#tis only my opinions and thoughts

[vogelmeister]

anyways i am feeling kinda brave today so im gonna share a potentially unpopular taylor swift hot take. when i was talking to my friend yesterday about ttpd i realised that i kinda have a similar problem with the anthology as i do with evermore.

like don't get me wrong, both have absolute gems (willow, tolerate it, long story short, gold rush and NBNC from evermore are great and i love the albatross, so high school, the prophecy black dog, manuscript etc) but i think both collections (bc anthology is not an album) suffer because they came out connected to a much superior more cohesive work, and both almost feel like rejects from the body of work that proceeded it.

[connormoving]

dearly beloved you are in the presence of a man who has seen all of dw*

*not counting the original series or the audio or any of the prose or any of the spinoffs and probably other things im forgetting about

[muqingslover]

Ok, so... this might be a bit of a +18 think piece, but... what do you think the lads men would have as their top 3 kinks? I started thinking about it after I read the Xavier somno one, lol. Maybe I'm crazy but I think Caleb would have blindfolds/rope play in his top 3 (on mc not on him, since he wants to see all of you but is very resultant to show all of himself back due to fear of rejection+ if mc is tied up she can't leave)

[ choosing only three was a lot harder than I thought whew. Also, I'm testing out different layouts rn so don't mind me (⁠^⁠���⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ]

Predator/Prey Play: This guy is the literal definition of wolf in sheep's clothing. What gets him going is the thrill of the hunt and the turntables (his specialty), which is why he will often let you think you're in control and have your fun teasing him only to then pounce when you least expect. If you run from him then you better pray he won't catch you or not.

Exhibitionism: This might be a hot take but walk with me. Xavier is a very jealous man so he won't ever allow anyone to actually see you, buuuut he is very into letting others know you belong to him. You gotta leave for a mission with someone else? Not to worry, all he needs is 10 minutes in the bathroom stall. The bread guy is back at it again? It can't be helped, he'll just have to fuck against the door while he's knocking to show you're busy. He'd love to see you struggling (and failing) to keep your voice down and looks like a smug cat when others notice the marks he left on you.

Cunnilingus: This man eats pussy like a goddamn champ. He absolutely adores having your thighs wrapped around his head, to the point he finds it comforting, and the feeling of his tongue stretching open your dripping pussy for his cock later. Your taste is something he could have every day, which he will if you let him, and he takes pride when you're left a writhing, whimpering mess that begs for him to fuck you.

Bondage: The joke about him tying MC up with surgical knots was definitely not a joke. In my opinion, rather than the power rush over the control he has over you, what really gets him off is the trust you put in his hands. Bondage is all about having faith in your partner to never truly hurt you and knowing you see him that way makes him feel beyond special. Given the chance he'd love to have you wrapped in dark blue, silky ribbons and the aftercare is top tier with this guy.

Lingerie: For some reason I feel like Zayne is REALLY into seeing you wearing lingerie. Ladies, feel free to tease him by telling him you're wearing one, but not letting him see until he's home much later. He'll spend the entire day imagining what type of lace you have under your clothes and he pretty please asks you to strip for him as a reward for waiting.

Phone Sex: Another one I just have a feeling it's his thing. I mean, he is a busy man and sometimes it can't be helped, people have needs yk. He'd like the feeling of knowing you think of him as much as he does of you when the other is not around. The photos you send and the sounds of your needy whines right next to his ear goes straight to his cock and he is mortified when the post-nut clarity hits him and he realizes what he did in his own office.

Overstimulation: I'm an overly sensitive Caleb truther. The overstimulation has his head spinning so good that he can barely form a coherent thought that isn't your name while he slams into your pussy for the nth time like a desperate man. He doesn't want to simply break you he wants to break together, to the point neither of you can think about anything else besides how good it feels.

Roleplaying: I've lost count of the amount of times we've seen him and MC roleplaying and this man will unironically take it to the bedroom. It starts as a joke where he's only doing it to make you laugh, but then he won't allow you to break character and will edge you until you say your "lines" correctly. Forceful and cold soldier? Check. Teasing and pervy Gege? of course. A loving and gentle husband? Sign him up. Strict teacher? No need to ask twice.

Brat Taming: Now defying Caleb is the equivalent of waving a red flag in front of a bull and you better run because when he catches you you're done for. He needs you to need him as much as he needs you and if he has to break you for you to admit it then he will. The rush of being the one in charge and "taking care" of you in a way no one else will is enough to have his cock throbbing.

Breeding AND Biting: These two go hand in hand every time you have sex with him. He craves to have a family with you but, more than anything, he wants you to be as full of him as his heart is of you. He wants you to be so filled with his cum that he has to keep his cock inside otherwise it'll leak out of you. He absolutely enjoys the slippery mess your warm insides become when he rocks his hips into you, slowly but deep, pushing his cum even further into your womb and hoping you'll get pregnant.

Body Worship: I've said it once and I'll say it again: Sylus is a lover boy! ! ! Each kiss on your skin is an offering, a promise and a worship. He wants to know the parts of your body not even you do and give you the love you deserve. The praises he whispers against your body are similar to a prayer and he could spend years exploring every inch of you without ever getting tired. You're the very reason for his existence and any less is just unacceptable.

Size: This guy is not only big but he's also very large. He is a softie who likes to tease you about how small you are compared to him while he holds your hand and pretends he doesn't hear your complaints about him suffocating you after the draped his heavy body over yours. That feeling of satisfaction extends when he has to gently coo you and kiss your tears away while he's spreading your little hole open. He can't help the fangy grin on his lips when he feels his cock bulge on your tummy and he holds your hand over the spot so you feel how deep he is inside of you as well.

Rough Sex: Another controversial take but I feel like he's a secret sadist just not the extreme type. Man can flip his demeanor from "harmless babyboy" to intimidating sea god in a split second who knows what else he's hiding under that purple wig. He'll keep an almost cold demeanor while he coaxes whimpers out of you in the best way and a wicked smirk spreads across his face at the sight of your tears, spurring him on until he's completely broken you.

Food Play: That's definitely one way to make sure he actually eats. Having you be his meal will make him hungry like never before and oh he absolutely will feast (this may or may not be a reference to this). He makes a point of not using his hands while licking along your skin, tasting the sweet chocolate before he left a purple mark on your thighs. Oh, this goes both ways so please pour wine on him and lick him clean ;)

Body Painting: I forgot if there's an actual English term for this but Rafayel would love to draw on your skin and watch you squirm each time the soft, wet brush went over your perked up nipples. He'd scold you when you move because you're making him smudge the lines and holds you in place with his free hand, warning you to stop or he'll take "extreme measures" to make you keep still. You are the only one he'd ever dare to call a masterpiece.

[tfwbluu]

what do u think riki’s kinks are

PAIRING — ni-ki + f!reader

WARNINGS — dom riki mostly, it’s just descriptive with some lines here and there, we’re talking about kinks so there’s that.

WORDCOUNT — 0.8K

NOTE — i don’t want to be repeating myself from my previous works so let’s do with the ones i haven’t done yet. it’s ok if yall don’t agree with me, these are just my personal opinions !

Toys. He’d love the idea of teasing you with them, maybe fucking a dildo into you or pressing a vibrator against your clit until you were trembling. And if he caught you using them while he was gone? Oh, he’d make sure to turn it into some sort of punishment.

“C’mon, angel,” he taunted, his voice low and teasing as he pressed the vibrator against your clit just enough to make you squirm. His other hand worked the dildo in and out of you at a slow, deliberate pace. “You were fucking yourself on this earlier, couldn’t even wait for me. So now, this is all you get.”

Bondage. He’d definitely be the type to tie you up, relishing the control it gave him. Whether it was your hands bound behind your back or stretched upright, or your legs tied open to keep you completely exposed, he didn’t care as long as you couldn’t stop him from doing exactly what he wanted. He loved the sight of you spread out, helpless to his every touch, unable to hide from the pleasure he gave or the punishment he delivered.

“You’re sensitive?” he’d murmur, a sly grin spreading across his face as he pounded into you relentlessly. “I never imagined you’d be this sensitive, but I love it.”

Size kink. Have you seen his build? He’d absolutely use it to his advantage. His massive hands would engulf yours, his broad frame could easily cover you completely, and no matter your height or build, he’d always make you feel small. Especially when it came to the size of his cock—he’d relish the way it stretched you, the slight bulge it created against your stomach, or how easily he could manhandle you into positions you never thought possible. Greedy and insatiable, he’d do whatever it took to have you just the way he wanted.

“You’re so tiny beneath me, baby,” he groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction. His hand drifted down, caressing the visible bulge in your stomach. “Look at you,” he murmured, his tone low and teasing, “taking my cock so perfectly.”

“Too much?” he’d tease, thrusting in slowly, his grin widening. “But I’m not even fully in yet. Just wrap your legs around me, angel. I know you can take all of me. Wanna be a good girl for me, right?”

Dacryphilia. He probably didn’t even realize it until he saw you like this—your lips stretched around his cock, tears and drool spilling down your face as you took him deeper. The sight drove him wild, something about you spurring him on, sending a rush of heat straight through him. He’d wipe away your tears with his thumb, the motion surprisingly tender, even as his hips kept moving, his voice low and strained.

“F-Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” he’d groan, his head falling back for a moment before his eyes met yours again. “Feels so good, angel. You’re the only one who can make me feel like this, y’know?”

Choking. He loved using his big hands to grip your neck, especially when he was wearing rings. The cold metal pressing against your flushed skin made your head spin. His grip was firm, just enough to leave you breathless, or sometimes he’d use it to hold you up from behind.

Neck grabs, deep grunts, the desperate roll of his hips against yours. “You wanna cum, yeah? Then cum for me, baby,” he growled, his voice heavy with need.

“Haa, tired already?” he mocked, his tongue clicking in feigned disapproval. “Tsk, tsk, tsk... always leaving me to do all the work.” His hand tightened around your neck as he pulled you up, continuing to thrust into you without missing a beat.

Missionary. He’d absolutely thrive on seeing the raw effect he had on you. With his cock buried deep inside you, he’d watch every flicker of pleasure on your face, loving the way your lips parted for soft moans or how your body twitches when he teased your sensitive nipples.

“Look at me, pretty,” he’d murmur, his voice deep and commanding. “I wanna see how good I make you feel.”

Eye contact would be non-negotiable. He needed to see the way your gaze melted with desire, and if you wanted to cum, you’d have to look right at him.

“You’re close?” he’d ask, smirking as he slowed to a torturous pace, drawing a whine from you. You begged him, finally locking your eyes with his.

If you didn’t? He’d slow down, torturously edging you, leaving you trembling, desperate, and on the brink of tears. Only when you finally obeyed, locking your eyes with his, would he give in, pounding into you relentlessly until you were completely undone.

“Eyes open, sweetheart,” he cooed, his thrusts picking up again. “Yeah, that’s my girl. Gonna cum for me now, mhm?”

[rainrot4me]

Eyeless Jack General Headcannons

Summary: Basic, SFW, and NSFW head-cannons. My personal thoughts, feelings, and opinions about Jack as a character.

TW: NSFW below the cut, minors dni! Above the cut is sfw! Mentions of gore

Words: 2.3k

A/N: NSFW is reader with female anatomy.

Basic:

- The definition of nonchalant, doesn’t convey his emotions very well at all so he lets his actions do the talking.

- Even though he may put on a front of being calculated and detailed, everything he does is purely instinctual or off the top of his head. He’s never made great plans or thought further on a problem than he had to, relying solely on time or for everything to work itself out. Ben calls it ‘thuggin it out’. He may seem all cool, calm, and collected- but really, he just doesn’t care.

- Drives a brown 1989 Ford F-250. Found it discarded on some old hunting grounds and spent the next 3 years learning about truck parts just to fix it up. It’s nothing pretty and the A/C doesn’t work half the time, but that doesn't stop the proxies from either stealing it for missions or Jeff cruising it to gas stations.

- Loves his alone time. If ‘Do Not Disturb’ was a living being.

- Incredible sense of smell, a blessing and a curse.

- Even though he doesn’t really feel emotionally tied to anyone or reliant on anyone's attention, he would never pass up a good conversation with Jeff or Toby. Finds their problems interesting (and funny).

- Even though he doesn’t have any eyes, he can still see. How? Who even knows? The demon would describe it as more of a viewing like he can detail everything that’s happening, but he can’t physically see it. Cryptic stuff even he’s too dumb to figure out.

- Despite everything, probably the most upkeep and clean member of the mansion. While eating organs and harvesting them can be messy, he doesn’t like the grime and prefers to clean off as soon as he can. The same goes for his clothes and room/office. Surprisingly tidy.

- Not as smart as he likes to present himself. Sure, he’s a medical student with more experience than anyone in a 50-mile radius, but that doesn’t mean he knows what he’s doing all of the time. Whenever the proxies roll in with serious injuries, the demon shoots them full of antibiotics, cauterizes the wound, and prays it doesn’t get worse from there. He knows what he’s doing, but that doesn’t mean he knows it’ll work 100% of the time.

- A silent panicker. Will absolutely tear his brain to shreds worrying or fighting with himself, but keep a stone look on his face the entire time. Gauging his emotions is like conversing with a brick wall.

- Dry humor. Absolutely will answer your long, emotional paragraph with a thumbs-up emoji.

- In some sick way, slightly prefers the life he’s living now. It may be grotesque and depressing, but his knowledge of the medical field and human bodies is infinitely more broad than it would’ve been. He quite enjoys the freedom he has now.

- Never happier than when winter is fizzling out and the first signs of spring show up. The warmth, the colors, the vibrancy coming back. He can’t get enough of it. Absolutely will get lost just studying the snow melting from the new flower beds.

- Locked in the basement of the mansion at all times. Only comes out to eat or on the rare occasion he’s assigned a mission. The only place he truly feels comfortable.

- Will get oddly emotional when light reflects on the lake just right or the fog settles on the ridge just perfectly. You’d never guess, but he’s a big poetic bum.

- Purrs. Like a cat. Ears flick around like one too.

- With music, he’s a big lyric listener. The song could sound absolutely terrible, but as long as he resonates with the words, will enjoy it anyway.

- Unorganized organization freak. Everything has a place, even if you don’t know where that place is.

- Seriously underestimates just how overtowering he is. He’s nowhere near Slender’s height, but the demon easily doubles in the average human’s vertical. When he was human he was taller, but never like this. He’s still getting used to it.

- Lanky but quick. Limbs and features are longer, but the muscle index makes up for it. He’s seriously fit, but everything is evenly distributed. Serious muscle definition in his arms and back, though. What he lacks in strength, he makes up in speed and agility.

- Enjoys Radiohead, Cigarettes After Sex, Paramore, and Three Days Grace. Will also never admit it, but really enjoy the Twilight soundtracks.

Dating Him/SFW:

“My pet…” “Little thing…” “Pretty thing…”

- Gift-giving love language. Loves to make you things unexpectedly and watch the surprise on your face. Steals jewelry or clothing from his victims to gift to you.

- It takes a lot for the demon to even consider you a friend let alone a potential love interest. But you best believe once he’s decided he wants you, that’s it. You take precedent, anything and everything else in his life takes a step back and you become the focal point. Heaven help if you ever change your mind about him.

- “My pretty thing… my lovely little pet… all mine…”

- Physically can not get enough of your smell. Whether it be sweet or sour, whatever emotion you dwell in, this demon will bury his nose into the crook of your neck and waste away there. It’s intoxicating to him, like an emotional tie he’s bound to.

- Like to study you. Your movements, your voice, the way you react to certain stimuli. Everything about you and your personality just intrigues him to no end.

- Possessive in the, ‘If they look at you, I’ll kill them’ way, but also is sure enough in himself and you to know he doesn’t need to go that far. Would rather lock you away for only him to see, but respects you too much.

- Has a deep-rooted fear of hurting you, so any fight or disagreement turns him distant. He’ll come back eventually, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be comfortable enough to get all touchy-feely again just yet.

- A lot like Edward from Twilight, he wants to taste you the most. It’s seriously a bad habit to nip at your skin or get lost in your scent because he knows how easy it would be just to take a chunk out of you. Has to be very aware and cautious of himself.

- Even though it took a long time for him to be comfortable enough to take his mask off around you, he still gets wildly conscious about it whenever you’re around. Loves nothing more than when you’re caressing his face or kissing his skin because he knows it's genuine.

- For a cannibal, he’s an insanely good cook. Will only cook for you, however. He says it's out of love, but really he knows deep down he wants to control what you eat so you have good organ health. You best believe he’ll have you hitting those core diet needs.

- Doesn’t sleep often, but when he does it's for long periods. The problem is, he likes to completely swallow you with his body and wrap around you, keeping you there until he eventually wakes up. Really enjoys the body heat you provide. Lowkey a small spoon.

- Slouches to your height.

- His favorite time is after a long day, curling up in a big chair with a book and you in his lap. You cocoon in his arms as he leans back, a blanket draped over the two of you. He’s naturally cold-blooded so he would stay there forever if he could.

- “You smell so good, pet… So good…”

- Talks in short, mumbled sentences. The mansion residents started using you as a translator because he would only say more than 3 words at a time around you.

- Absolutely never cared about how he looked before you. You taught him decent clothing styles and now he rocks the ‘dark academia/soft boy’ aesthetic like a champ.

- Made you your own special corner in his lab just because he couldn’t deal with having to be away while working.

- An intense kisser. It’s never soft pecks but full-on mouth-consuming makeouts. He’s a hungry guy who can only be satisfied if he feels like he’s swallowed enough of your tongue and lips with his own. Your lips and chin are absolutely soaked with slobber afterward.

- Firm believer in carrying you. No matter where or how far, he likes to bridal-style haul you around or have you latch onto his back.

- “I could eat you up. Just kidding… yeah…”

- Goes ridiculously insane when he can see the chubbiness on your thighs or stomach. You sitting down or lying out, you best believe he is fighting every demon internally not to take a massive bite on your skin.

Dating Him/NSFW:

- Again, skin. No better than a man during the dark times when you flash just a little too much leg or abdomen. He’s on you in seconds and clawing your clothes off to see more.

- You will never leave an encounter without cum dripping out of you. Refuses to get off anywhere else but deep inside of one of your holes. Call it a breeding kink but his animalistic tendencies just won’t let him pull out. Grunting and panting against your nape as he slams inside as far as he can to keep you from squirming away

- “You can take it, I know you can… Need you full of me… All of me…”

- A greedy kisser. Grabbing your jaw and fucking his tongues into the warm wetness of your mouth, teasing to just push them further past the tightness of your throat. Even when you squirm and gag, he just pushes them deeper, testing your resolve.

- You reach your breaking point longggg before he does. A couple of orgasms deep and he hasn’t even put his cock in yet, just milking your body for all it’s worth. It may be because he has a high sex drive, but it’s mainly because he gets off best when you’re pliable and numb to his touch. It’s a domination thing.

