#【🧁】✦✧✦【drabble】

[orbitaldeathwoomy]

spoilers for side order under the cut i guess

“No, we can’t—We have to go back! We have to bring her back!”

Cerrin’s cries echoed through the Memverse floor as Marina and Acht pulled him back into the elevator, its doors closing the second Pearlbot had entered behind them. None of them had seen him so desperate before, regardless of the struggles he’d faced. Even Acht, who had only known him for a short while, could tell just by the shocked look on Marina’s face and the way Pearl was hovering close to him that their own concern for the normally pink Octoling was more than warranted.

Tears streamed down Cerrin’s cheeks as he knelt on the ground, repeatedly slamming his tightly curled fist against the floor. His entire body was shaking, and he could barely breathe through his sobs. Why did they have to leave her behind? Surely they could have…

“Hey, Eight, are you—”

“Why didn’t you let me save her?!” he shouted, tears leaving his eyes feeling like they were on fire as his attention snapped to Acht. “We could have brought her back, and—” Cue a sob. “And we could have done something to help!”

“I don’t think it works like that.” the partially sanitized Octoling calmly replied, their gaze momentarily shifting to Marina before returning to Cerrin. “It looked like your friend was completely under Order’s control. Something bad could have happened if we brought her back with us.”

“How the hell would you know?!” he snapped as another sob escaped his throat, a moment passing before his voice fell to a mumble.

“Marina, she… Sh-She could have…”

“I’m so sorry, Cerrin…” Marina apologized, guilt evident in her eyes as she looked downward. “Order’s control over Ruby is too strong. Trying to brute force my will over its in this situation could have had a lot of unforeseen consequences, and I might have hurt her in the process…”

He fell silent again, gaze focused on the floor of the elevator the four of them were in. Was there really no way to save Ruby from Order’s control? What if he made it all the way up the spire, defeated Order, and he still couldn’t help her?

He didn’t want to think about it.

“Hey, c’mon, Cer! Don’t worry!” came Pearl’s voice, her drone body giving an enthusiastic mid-air twirl as she spoke. “We’ll kick that Order’s butt and save everyone it trapped in here! You’ll see!”

A heavy sigh passed Cerrin’s lips, before he wiped the remainder of his tears away with his forearm and moved to stand up. His body was still shaking, his breaths uneven as he took a few moments to calm down and collect his thoughts.

He wasn’t confident he could even reach the top, not with the Palettes he currently had access to — All the weapons were far too light for him to adjust to as quickly as he needed. Unless he managed to find a Palette with something heavier, he knew his chances of reaching Order were slim. Even a Palette with a charger would be better than anything he had right now.

Especially the one with those Dualies…

“Speaking of "kicking butt",” Acht said as they leaned back against the elevator wall. “Didn’t you find a key when you defeated your friend? Maybe the locker it opens will have a Palette you can work with better than the ones you already have.”

“Yeah!” Pearl exclaimed. “It’s hard to see you struggle, but if we find something you’re more used to, it’ll be smooth sailing!” Cue another mid-air twirl. “So, we just gotta keep pushing! The faster we get to Order, the faster we can save your friend and everyone else!”

Cerrin sighed again, but gave the others a nod. Everyone — Ruby, the others who had been sucked into the Memverse, and even the world as a whole — was counting on him, just like how it had been back when he escaped Kamabo Corp...

And if he hadn’t given up then, he wasn’t about to now.

“…Alright.” he said, finally looking up at the others. There was a small, determined glint in his blue eyes. “Let’s show that thing what happens when it messes with us.”

[rawjutsu]

⋆🐾⋆LEOPARD'S DEN

snow leopard hybrid!gojo x bunny hybrid!femreader

SERIES SYNOPSIS: in a bustling city where hybrids live in coexistence, you, a timid bunny hybrid desperate to escape your family’s suffocating expectations, takes a leap into independence. but when you answer a craigslist ad for a roommate, you find yourself sharing a cramped apartment with satoru gojo — a dazzling, dangerous snow leopard hybrid with a smile as lethal as his claws. bound by necessity, yet tangled in instinct, your uneasy coexistence quickly spirals into a simmering dance of predator and prey — where every glance, every accidental touch, and every late-night silence threatens to shatter the fragile walls between friendship and something far, far more primal.

cw: hybrid setting, predator/prey dynamics, mild to moderate violence, fearplay, dubcon, breeding kink, possessiveness, obsessive behavior, heat / rut cycles, tba

00. pilot

01. chapter one

01.5. minisode 01

02. chapter two

02.5. minisode 02

[rafeslittlepup]

What did bunnywife!reader and rafe do for their honeymoon? Like where’d they go and what activities did the two of them do?

-🧁

— honeymoon states

it was unusual, surprising. so not the expected st. barths or marrakech rich honeymoon. they could’ve done that, “that’s for tech bros and losers who wear sunscreen. not us.” rafe said, and you, of course agreed.

you hop in the bronco the morning after the wedding. he doesn’t even let you take the dress to the cleaners first, he just shoves it in the backseat and says, “we will deal with it later.” he’s shirtless, just in his jeans. it’s just the two of you, windows down, sunburning shoulders as you drive deeper into the south. south carolina, georgia, alabama… stopping at little gas stations for a cold coke and boiled peanuts.

you check into this dusty peach-colored motel with buzzing neon lights that say “heartline inn”, the air conditioner sounds so loud it seems haunted and the tv only plays two channels, local news and old westerns. you get into your frilly lingerie, as rafe lights a cigarette.

you eat every meal at those old diners, sipping milkshakes with a straw while rafe watches you like you’re the only thing in the world worth protecting. you dance barefoot by a jukebox playing wicked game by chris isaack, and he swears he almost proposes again right then and there.

you have sex in the car, in the shower, on the motel balcony with the sticky heat pressing against your backs. you sit on the hood of the bronco like you’re miss america 1965. of course he buys you tacky souvenir tees and gives you piggyback rides down empty roads.

on the third day, you find a dive bar with a mechanical bull. you ride it while rafe smokes a cigarette and shouts, “that’s my fucking wife, y’all!” but then you fall off and laugh.

it was the best week of your life, you still have the motel room key on your keychain.

[daisiescomelate]

Megumi's crush on you is obvious to anyone with eyes. The way he looks away from you and out every window in your opposite direction, the way he fidgets with the fabric of his clothes or a little piece of garbage when you sit too close to him, the way he looks visibly and particularly annoyed when Gojo tells stories about him as a kid when you are around. He doesn't blush, he's not the type. But he picks at the lobe of his ear, his feet bounce up and down. Someone who doesn't know him would believe that he might be simply uncomfortable around you, but the way he stares at you when you seem to be in a blue mood, the way he always keeps you in the corner of his eye when you go out on a mission, the way he bites the inside of his cheek and looks down at the floor embarrassed when you say something nice about him... it's clearly something else, some soft kind of love.

div. plutism

[rafessecret]

⋆˚࿔ toxic¡ reader && rafe cameron

YOU'RE STAYING THE TIME, RIGHT?

