face, especially once he looked like he was questioning your sincerity.

You didn’t keep the composure for long, facade breaking like a burst dam as you enjoyed the look of sheer confusion on the man. It was refreshing, to say the least.

As soon as he caught on, he broke out into a grin. Then he laughed. Truly laughed.

The man was even pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in disbelief. It felt so… genuine.

To say you were shocked was a bit of an understatement. In one sitting, the walking nightmare was starting to seem like he wasn’t that bad after all. He had a subtle sense of self awareness about him, like he knew he came across rude to those outside of arms reach.

Although you weren’t looking to excuse his horrid attempts at socialization, for a moment you considered that he acted like god’s gift to mankind because it was expected of him. If that was the Rohan you’d encountered in the elevator, it sure felt like someone entirely different was sitting across from you.

Maybe ‘Rohan Kishibe the critically acclaimed artist,’ and ‘Rohan Kishibe, your business associate and neighbor,’ didn’t need to be the same thing.

He even seemed like somewhat of a people person. What the fuck?

Maybe you’d misjudged him through his emails. Maybe you had misread intentions. Maybe he just didn't socialize well with strangers. Maybe running into him again wasn't that bad after all- no.

Those were excuses.

He still hadn't apologized.

He still was weird.

And he was still an intolerable asshole.

But you weren't as opposed to the notion of spending time with him as you had been last week. In fact, you’d even say that your time with the man was productive.

It was surprisingly easier working face to face when the person actually knew what they were talking about, and it was surprisingly comforting having the man watch every step of the process. His feedback in real time was admittedly still a bit frustrating, but it no longer felt pointed in your direction.

That wasn’t to say he had completely abandoned his inner control freak, though.

“Why don’t we-” he’d say on occasion, usually as a precursor to some minor change.

You’d cut him off every time. “We?”

And every time, his sigh got more exaggerated as he corrected himself. “Why don’t you-”

By the time the afternoon began winding down, you’d actually managed to get a decent amount of work done, despite his intermittent commentary.

But you were tired.

So, without making a spectacle, you collected your belongings with practiced stealth before standing, eager to escape before he found another excuse to keep you there.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked, glancing up from his sketchbook.

You scoffed, leaving out your usual harshness. “Some of us have lives.”

“Hmm.” He closed the sketchbook, tucking it into his bag. “Well, before you go…”

He pulled out a single sheet of paper, sliding it across the table. After a moment of hesitation, you reached forward to pick it up, eyes widening as you took in the sketch.

It was a small panel, inked with his signature sharp lines and dramatic shading. The drawing itself was a stylized depiction of the two of you standing in that goddamned elevator, your expression frozen somewhere between irritation and disbelief while he stood beside you, looking as smug—and stupid—as ever.

At the bottom, in neat, precise lettering, were the words:

Sorry I was an ass.

- your favorite mangaka, rk

Your lips twitched, torn between a smile and a scowl. “Was?”

Rohan smirked. “Don’t push it—that’s a priceless gift in your hands. I even signed it. You could sell it for a small fortune, though I doubt you’ll want to part with something so sentimental.”

You rolled your eyes at the statement, putting the paper in the center fold of your sketchbook and tucking it into your bag. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re still here,” he said, shooing you away with his hand.

With a roll of your eyes, you slung the bag over your shoulder and headed for the door, heart annoyingly lighter than it had been all day.

The back-and-forth emails had become something of a ritual. You weren’t sure if it was more irritating or amusing, but you couldn’t deny that Rohan’s correspondence had a way of adding something to your day—even if that something was making you roll your eyes so hard you were worried they’d get stuck.

Subject: RE: Minor Adjustments (Again) Rohan Kishibe: 8:00 PM [Name], Your latest draft is… acceptable. However, the color balance is still off. The title should pop against the background—currently, it looks as though it’s trying to hide. I’ve attached some notes. Please address them promptly, as this cover needs to be finalized soon. Time is of the essence, though I’m sure you can manage. I must say, though, the linework around the central figure is almost tolerable. Progress, perhaps? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Sincerely, Rohan Kishibe

You pinched the bridge of your nose, groaning softly before typing out a response.

‘Progress perhaps?’ Eat shit. ‘Lets not get ahead of ourselves??’

Three weeks ago, you might have punched a hole through the monitor... but now?

Now, It was finally time for your favorite part of the day: the part where you get tell Rohan to go fuck himself sideways via vague corporate lingo.

What could you say? It was fun.

Subject: RE: RE: Minor Adjustments (Again) Outgoing Mail: 8:14 PM Dear Mr. Kishibe, Your feedback has been noted, though I must respectfully disagree with your assessment of the title’s “hiding.” If anything, I believe it’s your excessive attachment to overly dramatic fonts that’s the issue. But who am I to question the artistic genius of Morioh’s most renowned mangaka? I’ll make the adjustments as you’ve requested, though I can’t promise they’ll meet your very exacting standards. You’ll have the revised draft within two business days. Perhaps sooner, if the stars align. Thanks for nothing, [Name]

Was that too far? Not by a long shot. Besides, you were fairly certain a new boundary had been established in these exchanges; he hadn’t flown off the handle when you’d been short with him in person, so to an extent, this was okay. If he was going to be an asshole, you had every right to be one as well. It certainly made things more interesting, and as much as you hated to admit it, it was starting to sharpen your artistic skills. The wonders of constructive collaboration and whatnot.

