#Since when is there more hashtag for these two????

[skretri]

"I THOUGHT WE WERE GOING TO WATCH PONIES!!"

[smithsibsceo]

zane and kai bonded in the early seasons by discovering new music together. both didnt really have a great access to it growing up (there was an only an old radio or maybe a scratchy vinyl player in ignacia's library and zane's village had no electricity) so they mainly grew up hearing their respective villages' traditional live music. Hearing those 'end-of-2012-mashup' compilations changed both of their lives

[kenmaiii]

pony comms + my three OCs in the last image

[averlym]

[arolesbianism]

The last of my captains have been done! My freaks <3

[strawhbrrries]

Movement

pairing: mike schmidt x afab!reader

summary: a double date that leads to mike schmidt coming home with you in the name of "helping your friend" and he ends up fucking you.

warnings: unprotected sex, no foreplay, creampie??, female pronouns, slight degrading??, pet names, heavy cussing, mike being hashtag v hot, no established relationship, porn with no plot, not proofread

word count: 2.1k words

author’s note: listen to movement by hozier for the full experience!!! I know this fic wasn't voted to be the first mike one to be posted but I had to do it okay!!!! he's so hot n sexy in this and i need him badly...please enjoy! mwah!

Your eyes scanned the restaurant in front of your car, you were promised a very nice dinner with a very nice man and the place you ended up might as well have been a denny’s. Gia somehow managed to rope you into a double date and as the amazing friend you are, you obliged. Now, you wanted to take it back. If the guy you were set up with wasn’t just an absolute heartthrob you might consider strangling her in the bathroom.

“Gia, this better be the best damn food and the hottest men you have ever experienced or I’m never doing you another favor ever again.” You teased, getting out of your car as she walked up to it.

“I swear he said this place was nicer! Thank you so much babes, I owe you one!” She responded, slipping her arm inside of yours to walk inside. “Maybe the inside is really nice and it’s just a shady exterior.”

You’d never seen the man Gia was seeing tonight so when the two of you arrived at the table you weren’t sure which man was yours, but you knew which one you wanted. He looked gentle, shaggy hair untamed almost like he wasn’t prepared to go on a date tonight. 

“I suppose I’m your date.” He smiled softly, getting up to pull your chair out for you. “I’m MIke, you look uh, really beautiful tonight.”

After the introductions and small talk the two of you hit it off right away, it helped that Gia and her date were more interested in each other than remembering that the people they brought also existed.  The more you talked the more Mike came out of his shell, he wasn’t as shy as you first pegged him to be. Your heel was slowly caressing his calf, neither of you were quite sure when it had ended up there but he wasn’t complaining.

“A man in uniform is hot.” Your flirting was a little rusty, but it seemed to be working just fine for you.

“It’s just a security gig.” He shrugged it off, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time. 

You grabbed the straw of your drink, wrapped your tongue around it, and took a sip. Mike choked slightly but covered it up with a cough, adjusting his pants under the table at the same time. 

“She’s not going to go home with him unless I go home with you.” You whispered in his ear as you leaned over the table, tangling your fingers in his hair to trick Gia into thinking you were whispering something dirty. “I’d really like to go home with you.”

You could feel the heat creep up his neck, his face was flushed. His heart might as well be on the outside of his chest with the intensity that it was beating, it’d been a long time since he’d been on a date or even gotten laid but Abby was at home and that just wouldn’t work.

“Uhm, my sister’s at home, can we go to your place?” Mike’s saliva was thick and pooling in his mouth, it felt almost impossible to swallow. He had to be dreaming, this just didn’t make sense otherwise. He was just doing his friend a favor and now your breath was hot on his neck and his jeans were uncomfortably tight.

The second the two of you walked outside he got fidgety, like he was going to take off the second you let go of his hand. Frankly he was surprised you hadn’t let go of it the second you picked it up, he was dripping sweat from the moment he realized you were his date. He quickly made a mental note to send a letter to the company who made his preferred deodorant, the fact that he didn’t smell absolutely putrid spoke volumes on their product.

“So did you mean what you said inside? Because I’m perfectly okay with just going home.” 

“I meant it, don’t be so nervous.” You smiled back at him, handing him the keys to your car.

The tension was thick, his knuckles were white as he tried to keep his focus on the road ahead and making it back to your place safely and not the fingers drawing figures on his thigh as you spoke about something he couldn’t quite grasp. 

Your place wasn’t too far from the restaurant that Gia’s date had picked, that Mike was thankful for. The longer he had to endure the torture that was your fingers on this thighs, the less his ability to be a gentleman and control himself existed. If it was up to him, he’d probably just pulled over and fucked you in the backseat of your own car but it wasn’t. He was a gentleman, he’d just met you all of a few hours ago, he knew better.