- A pussy worshiper. Much like his adoration for any organ, he really appreciates all of his knowledge of the female anatomy and how good he is at eating you out. If he can, or if you can take it, he’ll press all three of his tongues deep inside and spread your plush walls to his content. Likes to swap between focusing on your cunt and your clit, but mainly both at once.

- Bite marks galore. Has to be careful with how much blood he draws, but you’ll never get by without at least one good bite mark on your shoulder. Likes to possessively mark you all over just for others to see. Same feeling with claw marks.

- There’s some cognitive switch in his brain that flips when he gets to a certain point of desperation, like after not seeing you for a long period or after a particularly difficult day. It’s like a starved creature hungry and desperate for anything. He’ll ravage your body and mind, fucking you both to pure exhaustion or until he physically can’t cum anymore.

- On that note, ruts. They’re seasonal, usually coming around the first two weeks of spring and fall. He can’t control when they show up, but once started, they usually last 3 to 4 days, each day getting less intense. Since it’s such an animalistic ordeal, he loses all restraint or moral compass on how to treat you. Bites, blood, wounds, and injury are all possible. They’re not intentional, but he physically cannot control his mental or physical, blinded completely by lust. Thank god his sperm isn’t compatible with human anatomy, because that’s the only place he’ll cum.

- “I’m sorry- sorry, pet- Just one more time- just one more- Fuck- I promise-”

- Both ankles wrapped in one claw. Two claws overlapping around your waist. Yeah…

- Starts slow, so achingly slow you want to rut your hips and get him deeper. He likes the feeling of entering you, of spreading your plush cunt around his cock and finding its home deep inside. He’ll get faster eventually, but for now, he just wants to drink up the sights and smells of your desperation. That first gasp gets him every time.

- Mating press or nothing else. If you want to try something new, he’ll happily oblige, but the only way he’s truly happy is if your legs are pushed back to your shoulders and his hips are slamming down into yours. He’ll take the occasional doggy style, but only if his teeth are latched on to the back of your neck and holding you docile.

- Could watch your face come undone all day. Loves to see your eyes roll when you come, or the sweat and tears dripping off your cheeks. The dark flush of your skin gets him so hungry he has to physically restrain himself.

- “You’re so gorgeous- so fuckin’ pretty- Ah- Look at me. C’mon, don’t get shy now…”

- One time, after a particularly messy organ harvest, he couldn’t wait to get to you. He was so livid, body practically shaking with excitement when he snuck into your room that he didn’t even have time to clean himself off. Blood (not yours) stained your sheets and skin, messy claws dragging across your stomach and chest to coat you in dark red, his tongues quick to shoot out and lap at the stuff. You, covered in blood and his mess, sent him spinning. That was the fastest he’s ever came.

- Growling, panting, snarling, huffing, chittering, teeth gnashing, LOUD ASF

- Has a size thing. Comparing your hand to his makes him so horny and eager to just pick you up and fuck you. Admires how small and easy you are to just throw around like a doll.

- Absolutely has had sick fantasies of fucking your organs like a fleshlight. He’d never tell you, but the thought of cutting a slit in your abdomen to push his cock into the tangle of intestines and muscles makes him drool. He can almost imagine how warm it would be.

- Gets a high when you squirt. Feels accomplished to be covered in your juices and having you completely ruined for anyone but him.

- “You can take it for me, yeah? Go ahead and make a mess… It’s alright…”

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[crushpunky]

paparazzi catches actress!reader’s baby bump

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

this is based off an ask that i thought was just too cute to pass up and takes place in the distant future lol. as far as fics go, this is probably the farthest i will write in the realm of pregnancy, ie i wont write about babies and stuff. warnings for pregnancy + nausea/vomiting

Y/n was beginning to feel cooped up, growing tired of staying in Drew and hers’ home. It wasn’t that she hated her company (Drew and Charleston), it was more that she was starting to get annoyed by the monotonous alternation between watching tv, reading over scripts, and scrolling through her phone. Maybe it was just pregnancy hormones, maybe it was just good old boredom. Either way, she needed to get out.

The first trimester of her pregnancy had been rough, y/n often waking up to waves of nausea that stranded her in the bathroom for hours, huddled over the toilet. The process of pregnancy was already stressful within itself, and adding the public’s opinions would only make it harder, so Drew and y/n decided to keep it between themselves for as long as possible. Once y/n was far enough along, they started telling their friends and family, the love reserved for their child that had previously been kept between just the two of them growing each and every day.

“Drew!” Y/n shouted as she stood from her spot on the couch with a groan. Drew came into the room quickly, a worried look on his face as he quickly looked her up and down. Now that she was well into her second semester, y/n’s bump had really begun to grow, making it a bit more difficult to hide with the baggy clothes she’d worn during the earliest stages of her pregnancy.

“What? Are you ok?” Drew quickly came to her side, a hand resting on her stomach. As much as she loved Drew, she had to admit that her pregnancy had turned him into even worse of a nervous wreck than he had been before. Every movement or sound that could even be construed as “weird” had Drew checking on her, a gentle hand roaming to her growing stomach.

“Yes,” y/n giggled as she tugged her cropped t-shirt down. “I’m gonna take Charleston out on a walk and stop at Claire’s.”

“Oh, just give me a second—” Drew scrambled back into their bedroom as y/n tugged on a light jacket, checking in the mirror that her exposed stomach was adequately covered despite the warmth outside.

“I’m fine, I can go by myself.” Y/n sighed, tugging on a baseball cap and grabbing Charleston’s leash, the dog excitedly trotting around her legs.

“Nope, I’m coming with you.” Drew emerged from the bedroom, taking Charleston's leash and pressing a quick kiss to y/n’s before reaching down to help her put on her shoes.

“Drew, I can do things by myself.” Y/n said, placing her hands on her hips as Drew tied her tennis shoes.

“I know. I’m just tryna treat my girls right.” Drew grinned, pressing a quick kiss to her growing bump before straightening up.

“You’re so convinced they’re gonna be a girl.” Y/n laughed lightly as Drew opened the front door, Charleston quickly jumping outside into the Carolina sun. Y/n stepped out next, Drew locking the door behind them as y/n stretched her legs with a groan, trying her best to minimize her pregnancy waddling as they began down the sidewalk.

The two of them walked side by side, Charleston trotting in front of them as they chatted. Once they reached down town, the streets grew more busy, filled with tourists and locals milling between the shops. Every so often they’d hear a giggle or see a wave, a fan noticing them but too afraid to approach, before carrying on with their walk. They continued down the sidewalk until they finally reached Claire’s, the two of them walking up to the window.

“Hey guys, long time no see!” The barista greeted, taking their orders and chatting with them as they waited. As they stood, y/n could feel herself growing warm from the unrelenting Carolina sun. Too engrossed in her conversation with Drew and the barista, as well as Charleston’s milling about, y/n didn’t even think anything as she unzipped the front of her jacket, the loose fabric billowing in the soft breeze. The fans who had been waiting in line behind them, however, let out small, shocked gasps before speaking excitedly to each other. Y/n turned at the noise, smiling lightly before turning back to Drew, who handed her her drink.

“Thank you so much, have a good rest of your day.” Y/n thanked the barista, Drew grabbing his drink. Y/n took a sip, a satisfied groan leaving her lips that caused the two of them to start laughing, Drew’s hand finding its spot around her waist. His fingers instantly met the warmth of her skin, Drew’s eyes widening as he looked down to see her exposed stomach. Y/n followed suit, looking down before hastily wrapping her jacket tightly around her body, only making her bump more prominent through the thin fabric.

“Shit, I wasn’t even thinking! I was hot and—” Y/n groaned, chewing at her lip as she looked around frantically, praying nobody had noticed.

“Hey, hey it’s ok.” Drew said, his hand soothing gently down her side before handing her his coffee. She took it, sighing deeply as he quickly reached down and zipped her jacket back up.

“No it isn’t! We were going to make this a whole reveal, surprise thing and I just fucking ruined it! Those girls in line definitely saw and—” y/n rambled, running her free hand through her hair messily.

“Hey, look at me.” Drew said, stopping the two of them in their tracks as he pulled her off to the side of the sidewalk. Charleston looked up between them curiously as y/n felt tears beginning to sting at her eyes, her mind racing at a million miles a minute.

“It’s ok, a’ight? I don’t care about that, I just care that you’re ok and that baby’s ok.” Drew whispered, his hands smoothing down her arms. 

“Are you ok?” Drew asked.

“Yes, but—-” y/n sighed.

“Is baby ok?” Drew said, his hands moving to rest on the sides of her stomach. Y/n looked at him, a small smile on her face.

“Yes.” Y/n nodded. Drew grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of her face before pulling her into his side.

“That’s all we need to worry about, ok baby?” Drew said, his words helping to calm down y/n’s pounding heart. She was ok, the baby was ok. That was all that mattered, not the whispers online or judgement of others.

“Thanks, Drew.” Y/n sighed, resting her head on Drew’s shoulder. He pressed one more kiss to her head before they continued their walk home, the secret they had been keeping now seeming to weigh a little less with each step.

Once they finally made it back to their house, y/n sat back down on the couch with a groan, her feet aching from all the walking and standing. Drew sat down next to her, taking her feet into his lap as he began to rub them gently. Y/n smiled, taking her phone out to countless notifications from friends, family, and her team on just about every possible platform.

“Well, shit.” Y/n sighed, opening one of the notifications and showing it to Drew.

Drew looked at her phone, nodding slowly before his eyes flicked back to y/n’s.

“At least you look hot in it.” Drew said with a shrug before returning his focus back to where he massaged y/n’s feet. Y/n laughed, kicking his leg lightly.

“Well at least I don’t have to worry about dressing like Adam Sandler to get coffee anymore.” Y/n grinned, Drew lifting his head and smiling back at her.

Later that afternoon, after talking with their publicists, the two of them decided it was finally time to make things official. With a final deep breath, they hit post:

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓎𝒷𝑜𝓎 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝓀𝒶𝓉𝒷 𝓂𝑒𝓃

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: It started as a joke—a casual tease whispered into the ears of your closest friends, never meant to go beyond harmless daydreams. You had once donned a bunny suit for them, after all. In my opinion, it was only fair that they returned the favor, right?

What? You didn’t expect them to actually do this right?

Now, one by one, your choice, the men of TKATB + Special Guest ! ! stand before you, ears twitching, tails bouncing, and suits hugging them in ways that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

My dearest readers, I absolutely adore the artist alyysahh, or what many of us know as Waza on [ TikTok ] and [ Twitter ]. Her art inspires me so much—she even sparked the idea for part two—this from this fanfic [ 𝒷𝓊𝓃𝓃𝓎 𝓈𝓊𝒾𝓉 ] I’m so excited, omg!

The rules are simple: look, but don’t touch... unless, as always you dare to find out just how far the bunny boys are willing to go for your approval.

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Such Mister Bunny Blues.

You blink. Once. Twice.

And then you stare, because what else are you supposed to do when Crowe—the ever-composed, polished, practically dream-worthy Crowe—is standing in your living room wearing a dark blue bunny suit?

It fits him too well. Hugging every sculpted line of his body, the matching floppy ears drooping pitifully over his brow, and a tiny, ridiculous puff of a tail perched right above... Places you should definitely not be looking at—You look anyway. You’re only human.

His face is already red, a deep, molten flush darkening his beautiful skin, but he holds his ground like a man about to face a firing squad. Or a firing squad armed with bad pickup lines and worse intentions — yours included.

"You're—" you sputter, laughter clawing its way up your throat, "Crowe, what the hell are you doing? Well, wearing, dear?”

He shifts awkwardly, and the tiny bunny tail wiggles.

You might actually die right then and there, your soul floating out of your body in sheer blissful absurdity.

"I noticed," he says, voice low and steady — the kind of tone he usually reserves for comforting small animals and broken hearts — "you seemed... off lately. Sad." He tugs gently at the loose braid hanging off his shoulder, a nervous habit you know better than you should. "I thought... maybe this would help."

You blink again, your heart doing something catastrophically stupid inside your chest.

He did this—this—for you?

Crowe, the walking embodiment of poise and calm, decided to prance around in a bunny suit because you were a little gloomy?

God, you were going to marry him out of spite.

"You thought dressing up like the world's most handsome Easter reject would cheer me up?" you tease, stalking closer like a predator that's just spotted very, very vulnerable prey.

You reach up and flick one of the floppy ears. It bounces.

Crowe flinches like you just electrocuted him.

"I don't regret it," he mutters, eyes locked on your —deep blue, steady, dangerous in a way that ties knots in your stomach. "If it makes you smile... I'll do a lot worse."

You bite your lip, feeling heat bloom deliciously up your spine. It’s criminal, truly criminal, how he manages to look so devastatingly good even while trying very hard to pretend he isn't internally combusting. Shiiii really and vice versa. YOU tried so hard not to combust. 

His long fingers—those beautiful hands you’ve absolutely not thought about at night, nope, not once—clench and unclench at his sides. His nails, well-kept and gleaming, catch the golden glow of the living room light.

Strands of dark hair have slipped free from his braid, falling across his cheek in a way that demands your attention, demands your touch. The temptation to grab him by the ears—to tug, to pull, to ruin him—is almost overwhelming.

"You're a menace," you whisper, smirking wickedly.

"And you're worth it," he murmurs back, voice low, rough, wrecked.

The room feels too small now. Too hot. The air crackles between you, so thick and heavy you could wrap your fingers around it. You take one daring step closer, close enough to smell him — warm and clean, with the faintest hint of something woodsy and natural underneath, like he’s just come in from standing in the spring rain.

You trail a single finger down his chest, slow enough that Crowe visibly shudders. Poor thing—still trying so hard to stay composed, to stay gentlemanly, even while dressed like a snack-shaped bunny.

You are a cruel, cruel person.

"You know," you muse aloud, drawing innocent little circles against the silk of his costume, feeling the thundering beat of his heart beneath your fingertip, "you didn't have to go this far, Crowe. I mean, if you wanted my attention, you could’ve just, oh, I don’t know..."

You grin up at him, flashing teeth. "Kissed me."

Crowe makes a noise. 

A soft, panicked sound, half-choked at the back of his throat. "I—" He freezes. "I wouldn't... presume—"

You reach up, grab the floppy ears between your hands, and tug him down.

There’s the faintest split-second where he realizes what’s happening—where you see the panic flare bright in those beautiful blue eyes—before you crash your mouth against his.

Crowe melts. Absolutely, spectacularly melts.

One of his arms locks around your waist on instinct, hauling you up against him—so much strength, so much quiet, hidden power—and his other hand fists into your hair like he’s drowning and you’re the only solid thing left in the world.

His mouth is soft and reverent against yours, as if he's memorizing you, as if he's scared to take too much, even when you’re the one who started it.

You smile into the kiss—a little smug, a lot victorious— and nip playfully at his bottom lip.

That does it.

Crowe makes a small, desperate sound, deep in his chest, and kisses you harder. It's not perfect. He's a little clumsy, a little frantic, as if he's scared you'll pull away, laugh at him, regret it—but it's real, and it's messy, and it's him, and you wouldn't trade it for anything.

When you finally break apart for air, Crowe looks wrecked. Flushed, panting, wide-eyed and disheveled, his bunny ears flopping pitifully to one side.

You’ve never seen anything more beautiful in your life.

"You’re... evil," he breathes, voice hoarse.

"And you," you say, cupping his face between your hands, "are mine, mister bunny."

Crowe groans, low and helpless, and buries his face against your shoulder — probably to hide how violently he’s blushing. You pat the fluffy bunny tail mockingly. It wiggles again.

Crowe stands there, his back rigid, the dark blue bunny suit clinging to every inch of his body like it’s made specifically to torture you. You can’t help but let your gaze drop, catching that tiny tail wiggling as he shifts, trying — failing — to act like he’s still the composed, collected man you know.

His breath is still uneven, a bit of flush lingering on his cheeks, and his posture is so stiff it might as well be a marble statue. But there’s something else. Something in his eyes.

That dangerous glint.

And the way his gaze flicks to your lips every few seconds is enough to set your pulse pounding again.

You lean against the couch, arms crossed casually—too casually, almost—watching him with a smirk. "You know," you tease, your voice dripping with sweet venom, "You look a little... flustered there, Crowe. I thought you were the composed one?"

Crowe shoots you a side glance, and you can see the way his hands twitch, like he wants to grab you—or possibly strangle you—but instead, he just exhales sharply and straightens his back even more. His voice is a little tight.

“I’m fine. Just... fine.”

You hum, a sly smile playing at the corners of your lips as you walk toward him, your steps slow and deliberate, each one bringing you closer to his tense form. "I didn’t know bunnies got so... embarrassed. So cute, though. You should try wearing that more often. You know, maybe every day, just to brighten my mood."

His gaze snaps to yours, a brief flicker of guilt passing through those deep blue eyes—or is it resentment? Either way, you can see the crack in his armor. He’s pretending he’s unaffected, but it’s obvious. 

He’s dying inside.

"You're... really pushing it." His voice is soft, but the way his jaw clenches as he grinds out the words says otherwise.

You smirk, and without warning, you slap his ass. Hard.

The sound rings through the room, and his entire body tenses. His head jerks back, and he makes a sharp, strangled noise that, frankly, you didn’t expect.

The fabric of his bunny suit pulls taut against his body as you let your hand rest there for just a moment too long, watching the play of muscles under his skin flex, feeling the warmth of his body.

"Oh, come on," you tease, your fingers trailing dangerously close to where the curve of his ass meets his thighs. "That bubble is so much bigger than mine. Who would've thought, huh?"

Crowe’s eyes flash with something darker—defiant. Before you can blink, his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist and spinning you around with effortless strength. You stumble, caught off guard, and end up pressed against the nearest wall.

Your breath hitches.

Crowe stands there, inches away, his chest rising and falling, his breath heavy against your neck. His hand still holds your wrist, but the grip is no longer tight.

It’s more... possessive now.

“You think I’m embarrassed?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "I’m not the one who needs to be embarrassed right now, are we?"

You feel his free hand glide over your body, skimming your waist, your ribs, before settling dangerously close to your hips. He’s leaning into you, his breath hot on your skin, sending a shiver straight through you.

"Don't act like you're not enjoying this." His voice is low, almost a growl, but there’s a smirk in it. He’s not quite teasing anymore. He’s all in control now, leaning into the teasing game in a way you didn’t expect.

And then, like a switch flipping, he presses his lips to your neck—soft, slow kisses at first. But as your breath catches, he intensifies them, biting gently, nipping at the sensitive skin right beneath your ear.

You’re trapped. Not physically, but emotionally. 

He’s got you exactly where he wants you.

You can’t help the way your pulse picks up. You grab the front of his suit, pulling him closer as if you need him to prove that you’re right, that he's just as tangled in this as you are. "Crowe..." you whisper, a mixture of longing and challenge.