Not that you’d ever tell him that.

Before you could dwell on it any further, Rohan’s reply snapped you back to reality. He’d answered almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting for your message.

Subject: RE: RE: RE: Minor Adjustments (Again) Rohan Kishibe: 8:18 PM [Name], “Renowned” feels like an understatement, but I’ll allow it. As for the fonts—my preferences have been the foundation of this project’s success. Were it not for my impeccable taste, your designs would lack any sense of cohesion. But, as you so eloquently put it, who are you to question genius? Flattery only gets you so far when you bury it under blatant sarcasm. I don’t like that. That said, if my input is such a burden, we could always part ways. I’m sure there are plenty of smaller clients who would find your work… adequate. You’re welcome for everything, Rohan Kishibe

You just stared at the email, teeth grinding as you tried to figure out if he was serious or just trying to get a rise out of you. He'd even retaliated the closing, for crying out loud... But either way, you weren’t about to let him win.

If he fired you, he fired you. How many times did you have to say it?

Dot dot dot, adequate?

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Minor Adjustments (Again) Outgoing Mail: 8:29 PM Mr. Kishibe, As tempting as it is to cut ties, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your invitation to do so. While I do have smaller clients, none are quite as consistent or profitable as you. It would be irresponsible to abandon my primary source of income—no matter how challenging it might be to work with said source. Besides, you don’t seem the type to settle for adequacy in the first place. If that’s truly how you perceive my skill set, I have plenty of associates I’m sure would be acceptable. I’ll be sure to warn them of your patronizing tendencies and uncanny ability to find a flaw in everything. Rest assured, I value this partnership far too much to let minor frustrations—like your relentless micromanagement—get in the way. I look forward to your continued patronage. As for the 'blatant sarcasm,' it wasn’t my goal for you to like it 👍 [Name]

Good lord that felt good; you could get addicted to a feeling like that. There was even a pause in his response! Like he’d ignored it entirely! If he fired you, he fired you!

For a moment you wondered if you’d finally left him speechless, though you doubted it.

Rohan was nothing if not relentless.

But when his next email arrived, it wasn’t what you had expected. It wasn’t what you’d expected at all.

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Minor Adjustments (Again) Rohan Kishibe: 8:57 PM Mr. Kishibe? What happened to ‘dear’? You know, you have an interesting way of expressing gratitude. If I’m your primary source of income, shouldn’t you be more accommodating? Willing to bend a bit more? Grateful, even? I’m beginning to think we should discuss this in person, this little quarrel over the thing that I pay you to do. We could meet for dinner, perhaps? My treat, of course—I wouldn’t want you to strain your budget. After all, leeching off me must be exhausting. I’ll even make it worth your time. There are a few other things we need to discuss, and I’d rather not leave them to the limitations of email. Let me know your availability. Additionally, I would hope you agree that the last time we collaborated over a meal, it ended up being somewhat enjoyable; I might even argue efficient. I look forward to actual productivity from you instead of whatever this is. Pretend this is a heartfelt signoff, Rohan Kishibe

Your eyes widened, the cursor blinking in front of you as your brain tried to process the words. Dinner? Rohan Kishibe? Somewhat enjoyable? Whatever this is?

You weren’t sure whether to laugh, scream, or immediately respond without thinking it through.

What would you even say? ‘Hey are you going to fire me?’

Did he even do any work when you’d seen him last?

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Minor Adjustments (Again) Re: 9:05 PM Dear Mr. Kishibe, While I’m sure your invitation comes from a place of pure professionalism, I can’t help but feel… wary. That said, curiosity (and bribery) is a powerful motivator, and I’d be remiss to decline without hearing what you have to say. I have no demanding plans the weekend after next; set a time, and I’ll consider it. Pretend this is a devastatingly witty insult, [Your Name]

The response came within minutes; short and straight to the point, and he’d immediately sent a follow-up. That was a first...

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Minor Adjustments (Again) Rohan Kishibe: 9:07 PM I'm wounded. That was truly devastating and brutal. Rohan Kishibe

————————————————————

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Minor Adjustments (Again) Rohan Kishibe: 9:07 PM Consider it set. Saturday evening, 7 PM. I’ll send you the details as soon as I make a reservation. Insincerely, Rohan Kishibe

You just stared at the screen, stomach dropping as you realized what you’d might have just agreed to. A reservation?

Whatever Rohan had in mind, you had a feeling it wouldn’t be anything you were prepared for.

But when had you ever been prepared for something the man did?

a/n: is this technically stalking? yes. yes it is. this entire thing feels like that one “um, hr” meme. don't be surprised if I go dark for a bit, school this week is odd and I have a bunch of writing to do. Unfortunately, I am soooo dyslexic and literally have a shut off point for looking at words before it just gets frustrating. That being said, I do have this one outlined to a half decent ending, but if you have any suggestions for directions you'd take it, I am all ears!

also how do we feel about the small text? Not opposed to making it normal, just seeing if it makes the yapping easier to digest so lmk if you have a preference!!