“This is the place.” You smiled softly as he pulled into your driveway.

“It’s nice.” He stated, handing your car keys back to you and taking your hand. “Suits you.”

Mike’s eyes wandered the walls, taking in every aspect of you, as you led him through the house. It didn’t take him long to notice that you lived alone, another thing he was now thankful for. His fingers trailed the zipper of your dress as he stood behind you in your bedroom, his other hand rubbing your arm and leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

“Are you going to take it off?” Your voice was shaky and quiet, for the first time tonight you were nervous. 

“And you thought I was the eager one.” He chuckled, tugging your hair back softly to give him just enough access to your face to make eye contact with you. “Do you get off on bringing strangers to your home and having them fuck you?”

A soft whimper escaped your lips, blessing the ears of the man behind you who responded with a groan. His lips made contact with your neck, biting and sucking at any of the skin he had access to. The hand that was holding your hair back made itself busy drawing the zipper of your dress further and further down until it couldn’t go any further, you shivered as the cold air hit your back. 

Mike detached himself from your neck and took a step back, briefly admiring how disheveled you looked despite still being fully dressed, he made a quick motion for you to turn around and you obliged almost immediately. If you got his dick any harder it might’ve fallen off before he ever got the chance to use it. 

He backed you into the bed, laying you down and sliding your dress off and into a pile on the floor. Another deep groan was emitted into the air as he took in the sight in front of him, you hadn’t worn a bra and the underwear you’d chosen left nothing to the imagination. Mike immediately started thanking whatever god was above for you and the experience he was about to have. 

Your heart was pounding out of your chest. Truthfully, you hadn’t planned on sleeping with anyone tonight but then you saw him and your entire plan was flipped upside down. You lied about your friend not going home with her date if you didn’t leave with him, you didn’t want him to think you were desperate but he knew now. The second he touched the zipper of your dress, anything left of your facade was gone. You needed him.

“If you weren’t so fucking wet I would’ve thought you were only doing me a favor.” He spoke nonchalantly, rubbing his finger over your folds through your underwear. “ Or maybe you’re just a whore? Huh?”

“For you.” You choked out, words getting caught in your throat over his words. 

At the beginning of the night you would’ve placed money on the fact that he wasn’t capable of things like this, it was like another side of him had come out during the drive to your house. You weren’t complaining, his words were getting to you in a way you’d never experienced. 

“Yeah? For me? Mikey’s own personal whore.” He slipped your underwear to the side and slid his finger through your folds, collecting your juices and bringing them to his mouth. “You’re as sweet as you look, need a honey jar full of you.”

You cried out at him softly, trying to use anything you had to stop his teasing. He was winding you up but edging you right before you could pop, he could’ve said anything and you would’ve agreed just to get him to fuck you. Being this desperate for a man you hardly knew was an exhilarating experience. 

“Please, I need you.” You whined, grabbing at his shirt in a desperate plea. “Please.”

“Good job using your words, pretty girl.” Mike praised, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your underwear and pulling them down, throwing them in the same pile as your dress.

His clothes soon joined yours on the floor, a small pout emerging when you realized you wouldn’t be able to suck him off, his eyes catching yours as he climbed up your body. He kissed his way up, biting occasionally. Fingers tracing your skin just as you had done to him earlier in the night, lighting a fire on your skin as they went. It was like his body was made to fit yours, like your souls had searched for each other through every lifetime and yet this was the first time they had met.

His lips finally met yours for the first time, teeth nipping at your bottom lip as he pulled away to breathily whisper something in your ear. You shook your head in agreement at whatever he said, as long as he kept touching you like that and making noises in your ear you’d agree to anything he said to you. 

Shaking your head yes was the best decision you’d made so far, you felt two fingers slip inside of you. Thrusting for a few moments before they were replaced by the tip of his cock, slowly pushing in as his mouth found one of your nipples. The gentle man you had once perceived had been replaced by a god who was hung like a horse, splitting you in half with the cock fit for a god.

“Fuck.” Mike moaned, tipping his head back when he bottomed out, taking your legs and placing them on his shoulders. “So good, pretty girl.”

Anything you had planned on responding with quickly dissipated the second he pulled out and thrusted back in, a low groan coming out insead. His fingers were digging into your thighs as he held them up where he wanted them, all you could hope for was the imprints bruising as a reminder that this actually happened. What hair that wasn’t sticking to his skin from the sweat covering it was dangling backwards freely, all his focus was on not cumming too soon and if he continued to look at you he definitely would.

Your eyes had glossed over a long time ago, tears streaming down the sides as a byproduct of the blissful state his cock had put you in, fingers gripping desperately at the sheets and your tits bouncing with each thrust. He was once again praying to every god that he would get to do this another time, then he could sear the image of you under him into his mind.