Before you can say anything else, his hand slides up your side, cupping your jaw gently but firmly. His thumb brushes your lower lip, a simple, intimate gesture that sends a wave of heat rushing to your core.

"You like me dress up as a bunny, don't you?" His voice is rougher now, darker. 

You open your mouth to respond, to fire back another snarky comment, but you don't get the chance. Crowe closes the gap between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss so deep, so heated, that it almost knocks the air from your lungs. His kiss is demanding, but there's also a tenderness to it, as if he's trying to show you exactly how much he's willing to do for you. How far he'll go.

And maybe it's the way he presses against you, pinning you into the wall with his weight. Or maybe it's the sudden surge of need between you two—but when he pulls back, there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Now," he breathes against your lips, "I think this mister bunny should teach you a lesson."

Before you can even brace yourself, Crowe’s hands are on your hips, lifting you off the ground and pinning you up and against the wall, holding you there as his lips return to your neck, kissing and biting with a growing hunger. He’s marking you now—staking his claim.

“Now tell me where I should start first…” he murmurs, his voice breathless, as his lips trail down your collarbone. “…my beautiful starlight.”

He kisses his way back up to your ear, biting down softly as you gasp. “I-I don’t know!!"

"Mhm, nothing? Fine I’ll choose for you ."

 Yep. Fucking. Best. Day. Ever.

no words, like no words, dearest readers, AHHHHHHH.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Emo Bunny Attention Seeker.

You’re just sitting there. Minding your business.

Or at least, pretending to, stretched lazily across Sol’s bed like you owned it—because let’s be honest, you kinda did. One leg crossed over the other, twirling your phone between your fingers, content to simply exist in the familiar comfort of his room.

His soft scent wrapped around you like a warm blanket—a mix of cedarwood, something sweet and sharp underneath, and whatever shampoo he used that made you want to bury your face in his hair and never come out again.

You hear the telltale creak of the closet door opening. 

Sol’s quiet, almost suspiciously so, and then you hear it: a small, nervous huff, like he’s working up the courage to face down a firing squad. You glance up casually. And promptly choke on air.

Standing there, awkward and stiff, cheeks burning brighter than a dying sun, is Sol — your sweet, bashful, absolutely doomed Sol — wearing a dark green bunny suit.

And not just any bunny suit.

This thing clings to every muscle, every dip and flex of his body like it was stitched directly onto his skin. His black-and-green streaked hair falls messily around his shoulders, those crimson-orange eyes wide and pleading under the weight of the matching floppy ears drooping pathetically over his forehead.

Fishnet tights hug his long legs, and bruises — old, new, kissed purple and yellow — scatter across his arms and thighs, peeking through the mesh.

You don’t even get the chance to fully process it before — plop — the breast flap of the bunny suit flips down, casually revealing one of his nipple piercings, the little silver barbell gleaming like a beacon in the dim light.

You stare. He stares back. Time stops.

You bite your lip—hard—to keep the howl of laughter that bubbles up from ripping out of your throat. “Oh. My. God," you manage, grinning wide enough to hurt. You sit up on your knees, predatory now, delight buzzing in your veins.

Sol immediately flinches like you physically touched him, his hands scrambling to cover the exposed skin, bunny tail wiggling frantically behind him.

"I—! I d-didn't mean for that to—!" he stammers, voice cracking halfway through, as red floods all the way down his throat, painting him guilty and so, so deliciously adorable.

You lick your lips, slow and deliberate, dragging your gaze up and down his body like you’re memorizing every sinful inch. “Sol, sweetheart,” you purr, tilting your head. “You sure you’re not trying to seduce me?"

His knees buckle. Actually, buckle. The poor thing grips the edge of his desk like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

"I—I just—!" he blurts, eyes wide and glassy, red face, the fishnets squeaking slightly as he shifts his weight. "I just wanted you to— to look at me, and maybe— maybe you’d—"

“Maybe I’d what?" you coax, crawling forward across the bed like a slow, lazy predator, letting him watch you stalk him.

He swallows audibly, throat bobbing.

"Maybe y-you’d touch me," he whispers, so soft you almost don't catch it. His fists tighten, knuckles white. "Y-You always look so good on my bed, and I— I just wanted to—"

You practically purr with amusement, stopping at the edge of the mattress, sitting back on your heels, crossing your arms. "Come here, Emo Bunny," you say, voice like velvet wrapping around a knife.

He doesn't even hesitate—he stumbles forward, bunny tail bouncing, cheeks burning, until he’s standing right in front of you, trembling like a leaf.

You trail a finger up his fishnet-clad thigh, slow and teasing, until you can feel the muscle jump beneath your touch.

He shudders. Whimpers.

"Please," he gasps out, desperate now, the word ripped straight from his soul. His hands flex uselessly at his sides, like he’s aching to grab you but too scared to move without permission.

You smirk. Wicked.

"Please what, bunny?" you ask, tipping your chin up, making him look down into your eyes. "Use your words, pretty boy."

His face crumples, overwhelmed with how much he wants, how much he needs you—it’s almost tragic, really. "I—!" He bites his lip, shaking his head, shame and need warring inside his body. "Please... touch me... please just—!"

You let your hands roam, slow and deliberate, trailing up over his hips, feeling the tremble of his thighs, the heat radiating from his skin under the thin, humiliating fabric. You tug gently at the strap dangling from where the top had flopped down, snapping it lightly against his chest.

He whines. A sound so pathetic, so gorgeous, you could’ve melted into the mattress right then and there.

"You're lucky you're cute," you murmur, thumb brushing teasingly close to his exposed nipple, feeling him jerk under the lightest touch. His hands finally move — only to grip your shoulders, grounding himself like he might float away otherwise.

"Please," he repeats, broken now, voice hoarse, wrecked. "I’m yours—please just—anything you want, I’ll—"

You smile—wide, dangerous, cruel in your affection. "Anything, huh?" you hum, dragging your nails lightly down his sides, watching him physically twitch under the featherlight sensation.

He nods frantically, the floppy bunny ears bouncing with the motion. "Anything," he breathes, reverent. Worshipful.

Fuck, he’s beautiful like this—flushed and trembling and ready to fall apart just because you looked at him like you wanted to eat him alive.

You hook a finger through the key necklace dangling against his chest, tugging him down so he’s eye-level with you.

His breath stutters. His eyes are huge, wide and glassy and so, so ready. "Good boy," you whisper against his lips, just barely brushing, not kissing — no, you control this.

"Now, beg a little prettier for me, Emo Bunny."

You watch him closely, eyes narrowing with that playful, teasing gleam as Sol stands there, trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. His wide, uncertain eyes never leave yours, but there's something else there now—need. A desperate, aching need that you've ignited with just a few words, a flick of your wrist.

“Good boy,” you whisper again, your voice dripping with affection and cruelty in equal measure. You reach up, fingers curling into the strands of his messy hair, tugging him closer. Sol doesn’t resist — hell, his breath catches when you pull on it, his body leaning forward instinctively, as if to be closer to you is the only thing that matters.

He’s so helpless under your touch.

“You want this, don’t you?” you murmur, just a breath away from his lips, savoring the scent of his skin, the electricity between you. Sol nods eagerly, a small sound—something between a moan and a whimper—escaping his throat. His breath is shallow, every word a struggle as he fights to hold himself together.

“Please,” he gasps again, his voice strained with need, “I need you. I’ll do anything. Just please—” His hips shift, like he’s trying to find some kind of release, but you stop him, pressing your palm flat against his chest.

“Down boy,” you command, just one word, but it has all the power.

Sol obeys instantly, his knees buckling as he lowers himself in front of you, the fabric of his bunny suit shifting with every motion. His lips are parted, face flushed with a mix of desire and humiliation, and the sight of him like this—so willing—makes your pulse race.

“On your knees,” you coax, your voice thick with authority, “You want to beg for it? Beg for me. Show me how desperate you really are.”

He obeys again, slower this time, hands trembling as he presses them to the floor. You can feel the tension building in him, his body coiled tight as a spring, ready to break.

Your foot slides out from beneath you, placing it gently—but with intent—on his bulge. The pressure is subtle at first, but you start to push down, slowly, deliberately. Sol gasps sharply, his eyes snapping up to meet yours, looking at you like you’ve just commanded the stars to fall from the sky.

His entire body jerks under the weight of your foot. “Please,” he whispers, voice barely audible, but the word is there, dripping with need. “Please, don’t—don’t tease me anymore.”

You increase the pressure, your foot pushing further against his thigh. Sol’s breath hitches, his entire body trembling like a leaf caught in the wind. His hands shake on the floor, fingers gripping the carpet as if that will ground him.

“Tell me what you want, Emo Bunny,” you say softly, knowing full well what it’ll do to him. His body shudders in response, and he lets out a soft whine, lips trembling.

“I—I want you,” he gasps, his voice cracking as he struggles to speak through the overwhelming wave of emotion and desperation. “Please... I’ll do anything, just please—”

You press down harder, making him gasp, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You can feel his whole body shaking beneath your foot, a soft, almost pitiful sound escaping his lips as he tries to hold back. His breath is ragged now, and his eyes—those fiery orange and crimson eyes—are filled with so much need it’s almost too much to look at.

“You sound so pathetic, Bunny,” you tease, your voice laced with dark amusement. 

“Begging for me like this. You really can’t take much, can you?”

Sol’s entire body shudders, and you watch his face twist with pleasure and frustration. He’s so far gone, he can’t even formulate a proper sentence anymore, just a jumble of desperate pleas.

“Please, please—” he whimpers, his voice breaking as he drags his hands to your legs, clutching at them, trying to pull you closer. His body is taut with tension, and you can see how badly he wants more. 

“I need— please—”

You laugh softly, one hand tracing down the back of his neck, feeling the way he melts into your touch. You can’t help but marvel at how good he looks on his knees for you — how easy it is to make him beg.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” you murmur, a dark promise in your tone. “I’m not going to leave you hanging. You’ve been so good for me.”

With a swift motion, you shift your foot to the side, and before he can even react, you grab his hair again, forcing his head back, exposing the delicate line of his throat. He lets out a soft gasp, eyes fluttering closed as you pull his head back to give you full access.

“Look at me,” you order, your voice firm, and Sol complies instantly, his eyes locking with yours. They’re full of pleading, full of fire. 

He’s barely holding himself together.

“I want you to beg for it, Sol,” you whisper, pulling harder on his hair until his neck arches. His lips part, but no words come out—just a broken, frustrated moan. His hands scrabble at your sides, gripping your thighs as you shift forward, pressing your leg against his chest.

You smirk, dragging your thigh up until it brushes his lips. “Kiss.”

A shudder wracks through him, but he obeys, pressing his mouth to your skin in a feverish, open-mouthed kiss. His breath is ragged, his lips trembling as you rock against him, teasing the friction he so desperately craves.

“Beg me, Bunny,” you murmur, grinding down just enough to make him whimper. “Beg like you mean it.”

Sol gasps, his hands clutching your hips as he tears his mouth away just to plead, “Please—fuck, please—I can’t—I need—” His voice cracks, his body arching up against yours, seeking more.

You tug his hair again, forcing his head back. His gaze is wild, pupils blown, lips wet from kissing your skin. “Well, then,” you tease, rolling your hips slowly, watching him unravel, “you’ll just have to beg a little more prettily for me, won’t you?”

He chokes out a sob, fingers digging into your flesh. “Please—I need you so much, just—please—anything, I’ll do anything—”

You smile, wicked and satisfied, finally relenting. “Good boy.” You release him, smoothing a hand down his chest, feeling the rapid hammer of his heartbeat. Leaning down, you press a kiss to his forehead. “You’re so good for me, Bunny.” Your lips brush his ear as you whisper, “You’ve earned this.”

Sol shatters for you, right there—whispering desperate, frantic pleas against your skin, hands trembling, body tense and burning and begging you to ruin him in that stupid, adorable, obscenely hot bunny suit.

The tension between you two is electric, your breaths mingling as you press closer. His bunny ears—soft, slightly askew—tilt forward as he leans in, his lips brushing yours in a teasing promise.

"You’re keeping those on," you murmur against his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair just beneath the fuzzy headband. He lets out a low chuckle, warm and wicked, before capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

Every touch burns—his hands gripping your hips, your nails dragging down his back—but it’s the sight of those damn bunny ears that undoes you.

And when he finally loses control, his head tipping back with a groan, those ears flop adorably to the side—just before you yank him back down to you, claiming his mouth again.

"Good boy."

ayyyyy, I’ve might got carried away, what?? I’m a big bully.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

Mr. Grumpy Bunny

You didn't think the day would ever actually come.

Two months. Two entire months of coaxing, pleading, bargaining—bribing, even. You had tried everything short of selling your soul just to see Geo, the ever-serious, ever-stubborn Geo, in a bunny suit.

And now, here you were, casually sitting on the tatami floor mats, mindlessly dangling a feather toy above his black cat’s head. The little creature—sleek, yellow-eyed, and infinitely more willing to entertain you than his master—batted lazily at the feathers. You were completely engrossed, giggling under your breath, your knees tucked neatly beneath you on the smooth straw flooring.

You didn’t even hear him coming.

Only when a pair of feet entered your peripheral vision did you pause, the toy mid-sway in your hand.

You blinked slowly. 

Sheer black tights. Shiny, bluish-purple bunny suit that hugged his lean figure like sin itself.

Matching gloves. Long, upright bunny ears perched atop his dark, bluish-purple hair, tied back neatly into that stubborn low ponytail you always teased him about.

His usual teal-and-white block earrings swayed slightly, catching the light, and that damn septum piercing glinted mischievously, almost like it was in on it.

You swallowed hard, your eyes dragging up his body like you were trying not to crash a car, until they finally met his aquamarine ones—irritated, narrowed, unmistakably Geo eyes. His arms were crossed tight over his chest, as though holding onto the last shred of his dignity.

"Tsk," he clicked his tongue at you sharply, standing over you like a judge sentencing you to death.

You immediately slapped a hand over your mouth, your cheeks puffing out with the effort to hold in your laughter. Oh, you would not survive this. You would not survive this and you knew it.

Turning away dramatically, you hunched your shoulders to further hide your hysterics, feeling your entire body shake with the sheer force of your suppressed snickers.

"You wanted this," Geo growled lowly, an irritated edge undercutting his words. "Look at me."

You shook your head frantically, tears prickling the corners of your eyes from the strain of holding it all in. The little kitten, sensing the rising chaos, skittered off into another room with an indignant chirp, abandoning you to your fate.

Strong hands gripped your shoulders, not rough but firm, trying to turn you back toward him. "Look," he demanded again, exasperated, and your traitorous body gave in with a helpless, shaky breath.

You turned, finally, and instantly collapsed into giggles, your forehead pressing to his hip in a desperate attempt to smother the sound.

Geo huffed above you, and when you dared glance up again, his flush had traveled all the way to his ears, a pretty dusting of pink that stood out against his normally pale complexion. His expression was murderously unimpressed.

Before he could scold you again, you took your moment. 

Leaping up with a playful tackle, you pushed him backward. Geo let out a startled grunt as he stumbled, catching himself awkwardly with one knee bent, but you used your weight—and frankly, his momentary stunned brain lag—to push him down fully onto the tatami mats, landing squarely on top of him.

His arms instinctively tried to push you away, grabbing at your wrists; however, you were quicker. 

You wriggled your hands free and immediately went for the kill: tugging one floppy bunny ear and cooing dramatically, "Who's the cutest little bunny? Mr. Grumpy Bunny! It's you, Geo! Yes, you are~!"

The noise he made was somewhere between a pained groan and an indignant snarl, eyes squeezing shut like if he didn't see you, you wouldn't exist. "Stop," he gritted out, trying to push your hands away again.

You only laughed harder, dropping your forehead onto his chest briefly to muffle your cackles. His chest rose and fell heavily beneath you, the bunny suit’s material sliding against your clothes, slick and warm.

Before he could mount another defense, you leaned up just enough to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, grinning wickedly.

"Thank you," you whispered, saccharine sweet and deliberately close, your breath fanning across his ear. "You’re the sweetest Grumpy bunny ever."

Geo stiffened underneath you, his entire face exploding into an aggressive, furious red. He jerked his head to the side, refusing to meet your gaze, mumbling curses under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch.

Before you could gloat too much, he moved fast—pressing his face right into your chest with a strangled noise, his hands locking tightly around your sides.

"Shut up," he muttered, voice muffled and embarrassingly high-pitched, sounding more like a pouty child than the usually icy and unbothered Geo you knew.

You blinked down at him, absolutely flabbergasted... then, seeing an opportunity for even more chaos, you shifted slightly, pressing closer, your hand idly stroking his bunny ear again.

"You know," you said slyly, your voice dripping with mischief, "if you keep holding me like this, I’ll start to think you actually like this silly crap."

Geo’s arms tightened briefly around your waist before he gave you a sharp, warning tug downward—yanking you off balance so your whole body collapsed against his, nose brushing his flushed cheek.

"I don't care," he growled quietly, aquamarine eyes flashing dangerously up at you. His voice was low, raw with some emotion you couldn’t immediately place—somewhere between mortification and... maybe a stubborn, reluctant affection he hadn't figured out how to voice yet.

You let out a low whistle, unable to stop yourself.

"Damn, Mr. Grumpy Bunny’s getting bold now," you teased, tapping your finger against the tip of his red nose playfully.

He groaned again, this time with pure suffering, and thumped his forehead lightly against your shoulder as if hoping he could simply phase out of existence.

At this rate, you were starting to think you might actually kill Geo with secondhand embarrassment.

You’d mourn him properly.

But first... you were absolutely getting a picture.

You felt unstoppable now, grinning like you’d just won a gold medal in teasing, ready to pull out your phone and immortalize this rare, once-in-a-lifetime moment of Geo in his bunny suit.

You were this close to snapping the perfect picture of his mortified face, maybe even showing off the ridiculous bunny ears that made it look like he belonged in a very different kind of scene.

However as you reached for your phone, you felt Geo's body tense underneath you, his grip tightening around your waist. "No."

His voice was quiet but low—dangerously so. You immediately knew something had shifted, his stubbornness turning into full-blown defiance as you tried to reach for your phone again.

Without warning, he moved fast—quicker than you expected—and suddenly, your world flipped. You were pinned to the tatami mats in a breath-stealing instant.

Geo’s body was above you now, a solid weight pressing into your back, his arms locked firmly around your wrists, securing them against your back. His movements were fast, precise, like a well-trained assassin.

"Not... not this time," he muttered darkly, his breath hot against the back of your neck, his body straddling your hips to keep you firmly in place. He was like a weight on top of you, his arms crossed over your hands as he gripped you with surprising strength.

The sensation of being held down, restrained—pinned—only served to make the situation even more charged. Your heart skipped a beat as his presence loomed over you, his soft groan against your skin making it all feel way too intimate.