[masterlist] [join taglist]

can someone on the taglist let me know if this is working!! wanna be sure formatting doesnt mess with ur notifs <3

@rainiscoollikeyou @lamplitesatnight @mysticalzonkthingparty @yunho-leeknow

[expelliarmus]

[primus-why]

I Feel TFOne Could've Handled This Better...

Hot take but I feel like folks have been really generous with the take that OP was unable to find ~the perfect words~ in the heat of the moment (and thus should be given some grace) when he told D to stand down and "not be like Sentinel"... namely cuz I don't feel that the narrative supports this?

Like-- after all is said and done, OP doesn't reflect on that part of their split. He doesn't have a moment where he seeks validation or voices his regrets over the choice of his words, it's actually cut-and-dry. The narrative (as it stands) supports that OP saw D-16 acting up, so he called him out and stood on business, down to the last scenes where he's basically like "yeah it's a shame but y'all knew I had to do it to 'em."

It didn't have to be much! I'm not saying to absolve Megs, just show OP looking at things from a different perspective/contemplating a bit on that tough choice and the morality of the moment. Some examples of what I wish we had:

B-127 straight up blurting the obvious by later chatting with Orion like, "Wait so you told your best friend that he was acting just as bad as the guy who enslaved us for our entire lives and was torturing him like an hour ago? Oof. Seems kinda harsh." Then have some of OP's regret show on his face.

OP asking Elita-1 after Megs is banished if he did the right thing. Have Elita back his choice up, saying, "You should have seen what he did after you were... gone. It was terrifying. I know it was tough, but you made the right call." OP is grateful for the support, but a conflicted look still flashes across his face before he steels himself to look out towards the horizon... and the future.

Have OP walk past other mechs/former miners who didn't go with the High Guard saying stuff like, "Wish I could've given Sentinel a piece of my mind!" "Yeah, but I'm glad he's gone for good." "Ugh I miss everything." "Oh, it was crazy! Megatron picked him up and then he rrrrriiipped-- oops, hey there, Mr. Optimus... Prime... sir?" And have OP wave hello, looking a bit sick when they leave.

Post-credits scene with Starscream going on and on, asking Megs when they'll be back to teach the upstart Prime a lesson. Megs grabs his face to shut him up. "Patience, Starscream. The Prime thinks I'm no better than Sentinel... but I'll show him. He wants Iacon? He can have it. In the meantime we'll take the rest of the planet! Then I'll come back, crush Prime under my heel, and we'll take Iacon too. Sentinel's reign will barely be a footnote, because I'm about to become Optimus Prime's worst nightmare." The vocal performance would really need to sell this-- like picture Megs saying something like that from a place of anger and hurt, not so much a place of genuine evil or malice.

Basically instead of Orion's assertion being backed up as black and white/good vs bad, I wish we had some different opinions/reactions from the characters sprinkled in there. Like you can't tell me out of allllll the miners who weren't strong enough/willing to go with the High Guard and ended up sticking around that NONE of them were like "eyyo honestly?? Kiiiiinda glad Sentinel is dead. Wish I could have helped, tbh." like come onnnnn...

And you can't even argue that he's not an active threat-- I don't think everyone would see things that way! It's not just about the threat he physically has, but the threat he represents and is very likely to act upon if given the opportunity! He has a proven track record of not only being sneaky and conniving, but also capable of dealing some serious damage/killing people bigger and stronger than him, plus he has the backing of the Quints. All he'd need to do is wriggle his way out of jail and run off to his sponsors, then he'd probably be back to hurt more people! (If the Quints didn't just kill him out of incompetence lmao). There's a lot of "ifs" here, but I think it's a valid argument that not everyone would agree on what is the right or wrong way to handle Sentinel once he was down long enough to, like, do something about him.

I feel the situation needed a bit of nuance. In some way I wish they had kicked the can and had D and Orion bicker while Sentinel escaped, then have D get frustrated enough by the loss of Sentinel to point fingers (and his fusion canon) at Orion, who then falls and becomes OP. (Megs could still show some of thar emotion/remorse right after he does it too.) Not only would this open the door for a sequel, but tbh the Quint might have just killed Sentinel anyways and sought to deal with the miners uprising themselves lol. (Maybe that could have been an after credits scenes too instead of the B-127 bit??)

Would love to see a moment in a sequel where they have a calmer moment after arguing for a bit. Have OP mention how Megs was out of line, that it hurt and even scared him to see him act that way, and Megs can quietly point out "you said I was as bad as Sentinel... is that really how you see me? After everything we went through?"

Then OP can fumble the bag again lmao like "D, I... I'm sorry, that didn't come out right... but you still took things way too far..."

"Why am I not surprised-- your opinion is what matters the most! Maybe that's why you became a Prime, since you're so good at acting like the world revolves around you--!"

*gets interrupted by someone else before another yelling match ensues*

[itspileofgoodthings]

.