“Mike, Mikey I need..” You whined, the knot in your stomach twisting and turning, threatening to spill before you could even finish a coherent thought.

“C’mon pretty girl, you can do it, let it go.” He praised you, bringing his thumb down to your clit and drawing figure eights in time with his thrusts to help your orgasm spill over.

His words were the final piece in the puzzle, your orgasm hitting you soon after he spoke. Legs shaking, mind blowing, tears, and silent moans was all your body could do at the supernova your orgasm had proved to be. You’d never cum this hard before but if every orgasm after didn’t measure up, he had ruined you. 

“You did so good.” Was all you heard as you came down from your high, Mike’s hands soothed down your hair as he whispered into your ear. 

His thrusts continued at the same pace for only a few seconds before his hips stuttered and he painted your insides white. 

“I guess tonight wasn’t a total waste.” You joked quietly, turning to the side to smile at him as he laid down next to you. 

“We need to do this more often.”

[voitier]

HANS - In your Hands

In a world where every single step is recorded and analysed by cameras, F1 racer Jeon Jungkook could care less about his reputation, having decided that with the amount of money he has he could buy the silence of everybody, if he wished.

Behind him, there's a girl losing her mind trying to get him to behave, knowing that her job is at risk if she doesn't cover up his mess-ups in time.

What happens when one of the most influential and world recognised racers falls head over heels for his PR manager, who absolutely despises his "I've got it all" attitude and wants nothing more than to keep doing her job in peace?

DISCLAIMER:

This story is set in the F1 world. I am not a part of the F1 fandom. Therefore, all the knowledge I'll put to use comes from research I've been doing lately. Since I plan on using at least a tiny bit of technical terminology, I'll link the official F1 website where the basics are explained and I'll create another post with all the basic useful informations (COMING SOON!).

CONTAINS:

Mature themes, including sex, alcohol and substances use and abuse, money bets, life-risking events, yearning, jealousy, flashbacks into the protagonists' pasts, slow burn, use of sex as a form of unhealthy coping mechanism, angst and unresolved past issues. MDNI.

THIS WORK IS PURELY A WORK OF FICTION. PEOPLE, NAMES, PLACES AND BRANDS ARE USED FOR VISUAL PURPOSES ONLY. NONE OF WHAT YOU'RE GOING TO READ IS REAL.

INDEX:

- 하나 : Gran Premio de España

- 둘 : Of caramel and coffee grounds

- 셋 : What goes around comes around

- 넷 : For one who's lost, another is found

- 다섯 :

- 여섯 :

(More chapters will be uploaded one by one. As of now, the introductory post will be posted to see if the idea is well liked and supported by readers. Please know that it's still work in progress, and I plan on posting Ch.1 once I'm working at least on the second half of the series. Thank you)

EXTRAS:

✈ General moodboard

✈ Couple moodboard

SNIPPETS:

– Chapter 1 : 1 / 2

– Chapter 2 : 1 / 2

– Chapter 3 : 1 / 2 / 3

HASHTAGS:

You can find HANS - In your Hands content under the two hashtags down below #© voitier [HANS] and #HANS!jungkook asks🏎

TAGLIST:

@jungkoode @gnarlycore @koodollylvr @annpeachy @haru-jiminn @magicalnachocreator @delulutofr @httpjeonlicious @offl-ine @akirawhore @rexana19 @army7-013 @alana4610 @cherricherryy @mangify @wettbaby @bettytta @bjoriis @thatgirliehan @whoa-jo @cutttteeee @medicinemybish @pitchblack0309 @jjeonjjk7

Thank you for reading and showing support.

Now, make sure to buckle up and put your helmets on, we have a Grand Prix to win. Enjoy the race!

© voitier 2025

[defnotriri]

"the man who can't be moved"

|| PRO!Katsuki B. x reader

UNEDITED / UNREVISED

pt. 2

It's been five years since you've graduated from UA high. You're now twenty three years old and ever since the war you saw everything differently. You realized the risks of being a hero, the fact that your life could be stripped from you at any moment. You weren't quite ready to take that risk. You dropped out the hero course and pursued your studies in general studies.

You never forgot about him though. How can you move on if you're still in love with him? You tried to forget him but it's hard when everything about him was perfect. His eyes were so unforgettable, his words that he never thinks through. The loud steps of his foot and the angry blasts of his hands.

You stay up at night thinking about what the two of you could've been if you didn't leave. Would he have ended it then? Would he stay? Maybe realized that you two were just too different to be with each other? But a little part of you hoped that maybe in another universe you two had a happy ending.