Geo’s voice was rougher now, almost strained.

“You think you can mess with me like that?” he murmured, the words lost in a strange mixture of embarrassment and something darker you couldn’t quite place.

You could feel his chest pressing into your back, the heat of his body seeping through the bunny suit. The fabric, snug and form-fitting, felt like a whisper against your skin, and you were suddenly hyperaware of every inch of him—his body on top of yours, his breath hot on your neck.

The smile never left your face, even as you shifted beneath him, trying to squirm free. The playful tone you’d maintained before had shifted into something more dangerous, a fire in your stomach that matched the heat of the moment. 

"You think you can stop me?" you teased, your voice breathless, barely holding back the excitement in your chest. “You’ve got a lot of nerve for someone in a bunny suit, Geo.”

His grip tightened further, his lips brushing against the back of your neck as he leaned down, his voice now barely a whisper. “Shut up,” he growled.

You couldn’t help it—your body, pressed into the floor, was pulsing with heat, but you couldn’t let up. You twisted your hips to rub against him playfully, laughing when he let out a choked sound, clearly caught off guard.

But before you could escalate it further, Geo did something unexpected—something that made your breath catch in your throat.

In one smooth motion, he shifted his weight, making sure to keep you pinned down, but his face was suddenly right next to yours. You could feel the tension in his body, his breath shallow against your cheek, his soft, furious whisper carrying through the air.

“If you don’t stop this,” he warned, “I swear I’ll make you regret it.”

For a moment, you felt a sudden shift. The teasing energy you’d been enjoying slowly turned into something much more intense, much more loaded with heat and raw emotion. 

You were really pinned now—both physically and emotionally.

Then, something clicked. Geo’s gaze softened ever so slightly as he adjusted his position, bringing his body even closer to yours, until you could feel every inch of him against your back. His grip on your wrists slackened, just a little, but his weight remained firmly above you, locking you in place.

His voice was quieter now, a small thread of uncertainty threading through the harshness. “I’m serious,” he muttered. “This is… this is too much for me. I can’t... you’re—”

You shifted, just enough to meet his gaze, your chest still heaving from the struggle. “You’re what? Not enjoying this?” You knew that tone—teasing, poking, drawing out whatever was left of his already rattled composure.

Geo’s flush deepened. It was almost enough to rival the red of the bunny suit. His eyes closed, and his breath quickened, his voice betraying him. “I’m not… I don’t… You make me feel ridiculous,” he admitted softly, almost too quietly for you to hear.

You smirked at the vulnerability in his voice, and despite the intense physicality of the moment, you realized something—a secoud of warmth spread in your chest. His words had an unexpected effect on you.

But before you could tease him further, Geo seemed to sense the opening he’d given you, and he took the opportunity to shift again. His face—barely inches from yours—turned slightly, but this time, he kissed you.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It wasn’t sweet or apologetic. Instead, it was desperate to shut you up, and for once, his urgency made it feel a little less like a game. His lips were pressed hard against yours, his breath mingling with yours as his hands slid from your wrists to grip your shoulders, forcing you to stay still.

The kiss wasn’t long, but, it was enough to stop you.

Geo pulled back slowly, his forehead resting against yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly as if trying to calm himself.

He closed his eyes, his voice quieter now but still carrying the weight of his emotions. “There. That should stop you. You’re a fucking menace, you know that?”

You chuckled softly, savoring the rare moment of intimacy before you responded. “Maybe,” you teased, “but you still kissed me. Guess I’m winning, Bunny Boy.”

Geo made a noise in his throat—part exasperation, part something else entirely. His arms released you, but you didn’t move immediately.

You didn’t need to.

The game had changed. And while he might’ve quieted you in the heat of the moment, there was still that unspoken tension between you two that would be far from settled. You might’ve won this round, but you knew—Geo wouldn’t let you off that easily.

Not by a long shot.

I didn't want to mess with my husband any longer, I felt bad T-T

✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

Bunny Boy orrrr Chaotic Bunny?

The hotel room smelled faintly of cheap vanilla candles and plastic packaging from the costume bags scattered everywhere, a chaotic battlefield of fabric and makeup brushes.

You were perched on a chair by the little vanity, balancing a handheld mirror in one hand, carefully working on your eyeliner with the precision of a bomb technician.

Your costume was already half on—something dangerously cute and teasing, something that would probably get you mobbed at the con, but that didn’t matter right now. Right now, you were focused on getting the stupid eyeliner wing even. The dull hum of the bathroom fan filled the background, paired with the occasional squeak of shoes slipping against tile.

You were so engrossed in not stabbing your eye out that you almost missed the bathroom door creaking open.

Almost.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught movement—and then you heard it. The sharp click-clack of cheap platform heels strutting across the hotel carpet, like a model on the world’s most cursed runway.

You slowly lowered your mirror, blinked, and there he was.

Hyugo. In all his radiant, chaotic, bunny-suited glory.

He struck a ridiculous pose, one hand on his narrow hip, the other thrown into a peace sign near his face like some sparkly anime idol. His bunny suit was baby blue, hugging his lean, youthful frame a little too perfectly, highlighting his long legs wrapped tightly in black fishnet tights. Matching satin gloves covered his hands up to the elbows, and those platform heels? Oh, he was walking in them, strutting, like he’d been born in stilettos.

His teal hair was a chaotic mess of shaggy layers, the thick rat tail behind him bobbing slightly with every exaggerated move. The thick middle strand of his bangs flopped into his forehead while his long side pieces framed his baby-faced grin, the sparkle in his soft, sky-blue eyes practically weaponized.

You just... stared. Blinking slowly. Once. Twice. Thrice.

“TA-DAAA!” he sang out, twirling dramatically.

He finished the spin with a high kick that he almost nailed—his heel skidding a bit on the carpet—but he recovered with a flourish so fast you wondered if he'd practiced that in secret.

"Hyugo..." you said slowly, voice dangerously neutral, setting the mirror down onto the cluttered vanity. "What... the hell... are you doing?"

"Living my best life," he declared, teeth flashing in a too-wide, shit-eating grin. The baby blue bunny ears attached to his headband flopped a little when he gave a dramatic hair flip, like he was on the cover of a 2007 fashion magazine. 

And then—without warning, he strutted over to you. 

You backed up an inch in your chair, instinctively wary, sensing his chaotic energy building like a storm front. You didn't even have time to stand before he spun around, back facing you—and plopped himself right down onto your lap. Full weight.

"Lap dance timeeeee~!" Hyugo chirped.

You choked on your own spit.

The little shit started grinding like he was on a pole, wagging his bunny tail-covered ass side to side with such exaggerated, silly movements that you almost cried. 

He leaned back, resting his head against your shoulder, batting his stupid, gorgeous baby blue eyes up at you. "You like what you see, babe~?" he teased, voice pitching into a playful, breathy whine.

You spluttered, hands frozen in midair, not sure where the hell to even put them.

On his hips? On his waist? Anywhere?!

There was literally no safe place.

Meanwhile, Hyugo was feeling himself, wiggling his hips with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what they were doing—and exactly how much it was breaking you.

You could feel the way the fishnet texture rubbed against your thighs through his movements, could smell the faint sugary cologne he’d spritzed on earlier, could hear the soft, breathy mmms he added for dramatic effect, absolutely laying it on thick.

"You gonna tip me?" he whispered, his voice hot against your ear, grinning like the devil himself. "I take cash, kisses, or compliments~."

You made a small, strangled noise in your throat that sounded vaguely like the death cry of a Victorian maiden. Your face was burning, hotter than a bonfire.

The worst part? He knew it.

You could see it in the tiny, satisfied smirk curling his thin lips. "God, you're—!" you managed to blurt, struggling for words. "You're such a little—!"

"Baby boy?" he offered sweetly, batting his lashes again.

You gripped the edge of the chair so hard your knuckles turned white, breathing heavily through your nose like an angry bull. He was deliberately arching his back now, adding an extra little bounce to his movements, the little rat tail flopping around like a cheerful party favor.

You were going to die.

"You better not do this at the convention," you hissed, trying to maintain some shred of dignity.

"Aww, you don't want me giving everyone else a show too~?" Hyugo cooed, nuzzling your cheek with fake innocence. "You're so possessive, cutie."

He had the audacity to boop your nose with his gloved finger before pulling back with a scandalized gasp.

"Unless..." he mused aloud, a wicked little smile playing on his lips, "...you want a private encore later?"

You shoved him off your lap with a growl, but Hyugo just rolled onto the carpet, kicking his legs in the air like an overexcited puppy, laughing so hard tears were forming in the corners of his glittering eyes.

"You’re insane!" you accused.

"And fabulous!" he shot back, striking another ridiculous pose on the ground like a fallen Broadway star.

You buried your burning face in your hands, muttering curses under your breath. 

The bunny suit squeaked when Hyugo eventually got up again, heels click-clacking as he walked over to the mirror to admire himself—his little blue bunny tail bouncing with every step. "Admit it," he teased, glancing at you through the mirror. "You loved it."

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

The fact that you were still a blushing, frazzled mess was answer enough.

And Hyugo? He knew he’d won this round.

The smug, victorious grin he shot you was just the cherry on top of your slow, inevitable descent into hell. By the time you both actually made it to the convention, you were already emotionally exhausted.

Mostly from fighting the overwhelming urge to throttle Hyugo in his ridiculous, obscenely cute bunny suit every five minutes.

You should’ve known better than to think he would behave.

You should’ve known.

The crowded halls buzzed with energy—people in elaborate cosplays, music thumping from different booths, the smell of popcorn and cheap hot dogs hanging heavy in the air. It was loud, chaotic, and absolutely not a place where you could hide from Hyugo's brand of public humiliation.

You were just trying to mind your own business, flipping through some artist alley prints, when you felt a familiar click-click-click of heels behind you.

You froze. 

"Heeeey, sexy~!" Hyugo’s voice rang out—way too loud.

You turned just in time to see him strutting down the aisle towards you like he was walking a goddamn Victoria's Secret runway.

Heads turned. People stared. Phones came out.

You wanted the earth to open up and swallow you whole.

"Stop. Stop it," you hissed under your breath, waving frantically at him, as if sheer force of will could make him disappear. Hyugo, of course, only sped up, heels tapping the floor in a chaotic rhythm as he leaped the last two feet—and latched onto you. Short, gloved arms wrapping dramatically around your shoulders, bunny ears flopping into your face.

"You left me alooooneee," he whined, giving a fake sob loud enough to turn even more heads.

"I'm literally right here," you muttered, mortified beyond words.

But Hyugo wasn't done. Oh no.

This little menace was just getting started.

He turned to a random group of onlookers, smiling sickeningly sweet.

"Isn’t my partner just the cutest?" he gushed, squeezing your cheeks between his gloved hands like a grandma at Thanksgiving.

The group awwed. Someone even snapped a picture.

You were going to kill him. You were going to murder Hyugo in this convention center and use his rat tail to hide the body. "You’re dead," you whispered to him under your breath, seething.

Hyugo just beamed, not at all intimidated, and whispered back: "Bet you'll miss me when I’m a sexy little ghost haunting your bedroom later~."

You very seriously considered whether jail time would be worth it.

But Hyugo, smug and absolutely thriving on your suffering, linked his arm through yours with a little bounce, dragging you deeper into the con floor.

It only got worse.

Every chance he got, he posed for pictures—always dragging you into them like some chaotic little gremlin. Every time someone complimented his costume, he’d spin dramatically and blow you a kiss. Every time someone pointed at his heels and said "wow, you can actually walk in those??" he'd say, "My partner trained me well~!" with an absolutely filthy wink.

You wanted to crawl under a table and die. But...

When you caught a glimpse of him laughing—really laughing, with that genuine, youthful spark in his sky-blue eyes, his cheeks flushed slightly from excitement—you found yourself smiling in spite of yourself.

Maybe you were doomed. Maybe you were already too far gone. Because even though he was an absolute menace...

Even though he was teasing you to death... 

You wouldn't trade this chaotic, bunny-suited, rat-tailed little disaster of a boy for anything in the world. And you knew—even as he blew you another obnoxious kiss from across the convention floor, making you flip him off while your face burned red—that you were utterly, hopelessly, completely stuck with him. 

And somehow? You didn’t really mind.

Not even a little. "ACK—Hyugo!" You take it back...

Back at the hotel room, you barely managed to throw your bag onto the floor before you heard the door click shut behind you—and felt a sudden, heavy weight slam into your back. You stumbled forward, hands bracing against the bed, as Hyugo cackled in your ear.

"You promised me a reward," he sang, arms snaking around your waist, his baby blue bunny suit pressing tight against your back.

"I didn't promise shit—"

"I heard 'good bunny boys get treats~'," he interrupted sweetly, nuzzling into your neck like some needy, chaotic little demon.

You twisted around, trying to shove him off—but Hyugo was relentless. With a gleeful grin, he gave your hips a firm shove, sending you sprawling face-first onto the bed.

You groaned. "You’re heavy, you little—"

Before you could finish, Hyugo climbed on top of you, straddling your hips with those dangerously smooth legs, heels kicked off somewhere across the room. The soft mesh of his fishnet tights brushed your lower back as he adjusted his seat like he owned you.

You sucked in a breath.

He was wayyyyyy too comfortable with this.

He smirked down at you, cheeks flushed pink from excitement, messy teal bangs falling into his mischievous baby blue eyes. "You know," he drawled, voice dropping lower as he leaned down, ghosting his lips near your ear, "you could just surrender now..."

You shivered involuntarily. "And miss out on the fun of making you work for it?" you shot back, smirking into the blanket.

Hyugo made a delighted noise, like you had just personally delivered him a five-course meal. "Oh, we're playing dirty now?" He shifted, grinding his hips down in an exaggerated roll that made you jolt.

"H-Hyugo—!"

He laughed, giddy, before straightening up again, proudly sitting on your lower back like some smug little king.

Then, he started to move.

Slow, deliberate little rolls of his hips—giving you a literal lap dance, but in reverse, you still pinned under him, helpless to escape. The absurdity of it should've made you laugh, but the heat creeping up your spine was making it very hard to focus.

"Mm... look at you," he teased, dragging his gloved hands up your sides, over your ribs, the light friction of the gloves making you squirm. "Getting all flustered from a little grinding? And you call yourself tough..."

You reached back blindly, trying to grab him.

Hyugo caught your wrists with ease, pinning them down against the bed, his grip surprisingly strong for someone in a damn bunny costume. He leaned in again, noses almost brushing, his voice low and sweet, and dangerous.

"Beg," he whispered, lips ghosting over your ear.

You bit your lip hard enough to see stars. This little shit was serious.

"Hyugo..." you warned, your voice barely holding steady.

"Beg," he repeated, more smug now, dragging his fingers agonizingly slow up your arms, over your shoulders, down your chest—never quite touching where you wanted.

It was maddening.

You glared up at him over your shoulder, breathing heavily.

"You’re gonna regret this," you growled.

Hyugo’s grin widened into something absolutely feral.

"Worth it~."

And with that, he shifted his weight again, fully settling his hips against yours, giving one long, slow, grinding roll that made your mind blank completely for a second. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to stay composed. "Ngh—fuck—Hyugo—"

"Language!" he teased brightly, tapping your nose playfully with one gloved finger.

You couldn't decide if you wanted to kiss him or throw him across the room. Probably both. Definitely both. He loosened his hold just slightly, giving you just enough freedom to flip around beneath him. You caught him by the waist, slamming him down onto the bed with a yelp.

Now you were the one straddling him.

His eyes widened, a little gasp escaping those thin lips—and god, he was so red already, his cheeks burning up to the tips of his ears.

"Who's flustered now, huh?" you smirked, leaning down until your noses brushed.

Hyugo just laughed, breathless, beautiful.

"Still you," he whispered, hands sliding up your thighs, teasing the hem of your costume.

And honestly?

You couldn't even argue.

YESS, I KNOW HOW TO WRITE FOR THIS SWEET BABY BOY, so he's is longer for all the hyugo lovers out there.

✑ 𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓎𝓁

Buff Bunny—that can dance like a man.

You honestly weren’t expecting the evening to spiral into madness. The plan was simple—or at least, it should've been. Just you and Deryl, chilling at his place, knocking out the group project that was already eating your sanity alive.

No chaos. No disasters. No getting sidetracked.

You had even come prepared: laptop, notebooks, highlighters, a giant ass coffee.

Fool. You foolish, foolish soul.

Because this was Deryl.

And Deryl plus "normal" was like... lighter fluid plus a bonfire.

You were sprawled out across the living room floor, papers and pens scattered around you in what could only be described as a beautiful mind collapse, lazily scribbling notes while the TV played some random sports rerun in the background. Deryl, ever the energetic host, had promised to grab food while you worked.

"I'll be back in a sec, I swear!" he'd yelled over his shoulder, vanishing into the kitchen like a golden retriever chasing a stick.

You half-listened to the sounds of him clattering around. There was some humming. Some cabinet doors slamming. A loud whoop that rattled the walls. You sighed, underlining your notes for the third time, trying to focus.

Then—"FOOD’S HERE!!" The words echoed through the house like a goddamn battle cry.

You perked up immediately, like Pavlov's dog.

Food. Real food. Greasy, heavenly food from your shared favorite burger spot—the only thing you were living for at this point.

You pushed yourself up with a groan, knees cracking, and padded toward the kitchen. "Better be my double cheeseburger, Deryl," you called, rounding the corner—

—and immediately lost all ability to form coherent thought. Because standing there, bright as a goddamn traffic cone, was Deryl. In a bright orange bunny suit.

Deryl. In a BRIGHT ORANGE BUNNY SUIT. 

Bright. Orange. Bunny suit.

Not just a hoodie with ears, no — the full-body furry monstrosity, complete with a little cotton tail bouncing when he moves. Matching floppy ears bobbing on his head. Furiously orange polyester clinging to every inch of that massive, buff-as-fuck body—hairy legs and muscular thighs on full display beneath the ridiculous shorts.

Both hands were proudly perched on his hips, like he was posing for a magazine spread titled "DISASTERS MONTHLY."

And to top it all off—

The biggest, brightest, shit-eating grin you had ever seen split his face from ear to ear, green eyes glittering with mischief, tears of laughter already brimming at the corners. He had a burger in one hand, a stupidly wide grin on his face, and you—

—You stood there. Frozen. Absolutely brain-melted.

Not a single logical thought survived the apocalypse happening inside your head. You blinked once. Twice. The bunny ears flopped. "...what," you croaked out, your voice cracking like a dying engine.

Deryl’s laughter exploded, loud and contagious, as he leaned heavily against the kitchen counter, trying and failing to catch his breath.

"Y-you—the look—ON YOUR FACE—!!" He doubled over, wheezing like he'd run a marathon, one hand slapping the counter for balance.

You just stared.

You stared at the fluffy white tail attached to his ass.