You don’t say anything when you climb into his bed. You don’t have to. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t hesitate, just lifts the blanket like he’s been waiting for you all night. Maybe he has. Maybe he always is. It shouldn’t be like this. Not after the screaming matches, the broken glass, and the way you swore you’d never come back. Not after the cruel words and the nights spent proving to each other that you could do better—finding distractions in people who never really mattered. But the thing is, it always comes back to this. To him. To you. To the space between his sheets that somehow always belongs to you.

The sheets are warm, but he’s warmer. You curl into him without thinking, your cheek pressed against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. He smells like clean laundry and something undeniably him—something that makes your stomach twist in that way you pretend not to recognise. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t keep doing this. But you do, every time. Like clockwork. Like muscle memory. Like neither of you knows how to stay away.

His arm wraps around you, pulling you in tighter, and you stop thinking about all the reasons you should leave. His breath stirs the top of your head as he sighs, a deep, contented sound, and his fingers trace slow, lazy patterns up and down your spine. You shiver, and he feels it. ❝You’re warm,❞ you mumble, voice thick with sleep. He huffs a quiet laugh. ❝Yeah? You like that?❞

You do. You shouldn’t, but you do. So you hum in response, nestling closer, letting yourself get lost in the comfort of it. In him. His hoodie is soft under your fingers, and before you even realise it, you’re gripping the fabric, twisting it in your hands like you’re afraid to let go. His hand slides lower, over the curve of your hip, his touch gentle, almost hesitant. Like he knows he shouldn’t be doing this either. Like he doesn’t want to scare you away. But he doesn’t stop, just holds you there, his thumb smoothing slow circles against your skin.

❝You’re staying this time, right?❞ His voice is quieter now, almost hopeful. You squeeze your eyes shut because you hate when he asks that. Because you never know what to say. Because in this moment, you want to say yes. You want to promise him that you won’t slip out before the sun rises, that you won’t leave him waking up to cold sheets and a hollow ache where you used to be. Because even when it’s bad, it still feels like home.

But you always do. And he always lets you. You fight like hell, hurt each other worse, but somehow, it never stops this—never stops the way you fall into each other when it really matters. When things are bad at home and there’s nowhere else to go. When the world feels too sharp and he’s the only soft place left. When you both know you should be enemies, but you’re not. You never have been. You’re poison and antidote in the same breath.

He exhales, his lips brushing the top of your head, and for a second, it feels like nothing’s wrong. Like you’re not bad for each other. Like you don’t make each other miserable just as much as you make each other feel whole. His fingers keep moving, tracing every dip and curve of your body, like he’s relearning you. Like he’s memorising you, just in case. Just in case you slip away again. ❝Missed you,❞ he murmurs. Your throat tightens. You shouldn’t let him say things like that. You shouldn’t let yourself feel them. But it’s too late—you already do. And the worst part is, you missed him too. You always do.

His fingers slide under the hem of your shirt, just barely brushing against bare skin, and you shiver again, your breath catching in your throat. It’s not supposed to feel like this. It’s not supposed to be this easy to fall back into him. To feel safe with the person who’s broken your heart more times than you can count. ❝Rafe…❞ you whisper, but you don’t know what you’re asking for. You don’t even know if you want him to stop. He shifts, his nose skimming along your temple, his lips pressing the softest kiss to your hairline.

❝Go to sleep, baby,❞ he says, and his voice is different now—deeper, rougher. ❝I’ve got you.❞ You should leave. You should get up, walk out, and never come back. But instead, you close your eyes, press your face into the warmth of his chest, and let yourself believe, just for a little while, that maybe this time, you won’t go. That maybe this time, you’ll stay.

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : ughhh i love them probably the most and they get no love at all. someone please ask about them already, i’m begging !

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire @browniepop62 @urcoolgf @folksriddle

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

[nottslove]

Hello! My favorite song at the moment is bed chem sabrina carpenter

event; profile; nav;

4.6k words. longer than i expected. istg i should call these long-ass fics instead of mini-fics.

hi anon! thank you so much for requesting!! so since this song came from a summer album, it gave me summer vibes... as in, a summer romance vibe. and who better to fill in the role than our favorite, italian reverie? presenting.... none other than theo nott!

warnings: google translated italian, fluff, angst, use of y/n.

song: bed chem, sabrina carpenter slytherin boy: theo nott

Italy in the summer was nothing short of magical. Ever since childhood, you had dreamt of wandering its sun-drenched streets, breathing in the scent of fresh espresso and warm pastries, getting lost in the hum of its language. Finally, after years of waiting—graduation behind you, a job secured—you seized the moment. Three months of careful planning had led to this: a solo summer in your dream country.

From the instant you arrived, Italy wove its spell around you. The rich culture, the lyrical cadence of the language, the way history seemed to press against the very walls of the cities—it all made your heart swell. Rome for the first week, Venice for the second, Verona for the third, before returning home to England. A carefully mapped-out itinerary, structured yet bursting with anticipation. And yet, only two days in, the thought of leaving already felt unbearable.

Your schedule was packed, each day a whirlwind of exploration. Today, you were on a mission—to find the restaurant your coworker had raved about. But somehow, amidst the maze-like streets, you lost your way. A wrong turn led you somewhere unexpected—quieter, tucked away from the usual tourist bustle. The air here felt different, carrying the aroma of fresh bread and roasted coffee.

That was when you saw it.

A small, unassuming café nestled into the corner of a street you hadn’t intended to walk down. At first, you nearly passed it by, lost in thought, until your hip accidentally brushed against a potted plant perched on an outdoor table. As you bent down to set it upright, your gaze traveled to the building—soft yellow paint, ivy cascading like a green waterfall over the doorway, curling around the windows as if cradling the café in a warm embrace.

Through the glass, maritozzo sat temptingly on display, golden and pillowy, just waiting to be devoured. Your stomach made the decision for you—you stepped inside without another thought.

The café had a charm that was impossible to ignore. Dim lighting, shelves stacked with books worn from time, the quiet murmur of conversation blending into the clinking of porcelain. You spotted the perfect table by the window and moved toward it, but something stopped you. A pull, inexplicable yet undeniable, tugging you gently in another direction.

You turned.

There he was.

A classic Italian gentleman, effortlessly poised, his fingers curled around a porcelain mug. Dark curls framed his chiseled features, his presence magnetic, as if he had been waiting for someone—perhaps, for you.

He sat there with an effortless grace, the kind that spoke of quiet confidence rather than arrogance. His strong jawline framed a face that seemed sculpted by the hands of an artist—sharp cheekbones softened only by the warm olive tone of his skin. His deep brown eyes, rich like freshly brewed espresso, carried an intensity that made it impossible to look away. They held stories, secrets, a depth that hinted at a life well-lived, or perhaps, one waiting to begin.

The soft curls of his dark hair, slightly tousled yet undeniably charming, brushed against his forehead, the kind you could easily imagine running your fingers through absentmindedly. His neatly pressed shirt, a shade of crisp white that contrasted beautifully against his sun-kissed skin, was unbuttoned just enough at the collar to suggest a sense of ease. The sleeves were rolled to his forearms, revealing toned muscles beneath, a glimpse of strength tempered by elegance.