You never watched the news since you knew he'd be on. Until your curiosity takes over one day. You scroll through a hashtag of his name until you see a recent interview that's been going viral.

"Dynamight! How does it feel that you're getting married in a couple months to Uraravity?" The female reporter asks as she shoves the microphone in his face.

"I'm excited, I guess? Don't really know what I'm suppose to say" Bakugo says with a sigh and his gaze turns to the side. He's playing with his engagement ring that sits perfectly on his finger.

Your heart stings a bit but what were you hoping for? That he would still be hung up on a girl that he barely knew? Plus Uraraka was gorgeous. She was strong, kind and helpful. They even shared the same goals in life. Of course he would pick her instead of you. The weak willed girl who left his life after the war.

"And what about the significance of the ring on your necklace? You've had it way before the engagement, please enlighten us!" The reporter blasts him with a bunch of questions before stuffing the mic back into his face. His gaze comes back to the camera and he thinks for a bit. You looked at the necklace the reporter was talking about and your heart dropped.

"To let someone know that I'm still here waiting, that I'm still hers, forever and always. I want to let her know that whenever she's ready she can always come back if she wants." He says as if he's been waiting years to say this. Before he could get questioned more, Uraraka is walking up to him.

"Did you know about Dynamight's past lovers?" "Uravity, how does it feel to now know the real reason behind your fiancé's necklace?" "How will this affect your engagement?"

She gets questioned by the press and Bakugo takes this opportunity to walk away and into the hero gala. Leaving all of the interviewers to wonder about the girl he was talking about.

You exit out the app and close your phone. You lay it down on your chest and stare at the ceiling. That was the ring he gave you back when you two were dating. You left it back at his dorm with a note saying that you'd drop out. You couldn't face him in person. His hurt face would make you instantly regret it.

You turn to your side and wonder if he still kept the same number from your high school days. Should you even text him? He's already engaged. He deserved so much better than you. You're only a elementary teacher and he's a full time pro hero.

But, fuck did you miss him.

Maybe just this once you'll be selfish and give yourself what you truly want.

xxx-xxx-xxx

I'm sorry to bother but.. is this still Katsuki?

[hoe4hotchner]

Can you write a hotch x famous actress. They go public at the Oscars or an award show. The press probably needs to investigate who hotch is. Thanks

The Oscars | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x actress!reader | WC: 0.4k | CW: fluff

The world wasn’t ready for the sight of Aaron Hotchner in a tuxedo. No, scratch that, they weren't ready for the sight of Aaron Hotchner with his hand resting on the small of your back as you walked down the red carpet.

Cameras flashed in rapidly as they spotted you with the mystery man by your side, reporters scrambled to identify him, and fans glued to their screens flooded social media with theories and questions.

“Who is he?”

“Isn’t he a government agent or something, I feel like I've seen him on the news?”

“I need to know how they met, like, yesterday.”

For weeks leading up to the award show, the buzz surrounding your personal life had been relentless. Whispers of a new love interest had floated around since a blurry photo of you leaving a D.C. coffee shop surfaced online. But this? This was confirmation.

Aaron was calm despite the chaos surrounding you, his stoic demeanor making him even more intriguing. He leaned close to your ear, his deep voice barely audible over the noise. “You okay?”

You smiled a small but genuine expression that only he could draw from you in moments like these. “Perfect. I should be the one asking you that.”

You paused for photos at the iconic step-and-repeat. You beamed as Aaron stayed slightly behind you, he wasn’t here for the glitz or the glamour; he was here for you, to support you.

Inside, the night unfolded with Hollywood’s elite coming to greet you—and by extension, him. There was no escaping the barrage of curious glances and polite inquiries.

“How long have you two been together?” someone asked during a lull in the evening.

Aaron’s lips twitched. “Long enough to know I’m the lucky one.”

It wasn’t until after you won your award—a standing ovation accompanying your name being called—that the internet exploded. The camera caught you returning to your seat, your hand naturally seeking his for a celebratory squeeze. It was a small, intimate gesture, but it spoke volumes to the people watching at home.

By the end of the night, hashtags about you both trended worldwide.

#WhoIsAgentHotchner?

#HotchnerAndHollywood

#LoveInTheLimelight

The press dissected every detail of his life within days: FBI Unit Chief, widower, father of one. It was a whirlwind of attention that would overwhelm anyone else—but not Aaron.

In your private moments, when the cameras were off and the designer clothes were replaced by sweatpants, he reminded you why this worked.

“I didn’t sign up for this to be your publicist,” he teased one evening, his hand slipping around your waist as you both watched late-night coverage of the Oscars from the couch.

“You signed up to be my partner,” you countered, resting your head against his shoulder. “And you’re doing a great job.”