You stared at the fact that his thighs looked like they could crush a watermelon. You stared at the unholy union of pure chaos and sex appeal standing proudly before you, like this was the most normal Saturday activity.

Finally, after a solid thirty seconds of internal screaming, you managed to force oxygen back into your lungs. "Deryl..." you started slowly, voice deadpan. "...did you answer the door like that?"

He gasped between bouts of laughter, wiping a tear from his eye. "Hell yeah, I did!!"

Another uncontrollable fit of cackling. 

You dragged a hand down your face, reeling. "The delivery guy—"

"Bro fistbumped me!" he interrupted proudly. "Said I had 'mad drip.'" He mimed the fistbump like it was some sacred ritual, bunny ears flopping with every exaggerated motion.

You were going to die. Right here. 

Buried under the weight of this absurdity.

"Why—" you tried again, your voice halfway between a sob and a laugh, "would you even—when—where did you even GET that—?!"

Deryl straightened up, looking offended at your lack of appreciation.

"Preparedness," he said solemnly, puffing his chest out. "You never know when life’s gonna call for drip." He struck a dramatic pose, flexing one bicep with the bunny paw glove on.

You physically staggered backward, clutching the doorframe.

He looked so goddamn ridiculous. So stupidly hot. So perfect. You covered your mouth to stifle the completely unhinged giggles bubbling up from your chest.

Deryl noticed immediately.

"OHHHH YOU THINK IT’S FUNNY NOW, HUH?!" He charged at you, arms outstretched like a wild animal.

"Deryl—Deryl don't you fucking DARE—" You tried to retreat but there was no escape. He grabbed you in a massive bear hug, lifting you clear off the ground like you weighed nothing, the absurdly soft fur of the bunny suit brushing against your skin. You shrieked, kicking your feet helplessly as he spun you around the kitchen.

"WHO'S LAUGHIN’ NOW, HUH?!" His laugh was pure evil joy, bright and golden and impossibly loud.

You pounded weakly on his shoulder, half-dying from laughter yourself. "PUT ME DOWN YOU GIANT LUNATIC!!"

"No can do!!" he sang, bunny ears bouncing. "Buff Bunny rights!!"

By the time he finally set you down, you were both breathless, faces flushed, grins splitting your cheeks.

You stumbled back, barely keeping your balance. 

He held you steady, hands massive and warm on your arms, that damn playful smirk still on his lips. You looked up at him, chest heaving, trying to find some shred of dignity.

Deryl just winked, tilting his head so the bunny ears flopped cutely to one side. "So..." he said, voice low and teasing, "what's the verdict?"

You swallowed thickly, the sheer ridiculousness and ridiculous hotness of it all frying every neuron in your brain.

"...You're never taking that off, are you?"

He grinned, impossibly wide. "Only if you say please," he purred.

You opened your mouth to respond—and immediately shut it again, defeated, face burning so hard it might've caught fire. You turned sharply on your heel and stomped back toward the living room, muttering curses under your breath.

Behind you, Deryl burst into another fit of hysterical laughter. 

"HEY!" he called after you, voice full of teasing sunshine. "DON'T ACT LIKE YOU DIDN'T LIKE THE VIEW!!"

You flipped him off without turning around, biting your lip to hold back the giddy laugh threatening to spill out. Because... damn it. He was right. Before you can escape fully, you hear Deryl lunging for you. "AHT— NO—" you shriek, trying to dodge, but he's faster—because of course he is, the bastard.

Big hands clamp around your waist, lifting you clean off the floor like you weighed nothing.

"DERYL! Please, not again.” You beat your fists against his shoulders, but he only laughs — that big, rumbly, dangerous laugh — and deposits you right onto the kitchen counter like you were some kind of misbehaving cat. He moves in close, trapping you there, his arms caging you in as his thick thighs press against your legs.

You glare at him.

He grins wider, leaning his face dangerously close to yours.

"You look sooo cute when you're mad," he coos mockingly, poking your cheek.

"Let me go! I'm hungry!" you snap, trying to shove at his chest, but it's like trying to push a wall. A big, hot, stubborn wall.

"Man," Deryl says, tilting his head thoughtfully, the teasing note in his voice dropping an octave lower, making your skin prickle. "I'm so hungry... I could eat you."

Your breath catches.

He’s still smiling, but there’s a flicker in his eyes now—something sharp, focused. Something that makes your stomach flip upside down. His hands flex on the counter, muscles shifting under his skin.

You meet his eyes fully—and realize—

He’s not entirely joking.

You can feel the heat radiating off his body, the way he’s crowding you, not even bothering to hide the way he’s looking at you now. Not just playful, but heavy, molten—like he's seriously considering it.

Your mouth goes dry.

A shiver dances down your spine, and you suddenly forget what air is.

Deryl laughs, low and wicked, close enough that you can feel his breath ghost over your lips. He leans in even closer, until your noses almost brush. "You gonna let me?" he murmurs, voice like a slow burn against your skin.

You swallow. Hard.

For a second, all you can do is stare at him—at the wild curls spilling messily under the bunny ears, the way his stubble roughens his jaw, the sharp green of his eyes glowing like mischief and hunger tangled together.

You should say something. You should shove him away.

Instead, you just breathe, heart hammering, caught — pinned between his arms, his thighs, and his devastating grin. And Deryl? He knows it. Oh, he knows it. He taps your nose with one finger, mischief twinkling in his eyes. "What’s the matter, little bunny? Cat got your tongue?"

You almost punched him. Almost.

But when he leans back with a victorious laugh, grabbing your burger from the counter and offering it to you with a wink, you take it from his hands with a shaky glare, ears burning, knowing full well he won this round.

The worst part?

You kinda didn’t mind losing to him.

now writing him, I was a little lost because I don't recall much of his personality, but I tried—not sure if i'll be writing him as sadly no one talks about him...

[shouyuus]

rafayel w sensitive nipples… wuhssghahs he’d be a whimpering mess… him tied up while u play w his nipples uwjwneka he’d be so cute >w<

-🎀

+18, mdni, nipple-related hcs

okay but i've been thinking about this for like 3 whole days and here's the ranking of all the lads boys and how sensitive their nips would be, from least to most (in my opinion):

─── 黎深 ZAYNE

definitely the least sensitive -- not to say that he's not sensitive at all, but he'd be kind of curious the first time you brush your fingers against it, a tiny frown creasing his forehead

"trying something new?" he'd ask

you shrug, bending down to mouth at one of his dark nipples, even as he lets out a thin breath -- your eyes flick up, he's definitely not unaffected, but not as much as you'd like

eventually, he grows to like it, enjoy the tiny tingling sensation that shoots up his spine whenever you pinch at his nipples, the way they grew more sensitive the more you teased at them

but he'd always find a way to flip the script on you, to find you beneath him, his lips wrapped around your puffy nipples, because nothing could ever compare to the way you moan into his touch

─── 秦彻 SYLUS

you're kidding urself if you don't think this man is kinky and he definitely owns nipple clamps somewhere in that n19 compound okay

the first time you bring them out, he grins, thinks that you're asking him to try them on you, only to blink when you tell him that "hell' get his turn"

"ah -- so... kitty knows how to play --" but his voice cuts off in a gasp as you gently fasten the clamps to his nipples (you had to cuff down his hands too, just as an additional measure -- not that either of you really thought the cuffs would keep him from anything he really wanted)

he's delightfully responsive, even if it takes a while to get him there, but soon, he's hissing, his face contorted with a mixture of pain and pleasure, his cock kicking whenever you flick at one of the nipple clamps; the sight makes your thighs clamp

you don't manage to make him cum just from his nipples but... well, it's good to set stretch goals, right?

─── 夏以昼 CALEB

this man's sensitive, don't let him fool you -- he might try to be stoic, but just the feeling of your fingers on him will make him moan, let alone if/when you play with his nipples

he wouldn't be shy about it either, after a while, egging you on with quiet little groans, nodding when you glance up to check if he's okay

"f-feels good -- shit -- been dreaming about th-this for so long -- ah --"

"yeah? how long?" you ask, grinning as you tweak at him, mesmerized by the way his cock jumps, leaking against his toned stomach every time you pinch at him a bit harder

when you finally lean down to mouth at his rapidly reddening nipple, he makes a half-choked noise, head tossing back, his hips jumping so much you almost jolt away from him

"hold still --" you chide, and he immediately stiffens, casting you a half-hearted glare, "s-since when do i take orders from you?"; you meet his gaze with a sly smirk, "since i found out this new kink of yours, gege --"

─── 沈星回 XAVIER

definitely more sensitive than he lets on, will absolutely whimper the first time you pinch his nipple and try to hide it immediately, but it's a fruitless endeavor

he'll be panting, cock twitching in your hand, leaking down the length of his shaft after just a few minutes, his cheeks so red you'd be concerned he has a fever were it not for the circumstances

"nnggh -- please --" and it's so rare that he begs like this, truly begs, because he'll allow you the occasional half-exasperated "c'mon, please?" when he's trying to get you to do something but this -- it makes your skin pebble up in goosepimples just hearing him, so broken, so desperate

"yeah? please -- what?" you ask, one hand still teasing at his nipples, the other pumping his drooling cock in leisurely strokes

"need -- want more -- g-god --"; you allow yourself a giggle before leaning up to wrap your lips around his over-sensitive nipple

he cums embaressingly quick after that, though he refuses to verbally acknowledge it for a week before you get him to admit that he enjoyed it and that he wouldn't mind if you did it again... and soon

─── 祁煜 RAFAYEL

hands down the most sensitive nipples ever -- won't even wear super constricting shirts in the summer because of how they chafe at his nipples

the first time you so much as breathe against his chest, it has him squirming, and it doesn't take you long to figure out why -- and within seconds of your teasing, he's hard and oozing precum down his cock, soaking through his slacks

"th-that's not f-fair!" he whines, panting, his eyes unfocused as you continue to twist at his puffy nipples (they get so much softer and bigger when you tease them too), "us l-lemurians are b-built -- fuck -- mnghh -- dif-different than you humans --"

you grin, tugging delicately at his nipple just to hear him keen, watch the way his head tosses back into the mess of silken pillows, his knuckles going white in the tangle of sheets, "yeah? are all lemurians this sensitive?"

he puffs out a breath, shooting you a reproachful look, opening his mouth to retort, but it's cut off by a thick moan as you lean down to lave your tongue over the reddening skin, grinning as he makes a broken sort of whimper

"i wonder if you can cum from just this," you say out loud, to which he makes a doleful sort of pleading mewl, already too stimulated to speak

not five minutes later, you get your answer, and it turns out that yes -- yes he can.

[amyzworldds]

Title: Fitness Quest

Masterlist

Woozi, a fitness enthusiast, drags his lazy, homebody girlfriend out of bed for an early morning jog, tired of her frequent colds and low energy. Pairing: Woozi x reader Genre: Fluff

The sun hadn’t even thought about rising yet, and the world outside was still cloaked in that pre-dawn hush—perfect for sleeping, in yn's opinion. Curled up under a mountain of blankets, she was blissfully lost in dreamland, probably imagining a world where calories didn’t exist and couches came with built-in snack dispensers. Meanwhile, Woozi—her gym-obsessed boyfriend—was already up, lacing his running shoes with the kind of enthusiasm that made yn wonder if he was secretly a robot powered by protein shakes.

Woozi wasn’t just a “go to the gym sometimes” guy. No, he was a gym rat. The kind who had a favorite treadmill and a handshake with the guy at the supplement store. He thrived on early mornings, green smoothies, and the satisfying clank of weights hitting the floor. Yn, on the other hand, thrived on netflix marathons, instant ramen, and the art of doing absolutely nothing. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be healthy—she just figured her body was already doing its best by keeping her alive, so why push it?

The problem was, yn’s 'best' came with a side of frequent colds, low energy, and a general vibe of “I’ll get up in five minutes” that stretched into hours. Woozi, bless his heart, adored her anyway. He’d bring her soup when she was sick, tuck her in with extra blankets, and even let her whine about how “unfair” it was that her immune system betrayed her again. But lately, it was getting out of hand. Last week, she’d caught a cold again, and Woozi had spent three days playing nurse while she dramatically declared she was “one sneeze away from the grave.” Enough was enough. He loved her too much to watch her wilt like an unwatered houseplant.

So, today was the day. Operation “Get Yn Moving” was officially in motion. Woozi had planned it like a military strategist—step by step, easing her into exercise so her body wouldn’t go into full rebellion. Step one: a simple morning jog. Nothing crazy, just a light loop around the neighborhood. He’d even checked the weather (chilly but manageable) and laid out her comfiest sportswear the night before—a soft oversized hoodie, stretchy leggings, and sneakers she’d probably only worn twice.

At 5:30 a.m., Woozi crept into their shared bedroom, his gym-honed resolve unshaken by the sight of yn cocooned in the blankets like a human burrito. “Baby,” he whispered, nudging her gently. “Time to get up. We’re going jogging.”

A muffled groan emerged from the blanket pile. “Noooo… tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. “Or I’ll drink vitamins. Promise. All the vitamins. Just… five more minutes.”

“Yn, you said that last week. And the week before. Come on, it’ll be fun.” Woozi’s tone was patient but firm, like a parent coaxing a toddler out of a tantrum.

She peeked one eye out, glaring at him like he’d suggested they climb Mount Everest barefoot. “Fun? It’s not even light outside! This is torture, Babe. Torture! I’m calling the police.”

He chuckled, unfazed. “You’re not calling anyone. You’re jogging. Let’s go.” Before she could protest further, he yanked the blanket off her in one swift motion, earning a dramatic yelp as the cold air hit her.

“Nooo! I’m fragile! You’re gonna shock my system!” she wailed, flopping back onto the pillow like a stranded fish.

“Your system’s been shocked plenty by all that instant ramen. Up you go.” Ignoring her theatrics, he scooped her out of bed, setting her on her feet. She swayed there, pouting, her hair a bird’s nest of chaos. He handed her a water—“Drink this, it’ll help”—and started tugging the sportswear onto her like she was a grumpy mannequin. She whined the whole time, muttering about how “leggings are oppression” and “sneakers are a conspiracy,” but Woozi was relentless. By the time he tied her shoelaces, she looked halfway decent—if you ignored the scowl.

“Perfect. Let’s move,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the door.

“Babe, it’s freezing! I’ll die out there! You’re dating a popsicle!” she protested, dragging her feet as he hauled her outside. The sky was still a dusky gray, the air crisp and biting, and yn immediately hugged herself, shivering exaggeratedly. “This is how horror movies start. Early morning, creepy silence—next thing you know, I’m running from a monster.”

“You’re running with me, not from me,” Woozi teased, starting a light jog down the sidewalk. “Come on, keep up.”

Yn shuffled behind him, her “jog” more of a zombie stumble. “This isn’t keeping up! This is survival!” she huffed, already winded after ten seconds. Woozi, naturally, was in his element—breathing steady, pace smooth, looking like he could jog to the moon and back. Meanwhile, yn’s lungs were staging a full-on protest. “You’re too fast! Slow down! My legs are shorter!”

“They’re not that short,” he called back, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. “Just breathe, you’ll get the hang of it.”

“Breathe? I’m trying not to die!” She stopped dead in her tracks, hands on her knees, panting like she’d just run a marathon. Woozi didn’t notice at first, too focused on his rhythm, but when the constant stream of whining went silent, he turned around. There she was, a good twenty meters back, sprawled across a bench like a victorian lady who’d fainted from exhaustion. Her arms dangled over the sides, and her eyes were closed—either asleep or pretending to be.

“Yn,” he said, jogging back to her. “Are you serious right now?”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave him a pitiful look. “I’m resting. My body said ‘nope,’ and I respect its decisions.”

“You’ve been jogging for three minutes.”

“Three minutes too long,” she groaned, letting her head loll back. “Look at me. I’m adorable like this. Don’t ruin it with exercise.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. She was adorable, all flushed cheeks and pouty lips, but he wasn’t falling for it. “Nope. Up you go.” He grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet despite her protests. “We’re finishing this jog together.”

“Together? You’re basically usain bolt, and I’m a sloth with asthma!” she whined, but he kept her hand in his, tugging her along at a slower pace this time. She stumbled beside him, grumbling under her breath about “gym tyranny” and “protein shake propaganda,” but she didn’t stop. Not completely, anyway.

Every few minutes, she’d dig her heels in, forcing him to pause so she could “catch her breath”—which mostly meant bending over dramatically and declaring things like, “My lungs are quitting. Tell them I love them.” Woozi just stood there, hands on his hips, smirking at her theatrics.

“You’re doing great,” he said after her third break, squeezing her hand. “See? You’re not dead yet.”

“Yet,” she wheezed, glaring at him. “You’re lucky I love you, or I’d have faked a heart attack by now.”

He grinned, leaning down to kiss her sweaty forehead. “I love you too. That’s why I’m doing this. I want you around for a long time, whining and all.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

The jog—or, in yn’s case, the “near-death shuffle”—had finally come to an end. The sun was just beginning to spill its golden rays over the quiet neighborhood, casting long shadows on the pavement. Woozi slowed to a stop near a weathered wooden bench, his breathing steady and calm, while yn looked like she’d just survived an alien invasion. Her legs wobbled as she collapsed onto the bench, sprawling out like a starfish that had washed ashore.

“Sit here for a bit,” Woozi said, his voice gentle but still tinged with that no-nonsense tone he’d used to drag her out of bed. “You need to let your skin soak up the morning sun. It’s good for you—vitamin D and all that.”

Yn groaned, flopping her head back against the bench. “Vitamin D? My body doesn’t even know what that is anymore. It’s too busy screaming at me for this betrayal.” She rubbed her legs dramatically, as if they might fall off from the sheer audacity of exercise.

Woozi stood in front of her, arms crossed, looking every bit the picture of health with his flushed cheeks and steady posture. He didn’t sit—he never did after a jog; something about “cooling down properly”—but he softened when he saw her pitiful state. Yn, sensing his presence, scooted forward and pressed her forehead against his stomach, wrapping her arms around his waist in a half-hug, half-collapse.

“Babeee,” she whined, her voice muffled against his hoodie. “I’m so tired. And sleepy. And my legs hate me. And I hate jogging. And the sun’s too bright now. Can we go back to bed? Please? I’ll be good, I swear.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against her cheek, and brought a hand up to stroke her messy hair. His fingers were gentle, untangling the knots she’d accumulated from flailing around during their run. “You did great, you know,” he said, his tone softening into something warm and fond. “I’m proud of you.”

“Proud?” she mumbled, tilting her head up just enough to squint at him. “I stopped, like, ten times. And I’m pretty sure I’m legally a sloth now.”

“Still counts,” he teased, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “You made it through. That’s more than yesterday.”

She huffed, burying her face back into his stomach. “Yesterday, I was happy and cozy and not dying on a sidewalk. Take me home, Woozi. I need to recover from this trauma.”