As he lifted his coffee to his lips, the movement was deliberate, languid, as if savoring not just the drink but the moment itself. His fingers—long, graceful—curled around the porcelain mug, and you couldn't help but wonder how they might feel tracing against yours.

There was something about him—an air of mystery, a quiet magnetism—that pulled you in. A presence that demanded attention without asking for it. And in that instant, as the world outside continued to bustle on, he was the only thing that mattered.

His eyes locked onto yours, unflinching, electric—a mesmerizing shade of aquamarine that seemed almost unreal, like the sunlit waters of the Amalfi Coast. They held something—an unspoken challenge, curiosity, or perhaps recognition. A glint of amusement flickered beneath the depths, but there was something else too, something that sent a shiver down your spine. It was as if, in that single moment, he had unraveled you entirely—seen you in a way no one else had.

The way they caught the light, reflecting hints of seafoam and cerulean, made them impossibly captivating, as if they carried fragments of Italy itself. And just like that, without a single word, you knew—this summer, your summer, had shifted in a way you never anticipated.

Just like that, your summer had changed.

It didn't take long before you were at his apartment, tangled up in his sheets, bodies pressed close, the world outside forgotten, him feeding you strawberries with your head on his chest.

Your head rested against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you into quiet contentment. He reached for a strawberry, holding it delicately between his fingers before pressing it gently to your lips. The sweetness burst against your tongue, mingling with the lingering taste of his kiss, and somehow, it all felt so natural.

It was intimate in a way you had never experienced before. Here you were, in the arms of a total stranger, yet somehow, you felt safer than you ever had in a long time. It had barely been two hours since you met, and he already knew so much—the tender details of your childhood, the wistful echoes of your first love.

You exhaled, staring at the soft rays of the golden setting sun filtering through the window. Was it him, or was it simply Italy itself—the spell this country seemed to weave around everything and everyone? Were all Italian men this effortlessly charming, this easy to talk to, to surrender yourself to?

"Come mai la tua bella testolina è così silenziosa, hmm?" he murmured, large hands sliding down your hair and brushing it away from your face.

You giggled, reaching for another strawberry and placing it between his lips. "I already told you I don't understand a word of Italian..."

"I've heard I'm a very good teacher," he replied with that confident, lazy smirk of his. "I could show you Italy better than any..." he paused, furrowing his brows slightly to think of the word. "guida turistica..."

Once again, you giggled softly, the moment he pressed his lips to your fingers to lick up whatever was left of the strawberry his mouth had just stolen from you. "tour guide?" you asked, trying to provide him with the correct word.

"Si. Tour guide. I can be yours, if you like..." He punctuated his suggestion with a series of open mouthed kisses along your neck and collarbones.

And just like that, all plans of going to Verona and Venice were out the window, and you rescheduled your return trip to a whole month later than your original return date.

His name was Theodore Nott, but you called him Teddy for short.

He had somehow managed you to move into his penthouse, where you spent every morning waking up in his bed, and the scent of freshly brewed espresso all over the penthouse.

Every morning, without fail, he insisted on spoiling you. Before the sun had fully risen over the terracotta rooftops, before the city outside had begun to stir, he was already at work in the kitchen, crafting something new—something special—for you.

The aroma would reach you first, warm and inviting, coaxing you from sleep before his voice did. And then, there he was, standing at the edge of the bed, tray in hand, a knowing smile playing at his lips. He never let you lift a finger.

It was never the same meal twice. One morning, perfectly flaky cornetti dusted with powdered sugar, paired with rich, velvety cappuccino. The next, eggs cooked just right, fresh tomatoes bursting with flavor, crusty bread straight from the bakery down the street. Then, perhaps, a delicate frittata, infused with fragrant herbs, the kind only someone born into the heart of Italian cooking could master.

He knew what he was doing. Better than half the chefs you had encountered. Every bite was a revelation, every flavor precise yet effortless, as if he were drawing from an endless well of knowledge passed down through generations.

And there, in the quiet glow of morning light, the two of you would share more than just the meal. Between sips of coffee and bites of something impossibly delicious, the conversations flowed—deep, unfiltered, woven with laughter and confessions.

It was indulgent, intimate in a way that felt rare, precious. You had never been cared for like this before, never been seen in such a quiet, effortless way.

And each morning, as he looked at you over the rim of his cup, you wondered how you could possibly go back to a life without this. Without him.

But both of you knew that this golden relationship you had wasn't meant to last. It would be over once the summer came to an end. It was nothing but a summer romance, no matter how real it felt.

Yet, despite knowing, neither of you spoke of it. The truth lingered between kisses, between laughter that melted into quiet sighs, between mornings wrapped in sheets that smelled of sun and him. It was there—in the way his touch lingered a moment too long, as if memorizing the feel of you. In the way you watched him, tracing every detail, as if trying to capture something fleeting, something slipping through your fingers.

It wasn’t just a romance. It felt bigger than that. Real, golden, drenched in the warmth of a summer that would soon end. But endings had a way of creeping in, of pressing against even the sweetest moments. The whispered promise of farewell was in every embrace, every shared meal, every sunset you watched together with unsaid words weighing in the silence.

And yet, despite it all, neither of you pulled away. Because for now—just for now—it was enough. It had to be.

He was true to his word. He showed you Italy better than any tour guide would. All the intimate places he spent his time at, all the tourist spots... everything.

And he did it with a kind of quiet pride, as if sharing these places with you meant something—meant more than just sightseeing. He led you through the winding alleys of Rome, past the bustling piazzas and into corners untouched by the hurried footsteps of tourists. The hidden cafés where the locals greeted him by name, the bookstore tucked away in a side street where he had spent lazy afternoons, the unmarked trattoria where the food was better than anything you’d find on a guide’s list.

But he didn’t ignore the classics. He took you to the Colosseum when the sun was soft, when the crowds hadn’t fully formed, so you could stand there in the open space and feel the weight of history pressing against your skin. He pointed out the details in Michelangelo’s work, things that even the guides didn’t mention. He let you linger at the Trevi Fountain, grinning when you tossed a coin in and made a wish, teasing you about what it might be.

"What did you wish for, cara?"

"Would you like to know?" you replied with an air of mystery and a suggestive raise of your eyebrow.

Venice came next, the city that felt suspended between reality and dream. He showed you how the water reflected the light just right in the early evening, how the gondoliers sang not for show, but because music was woven into the city’s bones.

And in Verona, he traced his fingers along the worn letters left at Juliet’s wall, smiling as you read them, as you let yourself believe—for just a moment—that love like that could live beyond legend.

He gave you Italy. Not the packaged version, not the curated one. He gave you the one he loved, the one that had shaped him, the one that mattered.

And in doing so, it became yours too.

He showed you Italy, and you showed him your soul.

He had given you Italy—the real Italy, the one written in hidden alleyways and the scent of fresh espresso, in the history etched into crumbling stone and the rhythm of a language that felt like poetry.

And in return, without meaning to, without even realizing it at first, you had given him pieces of yourself. The quiet corners of your heart, the stories tucked away for only the most deserving ears. The fears, the dreams, the moments that had shaped you. He saw them all—held them gently, as if they were something precious.

And somehow, he remembered all of it.