He pressed a kiss to your hair, his voice low and full of affection. “You make it easy.”

[the-sheep]

Is Starscream now a part of the Malto Family? If so how did the rest of the family react? I think Hashtag is happy and will probably call Starscream "Uncle Star" or something

oh gosh i was joking when i mentioned being an ask blog. my curse continues, so i must answer

Pretty much all i draw/write of ES starscream is part of my "fast track to redemption" au! (title not final) Most easily seen in the fics I've written.

Rather than ignore season 2 entirely, I like the fandom notion that the quintessons perhaps attempted to get Starscream to do their dirty work by taking control of the titan AND killing all the other bots. Since. Well Starscream really needed a Starscream to tell him his plan was absolute dogshit. His plan benefits the Quintessons more than it does the Decepticons.

And i personally believe that ES Starscream would never kill a child, let alone two.

Starting with just a little bit of influence to kickstart things, to more and more interference with all of his systems in order to get him to do what is required, only for him to fail and be made useless to the quints. He snaps out of a haze where he's barely in control of his own body and can barely even comprehend what's happening, dropped back into consciousness hard enough to shatter his spinal strut.

Anyway I made it so that gave him brain damage.

Once everything is over and they do a quick little scan of his body for damage or weapons, discoveries are made.

To extra super fast track my favorite setting of "everyone is kinda friends and casually near each other", i needed to essentially declaw Starscream. Without the mind control he's still an asshole who will try and destroy everyone's trust in him as often as possible, which without external assurance that he's genuinely not a threat, would make all the adults keep him in jail for years.

AND i think he wouldn't even stay at the autobot base if he didnt have to rely on them.

Yeah thats about the minimum i think it would take for starscream to mayyyybe admit weakness. The quintessons gave him a tummyache :(

Thus, we got ourselves a seeker wandering the base within months.

and then we have someone much more willing to confront the sadder feelings Hashtag has about so many things. And relates on the mind control front, since she isn't very close with Grimlock.

They connected, if only for a moment. by primus they'll connect again. he's adopting her if its the last thing he'll do.

and then hes made fun of for adopting 7-9 teens because hes being a stereotypical nesting seeker.

this gives me the setting to do what i wish.

[fleuraliasave]

*OUTDATED NEW VERSION AVAILABLE HERE*

❤ Version 7.0 Fleuralia Save File ❤

Download link down below (please read entire post before installing)

This save file uses all EP’s, GP’s (not Journey to Batuu), SP’s and most of the kits (Country Kitchen, Blooming Rooms, Incheon Arrivals, Retro Fit, Industrial loft, Moonlight Chic, Little Campers, Pastel Pop, Everyday Clutter, Bathroom Clutter, Simtimates Collection, First Fits, Desert Luxe, Modern Luxe, Poolside Splash, Book Nook, Basement treasures, Greenhouse Haven, Pastel Pop and Bust the Dust).

What’s new in this update?:

Chestnut Ridge and Tomarang have been completely redone, added multiple new lots, updated other lots and provided make-overs for the households.

Added new households (when living in world; with jobs, friends, preferences etc).

Added rental lots in multiple other worlds outside of Tomarang (Brindleton Bay, Henford-on-Bagley, Britechester and more).

Spooky Fall Festival has been moved to Chestnut Ridge (bigger with haunted house ride). The old lot in Brindleton Bay has been changed into a cemetery.

Current Status of Worlds:

Finished worlds: Willow Creek, Oasis Springs, Newcrest, Magnolia Promenade, Windenburg, San Myshuno, Forgotten Hollow, Brindleton Bay, Del Sol Valley, StrangerVille, Glimmerbrook, Sulani, Britechester , Evergreen Harbor, Mt. Komorebi, Henford-on-Bagley, Tartosa, Moonwood Mill, Copperdale, San Sequoia, Chestnut Ridge (NEW!) and Tomarang (NEW!).

Finished vacation worlds: Granite Falls and Selvadorada.

Finihed other lots: Hospital, Science Lab and the Police Station.

To be updated: the Magic Realm, will either be included in a future update or on the gallery (OriginID: fleuralia)

What do you get with this save?:

For my save file all lots are either completely new builds (almost all) or renovations, ofcourse created by me. Exceptions: I have added the official builds for the releases of the Paranormal SP by Dr Ashley and the Dream Home Decorator GP by Deligracy to this save, since I thought they deserved a spot. These two are therefore not my own creations, credits are given in the description to Dr Ashley and Deligracy. Mt. Komorebi, Henford-on-Bagley, Tartosa, Moonwood Mill, Copperdale, San Sequoia and Chestnut Ridge lots are largely created by GameChangers. Most lots have gotten smaller updates, others are completely new builds by me.