[sugubear]

thinking of revenge sex with ex-boyfriend!toji to get back at your cheating boyfriend.

"so what, you wanna send a video of us fucking to get back at yer shitty boyfriend?"

toji knew it was only a matter of time before you came showing up at his door. you'd never been able to resist him during your relationship, so what makes it any different now that you apparently found some good boy who treats you better? he knows he's ruined you for any other man and the thought makes him so fucking cocky. his dick is replaceable. or so he thought, anyways.

he remembers the day you dumped him. oh, you found someone who's sweet and charming? yeah, right. he could see through the man's facade even with his eyes closed. besides, the man wasn't even half as attractive as he is. toji was offended that you'd downgraded to a cheating asshole like that. he treated— no, treats you better than him.

"nasty fuckin' girl," toji's gravelly voice rasps through hot, heavy pants. you respond with a high-pitched whine, hips pathetically bucking to get any kind of relief from the heated ache between your legs he's adamantly keeping you from getting. he's buried so deep inside you, you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

a rough hand pushes the side of your face into the mattress, one of his thumbs hooking into your mouth. "toji, please—!"

"not you. i'm talking to this greedy girl."

a glob of gooey saliva hits your perky clit before he's rubbing it with his other thumb, pinching it every few seconds to see you squirm and watch your tits bounce in tandem to your body's squirming movement.

everything has your mind cloudy and your eyes unfocused, the only thing you're actually focused solely on is getting him to just pound his fat cock into you. you can barely even register your phone on his bedside table recording the both of you anymore.

"i knew you were obsessed with my dick, but i didn't think you were going to be this pathetic about it." toji snarks with a coarse chuckle, not even bothering to hide the condescending smirk playing on his lips when he watches the arch of your back on the phone screen. he slaps your clit with the pads of his fingers and mannerlessly rolls you onto your stomach, splaying a hand across the span of your abdomen and then lower... lower... lower...

"what the fuck?"

toji's face falls into a disgruntled frown, his hand stopping almost immediately when he sees a message pop up on your screen. one of his hands come up, calloused palm now silencing your needy whimpers.

"why the fuck is shiu asking if you're still coming over?"

[chuluoyi]

✎ baby to the rescue

- gojo satoru x reader

in which gojo recruits your baby son to “save” you from a credit card salesman

genre: immense fluff !! baby gojo and dad!gojo shenanigans~

note: based on this and this reel. with this i hereby declare that anything past chapter 235 is null and void HAHA anyway, i truly want to post remarried empress au by this week but since 261 leaks hurt me so much, i need more fluff so have to postpone it to next week :') tagging @karikari19hikariiii <3

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Your husband Gojo Satoru... is handsome as hell, which means your baby son is also undeniably good-looking.

"Why do you pout at me?" Satoru poked his squirming baby's cheek while pursing his lips too. "C'mon, smile! That auntie is smiling at you!"

Everyone who passed by them in Shinjuku shopping district turned heads to admire him and his pumpkin just a little longer, and Satoru visibly enjoyed the attention. He smiled back at them, occasionally winking even.

If only they knew how pretty his wife was too...

Wait, no! On second thought, if they know how hot you are, there will be problems!

You had left him to go to the nearest pharmacy to restock some things, while Satoru decided to entertain his baby in the toy section. He basked in the starry-eyed looks people were giving him... until he heard some strange sounds and turned to his baby boy—

—who was chewing the beak of a duck toy with all his might. Satoru was mortified.

"—! Let that go! Your mama will beat me if she sees you eating this!"

Your baby paid him no mind though, desperately pushing the duck into his mouth. Satoru sat him on one of the empty racks and began the tug of war—

"Let go!" he reprimanded. "You're so naughty, gods—!"

Some people were now openly giggling at both of them. His son tried to resist by rolling, and Satoru clicked his tongue. He then yanked the toy away until his baby finally let it go, sniffling sadly that his papa wouldn't let him have the duck.

"Oh, you..." he picked him up again and consoled the pumpkin. "You can't do that, you hear? First, it's not clean. Second, mama will grow two heads to chew you and me both, understand?"

No, your son totally didn't understand a thing. Satoru sighed, seeing his little blue eyes welling up with tears. He ruffled his head and pulled him close. "There, there... I'll get you ice cream, okay? Now let's go."

Satoru was determined to turn his son back into a smiling, happy baby. But just as he was about to head towards the ice cream parlor, he encountered the most unbelievable sight—

"Miss! I guarantee you'll love this credit card features!"

You. That was clearly you, and a salesman (or a bozo, in Satoru's eyes) was trying to bother you.

You raised an eyebrow. "Uh, no— thank you—"

Yet the bozo was still persistent, like the pesky fly he was. "You can use it to pay for your monthly beauty treatments! Someone as pretty as you..." He eyed you from head to toe, blinking suggestively. "Oh my! Your skin is flawless! You have to maintain it this way! I can also give you recommendations for—"

You were wearing a flare dress that made you look so young and petite, and obviously, Satoru too was lusting after you. And true, your skin was smooth like a soft serve of mochi, but still!

You are meant for him and his eyes only! Oho, this bozo would get heavenly punishment.

