#you can say in the tags or in the comments or in the asks

[modanisgf]

JEALOUS , MEGAN SKIENDIEL .

“IT’S MY RIGHT TO BE HELLISH, I STILL GET JEALOUS.”

in which megan hates the way people flirt with you, in front of her like it's nothing. leading to an incident that left hybe in shambles…

☆ PAIRING(S) : megan skiendiel x 7th!member reader

☆ WARNING(S) : profanity, possessive?? themes,

☆ TAGS : wlw, secret relationship, established relationship, takes place in gnarly era, fluff

💭: HI GUYS! this is a small drabble for now while i cook up… i feel bad not posting anything bye💔💔 super rushed lowk i Am fighting for my life i wanna sleep

megan would be lying if she said she didn’t get jealous easily. it irked her that people would look at y/n weird, like she wasn’t right there. of course to them she was single, but she liked to drop subtle hints to get them off of her girlfriend. megan would always spark conversation up with y/n whenever someone would flirt with her, and drag her away. and it usually worked just fine.

but this time around, something was different. the kats were promoting ‘gnarly’ in korea and you were currently doing an interview. unfortunately for megan, the host took a liking to her girlfriend. they kept asking question after question to y/n, eventually getting to a quite personal one.

“so y/n, are you seeing anyone?” the host asks, smiling like it was a normal thing to ask.

y/n visibly tensed, trying her best not to look at megan. she thought for a moment, before turning her gaze to the host.

“no comment.” y/n says simply, nervously laughing after.

the host sighs, “i’ll take that as a no for my sake.” they say holding their heart, with a sad expression.

y/n felt megan’s gaze on her, making her turn towards the girl. y/n winced a bit at the angry look on her face, obviously not amused with the interviewer's words.

“it’s okay, there’s only a little bit longer.” y/n whispers to her girlfriend.

y/n grabbed her hand as subtly as possible, rubbing circles on her thumb in an attempt to calm her. megan relaxed a little, leaning back into her seat. she closed her eyes in a moment to rejuvenate, before paying back attention to the interview when she got asked a question.

“megan, would you ever do ginger hair again? i love your look right now but it seems everyone was obsessed with your ginger hair.” the host asks.

“it really depends, to be entirely honest i like this hair a lot more. i feel like it really suits me y’know? but i wouldn’t be opposed to being ginger again. though if i had to choose, i’d go back to my natural hair, y/n—“ megan stopped herself, before continuing. “sorry, a lot of my friends like my natural black.” megan continues, the interviewer nodding.

lara tried so hard not to laugh, megan shoving the girl a bit. she should’ve just went with it, now it looked she was hiding something. megan holding her head in her hands, trying not to laugh due to lara.

y/n just shook her head at the two. the interview ended briefly after the hair question, thankfully. allowing y/n and megan to debrief.

“is everything okay? why’d you look at the interviewer like that?” y/n questions. megan’s face softened at y/n’s gentle tone.

“i don’t know,” megan shrugs.

“megan.” y/n deadpans, “it was definitely something.”

“it’s not important, don’t worry about it, if anything we can talk later.” megan reassures y/n, before leaving to fix her appearance for their next stop.

y/n watched her leave, pursing her lips in frustration. megan is so stubborn.

—

the next time megan felt this feeling (she knew it was jealousy.. she just hated admitting to it) was when katseye were back in los angeles. she and y/n were doing a live in megan's room, briefly before going to bed. the live was currently just filled with y/n talking, while megan read the comments.

"yeah, i remember once megan tried to tell me hawaii was spelt ‘haiwaii’… it’s worse because she’s from there?” y/n says, laughing a bit.

“okay stop,” megan groans, “i was only on three hours of sleep.”

“mmm whatever you say, meg.” y/n replies, trying to hold back her smile.

megan just rolled her eyes, taking the silence as a chance to read more of the comments. one caught her eye though, it was about y/n.

bootywater: yn marry me for 10 seconds!

unfortunately for megan, her girlfriend had noticed the comment too.

“y/n marry me for 10 seconds? okay!” y/n agrees, counting down the seconds.

megan gave y/n a quick glare, but ignored it. it was just for fun, she shouldn’t get mad. it couldn’t get any worse anyways, right? yeah no, she spoke too soon. a comment soon popped up on screen, alarming the both of them. it asked something weird about y/n, causing megan to glance over at her girlfriend.

“y/n..” megan mumbles, trying to be as quiet as possible, “mute the live.”

y/n muted the live right after megan’s words, then turning to face her. y/n didn’t miss the annoyed look on megan’s face making her heart drop.

megan sighed, "sorry, i just don't know. it bothers me whenever people flirt with you. it's like i just don't exist." she says, her hand cupping the side of her mouth to make sure no one knew what she was saying.

"i'm sorry meg, i shouldn't have responded to the comment. and i know, i wish we were public.." y/n mumbles, taking her girlfriend's hand in hers.

she made sure their hands were offscreen, and placed her other hand on top of megan's knuckles holding her tight.

"just always remember i'm yours." y/n responds quietly, and quickly.

"y/n." megan deadpans, her heart dropping at the sight of the comments on the live.

"what?" y/n asks, following megan's line of sight.

"shit."

y/n had missed the mute button, and now the comments were going crazy about the two girl's moment.

"shit, we have to go bye!" y/n says, ending the live as fast as possible.

the two girls just looked at each other, before busting out laughing.

"i can't believe you fucked up that bad." megan teases, making y/n groan.

"hey i mean... you kinda got your wish? now everyone knows im not single.”

"you're insane.."

[formulafanfics13]

Hello!! First of all, I found your account by accident scrolling in the lando tag and I'm obsessed!!!!! Love the way you write🫶🏻

I just read the older fic (loved it) and I thought if you can make one but the opposite where the reader is younger like 20 or something and people think that is controversial so she gets overwhelmed but lando is down bad, so he reassure her, you can add smut if you want, please and thank u 😚

Its not about what they say, its about what i chose - LN4🔥

Masterlist

summary: at twenty, you're grown — you know who you are, what you want, and most of all, who you want. but the public doesn't care. to them, you're too young for someone like lando. a child playing at love. and the comments start to get under your skin. until lando finds you spiraling — and decides it's time to remind you just how loved, seen, and owned you really are.

warnings: age gap (reader 20, lando 25), social media backlash, insecurity, soft dom!lando, emotional reassurance, explicit sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, breeding kink hints, possessive language, praise kink, crying during sex (emotional), very down bad lando

At first, you laughed it off. The comments. The DMs. The way people spat your age like a slur. "She's a baby." "She's not even legal in the US." "He's a man. She's a child." "What does a 25-year-old want with a 20-year-old?" "She's a phase. A rebound. He'll leave."

You knew it wasn't true. You knew. Lando had been yours since the second week. When he let you wear his hoodie to the Monaco grocery store and didn't even flinch when fans took pictures. When he drove you along the coastline and sang Taylor Swift at full volume without shame. When he kissed you like the world could burn if you asked.

But lately... it had started to stick.

You turned 20 and it felt like everyone turned on you. The media. Twitter. The WAGs. They didn't say it outright. But they looked. And when one of them leaned over at dinner and said, "I mean, you're only just out of your teens, right?" with a smile that wasn't a smile, you went quiet for the rest of the night.

You didn't tell Lando. Not at first. But he noticed. Of course he noticed.

You weren't touching him as much in public. You stayed behind during media walks. You stopped posting silly little videos of him dancing like a dork in his socks.

He knew the signs. He just didn't know why. Not until he found you on the balcony that night, phone in hand, scrolling, scrolling, scrolling.

You didn't hear him come out. But you heard his voice. "What are you reading?"

You jumped.

He was already there. Barefoot. Shirtless. Hair a mess.

You tried to smile. "Nothing."

He walked over. Took your phone. Scanned it. His jaw clenched. "Oh," he said quietly. "This bullshit again."

You looked down. "It's fine."

"No it's not."

You shrugged. "I'm not a kid," you said. "But that's all they see."

"They don't matter."

"But they make you look-" You swallowed. "Like a predator."

He turned your face to his, thumb under your chin.

"I chose you," he said, voice calm. "Not despite your age. Because of who you are. Because you make me laugh. Because you're smarter than most people I've ever met. Because you're mine."

You blinked.

"I love how excited you get when you talk about stupid shows. I love how chaotic your playlists are. I love how you call me old when I complain about my back. I love that you're twenty and already more grounded than half the people I know."

You looked away. "They don't care about any of that."

"No," he said. "But I do." Then he leaned in. Kissed you. Slow. Full. "You think you're too young?" he whispered. "Let me show you how fucking wrong they are."

He carried you inside. Didn't throw you down. Didn't strip you fast. Just kissed you until your knees gave out, then laid you on the bed like something holy.

"You're mine," he said, sliding your shorts down. "Say it."

"Yours."

"You're old enough to want this, right?"

"Yes."

"To beg for it?"

"Yes."

"To take it like a good girl?"

"Yes."

He kissed your thighs. Licked up your slit like he was tasting something sacred. "You're so wet," he muttered. "Is that 'cause of me?"

You nodded.

"Say it."

"It's you," you gasped. "It's always you."

He moaned into your cunt. Fingers curling inside you. Tongue circling your clit. He didn't stop until you came, shaking, legs clamped around his head.

He pulled back, wiped his mouth, and said, "You're not too young. You're perfect."

Then he slid inside. You cried out, not from pain. From relief. He fucked you slow. Deep. Worshipful. Every thrust a full-body confession.

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered. "You hear me? I'm gonna put a ring on your finger and fuck a baby into you when you're ready and no one's opinion will fucking matter."

You choked. "Lando-"

He pressed a hand to your stomach. "Feel that? That's how deep I am. That's how much I want you."

You came again. Harder this time. Tears slipping down your cheeks. He kissed them away. Whispered, "good girl, that's it, I've got you."

When he finally came, it was with a moan of your name like a prayer. His face buried in your neck. His body shaking.

Later, when you were curled into his chest, he kissed your forehead and whispered, "They don't know you."

You didn't reply.

"You're everything I want. Exactly how you are."

You looked up. "Even at twenty?"

He smiled. "Especially at twenty."

[mejaemin]

city girl 𐚁 with mark lee and lee donghyuck (18+)

preview wc ⭑ 541 summary ⭑ moving from the city to the country was definitely a downgrade, but ranchers mark and donghyuck from across the street seem to make it a little better! pairing ⭑ rancher/cowboys!markhyuck x reader an ⭑ ah, the long awaited +82 pressin fic… can i even call it that anymore? idk but if you’re new, that’s what this fic was created for, inspired by the cowboy concept photos !!! so, yes, this has been rotting in the drafts since march 💔

release date ⭑ july 20th !!! comment to be tagged in the final product 🤍

“it’s hot as fuck down here. like, i’m about to start a charity event for you or something. i feel so bad, girl, imagine having to live here..” giselle complains, fanning herself as she sits on your porch with you.

“i know! it fucking sucks! first of all, i’m like, chained to this house because my dad said i’m too fast.. like, what does that even mean? i’m an adult! and on top of that, it’s always hot as balls! and everyone here is ugly!” you complain, hands waving around dramatically. giselle is right there with you, nodding and agreeing. living in the south, burning hot country area is the worst. so not your style.

“..well, maybe i’ll ask my parents to fly you back to the city every once in a while. i’ll miss you so much.. this is unfair.” she pouts, resting her head on your shoulder.

you sigh, swinging your feet as they hang off the edge of the bench you sit on together. plenty of cars pass by, all big trucks with longhorn bumper stickers or a horse trailer on the back. it’s so weird! is this really the culture down here? no crime, no noise, no peeing rats, no peeing people, and you’re expected to be happy living here? your dad can kiss your ass. you’ll find a way out of here. getting a job and saving money to move back to the city is a little far-fetched for your tastes, but if there’s a will, there’s a way.

just as you start plotting your escape, there’s a little bit of motion across the street. it’s a cute little ranch, fancy and adequately sized. two boys walk out of the barn on horseback, making their way towards the training area. it looks so dumb, so boring, watching them run in circles together, but upon getting a closer look at their features.. you can’t look away.

one sits on a pretty white horse, wavy brown hair on top of his head. he’s got a white tank on, pretty, big shoulders on display as his horse picks up its pace around the track. he looks handsome, but in a pretty boy kind of way, and he looks.. strangely good doing his thing. god, you can’t believe you’re actually ogling a fucking cowboy.

the other one spots you, a boy just as gorgeous, except he’s a little darker in skin tone, with a lighter shade of hair, equally as curly as the other’s. he makes his way over to his friend and starts saying something, laughing the whole time he does so. it’s such a pretty sight, you wish you could actually hear it. then, they both turn to look at you, and you flinch, hiding in your friend’s hair.

“what the-” she starts, confused, but then she notices the two boys. “ew, there’s two.. country boys staring at us. that’s disgusting.

“i know! and it looks like they were talking about me, too!” you complain, kicking your feet in your rise of emotion.

she laughs, “..maybe they want a taste of the city girl?” she sing-songs, obviously teasing, but when you peek through the fingers that cover your face, you can’t help but think..

you might just let them.

nct 🏷️ @chenlezip @cinnayomiroll @prettymoles @jia127zen @polarisjisung @ikozen @tinkerbell460 @ninety-nite-99 @markkiatocafe

[iamquiantrelle]

WHAT WE ARE (part one) • virgil van dijk (iamquaintrelle)

# pairings: virgil van dijk x fem! filipina/black reader (fc: michelle domingos) # summary: virgil is your boyfriend…but he also has a wife. ♡ masterlist // send me an ask # tags: @kyoshithewriter, @snowseasonmademe, @euqsblog, @kennaskorner, @peyiswriting, @laylaynaynay130, @toutouslilwrld @thatgirlevag # warnings: cursing, polyamory, football b.s., angst, eventual threesome, smut - 18+ only!!! # author’s note: i have a vague idea where i want to take this but i also know that it can’t be too long/multi chapter fic (like 20+ chapters; thinking more like maybe 6 or 8) & if you don’t like idea then don’t read it! this is for my virg girlies ❤️

The notification sound from your phone cuts through the comfortable silence of Virgil's car, and you already know what it is before you glance at the screen. Another Instagram comment, another tweet, another fucking opinion about your life that someone felt entitled to share with the world.

"Still can't believe VVD is openly cheating and we're all just supposed to be cool with it 🤡"

"The girlfriend is at another match... this is so weird"

"Imagine being the wife watching this play out publicly"

You swipe the notification away and toss your phone into your lap, staring out the window at the Liverpool streets rushing by. Five months. It's been five months since you and Virgil made your relationship public, since he and Rike posted that carefully crafted statement explaining their arrangement, and people still act like you're some home-wrecking villain in a soap opera.

"You're doing it again," Virgil's voice is low, that familiar Dutch accent wrapping around his words like it always does when he's trying to be gentle with you.

"Doing what?" you ask, though you know exactly what he means.

"Reading the comments." His large hand finds your thigh, thumb stroking over the fabric of your jeans. "Thought we agreed you were gonna stop torturing yourself with that shit."

You let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, well, easier said than done when every other person in Liverpool thinks I'm a manipulative gold-digger who somehow convinced you to destroy your marriage."

Virgil's jaw tightens slightly, and you catch the way his grip on the steering wheel shifts. He hates this part—the way people talk about you, about the situation, like they have any fucking clue what goes on behind closed doors.

"You know that's not true," he says firmly. "And you know I don't give a damn what strangers on the internet think about my life."

"But I do," you admit quietly, and it's the truth that's been eating at you for months. "I care, and I hate that I care, but I fucking do, Virgil."

The car slows as you approach Anfield, and you can already see the clusters of fans gathering outside the stadium. Some are holding up scarves, others have their phones out, hoping to catch a glimpse of the players arriving. You know that by tomorrow, there'll be photos of you and Virgil online, accompanied by the same tired headlines and the same judgmental comments.

"Five months," you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

"Five months," he agrees, understanding immediately what you mean. Five months since the world found out about your relationship. Five months since Virgil van Dijk, Liverpool's captain and one of the best defenders in the world, confirmed that yes, he has a wife in the Netherlands, and yes, he also has a girlfriend in Liverpool, and no, it's not cheating because everyone involved is a consenting adult who understands the arrangement.

The statement had been clinical, professional, posted simultaneously on both his and Rike's Instagram accounts with comments disabled. It explained their open relationship, their mutual decision to see other people while remaining married and committed to co-parenting their children. It was dignified, mature, and completely fucking useless in terms of stopping people from having opinions.

"Magi texted me earlier," you say, pulling up the message from Mo Salah's wife. Both she and Saffie have been one of the few bright spots in this whole mess—the only other WAGs who treat you like a normal human being instead of some sort of exotic zoo animal.

Virgil glances over. "Yeah? What'd she say?"

"Asked if I wanted to grab lunch with her and Saffie tomorrow. Said she's tired of the others being weird around me." You show him the text, and he shakes his head with a mix of affection and frustration.

"Her and Saffie are good people," he says. "Wish the rest of them would get their heads out of their asses."

You've tried, really fucking tried, to fit in with the other wives and girlfriends. You've shown up to the coffee dates, the charity events, the dinners. But there's always this undercurrent of discomfort, like they're not sure how to categorize you. Are you a wife? A girlfriend? A mistress? The fact that you don't fit neatly into their understanding of relationships makes them treat you like you're carrying some sort of contagious disease.

"Remember that lunch last month?" you ask, and Virgil's expression immediately darkens.

"The one where what's-her-face asked you if you felt guilty 'taking Virgil away from his real family'?" His Dutch accent gets thicker when he's pissed off, and you can hear it now.

"That's the one." You'd wanted to throw your fucking salad at her perfectly made-up face, but instead you'd smiled politely and explained, for the hundredth time, that you weren't taking anything from anyone. That Virgil's relationship with his wife and children was completely separate from his relationship with you. That everyone involved was happy with the arrangement.

She'd looked at you like you were speaking Klingon.

"I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her," you continue. "Like, woman, it's 2024. People have different types of relationships. Get with the fucking program."

Virgil chuckles, but there's no real humor in it. "Dutch people get it more," he says, which you know is true. When you visited Amsterdam with him last week, meeting his friends and some of his family, the reaction was completely different. A few raised eyebrows, sure, but mostly just acceptance. The Dutch are practical people, and if everyone involved is happy and honest about the situation, then what's the problem?

But Liverpool? Liverpool is different. More traditional, more conservative in some ways. The fans worship Virgil on the pitch, but off the pitch, they want their heroes to fit into neat little boxes. Married or single. Faithful or cheating. They don't know what to do with a man who's both married and dating someone else with his wife's full knowledge and consent.

"I just..." you trail off, trying to find the words. "I just want to exist without it being a whole fucking thing, you know? I want to come to your matches and not have people staring at me like I'm some sort of science experiment. I want to have normal conversations with your teammates' girlfriends without them acting like I'm going to steal their men too."

Virgil pulls into the players' parking area, the familiar sight of Anfield's red brick facade looming ahead. He turns off the engine and shifts to face you fully, his brown eyes serious.

"It's gonna take time," he says, reaching over to cup your face with one large hand. "People need time to get used to things that are different from what they expect. But I need you to know that I don't regret any of this. Not going public, not being with you, none of it."

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment. This is the part that makes it all worth it—Virgil himself. The way he looks at you, the way he makes you feel seen and valued and cherished. The way he never makes you feel like you're asking for too much when you need reassurance about this whole complicated situation.

"I know," you whisper. "I don't regret it either. I just wish it was easier."

"Nothing good is ever easy, liefje," he says, using the Dutch endearment that never fails to make your stomach flutter. "But we'll figure it out. We always do."

A knock on the passenger window makes you both jump, and you look up to see Mo Salah grinning at you through the glass. Virgil rolls down the window.

"You two planning to sit in there all day?" Mo asks, his Egyptian accent coloring his English. "Some of us have a match to win."

"Piss off, Mo," Virgil says, but he's smiling now. "We're coming."

Mo's eyes shift to you, and his expression softens slightly. "You good, Y/N?"

It's a simple question, but you know what he's really asking. Mo has been nothing but kind to you since day one, treating you with the same casual friendliness he shows everyone else.

"Yeah, I'm good," you tell him, and mean it. In this moment, sitting in Virgil's car with Mo smiling at you like you're just another part of the team family, you actually are good.

"Excellent. Magi's already inside, saving you a seat. And fair warning—Saffie's on one today. Think she had too much coffee this morning."

You laugh, grabbing your purse and following the guys out of the car. This is another thing you're still getting used to—the casual way some of the team has accepted you. Not all of them, sure, but enough of them that you don't feel completely out of place in the family section during matches.

The walk through the stadium corridors is familiar now, but you still get a little thrill when you see the Champions Wall and realize that your boyfriend's photo is up there, that he's a part of this incredible history. Virgil's hand finds yours, fingers interlacing as you walk.

"Y/N!" The voice makes you turn, and you see Arne Slot approaching with his characteristic calm smile. The manager has been professional and welcoming since your relationship became public, treating the whole situation with typical Dutch pragmatism.

"Hi, Arne," you say, accepting his brief handshake. "Ready for today?"

"Always ready," he says, then glances at Virgil. "Your warm-up looked good yesterday. Keep that focus."

"Of course, boss," Virgil replies, and you can hear the respect in his voice.

Arne nods and continues on his way, leaving you and Virgil to head toward the family section. You spot Magi immediately��her hijab a beautiful ruby red that matches her Liverpool scarf. Next to her, Saffie is gesturing wildly as she tells some story to a small group of women.

"Go on," Virgil says, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your temple. "I'll see you after."

"Play well," you tell him, straightening his collar unnecessarily. "Try not to get too wound up out there."

"Me? Never."

He grins and jogs off toward the tunnel, leaving you to navigate the social dynamics of the family section. You take a deep breath and walk over to where Magi and Saffie are sitting.