The way your fingers moved when tying your laces—quick, practiced, a subconscious rhythm you never thought twice about. The way you stirred your coffee absentmindedly, always three times, never more, never less. How your nose scrunched up ever so slightly before a sip, testing the temperature without thinking.

Then, of course, there was the pineapple on pizza—your unforgivable offense. He had gasped dramatically when you first admitted it, clutching his heart as if wounded by the mere thought.

"Mio Dio!" he had gasped, when he had first seen you put pineapple slices on your slice of the pizza he had spent four hours making for you at home, from scratch. "Stai rovinando tutto! This is a betrayal..." he declared, eyes alight with playful scandal, yet he still took your hand that evening, still kissed you like you belonged to every part of Italy.

And perhaps that was what struck you most—how easily he collected these pieces of you, storing them as if they were something worth keeping, worth cherishing.

It was fleeting, ephemeral, destined to fade when summer did.

But for now, he knew you, and you knew him.

It was unexpected—the way he let you in, the way he unraveled parts of himself that felt sacred, deeply personal.

He showed you the school where he had spent his earliest years, where he had first learned to chase dreams too big for a boy his age. He traced his fingers along the worn stone walls, the graffiti scrawled by restless students, and laughed as he recounted the trouble he used to get into, the teachers who never quite knew what to do with him.

Then, there was his childhood home—a modest place tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, walls filled with echoes of the past. He told you about summers spent on that tiny balcony, about the way his father used to hum old songs while cooking dinner, about the arguments, the celebrations, the life that had unfolded within those walls.

But it was when he brought you to her grave that everything shifted. His mother—the woman who had shaped him, guided him, loved him deeply, and left too soon. He didn’t speak much at first, just stood there, quiet, thoughtful, fingers brushing the cool stone. Then, slowly, he told you about her—the warmth of her presence, the lessons she had given him, the ache of losing her.

And in between, you lived with him—fully, unapologetically, as if time had no claim on the moments you shared.

You laughed until your stomach ached, until your cheeks hurt from smiling, until your laughter tangled with his and filled the spaces between you like music. You cried in ways you hadn’t before—not from sorrow, but from honesty, from the weight of stories told that had never been voiced so openly.

Together, you existed in a space untouched by reality, wrapped in something golden and fleeting. Neither of you spoke of the end, but it lingered, always, just beneath the surface.

Yet, somehow, that made it all the more beautiful.

And you loved him.

You loved him like you had never loved anyone else in your entire life. And he knew it.

Tangled up in the sheets after yet another round of him completely rocking your world, your head was resting on his chest when you tilted your head to look into his eyes and whisper the two little words that you had learnt on Google just for him.

"Ti amo..."

His grin stretched wide, unmistakable, almost wicked in its delight—the kind that sent a thrill down your spine, that made you wonder what thoughts ran through his mind in that exact moment. It was the kind of smile that could pull you in effortlessly, like a secret he was daring you to uncover, like he had already won a game you didn’t know you were playing.

The corners of his mouth curled with satisfaction, his eyes gleaming with mischief, amusement flickering beneath the striking aquamarine depths. He leaned forward slightly, as if savoring the way the words hung in the air between you, his fingers tracing absent patterns against the table, his body relaxed, utterly at ease.

Without hesitating, he said it back, "anch'io ti amo, tesoro."

But all good things eventually come to an end, and within the blink of an eye, your summer had come to a close.

You had gotten to know his soul in depth— every inch of him, every quirk, every flutter, every mark on his body. It was a lifetime of love experienced in one single summer.

A love that burned brightly, condensed into fleeting moments, yet carrying the weight of something much greater.

You knew him. Not just his laughter or his charm, but the quiet pauses between his sentences, the way his fingers twitched when he was deep in thought, the crease in his brow that only appeared when he spoke of things that truly mattered. You memorized the rhythm of his breathing, the softness of his voice just before sleep, the way his presence wrapped around you like warmth you never wanted to let go of.

Every mark on his body told a story, every scar a memory, every glance a secret shared only between the two of you. And in the golden stretch of those summer days, you traced them all, learning him in ways that felt impossibly permanent.

A lifetime of love, packed into stolen kisses beneath a foreign sky, into whispered conversations at dawn, into the soft pull of fingertips against skin.

And yet, when the season came to its inevitable close, when the sun dipped lower, signaling the end, you both knew—this was exactly how it was meant to be.

No regrets. No bitterness. Just a summer that would live in your bones forever.

And when the time came, when the final days of summer settled upon you both like the last golden rays of the evening sun, there was no bitterness. No desperate clinging, no sorrowful goodbyes laced with regret.

You had known him completely—every detail, every quirk, every unspoken thought behind those aquamarine eyes. And he had known you just the same. There was nothing left unexplored, no corner of his world, or yours, left untouched.

Yet, this was how it had always meant to end. Not in heartbreak, but in understanding. A gentle farewell, filled with gratitude for what it had been, rather than grief for what it could not be.

Right person. Wrong time. Right place.

You stopped at the café where it all began one more time before he dropped you off at the airport.

It had been almost two months ago that you met him here, but now?

It felt like a lifetime ago.

And so, beneath the amber glow of the setting sun, with Italy wrapping itself around you like a final embrace, you made a promise.

Not one bound by desperation or longing, but by understanding. By the quiet certainty that, though your story was meant to end now, perhaps—just perhaps—it wasn’t meant to end forever.

"If you’re still single," you murmured, fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup, voice steady but soft, "meet me here. Ten years from now. Same place, same table."

He studied you for a long moment, aquamarine eyes deep with something unreadable—something like hope, something like fate. Then, slowly, he smiled. A real one. A promise sealed with nothing but the weight of the unspoken.

"Ten years," he whispered softly, but you knew him well enough to know what he was saying. "If you find yourself lost, or lonely," he continued softly, looking at you longingly, like he wanted to tell you to stay, but he knew he would be asking too much. "Will you come find me?"

He looked like he was losing a part of himself that he had never realized was missing until he met you.

Your lips curved into a watery smile. "Of course I will..." you replied, your fingers gently brushing his jaw, the way you had done countless of times. "I'll always find you, Teddy..."

And just like that, leaving him was easier, leaving Italy was easier, carrying the summer in your bones, the memory of him pressed into every part of you.

Maybe you’d return. Maybe he would. Maybe, just maybe, the right person at the wrong time would, one day, become the right person at the right time.

He was your soulmate. You never believed in them before, but you certainly believed in them now.

With your pact in mind, of a futuristic promise, you had finally agreed to part ways.

And just like that, it was over.

No tears, no grand gestures—just a quiet understanding, a moment suspended in time, wrapped in the golden haze of a summer that had changed you both.

He had dropped you to the airport, and your heart felt heavy and full as you parted ways.

One last goodbye kiss.

One last fleeting touch.

One last look of his beautiful aquamarine eyes meeting yours.

And then, you turned your back on him and began to walk away.

"Wait," he had called right before you fell out of earshot.

You turned, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from making this farewell harder for you than it was supposed to be.

A moment of silence.

And then he spoke.

"Goodbye, Y/N," he murmured.

"Goodbye Teddy."