He had to get to you somehow, but this was public space and if he cooked up some sort of shenanigan, you would put him in sex ban. I can't have that! so Satoru wracked his brain to think of another way...

Once again, his gaze fell on his now calm baby, who was also looking at his mama over there with utter curiosity. And an idea immediately popped up in his mind.

"Hey, kiddo, look at that, a bad man is trying to take your mama," Satoru nudged him as if trying to egg him on. "We can't let that happen. Will you help me to save her, hmm?"

"Mama..." your baby looked back at him so innocently before smiling. "Mamaaa!"

"Good boy." Gods, his baby was so adorable, he almost felt bad for doing this but...

Swallowing his guilt, thinking he would make it up later, he pinched his son's butt a little too firmly—

"WAAAA!" and suddenly, the little boy burst into tears, and even Satoru was surprised by the sheer volume of his wail.

The sudden inconsolable sound of your baby sent you scrambling in panic, your eyes wildly searching for him, completely disregarding the credit card man. "My baby!"

"Eh?" the credit card man was visibly surprised. "Oh... so, you're married...?"

You immediately made your way towards Satoru and snatched your baby from him, hugging him tightly. "Oh, there, there... What happened to you?" you shot your husband a distaste look as your son kept wailing. "Satoru, why is he crying?"

He nonchalantly shrugged. "Maybe missing his mama? Dunno~"

By now, you had completely forgotten the credit card bozo, but he still looked at the three of you in mild surprise. Satoru took this chance to approach him and whisper in his ear:

"You see, my wife doesn't need your credit card," he whistled. "My cards or lumpsum money will do more than enough."

After seeing how pale the bozo looked, Satoru chuckled darkly... before leading you and your son away from the crowd, with one arm possessively around your waist.

Epilogue

"I'm sorry— I'm sorry, okay!?"

Satoru looked down at his son in utter hopelessness, as the little boy refused to be held by him, looking at him with teary, resentful eyes, and backing away from him in his playpen.

Can babies hold a grudge? Satoru didn't know, but his son definitely was not happy with him, and he couldn't think of any other explanation other than his sin against him back this afternoon.

"I've bought you mochi ice cream!" he opened his palm to reveal the treat. "Don't you want some? Papa will give you some, yeah?"

Baby looked skeptical now, and at that moment, he resembled you so much—accusing eyes, pursed lips, exactly like the expression you would pull when you were unsure of what Satoru might do next. He almost chuckled at the resemblance, feeling giddy.

"C'mon, forgive me, yeah?" he patted his son's little beanie and offered his hand for him to take, eyes crinkling in fondness. "Now, here comes your treat, come closer?"

Your baby crawled closer, seemingly accepting him, and Satoru was all smiles, until—

Whack!

It happened in a flash. He could have avoided it, but he was too taken aback. The pain exploded in his jaw, so intense that he grunted loudly.

"What the—?! You... you—! You kicked me— in the face!"

[paetalks]

nanami kento, very serious looking guy working in the finance department, having a little crush for the new girl who just got hired by the creative team.

you didn’t even know him, not until the christmas dinner party at the office. you were fairly new, only been working there for four months. working for a big company had not always been your goal, but when you got offered the position freshly out of college you couldn’t say no. it was well paid, in the city center, and allowed you to put your degree to use - which was a big plus, since finding a good job lately seemed to be stressful for people with an art degree (or so you were told by basically everybody).

when you first saw him, your heart skipped a bit. he looked insanely good, with his white shirt hugging a toned chest and short blonde hair falling slightly on his forehead. he was talking with your creative project manager, big hands gesturing softly while speaking and a light smile on his face. it was the first time you ever laid eyes on this beautiful man, and as soon as you realized you were staring a bit too hard, he had already made eye contact. eyebrows slightly furrowed, his eyes met yours. before you even knew, you were walking up to him.

“hi” you said, breathily. you felt your hands sweat and damned yourself mentally for behaving like a girl seeing a cute boy for the first time. up close, you realized he must have been a little older. not too much but the confidence he exuded was clearly not the one of someone in his early twenties - nothing like a guy your age. your manager looked around, confused on why you were intruding in their conversation, and eventually asked “hi, y/n. did you need something?”

you blushed immediately, looking away from the beautiful man, realizing there was no good reason to justify your sudden intrusion. you just saw a good looking man and walked up to him as if nothing else was going on. “oh…” your mouth slightly open, your mind racing to find something appropriate to say.