"Thank God you're here," Saffie says as you approach, her Liverpudlian accent thick with exasperation. "These women have been doing my bloody head in for the past twenty minutes."

"Language, Saffie," Magi says gently, but she's smiling.

"Right, sorry love," Saffie replies, not looking sorry at all. She turns back to you. "Seriously though, how do you deal with all the staring? I swear that Rebecca woman hasn't taken her eyes off you since you walked in."

You glance over at Rebecca, who's indeed watching you with barely disguised curiosity. "Practice," you say dryly. "Lots and lots of practice."

"Well, fuck that noise," Saffie declares, then immediately looks at Magi. "Sorry, sorry. Forget that noise. You're living your life, they can mind their own business."

Magi pats Saffie's arm affectionately. "She's not wrong, though. People should focus on their own relationships instead of judging yours."

This is what you love about these two—Magi's gentle wisdom and Saffie's fierce loyalty. They're the only ones in the family section who treat you like a normal person instead of some sort of exotic specimen.

"How was Amsterdam?" Magi asks as you settle in between them.

"Good," you say, then pause. "Complicated, but good."

"Complicated how?" Saffie leans in, always ready for gossip.

"Just... seeing Virgil with his family, you know? It's not jealousy exactly, it's more like..." you search for the right words. "It's like watching him be a completely different version of himself. Father Virgil, Husband Virgil. And I love seeing those sides of him, but it also reminds me that I'm only getting part of him."

Magi nods understandingly. "That must be difficult. But you're getting a part of him that's just yours, too."

"I know that, logically. It's just the emotional side that's harder to manage sometimes."

"That's totally normal," Saffie says firmly. "You're sharing someone you love. That's bound to bring up some weird feelings, even when everyone's on board with the arrangement."

The match is starting now, and you force yourself to focus on the pitch rather than the whispered conversations happening around you. Watching Virgil play never gets old—the way he reads the game, the calm authority he brings to the defense, the respect his teammates clearly have for him.

Liverpool scores in the last minute, and you jump up with everyone else, cheering and hugging Magi and Saffie. For a moment, you forget about everything else and just enjoy the pure joy of watching your boyfriend's team dominate.

But then you sit back down and catch Rebecca looking at you with that same expression of half curiosity, half judgment, and the moment is broken.

"You know what?" you say to your friends. "I think I'm gonna head down to the tunnel early today."

"Want us to come with you?" Saffie offers.

"Nah, it's fine. I'll see you both later."

You gather your things and make your way down to the area where players' families wait after matches. It's quieter here, just a few security guards and some staff members. You lean against the wall and pull out your phone, scrolling through messages without really seeing anything.

A text from Virgil pops up: Where'd you go? Magi said you left early.

You type back: Just needed some air. Waiting by the tunnel.

Virgil: Everything okay?

You: Yeah, just the usual stuff. I'm fine.

Virgil: Be there in 10. Love you.

You: Love you too.

You close your phone and take a deep breath, trying to center yourself. This is the reality of your situation—you love Virgil, he loves you, but loving him means dealing with all the external bullshit that comes with being in a non-traditional relationship with a public figure.

"Y/N?"

You look up to see Robbo approaching, still in his kit and looking slightly sweaty from the match.

"Hey, Robbo. Good game."

"Cheers. You alright? Virg mentioned you seemed a bit off today."

It's sweet, the way some of Virgil's teammates look out for you.

"Just tired of being a spectacle," you admit. "Sometimes I wonder if it would've been easier to keep things private."

Andy leans against the wall next to you. "But then you'd be sneaking around, lying to people, hiding a huge part of your life. That's no way to live either."

He's right, and you know it. Before you went public, the secrecy had been eating at you.

"I know," you say. "I just wish people could mind their own business."

"Aye, well, good luck with that. People are gonna have opinions no matter what you do. Might as well live your life on your own terms."

Virgil appears around the corner, showered and changed into his street clothes. His eyes immediately find yours, and you can see the concern in his expression.

"There you are," he says, pulling you into a hug. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm okay," you tell him, and you mean it. The anxiety and frustration from earlier has faded, replaced by the familiar comfort of being in his arms. "Just needed a minute."

"Fair enough." He keeps one arm around you as he chats with Robbo about the match, and you let yourself relax into his side.

"Right, I'm off," Robbo says eventually. "See you both later."

"Drive safe," Virgil calls after him, then turns his attention back to you. "Ready to go home?"

"Yeah," you say, then remember something. "Actually, I want to talk to you about something."

His eyebrows raise. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I've been thinking about it more seriously. The medical aesthetic spa idea? I think I'm ready to start putting together a proper plan."

The smile that spreads across Virgil's face is brilliant. "That's brilliant, babe. What changed your mind?"

You think about it for a moment. "I guess I realized that I've been so focused on trying to fit into everyone else's idea of what my life should look like that I forgot to actually live it."

"And now?"

"Now I want to build something that's mine. Something I'm passionate about."

"I'd love to help," he says seriously. "But I want to see that you're really committed to this. Where's your business plan, baby?"

"I don't have one yet, smartass. That's why I want to talk to you about it."

As you walk out of Anfield together, heading toward the car park, you feel something shift inside you. For months, you've been so focused on defending your relationship that you've lost sight of everything else you want from life.

The drive home to your shared house in Formby is comfortable, Virgil's hand resting on your thigh as he navigates the familiar roads. The house itself is gorgeous—a modern place with huge windows and a garden that Virgil actually enjoys tending to in his spare time. It's become home in a way that surprises you sometimes.

"So," Virgil says as you both settle onto the sofa with Chinese takeaway spread out on the coffee table, "tell me about this business plan."

You curl up next to him, stealing a prawn cracker from his container. "Right, so I've been doing loads of research. The medical aesthetics industry is booming, especially in areas like Liverpool where you have money but maybe not as much access to high-end treatments."

"Go on," he says, but his hand is trailing up your thigh in a way that's definitely not focused on business planning.

"I'm thinking we start small—Botox, fillers, basic skincare treatments. Build up a client base, then expand into more advanced procedures. Partner with a doctor for the medical side, but focus on the luxury experience. Like a proper spa but with medical-grade treatments."

"Mmm," Virgil murmurs against your neck, having abandoned all pretense of eating. "Sounds good."

"Virgil," you laugh, trying to push him away. "I'm being serious here."

"So am I," he says, his voice dropping to that low register that always makes your stomach flip. "But we can talk business later."

His mouth finds that spot just below your ear that makes you melt, and you find yourself forgetting about business plans and profit margins. This is another thing you love about your relationship—the way Virgil can make you feel desired and wanted, like he can't keep his hands off you even after months together.

"We should really—" you start, but he cuts you off with a kiss that makes your toes curl.

"Should really what?" he asks against your lips.

"Nothing," you breathe, letting him pull you properly into his lap. "Business plan can wait."

Just as things are getting properly heated, Virgil's phone starts ringing. He ignores it at first, too busy kissing along your collarbone, but when it rings again immediately, he sighs.

"Fuck," he mutters, reaching for the phone. His expression softens when he sees the caller ID. "It's Rike. Probably time for the kids' bedtime story."

Your stomach does that little flip it always does when Rike calls. Not jealousy exactly, but something adjacent to it. A reminder that you're sharing him, that there are parts of his life that will always belong to someone else.

"Take it," you say, sliding off his lap. "I'll go make some tea."

You can hear him talking in Dutch as you move around the kitchen, his voice taking on that gentle tone he uses with his children. He's telling them about the match, probably, making them laugh with some story about Mo or Robbo. It's sweet, and it makes your chest tight in a way you can't quite name.

When you come back with two mugs of tea, he's just finishing up.

"Goodnight, kleine muis," he says softly. "I love you too. Put Mama back on for a second."

There's a pause, and then his voice changes slightly as he talks to Rike. Still warm, still affectionate, but different from how he talks to the kids. More intimate in a way that makes something uncomfortable settle in your stomach.

"Yeah, she's good," he's saying, and you realize he's talking about you. "No, no problems. She's been working on that business plan we talked about."

Wait. They talked about your business plan? When? Why?

"Okay, I'll tell her you said hi. Love you too."

He hangs up and looks over at you, and something in your expression must give away your thoughts because his brow furrows.

"What's wrong?"

"You talked to Rike about my business plan?" you ask, trying to keep your voice neutral.

"Just mentioned it in passing. Why?"

You set down your tea and turn to face him properly. "It's just... I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I'm sharing you in ways I didn't expect. Like, I knew about the kids, I knew about the marriage, but I didn't think about all the little everyday things you'd still share with her."

Virgil's expression grows serious. "Are you saying you don't want me to talk to her about you?"

"No, that's not..." you pause, trying to figure out how to articulate what you're feeling. "It's not that I don't want you to talk about me. It's more like... I'm still getting used to the fact that your wife knows details about my life. About my dreams and plans and things that feel private to me."

"She's not just my wife, though," Virgil says gently. "She's someone I share my life with, someone I trust. And you're a huge part of my life now, so of course I talk about you."

"I know that. Logically, I know that. It's just the emotional side that's harder."

Virgil pulls you closer, and you let him, curling into his side. "What can I do to make it easier?"

"I don't know," you admit. "Maybe just... warn me when you're going to talk about something personal? So I'm not blindsided by finding out you've discussed my business plans with your wife?"

"Fair enough," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I can do that."

You're quiet for a moment, enjoying the warmth of his body against yours. Then something occurs to you.

"What else do you talk about? When it comes to me, I mean."

Virgil's hand stills where it's been stroking your arm. "What do you mean?"

"Like, does she ask about our relationship? About how things are going between us?"

"Sometimes," he says carefully. "She wants to make sure you're happy, that you're settling in okay."

"And what do you tell her?"

"The truth. That I'm crazy about you. That you make me happy in ways I didn't expect."

Your chest warms at his words, but there's still something nagging at you. "Does she ever... I don't know, give you advice about us? About me?"

Virgil is quiet for a long moment, and that tells you everything you need to know.

"She does," you say, sitting up to look at him. "What kind of advice?"

"It's not like that," he says quickly. "It's not her telling me what to do. It's more like... she knows me really well. She can see when I'm struggling with something or when I'm not sure how to handle a situation."

"What kind of situations?"

Virgil runs a hand over his hair, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "Like when you get overwhelmed by all the public attention. She helps me understand how to support you better."

You're not sure how to feel about this. On one hand, it's sweet that Rike cares enough to help Virgil navigate your relationship. On the other hand, it's weird knowing that your boyfriend's wife is giving him advice about how to handle you.

"Has she said anything else about me?" you ask.

"Y/N..."

"Just tell me, Virgil."

He sighs. "She thinks you'd be a good mother."

The words hit you like a physical blow, and you sit up straighter, staring at him. "What?"

"She mentioned it a few weeks ago. Said she could see how you are with the kids when we video call, how patient and kind you are. She thinks you have good maternal instincts."

"Why would she be thinking about that?" you ask, your voice coming out higher than usual.

Virgil looks at you for a long moment, and there's something in his expression that makes your stomach flip. "Because I told her I could see a future with you. A real future. And she knows that would probably include children."

"You want children with me?" The question comes out as barely a whisper.

"I mean, not right now," he says quickly. "But someday, yeah. If that's something you want too."

You feel like the air has been knocked out of your lungs. Children. With Virgil. While he's still married to someone else, while he already has children with someone else.

"What would Rike think about that?" you ask.

Virgil shrugs, as if this is the most natural thing in the world. "She'd be fine with it. She understands how much I love you."

"She'd be fine with it?" you repeat, your voice rising. "Virgil, you're talking about having children with your girlfriend while you're married to someone else. How is that something someone is just fine with?"

"Because she knows I love you," he says simply. "She knows this isn't just some casual thing for me. She can see that you're not going anywhere, that this is real."

You stare at him, trying to process what he's telling you. The casual way he's discussing having children with you, as if it's something he and Rike have already talked through and accepted.

"When did you talk about this?" you ask.

"Last week. After you came to Amsterdam and spent time with the kids. She could see how natural you were with them, how much they liked you."

"And she just... what? Gave you her blessing to knock up your girlfriend?"

Virgil winces at your phrasing. "It wasn't like that. We were just talking about the future, about what we both want. She wants me to be happy, and she can see that you make me happy."

You get up from the sofa, needing space to think. This is all happening too fast, too casually. The idea of having children with Virgil while he's still married to Rike, of bringing a baby into this already complicated situation, makes your head spin.

"I need to think about this," you say.

"Of course," Virgil says, standing up as well. "I'm not saying we need to decide anything now. I just wanted you to know that it's something I think about, something I want."

"With me specifically, or just in general?"

"With you," he says without hesitation. "I want everything with you, Y/N. I want a future, a family, a life together."

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tight. This is what you've wanted to hear, isn't it? That you're not just a temporary distraction, that he sees a real future with you.

But the reality of what that future would look like is more complicated than you'd imagined.

Later, as you're getting ready for bed, you catch yourself in the bathroom mirror. You're wearing a silk pink bonnet and a matching slip nightgown, and you look younger than your twenty-eight years. Do you look like someone who's ready to have children? Do you look like someone who could handle being a mother while navigating this complex relationship dynamic?

"You're thinking too hard," Virgil says from the doorway, watching you stare at your reflection.

"Am I?" you ask. "Because it feels like I'm not thinking hard enough."

He comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning down to rest his chin on your shoulder. "What's going through your head?"

"Everything," you admit. "The business, the relationship, the future. It all feels like too much sometimes."

"We don't have to figure it all out tonight," he says, pressing a kiss to your neck. "We can take it one day at a time."

"Is that what you and Rike do? Take it one day at a time?"

"We take it one conversation at a time," he corrects. "We talk about everything. What we need, what we want, what we're struggling with. That's how we make it work."

"And she really wouldn't mind if we had children together?"

Virgil meets your eyes in the mirror. "She'd probably be excited. She loves being a mother, and she can see how much joy children bring to my life. She wants that for me with you too."

You turn in his arms to face him properly. "I want to talk to her about it myself."

"About having children?"

"About everything. About how this all works, about what the boundaries are, about what she's comfortable with. I feel like I've been living in this relationship without really understanding all the dynamics."

Virgil nods. "I think that's a good idea. She'd like that too."

"When?"

"Whenever you're ready. She's always said the door is open for conversation."

You bite your lip, thinking. "Maybe after I get the business plan sorted. Once I feel like I have my own shit together."

"You don't have to have everything figured out to have difficult conversations," Virgil points out.

"I know, but I want to feel like I'm coming to her as an equal, you know? Not just as your girlfriend who needs her permission for things."

Virgil's hands frame your face, his thumbs stroking over your cheekbones. "You are her equal. You're not asking for permission, you're asking for understanding."

"There's a difference?"

"A big one."

You lean into his touch, feeling some of the tension leave your shoulders. This is why you love him—the way he can make complicated things feel manageable, the way he believes in you even when you don't believe in yourself.

"Okay," you say. "I'll think about it."

"Good." He leans down to kiss you, soft and sweet at first, then deeper when you respond. "Now, can we please go to bed? I've been trying to get you naked all evening."

You laugh despite everything. "You're insatiable."

"Only with you," he says, backing you toward the bedroom. "Only ever with you."

As he kisses you again, his hands already working at the straps of your nightgown, you let yourself forget about the complications for a while. Let yourself focus on this—the way he touches you like you're precious, the way he looks at you like you're everything he's ever wanted.

The questions about the future can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, you just want to be with him, to feel the certainty of his love even when everything else feels uncertain.

But as you fall asleep in his arms later, your mind is already spinning with plans. Not just for the business, but for the conversation you know you need to have with Rike. About boundaries and expectations and what it really means to share a life with someone who's already sharing his life with someone else.

The smell of coffee and croissants fills the kitchen as you pad downstairs in your silk robe, hair still wrapped in your bonnet from the night before. Virgil's already dressed for training, looking unfairly good in his Liverpool tracksuit as he leans against the counter scrolling through his phone.

"Morning, beautiful," he says, looking up with that smile that still makes your stomach flip after all these months.

"Morning," you mumble, making a beeline for the coffee machine. You need caffeine before you can be properly human, especially after the heavy conversation from last night that kept you tossing and turning.

"Made you a plate," he says, nodding toward the counter where he's arranged fresh fruit and pastries. "And there's that fancy yogurt you like in the fridge."

This is one of the things you love about living with him—the way he takes care of you in these small, domestic ways. It's different from the grand gestures, more intimate somehow.

"You're an angel," you say, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him properly. He tastes like coffee and mint toothpaste, familiar and comforting.

"Sleep okay?" he asks, his hands settling on your waist.

"Eventually." You don't mention the hours you spent staring at the ceiling, thinking about children and Rike and what your future actually looks like. "What time's training?"

"Nine. But I wanted to talk to you about something first." His expression grows more serious, and you immediately tense.

"What now?"

"Nothing bad," he says quickly. "It's about your business plan. I was thinking we could set up a meeting with my financial advisor, maybe next week? He specializes in new business ventures, could help you figure out the funding side of things."

The fact that he's taking your spa idea seriously enough to involve his financial people makes your chest warm. "You think it's actually good?"

"Baby, I think you could do anything you set your mind to. But I also think you need proper advice from people who understand the market." He glances at his watch. "Speaking of which, you better get moving if you want to make it to the office on time."

Right. Work. Your actual job that pays your actual bills while you fantasize about running your own business.

"Ugh," you groan, already dreading the day ahead. "I forgot about the Henderson viewing at ten. That property's been on the market for ages."

"The one in Woolton?"

"Yeah. Seven bedrooms, indoor pool, more money than sense required." You grab a piece of melon from your plate. "Honestly, sometimes I think these footballers have no idea what to do with their money."

Virgil raises an eyebrow. "Present company excluded, I hope."

"You're Dutch. You're sensible with money by default."

He laughs, pulling you in for another kiss. "I love you. Have a good day, try not to let the office gossips wind you up."

"No promises," you say, but you're smiling as you head upstairs to get ready.

An hour later, you're walking into Prestige Properties Liverpool, the city's most exclusive real estate agency. The office is all glass and chrome, designed to impress wealthy clients who expect a certain level of sophistication. You've been working here for two years as a broker's assistant, first at the London location and now here in Liverpool, learning the trade while handling the administrative side of million-pound property deals.

"Well, well, look who's gracing us with her presence," comes a voice from behind the reception desk. It's Jessica, the office coordinator, and her tone has just enough edge to let you know she's been waiting for an opportunity to start something.

"Morning, Jess," you say neutrally, heading toward your desk.

"Saw the photos from Amsterdam online, how was it? Must be nice though, exploring with your boyfriend while his wife stays home with the kids."

There it is. You'd been wondering how long it would take for someone to bring up the Amsterdam trip. The photos had been everywhere—you and Virgil at dinner, walking through the city, looking happy and relaxed. What the photos didn't show was the time you'd spent at his house with Rike and the children.

"It was lovely, thanks for asking," you reply, sitting down at your desk and opening your laptop. You're not taking the bait, not today.

"Must be strange though, isn't it?" Jessica continues, clearly not ready to drop it. "Being the other woman in such a public way?"

"I'm not the other woman," you say firmly, not looking up from your screen. "Everyone involved is aware of and comfortable with the situation."

"If you say so," Jessica says with a laugh that suggests she very much doesn't believe you.

You're saved from responding by Thomas Webb, one of the senior brokers, approaching your desk with a file in his hand.

"Y/N, good, you're here. I need you to handle the Henderson viewing this morning. The client's being particularly demanding about the timeline."

"Of course," you say, grateful for the distraction. "Everything's prepared. I'll head over at half nine to make sure everything's perfect."

Thomas nods, then hesitates. "Listen, I know you've got a lot going on personally at the moment. If you need any time off, or if the media attention becomes too much..."

"I'm fine, Thomas. Really."

He doesn't look entirely convinced, but he doesn't push. "Alright. But my door's always open if you need to talk."

As he walks away, you catch Jessica rolling her eyes. "Must be nice having special treatment because you're shagging a celebrity."

"That's enough," comes a sharp voice from across the office. It's Priya, another assistant who sits near you. "Why don't you focus on your own work instead of obsessing over Y/N's personal life?"

Jessica huffs and turns back to her computer, but you can feel the tension in the office. This is what you'd been dreading—the way your relationship with Virgil has become office gossip, something for people to pick apart and judge.

Your phone buzzes with a text from Saffie: Coffee later? Need to vent about Curtis being a div this morning.

You smile despite everything. At least you have friends who treat you normally.

You: Can't today, got viewings all afternoon. Tomorrow?

Saffie: Deffo. Bring Magi if she's free. We can properly catch up.

You're typing a response when Amanda Chen, the office manager, appears at your desk.

"Y/N, could I have a word? In my office?"

Your stomach drops. Amanda's tone is professional but serious, and you immediately start running through everything you might have done wrong.

"Of course," you say, following her to the glass-walled office at the back of the space.

Amanda closes the door and gestures for you to sit. She's in her forties, impeccably dressed, and has run this office like a well-oiled machine for the past five years.

"How are you settling in with everything that's been happening?" she asks, getting straight to the point.

"Fine, I think. My work hasn't suffered, if that's what you're worried about."

"It's not your work I'm concerned about," Amanda says, leaning back in her chair. "It's the atmosphere in the office. Some of the staff seem to be having difficulty separating your personal life from your professional responsibilities."

You wince. "I'm sorry about that. I never wanted my relationship to become a distraction here."

"It's not your fault," Amanda says firmly. "You can't help who you fall in love with, and you've conducted yourself professionally throughout this entire situation. But I do think we need to address the elephant in the room."

"Which is?"

"The fact that you're dating one of the most high-profile footballers in the city, and that footballer happens to be in a very unconventional relationship situation that people have strong opinions about."