All the townies had make-overs plus I added new families to spice it up a bit. Some of the townies are made by other creators, who are given credits in the description of the household. All the townies in the different worlds have a story, some include sentiments and adjusted relationships to the story.

Added plenty of community lots to give your Sims something to do (YAY!). Almost every world has one restaurant, but it also includes festivals that represent the four seasons (park lots) and a fully functional shopping street in Magnolia Promenade (toy store, bridal store and more).

I have added rental lots so you can go on vacation in more worlds. For example in Sulani, Willow Creek and Windenburg.

Other details:

As mentioned at the beginning, this save uses almost all packs (except Journey to Batuu and some kits). This means that if you download it without owning or installing most of the packs a lot of objects will disappear from the save, but if you are not bothered by this you can still download and play in it.  

I disabled the autonomous fame gain and neigborhood action plan voting/environmental changes, you enable them again in the pack settings menu.

I would love to add some households in this save created by all of you! Add your household under the hashtag #fleuraliatownies in The Sims 4 Gallery, you can add a storyline and world in the description but thats not obligatory. If I respond on your creation it means that I have incorporated it in the save for the next update.

Sadly every game update comes with a lot of bugs. I suggest before reporting problems in the save to me, to check on forums if its related to a general bug/glitch or to mods (if you use them).

Questions and supportive feedback are always welcome, you can reach me here via a comment on this post, an ask or through a DM 😁

How to make it work in your game:

Download the save file from the link below.

Drag it in your saves folder under: PC/Documents/Electronic Arts/The Sims 4/saves.

Change the numbers if you already have a save with the same name.

It should now show up in your game as: Fleuralia Save Version 7.0.

DOWNLOAD (SFS) / Alternate (GD)

!!Don’t re-upload or claim as your own!!

Future updates will follow after each pack release (if it includes a world). The time the update will be uploaded after each release depends on how much I have to change and on my work schedule around that time.

Last but not least, enjoy and till next time! XX

Fleuralia

Feel free to support me ❤️: Ko-fi account

[oikawaisincrisis]

Where it’s quiet ~ U.W.

Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x fem!Reader

Summary: Ushijima finds himself lost when an injury keeps him away from the volleyball court so in a desperate attempt to keep his sanity he goes back home. Surrounded by memories and people from the past, will he find himself once again or something else entirely?

CW (content warning): post-time skip!Ushijima, mentions of sport injuries, slight angst, smut, MDNI (+18), p in v, oral (m recieving), despite the smut this is mainly fluff.

AN (author’s note): Hi guys! I’ve been writing for Haikyuu for a while now but I never really thought about posting it until I started posting my jjk works on my other blog (@yuujispunches if you want to check it out 🫶🏻), I’m kinda nervous because it’s really different but I hope you guys enjoy this! English isn’t my first language so I’m sorry if there are any mistakes :)

Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

The crack of impact was sharp, clean, almost too clean. At first, no one understood what had happened. The rally kept going. Ushijima had leapt high, even for his standards, dominating the air like it belonged to him. But when he came down.

He didn’t get up.

The arena didn’t fall silent immediately. Ushijima’s absence in movement wasn’t noticeable until the ball hit the floor with a hollow thud. Then there was that chilling beat of delay before every head turned.

He clutched his leg, his face twisted in a rare grimace. Not from pain, Ushijima Wakatoshi had played through pain before. This was something deeper. Something breaking apart, not just torn muscle or strained tendon, but something fundamental inside of him.

——————————————————————————

The prognosis came in harsh and sterile, in a room that smelled like antiseptic and dread.

"A full tear of the Achilles tendon."

Surgery. Recovery. Three to six months minimum before rehab. Closer to a year before he could even think of spiking a ball again.

The doctors gave him comforting smiles. The team’s manager offered words of reassurance. Fans flooded social media with hashtags, edits, tributes, well-wishes.

None of it touched him.

Wakatoshi found himself sitting alone in his apartment in Sendai, his leg immobilized in a boot, staring at the wall as if willing it to become something else, something useful. Something moving and not broken.

He hated stillness.

——————————————————————————

Two weeks passed in the haze of forced rest and ice packs. Then four. The more his body stagnated, the more his thoughts grew wild, unrecognizable. He had built his world around control, around the sharp edge of purpose that volleyball gave him. Now, everything felt dulled.

That’s when he made the decision. One morning, with no plan except the aching emptiness he couldn't shake, he packed a bag, informed his manager he needed some time away, and booked a train to Yamagata.

——————————————————————————

The old roads were unchanged. The farmland rolled out under a soft spring sky, gentle and wide. Wakatoshi hadn’t visited in years, not since his parents sold the family home and moved closer to the coast. But the town hadn’t forgotten him.