He laughed again, letting her cling to him for a moment longer. The morning air was still crisp, but the sunlight was starting to warm things up, casting a soft glow over them. Yn’s breathing was still a little ragged, her chest rising and falling unevenly as she recovered from her “ordeal.” Woozi kept stroking her hair, patient as ever, waiting until she didn’t sound like she’d just run from a bear.

After a few minutes, her dramatic gasps settled into normal breaths, though her pout remained firmly in place. She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with big, pleading eyes. “Okay, I’m alive. Barely. Now what? Don’t say more jogging, or I’m breaking up with you.”

Woozi grinned, crouching down so they were eye level. “No more jogging. Promise.” He paused for effect, watching her pout twitch into something hopeful. “How about this: I’ll carry you home, make your favorite pancakes, and let you sleep as long as you want. And I’ll stay with you all day. Deal?”

Her eyes lit up like he’d just offered her the moon. “All day? Like, no sneaking off to the gym or fiddling with your music stuff?”

“Nope. Just you, me, pancakes, and the couch,” he confirmed, standing up and offering his hands to pull her to her feet.

Yn hesitated, then sighed dramatically as if it were a huge effort to stand. “Fine. You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Gym Rat. But if those pancakes don’t have extra syrup, I’m rioting.”

“Noted,” he said with a smirk, turning around and crouching slightly. “Hop on.”

She blinked at him. “Wait, you’re serious? You’re actually carrying me?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” He glanced back at her, eyebrow raised. “Unless you want to walk—”

“No, no, no!” she interrupted, scrambling onto his back before he could change his mind. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, resting her chin on top of his head as he hoisted her up with ease. For a guy who spent half his life lifting weights, she was light as a feather—or at least, he made it look that way.

“Comfy?” he asked, starting the trek back home with her clinging to him like a koala.

“Very,” she mumbled, nuzzling into his hair. “You’re warm. And you smell nice. Way better than jogging.”

He snorted. “Glad I rank higher than exercise.”

“Barely,” she teased, though her voice was already growing drowsy. The steady rhythm of his steps, the warmth of his back, and the exhaustion from their morning adventure were lulling her into a sleepy haze. “Don’t drop me, okay? I’m too cute to fall.”

“I won’t,” he promised, adjusting his grip on her legs. “Just don’t fall asleep up there, or I’ll have to eat all the pancakes myself.”

Her head popped up instantly. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” he shot back, grinning as he felt her tighten her hold on him.

The walk home was quiet after that, save for yn’s occasional sleepy mumbles about pancake toppings and how she was “never jogging again.” Woozi just smiled to himself, the weight of her on his back a comforting reminder of why he’d dragged her out in the first place. She might’ve whined the whole way, but she was his—lazy, dramatic, and all. And as long as he had pancakes and patience, he’d keep her around for a long, long time.

When they finally reached their apartment, he set her down gently on the couch, where she promptly sprawled out like a cat claiming its territory. “Pancakes now,” she demanded, though her eyes were already half-closed.

“Coming right up,” he said, leaning down to kiss her forehead before heading to the kitchen. True to his word, he stayed by her side all day—pancakes, cuddles, and a nap-filled afternoon included. And if yn noticed the extra syrup he drizzled on her stack, well, she was too blissed out to complain.

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ stargirl interlude.

wnba!paige x pop star!azzi. men & minors dni.

⋆ 🪩 part one ( you are here. )

masterlist.

synopsis: azzi’s one of the industry’s fastest rising stars—a notorious ice princess. she doesn’t pay much attention to the internet, so she’s caught off guard when she finds out who her biggest fan is: world-class athlete paige bueckers, publicly losing her mind over her.

cw: implied mental health issues, fluff, slow burn.

notes: hi, my loves. this is the first installment of my popstar pazzi au. let me know if you want me to continue. i kind of feel like this is shit, but i can be mean to myself.

love you.

I: FIRST TOUCH.

azzi hadn’t felt anything in months.

so, when her costume fitting resulted in a bubble of blood along her thigh, she found herself strangely grateful. the needle had only slipped and pricked her, but she was always easy to bleed which was what made her famous.

she watched, detached and faded, as the designer’s assistant apologized profusely, her thin lips quivering beneath eyes as round as the moon. they were a deep brown, like azzi’s own, and made her seem even more pathetic in her simpering. 

azzi reached out a light brown hand, her nails done perfectly in a glossy, milky-white set—extra-long and square-shaped, with a delicate cross of small, metallic studs glinting on the ring finger like a whispered prayer. they curled around the assistant’s shaking shoulder, the tips digging into the skin beneath the spaghetti strap of the woman’s halter top.

“hey,” she said, sounding as if she was underwater, “it’s okay. you didn’t mean to.”

and she knew the women didn’t; it was an honest accident. she extended her forgiveness like a knife, swift and exact because she could see her manager and mother in the corner vibrating with a frequency that only she seemed to be attuned to. 

“i am so sorry, azzi. i really—”

“i know,” azzi said, shrugging her shoulder. “why would you hurt me on purpose?”

the woman blinked up at her from where she was crouched on the ground, her hand dangerously close to her baby-pink pincushion. azzi smiled, revealing her sweet bunny teeth that had endeared over a million people to her overnight. the woman relaxed and azzi continued to smile, her cheeks aching by the time the fitting was finished. 

eventually, she was left alone. she always needed a moment to herself before performing—rehearsal or concert. she could hear the echoes of people’s movements in the otherwise empty arena, and something about that made tears prick at the corners of her eyes. she wondered if they would hear her heartbeat over the speakers, if it would echo and thunder with all of her sadness and the incredible weight of pressure put upon her. 

i look beautiful, she tried to think but the thought fell flat as it always did. objectively she looked gorgeous, absolutely out of this world if her fans were to be believed.

her skin glowed, the candy brown of it enhanced by her morning tan. her hair had been thickened by lush extensions and the fervent heat of a five thousand dollar straightener that, in her opinion, was shit compared to her well-loved seven-dollar one sitting on the rim of her sink in her apartment bathroom. her curls were gone, replaced by perfect rivers of dusky brown beach waves. 

her outfit was heavy, weighed down with shimmering embellishments that caught every stray bit of light. the corset was tight, sculpting her waist into something delicate, something precise, pushing her chest so high she couldn’t see her feet beneath it. the bodice was stitched with thousands of crystals, scattered like stars, each whispering of spectacle. the skirt was short, the hem dripping with beaded fringe that swayed when she breathed, a tiny, deliberate cascade of silver.

her arms were wrapped in sheer lace gloves, soft and weightless, tied off with ribbons that trailed past her wrists. the choker at her throat gleamed like a warning, pressing against her pulse, reminding her of the weight of expectation.

everything about the outfit was meant to make her look untouchable—something divine, something impossible—but standing alone in the vast emptiness of the arena, it felt more like armor.

with one last look at herself, azzi tossed her hair behind her shoulder and grabbed her personalized microphone from the edge of her vanity. the chrome twist along its body was cool in her hands, and she focused on it as she walked through the hall and grew closer to the heat of the stage lights. 

the beginning beat of her song began to play, the backing track taking the responsibility of harmonizing off of her. she stepped out from the passageway, her skin almost splitting with the force of her smile.

“hello, new york!” she called, her voice echoing off the empty chairs. pre-recorded applause and cheers exploded from the speakers. 

by the time she launched into the chorus, she was already distant.

⟡

azzi wasn’t supposed to be here.

her security team would kill her if they knew she had called an uber—no bodyguard, no disguise, just a pair of oversized sunglasses and a puffer that swallowed her whole. it wasn’t even a good puffer, not one of the designer ones gifted to her in hopes she’d be photographed in it—just something she grabbed on the way out, her hands shaking too hard to zip it up all the way.

or maybe it was good because it was hers. it had been hers for a long time and held the essence of the teenage version of herself who used to play basketball with the neighborhood kids and cried over crushes that no longer mattered. the lining of the pockets was worn and she wormed her fingertips into the loose cotton, watching the green of the fabric change underneath the lights animating from store signs and headlights. 

her uber driver was sweet, an older man who had come over from laos with his wife. he talked in a low tone, his accent curling like smoke over the vowels. she soaked up the stories of his home, lost herself in his memories. she sat with her legs tucked up on the seat, bare from the thighs down. she had thrown on a new york yankees tee and powder pink ballet shorts along with her favorite black leg warmers tucked into her well-loved uggs.

it was a relief to climb into the car and have him know nothing about her, his eyes not even flickering with a small hint of recognition. he’d only seen a small girl trembling inside of herself like a ghost trapped in its corpse, her dark eyes full of unease and her hair still wet from the rushed shower she’d taken beforehand. 

she reminded him of his daughter. 

eventually, they reached her usual haunt and she had to let him go. she tipped him generously, which she’d already planned to do, but he had squeezed her hand before she got out with such warmth that it made her stop. azzi had turned, looked back, and listened as he told her, the whole world is a very narrow bridge, and the main thing is to have no fear at all.”

she stared at him for a moment and he smiled. she could see the gold capping his back tooth. a good quote, he said. it helped me during the worst of times.

she would’ve given him a million dollars if she could. instead, she leaned over the seat and hugged him. then she told him to listen to the song “shame” by the smashing pumpkins. my go-to, she said, when i’m trying to figure it out.

 (in years to come, that same driver would relay that story to a journalist doing a profile on legacy popstars. he never forgot that, how kind she’d been to him. she never forgot that, how kind he’d been to her.)

the sushi bar was tucked into a quiet street, just past a convenience store that smelled like stale bread and cigarette smoke. inside, it was small and bright, warm in a way that made her stomach curl with need. she hadn’t been here in a long time. not since things changed. 

her mind was already falling into that static peace that accompanied her trips here. it was as if her brain fell out and onto the conveyor belt, looping back toward the kitchen where they would keep it on a freezer shelf until she was ready to be herself again. the bell jingled as she stepped in, and before she could process anything—before she could even breathe in the smell of sashimi and balled-up white rice—someone crashed into her.

it was solid, with enough force behind it that azzi’s breath hitched as she stumbled back, the scent of fabric softener and something warm and spicy filling her senses. she felt the grip of someone’s hands—strong, steady—catching her arms like instinct.

“oh, shit, my bad, my bad, i ain’t even see you,” the girl said quickly, stepping back so fast she nearly tripped over herself.

azzi blinked. she looked up slowly, her mind still trying to come back to itself.

in the seconds it took for her brain to catch up, azzi cataloged the facts of the situation. first, the grip—broad hands, fingers warm even through the padded sleeves of her puffer. then, the voice—low, raspy, almost apologetic. and finally, the face.

paige bueckers.

azzi knew who she was. everybody did. paige was a world-class athlete, a star, a whole damn nike deal in human form. and right now, she was standing in front of her, looking like she just got hit by a bus.

paige was still talking—rambling, really. “oh my god, bro. i did not just meet you like this. this cannot be how it happened. like, i gotta run that back or sum—”

azzi didn’t register the rest of what she was saying. because for the first time in months, something was funny.

it started as a small, startled exhale. then, before she could stop it, the laugh came—sharp, unexpected, curling out of her so fast it made her whole body shake.

paige froze. “uh.”

azzi laughed harder. she laughed until her shoulders curved inward, her hands gripping the counter like she needed something to keep her grounded.

“oh, nah,” paige mumbled, brows furrowing like she was really concerned now. “baby, you good?”

azzi sucked in a breath—tried to steady herself—but instead of stopping, the laughter turned into something else. something sharp and humiliating and impossible to control. she raised a hand as if to fend paige off, the familiar tightness in her throat stealing the words straight from her mouth.

the tears came fast. she barely had time to swipe at them before paige went full crisis mode.

“hey,” paige said, shifting her weight like she didn’t know whether to back up or step in. “what’s wrong, ma? you okay?”

azzi exhaled slowly, tipping her head back toward the ceiling like it would help her keep it together. she focused on the buzz of the fluorescent lighting so she wouldn’t have to see the patrons who had turned to stare. “sorry. um, we can take a picture or something.”

paige’s brows furrowed like she didn’t get it. “nah, it’s cool. you don’t gotta do all that.”

azzi didn’t know why that made her feel worse.

she cleared her throat, still feeling raw, and tried again. “can i get you something?”

paige hesitated. then, looking almost guilty, she muttered, “yeah, aight. sure.”

azzi watched as paige glanced up at the menu like she didn’t already know what she was getting, like she hadn’t been in line before they crashed into each other. something about it made her feel almost normal. she made sure to smile as she handed paige her order, squeezing her long fingers before letting go.

“thank you,” she said, “for asking me if i was okay.”

paige’s face did something complicated before she bit her bottom lip, and then spoke. 

“course.” then, “you okay to go home? my driver is around the corner.”

“i’m okay,” azzi said, already moving away. she turned, those perfect lips parting like petals as she said, “i want to sit here for a while.”

paige nodded, then smiled. she left, and azzi watched her ponytail sway through the window before she picked up her phone and opened her camera to scan the booth’s qr code. as she looked down, paige turned back around and found her again. 

she stood there for a minute too long, taking in the way azzi’s knees were drawn up to her chest, her brow furrowed and her curls falling almost rabidly from the bun she put it in. she was beautiful, even in that low light. 

she hoped azzi would never be sad again.

⟡

she didn’t check her socials much anymore. she had a pr team for that. but tonight, she needed something to distract her. it only took a swipe and two clicks for her to open twitter. 

then she saw it. her name, sitting right at number two on the trending page just beneath something about formula 1. she clicked, bracing herself for something unsavory, but instead, she felt an unexpected laugh bubble out of her.

there sat a tweet from pbueckersofficial, already viral:

met the fucking loml in a sushi bar bc I RAN INTO HER and had to physically restrain myself from getting on one knee and proposing in apology.

it had turned into a thread, paige’s lamenting going on for ages. 

⤷ dawg you don’t even understand, she’s so pretty in person. like i was genuinely about to kill myself right then and there  ⤷ and THEN she still asked if i wanted a picture like i didn’t just almost make her bust her ass  ⤷ it’s alright y’all. trust, imma be on my shit next time. #bueckersfudd2028 

azzi covered her mouth to keep herself from smiling. scrolled.

the replies were a mess.

username: PAIGE WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU. username: bro she doesn’t even know you like that 💀💀💀 username: accidentally meeting ur wife in a sushi shop is crazy username: nah bc imagine fudd actually sees this 😭😭

azzi stared at them for a long time. then, before she could think too hard about it, she hit retweet and added:

azzi35: oh! that’s not—um just keep winning those games instead, please.

within minutes, her notifications were done. paige’s teammates were in the replies immediately.

karnold: girl this is NOT ur priv. aubrey: paige fumbled a proposal and got cooked by azzi fudd on the same night wow uconnsports: how are u even gonna play after this

azzi rolled over on her side, her phone pressed to her chest as she giggled. it felt like a strange creature—the vibration of her joy.

⟡

paige was going to die.

she padded into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, not even bothering to look up at her teammates sitting around the table. they’d probably been up for hours already, laughing at the bullshit she’d orchestrated in the last twenty-four hours. she had barely slept. after the whole sushi bar incident, she’d tried to shake it off, but it just… stayed.

and now? now she was paying the price for being online past her bedtime.

she opened the fridge, her movements slow and sluggish. as she grabbed the milk, her hair shifted over her shoulders and she tucked it irritably behind one ear. waking up to the whole world laughing at you could really ruin your day. 

as she closed the fridge door, she felt the weight of her teammates' eyes on her. no one was speaking, but she could practically feel the air crackling with suppressed laughter.

paige sighed, not ready to deal with it. "please don’t tell me you guys are still on that."

kk raised an eyebrow, looking like she might burst any second. "oh, but we are," she said, voice uncharacteristically soft like she was trying not to break.

paige groaned, burying her face in her hands. 

"i'm fucking killing myself,” she muttered.

ice, who had been eerily quiet up until that moment, finally spoke. she didn’t even try to hold back. "but bueckers-fudd 2028?"

and that was it. the whole table cracked. kk fell into jana’s shaking shoulders. ice was wheezing. even caroline, who normally kept her cool, was holding her side like she was in pain.

paige stood there, glaring at them, but her lips twitched despite herself. "y’all are so fucking extra," she said, trying to keep it together, but the image of azzi’s face and the whole absurdity of the situation came flooding back. 

she covered her face with her hand. "i didn’t even mean it like that. fuck, why didn’t i check what account i was on?”

it was ice who finally leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "i gotta admit, though—bueckers-fudd 2028? that’s got a ring to it."

paige shot her a look that made the other girl snicker even harder. "shut the fuck up," paige warned, but it was too late. the whole room was laughing. 

"man, this is so fucked up," paige moaned, trying to sink straight into the floor. but then, azzi popped into her head. the way her laugh felt had seemed like a relief, like a crack in the wall she'd been building. her fingers trembled, and she had to push that thought away before she started really melting. but then again, who was she kidding? 

she was already gone.

the worst part? her mentions were a complete circus. fan accounts. meme pages. sports commentators. everyone was having the time of their life dissecting her very public, very messy encounter with world-famous popstar azzi fudd. lusting after the people’s princess meant the people would be involved.

when her phone buzzed with a follow request, she assumed it was another troll. but then she saw the verified checkmark.

azzi35 requested to follow you.

without thinking, paige clicked on the notification and watched as instagram blossomed before her. she paid no attention to her feed, clicking the heart where the following request lay in wait. she triple-checked in, taking in the black and white candid of azzi holding her dog up to her cheek, their faces smushed together as she smiled with all of her teeth.

the photo made her think of how much azzi seemed to want to remain normal. her feed rarely had promotional material on it. instead, it was filled with carousels of memories: azzi squeezed into the booth of a restaurant alongside her parents, azzi laying beachside with her niece lifted above her head as she laughed, azzi bare-faced and half pressed into a hotel pillow with her most recent read covering the bridge of her nose, azzi in istanbul, standing on a street just beside grand bazaar with carts swollen with an endless inventory of multi-colored heels behind her, azzi’s hands interlinked with her makeup artist with the caption “thank you for making me so beautiful”. 

paige clicked on the comments and saw the mua’s reply: world’s easiest job, baby. x

hard agree, she thought.

she could’ve spent hours taking azzi in, drowning out her teammates' good-natured ribbing as she swallowed the pieces azzi let slip through the cracks of her iron boundaries. as if to remind her of why she’d gotten on the app in the first place, a dm request popped up.

» hey, i wanted to say sorry about earlier. you were so sweet when we met and i feel bad i was such a mess. that was probably not the experience you were hoping for when randomly running into someone. » thank you for checking on me. it meant a lot.

paige read the message approximately 47 times. her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly.

» hey, you were great. made my day regardless. you're allowed to have a hard day.

she made the message simple, direct. the kind of genuine response that would cut through all the performative noise azzi had been swimming in for months. no pressure, no expectation—just human kindness.

she watched as azzi began to type something, the bubble rising and lowering before another message came through.