You nod, not sure where this is going.

"I've had three clients this week ask specifically about you," Amanda continues. "Two wanted to know if you'd be handling their property search because they're curious about your connection to Virgil. One specifically requested a different agent because they 'don't approve of your lifestyle choices.'"

"Shit," you say, then immediately look embarrassed. "Sorry."

Amanda waves off your apology. "My point is, like it or not, you've become a talking point. And in this business, being talked about can be either very good or very bad for business."

"Which do you think it is?"

"Honestly? Probably good. This is Liverpool—football is religion here. The fact that you're dating the captain of the most successful team in the city is going to intrigue more clients than it puts off." She pauses. "But only if you handle it correctly."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you need to decide how much of your personal life you're willing to use professionally. Some clients will want to work with you specifically because of who you're dating. Are you comfortable with that?"

You think about it for a moment. The idea of using your relationship with Virgil to advance your career feels wrong somehow, like you'd be taking advantage of something that should be separate from work.

"I don't know," you admit. "It feels weird, using my relationship to sell houses."

"It doesn't have to be using it," Amanda says. "It can just be not hiding from it. You're knowledgeable about the area, you understand the kind of properties high-net-worth individuals are looking for, and yes, you happen to be dating someone who moves in those circles. That's not using your relationship, that's leveraging your life experience."

"I suppose," you say, still not entirely convinced.

"Think about it this way," Amanda continues. "If a client mentions Virgil, you don't have to pretend you don't know him. You can speak knowledgeably about the areas where footballers live, the kind of security and privacy they need, the lifestyle considerations that matter to them. That's valuable insight."

She's making sense, even if it still feels strange.

"What about the staff issues?" you ask.

"I'll handle that," Amanda says firmly. "Jessica's just jealous, and the others will get bored once the novelty wears off. But if anyone makes you uncomfortable or affects your ability to do your job, you come to me immediately."

"Thank you," you say, genuinely grateful. "I was worried you might ask me to keep a lower profile or something."

"Are you kidding? Do you have any idea how many luxury property inquiries we've had since your relationship became public? I'm not about to discourage that kind of business."

You're laughing as you leave Amanda's office, feeling lighter than you have all morning. Maybe this whole situation doesn't have to be entirely negative. Maybe there's a way to navigate it that doesn't involve hiding who you are or apologizing for who you love.

Back at your desk, you dive into preparing for the Henderson viewing. The property is stunning—a modern mansion in Woolton with every luxury imaginable. The kind of place where Premier League players and successful businessmen raise their families in comfort and privacy.

As you review the details, you find yourself thinking about what Amanda said. You do understand this market in a way you didn't before dating Virgil. You know what matters to people with serious money and public profiles—the importance of good security, proximity to private schools, easy access to training facilities and airports.

Maybe that's not using your relationship. Maybe that's just being good at your job.

Your phone buzzes with another text, this time from Virgil: How's the office drama today?

You: Manageable. Amanda had a chat with me about turning my newfound "fame" into business opportunities.

Virgil: You thinking about it?

You: Maybe. Feels weird though.

Virgil: Why?

You pause, thinking about how to explain it. Because I want to succeed on my own merit, not because I'm your girlfriend.

Virgil: Baby, knowing me doesn't make you less talented or capable. If anything, it just gives you additional expertise in a market you're already good at.

You: When did you become so wise?

Virgil: I've always been wise. You're just now appreciating it properly.

You're grinning at your phone when Priya appears at your desk.

"Everything alright? You look like someone just told you good news."

"Just Virgil being ridiculous," you say, showing her the text thread.

"He's got a point though," Priya says, reading over your shoulder. "You've learned more about luxury property in the past six months than some people learn in years. Might as well use that knowledge."

"You think so?"

"Definitely. And honestly, having someone on the team who actually understands that lifestyle could be really valuable. We get so many footballer inquiries, and half the time we're just guessing what matters to them."

It's funny how different perspectives can make you see something in a completely new light. This morning you felt like your relationship was complicating your work life, but maybe it's actually enhancing it.

Your phone rings, interrupting your thoughts. The caller ID shows a number you don't recognize.

"Y/N speaking, how can I help you?"

"Hi, is this Y/N from Prestige Properties? My name is Rudy Bryant, I'm looking for a property in the Liverpool area."

"Yes, that's me. What kind of property are you looking for, Mr. Bryant?"

"Something substantial, good security, near good schools. I'm a new signing with Everton, just moved to the area."

You grab a pen and start taking notes. "Congratulations on the signing. What's your timeline like?"

"Pretty flexible, but I'd like to get settled before Christmas if possible. I was actually recommended to speak with you specifically."

"Oh? By whom?"

"A friend of mine knows Virgil van Dijk. Said you'd understand what I need better than most agents."

There it is. Your first client inquiry that's directly connected to your relationship with Virgil.

"I'd be happy to help," you say, surprising yourself with how natural it feels. "When would you be available for an initial consultation?"

As you schedule the appointment, you realize Amanda was right. This doesn't feel like using your relationship—it feels like being good at your job in a way that incorporates all aspects of your life experience.

When you hang up, Priya is smiling at you.

"How was that?" she asks.

"Actually really good," you admit.

"See? You're not using your relationship to get clients. You're using your expertise to serve clients better. There's a difference."

You spend the rest of the morning preparing for your viewings, and for the first time in months, you feel like you're not just existing in the space between your personal and professional life—you're integrating them in a way that actually makes sense.

By the time you leave for the Henderson viewing, you're feeling more confident than you have in weeks. Maybe this whole situation doesn't have to be about choosing between being Virgil's girlfriend and being your own person.

Maybe you can be both.

..........tbd

[animementrash]

A hundred kisses

Character: Levi Ackerman

Tags: fluff, implied relationship with reader, canon verse.

A/N: I have been gone too long, work is sucking the life out of me 😭Tip of the day: Do not become important at work, is not worth it. (? Anyways, hope you enjoy this little thing I got out of my brain while wishing I was loving Levi Ackerman instead of managing a team lol. Thank you for reading!

The gliding of his pen over the paper is the only sound in Levi's office. He's been reading and signing papers for hours, eyebrows furrowed and shoulders tense. Outside, the cadets continued with their training, nothing out of the ordinary. You made your way inside his office, a new stack of papers in hand.

"Hello there, may I come in" You say even though you've already opened the door and stepped inside. Levi just stopped writing, looking at you from beneath his eyelashes, not bothering in lifting his head.

"You're already inside" He mumbled unamused.

With a grin, you stepped forward and placed the papers on his desk. "Erwin wants you to check these as well, he says they're top priority"

Levi glanced at the stack of papers and rolled his eyes. "When everything is top priority, nothing really is" That's all he says before turning back to the paper in front of him.

"Look at you, being the philosopher of the century!" You tease, pulling a chair across him and sitting down. "Have you had lunch yet?" You question, noticing his dry lips.

"Not hungry" He says uninterested, not even looking at you.

"Really? Because the new rations just arrived and everyone is having a feast..." Your voice sounds sarcastic yet enthusiastic. Levi puts his pen down and finally looks your way.

"Like I said, I'm not hungry. When I feel like I need to eat something, I'll go grab something." His voice is curt and dry. If you didn't know better, you'd think he's about to kick you out.

"Then what about taking a break? The weather outside is lovely..." This time he doesn't even acknowledge your comment, focusing only on signing documents. You get up from your seat and sigh, clearly ticked by his demeanor.

"Are you still upset because I didn't kiss you goodnight last night?" You mention casually.

"Seems like you were too tired to even do that, right?" He says back, there is no bite in his words, instead he sounds offended, something that makes you hold back a laugh.

"Levi, I didn't mean to do that! You know I love to kiss you goodnight and will always do it! I just happened to fall asleep before you came back from your meeting with Erwin" As you explained yourself, he huffed and rolled his eyes as if your explanation was the most absurd thing he's ever heard. "Besides, you could've kissed me even if I was asleep." You add with a shrug.

"What do you think I am? A creep?" He retorts, clearly offended by the suggestion.

"No, you're not a creep for kissing your sleeping wife goodnight" You answer and giggle a little.

"No, don't touch me" He says pretending to be offended as you try to wrap your arms around him.

"Come on Levi, don't be so stubborn" You're still chuckling as you hug him, his childish demeanor still amusing to you after all these years.

"It's not like we get to kiss goodnight every day, that is why I was so heartbroken that you fell asleep before I could kiss you" He says in almost a whisper and you could swear you saw a ghost of a pout on his lips.

"I know Levi, and I already told you I'm sorry, didn't I? I even kissed you twice this morning to repair the damage" Even without looking at you he can tell you're still smiling, his eyebrows furrowing even more.

"That doesn't compensate it" He says, still fixed on the missing kiss.

You pull away far enough to look at him and cup his face with both hands, he pretends to be annoyed but does nothing to pull away from your hold.

"Then? Should I kiss you a 100 times to repair my oh so awful mistake?" You ask with a dramatic voice.

"Yeah, for starters you could do that..." He replies and can't hide the smirk that spreads across his lips at his bratty request.

You let out a hearty laugh, his cheeks turn pink as you start to map his face with small kisses. "Okay, but you count" You say with a grin.

"One.... One.... One" Levi's voice is soft and tender, something nobody would ever believe if they heard, good thing is nobody besides you will ever listen to it.

[mindless-existence1]

Kpop Demon Hunters x Reader

Humanized!Saja Boys x Reader

Summery: This ^^^ Plus I wrote mini fics for each guy.

Authors note: The amount of times i had to remake this post is insane I almost went crazy. Also this post includes Baby and Jinu. Pt2 will include the others.

If you want to be tagged in Pt2 that will have Abby, Romance, and Mystery pls comment or message me!

Requests open!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jinu

Jinu wasnt one to mess up your date plans

But was it really his fault when you looked that good and were touching him so nice?

"Whats wrong Jinu? Something the matter?" You sickly sweet voice does nothing to stop the strain in his pants thats growing by the second. "You know what," the idol grumbles voice covered by a low groan.

"I really dont why dont you tell me baby?" The innocence dripping from your voice feels like it goes straight to his dick. He might just be mistaking it for your hand that has a set a steady rhythm of palming him through his dress pants.

Jinu ignores your question instead choosing to clear his throat. "We cant do this y/n we have a reservation." Hsi poor excuse makes you tilt your head and give him a knowing look.

When you move a bit to check the time your hand never stops, if anything you press harder and move faster. The change in pressure makes him lean forward, his top half practically laying on you while he leans against the table you pinned him against.

"We've got time Jinu, just gotta be quick you think you can do that for me?" When he goes to answer he cuts himself off with a guttural moan hes not quick enough to stop.

Jinu looks down to see your hand now stroking him at a slow but harsh pace. "Y/n- wait i cant, it-" he just cant seem to get the words out between high pitched breathy whines.

He wants to tell you it feels so good and it hurts oh god I hurts hes aching and desperate and he can feel the precum leaking from his tip and smearing on his underwear.

All the pleasure is getting to his head making it so he cant think straight. "Yes you can Jinu common baby I got you." Your comforting words just make it worse, he can feel your warm brsth hitting his ears making them blush red.

Jinu doesnt know if its a mix of you moving down a bit to kiss and bite at his neck or how your hand speeds up and starts focusing on the wet spot of his trousers where his tip is. Maybe its just a mix of all of the pleasure but hes being thrown over the edge.

You know Jinus coming, both at the sticky warm feeling under your hand and the way he sounds. Hes letting out moans of your name and shaking slightly from the come down of his orgasm.

When his breathing starts leveling out you give him a few lasts strokes of your hand making him lump a bit and whine in over stimulation. "Y/n-" you cut him off, "it know I know. Let's get you cleaned up."

After you walk away it doesnt take long for him to realize what he did. He groans and puts his face in his hands. Only a moment later you come back with a clean pair of pants and tissues.

"You ok?" You ask him now a bit concerned, he nods his and when he lifts up to look at you you can see the blushing that tints his face.

"I cannot believe I came in my pants." He runs a hand over his face before moving to pull off said pants now dirtied with cum. When Jinu hears you laugh he looks up to give you a half hearted glare, all that accomplishes is him receiving a slightly more muffled laugh.

"Dont worry baby I thought it was hot," you say while playing over to him and give him a kiss on his forehead. He looks up from where hes leaning down to see you giving him a smile.

"Help me get ready for our reservation and I might forgive you for jumping me like that." His harsh tone doesnt have the strict affect he was going for but you play along. "Hey you liked it!"

Baby

Baby like to think he has a lot of self control but thats simply not true

He can hardly keep his hands to himself, but thats not really a problem when you know how to put him in his place.

"You just cant handle yourself can you huh?" Baby didnt have to wonder why you were being rough with him he was well aware. The second you two walked through the door you had him pinned against the wall.

"I-" he goes to answer but you cut him off. "You what? Want everyone to know how desperate you are?" Baby isnt quite sure how to respond just letting out heavy breaths of air.

"Oh dont tell me you're quiet now. You were so bold out there. Teasing me like that." Along with your harsh words you push his legs open with your knee. You push your leg upward making your thigh grind against his growing cock.

The pressure sends a shock of pleasure through him. "On the bed Baby" you back away from him, giving him just enough space to move. The idol immediately rushes towards the bed, hands already grabbing at his clothes to rip them off.

"Hey who told you you could take those off?" That stops Baby in his tracks, looking back at you. Your arms and crossed and face is serious making him pull his clothes back onto his body.

Baby sits on the two of yours bed and leans back looking up at you. When you dont do anything for a moment Baby gains some confidence and smirks, "so what now? Thought you were going to 'punish' me." You immediately push on his chest forcing him down onto the bed.

"Oh dont get bratty now Baby you just get to stay quiet." Baby swallow hard and looks up at you, his back hitting the sofa hard. "Since you were so handsy earlier you dont get to touch now, so keep your hands to yourself." You set out the rules while pulling down his pants.

"Or what-" Baby starts, his attitude wavering slightly. "Or you dont get to come tonight. Is that what you want?" Your voice stays firm as you move your hands down the laying idols body and to his growing erection still contained by his boxers.

When you begin palming at Baby's dick he attempts to hold back the moans bubbling up in his throat. Despite his greatest efforts to keep his bratty attitude it falls apart who he feels your mouth begins sucking on his now fully hard erection.

Your tounge drags up against the wet spot of his boxers effectively stimulating his tip. His hips buck up towards your mouth but its quickly shut down by your hands tightly gripping his hips.

One of your hands slides upwards to rub at his dick through the thin fabric of his underwear. The pleasure coming from both your hand and mouth is borderline overwhelming, the moans coming from him sound almost pained.

He whines when you start to focus on his aching tip , more precum flows out of him making his breathing pick up. "Y/n- y/n wait im gonna come-" Your mouth doesnt stop, and your hand quickens despite his words.

The moans Baby was once trying to keep at bay now flow out of him freely and tighten in pitch. You name leaves his lips in desperate whimpers. Finally opening his eyes he looks down at you to see your eyes already trained on him.

Thats what pushes him over the edge, he comes hands leaving his sides to fine your hair gripping it tightly. Baby's mouth opens in a silent moan of your name on his lips. You help him through his orgasm, mouth licking at the cum seeping through his boxers.

His back arching off the bed falls as he comes down from his high. It all happens in wave. His hand loosens, breathing slows, and his eyes open. Baby looks down at you making your way up the idols body to pepper his face with kisses.

"You ok baby?" You ask, your voice quiet and sweet like its just for him. You rub your hand under his shirt and across his chest thats covered in a thin sheet of sweat. Baby grumbles something you dont quite decipher.

"Did so good taking it, so sexy Baby." The idols face floods a deep red at your words. "Yeah yeah," Baby says pushing himself up with his hand, his other slithering around your waist.

"You're mean." Baby complains voice whiny. "Yeah and you're bratty." You counter kissing his cheek.

[that-stanford-girlie-writes]

Dean Winchester x Nephilim!Reader x Sam Winchester

a/n⋮ i was just really craving some sam and dean the other day. i figured, “i could take them both at the same time!” (lie. BUT i wanted them at the same time soooo) i wrote this in a non-wincest way. the bros ain’t doing shit to each other. reader is getting all the attention. it took a couple days to write though, cuz i wanted everything to be perfect! yes, it says nephilim!reader. it’s not fully necessary to the story, but i felt it should be mentioned cuz a little bit happens! ALSO. if i tagged you and you don’t like reading smut, LET ME KNOW. i don’t want to make people uncomfortable. OR, if you don’t like this pairing? LET ME KNOW. please. i don’t want people getting uncomfy.

word count⋮ 1346

tags⋮ smut. (let’s just say sam and dean really fill your holes.)

“…And that’s why we don’t even try to look for those,” Sam mumbles. His hands run up your sides, and you play with his hair. “Because not even Dean could kill it.”

“Maybe I could,” you giggle. You don’t Hunt, but it doesn’t stop you from joking.

“Yeah, because you’re a horrifying force of nature,” says a gruff voice from the other side of the room. Dean’s salty that you’re paying more attention to Sam than him; they’ve always competing for your attention. You always end up in one of their beds, but despite the agreement of sharing you, they don’t really like it all that much.

You know your boys are protective of you. They’re more comfortable when you’re in their beds where they can see you. That’s why you don’t Hunt.

You laugh at Dean’s comment, looking over your shoulder to see him angrily chewing on a burger as he squints at the computer. “Sam, I can’t read this shit. How about I get my girl and you research?”

“I researched all morning. I get time with my sweet little angel,” he says, his nose touching yours before pressing his lips to yours. Your fingers tangle in Sam’s hair, your lips moving hard against his. He nips your bottom lip, earning a gasp from you and using that moment to push his tongue into your mouth.

He explores your mouth, his tongue dancing with yours. You move closer, swallowing his groan as you shift on top of his bulge.

His hands caress your sides, and you giggle when you feel another pair of hands undoing your flannel, revealing your bra, and his lips on your neck. Dean’s always been needy, especially when it comes to you.

Dean’s fingers trace your anti-possession tattoo over your heart, sending a shiver down your spine. Your lips break away from Sam’s and your head falls back on Dean’s shoulder as Sam rolls his hips under you, letting out a breathless moan.

Dean’s fingers dip under your bra, squeezing your tit, and Sam’s fingers clench around your hips… But then there’s an alarm sounding off.

Which makes all three of you still.

Because who the fuck is at the Bunker door?

Nobody even knows it exists.

Cas had been MIA for months, and he would just fly in.

“Sam. Take her to her room,” Dean growls, grabbing a gun.

Sam quickly nods and picks you up, carrying to your room bridal style.

—

About half an hour later, already fucked nasty and riding Sam’s cock again, does Dean come to your room. He’s covered head to toe in blood, not even caring that you’re riding his little brother.

“Everything’s dealt with,” he grumbles, pressing his lips to your neck as he palms a breast.

“What was it?” Sam asks, fully composed. You wouldn’t guess that someone was riding him and letting out pretty little moans with the formality of his answer.

“Angel.”

You look at Dean, biting your lip as you turn your head, but he wasn’t talking to you. His eyes are locked on his little brother’s. He killed an angel.

“Fuck,” Sam grumbles. “They’re probably-”

You nod. They were looking for you. The daughter of Lucifer and his first demon, Lilith.

“Which is why we’re keeping you safe, sweetheart,” Dean whispers in your ear before stripping out of his clothes.

Sam lifts you off his cock, spinning you so your back is to him. He plants you down once more, groaning as your ass shimmies on his lower stomach as you bend over just a bit.

Dean kneels on the bed, stroking his own cock lightly. He chuckles darkly as your gaze zeroes in on the pink flesh of the head, pearly precum bubbling from the tip. You lick your lips, letting out a yelp when Sam smacks your ass, forcing you to buck your hips.

“You want my cock, pretty girl?” Dean teases.

You nod, chewing on your lip.

“Use your words, baby,” Sam whispers, his voice right next to your ear.

“P-please,” you whisper, voice hitching as you wiggle on Sam’s dick, the head hitting your cervix just right. It’s no secret that you’re a mess, but cockwarming—especially with Sammy—always makes you even more needy.

“Please what, sweetheart?”

“Please let me suck your cock, Dean,” you whine.

“Atta girl,” he whispers before shoving his cock in your mouth.

Your tongue swirls over the head, lapping up the precum as your hand strokes whatever doesn’t fit in your mouth. You hear him shudder, and you feel Sam slide out of you, which leads your pussy feeling empty (but full of his cum) and allows you to sit on all fours on the bed while you take Dean in.

Dean’s hand finds the back of your throat, forcing himself down you. Tears sting your eyes, but you quickly blink them back as you take him in.

What you’re not expecting, however, is for a pair of large hands to spank your ass as a tongue runs through your wet folds. Sam’s always been greedy with your pussy.

You moan around Dean’s cock when you feel Sam move under you, his tongue flitting at your clit as his long fingers pump into you. Dean fists your hair, dragging your mouth away from his cock as he smashes his lips to yours.

“D-Dean?” you pant.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he growls.

“…Can you come inside me?”

His restraint snaps. “Sammy, move,” he growls, moving around to your backside. Sam moves to your front.

“Hey, angel,” he smiles, fingers tangling in your hair. He smirks as your hands fly for his cock, groaning as you squeeze it when Dean’s hand smacks your ass hard, thrusting into you.

“I’m gonna mark you up real fuckin’ good,” Dean smirks.

Sam smiles down at you when your tongue runs up the vein along the side of his twitching shaft. Your eyes don’t leave his until he, too, takes your throat and forces himself down.

Your boys are so similar and yet so different, and they don’t even see it.

From behind you, you can hear skin slapping against skin as Dean fucks into your weeping cunt. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you moan around Sam’s cock. However, that doesn’t stop Sam from forcing your head down more.