Even walking down the main street with a hoodie pulled low, heads turned. People still recognized him, somehow. Tall as ever. Stoic. Broken now, though they couldn’t see it.

He stayed in a quiet inn on the outskirts, a simple place with tatami mats and a view of the rice fields. He didn’t do much. Didn’t want to be recognized, didn’t want to talk. Mostly he limped through memories, haunted by the sound of his own breath.

Until he ran into you.

——————————————————————————

You were standing outside the local café, arguing with the barista about the new seasonal drink. Something about how coffee shouldn't taste like strawberry.

“Just because you can make it doesn’t mean you should.” You huffed, spinning on your heel and nearly walked straight into a wall of muscle and fleece.

You stepped back instinctively. Then your eyes narrowed.

“Wakatoshi?”

His shoulders went stiff. He turned.

Your face lit up like summer. “Oh my god. It is you!”

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

You filled the silence. “You probably don’t remember me [Y/N], from Shiratorizawa? I was in Class 3, used to talk your ear off during lunch. You always stared like I was speaking a different language.”

His brow creased a little, like he was digging through dusty memory files. And then, you saw it the flicker of recognition.

“You liked strawberry milk.” He said.

You blinked.

“I… did, yeah.” A laugh escaped you. “That’s what you remember?”

He nodded slowly. “You said it was the superior drink. I disagreed.”

You looked up at him. The Ushijima Wakatosh you knew, now a famous, national-level athlete but he still stood like a fortress. Still had that calm, unreadable expression. But now there was something else underneath it. Something frayed.

“I’m glad you remember.” You said softly. “Hey… are you okay?”

——————————————————————————

You didn’t ask him to join you for coffee.

You just started talking again, like years hadn’t passed. Like he hadn’t disappeared into the world of professional sports, and you hadn’t grown into your own life, working remotely now from your childhood home, helping your aging aunt run her flower shop.

Somehow, you both ended up walking down the street together. You talked about the town, how things had changed, who had moved, who hadn’t. You told him about the café’s new obsession with flavored drinks. About your dog. About how the sakura festival was coming soon.

He barely said a word. But he didn’t leave either.

——————————————————————————

The next day, you saw him again. This time sitting alone on a park bench, leg propped up, staring into the lake like it might give him answers. You sat beside him with a box of taiyaki.

“You look hungry.” You said simply offering the box to him.

He took it. Ate in silence. You swung your legs off the edge of the bench and let the sun warm your skin.

“Still hate strawberry?”

He chewed slowly, nodded.

You grinned. “Some things never change.”

The words didn’t really mean anything but for some reason they sounded almost like comfort to him.

——————————————————————————

The days after followed a rhythm.

You bumped into each other “by accident” again. Then not by accident.

You invited him to your aunt’s shop to see the garden you’d been working on. He stood among the lilies and said nothing, but his eyes didn’t wander. He watched you kneel in the dirt, brush pollen off your fingers, talk about soil PH like it was sacred.

You brought him books you thought he might like. He read them. You could tell by the way he handed them back without creases but with little post it annotations places on the margins with calculated care.

When you were with him, you didn’t expect words. You filled the quiet with stories, with small kindnesses. And slowly, he started to talk, not much, just enough. But when he did, it always mattered.

——————————————————————————

One evening, as the sky turned lavender, he admitted:

“I can’t play.”

You looked up from where you were adjusting the garden’s irrigation pipe. “Right now?”

He hesitated. “Maybe not again. Not at the same level.”

You stood, wiped your hands on your pants, and looked at him. Really looked.

“Does that scare you?”

He didn’t answer for a long time. Then, “Yes.” Another pause filled with a deep breath. “I don’t know who I am without it.”

Your voice was soft. “I do.”

His eyes flickered to you.

“You’re still Wakatoshi.” You said. “You’re still kind of intimidating, loyal and a little weird about vegetables.”

A beat passed.

“I’m not weird about vegetables, broccoli just tastes like grass objectively.”

You laughed.

And for the first time in weeks, he smiled.

——————————————————————————

You weren’t supposed to become his routine. Or at least that’s what he told himself at first.

But one day turned into two. Then into a week. Then more.

You started seeing Wakatoshi every day without even planning it. At the park, the shop, the café. Sometimes he limped along beside you while you rambled about your latest dream something along the lines of “There were three ferrets in a trench coat pretending to be my landlord. Don’t ask”, or told him the entire plot of a romance drama in excruciating detail while he nodded once, maybe twice, with solemn confusion.

And he… didn’t mind. In fact, he started waiting for you.

Not obviously. No, never that. But he’d be in the places you might show up, sitting on the same bench, outside the same shop, buying the exact coffee you liked so you wouldn’t have to wait in line. It wasn’t that he needed you there.