» can't believe you wanted to propose to me when i was basically a snot-nosed mess at the sushi place

there was a pause as paige stared at the reply. long enough that she realized azzi may be wondering if she'd said something wrong. she jumped into action, sending her response through, and in her eagerness, the message was filled with such raw honesty that it made embarrassment flush through her—ripe and red.

» u were beautiful, azzi. so beautiful it was fucking unreal. never seen anything like you. couldn't stop looking at you if i tried.

the words hung there, suspended in digital space. paige read them again. and again. 

why the fuck would she say that? it read as cripplingly parasocial, almost rotten with its clear excitement and awe. she closed her eyes, kicking her head back as she thought, once again, of ending it all. 

her phone vibrated and she cracked one bright blue eye open, scanning her screen for what was sure to be azzi’s swift block.

» you too.

then,

» want to grab coffee?

⟡

azzi was feeling something. it was fragile and unexpected, like a seedling pushing through concrete. connection. warmth. the first genuine emotion she'd experienced in months.

she rolled her lip between her teeth as she waited for paige’s answer, her leg bouncing underneath the table of the conference room she was sitting in.  she’d typed out the offer before she could second-guess herself. before the bear trap of performance and expectation could slam back down, cutting through the tendons of her ankle and drawing blood.

paige's response came after a few more minutes, and azzi’s jittering slowed.

» yes. » fuck yes. when and where?

azzi felt herself smile. a real one. the kind that reached her eyes.

© hcneymooners.

[fushitoru]

EDIT: check out the series here!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[citrusipop]

Pagtingin! . hyun-ju

" When I reveal my feelings I hope your opinion of me won't change When I confess my secrets I hope your opinion of me won't change " - patingin by ben&ben

in which . in which Hyun-ju comes back after the events of the game and she happens to bump into her partner who she left without an explanation.

cho hyun-ju x reader (fem) . angst/fluff

based off . ♡

Strolling through the busy streets, you stumbled upon your favorite café. As you stepped inside, you were greeted by the comforting aroma of coffee and vanilla, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Sweet bossa nova music played softly in the background, blending with the gentle hum of conversations. It was the perfect day to settle down and work in the cozy atmosphere of the café. After ordering your usual coffee and sweet treats, you made your way to a nearby table by the window.

Taking your seat, you gazed out at the bustling street. Sure, it might seem cliché to some—a solitary figure at a window seat in a café—but to you, it was a small joy. The window wasn’t just a pane of glass; it was a lens into the endless stories unfolding outside. Watching strangers go about their lives, you found yourself imagining their worlds. Two girls walked past in school uniforms—you guessed they were high schoolers, maybe around fourteen or fifteen. Your eyes followed a middle-aged man pedaling his bike, his neatly pressed office attire suggesting he worked in accounting or something similar.

It fascinated you how everyone’s lives were so different from your own. Each person outside that window carried a story you’d never fully know, lives that were nothing like yours—boring, miserable, yet oddly peaceful and happy in their own way. And for a moment, watching them, you felt connected to something bigger, as though their differences somehow brought you closer to understanding your own quiet existence.

Your thoughts suddenly come to an end when you hear a group of people laughing next to you. You wish you had your earbuds with you to drown out the sounds but the gods were against you and made you forget to bring it. Wallowing in your sadness, you heard a familiar laugh coming from the table next to you and it made your mind race, turning to the table next to you…

It was her. For a moment, you froze, your breath hitching in your chest. Oh, how you wished this was a dream—because it certainly felt like one. A dream so vivid, so achingly beautiful, that the thought of waking up filled you with dread. But it wasn’t a dream. The world around you blurred and faded, leaving only her, like the central figure in a watercolor painting.

And then you heard it, her laughter. That soft, melodic sound you thought you’d forgotten but never truly could. It was like a gentle breeze carrying fragments of your past, filling you with a bittersweet ache. That laughter brought you back to a time when everything felt lighter, simpler, and whole. Nostalgia crashed into you, raw and unrelenting, pulling at the corners of your heart.

You wanted to move, to say something, but all you could do was sit there, drinking in the moment. That sound, that sight of her—it was a warmth you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. And for just an instant, you allowed yourself to believe that this wasn’t just a fleeting memory or a trick of your longing mind but something real, something you could hold onto, even if only for a little while.

You hadn’t realized how long your gaze had been fixed on her until you noticed she was looking back at you. Her almond-shaped brown eyes met yours, locking you in place. She gave you a smile like before, but your mind drifted to how beautiful and ethereal she looked as the sun from the window embraced her figure. Her hair was tied neatly into a ponytail, the soft simple makeup making her look beautiful. You felt like you were seeing an angel for the first time, you felt like you were seeing her for the first time. And it made her heart skip a beat. You noticed how she excused herself to her friends and she was now making her way towards your table, quickly you moved your laptop and notepad away, your fingers running through your hair as you fixed it and made it look more presentable. 

“Hi…” Hyun-ju said shyly, looking right at you with a soft smile, you looked up from your notepad and gave her a tight smile. Awkward silence filled the air as the tall woman stood still in front of your table, you took notice and felt bad. You motioned your hand to the empty chair in front of you indicating that she can take that seat. Another set of awkward silence filled the coffee shop, the tension was so thick you felt as if coming to this cafe was a mistake. 

“You look beautiful today.”

The words hung in the air, soft but sincere, making Hyun-ju pause. Her eyes flickered to you, but you avoided her gaze, focusing instead on the cup in your hands. Still, the familiar warmth spread through her chest. Hearing you call her beautiful always meant the world to her. It was a reminder that you saw her, loved her, just as she was. Yet, the pang of guilt was unavoidable. She had walked away without a word, leaving behind questions that she still couldn’t answer.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes caught the faint smile tugging at your lips, and something shifted. A flicker of hope sparked within her, a fragile belief that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to mend what had been broken.

As if on cue, both of you started speaking at the same time, your voices overlapping awkwardly. You exchanged startled glances before bursting into quiet laughter, the sound breaking the tension between you. It was a silly, fleeting moment, but it carried a strange weight. For a second, it felt like you were teenagers again, stumbling through the nerves of a first date. Or perhaps it was just the awkwardness of two people who once knew each other so well, trying to find their footing again.

You stole another glance at Hyun-ju, and the sight of her hit you harder than you expected. The ache in your chest flared up, a sharp reminder of the emptiness her absence had left behind. No matter how much you had tried to fill that void, it had never worked. And now, sitting here with her, you couldn’t help but wonder if that missing piece had always been her.

But words refused to come. Your throat tightened, the lump there stubbornly blocking every thought, every feeling you wanted to voice. The two of you sat in silence, the weight of everything unspoken pressing down. Yet, in the quiet, there was something unbreakable—a connection that time and distance hadn’t erased.

You hear Hyun-ju clear her throat, you glance at her as she says, “I…I miss you, it’s been a while.” It made you smile a bit despite the hurt you were feeling inside, “I miss you too.” You said softly, as your thumb caresses the warm cup of coffee. You never felt this wave of emotions before, something so bittersweet. Sadness and hurt was evident on your face and Hyun-ju can clearly see it. 

Your teary eyes locked with hers. “Funny, isn’t it? It’s been five weeks. Five weeks since I last heard from you.” Your voice wavered, though you tried to mask it with a frown. “And now, here you are, showing up as if nothing happened.” The words came out colder than you intended, laced with the bitterness that had been festering in the void her absence left behind.

Hyun-ju stood frozen, her lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no words came. What could she even say? Would you believe her if she told you the truth? That she had been kidnapped, thrust into a series of deadly games because of her debts and her desperation to complete her transition? That she had watched countless lives end in horrifying ways, the weight of survival pressing down on her with every passing second?

You noticed the flicker of conflict in her expression, and it only fueled your frustration. “Look,” you said sharply, “if you don’t want to deal with this—us—it’s fine. Just say it.” Your voice cracked, but before you could say more, Hyun-ju cut you off.

“Y/N.” Her voice was firm, but there was a tremor in it. “I never said I didn’t want this. Or that I wanted it to be over. You mean too much to me.” Her gaze dropped, her voice softening. “You… you wouldn’t understand. That’s the problem.”

“Understand what, Hyun-ju?” you snapped, your frustration boiling over. “You can’t just show up and expect me to be okay after you disappeared without a word. No call, no text, nothing. Five weeks, Hyun-ju. Five.” Your hands trembled as you clenched them into fists, your voice growing harsher. “Do you know how hard I tried to find you? How much I worried? Don’t tell me I don’t understand when you’re not even telling me what I’m supposed to understand.”

Your words hung heavy in the air, cutting through the fragile tension like a blade. You didn’t want to sound this harsh, but the hurt, confusion, and stress had built up too much to hold back. It wasn’t just the absence that hurt—it was the silence, the unanswered questions, the sense that she had left you in the dark without a second thought.

The tone of your voice cut through Hyun-ju’s heart more deeply than you could ever know. Her chest ached with guilt, the weight of her choices pressing down on her. She had thought leaving without a word was the right thing to do—a way to protect you from the chaos of her life. But now, facing the consequences, she realized how wrong she had been. Immature. Thoughtless.

“I just…” Her voice faltered, barely above a whisper. “I thought you wouldn’t love me anymore… that I’d be a disgrace to you, the way I am to everyone else.” Her words were soft, almost as if she was afraid of saying them out loud, afraid of the weight they carried.

Hearing her broke something in you. You had been so consumed by your own pain, your own confusion, that you hadn’t stopped to see hers. In that moment, you realized it wasn’t just you who had been hurting. She had been carrying her own burden of fear and self-doubt, silently tearing herself apart. And now, her vulnerability was laid bare, raw and trembling in front of you.

“You deserve someone better than me, Y/N,” Hyun-ju whispered, her voice trembling. “You can’t be in a relationship with someone like me—”

Before she could finish, you reached out, gently taking her soft, larger hand in yours. “Stop,” you said firmly, your voice steady but full of emotion. “I don’t care, Hyun-ju. I don’t care about any of that.”

Your thumb gently traced small circles over her hand, grounding both of you in the moment. “I love you for who you are. Every part of you. To me, you’re perfect—the most beautiful woman in the world. And honestly, it amazes me every single day that you chose someone like me to be with you.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you gave her a soft, heartfelt smile. It wasn’t just your words that spoke—it was the way you looked at her, as if she was the only person in the world who mattered. 

Hyun-ju let out a choked sob, gripping your hand tightly as if you might disappear. “I just… I thought that one day you’d wake up and realize you deserve someone better. That—That you’d see I’m not enough for you because I’m not perfect.” Her voice cracked as tears spilled freely down her cheeks. “This body… this body that I’ve fought so hard for, it’s still not enough. People look at me and see a lie, a joke. I thought maybe one day you’d see me the same way, and it would break me, Y/N. It would destroy me.”

Her words came in waves, each one laced with years of pain and fear. “You deserve someone who doesn’t have to fight to exist. Someone who doesn’t carry the kind of baggage I do. I’ve seen the way people stare at us when we’re together. The way they judge you just for loving me. And I thought… maybe you’d get tired of it. Of me. Of always having to defend me, to fight for me. I thought you’d leave, and I didn’t think I’d survive it.”

Her voice grew softer, trembling as she continued. “You have no idea what it’s like… to constantly wonder if the people who love you will stop when they finally see you for who you really are.”

The raw vulnerability in her words cut through you like a knife. God, it pained you to see her like this. Without hesitation, you rose from your seat and moved to her side. Kneeling down, you gently placed your fingers under her chin, lifting her face so she could meet your gaze.

“Oh, love,” you murmured, your voice soft yet steady. “I will never, ever leave you. Not now, not ever. Do you hear me?” You brushed away the tears streaming down her face, your touch gentle and reassuring. “You are enough, Hyun-ju. You’re more than enough. You’re the bravest woman I know. You’ve fought battles most people couldn’t even imagine, and you’ve come out stronger every time.”

You gave her a soft smile, hoping it could reach the cracks in her heart. “You’re my Hyun-ju. The one who fills my life with warmth and love. The one who makes those incredible meals so I don’t have to spend a dime eating out. And the one who makes me laugh when I don’t even think I can smile.”

Your thumb stroked her cheek as you looked into her tear-filled eyes. “I don’t care what the world thinks, or what anyone says. I see you, Hyun-ju. I love you. Every single part of you. And nothing, nothing will ever change that.”

In that moment, you weren’t just offering her words—you were offering her a piece of your soul, a promise that no matter what storms came your way, you would face them together.

“I love you, Hyun-ju. All of you. Your body, your personality—everything. I love you,” you whispered, your voice steady and filled with sincerity.

You leaned in slowly, giving her a moment to meet you halfway. As your lips met hers, the kiss was tender, a gentle melding of emotions rather than just a physical gesture. It was soft but full of meaning, as if you were pouring all the love, reassurance, and devotion you felt into that single moment.

Her lips trembled against yours, and you could feel the faint taste of salt from her tears, but neither of you pulled away. Instead, you cupped her face with both hands, your thumbs brushing away the wet trails on her cheeks. She responded hesitantly at first, as though afraid to believe this was real, but then her hands found their way to your arms, holding onto you as though grounding herself in your presence.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, her breath mingling with yours. “You’re my everything, Hyun-ju,” you said softly, gazing into her tearful eyes. “Always.”

“I love you too.”

You smiled softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her cheek. “How about I buy you that favorite dessert of yours?” you offered, your voice light and filled with affection.

Taking her hand in yours, you gave it a reassuring squeeze before flashing her a smile—one of those rare, genuine smiles that you saved just for her. It was the kind of smile that spoke volumes, one that told her she was cherished, loved, and safe with you.

As you walked out of the café, your gaze lingered on Hyun-ju, unable to help but admire her once more. You silently thanked the gods for blessing you with such a wonderful partner, vowing to do anything for her.

a/n . i told myself I was going to make a part two of mesmerized but I honestly got kind of lazy...and this prompt I could not stop thinking about it. This is my first time writing angst since i'm more of a writer who loves writing tooth rottening fluff....LOL

[14dayswithyou]

Ren's favourite colour is purpleeee!~~ ✨🎆

I don’t think I did my secret phrase correctly so I thought I would send in an ask again.

What’s Ren’s toxic trait?

We already know he’s the classic possessive yandere, but what other things does he do that would seem unhinged?

⌞♥⌝ Ren is essentially just the "classic possessive yandere"... There isn't much more to him other than that ghsjghs

But if I had to pick a toxic trait that makes him feel more... unique(?), it'd probably be his doormat and people-pleaser attitude when it comes to Angel. I've seen a lot of yanderes with the "my way or the highway" mindset, but none that would really lean into the "dere" aspect of a yandere.

Ren is so delusively in love with Angel that he's willing to alter the entirety of his appearance and personality for them, treat Angel's words like it's gospel, and put their morals, opinions, and values above his own. If Angel asked him to kill River, Hannah, or even his own mother Ichika — purely because they didn't like them — he'd do so without remorse. He'll cut ties, backstab, manipulate, and extort the people he holds close (which... doesn't say much gjhsjg ^^;) if it means gaining an inch of Angel's approval.

Most yanderes would just kill their rivals to be with their obsession, but Ren is far too much of a pushover to upset Angel like that. He knows that simply killing Angel's friends would make them sad, so he'll only resort to murder if he has no other choice. But in saying that, Ren is the founding CEO of gaslighting and manipulation, and he isn't above trying to sabotage Angel's relationships in order for them to "naturally" cut them off instead. All it takes is a single, "B-But Angel... Your friend is being so mean to little ol' me... 👉👈" from Ren to get them to reconsider /hj

But, again, Ren is also your cliche stereotypical yandere; so stalking Angel, stealing their belongings, being obsessive and overbearing, and killing insignificant people are naturally a big part of his personality as well!

[voidpunkpal]

i love how brennan so carefully described evan and sams relationship, making sure it was as open ended as possible, only describing it as romantic after danielle had first established that, so that she was just as involved in the life the two of them live in the future. it shows just how much he treasures her opinion irl, making sure her character gets agency whilst still being deeply cared about in world, that they get to make these decisions together

but also it meant a lot to me as someone whose aro ace, that it didn't Have to be a romantic relationship, that you can have a deep and meaningful relationship with someone without it being tied to societal norms. just because something gets perceived as romantic by others, doesn't inherently mean it Must be and that's final.

and danielle defining it as romantic doesn't throw that away. she chose the option she felt described them best. but the fact there were options in the first place, that these characters didn't Have to end up in a romantic relationship, that deep platonic relationships have been so woven into mismag between the pilot program.

it just means a lot to be seen

(for the record i personally i see sam and evan as being in a qpr (with each other and the other pilots in various spider webs and helpful diagrams), but thats the joy of headcannons. happy for evsam truthers, y'all enjoy and have a field day, and ill sit back here with my thoughts and watch c: )

[user946468]

NSFW Alphabet - Chishiya Shuntaro and Niragi Suguru

Chishiya Shuntaro x reader | Niragi Suguru x reader

I swear this is my last one.. I should be updating my fic soon, but these are a lot more fun than I thought lol + adding songs from my favorite album that remind me of them. Also feel free to request any aib characters you want me to do a NSFW alphabet for!

Warning- Un-consensual sex, gore, ect.. basically Niragi being himself.