“i think we have not been introduced yet.” his voice was deep and you felt it in your stomach, like music at a concert. your eyes darted up to the unknown man, nodding shyly. “right. my name is nanami kento, pleased to meet you.”

you felt your insides melt while shaking his big hand, mumbling your name and smiling softly. five seconds later, you pretended like someone was calling your name from somewhere where your other colleagues were and excused yourself, quickly leaving just like you did arriving.

watching you walk away, nanami let out a soft smile, hoping the man in front of him was not going to pay much mind to it. “oh, don’t worry about y/n. she’s young, and new. she’s still trying to find her way around here, you know?” your project manager laughed awkwardly, still wondering what was all that about. kento shrugged, watching you from afar. your cheeks were red and the grip on the glass you had in your hands looked incredibly stiff.

what neither you or your protect manager knew was that nanami kento did know who you were. he had noticed you, maybe on your first or second day, when you got lost and popped up in the finance department. your colorful sweater and laptop full of stickers looked very out of place and when one of his colleagues approached you, letting you know that maybe you had walked in the wrong office, you did turn another color from embarrassment and started profoundly apologize. he thought you were cute, and funny, but the more he got a glimpse of you in the hallways, the more he noticed you wherever he were.

the break room, the coffee shop in front of the office building, the elevator. he found you in every room, even if you didn’t even know he was there. it was like he couldn’t get enough of you, like looking at you from afar was something he had grown addicted to in such a short time.

he wouldn’t have called it a crush, but whenever he needed to print something he would carefully choose the printer on the same floor your office was on - hoping that, when walking by, your door would be open and that he could catch a glimpse of you. okay, maybe thinking back, there had been a few moments in which he felt very infatuated by the idea of you…

looking at you from across the room, while zoning out on the conversation he was in, and noticing how sometimes you would look back too, he told himself that yes, that was definitely a crush.

idk i love the dynamics of stoic boyfriend x artsy girlfriend. wtv??? i’m done .

[eowynstwin]

Price x Reader. Age gap. Divorced Price. Older BF Price. Vaguely smutty. Follow-up to this.

Price realizes you’ve never had a reliable man in your life exactly the second time he discovers you looking up DIY home maintenance for very simple projects.

It missed him the first time because he was deployed. You’d mentioned offhand how you were figuring out how to rebalance a ceiling fan, and he’d just automatically assumed that you were doing it yourself because he wasn’t there, so he simply praised you for your resourcefulness and lived for the next three weeks off of the way you’d absolutely glowed at his words.

But then he gets home, and one evening on the couch he catches you googling “how to fix a leaky sink.”

“What’s that?” he asks you, tamping down on the sudden feeling of masculine inadequacy that reared up almost immediately at the discovery.

“Faucet handle’s leaking all over my counter when I turn it on,” you say, not looking up from your phone. “Landlord’s out of town and can’t fix it.”

“I’m in town, ain’t I?”

You look up at him then, brows raised. You hadn’t even considered asking him, then.

“Oh—I didn’t want to bother you, John, you only just got back, and you’re tired…”

You trail off at the droll expression on his face.

Price has learned a lot of lessons from his previous marriage. The foundational one: just because he hasn’t been asked to help doesn’t mean he is believed to be unreliable. Adding that lesson to his knowledge base about you—young, modern, independent—calculates out an obvious answer that curtails any sour mood that might have sprouted up over the issue.

He puts his hand over your phone screen and lowers it down to your lap. “I’m fixin’ the sink,” he says simply.

He enjoys the way your eyes dilate at the assertion.

The next day, he shows up at your flat wearing old work clothes and carrying his heavy toolbox in his hand.

(You don’t live together yet—something he’s keen to rectify—but he has a toothbrush in your bathroom and permanent space in your bedroom drawers. He can be content for now.)

And you—you answer the door in the filmiest of sundresses, the ribbon tie on one shoulder hanging at a loose angle.

“Heard you need some plumbing done,” he says in the gruffest of voices, already understanding the game.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” you say, barely able to hide your giggle, “I’ve been so worried.”

He steps in close to you, close enough to feel the heat of your body radiating off of your bare skin. He has half a mind to put the charade aside and lift your skirt here and now, but another lesson helpfully springs to mind: anticipation of the act makes the finale all the sweeter.

“I’ll show you to the kitchen,” you murmur, looking up at him with warm, dreamy eyes.

When he gets under the sink, he finds the problem easy enough to fix—the cold water supply line simple isn’t screwed in tight enough, and when he wiggles the whole contraption by the valves he finds that nothing has been tightened up to standard. A couple of years knocking the thing around had probably loosened up the locknut.

He elects to fix the whole problem in one go, while in the meantime you stand off to the side, watching him. He feels your eyes on his legs, trailing up to the hair on his belly exposed by his shirt riding up.

“Sir, I’m sorry, I should’ve said before,” you simper, “but I’m not really sure how I’m gonna pay for this.”

His cock jumps in his jeans, and he feels your gaze move to it as if it’s a physical touch.

He levers himself out a little and meets your eyes, keeping a stern expression on his face.

“I’m sure you’re gonna figure it out,” he says. Looking down at his groin and then back up at your face might be a touch unsubtle, but clear communication had been the most important lesson of all.

He slides himself back under, and pretends he doesn’t feel you approach, or lower to your knees between his spread legs. He ignores your gentle hands falling on the closure of his jeans, the pop of the button coming undone, the parting of the zipper as you pull it down.

“Of course, sir,” you say, “I’m sure I will.”

The softness of your hand meets his growing erection, caressing the head of his cock with your thumb—followed very close behind by the wet, liquid heat of your mouth.

next

[cvnt4him]

Think’n ab cock warming izuku

A lazy Saturday morning, he has to get up later to finish some papers but that's a problem for later izuku. You wake up earlier than him for the first time ever, you admire his beautiful features whilst hes in slumber land.