As Dean keeps thrusting in and out, you feel yourself getting close to the edge. Your hands start stroking Sam’s cock even faster, your tongue swirling around the head even more. He gets the message, tapping your shoulder three times to signal he understands.

Dean’s voice is close to your ear the next time you hear him. “Baby, you ready for us?” he whispers.

You whimper, Sam’s shaft muffling the noise, but they both understand. Dean slams his hips into yours quicker, and Sam forces your head down at a faster rate.

You scream around Sam when you reach climax, your vision going spotty and your wings projecting a large shadow on the walls. You feel the vein under your tongue throb as your mouth is coated with the younger brother’s seed, and the older brother’s fills you up shortly after.

Dean slowly pulls out when you take your mouth off of Sam’s dick with a pop. You swallow Sam’s cum, and Dean gently pulls you to lay back on the bed.

Sam comes around to one side, Dean on the other. You feel Sam’s arms wrap around your middle from behind as Dean lets you rest your ear on his heart.

All three of you try to catch your breath. It’s no secret you weren’t expecting this today. But you’re not at all disappointed.

Because you have your boys, in your bed, and they helped you feel good. They’ll always worship you, and they’ll hold you when things get rough.

“I love you both,” you whisper.

Dean presses a kiss to your forehead and Sam presses one to your shoulder as they whisper “I love you”s back to you.

And you doze off, all cares in the world gone, even if for a split moment.

Taglist

@cevans-is-classic

@peoplewatching-notstalker

@meeshsen

@shouldntyoubeinthewoodssomewhere

@lordofanguish

@valdelion

@pansaremykryptonite

[drafts-and-delusions]

Are request open?

If so, could ask for a Saiki K.! Reader x Saja boys. Like her overly joyful friends take her to the meet and greet and she is just reading their minds like “wtf why do you hate me? You’re literally a demon.” And they get together, the end! (I’m joshing; you don’t have to write the ending like that. But this idea would be very cool!!)

Psychic at The Fanmeet

Tags: psychic!reader, telepathy, crack fic, dry humor i literally did not know what to do with this but i found the concept interesting. also, i didnt include the overly joyful friends much bc saiki prefers doing his own thing.

You did not want to be here.

The folding chairs were plastic. The air-conditioning was questionable. The banner above the table said SAJA BOYS FAN MEET!!! And your friends were bouncing in their seats like caffeinated squirrels.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cry if Jinu looks at me,” one whispers.

“Abby’s so hot when he doesn’t smile,” another swoons.

Meanwhile, you’re just trying to survive. Because unlike the other hundred fans packed into this cramped, echoey function hall, you can hear thoughts.

All of them.

Which, in this case, means every person in this room sounds like a badly tuned radio full of thirst comments, intrusive thoughts, and the occasional “did I leave the oven on?” looping in surround sound.

The chaos is deafening. But then, the Saja Boys walk in.

The screaming is immediate. Your friends are grabbing your arms like you’re being sacrificed to gods, squealing like it’s 2014 and One Direction just got back together. You, however, just lean back in your creaky chair and have no choice but to listen.

JINU: "I hope this is over quick. I can already feel my fake smile twitching."

ROMANCE: "Three more hours of pretending to flirt with mortals. Lovely."

MYSTERY: "Don’t make eye contact. Don’t sniff anyone. Don’t eat anyone."

ABBY: "Cute. Too bad they’re all humans. I’d love to break their necks."

BABY: "Bet half of these girls would sell their souls just to sit on my lap. Pathetic."

You blink.

Wait.

Demons? THEY’RE DEMONS?!

You sit up straight, stunned, heart thudding with the realization. You knew something was off. their energy was always too smooth, too sharp, but this? This was something you never could have expected. It was ridiculous.

You glance at your friends. They’re too busy clutching their merch and screaming over a non-human boy band that you have just uncovered an S-grade scandal.

You stared at the boys. They were already seated; polished, picture-perfect, smiling like every eyelash flutter had been choreographed in advance.

Fakers. All of them.

So, naturally, when it was finally your turn to approach the meet-and-greet table, you did the only reasonable thing a girl like you could do.

You smiled politely.

And spoke directly into their heads.

Jinu was first. He greeted you with a prince-like smile, soft and practiced. “Hi, thanks for coming.”

"Do you rehearse that smile in the mirror, or is it just set to default?"

His expression twitched. Just barely. His smile faltered for half a second before he blinked and glanced around like someone had dropped a ghost in the room.

Aloud, you said, “Thanks for your hard work.”

Another blink. Jinu looked rattled.

You move to Romance.

He grins, leaning forward like he’s about to make your entire bloodline swoon. “Hey, sweetheart.”

"You smell like ego and overpriced cologne."

His eye twitches. He recovers fast, but you see the crack.

Aloud, you murmur, “You’re really charming in person.”

“Do they teach that at Demon Idol Academy, or are you just naturally unbearable?”

Romance coughs once and stares at the table like it personally offended him.

Mystery is next.

He doesn’t speak. Just offers you a silent nod and an intense stare.

"You’re the worst at hiding it, by the way."

His eyes widen slightly.

Aloud, you say sweetly, “Your stage presence is really cool.”

"But you literally tried to attack someone last month, didn't you?"

Mystery jerks so violently that his chair squeaks.

Abby gave you a lazy smirk. “You having fun, gorgeous?”

"Oh, you’re the worst one."

His smirk wavered.

"You were literally fantasizing about neck-snapping ten minutes ago. That’s rude."

His mouth opened, then closed. Was that shame? Disbelief? The five stages of grief?

You smiled. “Big fan of your dancing.”

"But not a fan of your mental slideshow. You need therapy."

Last was Baby.

He leaned forward with twinkling eyes, like he already knew all your secrets. “Hi there.”

"You’re trying to make me squirm. It’s not working."

He blinked, thrown off.

“Cute sweater,” you said out loud.

"Do they come in man-child sizes, or did you special order them?"

Baby let out a soft, startled laugh. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. But he wasn't sure what to say or do, especially in front of an audience.

You tilted your head. “Yeah. I can hear you. Yes, all of you. No, I won’t tell anyone.”

You paused.

“Yet.”

Now, five demon boys were staring at you. Silent, exposed. Like the masks slipped mid-performance, and someone finally saw their real faces.

Your friends wave you over from the side, oblivious.

You wave back, but not before waving at the demons like a fan waving goodbye shyly.

“Smile, boys. You’re still on stage.”

Your friends pounced the second you returned to your seat.

“So? How was it?” one asked, grabbing your arm.

“Did you have fun?” another chimed in, practically vibrating.

You sat down, still feeling the weight of five burning stares drilling into the back of your head.

“They’re still looking at you,” someone whispered. “Like, hard. Why are they looking at you like that?”

You shrugged, tugging the blanket of normalcy back over your shoulders.

“No clue,” you said, popping a gummy snack into your mouth like you hadn’t just verbally suplexed a demon boy band. “Guess I just made an impression.”

[taomyou]

nerds do it better - chapter 5: Satorumon

synopsis: You know, most people wouldn't be all that interested in getting to know the weird Digimon kid. Good thing you're not most people! - or, you and Gojo meet at a Digimon TCG game night and become really, really good friends. tags: gojo satoru x reader, nerd!gojo, fem!nerd!reader, modern au, college/uni au, fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pining, cosplay, displays of affection, slow burn, kissing & making out || wc: 13.6k to search on tumblr, use #nerds do it better.tao taglist: @okkupid (comment to join!) ao3 || tumblr masterlist || next chapter's hints || digimon reference guide

You and Gojo stand in silence, uncomfortably close to each other and everyone else around you.

. . .

Uh, well, actually.

The people behind you are arguing with strangers and trying to push through the line to “find their friends,” the couple in front of you are loudly talking about what they’re going to do to each other when they get to the nearest family bathroom, and you’re pretty sure that no one apart from you, Gojo, and the sibling duo in Kagamine Rin and Len cosplay next to you is wearing deodorant.

So, silence probably isn’t the right word to use right now.

You can feel Gojo nervously looking around, and you’re trying just as hard to not let your annoyance and discomfort find their way to your face. You’re probably not doing that great a job, but you just hope that anyone who’s looking at you right now is just checking out your cosplay.

Gojo clears his throat next to you, tugging at his collar with one hand and fanning himself with the other. “Crazy weather we've been having, huh?”

“Yep! Sure are!” You grin sarcastically, forcing a laugh through your teeth. You angle your fan towards Gojo, who hums as the breeze comes towards him. “How long have we been standing here, by the way?”

“Huh?” Gojo leans in closer to hear you. “Speak up!”

“How long have we been in line?” You ask louder.

“Oh!” Gojo shakes his wrist to unveil two Vital Bracelets from underneath his sleeve. He offered to take care of yours for you today, seeing as you wouldn’t be able to wear it with your cosplay, so he’s got both a blue strap and a pink one on. He presses the button for the time, and he frowns before turning the screen towards you. “Almost two hours.”

“Great,” you groan, dramatically throwing your head back. You already asked the same question, like five minutes ago, so you don’t know what answer you were hoping for, but certainly not that.

Gojo chuckles before nodding his head in acknowledgment, humming as he guides your head back safely onto his shoulder without poking him again like it had back at the hotel room.

You know neither of you want to say it, but you know he’s thinking the same thing.

Let’s leave.

It’s still early—a modest 10 in the morning—but the searing heat combined with all the warm, sweaty bodies around you is starting to make you feel faint. Not enough for you to actually need to leave, but you’re leaning on Gojo as much as your outfit allows so that you don’t have to exert all your energy standing upright. Gojo’s faring slightly better, but if even he’s feeling hot, there’s no hope for the rest of you.

You and Gojo have already gotten through all the “would you rather” questions you prepared to kill the time, and you’ve started dipping into the “deep and personal” questions Gojo keeps on standby for when he needs something to fill the time. The line is moving, sure, but not fast enough for either of you to feel any sort of relief when you take your small steps forward.

You both planned on standing in line for an unreasonably long time, but this is getting ridiculous. They’ve been checking badges for an hour or so already, but you can only now start to see the queue to get through that and security.

Thank goodness you chose a cosplay that didn’t require heels.

One of the many voices surrounding you gets louder, but you don’t pay any mind to it until Gojo pokes at your cheek to pull you away from your thoughts. He says your name repeatedly, trying to get your attention.

“Huh?” You look up at him, careful not to move too much and poke him with your horns. Gojo tips his head in the direction of a stranger, and you look back to see the Rin cosplayer. She looks maybe a year or two younger than you and Gojo.

“Hi! I just wanted to say I, uh, really like your cosplay. You’re Lilithmon, right?”

You smile, nodding enthusiastically. “I am! Thank you, I’m happy you recognized it! The two of you look great, too!”

“Thanks!” After a nudge from the Len, she clears her throat and nervously smiles, swatting away his elbow. “Would it be alright if I got a picture of you?”

“Oh! Yeah, of course!” You hurry to put your phone in your purse, and before you even try to set it aside on the floor, Gojo takes it off your hands. “Do I look okay?” You ask him.

“May I?” Gojo asks, hand hovering over your bangs. You nod, and while the Rin fumbles with her camera, Gojo fixes your hair for you, humming as he gently readjusts one of the pins. He smiles once it's back in its proper place, and he steps aside to get out of the photo, space permitting, and you pose.

“Okay! One, two, three!” You hear a few clicks from the camera, and when she nods, you start to step forward to offer your contact so she could send the pictures to you after the con.

Before you can do that, though, the Len cosplayer is raising his hand. “If it’s okay with you, could she also get a picture with you? My sister’s too awkward to ask, and it’s her first time at one of these things.”

“Hey! I told you not to tell anyone that! And I was gonna ask eventually!” The Rin groans, kicking her brother’s shin. When you and Gojo both laugh at their exchange, she turns red and awkwardly laughs. “Sorry about that! But, uh, it’s totally okay if not!”

“No, no, please!” You beckon her to come in for a picture, and after she hands the camera to her brother, she rushes in. At the same time, Gojo moves over to where the camera is, and he smiles and gives two enthusiastic thumbs-ups from behind the Len cosplayer.

You take a few pictures posing together, a couple casual ones with peace signs, and one making a joint heart. Before the Len can lower the camera, Gojo gestures over to where you are and tips his head. “Do you want a picture with them, too? I don’t mind taking it.”

“Oh! Are you sure?”

Gojo scoffs playfully. “Uh, duh!” The Len cosplayer hands him the camera and instructs him on how to take the picture, and Gojo nods dutifully as he pushes up his glasses and takes the camera. After the two Kagamine siblings are posed on both sides of you, Gojo closes one eye as he holds it up to his face, and he leans back to get everyone in the frame. “Okay, one, two, three!”

You don’t know why he even bothered counting down because you already hear clicks before he gets to three, but you can’t afford to roll your eyes at him and ruin the picture.

“Okay, now a silly one!” Gojo encourages, now squatting so he can get new angles. The three of you do several, and after Gojo stands upright again, he beams, giving another thumbs-up. “Alright, awesome!”

All four of you rush to move forward in the line, which has moved considerably while you’ve been taking pictures. Gojo comes back over to the three of you to hand back the camera, and the Rin cosplayer stays next to you.

“Could I ask you for Instagram or something so I could send you the pictures later?”

You nod. “Yeah, I was gonna offer it to you anyway. I can type it in.”

She pulls out her phone from her pocket and hands it to you after opening it up to the Instagram search bar, and you send yourself a follow request. You give the device back to her, and you both watch as Gojo and the Len cosplayer go through the pictures together. They’re talking about something you can’t really hear over all the noise, so you start up a conversation with her, exchanging names properly.

“So, this is your first con?”

“Yep! My brother’s been to a few, but I’ve never been before because I’m, uh, broke.”

“It’s okay, me too,” you offer with a sympathetic smile. “It’ll be fun, though!”

“Yes, waiting in lines and standing around while everyone stinks up the room is so much fun,” she says sarcastically.

You awkwardly laugh. “It’ll be fun once you get inside.”

“It better be, I saved up for months to come,” she grumbles. “But, I mean, I’m still excited! The line’s moving faster now.” She ushers all four of you forward again, and you peer over the people in front of you to see that the line is, indeed, moving along nicely. Instead of standing still, you can now walk slowly.

“Finally,” you sigh. “So, are you guys planning on attending every day of the con?”

She shakes her head. “Nah, just today. You?”

“Yeah, I think so. We have badges for the entire weekend, but we might skip Sunday if we’re too tired. All the panels we wanna go to are today and Saturday, anyway.”

“Lucky, I wish I could stay longer. My brother has work and I have an exam I have to study for, so we have to head back tonight,” she groans. “Are you planning to cosplay the other days, then?”

“Nah, too much work. This was already enough of a hassle to deal with,” you gesture vaguely at yourself.

“You look great, though, it’s totally worth it!”

You bashfully smile. “Thank you, I appreciate that.” You’ve been recognized in cosplay before and have had plenty of interactions like this, but it’s the first time today and in this cosplay.

“Oh, who’s your boyfriend cosplaying, anyway? Are you guys matching?”

“Huh?” You raise a brow. “Boyfriend?”

“Yeah, the guy with the white hair.” She points over to Gojo, who’s now laughing with his hand on the back of his neck. The two of them talk animatedly, and when Gojo catches you staring, he waves cutely before resuming their conversation.

“Oh!” You turn pink, and your hand goes to where Gojo’d adjusted your hairpin earlier. “He’s Cool Boy from Digimon Liberator. We didn’t plan to match, it just kinda happened that we both cosplayed as Digimon characters.”

“Really? Wasn’t planned?” She sighs wistfully with her hands on her cheeks, looking between you and Gojo. “You look so good together, I’m so jealous. My brother is, too. He’s been grumbling about how cute you guys have been in line, saying he’s gonna, like, ‘change the trajectory of your lives’ or something if you kiss in front of us.”

“I see,” you start, then biting your lip.

Should you correct her and tell her that Gojo isn’t your boyfriend? She seems convinced he is, and you can’t really blame her for the assumption. Just a few minutes ago, you were leaning against him as he asked you what your first impression of him was—which was that he was really, really cute and that you’d never think you’d be able to be this close to him, but he obviously can’t know that so you just told him that you thought he was a huge nerd and that you still feel that way—, and he was so soft re-clipping your hairpin for you, holding onto your things for you.

At the same time, as much as you want Gojo to be your boyfriend—not that you’d ever admit that to anyone, or yourself, even—he isn’t, and pretending he is probably isn’t great for your heart. You’d felt it earlier when you were back at the hotel and you were killing time before getting ready, daydreaming about him and sulking to yourself that you were too much of a coward to do anything about it.

You choose to be selfish and lie. You’ll deal with your feelings later.

“We’ll be sure to not… kiss in front of you guys, then.”

She waves you off, shaking her head. “It’s too late, him fixing your hair earlier for the picture was more intimate than kissing.” You blush, now full-on red, and she laughs, seeing you get so shy. “But, seriously, the two of you are really cute. How long have you been together?”

“Uh,” before you can come up with an answer, Gojo comes back to you, his hand finding its way to the small of your back.

Not possessive, not domineering. Just… gentle. With his other hand, Gojo holds out your phone. “Your mom called. Sorry, I couldn’t pick up before it went to voicemail.”

“Oh, thank you,” you sigh in relief, leaning into his touch and taking your phone. “No worries, I’ll text her back. It’s too loud to talk over the phone here, anyway, and she probably just wants pictures of us together.”

“Oh, really, Princess? I’ll be sure to take plenty today, then,” he chuckles.

The Rin cosplayer gives you a look, one that you recognize after having seen it so many times on other people’s faces when Gojo pulls out his nickname for you like that, and she clears her throat before waving one last time.

“I’m gonna get back to my brother now, but thank you again for the pictures! I’ll make sure to send them later!”

“Thank you, and you’re welcome! Have a good time at the con, hope we run into you again.” You wave goodbye to her and her brother, and they drift away as the line continues moving forward. Nearly at security, now.

You unlock your phone, and Gojo gently presses with his hand on your back to guide you as you look down to text your mom to ask what she wants. She tells you what you already knew to do—send pictures of yourself with “that handsome boy you brought home during spring break that likes that digimon show you like”—and you swear you’ve never turned down your screen brightness faster.

Gojo hands your purse back to you when you’ve turned your phone off, and as you’re putting it away, he speaks up.

“So, what’d you two talk about? You and the Rin cosplayer?”

“We just chatted about the con, nothing special, really.” Can’t exactly tell him that she swooned over you and your not-boyfriend. “What’d you and her brother talk about?”

“Uh,” he pauses, pulling away slightly to look ahead of yourselves, “same thing, pretty much.”

The line splits off into several lanes for bag screening, and because Gojo’s wearing a backpack and you’ve only got a purse, you’re separated. Getting through security is painless, probably because the workers have gotten into the groove of it by now, and you wait before the ticket check area as Gojo waits for his bag to be properly checked.

He jogs up to you, putting his backpack on properly. “Sorry, did you wait long? You could’ve gone through, I would’ve found you after.”

“I didn’t have to wait long, I don’t mind either way,” you shrug, leading the two of you over to the shortest queue to get inside. The two of you wait quietly, and after you both get checked in, you’re given your badges.

Before following the crowd towards the entrance to the first convention hall, Gojo veers off to the side. You follow him, trying to put on your badge without it getting tangled in your horns as you walk, but Gojo stops you. Once in a clear enough area, he gently takes your badge from you and carefully puts it on for you.

You look down at it, too shy to look up at him. “Thank you, Gojo.”

“You’re welcome! You ready to go in?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Looking over at the entrance, he holds out his hand to you, prompting you to take it. “So you don’t get lost.”

You do, but you apologize as his fingers can wrap around yours. “Sorry, I’m kinda nervous.”

“It’s okay, me too. Can’t you feel my hand shaking?” Gojo laughs.

“Nope.” Well, actually, you figured that was your hand shaking.

Before he can make any kind of comment about it, you tug him along, his grip getting tighter to not lose you as you blend into the crowd.

And, you swear, you think you’re going to die when you feel his thumb rub circles into yours.

☆

“Just get both of them! It’s not like you’re going to ever get the chance again!”

“Yeah, but I already told myself I wouldn’t spend too much on prints!”

“Oh, come on, you’re not gonna find merch for your niche indie horror JRPG anywhere else, probably! Just get it!”

“He’s right, you know,” the artist laughs, having kept up with all your bickering in front of their booth for the last five minutes. “I took a lap earlier, couldn’t find anything.”

Gojo gestures vaguely towards them, nodding frantically. “See!?”

You sigh, pulling out your wallet from your purse. “I’m gonna regret this so fucking hard later.”

“I know you won’t, but whatever you say, sweetheart,” Gojo chuckles.

You tell the artist which prints you want, and they have you pay before disappearing behind their display to pack them up for you. While you wait, Gojo mindlessly looks through their pin bin next to where the artist has their business cards. The artist comes back, your prints now in a shiny plastic sleeve, and you thank them before stepping off to the side to put it into the bag that’s been steadily getting heavier with other prints.

And keychains.

And pins.

And stickers.

And plushies.

And accessories.

And apparel.

. . .

Once it’s securely away (and before the realization hits that you’ve already spent way too much money in this specific artist alley alone), you hear Gojo thank the artist before joining you in the open space off to the side. Looking up, you see that he has a pin with one of your favorite characters in his hand.

“Oh, that’s so cute! Did you see another one in the bin?”

“I thought you were trying to be smart with your money,” he chuckles.

“I am! I was just wondering,” you huff. You probably wouldn’t get another pin (...probably). “This is your fault, too, Cool Boy. Stop enabling my irresponsible purchases!”

He takes off his glasses to glare at you properly. “Hey, you’re enabling mine, too! I didn’t have to buy the whole set of Digi peeker stickers at that one booth, but you peer pressured me!”

“What’re we, five? I didn’t peer pressure you! I just, uh,” you kiss your teeth, “strongly encouraged you to get them. And you were gonna get them anyway!”