It was only when you had turned around fully and passed through the security gates that you allowed the tears to finally spill.

But you held hope in your heart.

You walked away, carrying the weight of what had been, the tenderness of shared mornings, the electricity of stolen glances, the laughter, the knowing, the love—brief but undeniable.

Yet there was no sadness in the goodbye. Because, in the heart of Rome, beneath the watchful gaze of history itself, you had made a promise.

Ten years. Same place. Same table.

And whether fate would honor such a pact, whether time would lead you back to him, was a mystery left to the future.

But for now, you carried him with you, and he carried you with him.

And maybe—just maybe—Italy would call you home once more.

Ten years passed faster than you anticipated. The years slipped through your fingers like sand, faster than you ever imagined.

Lovers came, and lovers went. Life unfolded—new places, new faces, fleeting romances that never quite ignited the way that summer had.

Theo was embedded into your soul. He was there in every, single thing you did. Your summer in Italy was no longer a distant memory, but a whole different lifetime, one that was etched so fiercely into your soul that it was a part of you. You lived, you loved, you lost, and yet, through it all, Theo remained.

Not in a way that haunted you, not in a way that stopped you from moving forward. No, he was simply there—woven into the fabric of your existence, stitched into the smallest, quietest moments.

It was in the smallest things—the subconscious gestures, the habits formed over a lifetime. In the way you lingered at cafés with ivy-clad doors, in the way you stirred your coffee three times, in the soft ache that settled in your chest when the golden glow of evening light reminded you of the way his skin had looked beneath the setting Italian sun.

Your summer with him wasn’t just a memory—it was a lifetime, a part of you, embedded so deeply that no amount of time could erase it. It had shaped you, changed you, taught you things no other experience ever could.

Because that summer lived within you, etched into your very being, woven into the quiet moments of your day.

It was there in the way your lips curled into a soft, private smile whenever a passing scent reminded you of fresh espresso in a hidden café. In the way your fingers brushed against ivy-covered doors, lingering as if searching for something lost. In the way your heart skipped—just barely—when the evening light mirrored the golden glow of those long-forgotten afternoons.

It wasn’t just a memorable summer vacation. It was a presence, a whisper of something untouchable yet undeniably real.

And whether the promise would be fulfilled or left behind in the folds of time, one truth remained—Italy had never truly let you go.

And neither had he.

And now, here you were. Ten years later.

Standing in front of the café where it had all begun.

Heart pounding. Breath shallow.

Wondering if fate still had a place for the two of you.

The café still looks the same. The ivy overgrown a little more, the paint a little more faded and worn and the steps that lead to the café a lot more rough and round-edged.

You stepped inside, your breath shaky as you tuck your handbag underneath your arm, tilting your head back to shake the hair all away from your face.

Your heart in thumping, your fingers are sweaty as you look around once, a quick scan of your eyes across the room.

And everything stops.

Your breath catches.

Just like that, time collapses.

Ten years, a lifetime’s worth of moments, all fading into insignificance the instant your gaze locks onto his.

He’s there. Exactly where he said he would be.

The same table, the same quiet confidence, the same presence that had once unraveled you completely. But different too—aged by experience, refined by the years that shaped him in your absence.

It's his eyes that give it away— that he's the same person as he was a lifetime ago, the same person you fell so hard for.

His eyes—impossibly vivid, the color of sunlit tides and forgotten dreams—burn into yours, a tether pulling you back, back to a time when love was effortless and fleeting, yet somehow eternal.

Yet, as his aquamarine eyes meet yours, as recognition flashes across his face, as his lips part ever so slightly in stunned disbelief—none of that matters.

"Teddy," you whisper breathlessly, your eyes meeting his, the rest of the occupants of the café fading into a blur— nothing else matters as much as him.

It takes two strides for him to reach you.

"Y/N," he pulls you into his arms, and your lips crash against his, tears spilling down your cheeks as you hear the golden sound of his voice calling out your name.

And you're finally home.

Because this was never truly a goodbye.

And somehow, somehow, it feels like the beginning all over again.

event; profile; nav;

©nottslove 2025. do not copy, steal or claim any works/graphics as your own.

[acid-ixx]

— related post !

asking this for my future monster/eldritch reader x romantic! yandere batfam— but what kind of monster do y'all want them to be? and what kind of abilities/skills/powers do you want them to have?

and don't worry about making it as freaky, as degenerate as you all like.

should you have an acid tongue that burns easily through a human's skin? tendrils for hair? pores around your body that releases some sort of toxins, including aphrodisiacs? what type of creature? something never seen before?

'cause i'm sure that an unknown entity discovered recently in gotham, a mystery, a monster that carries an unknown yet compelling allure would sure capture their attention. makes them want to dissect you up close yet at the same time, tempts them to personally cop a feel for your alien-like limbs— maybe even have those tendrils close around their throats as a warning that you're still the one in control here.

(basically, monsterfucking at its finest)

[coqvttes]

Hiiii! Congratulations!!! For the picnic event could I request Fairy Cakes for Keegan Russ and either reading together or people watching, which ever one you like!!! Thank you!!!! 🩵🥰🫶🏻

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 hey, thank you for ur rq! yess, ofc u can, darlin! time for some fluffy keegannnn i hope u like it! :) xx

sfw : gn!reader, fluff.

"keegan! you're not paying attention!" his gaze snaps back down on you upon hearing your complaint, and a cheeky smile adorns his features.

you look up at him from your place as you lay on his lap, legs lying flat on the grass as the sun peeks through the leaves of the big oak tree that keegan leans against.

"sorry, babe, i'm listening," he says, tucking the strand of hair that was bothering you behind your ear. you roll your eyes and continue reading the passage from the novel in your hands.

after a few minutes, you look up at keegan again; his attention is focused entirely on something else.

"keegan! you're doing it again, why won't you pay attention to me?" you swat his shoulder playfully, and he chuckles, leaning down to kiss your forehead as if to apologize.

"what were you looking at?" 

he points to a young couple about ten meters away from you, sitting on a picnic blanket, laughing and enjoying the summer breeze just as you two are.

"first date? or you think they're a couple?"

"hmm... i think it's their first date, he wouldn't be dressed so nicely if they're already a thing." he chuckles, and his grip on your hand tightens when he sees the smile on your face as you observe the people around you.

"what about...them?" 

he looks over to where you point, and he grins fondly upon seeing an old couple sharing some wine and a sandwich as they sit on an old wooden bench by the pond.

"that's us in 40 years," a rosy blush spreads across your cheeks as you giggle at his words. your hands, letting go of the book to cup his cheek above you.

"i love that!"

 keegan smiles as he gazes down at you, and he realizes that he lives for moments like this.

moments when he can let his guard down. moments when he can laugh and smile with you. moments when he can feel nothing but love. love for you.