Niragi Suguru

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Aftercare? What's that? Your lucky if he even spares the time to lay with you after. Doesn't offer to clean you up after, or asks if you're okay.. maybe he'll take a shower with you after, but only if he gets a second round during it. After all, he loves the idea of his cum still being in you hours after.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves his dick, obviously. I mean, what would he do without it? He gets a kick out of his tongue piercing too, did you know they make vibrating one's? Not that he thinks he needs it to make you cum, but its a nice surprise. Niragi loves your ass and tits, basic - but not surprising. He's a perverted male after all.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Obsessed with it. Painting every inch of your body with it, fucking it deeper into you, using it as lube, making you suck him completely dry- don't even think about spitting any of it out, he will make you lick it back up.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Not much of a secret but he's a borderline sadist. Bondage, blood, knife play, he's into it all! He enjoys causing pain, inflicting it, making you feel completely helpless, fully at his will. He tie a chain to your neck like a dog, pulling it harder each time you tighten around him- shoving the nozzle of his rifle down your throat with the safety off, finger hovering over the trigger.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's fucking people left and right, what do you think? He chases after his own pleasure always, your own is rarely on his mind - but that doesn't mean he doesn't want you to cum. In fact if you don't, he thinks its a disrespect to his performance. If you don't, that means he'll pull out ever trick in the book until you cum- different positions, different rhythms, hitting every angle of your walls until he finds the spot that makes you shiver- bonus points if your orgasm is involuntary.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any position where he has you fully in control. Tied up, laying under his body weight, being constrained to him- it's not like you have a choice anyways. If he wasn't working in front of an audience, he will have his rifle at stand by at all time with several locks on his door.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Of course he'll laugh, he's doing one of his favorite things! He'll laugh at how pitiful you look, the sorrow on your face, your pained groans- but you laughing? Are you trying to get shot? He'll think your laughing at him, after all why would you be laughing with him? Your laughing will turn into pained wails soon enough.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Trimmed, most of the time. Although he has no problem letting it grow out if he's lazy enough, and if you don't like it? Who cares! Your opinion doesn't mean anything to him.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He's a murder rapist. Anything romantic is off the tables. The only thing he knows is the pure bliss of getting his dick wet. Now, if somehow you are able to squeeze past those thick ass walls Niragi has built around his heart- maybe if you treated him like an actual person, anything other than a rabid dog that needs to be put down- than maybe, he'll focus on if your enjoying yourself or not. The most romantic thing he'll do if whisper fabricated praises and encouragements in your ear- or asking if your up to try something different, he won't take no for an answer and if you ask him to stop he'll ignore you- but Niragi will give you a minute or too to calm down before going back at it. That's about as sentimental as he can be.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Funny. What the hell would you be for if he could just jerk off? The closest thing to self pleasure as he would do is getting off on your underwear, and that's only if your there watching- he'll make you wear the stained pair after too. Something about watching you stroll around the beach, talking with friends and just living your life in general while wearing something so personal that were smeared with his cum always made his dick twitch.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

What isn't he into is the real question. He'll get hard at the slight glance at you drenched in someone else's blood after a game- knowing you fought so hard to stay alive just to come crawling back to him. To his dick. He likes when you cry, when your covered in bruises and scars made by him, when you stare at him, claw at his back, try to fight him off- he loves it all.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere! At anyyy time! He has a love hate relationship with fucking in public. On one hand, he gets to watch as people scowl in horror, shoving what they can't have in their faces, putting you on display like he was wearing a designer coat. On the other, why do they deserve to see you in such a state? One specifically made for him to see? They shouldn't get to hear you while you reach your climax, perverted fuckers would probably use it to jerk off!

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

The adrenaline rush of the games mixed with rounds of rough sex after? Fucking life changing. That's when his stamina is at its highest, high chance you wont be able to walk properly for a few days after.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

If you try to act dominant, he will smack the shit out of you and force you to switch positions or he'll get soft in seconds. That doesn't mean he wont let you ride him or you cant give him small praises (although it will take him awhile to fell normal about it) but calling his a good boy or asking to peg him? He'll stare at you with disgust, waiting for you to laugh and say your fucking with him. If you don't, he'll make you say it either way for his sake.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Its more like throat fucking than an actual blow job. He's obsessed with the way you don't try and move when he's ball deep in your throat, you know better. Even if your gagging and huffing heavily through your nose, light headed and tense- all you can do stare through heavy-lidded eyes, silently waiting for it too end. Niragi also refuses to let you touch yourself during times like this, the way you desperately shuffle your hips back and forth against nothing always makes him smile. As for you, Niragi is well adjusted to female anatomy. He'll twirl his tongue, lick, suck, push- try anything to see what makes you gasp. Niragi surprisingly doesn't mind eating you out, especially when your so overstimulated you not sure what part of him in rubbing your clit.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) 

Slow in not in Niragi's vocabulary. It's always hard, always quick, and always rapid. If he wan't to tease you, he'll pull out completely before you climax, or rub himself along your entrance letting himself play with your clit before pushing inside you. Rarely ever with prep.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If he must, he will. Made militants bring you to his room only to be called to a meeting a minute later? He'll try to bring you too, making you sit on his lap. Groping you in front of everyone, licking down your neck and kneeing between your legs. If he has to suffer the wait, so do they. That is if Aguni lets it pass, if not he'll fuck your throat and finish in seconds. Niragi can hold off for hours if he really wants too, but in situations like this he'll cum early. Plus, he knows you'll still be there when he's back, cause he won't let you leave.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) 

As long as its nothing putting him in "a pussy situation" as he calls it, he's all for it! Want him to pour hot wax on you? Why didn't you ask so sooner? He will even let the wax get hot enough to leave marks, spelling his name across your waist. He almost cums in his pants when you ask him to fuck you with his gun, safety off and fully loaded.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

However many until he's satisfied. Five, two, eight- depends on the day. If he feels nice he'll move to your mouth instead of your pussy after a few rounds, but only if you beg hard enough. Like I said before, he can edge himself for hours on end, making you climax for the fourth time by his first.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) 

Not toys necessarily.. but he'll use unconventional items as sex toys if there close by. Fucking you against the beaches communal dryer, making sure your clit is pressed tightly against the edge of the metal. A candle sick as a butt plug, his boxers as a homemade gag, making you fuck yourself with a knifes handle. He doesn't need any toys, your body is enough for him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Eighty percent of your time spent together is Niragi edging you on, asking you how bad you want him before suddenly moving a few steps away, removing what ever form of contact you had and smugly watching your body arch towards him, begging for some form of contact. "Oh you poor baby," he'd say with mock sincerity, "Missing something?"

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) 

He's loud and proud. Most grunts and moans, maybe a small whimper here and there but usually under his breath, like he's trying to hide them. He's a man after all, not a sex machine. Surprising, I know. The whole time he's verbal, dialogue never ending- he doesn't even seem to be speaking to you directly sometimes, more like to himself.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Enjoys anal and somnophilia (sleeping people). Anal is rare nonetheless, he needs to make sure your properly clean first- going as far as timing how long your in the shower. Anything less than five minutes? Get you ass back in there. Although its more taxing, knowing that your full of his cum in every way possible is worth it. Somnophilia makes his job easier. Simple as that. If your always tense and trying to reject him for entering you, why wouldn't he find you when your the most relaxed, most willing - to take you completely. The ease to push himself in you just to tighten a moment later, while fully emerged, sends an nice twitch to his dick.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) 

Niragi's cocky, and for good reason. He's eight inches while hard, not the thickest but enough girth to make you wince. A light pink going into a harsh red at the tip, raging veins and slightly tilted to the left. He's overly proud of himself.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

On his mind every day- which, are we really surprised? In the morning, at night, during games, in meetings, while shoving a gun in front of a members face, seeing you cry and covered in blood after a game- even if its not his main concern, the idea is always wafting around in his brain. For your sake I hope you match his freak...

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Are you kidding? Sex gives him an energy boost like no other. He's seconds away from jumping around the pool, shooting and fighting people just for the fun of it - hell, he might even join a game early. So, sorry, no cute sleeping together after.

Chishiya Shuntaro

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Quiet. Maybe a grunt while wiping himself up and getting dressed, other than that he's non-verbal. Glances at you here and there, and if you don't clean yourself up he'll ask if you want him too- you always say yes and he always complies. He'll leave wordlessly after, at least for the first few times. If your close enough to be comfortable after the fact- than he'll stay in bed, and after his momentary silence will start spewing whatever analytical thoughts are coming to him. He always gets philosophical after sex.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Chishiya doesn't have a 'favorite' per say, he thought it was foolish- why would he have sex with you if he didn't like every part of you physically? And sure, he might enjoy the way your bikini top pushes your breast together a little to much. Or how easily your neck bruises and the feeling of your heartbeat escalating under his lips- but that doesn't mean he enjoys anything else about you any less. Once you asked, and he stared at you like you were dumb. "Why? So you can boast about it?" He asked, "So you do have a favorite! Honest, ass or tits guys?" As for himself.. he thought he was fine. Attractive enough to cause glances his way, and nothing close to ugly. Chishiya wouldn't go as far as too praise his himself, but he was comfortable being naked in others company.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Ehh.. it's a thing? No real opinion. Doesn't hate it doesn't love it- although he can appreciate it's side use as lube. As cold and restrained as he was mentally, his dick majorly missed the memo. Endless amounts of pre-cum and involuntary dick twitches whenever you so much as breathed on it. But like he said it could be useful.. especially when fucking your breasts. But he swears he doesn't care for either ass or tit any more than he says.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Loves the chase as much as actually having sex. Watching you from afar, prolonged eye contact, seeing how you react to the slight cleavage of his chest when he rolls his zipper down, to his hovering hand by your thigh. It heightens his senses, makes it harder to not want to touch you, not allowing him to see you- after all he has a habit of refusing himself what he wants.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's a doctor, therefor knows his way around female anatomy. Where certain pressure points are located, where to find your clit, how to position himself in just the right way to make the heat in your stomach grow. As experienced as any normal guy, not a virgin with a body count under five- although it hardly shown as much. He could've told you he had four current fuck-buddies telling him exactly what too do and you wouldn't be surprised.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doesn't have one. Dumb question. If he's fucking you, he's in you anyways right? He lets the situation speak for itself. Your sitting on his lap? He'll guide your hips to ride him. He ends up on top of you- missionary it is. Never would he ever make you go into some obscene position to get his dick sucked a certain way, or too get a quarter inch deeper into you. Their horrible for your joints and muscles, and why would he want to tire you out so soon?

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Chishiya's rarely ever humorous in general, so why would he start now? The closest thing to a laugh he'll give is an amused huff whenever you give a sarcastic quip, or if you do anything he deems is stupid. You let out a nervous high-pitched giggle while undressing? He can't help but compare you too the girls at the beach- the ones who use faulty laughs in hopes of getting laid. If it wasn't for the unpleasant contrast to the other bikini-wearing girl's, it would have almost been something close to endearing.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Well-groomed, and highly hygienic- Chishiya couldn't fathom why anyone would willingly be dirty. He keeps it trimmed, never letting it grow past a certain point before shaving it down. Unlike most he doesn't care if your shaven or not- he just wants to know how often you shower.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Having romantic feelings is a big jump. You should be lucky if you can endues any feeling out of the man. He doesn't say anything with intimate underlining no matter how good your making him feel. Not because he's tempted too or he wants too.. and even if he did he wouldn't know what to say. After all the fact that he's letting you kiss him should be enough.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Chishiya knows the benefits of having an orgasm; it can relax you- physically and mentally, it's a stress reliever, causes a serration boost- yet he's just never felt the need. If he woke up with a boner he'll ignore it until it's gone most days, if it wont, he'll rub a quick one out. Simple as that. In fact its almost annoying, time consuming- having to search his brain for something that makes his dick twitch in satisfaction. At least you given him something to get off too quicker.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Humping. Feeling your hips running back and forth around his torso as the sheer feeling of the imprint of his dick, letting you get off on his leg while your giving him a blowjob, lazily pumping his dick while watching you hump a pillow because he refused to touch you, you rapidly rubbing your clit against his naked thighs- shorts be damned- you reaching your climax without him even having to touch you? Hottest thing you could do. Did wonders for his ego too.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In a room where he could lay and sit down. Why would he willingly be uncomfortable without reason? And it must be completely empty. No one else in sight. Chishiya didn't hate the idea of fucking in the shower, it made the clean up process a lot faster.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. And not because of some sentimental outlook, but because of how real it was. You laid bare in front of him - literally and metaphorically - he knew your story, fears, skills, your treasures of the world- what was stopping him for shattering your esteem while you laid so earnestly below him? Or whispering degrading thoughts in your ear while you reach your orgasm, installing pleasure too your fears? Would he? Probably not. But the weight of another person in there entirely surged him to you. You'd let him kiss you in any way, touch you how he pleased, fuck you how he felt fit- you allowed him to have the higher power. He'd be lying if he said it didn't do things to him.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Role play. He simply wouldn't be able to get into character, and he wouldn't be able to see you in such a different light. Although he did play doctor once or twice.. but it made sense, if he is an actual doctor he's not playing a character, is he?

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

No preference, really. He likes the suction of your mouth, the tightness of your throat, the way you tug on his hair when he's between your legs, forcing his head down- completely ignorant to you blocking both of his airways. He realized that he didn't actually mind.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) 

Its starts off as with an even pace, slow and deep thrusts- the longer you go for for quicker his hips snap, the harder the headboard hits the wall and the harder he fucks. Your both always a little out of breath by the end of it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Doesn't care for it. What's the point in having sex while feeling rushed? He likes to take his time, however how long or short he wants it to be. And the thought of where-ever he had to go to would ruin his sexual tuition, anyway. Chishiya would rather wait it out.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) 

Depends. Chishiya wound't say he's vanilla, or that he's a sex freak- so the thought of experimenting could go either way. If he thinks there is just a fragment of himself that would enjoy if he might say yes, more out of regard to you having the gut to ask him in the first place. If he doesn't like the idea, he'll simply shut you down.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Three max. Although he does prefer letting foreplay escalate you to finishing climax before you actually start to have sex- curling his fingers inside you, claiming he's "Just getting you started.", letting his tongue lap at you like a starved man- so a lot of the time, you end up more spent than him.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) 

Why would you need toys? Chishiya's has two hands and a tongue for a reason. However if you ever brought him a toy, asking if he could use it on you, he won't reject you- but maybe he would make you use it on yourself while he watched, instructing you what too do, purely for his own enjoyment.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Chishiya likes to get to the point and he wouldn't say he teases you, he just finds amusement in watching you arch in pleasure for as long as possible. Although if you ever heard him say that you would call him a fucking liar to his face.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) 

As for grunts and moans, more rare than you would like- you would try little tricks to see what would make him react the most- and ever time he did, you felt like you got a little reward. He was decently vocal, talking more than actually make sounds- but you didn't miss when a sharp intake of breath would cause him to pause, or when his words would deepen to low grumbles. Chishiya was vulgar with his words, much to your surprise. Outwardly asking if you liked what he was doing, making you explain how wet the thought of his dick was making you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Chishiya liked hearing how your voice would rattle when he grope you a certain way, liked hearing your airy call of his name and how you would repeat it over and over and over again in his ear. He liked forcing you to explain why you wanted him so bad while he refused to let you touch him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) 

Six inches exactly, and two and a half inches wide. How the hell he was that wide was beyond you, and Chishiya knew what you were thinking the second your eye's widened. He just looked at you with a small smirk and raised eyebrows, daring you to say something. Pale, like the rest of his, but with an aggravated bright pink tip. Stick straight and small veins runing to his shaft.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He could go without sex for the rest of his life if you made it a challenge. But you didn't, and it wasn't- so he enjoyed the company when he wanted too.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If he's tired he'll lay there, eyes closed and completely limp- even though his brain was still wide awake. It always took him a while to actually fall asleep, but depending on how rough you fucked the physical toll with lull him to sleep just a few minutes earlier.

[paperultra]

hammock.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Reader Word Count: 866 words Warnings: Kissing, slightly suggestive

“You’re blushing.”

“I am?” Sanji gazes up at you, dreamy and distracted. “I didn’t realize.”

You hum. You’re only vaguely aware of the hammock’s sway, of the blanket slipping down your shoulders as you prop yourself up and place your hands on his cheeks. Warmth soaks into your palms like sunlight, and you tilt your head, thumbs drawing over the flush on his cheekbones and tapping gently.

“Don’t say this is because of me,” you tease.

His hands reach up to cover yours. “Then I’d be lying,” he replies, turning his head to kiss your fingertips, “and I would never lie about how you make me feel.”

“Not even if you hated me?”

“The day I hate you is the day I should be tied to an anchor and fed to the sharks.”

“That’s awful.”

“I know.” His eyes search your face, and they narrow as he murmurs, “Who could ever hate someone as gorgeous as you?”

(Whoever coined the phrase “flattery will get you nowhere” has never met Sanji, you’re sure of it.)

Leaning down, you press your lips to his nose, to his forehead, to each cheek. A contented sigh brushes past your ears as you do so.

Eventually, you make your way to the source of his sweet words. You pause, and Sanji opens his eyes as you hover above his lips, just shy of meeting them with your own.

“Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“No,” you say. “Just wanted to see your pretty eyes before I kiss you senseless.”

He stills. Then he laughs, the sound blooming from deep within his chest and staining your world with gold. “Well – aren’t you a charmer,” Sanji quips, stroking your waist and pecking your cheek. His words are softer than usual. “Careful with my heart, now.”

“Don’t worry,” you say, and you kiss him fully, drinking in the way his grip on you tightens and the way his breath stalls in his throat when you speak against his mouth. “It’s in good hands, I think.”

The kiss is just as warm as his cheeks. You feel drunk as you pull away, and Sanji lifts his head to chase your lips, whispering your name with the reverence of a believer.

“You guys mind doing that somewhere other than here?”

The two of you freeze in each other’s embrace.

You jolt out of it and push yourself up, accidentally knocking the breath out of Sanji in the process. He wheezes and curls up as you lock eyes with a very unimpressed swordsman.

“Z-Zoro! We”—you scramble to unrumple your shirt, which had ridden up underneath the blanket—“I’m sorry, we – we thought everyone was going to be in the lounge for a while.”

“You thought wrong.” Zoro strides past and drops his laundry on the couch. “This isn’t your personal bedroom, Sanji.”

“I’m aware of that,” Sanji replies, annoyance dripping from every syllable. “Now would you mind just stepping out for a few more minutes?”

“Sanji, it’s fine,” you whisper, patting his chest. “The mood is kinda killed now, anyway.”

He visibly droops. “I know.”

“Good.”

“I wasn’t asking for your opinion, mosshead.”

The room fills with a completely different kind of tension as Zoro crosses his arms at Sanji’s response.

You, still trying to cover up your embarrassment, move to block Sanji’s view, pushing his bangs away from his face and attempting to smooth out his frown lines. His cheeks are still flushed, though the color is quickly fading back to normal as his attention turns back to you.

“C’mon, Zoro wants to fold his laundry. Let’s go up to the lounge and see what the others are up to.”

“Is that what you really want to do?”

“Yeah.” (It is now, anyway.)

“… All right, then,” Sanji acquiesces.

With that, you push the blanket off and clamber out of the hammock, nearly tripping and falling flat on your face in your haste to do so. Sanji follows close behind, and once he’s on his feet, you turn to Zoro and give him another quick apology before you and Sanji leave the men’s room.

“Of all the times to be interrupted,” your companion mutters as the two of you head to the lounge. He takes your hand in his and interlaces your fingers. “I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s nobody’s fault. Ships don’t have a lot of privacy …” You think back to the moment Zoro spoke up and groan, burying your face in your free hand. “I’m just embarrassed he caught us like that. I didn’t even hear him come down.”

“Me neither.” Sanji lets out an irritated sigh and then looks over at you; his displeasure softens. “At the very least, I’ll take it to mean you were enjoying yourself.”

Your face heats up. “Of course,” you say quickly. “I like our alone time."

“I like it too.” He squeezes your hand and leans over to whisper into your ear. “Next time, I could be on top, so I can hide you away if anyone walks in unannounced.”

“Wh – Sanji! Don’t say it like that!”

The man grins as you smack his arm playfully, planting a kiss to your temple as penance.

“Just evening the score, sweetheart.”