(You’re both wrong.)

(Both of you are to blame.)

“I don’t even have any more space on my car to put them anywhere!”

“Which is why I so graciously offered to split the price with you and take anything you don’t want off your hands,” you roll your eyes. “And you have space on your back windows, put them there.”

“What do you mean, ‘put them on your back windows?’ That’s where the blind spots are!” Gojo exclaims.

“You don’t need the whole window, but I guess you can’t take any chances,” you grumble, taking a jab at his driving.

“You’re so cute when you’re being a hater,” he teases, leaning down to be eye level with you. “Lighten up, I’m just messing with you.”

He pulls your hands up, poking at them until your palms are open, and he puts the pin in them before looking away, standing up straight again. Whatever he’s looking at, you can’t really tell because his glasses are back on, but nevermind that!

“Gojo,” you swoon, looking between him and the pin, “is this for me?”

“No, I’m just letting you hold it,” he says sarcastically. “Of course it’s for you.”

You know he’s in tune with your fandom interests, but it’s tugging on your heartstrings extra hard today to be reminded of how much he pays attention when you’re telling him about the things you like. Obviously, you know he’s listening, but it’s another thing to be reminded of it like this. He’s already grabbed a few stickers for you to put on your suitcase later, too, extra careful to choose ones that fit well with the ones you’ve already got on there.

You beam, and you slip the pin into your bag before reaching up to pull him down for a hug. “Aw, you didn’t have to, thank you! Sorry I’m being so annoying, you know I don’t mean it!”

“Don’t worry, I know,” he muses.

You can’t really hug him in earnest because Lilithmon’s claw is in the way, but Gojo still melts into you all the same. He rocks you back and forth, shifting your forms from side-to-side, and he gives your body a big squeeze before letting you go. When you pull away from him, though, you feel an uncomfortable tug on your head from your purse strap getting caught on your horns.

You exhale through your nose in annoyance as you try to untangle it with your one functional hand, but before you can really stress much more about it, Gojo stops you.

“Here, let me do it.”

As he carefully lifts and pulls your purse strap, you keep your eyes to the side. “Thank you,” you say under your breath.

“Would it be easier for you to just keep your purse in my backpack? I don’t mind.”

“Really? You sure?”

“‘Course! Here,” Gojo turns around and squats down just enough for you to be able to put your things into his backpack at your height.

“Gojo, I love you,” you say wistfully, unzipping the biggest pocket and carefully placing your purse inside, then taking your phone and wallet out to keep it on-hand. “Thank you!”

After you zip it back closed, Gojo stands up straight again, hands on his hips as he stretches side to side. “So, you ready to keep going?”

“Yeah, let’s.” You smile up at him, taking his hand to lead him in the direction you were taking before your little squabble.

“Are you sure this is the right way?”

“Respectfully, Gojo, you have no directional awareness, so I’m not listening to you.”

“I’m rolling my eyes right now, if you couldn’t tell.”

You pinch the skin on his hand, just enough for him to yelp and let go of you, and you laugh as you get settled into the next booth.

As you rifle through this next artist’s stickers and Gojo stands comfortably behind a small group of friends next to you and looks over the prints posted at the back wall, time goes back to flying by.

A few hours have already passed since the two of you have properly gotten through security, and it’s been… great. Really, really great.

For as much grief you and Gojo have been giving each other about it, you’re both incredibly happy with all the fan and official merch you’ve gotten throughout the early afternoon, and there’s a fair amount of freebies that’ve also been nice to get. You haven’t reached the exhibition halls that show off all the new content for the upcoming year yet—that's saved for tomorrow's itinerary—, but you’re sure to find more things being given away for free there, too, either by other con-goers or companies trying to advertise.

You’ve already run into a few people who brought their own Digimon stickers and charms to give out to other people cosplaying from the franchise, and while Gojo still hasn’t properly been recognized yet as Cool Boy, the DTCG card he has works as a way to ID him, and he’s received all the same freebies you have.

Earlier, you were given a Koromon phone charm and him a Botamon one, and once the sweet girl who was handing them out left after talking to you both about the new upcoming Digimon game and asking for directions to get to that panel room later, you both looked at each other and silently switched. Gojo had no idea how to put it on his phone case, though, so you did that for him while he texted your mom (and himself) some more pictures of the two of you around the convention from your phone.

Damn your mother for liking him so much.

Between all the starts and stops, you and him are whisked by the wind towards all the things you love together. Wide-eyed through artist alleys, cheering for miscellaneous singing and dancing groups in concert halls, waiting in lines that are too long to grab signatures from your favorite VAs and authors. There’s plenty to do, plenty to see.

Along the way, you’re frequently asked for permission to take photos of and with you in your cosplay, you’re pulled away from the calming hurricane. And, every time, Gojo’s there with you, smiling brightly and offering to take pictures from a million different angles. He’ll strike up conversation as he’s crouched down and trying to make sure he’s got the best lighting possible, and when you’re far enough away after the interaction, he’ll ask if you’re alright. Thankfully, nobody’s been weird or overly touchy, but you’re touched that he’s still asking anyway.

On that note, you can’t help but feel sad that he hasn’t gotten the same recognition you have. You know that Cool Boy isn’t as recognizable a character, especially with as little promotional material he gets, but every time you’re approached by someone who’s calling for Lilithmon, you wish to yourself that they could also acknowledge Gojo in his cosplay.

You can’t really tell how he feels about it—you know he’s happy for you, so jealousy wouldn’t be the right way to describe the brief shift in energy as he’s helping you open and close your lip gloss or asks to reach behind your ear to brush away a piece of confetti that’s landed in your hair—but you don’t know how to ask when he spins you around so quickly that you can’t see his face that much longer before you have to go pose in front of the camera.

You don’t have the time to dwell on these thoughts, though. There’s too much to do, too much to see.

As of right now, you aren’t all that interested in buying anything from this booth, so you move aside so that other people can look at the display. Gojo’s pulling out his wallet to pay for the prints he’s getting from here, though, so you watch from the side as he tells the artist how glad he is to have found them before he’s officially run out of money to spend.

When he’s finished, the two of you make your way down the lane, walking slowly so as to scan everything you see. It’s quieter now, probably because most people are gathered at one of the panels for a more popular game series in another exhibit hall, so the two of you relish in the silence as you peruse the last few sections of the alley before finding something else to do.

Then, Gojo spots it before you do—a booth selling primarily Digimon-themed items in another lane, closer towards the exit for this hall. “Wanna look over there?” You nod, and the two of you weave through the thinning crowd to get there.

At some point, your hand finds itself in his again, but neither of you say anything about it, even after you get there together. In fact, he doesn’t seem to pay any mind to your touch at all, leaning down to look at all the keychains hanging on the gridwall with his fingers still laced with yours.

You try to do the same, pretend that his touch doesn’t make your heart beat out of your chest, but even all the cute keychains in front of you aren’t enough of a distraction.

Pull it together. You’ve held hands before, and you didn’t think about it then.

Thankfully, though, the artist behind the display is quick to greet you, and you take the opportunity to let go of Gojo’s hand to wave hello. Again, he doesn’t seem to really pay attention, also waving hello with the hand that was just holding yours.

“Let me know if you have any questions at all! And, just so you know, anything in here,” she gestures to the small bin at the end of the front table, “is B-grade, so it’ll be a bit cheaper.”

You and Gojo both wordlessly gravitate towards the bin full of bagged charms and keychains, knowing that whatever bargain either of you can get, you’ll be taking. The small scratches and discolorations don’t really bother you, anyway, and Gojo’s the same way.

You know you really don’t I anymore Digimon merch, but before you can pull away and let yourself get dissuaded from buying anything else, Gojo’s already picking up a keychain of your favorite mon and dangling it in front of you. “Hey, you should get this!”

“Gojo, you can’t keep doing this to me,” you let out a little sob, pulling your hand away to wipe at fake tears. He doesn’t say anything when you hold out your palm for him to give it to you, only smiles as he drops it into your hand, the metal keyrings clinking as they fall into each other.

Space willing, your hand brushes against the velvet of his glove, but you don’t have the energy to care about that when you’re on the search for some glassy boots.

A few moments later, you snicker to yourself when you see a SkullGreymon charm, and you’re quick to grab it (and another keychain) before Gojo can see them. The abrupt movement catches his attention, and he pales when he sees the Dark Digivolved mon in your hand. “Get that… thing away from me.”

You know he isn’t going to do anything about it, so you playfully hold it up and jingle it on its loop. “Aw, c’mon! I think he’s super cute.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Gojo’s face falls, and he leans back while wincing.

You are kidding, but you know Gojo’s still afraid of SkullGreymon as an adult (at least, if his reaction to Greymon’s Dark Digivolve during your, like, fifth rewatch of Adventure together is anything to go by), so you don’t mind lying to scare him a tiny bit.

“Nope,” you say nonchalantly. “You know, he’s actually been growing on me a lot, I might get this for myself.”

“Uh,” he awkwardly chuckles, smiling with his teeth. “Yeah! Go ahead, he’s all yours.”

“You sure you don’t want him?” You get on your tippy-toes to hold it even closer to him. “He’d fit with your Agumon pins.”

“Yes, yes! I’m very sure!” He leans back as far as his body lets him, eyes closed tight as he looks away. “Please, get it away!”

“Or what?”

“I don’t know!” Gojo scutters away to the other end of the booth, holding out his hands to put distance between the two of you. “Stay away from me!”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh as you carefully place the SkullGreymon back in the B-grade bin. “I’m sorry, couldn’t resist.”

“You should be sorry, you’re so mean to me,” he huffs, heaving with a hand over his chest now to recover his breath. You try going over to him, but, instead, he dodges you by going around your body entirely and ignoring you.

“Gojo?”

No response as he flips over some of the keychains on the display rack, looking at their backsides.

A minute or so later, you try again from your spot at the jewelry.

“Gojo?”

Again, no response as he looks at the themed lanyards hanging from a different part of the display.

You try again after another minute, this time from the car accessories.

“...Are you mad at me?”

After a brief pause, he nods, and he moves further away from you before pushing his glasses up to sit on the top of his head to get a better look at the variety of card sleeves available for sale on the table.

You can’t help but roll your eyes. You know he’s not actually mad—you can literally see the self-satisfied smile on his face when he steals glances at you, thinking you’re distraught and grovelling for his forgiveness—, but you’ll let him have his fun.

You already know what you’re getting, so you go to pay for the two B-grade keychains you have in your hand. It’s a bit of work, though, opening your wallet with your one properly functional hand, so you nervously laugh, trying to ease the awkwardness of the situation. “Sorry, I haven’t quite gotten the hang of this yet.”

“No worries, take your time!” She chirps. “Also, I love your cosplay! Did you put it together yourself?”

“Oh! Thank you, and, yes, I did.”

“Nice, nice! I’ve seen a couple other Digimon cosplayers today, but no Lilithmons yet, so you’re the first!” After a brief pause, she peers over the divider separating herself from the front of her booth, and she looks over at Gojo. “...Say, does your boyfriend really hate SkullGreymon that much?”

This time, when Gojo being your boyfriend is implied, you’re too focused on getting the proper amount of cash to correct her, so you just nod, not bothering to make sure Gojo is out of earshot. He’s supposedly mad at you right now, anyway, so you figure he’s going to try to act all aloof and keep ignoring you.

“Yeah, something like that,” you answer.

You smile at the memory as it comes back to mind—that of him hiding beneath your blankets and spilling his popcorn on the couch during the very first rewatch you did with him when SkullGreymon dark digivolves for the first time. The two of you weren’t close enough at the time for you to poke fun at him for it, but, thankfully, you’re long past that point by now.

And, I mean, you get it. You’re also deathly afraid of SkullGreymon, just not enough for it to get in the way of your teasing. Any other situation, you’d be sobbing hysterically at the sight of that damn skeleton.

“Sorry about that, by the way. We were probably being a nuisance.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” she waves you off. “It was funny, my girlfriend reacts the same way when I show her pictures of Piedmon.”

You shudder. “Ugh, I hate him, too, I don’t blame her.”

You finally gather the exact payment, and after you hand it to her, the artist counts it and gives you a thumbs-up. “Alright, awesome! Sit tight, I’ll get these bagged up for you.”

“Thank you!”

You wait patiently, looking off somewhere else to give her some privacy, and Gojo sneaks up next to you to ask the artist a question.

“Hi! Sorry to interrupt you, but do you have anything for Cendrillmon?”

“Uh,” she pauses to think over the question, “I think I only have B-grades left of her keychains. If they’re not there, then I’m out, sorry.”

Gojo lets out a disappointed sigh, looking off with a frown. “I didn’t see any, did you?”

“Oh, so now you wanna acknowledge me?” You tease, looking up at him.

He freezes for a second before crossing his arms with a nonchalant huff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” you wave him off. You notice that the artist has gotten your things all together, so you take them from her with an earnest smile. “Thank you!”

“No, thank you!”

Gojo’s grabbed a business card, presumably to check for any future products he’d want to order later, but it doesn’t seem like he’s going to buy anything right now, so the two of you start to leave for the hall exit.

Before you can get too far, though, the artist calls after you. “Oh, hey! Just so you know, I put in some freebies for you two, I hope you like them!”

“Oh, thank you again!”

Gojo gives her an enthusiastic double thumbs-up, and the two of you are on your way out, for real this time.

Out in the more open hallways of the convention center, you lead Gojo and yourself to a more clear area that’s out of the way of people walking around.

You beckon him to come closer as you open the parchment bag she put your items in, and you look up at him expectantly. “Hold out your hand.”

“Huh?” Immediately, he senses something’s wrong. “No way.”

You tug on the sleeve of his coat to try and get him to do as you say, and when he doesn’t immediately fold, you forcefully open the palm of his hand, and you make him take the keychain you got for him.

He tenses and closes his fist around it, probably thinking it’s that SkullGreymon you scared him with earlier, and he tries giving it back to you. You both push and pull, trying to force the other to take it, but he’s stronger than you, and you’re having to push pretty hard to even try matching his effort.

“Come on, just take it,” you sigh. “I’m trying to say ‘sorry.’”

“Apology accepted! Please, no more scary digimon!”

“Gojo,” you say firmly, “do you trust me?”

“Well…” he chuckles breathlessly.

“Oh my god,” you whine, taking the acrylic back from him and holding it out in the palm of your own hand. “Just look.”

Gojo leans away for good measure before opening his eyes, and he sighs in relief when he sees that there isn’t a mini SkullGreymon in your hand.

Then, he promptly squeals and leans down to get a closer look when he sees what mon you’d actually got for him. “No way!” He takes it from you and holds it up to his eyes, watching as the reflective pieces on Cendrillmon’s boots bend in the light. “For me?!”

“No, I’m just letting you hold it,” you parrot playfully, smiling as you watch him inspect it. “‘Course it’s for you.”

“You’re too good to me, Princess,” he sighs wistfully. Gojo then breaks out a grin, and he covers his mouth with his hand as he snickers. “I guess you’re forgiven.”

“You already said I was, but sure.”

Gojo takes out his phone to take a picture of the chibi Cendrillmon, probably to send to the group chat as a badge of your favor, but before he puts the device away, he points to the parchment parcel. “Get yours out, too, I wanna take a picture with both of them!”

You take out the keychain of your own favorite mon, and you hold it up next to his in the palm of your hand. He takes the picture, and he holds his phone closer to his face to look at it.

He flips the screen back over to you with a smile. “Look, they’re best friends, just like us!”

At the back of your mind, you can hear your friends sighing in exasperation at you right now. Something about how you shouldn’t be happy Gojo just called you his friend, but your heart swells at the sentiment anyway.

There is no pang of sadness that you should probably feel when the person you like acknowledges you as a friend. You’d be a hypocrite to be upset about it—you consider him your best friend, too—, and you’re happy that regard is shared.

And, besides.

What greater blessing is there than having someone know you?

Whatever’s out there that is, you don’t care enough to trade this closeness for it.

You lean in to see the picture on his phone, and, squinting, you see that underneath your keychain, there’s something that resembles a face-down sticker.

Gojo sees it, too. “Oh! I didn’t notice that earlier. I didn’t know you got a sticker.”

“I didn’t, must be one of the freebies she mentioned.” You flip it over, and your eyes immediately light up. “Aw, wait, that’s so sweet!”

The artist at that booth gifted you a Lilithmon sticker to match with your cosplay!

You and Gojo both marvel at it like it’s a piece of treasure (because it is), and you hold out your things for him to carry while you take a selfie of the sticker up to your cheek. You snap a few pictures, making sure to check to make sure they’re cute enough to send over to your friends later when they ask for them (and maybe because Gojo will probably ask you to send them to him later), and when you put your phone away, you see Gojo looking expectantly looking at the parchment slip, the faint outline through the paper promising him a sticker match of his own.

He carefully slips his fingers inside to grab the sticker, and you watch as he giggles to himself, excited to flip it over and see. He takes a few deep breaths in, breaths out, and he exhales sharply as he looks down at it.

And, when he flips it over, the two of you are absolutely taken aback.

. . .

“Is that…?”

“I… I think it is…”

“I… wow.”

“...Yep.”

There’s a long pause as you both stare at it. Once that passes, Gojo takes off his glasses and lifts the sticker higher up to both your faces, and you rub your eyes (minding your makeup!) to make sure you’re not seeing things wrong.

Because, instead of Cool Boy, in between Gojo’s fingers is a sticker of Professor Oak, Pokémon extraordinaire.

Gojo wails dramatically, his free hand over his chest as he clenches his eyes. “This can’t be happening. Tell me this isn’t happening.”

You try to stifle your giggles behind your hand, but you’re sure your eyes give your amusement away. “Gojo, I am so sorry.”

“I don’t even look like him!” Gojo exclaims, holding up the sticker next to him. “Clearly, I’m not cosplaying Professor Oak!”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Well, you are wearing a red shirt and a white coat, so I can see where she might’ve gotten confused.”

“Great, just great,” he whines, putting his glasses back on. He takes one last look at the sticker before putting it back into its packaging with a huff. “You get recognized and stolen away from me for pictures like, every five minutes, and I get mistaken for Professor Oak by someone running a Digimon merch booth.”

Reflexively, your expression falls, and you put a hand on his shoulder to try and comfort him. “I’m sorry, Gojo. I’m sure you’ll get recognized soon, we’ve got the Digimon panel soon, someone’s bound to know Cool Boy there.”

“It’s okay, it doesn’t bother me that much,” he says, but he still leans into your touch.

“If it’d make you feel better, we don’t have to keep stopping for people to take pictures of me,” you offer. You’re getting kind of tired of it, anyway, so if Gojo’s uncomfortable with it, you really don’t mind turning people down for his peace of mind.

“Huh?” Gojo says, his mouth now open in a half-gape. “Where’d you get that idea from?”

“I mean, it must be annoying for only one of us to be approached about our cosplays, right?” You say as a question. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize that sooner.”

“Stop that,” he says. Gojo takes off his glasses, this time keeping them in his hand to fidget with them, and he frowns down at you. “I have no problem with you getting compliments on your cosplay, you deserve them.”

“Really?”

“I think you should get more, actually.”

“Not what I was referring to,” you mutter under your breath. “Sure, if you say so, but you must still be sad that—”

“I meant it, it really doesn’t bother me,” he says more firmly. “You recognized me, didn’t you?”

You blink up at him, confused. “Well, yeah, of course I did. We’ve been reading Liberator together every other Thursday for, like, the whole time we’ve been friends.”

Gojo smiles in that reassuring way he always knows how to, and he hovers his hand over your head because he can’t really pat it directly when your hairpieces are in the way. “Then it doesn’t matter to me if nobody else knows who I am.”

The frown on your face eases, but it’s still there. “I still feel bad about it anyway.”

“Don’t.”

“You can’t make me.”

“You’re too sweet on me,” he says through a chuckle. “Lucky you, I love desserts.”

The teasing flip in his voice makes you more conscious of how close he is to you. His wrist rests gently on your shoulder, and his hand is playing with the tips of your wings as he looks straight through you. If you were brave enough, you could’ve pulled him down by the collar and kissed him.

You blush, averting your eyes. “You’re so…”

“So what, huh?” He leans down even closer to you, his ear close to your lips to catch your words.

“I…”

You don’t even know what word you were going to use. Not that it really matters, because any word you could’ve used, Gojo’s heard it from you before. Maybe not the ones you keep close to your heart like they’re your initial draw in a match with your most prized deck, but you’re not sure he’d catch on even if you did show them, always in his own world.

That scares you, too.

Just not enough to do anything about it.

Gojo laughs to break the tension, and he repositions himself to be standing next to you, his arm remaining where it is and staying loosely draped over your shoulder. “So, where to next?”

You check your phone for the time, and you’ve got another two hours before that’s the Digimon presentation is scheduled to start. There’s nothing else that’s time-sensitive to do beforehand, so you’re listless until then.

You remember what Gojo’d suggested earlier before leaving the hotel earlier. “Wanna head to the food truck? I remember you promising me a Terriermon parfait this morning.”

He enthusiastically nods, his eyes glittering. “Well, what’re we waiting for? Let’s head out!”

His legs start moving, following the flow of foot traffic out towards the outdoor areas, and you’re naturally pulled along with the tide. The two of you fall into the natural rhythm that’s always there, side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder. Every so often, Gojo will fall back to “sneak” candid shots of you, but you pretend not to notice because you’re just so used to him doing it, even back home.

It’s not hard to find the correct food truck once you’re outside—there’s a few cardboard cutouts of different digimon characters nearby, and there’s someone in a Calumon mascot suit passing out paper menus to people in a line. You’ve got no idea how they’ve survived this heat in that costume, but you hope they’re being paid handsomely for it.