[katsumox]

boyfie texts with jason todd !!

in my head he’s such a dry texter…. but he picks up on emoticons and ur slang !! <3 he’s such a boyfriend like ugh i love him🤧😩🫶🏾🌸🎀

[screampied]

ME CUZ ITS OCTOBER 1ST IM SO EXCITED TO READ UR KINKTOBER SERIES!!!

ur writing is actually my fav THE WAY U WRITE SUGU (my man)!!! need that asap!!!!

have an amazing day vegas i cant wait for ur future works 😈😈

- 🦭

THANKYOU i litch just finished rnnn but i’m proofreading / rephrasing 🤒. i’m a slow ass reader soooo i hope to have it out within the next hour or two haha. YOU TOO BABY, WEEEE UP 🙏

[orbitaldeathwoomy]

‖ ♥︎ 》 Drabble about Cerrin and Ruby after they met, takes place a few days to a week after Cerrin first reached the surface. Just kinda this vomited out and not proofread too much, so expect errors and weirdness

Cerrin raised his hand to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun's light. He had gone through hell to escape the Deepsea Metro and, after a series of what he could only describe as bizarre events, was now following the Inktoling he'd met upon reaching the surface to her home in Inkopolis. It all felt surreal, like at any moment he'd wake up and be back underground on his way to another one of those strange tests...

...Wait, the girl -- her name was Ruby, if he was remembering right -- was talking about something.

"...And, once you get settled in, we can go on a shopping spree! We'll get you some new clothes -- you can't just wear that leather outfit everyday after all! -- and stuff for your room, anything you want! Sound fun?"

Cerrin's gaze shifted downward, before a quiet, unsure "Yes...?" escaped him. Her kindness, her hospitality, it all felt so foreign to him, but he couldn't explain to himself why. He tried to shrug it off, blame the amnesia or all the horrors he had endured in the Metro for his odd feeling about all this, but somehow, he knew there had to be more to it. He just had to—

“Aaand we’re here!” Ruby said as she abruptly stopped, a small ‘oof’ escaping her when she felt Cerrin bump into her. She then turned to give him a smile, before she unclipped her keys from her bag to unlock the front door…

Leaving him to just stare in shock, awe, and mild confusion at the sheer size of her home. Amnesia or no, he was sure he had never seen anything like it before, especially given the undoubtedly cramped nature of the underground domes he initially escaped from.

And she was inviting him to live here??

“There we go!” came the taller girl’s voice a few moments later, the quiet squeaks of the front door’s hinges snapping Cerrin from his thoughts.

He barely had time to speak, however, as Ruby immediately took his hand and began leading him through her home, his blue eyes wide with that same confusion and awe as they walked and she talked. Everything looked so clean and pristine, from the somewhat reflective floors of the main entrance room to the stairway that led to the mansion’s second floor. Even the end tables in the halls were decorated with vases of flowers and trinkets, and the occasional artworks that hung on the walls were ornately framed. It was all so much to take in, and he hardly made a sound until they stopped in front of a door.

“This’ll be your room!” Ruby cheerfully said as she turned the knob and opened the door, gesturing for him to enter first.

The room felt a tiny bit more down to earth than what he had seen of the rest of the house, with a queen-sized bed up against the back windows and a glass door on the left leading to a balcony. There was a large wooden shelf against one of the adjacent walls and an open door next to it that led in to an empty walk-in closet, and another door that he could only assume led to a private bathroom of some sort on the opposite side of the room. A rather comfortable looking chair sat across from a big, wall-mounted TV near the door.

…It was still a lot to take in.

“Sorry it’s a little empty right now.” she apologized, her sheepish smile immediately brightening when she looked at him. “But, we’ll definitely fill it with whatever you want soon! So don’t worry, okay? It’ll feel like home in no time!”

The pink Octoling shook his head a little, trying to gather his thoughts. It was a lot more than he had expected…

“It’s… It’s fine.” he replied softly, part of him still expecting this to end up being some kind of dream. “You don’t need to—”

All of a sudden, quiet buzz interrupted him. Ruby immediately pulled a phone out of her pocket, her smile widening as she hastily typed something then turned back to him.

“Come with me!” Ruby seemed even more excited now as she shoved her phone back into her pocket. She then took hold of his hand once more, not bothering to close the door behind them as she led him back downstairs.

By the time Cerrin had come up with something to say, they had already reached the kitchen. Ruby pulled him toward where another, even taller Octoling stood, his attention shifting from the phone in his hand to the two of them. He looked to be rather stern…

…That is, until he spoke.

“I take it this is the new friend you mentioned?” he asked, a slight laugh laced among his gentle voice.

“Yup!” Ruby replied, her smile bright as she gestured to Cerrin. “Dad, this is Cerrin! And Cerrin, this is my dad…”

“Akihiko Aroz.” the taller Octoling said, holding out his right hand for a shake. “It’s nice to finally meet the friend my daughter has been so excited about.”

Cerrin paused for a short moment, before slowly taking the other male’s hand and giving it a hesitant shake. “I-It’s nice you meet you too, sir…”

Akihiko softly laughed again as he released Cerrin’s hand. “No need for formalities, just my name is alright.” he said with a small smile. He then leaned back against the counter, his hands in his pockets. “Now, Ruby told me that you recently left the Octarian army and came to the surface?”

“Y-Yes, Mr. Aroz, sir…”

“And at such a young age, too… That was very brave of you.” the older Octoling said, still smiling. “Well, you’re more than welcome to stay with us for as long as you want.”

Cerrin’s eyes widened a little. “A-Are you sure?”

“Of course. I know how hard it is to leave that place, and I’d hate to see someone as young as you have to face this new and unforgiving town alone like I did.”

“But, sir, I’m seventeen—”

“Aw, c’mon, Cerrin!” Ruby interrupted, a bright smile of her face. “There’s no reason for you to fend for yourself out there when we’ve got plenty of room for you here!”

“But what about the costs of me staying? I can’t expect you to pay for me…”

“It’s not an issue.” came Akihiko’s reply, another small laugh escaping him when Cerrin opened his mouth to protest again. “We have more than enough money. And beside that, I don’t mind helping a friend of my daughter, especially one who has already had to struggle so much just to get here.”

Cerrin fell silent. Were they serious? The idea that they were perfectly fine with taking in some strange teenager and offering him everything like this, for free… He just couldn’t wrap his head around it. Surely they wanted something in return…

“But now that that’s taken care of…” Ruby said, her smile remaining as she wrapped her arm around Cerrin’s shoulders. “It’s time for us to go shopping! We gotta get you some new clothes, and some decorations for your room, and—”

“Ruby…” came her father’s gentle interruption, causing her to stop and watch as he nodded toward the window across the room.

Ah, the sun was setting.

“Right, right…” she said sheepishly. She then released Cerrin from her hold, a small smile on her face. “You’re probably really tired from all this, huh? You should take tonight to rest, and I’ll bring some dinner up for you later!”

“Wait,” Cerrin began, his brow furrowed slightly in confusion. “I… I can help with the food—”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head!” Ruby replied as she gave him a pat on the back, causing his entire body to tense up for a few seconds. “Just take some time to chill, watch TV, take a nice, hot shower, whatever!”

“But—”

“So what do you like on your pizza?”

He gave her a confused look.

“…Oh, that’s right. They might not have had… I’ll just get a regular one for you.” she said, before pulling her cellphone from her pocket. “Now go on, and let your auntie Ruby take care of everything~”

Cerrin watched as she called a number on her phone, a defeated sigh escaping him a moment later. He moved go back to the room she had offered him, only to feel a tap on his shoulder before he could leave.