His forest green hair being portrayed in the most beautiful lighting, said lighting brightening up his face despite being asleep, he's such a bright person he doesnt even need the suns array of beautiful sunshine for that. His slightly chewed lips dry yet so plump and kissable, the freckles that popped out more due to the sun's colors beaming on his beautifully tanned skin. He was gorgeous.

You leaned down to plant a gentle kiss onto his sleeping face, cupping his cheeks as you do so. The touch on his face makes him jolt and try and scoot away, his eyes squeezing shut and annoyance being painted on his features, he groans and tries to pull away but only to stay in the same place due to you holding his face.

Izuku was annoyed and opened his slightly crusted eyes to see your face, his eyes immediately softened. Finally being able to see his gorgeous emerald green eyes, you smile in content. He hums and closes his eyes again before you pepper kisses all around his face.

“ good morning~“

You sing in his ear, making him hum once more. He didn't want to be awake, izuku wanted to lounge around all day and be lazy with his other half before he had to go and teach a bunch of noisy kids, who he did love dearly.

“ you're always awake before me! I'm surprised I managed to get up before you!“

Izuku peers his eyes open slightly to look up at you with furrowed brows in annoyance, he groans and rolls his eyes before closing them again, all you can do is giggle at your adorable husband. You scoot in closer to him and squeeze his cheeks making him huff.

Izuku then sits up and yanks you into him making you bury your face in his chest. Your eyes widened in surprise but you weren't exactly complaining. He holds you close with a tight grip ensuring you can't move even if you tried.

“ go t’sleep baby. ’know you're tired, j’s get some rest hon.“

Izuku lazily gets out, his speech slightly slurred and his voice raspy and groggy do to the morning. He was a morning person, by all means but sometimes all he wanted was to be lazy with his significant other, and you seem to be ruining it by touching him whilst he's trying to sleep.

“ ’zuku m’not tired.“

“ shut up.“

Trying with all of your might you manage to squeeze out of his arms and roll onto of him making him turn over on his back, he groans and looks up to you with angry eyes ones you never really seem to see.

“ can I cockwarm you?“

His once angry eyes were now wide and confused. You wake up and the only thing on your mind is dick? Really? He groans again with a blush to his freckled and still baby-like cheeks, a scar on his right cheek. He was hesitant, he really was fathoming it, debating, thinking about it, whatever you want to say he truly was.

Izuku was having a hard time deciding, he did want you to do that to him only because he was particularly pent up, you two hadn't had sex in about 3 weeks? Thats far too long for someone like izuku, he would never force you to do something of the sort, normally you initiate sex and he happily obliges, but you both have been very busy recently and haven't had time to do much more than hold each other when nightfall returns at the end of everyday.

Izuku finally had an answer, he gulps and looks back up at your happy and waiting eyes. You would've been okay with either answer, really. You just wanted him to be inside of you. With a blush still on his cheeks, he nods to you before looking away.

“ I want a verbal answer my love.“

He sighs at your words, eyes shutting as he clears his throat trying to get rid of the grogginess of the morning time.

“ yes, you can c... cock.. warm me...“

Izuku manages to get the confirmation out as you giggle and lay down beside him, confused he follows you insuit, you scoot back into him and pull down his sleeping shorts just enough to get his flaccid cock out. You stroke him a little trying to get him to harden up, gentle tugs at his fat and heavy cock in your hand, the weight of it is always nice but the stretch is always better. The thought alone brung a smile to your face.

Izuku watched your movements closely, admiring the way you were so sweet and gentle with his member, so careful with such soft movements it made him twitch in your hand. With that, you knew he was ready. He gulped as you turned around and pulled your underwear to the side scooting back onto him and pushing his cock inside of you.

You both wince and groan and make some kind of noise as he tries to push his way inside, you were tight and he felt just how much so, going straight to his head as he gulped down hardly. His brain was getting fuzzy from the intense squeeze to his cock, you really should've prepped yourself first. with a couple of minutes waiting you finally manage to get him inside, he bottoms out almost immediately he's always so needy and impatient when it comes to things like this he ended up thrusting into you making you fall forward and moan.

“ zu what are you.. doing?“

You ask slightly out of breath, he was choking on his breath trying his hardest not to absolutely ram his cock in and out of you like he knows he needs. God izuku was so horny he just wanted to fuck you so badly.

“ s- sorry.. hon I- ngh~...“

He sentence was ended by a muffled groan, you really were squeezing his cock so tight. You take breather and scoot back into him, his cock still being buried deep inside. It makes him moan softly into your ear as you get closer, a beautiful noose that you always welcome and are always pleased to hear. He hums in a whiney tone on accident, getting extremely red when you laugh at the desperate sound escaping your poor husband.

You sigh happily as you can feel his heavy cock stuffing you full, twitching occasionally when you pulse around him. Izuku held you close wrapping his hands around your stomach, he buried his face in your neck trying to lull himself back to sleep, you intoxicating smell so sweet and driving him absolutely feral. He tried so hard to go back to sleep but he was having a hard time, his cock was so deep inside of you and only getting deeper as time passed yet he wasn't fucking you. Not like he wanted to.