You and Gojo find the end of the line after being handed a paper menu. It’s pretty far from the front, but that’s not too surprising considering that there’s no shortage of people at the convention. At least the line seems to move quickly, but that’s probably because there’s a separate wait after your order is taken.

There’s chatter all around, either from other people in the line trying to decide what to order or large groups of friends figuring out how they’re going to fit in their cars for the ride home, but the two of you are quiet for the most part, just holding the menu between the two of you and trying to read all the finer print. You already know what you want, and you know Gojo does, too, but there’s no reason not to look for the sake of it.

That Terriermon parfait has been calling your name ever since you first saw it on a forum post somewhere talking about different anime food collaborations. A refreshing mint-chocolate ice cream parfait with Terriermon-shaped wafer cookies and a white chocolate horn. There’s also a Lopmon sundae, nearly identical to the Terriermon dessert apart from it being chocolate-strawberry flavored, but you’re hearing whispers around you that it’s already sold out.

Gojo pokes at your shoulder, trying to get your attention. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

You already know what he’s going to ask, so you don’t bother looking up from the menu. “Yes, you can have some of my parfait.”

“Thank you,” he chuckles. “I was going to steal a few bites, regardless, but now I don’t have to be sneaky about it! We can share my Guilmon bread, too.” Gojo points to where that is on the menu, and your eyes zero in on the description of the treat below it.

“A Guilmon-shaped brioche bread bun with peanut butter filling and a powdered sugar Digital Hazard symbol,” you read aloud. In the anime, Guilmon specifically asks Takato’s dad for the Guilmon bread to have a peanut butter filling, and you’re pleasantly surprised this pop-up got that detail correct instead of just choosing a more convenient red jam center. “Wow, they really did their homework.”

“I know, right!?” You look over at Gojo to see his eyes closed in bliss, probably already tasting the flavors on his tongue before he’s even ordered. “I can’t wait!”

“Don’t eat it all in one bite, leave some for me,” you scold gently, punching his shoulder without any bite. “Oh, hey! Look!”

Now that you’ve gotten further in the queue, you can see a small set-up where there's three Digimon Analyzers from the D-Ark in season three of the anime, each one’s color matching one of the three main Digidestined. The display screen is cut out so that people can stand behind it for photos, and there’s a few other cosplayers nearby who look like they’re reviewing their own shots with their respective photographers.

“Could we take some pictures over there later?”

“You know I’ll be your photographer all day, every day, no need to ask!” Gojo replies, already taking out his phone and making a show out of exhaling on and rubbing the camera lens to get it clear.

“You’re so dramatic,” you sigh breathlessly. “But, thank you.”

“‘Course!” Gojo looks between you and the Analyzers, and he ponders to himself. “Which D-Ark are you thinking of taking a picture with?”

“Probably Takato’s, the red matches my card,” you pat down where your EX-6 is secured. “What about you?”

“Huh?” Gojo’s head tilts to the side. “What about me?”

“What D-Ark would you take a picture in?”

“Uh,” he chuckles, looking down at himself. “I’m not a digimon, though. Doesn’t make sense for me to appear on an Analyzer.”

“As if Lilithmon was ever even in Tamers,” you point out, rolling your eyes. “Who cares?”

“I do!”

“You could just be your own digimon, then.”

“Oh, yeah? What’d my name be? Nerdramon? Physicsmon?” He scoffs at his own joke. 

You shudder. “Don’t even start with that.”

“What? It could be a whole thing, my dark digivolve would be, like, Thermodynamicsmon.”

“As if you’d even have a dark digivolve as an evolution option, you cry when Evil Rings are used in Adventure 02.”

“Okay, you’ve got a point there,” he sighs playfully, and he gently nudges you forward as the line continues moving. “For the record, you cry, too.”

“Not as much as you do.”

“Do not!”

(Again, you’re both wrong.)

(Neither of you can keep it together.)

“You still didn’t answer my question. What would my name be, hm?”

You shrug. “I dunno. Just get in for the picture, no one’s going to bug you about it just because you’re not cosplaying a mon.”

“Nope, I’m curious now.” He claps his hands together to ask nicely. “Please, Princess? I’ll step in for a picture if you do.”

There’s a pause as you think to yourself (and you become increasingly aware of how his hands have stayed on you, moving you along through the line). He probably thinks you’re brushing him off completely, but you speak up when you realize he’s still waiting for an answer anyway.

“I guess you’d be…

“Satorumon.”

You hold your breath, looking over at him to gauge his reaction. 

You don’t know if it’s crossing a boundary to use his first name when the both of you don’t ever call each other by them, only ever using surnames and other dumb nicknames, but the combination of words come out before you can stop them because the Digimon fan inside you insists that “Gojomon” is too phonetically similar to “Gomamon” (and the lovergirl in you wants an excuse to use his given name).

“I’d be… Satorumon?”

“Yeah,” you say it more firmly this time. “Satorumon.”

Before either of you can say anything further on the matter, it’s your turn at the register. “Good afternoon, what can I get for you today?”

“Hi! Sorry, just one second,” you excuse yourselves quickly. “Did you want to order together so our things come out at the same time?” You ask Gojo.

He blinks a few times, seemingly processing your words before he chuckles and takes out his wallet. “That was always the plan, dummy. I’m paying for the both of us.” He smiles as he glances over at you, eyes still down. “You go ahead.”

“I’ll have a Terriermon parfait, please,” you say to the worker. You step aside so Gojo can order, and bashfully, you smile at him in thanks.

“One Guilmon bread, too, please,” he says.

“Alright,” they take a second to input it into the register, “anything else?”

“No, that’s all.”

As the worker reads aloud the total price, Gojo’s already swiping his card through the reader to pay, the blue and yellow sticker on it gleaming in the sunlight. He’s handed a receipt and a ticket number, and the two of you rush out of the way so that the people behind you can place their orders.

“Let’s get those pictures now, yeah?”

“Oh!” Is he just not going to say anything about it? “Uh, there’s no rush, but okay.”

“Nonsense,” he reassures with a gentle smile. “Might as well while we’re here waiting.”

The two of you head over to where the Digimon Analyzers props are, and you carefully maneuver around to be standing behind the red D-Ark. You stand there awkwardly, unsure of how to stand for a picture even after having done so all throughout the day.

In the distance, you can hear Gojo laughing at you, phone in one hand and the other waving his hand in one direction. “Move to the left!”

You take a few hops to the left.

“Too much, go back!”

You side-step back to the right, slower this time, and Gojo holds out his hand. “Right there!”

He crouches down and steps back for a better angle, and he pushes his glasses to sit on the top of his head as he looks intensely at the screen. He’s furiously pressing the button to take pictures, so you just try your best to hit the poses you’re meant to. He’s smiling and enthusiastically pumping his fist to get you to keep going, and once he’s happy with what he’s got, he stands up straight and jogs over to you, a bright smile on his face.

“Wanna see? You look really great!”

Your heart flutters, but you ignore it and hide your reaction to his comment by holding out your hand expectantly. “I’ll take a look later. It’s your turn now, Satorumon.”

He happily hands you his phone, and he rushes to go stand behind Rika’s blue D-Ark while you back away to get the full prop in frame. You wave your hand to nudge him slightly to the right, and he whistles to himself as he follows your command. Once he’s in the proper spot, he puts down his backpack and other things before quickly smoothing down his front and running his fingers through his hair to get it back to form, then poses with his right hand over his collar.

“Okay,” he uses his left hand to bring down his glasses, “I’m ready!”

You spam the shutter button as he poses, all serious and straight-faced, and you keep going even when he breaks character to smile at a butterfly that’s landed on his shoulder. It flies away soon thereafter, likely sensing that Gojo’s got too much energy, but he’s still light personified as he leans down to grab his things and run back to you, eager to see how the pictures turned out.

You swipe through them as Gojo stands next to you, his cheek pressed against your shoulder as you’re using your other clawed hand to block the sun. Gojo “oohs” and “aahs,” pointing enthusiastically when there’s any detail he especially likes.

Eventually, pictures of Gojo swipe into pictures of you, and you briefly forget he’s right next to you as you look through them.

He did a great job, you really do look good. You can’t really believe you look like that.

As you’re flicking your thumb to move onto one of the next pictures, Gojo stops you, awkwardly reaching with his further hand to try and press something on the screen. You hold out his phone closer to him, unsure of what he wants to do, but he just scrolls back to where a different shot of you was, one where you’re smiling straight at the camera, and he favorites the picture without saying anything.

Glancing over at him at your side, you see a soft smile on his face, looking down at that picture of you.

You know that look in his eyes—it’s the same one that’s there when you’re laughing too hard at a stupid reference he makes during the most inappropriate situations, or when you’ve just finished a problem set without any of his help for the first time after weeks of him drilling formulas into your head.

You’re caught off guard, but Gojo perks up at the sound of a number being called from the pick-up station. He tips his head in the direction you’ll need to pick up your desserts, and you stumble as you try to step out of your trance.

He catches you, of course, and he steadies your forearms as you find your footing again. “You good?” You see the flutter of his eyelashes through the top of his glasses, and his look of genuine concern is enough to make you want to just have your fractal code digitized.

You nod hastily, clearing your throat. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Let’s go get our sweets, yeah?”

Gojo smiles, and he pulls you along, completely oblivious to the way your hand instinctively tries to cover a Vital Bracelet you’re not even wearing right now to hide how fast your heart rate has gotten.

Slow down, damn it, you’re begging your heart.

As Gojo approaches the counter and grabs both of your treats, and after confirming the order number, he turns around, Guilmon bread in his right hand and your parfait with one spoon in his left.

His smile's bright as the sun, and he moves to stand next to you as your eyes scan for somewhere to eat away from all the noise, all the people that aren't each other. There's an unoccupied table towards the west, and you lead the way over there, glancing at Gojo often to make sure he isn't having too much trouble carrying an absurdly large piece of Guilmon bread and an ice cream parfait in the middle of summer.

Instead, all that you find, each and every time you look, is him already staring at you. He averts his eyes when you catch him, but it'll still happen again a few seconds later.

You're sure that, by now, your fluster has finally shown itself on your face, and you've got to do something about it, quick.

Breathe. Breathe!

Okay, calm down.

Everything’s going to be fine.

You’ll have your parfait, and Gojo will probably just lean forward to steal bites of it off your spoon because he’s your stupid, nerdy, sugar-addicted best friend. He'll be hesitant to eat the little shortbread pieces making up Terriermon's face, but he's not going to mind it that much when he tastes how heavenly it is.

He’ll tear off pieces of his bread to share with you, make you rate everything on a scale of 1-10 in order to catalogue your likes and dislikes for all the times you're going to force him to choose where to eat dinners after playing DTCG. You’ll thank him for his considerate nature by making sure all the figurines on his shelves haven't gotten too dusty since the last time you'd come over and by offering him that cozy spot on your couch and half your blankets to keep him warm while Digimon reruns play on the TV.

After you're both finished and finally have the energy to go back into the convention for your last event of the day, you'll spend about twenty minutes running around, trying to find the panel room for the exclusive Digimon announcements for the year, only to end up being the first ones there because nobody else is as paranoid about finding seats as the two of you are.

You'll both sit quietly in the center of the front side and you stare up at all the decorations around the room, themed perfectly and with graphics that will be explained by the franchise's biggest names, and you and Gojo’ll take a selfie with toothy smiles and your eyes closed to send to your mom.

When the room becomes full and the presentation begins, neither of you will care that you're forced so close together, smushed by a crowd that doesn’t know how your hand will tap his knee when there's an announcement you know he's been waiting years for.

He'll lean forward to watch your reaction to news that they'll be handing out an event-exclusive DTCG card for all the people in attendance today, and he doesn't need to point out how well it'll fit with your primary winning deck because he knows you're already trying to figure out what to swap out for it.

The Adventure-01 VAs will take their spots at the front of the room on the stage, and they’ll do a table read of the very first episode before taking questions from the audience. Gojo's hand will shoot up and stay up for the entire time they're answering, but he won't get picked from the crowd of hundreds. You’ll try to cheer him up, saying there's just too many people in the room for him to get called, but he doesn't really mind it anyway so long as he gets to be there and have fun.

The presentation, panel, and Q&A will go past its allotted three hours, but it won’t be cut off early because it’s the last event being held in this specific room. Nobody will mind it, either, because it’s not very often that BANDAI puts together such large gatherings for their fans, and everyone’s actually dragging their feet out the doors afterwards.

And, all of that does happen.

You don't think you could've wished for a better day spent with someone who's your other half in every meaningless sense of it. Your smile never fades, and you give up on trying to hide it when you see the way Gojo's perfectly there with you, just as himself.

Which leads you to right now, engaged in a small group conversation while you wait for someone to put their Daemon headpiece back on so they take a group picture with you and the rest of the Seven Great Demon Lords of the Digital World. Amongst yourselves, you talk about the troubles of putting together your cosplays and what parts of the presentation were your favorites.

In the distance, Gojo’s talking in a slightly bigger group, laughing loudly and full of light as people compliment him on his cosplay and ask him questions about the Cendrillmon deck he’s brought with him and kept in his backpack.

The two of you lock eyes across the large pavilion, and your eyes soften when he sends you an obnoxiously big wave to show you how happy he is.

After the panel and people were given their event-exclusives, everyone moved into the hallway just outside of the presentation room to meet other Digimon fans and grab pictures with who they wanted them with. A group of other female humanoid digimon found you fairly quickly and stole you away from Gojo for an all-girls photoshoot at a nearby stairwell, but you aren’t the only one whisked away when he’s also taken by someone in an Omekamon cosplay who wants a picture with their in-verse partner.

The Daemon’s got their cosplay altogether now, so the seven of you are ushered together by a few photographers and some kind strangers who volunteered to take pictures on the phones for those of you who didn’t have a designated photographer. After a few minutes of posing and giggling through random people accidentally through the shots, you’re freed and promised to be sent all the pictures after they’re edited.

The crowd slowly thins out, and you walk back over to where Gojo is to wait for him to start heading back to the hotel. The Digimon presentation was the last event for today for the two of you, and with all the independent artists’ areas already closed for the day, you might as well leave and grab something for dinner.

Gojo spots you as he’s finishing up a flashy shuffle of his deck, and he waves at you again as you come closer. You fully intended on staying out the circle to let him have the limelight, but he pulls you in with him anyway, introducing you to the group with an arm slung over your shoulder.

“You ready to leave?” He asks you quietly, hand rubbing your shoulder.

“Yeah, but take your time.”

“Nah, I’m done. We can go.”

“You sure?”

“Yep!” Gojo looks up at the people he’s in conversation with, and he excuses the two of you with a grin. “Lilithmon and I are gonna head out now, but it was great meeting all of you! Get home safe, yeah?”

The other people give their goodbyes, and the two of you are on your way out of the convention center for the day. You walk in silence, the sparks of joy still there in the air, and Gojo spots a noodle spot across the street that’s about midway between the con and the hotel. He points, you nod, and he grabs your hand to pull you through the traffic, laughing as you both run across it.

Your food comes quickly and you’re both starving, so there’s no room for talking as you scarf it down. You’re both careful to not spill anything on your clothes, of course, but it’s not long before your stomachs are full, the check is paid, and you’re both leaned back in your seats with your eyes closed.

As you’re gathering the willpower to get up and end the day, you feel a light kick underneath the table, and you crack one eye open to see Gojo looking at you with his stupid smile. “Hm?”

“Hi.”

“...Hi.”

He leans forward to wave, and he rests his arms on the table afterwards. “Ready to go?”

You nod, stretching your arms above your head with a sigh. “Yeah, let’s.”

Gojo swaps Cool Boy’s shades for his usual eyeglasses before he gets up, and he pulls you up to standing, helping you readjust your outfit so you’re as comfortable as possible. He keeps your hand in his, just like he has throughout the day, and he leads the way back to the hotel.

To get there, you have to pass through a park lined with trees and benches.

"Hey."

Gojo swings your hands together as he happily strolls along. "Hm?"

"Could we sit down for a bit? I wanna watch the sun set."

He lifts your joined hands, prompting you to spin and face him.

Gojo’s hair has come undone from its styled form, and he’s long-since let his more quiet, gentle nature come out of hiding with you. He’s normally so loud and boisterous, which you still love about him, but when he lets his eyes speak for him, you swear you’ve never been more enamored. Silent flickers of blue and white chase you in your daydreams, sending static through your veins.

For once, it doesn’t seem like either of you need words. Instead, it’s enough that you’re both right in front of each other with the zephyr swirling around you and picking up fallen summer petals.

He nods, and that's enough for you to gently pull him in the direction of a nearby bench, sitting both him and yourself down. Neither of you leave any space between you, and your hands stay connected on the wooden bench, fingers laced securely.

There’s not too many people around, but the summer sun is still glowing in the west, lighting the path with gold and the sky in a swirl of pinks and blues. Your head is in the clouds, watching the world pass you both by.

You start to lean your head to rest it on Gojo's left shoulder, just like you always do when you're next to each other, but he yelps before you can really do that. "Ouch!"

"Oh my god, I totally forgot about my horns!" You scoot away immediately, turning to face him and letting go of his hand to put one of yours on his cheek to massage where there's a faint red mark. "Are you hurt?"

Gojo lets out an open-mouthed laugh, shaking his head. "No, no, I'm fine."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to!"

"Yeah, I know," he muses with a smile.

You pull your hand away from his face to rest it on your knee, slightly embarrassed, and you look back over at the setting sun, the sky slowly swirling with oranges and reds.

“So,” he starts, breaking the quiet again and turning over at you instead of straight ahead, his left arm now resting on the back panel of the bench. “was today everything you ever wanted?”

You nod absentmindedly, enjoying the gentle breeze that cools your rosy cheeks. "Yeah, it was."

"I'm glad we're on the same page," he says sincerely. "Thanks for being with me today. I wouldn't have wanted to be here with anyone else."

Your heart melts, and you turn away for a second to gather yourself together. You exhale slowly through your nose, and you shake your head. "No, thank you, Gojo. You're the reason I'm here."

You can sense Gojo stiffening next to you, and when he doesn't say anything, you turn back to look at him.

"Gojo?"

His face hardens, and his eyes shift to the right, still not saying anything.

"Gojo? Is something wrong?"

"You called me 'Satorumon' earlier."

"That, I did."

You're confused.

What's he getting at?

He purses his lips, still looking anywhere but you. "So why are you calling me 'Gojo' now?"

"Huh?" You lean forward to try and force him to meet your gaze, eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"Why can't you again? Call me 'Satoru?'" He slowly brings himself to look you in the eye. He seems nervous to be asking.

"Oh, uh," you pause, leaning away slightly to give him some space. "I didn't know if you were okay with me using your given name."

"Well, I am." His left hand picks off a fallen petal from the nearby trees that's landed in your hair, and he looks there instead.

And, someone can pinch you if you're wrong. Please, someone, pinch you.

Matter of fact, someone can just punch you in the face as hard as they can.

But… is he...

Blushing?

"Are you sure?"

Gojo turns even more pink, but he nods. "Call me by my first name," he says, more sure of himself.

"Okay," you smile bashfully. "I can do that."

. . .

"So, can you?"

You stifle a giggle, biting the inside of your cheek. "Are you always so impatient?"

"You know I am, Princess."

"You are so annoying." You deliberately give pause, smiling to yourself as you watch him slowly grow more restless. When he looks like he's about to stop breathing, you let up. "But, I guess I still love you anyway, Satoru."

Gojo stills, taking in the sound of his name off your tongue, and he laughs, letting the stray petal fall from his fingers, his left hand now brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

You let yourself lean into his touch, rolling your eyes anyway. "No."

"Then, I'm glad."

He continues playing with your hair, your fingers run over the threads that hold the buttons of his coat in place. You swing your feet underneath the bench, and you accidentally bump knees with him all the while. He doesn't say anything out loud, just pinches your cheek in retaliation with his right hand. The two of you sit there in the same position, watching the sunset through its reflection in each other's eyes.

And, maybe it's that.

Maybe it's his hand in your hair, careful not to undo any of the accessories still securely woven through it.

Maybe it's your fingers, trying to etch yourself into him.

Maybe it's your feet, eager to walk you somewhere where you can be with him forever.

Maybe it's his thumb, rubbing gently the pink on your cheeks to soothe a sore that isn't there.

Gojo looks at you, really looks at you, with his right hand cradling your face and a strand of your hair twirled around his left pointer finger.

And it doesn't seem like there's any hesitation to his next words.

"Can I kiss you?"

And, suddenly, the world stills around you. All you can see is him.

You should be scared, but you're not.

You've never kissed anyone before. You know Gojo hasn't either, all those nights playing Truth or Date at Shoko and Utahime's apartment revealing that ages ago.

But, if nothing else, you're sure what you're feeling right now isn't fear.

If anything, you're sure you've felt this exact same way before in your dreams, and maybe he has, too.

You should be surprised, but you're not.

He's been looking at you like this for a while. Thinking about it now, probably a lot longer than just "a while."

You should've figured it out when he doodled pictures of your favorite digimon on napkins in that one diner where the food always takes too long.

You should've figured it out when he fell asleep on the phone with you during some random announcement stream and showed up at your apartment the next morning with breakfast to apologize.

You should've figured it out when he let you into his world.

You should say 'yes,' but you don't.

Instead, you loop your arms around the back of his neck, and you pull his lips to yours, closing your eyes to try and savor the feeling. He wasn't able to take a proper inhale before you pulled him closer, and he lets out a surprised hum, but he still eases into you as best he can.

And, honestly, you have no idea what you're doing.

You have no idea if you're meant to open your mouth, if you're meant to make noise, if you're meant to even breathe. He doesn't really seem to know either, just trying to express his fervor through something he's never done before. Your hair is in the way, he has no idea what to do with his hands, and you're pretty sure you've both accidentally bumped teeth a few times already. You taste the frosting from the cake slice you shared at dinner, and you know he can taste the strawberry he let you have from the top of it. 