“May I come with you?” Akihiko asked, a small smile forming on his lips when Cerrin gave him a nod. Once they left the kitchen, he spoke again.

「I’m sorry if Ruby was overbearing.」 he apologized. 「She’s just happy to have you staying here.」

Cerrin’s eyes widened for a split second, before his gaze focused on the floor. 「It’s… alright.」 he mumbled.

「Is something wrong?」

「N-No, sir, I just…」 Cerrin paused to take a breath, still avoiding eye contact with the much taller Octoling. He wasn’t in any position to complain, he thought, but there was just so much on his mind… 「I’m a little overwhelmed. That’s all.」

Akihiko laughed softly. 「Believe me, I understand. I was too, when I first came to Inkopolis after I left the army.」

Cerrin fell silent again. His words were stuck in his head, unsure of how to come out without sounding rude or ungrateful. Because he was the exact opposite — Grateful, and more than they knew.

But part of him was afraid. Afraid that this was all too good to be true, that eventually, they would leave him to fend for himself…

Soon enough, the pair reached Cerrin’s room, with Akihiko remaining in the hall as the younger Octoling opened the door.

「Thank you for your hospitality, sir. 」 he said softly.

「It’s no trouble at all.」

A moment of silence passed, before Cerrin took a step inside the room.

「Oh, and Cerrin?」

He froze.

「Y-Yes…?」

「Try not to worry.」 Cue a smile from Akihiko, his voice even gentler than it had been before. 「You’re safe here.」

Cerrin turned to stare at him, disbelief in his wide eyes before his voice came out on an unsure breath.

「…Yeah…」

And with that, he quietly closed the door and immediately walked across the room, unceremoniously flopping onto the bed the second he reached it. It was soft, but not too soft, the blankets equally comfortable as he rolled onto his side.

「Safe, huh…?」 he thought as he reached to pull one of the pillows at the head of the bed down and clutched it tightly against his chest.

「…Anything’s safer than that place…」 he mumbled, closing his eyes and doing his best to keep his breaths calm and steady.

It was all so much to take in…

…But at least that uneasy feeling from earlier had passed.

[rawjutsu]

minisode 01

pairing: snow leopard hybrid!gojo x bunny hybrid!femreader

keep up here

the water hits scorching hot, but satoru barely feels it.

he’s braced against the tiled wall, one hand fisting his thick cock at a brutal pace, the other planted above his head like it’s the only thing keeping him from collapsing. his snow-drenched hair sticks to his forehead. steam curls around his heaving chest.

fangs sink into his bottom lip—hard—to keep the groan inside.

you. it’s you again. your stupid little shirt, your stupid bunny tits with those stiff nipples poking right through the cotton, like they’re just begging for his mouth. his teeth. a little scrape, a little nip. nothing serious. he wouldn’t even bite that hard.

maybe a mark. something small. something just for him.

“fffuck—” he hisses, eyes scrunched shut as he pumps harder, wrist snapping with desperate rhythm.

his brain’s a blur of sensory memory: the sway of your hips in that pathetic little hostess skirt, your button nose scrunching when you glare at him like you’re not the cutest thing he’s ever seen, your ears twitching back flat in slight fear when he laughs too loud, too close, too much.

and then—like lightning—a fantasy jolts through him: you, pinned under him, crying and begging while he jackhammers into you, one hand wrapped around your throat, the other tugging hard on your fluffy ears. you’d squeal. maybe kick a little. maybe claw at his arms like you’re not soaked for it.

his tail lashes behind him, wet and agitated, as his orgasm slams through him.

cum paints the tiled wall in thick, hot ropes.

he groans into the steam, panting, watching it slide down the tiles. watching it swirl into the drain like he didn’t just cum so hard his knees buckled.

such a fucking waste.

hours later, you push the bathroom door open, towel slung over your shoulder, sleepy after your shift.

and immediately—you freeze.

your nose twitches. your ears shoot up.

the musk hits you like a truck.

thick. sharp. male. pungent and hot and unmistakably predator. it smells like danger and sex and something a little too ripe to be normal. your legs tremble. your thighs clench instinctively.

you backpedal, nearly tripping over the bathmat, and bolt back to your room—slamming the door shut behind you.

you sit on the edge of your bed, wide-eyed, heart racing.

heat churns in your belly.

no. no no no. you’re not doing this.

you refuse to think about what he must’ve been doing in that shower. about the way his tail twitches when he stretches, the size of his hands, the heat in his eyes when he stares a little too long.

you squeeze your thighs together.

you should've stayed on your parent’s little farm.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

taglist: @satorupied, @mashtura, @auucz, @littlemissfix-itfic, @luv3nti, @sukunawhores, @nx-0w, @rh-tg1, @sugacor3, @victoria1676, @arabellasolstice, @qardasngan, @entr4p3, @maddy24207, @maah-sama, @izzybluebells, @penguingirlanzu, @levislug, @moonlight-inthe-sea,

[heartseungbin]

2 and 3 it chanieeeeee!! Cuddling and making him get some rest is DREAM. ☹️ My man needs some sleep ASAP!

-🧁

synopsis; Chan needs some tlc. who better to take care of him than you?

warnings; i got real sappy:( my baby channie needs a break fr, reader is a sap bc i am too mentions of exhaustion, im sorry this took literally a month 🧁 anonnie>:(

notes; none, gender neutral reader, listen to my kind of woman by mac demarco to set the mood for this fic.

As the soft glow of the moon cast shadows through the curtains, you couldn't help but let out a deep yawn, feeling the exhaustion from the long day finally catching up to you.

With a gentle stretch, you turn to glance at the clock, its bright red numbers brightening the dark room. It was three in the morning, and the stillness of the night seemed to amplify the ticking of the clock.

Your hand reached out to the other side of the bed, searching for the warmth of Chan. As your fingers grazed the cool sheets, a sense of emptiness washed over you. You sat up, the weight of the silence heavy on your shoulders, as you let out a tired groan.

It was moments like these that made you appreciate the comforting presence of your loved one, and you couldn't help but wonder where Chan could be at this late hour.

You slide on your house slippers, the memory of how you got them making you smile. You make your way through the halls of your shared house, slippered shoes scratching against the floor.

You make your way straight to Chan's studio, finding him with his head leaned on his palm and the other typing mindlessly on the computer. As you reach his side, you gently drape yourself against his back, feeling the warmth of his body and the tension in his muscles.

A small frown forms on your face as you take in the sight of him, lost in his work. His eyes are slightly red, but you know that has never detered him before. You can't help but wonder what he's working on and what thoughts are running through his mind.

With a soft sigh, you close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in the moment, enjoying the peacefulness of being by Chan's side. "Cmon," you say, pulling at his hand softly.

"Time to get off of this," you say gently, quietly, not willing to be any louder. With a nod, he saves his work and spins around in his chair to face you. Your frown deepens, usually he'd attempt to put up a fight.

He must be especially tired. He let's you pull him up and all the way back to your bedroom, wiping a hand over his tired eyes. As you guide him towards your bedroom, you can't help but notice the exhaustion etched on his face.