Izuku sighed desperately and defeatedly as he looked down at you only to see you asleep with a smile on your face. For fucks sake. There was no way he was getting back to sleep, and absolutely no way hes not blowing his load deep inside of you.. if he even gets to cum.

[sleepymarimo]

toji x reader // sfw!

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 doesn’t remember the last time he was gifted something.

“you got me what?” he asks again, kicking his sandals off at your front door for what seems like the millionth time.

you rise from your couch, the wood creaking slightly as you do so. “just some stuff for you to keep here so you stop using mine,” you reply, the shrug of your shoulders indicating how little of a deal it is.

in the kitchen, you rinse out the glass you’d been using. toji’s footsteps are barely audible over the sound of running water.

“there’s a few pairs of sweats in the hall closet,” you tell him, setting the glass down to dry. “and some other stuff in the bathroom. shampoo, body wash, toothbrush…”

the assassin lets out a small huff, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway. “you tellin’ me i reek or something?” he accuses, more so to brush off the odd feeling building in his gut.

“maybe.” comes your playful quip, your head tilting as you rest your weight on the counter and look at him. “but seriously, you just come around so often,”- his nose wrinkles at that, as he knows he crashes here much more than he should- “that i figured i’d just get you your own things. it’s not like it cost me an arm and a leg.”

with a yawn you stroll toward your room, lightly poking his chest as you pass him. “plus, you use up all of my stuff, dummy.”

he grunts, his eyes following you until you’re out of sight. “i don’t need fancy clothes or any of that crap,” he murmurs to himself, taking a few steps toward the hall closet.

his large hands wrap around the handles, sliding the doors open until he sees a pile of clothes resting on one of the shelves. three black tees stacked atop three pairs of sweats, some boxers and socks in a little box, all for him.

he picks up a shirt without hesitation, the fabric smooth against his calloused fingers. his brows furrow in concentration, maybe unease. this is for him, it’s his, and maybe that’s why this shirt is the softest one he’s ever felt.

with a gruff exhale, he snatches a pair of sweats and a clean pair of boxers, his steps unhurried as he heads for the bathroom.

the fan hums above him as the lock clicks into place, his eyes immediately darting to the shelves to see the new toiletries. his stuff.

inside the shower, toji’s shoulders sag.

it’s as if the water is washing away his defenses, the rugged, nonchalant exterior he wears now melting away in the comfort of your shower.

toji pops open one of the new shampoo bottles, taking in the scent and pouring it onto his palm. he wonders if this smell reminds you of him, if you put some thought into each item.

while he rubs it into his hair, he thinks about if he should pay you back. it’s not like he asked you to get him all this stuff, but still.

even when you’d first started letting him crash on your couch, you hadn’t demanded much in return.

“just don’t make a big mess and be decent, alright?” he remembers you saying.

and he was just fine with that. free room and board just for something so simple? he’d be a moron to decline.

it was only after around a week that he felt a familiar itch. he wouldn’t be in your debt, wouldn’t wait for the day when you’d inevitably ask for something.

so, he offered what he always did- himself. that’s what women usually wanted from him, anyway.

his idea didn’t exactly go as planned. if anything, it made him feel more conflicted, made him wonder why the hell you kept him around.

were you just lonely? did you enjoy his company?

“oh, no… i don’t do that,” you’d said, holding your hands up, flustered but adamant. “you don’t have to sell yourself to me or anything. who does that? like, what?”

the water patters on the tile floor, his body and mind feeling more clear and clean than they’ve been in a long time.

when the faucet squeaks shut, he steps out and snorts as he sees a new, fluffy black towel hanging beside yours behind the bathroom door. he grabs it, rubbing his scarred skin dry and running it through the damp strands of his hair.

the new clothes feel like heaven, truly.

in your room, engrossed by your phone, you barely hear the sound of the bathroom door opening. toji’s steps are almost silent, his arms crossing over his chest as he watches you beneath the covers.

he’s amused as you snicker at some post, the dim screen lighting up your face in the otherwise dark room.

“let me crash here, yeah?” he suggests, though it’s more of an order.

you’re startled, rightfully so, hiding your phone against your chest while you sit up straighter. “oh, you scared me! new clothes and you think you’re all that, huh? too good for the couch?”

yet, even as you chide him, you’re peeling back the covers for him, grabbing the extra pillows and moving them out of the way.

a satisfied grunt leaves him as he spreads out on the mattress, careless of the space he takes up. he tugs the blankets over his person, settling in like a big cat.

he curls into you. you don’t mind.

while you scroll along with one hand, the other supports his head and absentmindedly strokes the skin of his cheek.

his eyes watch you, his breaths becoming more steady and even. he’d never admit how much it means to him that you’d gotten him new clothes, new toiletries, practically a new home.

it’s more than he deserves, but he finds himself wanting to take as much as he can get.

he’s yours, even if he doesn’t know it. and, as the days go by, he wonders if you can be his, too.