But, one thing's for sure.

This feels right. Like something so familiar that you're relieved to have finally found it again, or something so faraway that you'll always want more.

Gojo pulls away first, breathing heavy and with glasses fogged up.

You frown, trying to catch your breath just as much as he is. "Why'd... why'd you stop?"

Gojo smirks, taking his hand off your cheek to brush his hair back.

God, you fucking hate him.

Teasingly, he takes his glasses off and puts them in his coat pocket, and he leans in close again.

"Stop smiling so much, Princess. It's getting harder to kiss you."

He presses his lips to yours again, his fingers now lacing themselves into your hair. Your heart is in your throat, trying to escape, but you don't pay any mind to it, your mind too focused on trying to follow Gojo's direction. You're lost in him completely—in his hands, in his touch, in his soul—but you don't think you'd rather be anywhere else.

You know you wouldn't rather be anywhere else.

Abruptly, the sound of one of the Vital Bracelets Gojo’s wearing blasts in your ear, and you flinch, reflexively pulling away from the source of the noise, and, in turn, his lips. You’re breathless, both from the kiss and from being startled, and, with no strength to do anything else, you lean forward and rest with your forehead on his shoulder.

Gojo seems to register the loss of your warmth before the sound, but once he realizes what’s happening, he purses his lips, and you feel him take his hand off your cheek and position it lower to see what’s happening on the tiny screen.

You’re dizzy, your mind filled with questions and answers and all the things that demand your attention.

Did he like this?

(You think so.)

Did you like this?

(Yes.)

(Definitely.)

What does this mean?

(You don’t know.)

Will this change things?

(You know it will. You don’t know how, or if you even want them to, but it will.)

Will this change Gojo?

(You have no idea.)

Will this change you?

(Well, you already know the answer to that.)

But through the haze, you can see it, and you know Gojo does, too.

Gojo’s Greymon is digivolving, the screen of his Vital Bracelet barren apart from the digimon sprite and a lifeline. The beeps are still going, still loud and piercing in the silence that’s filled with both of your heavy breathing as you try to find air. The screen goes black, EVOLUTION! flashing in neon green, and, from the top-down, a graphic of MetalGreymon appears. Immediately thereafter, the new digital sprite appears in front of a white beam, and the device goes back to its home screen as if nothing ever changed.

And, because you don’t know what else to do, you laugh.

Laugh at the fact that this is how your first kiss went. Nothing at like all the tales you’ve never spun, but everything you’ve ever wanted.

Laugh at the realization that you’ve definitely gotten your makeup all over his coat by now, and that you’ll see lip gloss stains on his mouth when he inevitably talks himself out of his thoughts. He’ll talk about anything, everything, and nothing at all, and you’ll still listen because you know that when you talk about nonsense, he’ll be right there with you.

Laugh at the irony of his Greymon digivolving in the middle of your kiss, as if the crest of courage has lit up somewhere else in the world. You can’t even be all that mad that it interrupted the moment—there’s no way either of you were going to pull away for air on your own, and this was the only way it would’ve ended without you both passed out on the pavement.

When you’re finished laughing, you breathe slowly, pulling back to see his face. He looks confused, but when he sees that you’re all smiles, he relaxes. The corners of his eyes crinkle where his smile reaches them, and his hands rest on the curves of your hips.

Gently, you pull his wrist up towards yourself, undoing the strap of your Bracelet on him to wear it yourself. He knows what you’re doing, so he hastily goes to help put it on for you with shaky hands. His fingers linger on your wrist, desperate for your touch, and you give it to him, gently pressing your forehead to his.

You don’t say anything, just nodding as the “thank you” you always give. You already know he’s looking at you how you never realized he always has, stars in his eyes as if he hasn’t already hung them in the sky for you, so you don't need the words right now.

Gojo doesn’t say anything either, but his Vital Bracelet is betraying his silence. Between your bodies, his MetalGreymon sprite is happily running in place as it mistakes his increased heart rate as him exercising.

Gojo doesn’t pull away to try and hide it. Just holds his wrist steady, smiling as he watches the armored digimon obliviously matches his vitals.

And, you know…

Maybe that alone is an answer to a question you’re too afraid to ask.

Does Gojo like you?

(Yes.)

(You’re sure of it.)

And, to that, another question you’ve always known the answer to.

You tap the SELECT button twice to bring your Bracelet to the STATUS section, and after landing on the Heartbeat confirmation screen, you hold SELECT again to recalibrate the watch to your current vitals. You click back to the home screen, and you smile as you look down at your sprite.

You bring up your wrist so that Gojo can see for himself the status that shows up, and you hear his breath hitch next to your ear when he sees it.

Your digital pet is running, your vitals increased enough to trigger the sprite animation.

Do you feel the same way?

(Yes.)

(And you’re sure he knows it, too.)

☆

thank you for your patience, and thank you for reading! comments are appreciated, so considering leaving one (and joining the taglist). have a good rest of your day! next update in 2-ish weeks ( 〃．．)

[scorpioriesling]

Temptation Island - Episode 9

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Xaden, Liam, Dain, Garrick, Sawyer x reader

Warning(s): none

Summary: Four couples come to Temptation Island to test the strenght of their relationships -- relationships built on rocky foundations, that is. Will these couples survive? Will these individuals be tempted during their stay on the island, or stay true to their partners? Only readers decide -- find out what happens next in this juicy, dramatic series!

SR’s Note: SMUT, YOU SAY?? My specialty! Please don't read it if you're uncomfortable, as it will be included in the finale episode; I, however, have been waiting for this moment all season. ;)

Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @invisiblepixies @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @luvly-writer @fiahtheteaaddict @loveofmychips @bodhidurrans @notnowkittenwhisker @emmiwolfsworld @acourtofbatboydreams @lanamyersismywife @bookishbishhh @w1ngsofwax @juliaboudewijn @bangtanxberm (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Episode 8

Last week had been pure bliss. Pure, bliss.

Since you'd been honest with Garrick, and he'd been honest with you, the two of you had become inseperable. He'd spent every waking moment with you; swimming, lounging, hiking along the coast of the island. The two of you had laughed, cried, and divulged in one another completely.

You'd even spent every un-awake moment together, too.

True, Garrick had not left your been in a week. You'd slept better with him there anyway, feeling the warmth of him pressed against you as the night drew cooler. Though you'd come close (very, close) and Garrick really wanted to (and I mean really), you two had not yet crossed the final line in your relationship. At first, you were nervous it might turn Garrick off from you; but he took the request to wait in stride.

"I'd wait years, Y/N -- whatever would make you most comfortable," he'd said, his nose brushing yours. He'd fully embraced you, his strong arms snaked around your waist as he held you close. You leaned in and kissed him in that moment, never feeling more comfortable and secure.

"I promise I won't make you wait that long," you vowed, giggling as he continued kissing over your chin, jaw, and down your neck. "I just want our first to be a little more... private."

When Sunday came around, the entire villa was a flurry of activity. Couples and singles alike flitted about, the excitement for the end of the retreat buzzing through the air like electricity. You'd stepped out onto the pavillion as you had every morning since; hand in hand, with Garrick.

"Hey! Look who's finally decided to join us," Sawyer greeted joyfully. You graced him with a polite smile, as a few heads turned in your direction. Cat was the first to meet your eye; Sloane was rather preoccupied giggling in Dain's lap.

"Mark stopped by this morning already," she said as way of greeting. You raised your brows, coming to sit next to her. Garrick slid onto the seat next to you, his arm still wrapped around your waist.

"He did?" You asked, straightening your bikini cover-up before looking to her more intently. She nodded.

"He did -- told us Tuesday would be our final dates, bonfire on Friday, and a surprise Friday night before our last day on Saturday."

You sat back against the sofa, taking it all in. Shaking your head slightly, Cat chuckled.

"Can't believe it's all coming to an end, can you?"

You looked out, watching the surf crash against the shore. In less than one short week, you'd be on a plane out of here, back to the real world and real life itself.

Glancing at Garrick, you sighed and turned to Cat again.

"I wish it didn't have to."

✧･ﾟ: *

You'd practically skipped back to your room to prepare for the date when Tuesday morning came around. Garrick, after accepting your goofy proposal, had taken to his own quarters to shower and shave... though you'd be lying if you said you wished he wouldn't stay and use yours.

As you entered your room, you found a long plastic bag resting atop your bed. Raising a quizzical eyebrow, you peeked out into the hallway once to see if anyone was watching, or for any indication of who left it there. Deciding it was empty, you turned back to your bed. As you prowled closer, you realized there was a silver hanger hook protruding from the top -- an elegant garment surely inside.

A small, white note lay atop the bag. You reached for it, tears welling as you began to read.

Had this sent for you the minute I heard it was final date week. This will look stunning on you -- and don't worry, I got you the right size. It'll fit you like a glove.

If you haven't told him how you felt yet, well... he might not be able to hold his tongue after seeing you in this tonight.

I miss you,

Ridoc

You carefully opened the bag, heart aching once again as you balanced the tears on yoru waterline. Inside, you were greeted with the most gorgeous shade of purple you'd evver seen, the material surely expensive. Upon further inspection, you knew it was expensive -- and now, it was yours.

You allowed the grateful tears to fall.

✧･ﾟ: *

Ridoc was right; Garrick really couldn't keep his eyes off of you. He'd stared like he'd seen an angel when you decended the stairs to him as he waited in the lobby, and now as the two of you were escorted into town, he still couldn't pry his eyes away.

"You like me in purple, huh?" You teased, but Garrick only leaned in. Pressing a small kiss to the side of your neck, he answered.

"I like you in anything, Y/N," he rasped. Heat flared in your lower tummy, and you tried to ignore it. "I'd even like you in nothing at all."

Your mind was elsewhere for the rest of the ride.

However, upon arriving to the wine bar for tonight's date, you forced yourself to refocus on the present. The lights of the city glittered all around you, basking the small town in a golden glow. The moon, now high in the sky illuminated every brick and cobblestone on the streets; the peace in it making your heart squeeze.

"Ready to go in?" Garrick asked, a guiding hand resting gently on the small of your back. You turned, studying his handsome face before nodding once.

"Let's go taste some wine!"

✧･ﾟ: *

The island's wine turned out to be nothing short of divine. So divine, in fact, that the two of you had opted to taste more of it than planned.

You had to admit, the low-light atmosphere and food pairings made for a delightful evening, and allowed you to indulge in stimulating conversations. Garrick had asked you so much about yourself at this point, you were worried that once you left the island, there'd be nothing new for him to discover.

That is, assuming you'd stay together after.

The thought clouded your mind as you took another rather long sip of one of the isle's finest reds; your gaze vacant. It seemed Garrick had begun to pick up on your little mannerisms, every tell memorized when something was on your mind.

"What are you thinking about now?" He asked, scooting closer to you on his barstool. Your gaze flickered from the wine racks behind the bar back to him, and it suddenly felt like nothing else was happening in the world except the two of you. Sitting here. Sharing wine.

Maybe that was just the wine talking.

"I... I'm afraid,"you admitted. Garrick's brows lowered as he tried to make sense of your admission.

"Whatever for?" He asked, taking your fingers in his gently. Your gaze dropped, nearly unable to look him in the eye when you said the words aloud.

"I like you, Garrick... a lot. I'm afraid that, once we leave this place, this wonderful place," you paused, shifting uncomfortably. "I won't be as interesting. Maybe you don't want this to continue once we leave, maybe-"

"Stop." He interrupted, his thumb and forefinger tilting your chin up. "Whatever that douchebag had done to you or made you feel before, that's all over now. I'm not him, Y/N -- you've become so special to me. There's no way I'd let you go." He said, his voice soft. Your eyes widened as you gazed as him, and allowed him to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

"You're the most incredible woman I've ever met, Y/N. Incredible," he repeated. You swallowed hard, your eyes memorizing every deep hue and pattern in his. "I'm not letting you go."

You sucked in a breath before leaning forward, effectively pushing your lips against his. He let out a sigh of relief, his hands finding your waist and neck to pull you closer. You didn't care that you were in a restaurant full of people; you didn't care that likely multiple people were watching. When it came to Garrick, you realized, nothing else mattered.

Not a single thing.

✧･ﾟ: *

The bonfire's flames licked up toward the night sky when Mark strode in. The four of you -- Cat, Violet, Sloane and yourself -- had been chattering, discussing everyone's final dates as well as what was in store for the rest of the week.

Mark did not hold out on greeting the group, delivering answers efficiently.

"Good evening, ladies!" He said, a bittersweet smile on his face. The four of you turned your attention to him, smiling and waving in greeting.

"Good evening, Mark!"

Mark took his seat on the opposing end of the fire, looking to each one of you in turn.

"So... we've made it! Our final bonfire before the final bonfire, so to speak." He chuckled, and all of you ladies followed. "We'll review the final footage this week, as well as discuss what comes next as far as the remainder of your time here on the island."

You nodded in understanding, and Sloane practically bounced with excitement. Mark first rolled the tapes of Traeger this week, again, nothing much to be seen besides him gushing over his girlfriend to the other women in the house. He'd even gone so far as to complain to one of them, noting how being away for so long made his chest hurt.

Reaching out, you laid a gentle hand on Cat's shoulder. Her eyes welled with tears, and when Mark asked for the reason behind the emotion, she was quick to reply.

"I just miss him so much," she admitted, dotting at her eyes. "He means so much to me, and I just... I just can't wait to see him again."

Mark nodded, smiling at the sympathy. After Cat it was your turn, and you didn't feel anything as you watched Drake and Mira on their final date. He looked happy, genuinely happy; and despite the rediculous iPad recording, you couldn't even bring yourself to feel anything for him anymore. Not even anger.

"So, going into this final bonfire in a few days... is your mind made up on how you want to leave the island?" Mark asked. You shrugged, working to surpress your grin.

"It might be," you said mysteriously. Sloane squealed in excitement, bouncing up and down before interrupting.

"She's totally leaving with Garrick," she giggled, and Violet and Cat couldn't help but join in. Your face flushed red as Mark's eyebrows rose in happy astomishment, questioning you yet again.

"So, you've made that much progress then, huh?" He asked. You couldn't help your grin as you remembered every moment you'd spent with Garrick -- somehow, his presence had made you feel complete. Unlacking. Warm inside.

"We have," you said, remembering the first time the two of you kissed. The butterflies flitting in your chest, the way he'd never fully left your mind after that first date.

"I have," you corrected, looking to Mark again. "And yes... my decision is one I think could withstand the test of time."

✧･ﾟ: *

By the end of the bonfire, you'd heard and seen and learned many things. For starters, Sloane's segment had gone similarly to yours; no surprise there. Violet, however, recieved the satisfaction of watching Halden get rejected on his final date. It made your heart happy to watch her grinning face as Halden sat alone, finishing a sad, miserable snow cone after one of the female temptations put him in his place (go, Rhiannon!). She'd told him he was unfaithful to his girlfriend, only cared about sex, and deserved to be alone... which was all true.

You'd quite like to meet Rhiannon after the retreat. You felt as though the two of you would be good friends.

The final surprise though, was a secret to be withheld -- that was, until you could find Garrick and reveal it to him. It wasn't a particularly hard task, as you found him lounging in your bed once you'd gotten back to the villa. He perked up when you entered the bedroom, all smiles and not a tear in sight.

"Wow," he mused, rising from the sheets and meeting you as you walked in. "Must've been a pretty good bonfire tonight then?"

You grinned, allowing him to embrace you against his bare chest. The sight of him would never fail to give you the shivers; and neither would the feel of his lips pressed against yours. His hand cupped your jaw as he kissed you, softly at first; that was, until his tongue slipped between your lips.

Groaning, his hands roamed yoru body; over your back, waist, and under your ass. You drank him in, minute by minute as if you would never be able to get enough. But, as the reminder of what you needed to talk to him about flashed, you slowly pulled away.

"Ughhhh," he groaned, gazing down at your mouth as you pulled back. "I was quite enjoying that."

You smiled softly, laughter rumbling in your chest. "As was I, but -- I have some really, really good news."

He quirked an eyebrow, guiding you over toward the bed. He sat first, tugging you onto his lap and allowing you to get comfortable.

"And, what could be better than simply getting to spend time with my girl?"

My girl.

Your chest exploded.

"Well, I .. uh," you fumbled, heart still racing. He smirked, leaning in to kiss your nose as you worked to find the words. His hands sat softly on your lower back, holding you close to him.

"Well... tomorrow night, Mark told us we'd get access to a private AirBnB for the night. No cameras, no mics... just us," you explained. Garrick's eyes twinkled as he took this in, realizing the implications that came with it.

"And... is that something you'd want?" He asked timidly. You chewed on your lip.

"Is that something you'd want?" You asked in return. He chuckled, kissing your cheek.

"Of course it's something I'd want, Y/N -- you can get me harder than diamond by simply hugging me. Spending a night completely alone with you sounds like a dream come true." He said, kissing over your jaw and down your neck. You giggled as his nose tickled the column of your throat, and he pulled back, grinning.

Running your hands through his hair, you placed a delicate kiss on his mouth once more.

"Good. Because that's what I want, too."

✧･ﾟ: *

[cm-punks-bbl]

'Rag Doll'

rating: explicit

word count: ~2200

pairing/characters: CM Punk/Drew Mcintyre

contains: thighfucking, anal sex, lingerie, weird & wacky feelings, drew bangs punks head against the wall a couple times, "forced" feminization, porn with ZEEERO plot, half is not beta read

tags: @cmpunkyuri @rafarogeliofr @anacondavise @thlayli-ra @this-neon-burns @theasiaabattoir @empressofbrutality @seasonal-depression-of-punk @scarscarmeow

this is a sequel to another one of my fics, Dude (Looks Like a Lady)

“Drew, I don’t know if this fits,” Punk says from inside the hotel bathroom. Drew is standing outside the door, waiting impatiently to see his enemy, to shame him, to ridicule him in the way the Chicagoan had done to him that time before. Of course, it ended in his favor the last time, and he is hoping to see that side of Punk again. He hopes the older man is as easy to tame as he was that strange night in a hotel eerily similar to this one.

Maybe it's the same hotel, the Scotsman doesn't remember. It was so long ago, yet he remembers bits and pieces of the night vividly. He remembers the way blood collected on Punk's lip and dripped down his chin, and the visual of the other man between his legs or resting his head on his thigh.

Punk eventually walks out of the bathroom, in a short, form-fitting lingerie dress with a matching lace thong. They're a deep, dark blue, the dress not even covering Punk's ass completely.

Drew can't help but stare. Fuck, did Punk look this good last time they were together like this? His curves, the way the lingerie hugs him, his curves! Maybe it's just an illusion brought about by the dress—surely that's the case, right?

“I think it fits you well,” Drew comments. His eyes wander the other man's body, tracing every tattoo, every wrinkle, everything that makes Punk, well, Punk. He smirks, seeing the uncomfortable, embarrassed look encompassing the Chicagoan's face. “Taste of your own medicine, aye?”

“Fuck off,” Punk replies, sitting on the bed farthest away from Drew. He messes with the dress, trying to see if he can adjust it in any way to make it more comfortable.

“Did you forget you agreed to do this?” Drew asks, walking closer to Punk. He puts his hand on the older man's face, tilting it up to make Punk look at him.

Punk stares up at him, silent. He did agree to it, he came to the hotel room, just as Drew told him to. He wore the lingerie, despite how restricting it is, because Drew told him to.

“Sorry,” Punk quietly mumbles. Drew continues to hold the older man's head up, watching him get more flustered by the second. His face flushes, his cheeks turning a shade of red. He attempts to look away, to be free of Drew's gaze, only for the Scotsman to force him to look at him once more.

“You're a good girl.” Punk's brows furrow and his head tilts at those words. Drew smirks down at him, watching intently as the Chicagoan attempts to digest what he said. Punk rests his hands on his thighs, getting a feel of the lace dress. Is Drew right?

Before Punk can ponder any longer, Drew shoves him on the bed—

Just like last time.

It never changes, does it? Punk can never gain control. Not here. In the ring? Maybe. But that means nothing in the face of this environment, this hotel room, this bed.

Drew pins him down, placing his hands firmly on Punk's shoulders. And, God, is it a good sight. Drew's muscular arms, they look as if they'd been carved from stone. Punk's eyes dart around the room, to the bleak walls, to the strange abstract paintings on them, to the brown, oak bed frame. He just can't look at Drew, maybe out of shame, maybe to avoid the harsh reality that he is not in control.

In a last ditch effort, Punk tries to flip Drew over. He pushes against him, trying to lift his shoulders up, to do anything to at least grasp at the control rapidly slipping away from him. “Let me-” Before Punk can finish his sentence, Drew leans closer to the older man's face, before whispering,

“It's okay.”

He leaves a peck on Punk's cheek, watching how easily he melts. Punk relents, calming down and accepting his role. Drew's words, sweet nothings, assure him. For the first time, they aren't tearing him down or attempting to demolish his ego.

Drew removes a hand from Punk's shoulder, beginning to slide the hand down, until it reaches a bulge in the other man's lace thong. He presses his palm against it as Punk's hips dig into the soft mattress.

A quiet, hushed, noise escapes Punk's mouth, encouraging Drew to keep palming him. He keeps it up for a few seconds, letting Punk squirm and whine, before removing his hand.

“Sorry, princess, I can't let you cum yet,” Drew whispers, to the disappointment of Punk. He looks like a sad puppy, staring up at Drew with that pleading expression that would make anybody cave and give it all to him.

Yet, Drew doesn't fall for it. He takes his other hand off of Punk's shoulder, and gets off of the bed. He stands to the side, taking in a good look of the desperate, vulnerable mess of a man he leaves there.