His normally bright eyes are now dull and heavy-lidded, a clear indication of the long day he must have had. You can feel the weight of his tiredness as he leans on you for support, his steps slow and labored. Yet, despite his weariness, he doesn't complain or resist as you gently guide him towards your bedroom.

It's almost as if he trusts you without a doubt, letting you lead the way with his eyes practically shut. With a grateful sigh, he wipes a hand over his tired eyes, trying to shake off the fatigue that seems to have settled into his bones. You can't help but feel a sense of tenderness towards him, knowing that he must have pushed himself to the limit today.

But as you reach your bedroom and help him settle into bed, you can see the relief wash over his face, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You lie down beside him, throwing an arm and leg over his body. He curls up like a child and you chuckle. He grabs your hand that's wrapped around him and brings it up to his plush lips and places a chaste kiss on them.

Your chest grows warm with love and your eyes water as you realize that you truly are his safe place, that your presence comforts him so much he can sleep. You kiss his clothed back and listened to the sound of his calming breathing slowly lulling you to sleep.

ugh,, im so soft and sappy for chan i love this man</3

[daisiescomelate]

Katsuki would be the type of boyfriend that likes to cuddle and baby talks to you but only when you two are alone --no one else get the chance to see him like this, he likes to protect his tough boy attitude. And then one day you decide to record him while he's hugging you in bed and he talks all soft to you and he's telling you how soft you feel and how cute you were today doing something. It takes one long silence and a quiet giggle of yours for him to realize that something's wrong and that's when he sees the camara. Immediately he starts yelling at you to cut it out and to fuck off, and your answer is simply "I'm going to send it to your friends," and a wild cackle.

(based on a tiktok, if you haven't seen it it's adorable everytime)

[rafessecret]

⋆˚࿔ toxic¡ reader && rafe cameron

DID HE PULL OUT?

He’s the only one you let cum in you. He knows it too. It’s why he’s so smug, so insufferable, always throwing it in your face.

❝He pull out?❞ His voice is deceptively casual, words dragging lazily off his tongue like he isn’t currently fucking you stupid, like his hips aren’t slamming into yours so deep you feel like you might split apart. But you know better. It’s deliberate. It’s cruel. A reminder that he knows exactly what you did last night, exactly who you did it with, and exactly what they didn’t get.

Your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, trying to fight through the pleasure clouding your head, but Rafe makes it impossible. He always does. He knows how to ruin you, how to drag you into the deep end of him and make it so you don’t even want to come up for air.

You don’t answer, but he can feel it—the way you clench around him, the way your body gives you away, betrays you just like it always does. His fingers dig into your hips, bruising, possessive, his pace quickening like he needs to fuck the answer out of you, and maybe he does. ❝Bet he wanted to. Bet he wanted to fill you up, make you his,❞ Rafe rasps, breath hot and ragged against your ear as he keeps you pinned beneath him. ❝But you wouldn’t let him, would you?❞

You swallow thickly, teeth sinking into your lip, still refusing to give him the satisfaction, but it doesn’t matter. He already knows. He always does. It’s what makes him unbearable, the way he reads you too easily, like you were made for him. Maybe you were. His hand slides up your body, grabbing your throat, forcing your head back as his lips graze your jaw. ❝But you let me, huh? ‘Cause you like knowing you’re mine.❞

It’s not a question. It’s a fact. One he doesn’t even need you to confirm because you’re already trembling beneath him, already moaning his name, already his. You open your mouth to argue, to tell him it’s just a habit, just an accident, just another bad decision in a long list of them, but then his hand is between your thighs, fingers rubbing circles over your swollen, overstimulated clit, and suddenly, words don’t matter anymore.

Your back arches, a broken whimper catching in your throat, and Rafe grins against your skin, drinking in every little reaction, every little sound, because that’s what he wants. He wants to ruin you for everyone else. Wants to make it so no one else even comes close. Wants you so fucked out on him that you can’t even remember why you ever let another guy touch you in the first place. ❝Yeah,❞ he murmurs, smug and breathless, as he buries himself deeper, hitting the spot that has your legs shaking. ❝That’s my girl.❞

His grip tightens, nails biting into your skin as his pace turns punishing, brutal, dragging ragged moans from your throat with every thrust. The pleasure builds fast, unbearable, your body winding so tight you can barely breathe. You can feel the way he’s throbbing inside you, the way his thrusts are growing erratic, desperate. He’s close. And he’s not pulling out. ❝Gonna fill you up, baby,❞ he groans, hand fisting in your hair, tilting your head back so he can watch your face when he does it. ❝Going to remind you who you fucking belong to.❞

You shouldn’t let him. You know you shouldn’t. But you do. You always do.

Your body betrays you first—clenching down around him, your nails raking over his skin, pulling him deeper, locking him in. You come with a sob, pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense your vision blurs, your body trembling under his. He follows right after, a deep, wrecked moan spilling from his lips as he shoves himself as deep as he can go, hips jerking as he spills inside you, filling you just like he said he would.

Even as his thrusts slow, he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t move. He stays pressed deep, making sure every drop stays inside you, possessive even now, even after he’s already won. His lips find your jaw, trailing lazy kisses down your neck, hands smoothing over your sweat-dampened skin, not soft, not gentle—just his. His teeth catch on your earlobe as he hums, low and satisfied, a sound of pure, sick pride.

❝Told you,❞ he murmurs, pulling back just enough to smirk down at you, all smug and devastatingly pretty. ❝You’ll always be mine.❞

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : little late posting this but i hope it still finds you well . . . hope your day’s been gentle, angels <3

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

[nottslove]

I was thinking “Sports car” by Tate McRae reminds me of Theo so much 👀

okay so my song requests for my mini-fic series are actually closed right now as i have SO MUCH to write, but i LOVE this song, and it really is theo, so i had an idea to write something little small... tags: @dracosprettygirl, @nottsstar warnings: slightly suggestive content, mdni.

THEO WITH A SPORTS CAR theo's filthy rich, and he most definitely owns a sports car because why not?

he LOVES driving...

he often likes to turn up the music high leave the windows down as he zooms down the streets waaayyyy faster than the speed limit without even bothering to wear a seatbelt.

however, after your insistence, he does eventually wear a seatbelt, eyes constantly drifting sideways to check on you, his precious passenger princess.

he drives with one hand most of the time, the other is resting on your thigh, it's designated spot. he will allow you to control the music sometimes, and when you put on your girly music he complains, but secretly, he doesn't mind it.

in fact, even when he's alone, you'd find him listening to your girly music, and when you'd confront him about it, he'd merely give the excuse that those songs were already playing and he was lazy to change the playlist.

(he also hums these songs in the shower.)

his car is his baby, and you're the only thing more precious than his car. he will let you drive it sometimes, but he's constantly telling you to be careful and teaching you how to drive.

"i don't see why you need to learn how to drive when i'm right here to drive you around wherever you want..."

of course, during long car trips, he will finger fuck you whilst driving, or if he needs a little break, he'll take you in the backseat... maybe eat you out as well if there's time..

profile; nav;

©nottslove 2025. do not copy, steal or claim any works/graphics as your own.