Eventually, he grabs a bottle of lube out of a bag he brought with him. Punk listens to the bag rustle and glances over at Drew. He watches the younger man start taking off his belt and unzipping his jeans. And, fuck, he can't help but stare.

He watches Drew walk over and stand at the edge of the bed. He pulls Punk by the legs, bringing him close.

“You brute,” Punk comments, as if he actually minds this.

Drew tilts his head to the side before lifting Punk's legs up, putting lube only on his inner thighs. It brings about confusion the moment the cold gel hits the older man's delicate thighs, he stares up at Drew, saying nothing.

“I don't want you taking off that pretty dress,” Drew says in response to Punk's puzzled expression. He pours some lube onto his hand, lathering it onto his dick.

Drew puts his dick between Punk's thighs, holding them together as he begins thrusting into them. He watches how Punk's entire body moves the moment the other man's hips meet his thighs, and, God, he could cum right now just from that sight alone. Punk grips onto the bedsheets with one hand, the other nearing his–

“Don't.”

His hand retracts.

Punk tilts his head back, staring at the bed frame instead of Drew.

“Look at me, princess.”

He tilts his head up, making eye contact with Drew. How pathetic, Punk thinks, he can't stand being like this, can't stand submitting to Drew.

But it's just so right,

So right it's wrong.

A smirk paints Punk's face seconds before his hands wander to his cock. He pumps slowly, taunting Drew, almost saying, ‘Look what I'm doing! Aren't you mad?’

His smirk is wiped away as Drew pulls his thighs apart, he wraps his hand around the Chicagoan's neck, pulling him up. Punk can barely breathe, but he tries to look like he just doesn't care.

“C'mon,” Drew demands. He drags Punk off of the bed, making him stand and face him. “Do you think that was funny?” He asked Punk, his tone stern and critical. It made Punk feel like shit, like a dog being told off by its owner.

“Yeah. It’s funny when you’re mad, you try to seem intimidating,” Punk replies. He’s in too deep, he can’t say his disobedience was wrong, not now. If he seems weak, fuck, this will all end up like–

Punk’s head collides with the wall, drawing out a hurt, whiny noise from him. Drew is holding his hair, keeping his forehead against the wall. “Listen to me,” Drew orders.

“No-” His head hits the wall once more, with a loud thud. He only realizes it now, Drew will hold nothing back. Nothing is off limits, he has full control, and Punk has, well, nothing. Everything he tries is useless. “Please, I’m sorry, forgive me, please stop, I- I’ll listen.” Punk caves and finally begs. He feels Drew let go of his hair, giving Punk valuable time to relax as small, shallow dots of blood start collecting on his forehead.

“Good girl,” Drew praises, pushing hair away from Punk's face with his thumb. He kisses the Chicagoan's forehead before pushing Punk's face into his chest. “I'm sorry.”

Punk mumbles a quiet, ‘it's fine’, muffled by Drew's pecs. He gets how it is now, Drew can be terrible, hurt him, do whatever he wants, and then he's kind, gentle, to make Punk comfortable. And it's working splendidly.

Before he knows it, he's back on the bed. Drew discovered the spaghetti straps of the lingerie could be unclasped and taken off, and that's what he does. He pulls the lingerie dress down a little, exposing Punk's tatted chest and nipples.

“So gorgeous,” Drew comments, running his hands over the colorful tattoos. “You know,” he starts, “You're not as annoying when you're like this.” Drew traces over the tattoos with his finger.

Punk turns his face away to avoid eye contact, to stop Drew from noticing the reddish color overtaking his face.

“Pretty girl,” Drew comments, staying focused on the older man's chest. He grazes his hand over Punk’s nipples, drawing out a quiet, hushed, whine. It’s cute, dainty, even.

He teases Punk for what feels like hours, touching his chest and kissing him almost anywhere he can, though purposely neglecting the Chicagoan’s cock. It’s leaking precum, wetting the lace panties.

“Please?” Punk begs, “Stop teasing me, I can’t take it anymore.” His voice gets quieter with every word, not taking the final surrender of his pride too well. He stares up at Drew, a pathetic look in his eyes. To the Scotsman, the greatest sight.

“Finally.”

Drew kisses Punk, savoring the taste before flipping the other man over. Punk adjusts to his knees, spreading his legs apart and arching his back, planting his face into a pillow. Drew squeezes one of Punk’s cheeks before slapping it, the older man muffling his whimper with the soft pillow. A large red handprint soon surfaces on Punk’s delicate skin, telling anyone else who may be lucky enough to see it exactly where he’s been, and, who he’s been with.

Punk hears a cap snap open, and within a few moments, he feels cold gel hit his hole and his thong get pushed to the side. Drew’s finger teases the entrance, before he quickly slides it inside. He can’t wait any longer. One finger soon becomes two, drawing sweet, muffled moans from the smaller man. Drew hastily fingers Punk, just trying to get it over with so he can slide his cock in without problems.

Punk feels empty when Drew pulls his fingers out, like something is just missing. He whines and shakes his ass, hoping the Scotsman will just take the hint.

Drew lathers more lube on his dick as he watches Punk’s pathetic acts of desperation. It’s adorable, all he will do for attention.

He presses his tip to Punk’s hole, slowly pushing in, letting him feel every inch.

“Fuck,” Punk mumbles as he feels two calloused hands grip his waist. His hips adjust as he tries to get comfortable.

Drew’s thrusts start slow, he holds onto Punk, letting him ease into everything, because God knows it won’t stay this way for long.

His hands move to Punk’s shoulders, gripping onto them tightly. Punk flinches at first, it hurts, but he soon calms down. Drew’s thrusts only get rougher, the sounds of skin slapping getting louder. The pillow can’t drown out Punk’s moans anymore, and Drew swears he can hear an ‘I love you’.

He doesn’t know what to think—this has no feelings involved, right? It’s just a small encounter between enemies, nothing more. They can’t love each other, not now, not ever.

Drew leans down and peppers kisses all over Punk’s upper back, gentle, unlike all other ways he’s treating him. “I wanna hear you.” He removes a hand from Punk’s shoulder, moving the other one onto the sheets in order to support himself. He lifts Punk’s head by his hair, forcing his face away from the pillow. He can’t begin to make out half of the things Punk says, it’s all pure gibberish and the occasional word broken up by moans.

“Such a good girl, taking it so well,” Drew comments. He doesn’t get an actual response, but he can tell Punk heard it. His hand meets Drew’s on the mattress, the latter grabbing the former’s hand and squeezing it.

In mere minutes, Drew comes inside Punk. “Fuck, I love you too,” The larger man groans, thrusting inside the Chicagoan one last time.

“I know,” Punk replies, his voice breathy and quiet.

Drew flips Punk onto his back effortlessly, watching the older man’s chest rise and fall as he catches his breath. His hand reaches the lacy thong, teasing the waistband. “I should’ve pulled these down, I just couldn’t wait,” Drew notes. He slides the underwear down, finding Punk had come in them already.

“Really?” Drew teases, glancing up at Punk’s face to watch it turn a shade of bright red. “I didn’t even touch you!”

[mattsdivaa]

just to look .ᐟ (reposting from my deactivated account)

warning: fluff flufff ffflfuffff

Matt finally convinced you to check out the animal shelter just to “look” not to adopt, well that's what you told yourself. 

It started with a lazy Sunday morning and Matt's tik tok fyp being full of cats. Ever. single. Video. Cats. Now it was a video of a cat being spoon–fed some kind of treat, that ended up with Matt grabbing his keys muttering “lets go just to look!”

And you were only going to look.

Except now crouched at kennel #16, staring at a fat, fluffy, grey cat. Matts completely lost the ability to pretend he's not in love.

“Baby,” he says tapping the glass

 “he looks like a marshmallow” he giggles.

You peek at the fluffy animal. Sleeping peacefully on what seemed to be a bed.

“Hes huge” you whisper

matt lights up “exactly!” 

You glance at him “we can't–” 

“we can”

 “we came to look” 

“And I'm looking at my future kid.”

You scoff, trying not to smile but its hard when hes crouched next to you with his hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands and his curls messy from the wind, eyes wide like when the kid is in a room with a bunch of claw machines.

The cat, meanwhile, has flopped on its side dramatically, “his name is meetball!” Matt giggles reading the tag, his hands over his mouth “oh, that's it, I'm sold!” 

“You think he wants to be held? Omg stay here ill go asks somebody!”

Now twenty minutes later, sitting on the shelter floor with the fat cat named “meatballs” wedged between you like he's letting you know he's going home with you two.

“He hasn't scratch me once”  

“well you haven't moved in twenty minutes” 

“exactly he likes me”

Watching the way Matt interacted with the fluffy thing you knew it was going home with you.

A few days later, you come home from work to find meatballs curled on the windowsill like a potato, the afternoon sun making his fur glow. Matts asleep on the couch, hoodie pulled up halfway over his face.

It's quiet. Peaceful.

You tiptoe, laying next to him and brush a curl from his forehead. He shifts a little but doesn't wake up. You press a kiss on his temple, gentle.

“Love you” you whisper, barely audible 

And matt, still half-asleep, mumbles, “love you more, even if you keep stealing my cat”

You smile as he pulls you closer to him resting his face in the crook of his neck. Meatballs climbs on both of you trying to squeeze in between you both.. purring .

Maybe this whole cat thing was really worth it.

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[iamred-iamyellow]

helloooo I’m new to f1 and I feel left out💀 can you tell me what happened with brocedes? Cause I’m so confused

oh my gosh I would be absolutely honored!! Nico and Lewis became best friends when they first met in karting in I believe 1997 (they were 12) I've heard that its most likely the both of them were outcast for very different reasons: Nico being the son of former F1 World Champion Keke Rosberg and Lewis being the only black kid the other boys raced with. The two of them just had a GRAVITATIONAL pull towards each other.

Fast forward to 2010, Nico Rosberg becomes teammates with Michael Schumacher 7 time World Champion (Lewis is now also the 7 time) and at the end of 2012 Michael retired, causing Lewis to join Mercedes and finally drive with his best friend like they always dreamed of. (Nico said as kids him and Lewis would lay on his dad's boat, look at the stars, and talk about their dreams together.)

QUICK SIDE NOTE: In Janurary of 2013 Toto Wolff had bought ownership in the Mercedes F1 team. TWO YEARS BEFORE THIS he married Susie Wolff, LEWIS'S KARTING BUDDY FROM WHEN THEY WERE ALSO TWEENS. 2010s Mercedes is the closest thing an F1 team will ever get to a "family" because of Nico and Lewis' history, Lewis and Susie's history, Toto being Susie's husband, and him purchasing ownership at Mercedes, sister team to Williams where Susie became the fifth female driver to ever race in an F1 Grand Prix Weekend.

Now Nico and Lewis have an insane homoerotic codependent friendship that made for some absolutely insane lore. I am BEGGING you, not because I want you to check more of my blog but because brocedes is genuinely the greatest thing I've ever experienced and there's wayyy too much lore to write it all here. PLEASE go to my search at the top of my blog and put in "brocedes" I promise it'll be worth the reading and edits.

Anyways, in 2014 things started to get well... interesting to say the least. They started competing more and more for P1 and the championship leading to some pretty famous crashes and a post race interview of Lewis claiming him and Nico aren't friends.

For the nail in the coffin in 2016 Nico finally beat Lewis Hamilton in the last race of the season, making him a World Champ just like his dad. What he DIDN'T do was tell Lewis that if he won it he'd retire. This meant that he didn't even TALK to Lewis about the idea of him retiring and Lewis found out days later that he was leaving Merc with the rest of us. In all those videos (like the one of Nico and Lewis jumping up and down) you can like see the look in Toto's eyes bro... we know what you are. He's also SO traumatized by brocedes and is trying his genuine hardest to not let his drivers end up like that.

Now in 2025 Lewis can barley mention Nico by name. I think he said last year(?) on a fan stage that him and Nico would go out for a shit ton of pizza before he (Lewis) was vegan which like shocked us all to our core because he NEVER talks about Nico anymore. ON THE OTHER HAND Nico is a yearning ex and talks about Lewis whenever he gets the chance. There was a time when Lewis said Valtteri (the driver that replaced Nico at Mercedes in 2017) was his favorite teammate and Nico went ON AND ON to a group of people about it and how Lewis should've said he was his favorite.

They are genuinely so doomed by the narrative it makes me sick. I'm pretty sure they live in the same penthouse/apartment complex in Monaco (at least they did) and Lewis sends Nico's kids christmas presents every year. Now days Nico is occasionally a commentator for F1 and will interview his now ex best friend and its actually batshit fucking crazy.

This was a literal thesis since I could yap about brocedes all day but I hope this makes sense to you and once again I'm begging you to go to my brocedes tagged things on my blog and learn more about them! The "everything but lovers" quote that was said on live television about them... you have to know

Anyways thanks for the ask diva I hope this makes sense!

(I also need to add that the F1 movie about an inner team rivalry which was helped produced by Lewis was released on Nicos birthday... do with that what you will)

[asharkapologist]

If you’re still doing the ship headcanons, can you do Joe x Louis?

I’m totally normal about them

Most certainly! And @takoluka-magurofever also requested them, so tagging you as well! Yep, Joe/Louis was the other couple besides Zoevid that got requested twice, which, I'll be honest, actually surprised me a bit! But anyways, onto the headcanons!

At least they're together now in, uh....not heaven.

If they lived together, they'd certainly need more than one bathroom because Louis would take FOREVER to get ready in the morning (mostly because he's doing his hair). His hands would be covered in products as he meticulously curled his hair, and if they only had one bathroom, Joe would be knocking on the door, begging for Louis to let him use the restroom before he went to work. Louis would say, "Hang on, I'm almost done" (he's been saying that for the past 40 minutes).

They'd be so chatty when watching movies together, everything from drama to comedy to romance to action to suspense, to literally whatever. They'd flop on their couch, commenting on what they're watching, even if they'd dislike other people commenting when watching stuff with them. But with the two of them, it's fine.

Unrelated note: It would suck to watch something with Bateman, especially as he'd probably mostly like really violent films and laugh really loudly if he found something amusing.

I was joking around with two of my friends, and one of them misread something I typed as "Louis has a Costco membership," and we came up with the idea that he does indeed have one. Rozetta, Julia, and Bateman steal it whenever they want to go the store to buy whatever, but Joe always asks nicely first, and he and Louis go to the store to snack on samples and buy whatever they need.

Joe felt incredibly guilty that he wasn't able to break Louis out of prison in time, even though he tried to focus on keeping the rest of his friends alive in Newmark to distract himself from his grief...but that didn't stop him from having nightmares that manifested from his fear, guilt, grief, everything, nightmares that got worse throughout Newmark to the point where he was indeed ready to die by the end of Blaze of Glory.

You know how Joe was canonically the only person Louis told that the neohumans were a hivemind who were biologically compelled to have absolute loyalty to their leader? I headcanon Louis only told Joe this is because, one, not only did Louis trust Joe the most out of everyone in Ad Astra, but also because Louis did NOT trust Bateman, the only other member of AA not in prison when he found out, with said information, thinking Bateman would try to take control of the army and do something crazy/violent/impulsive with the neohumans if he could, and both Louis and Joe were afraid that if Rozetta and Julia were told about the biological loyalty, they wouldn't want to keep a secret from Bateman.

In the period between Denise causing the blackout to stop Louis from sending the message about Plan Supernova going "wrong" to the rest of Ad Astra and Louis being arrested, when Louis was panicking, knowing he was being hunted by Denise, he was scared enough that he wanted to spend his nights with Joe for safety, not wanting to be alone in his home. (Louis might've begged Bateman for shelter at his large, secure, busy estate, but Bateman would probably laugh him off and tell him to man up/that he was panicking about nothing/vastly overestimating the threat Denise posed.) However, Louis was extremely torn about sheltering with Joe, not wanting to make Joe a primary target of Denise as well.

Related to the above, when Louis, Joe, and Bateman were meeting after Louis broke into the dome and where Louis was clearly freaking out, Bateman was openly indifferent and apathetic to Louis' fear. Joe was trying to calm Louis down, frustrated by Bateman's complete lack of empathy. (Yeah, that's what happens when you "befriend" a violent sociopath, dude.)

After Louis murdered Zoe and drove home to change out of his bloody clothing, he tried to call Joe multiple times. When Joe was finally able to answer his phone, Louis basically had a panic attack over the phone, saying how badly he'd screwed up in panicking/losing his temper and killing Zoe, aka the only person they could've used to learn more about the serum, and how they now had no good way to learn about the effects of the serum and fight against Denise, and how Louis was terrified of being either arrested by the police or murdered by Denise. Joe, with much difficulty, managed to calm Louis down, saying that Louis needed to change and go to work where he'd be safe in public, and as soon as Joe could, he'd help Louis escape to either their secret hideout or make Bateman hide him before anyone could hunt him down, but, well, we know what happened to Louis instead.

Speaking of...Joe learned of Louis' death at work in excruciating detail. Mandy/Joe's deputy mayor (weird that we never met them, but I assume he had one?? Where tf were they during all this nonsense lmao) told him there'd been a violent murder at the prison. Joe froze, getting a suddenly horrible gut feeling, but managed to ask, who, what happened? You can probably imagine how horrified he was when he learned the prisoner's name and how he died: limbs blown off in a huge explosion, thrown against a wall, severely burned, blood everywhere, clearly died in agony and terror. Joe's mask slipped for just a moment, enough that the bearer of bad news asked if he was alright. Joe forced a smile, saying it was just disturbing news, before dismissing the person from his office and then having a bit of a breakdown at his desk, before calling up Bateman, saying they needed to get Rozetta and Julia out of prison ASAP before they were murdered, even if it meant taking the serum.

Shoot, okay. That was multiple angsts in a row. Now for a lighthearted one. I was joking with @astra-galaxie and said Louis would be the Daphne of Ad Astra, in the sense that he would be constantly getting kidnapped. I added that he'd be a very annoying hostage, either always screaming or threatening to sue his abductors/expose their secrets on CCN, and Astra said that the real reason Rozetta didn't want the members of Ad Astra to interact in public was to prevent anyone from thinking Louis was important enough to Joe to abduct, and then said that the abductors would drop Louis off at Joe's house due to being extremely annoyed by Louis. That inspired me to sketch this at work:

Louis is a complainer, always whining about something, such as annoying people at work and annoying people he has to interview. I can imagine him flopped on a coach, legs hanging off the side, as Joe sits next to him, nodding along and listening, because Joe is a good listener and advice-giver.

And finally, Louis, for the life of him, cannot open jars. He is always asking Joe for help to do so.

And that's a wrap! I hope you enjoyed these, both of you! I actually have a comic regarding one of these headcanons cooking (and almost done), so stay tuned for that....

(Hint: it'll be angsty.)

[kitkatscabinet]

I think some of yall need a little reminder of fanfic etiquette. I know it’s not coming from a malicious place when you comment things like “part 2?” Or “pls write a part ?!” But those kinds of comments are actually really disheartening.

If you comment asking to be tagged in a hypothetical part 2 without interacting any other way e.g likes/reblogs/commenting that you liked the fic then you will not get a tag.

Not only will you not get a tag, that hypothetical part 2 will probably never happen. Because honestly if that’s your only engagement then I don’t even want to write anymore.

I know you might think “part 2?” = I liked this, I want more. But it comes off as really demanding. What you can say instead is something like this “I really enjoyed this, a part 2 where [] would be cool.”

All of this to say no part 2 for Batsis x mark Grayson 🤧

[sephiquehearts]

Make-up tests !

Sanzu Haruchiyo x Reader

"Hey, I'll have to record something for a new colaboration with some make-up brand, Senju is traveling so, do you mind being my model for it?"

Just a nod was needed for Sanzu, your boyfriend, to be already pulling you to the room where he does his videos

Everything was already set up, he really only needed someone to try on the new make-up with him, and he had it now

Sanzu is always perfect while recording, he keeps a stern face and goes straight to the point, that way of him to act is probably what makes him have so many fangirls, and also why he somehow always finds a way to mention you on his videos, a constant reminder that he's taken

You were barely saying anything, just letting him do it, explaining everything while putting the products on your face, always squishing your cheeks to make you tune to the camera to show the progress of it all

It was kinda annoying how everytime you showed up, some comments would say how cute you twi are together but... most of them only talk about his they wish they were in your place

Sure, you're very aware of your boyfriend's popularity, but of course that was still uncomfortable to see

Sanzu seemed to notice you were quiet, but couldn't say what was the problem, so he would just keep talking and using the products, until...

"I don't think this blush is showing enough on your skin... let me try something else" And suddenly you just felt his lips on yours checks, leaving marks from the lipstick you didn't even saw him putting on by how distracted you were

He gently brushed it with his fingers and smiled satisfied, holding your chin to make you turn to the camera

"Unfortunately for all of you watching this video, my kisses are just for my dear to have, but I'm sure you guys can find something else to use this method"

You blinked for a second while looking at him, Sanzu keep doing the makeup like nothing happened, and you couldn't even tell if this was on purpose or not

Either way, it was enough to bring a smile to your face, forgetting everything that was screaming on your mind and focusing on his pretty face so close to yours and focused on his work there

He then finished it by once again putting lipstick on his own lips, and then kidding you to put it in your own lips

"All done" He had a satisfied grin on his face "You look even more divine like this, don't you think"

All you could do was nod while having such a big smile on your face, and as soon as the camera was off, your lipstick was all over Sanzu's face

"I think we should test them don't you think? See if they're kiss proof" You told him while sitting on his lap, his hands resting on your waist while leaving a gentle caress to it

"You're just looking for excuses to see me all covered with your lips, aren't you? Well then... I won't stop you, enjoy yourself"

And you sure did, every new mark on his face and neck wound make your smile bigger, and he could only look at you with adoring eyes because he was holding the most precious treasure he could ever ask for

tags — @puprdou @sweetcrunchygrapes

pink borders/dividers here