But when you were, the silence in his chest didn’t ache as badly.

——————————————————————————

You were light. Loud and quick and always moving. You talked with your hands, with your whole face. You had this thing where you’d lean in close when you were excited, as if your joy couldn’t be contained in just your voice.

Wakatoshi had never met anyone like you. Not really.

On the court, everything was angles. Force. Timing. Discipline. He was good at that. Better than anyone. But off the court?

He didn’t know what to do with the messiness of people.

Yet somehow, your messiness didn’t feel like chaos. It felt like sun through the leaves.

——————————————————————————

One afternoon, it rained.

You showed up at the inn he was staying at, dripping and barefoot, holding two bags of convenience store snacks and a half-wilted daisy you’d stuffed behind your ear.

“Surprise!” You beamed. “Rain check on the flower beds, literally. Thought we could hang out here. Unless you don’t want company, in which case I will melt dramatically into the road.”

He stared at you for a long moment, almost as if he was trying to convince himself of the sight before him. Then stepped aside.

You took that as a yes.

——————————————————————————

That night, you both sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, watching a movie on your tablet. You kept shoving snacks into his hand without asking. He never refused. You talked through most of the film.

“Okay, but if the ghost is her dead twin, how did she not know the entire time?!”

“I’m just saying, if I die tragically, you *better* make it a dramatic haunt.”

“Do you think ghosts get bored?”

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Wakatoshi didn’t speak much. But he watched you like you were more compelling than the screen.

After the credits rolled, the thunder outside softened to a distant rumble. You glanced at him.

“Hey” You said, quieter now. “How are you holding up?”

He didn’t answer right away. “I really don’t know. Badly I think.”

The word fell heavy between you. Honest. Plain. But weighted. You nodded gently, inching closer so your knees brushed.

“I figured.”

He looked down at his hands. “Everything I’ve worked for… all the time, the years. I don’t know if I’ll get it back. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be now.”

You reached over and touched his wrist, light as rain.

“You don’t have to know yet.” You whispered. “It’s okay to not be okay, Toshi.”

He didn’t move. But he didn’t pull away either. The nickname falling from your lips made a weird feeling spread through his chest and he found himself wanting to believe you.

——————————————————————————

The next day, you made him a makeshift rehabilitation chart. It was full of sparkles, doodles, and completely inaccurate medical advice.

“Goal: stop walking like Frankenstein.” You grinned, pointing to the top.

Wakatoshi blinked. “This isn’t a real program.”

“Correct.” You said proudly. “But it made you stop brooding for five seconds, didn’t it?”

He exhaled through his nose. Not quite a laugh. But close enough. A smile tugging at his lips.

You considered it a win.

——————————————————————————

The more time you spent together, the more you learned his rhythms.

He was blunt but not unkind. He hated loud music. He preferred savory to sweet. He didn’t like when people asked him how he was unless they actually wanted to know.

He also had a strange fondness for animals. You caught him once, crouching awkwardly to pet a neighborhood cat that had hissed at you five minutes earlier.

“You’re a traitor.” Uou accused playfully.

He blinked. “I didn’t say I disliked cats.”

“She tried to bite me!”

“She likes me.” He said simply.

You gawked as the cat curled into his palm.

“Okay, Snow White.”

——————————————————————————

Sometimes, though, he shut down.

There were days he didn’t come out of the inn. Didn’t answer your texts. Days when you knew he wasn’t hurt, just hollow. You didn’t push him on those days.

You dropped off fresh onigiri with a note taped to the lid:

It’s okay. I’m here when you’re ready.

He never replied. But the containers were always returned, empty. The notes were kept on his nightstand, to reread when he felt like loneliness was about to swallow him.

——————————————————————————

One evening, he joined you on the roof of your house.

You’d invited him there once before, told him the view was better than therapy.

Now you both sat with your feet hanging off the edge, the stars bright above, the air filled with the chirp of summer bugs. You handed him a cold beer and didn’t say anything for a while.

Then, quietly. “I used to think you were scary, you know.”

His brow twitched. “Why?”

“You never smiled. You had that whole murdery volleyball thing going on.”

He stared straight ahead. “I wasn’t trying to be scary.”

“I know that now. You’re just… intense.” A pause. Then you spoke again. “You’re still kind of intense but you’re kind, too. And steady. I like that about you.”

He didn’t speak. But you saw his knuckles tighten around the bottle.

Your voice softened. “You know, you don’t have to go back to who you were before. You’re allowed to change. To figure out what you want.”

He turned to you then. There was something raw in his expression, something that cracked just enough to show what was underneath.

“I don’t know what I want.” He said.

You smiled at him, tired but warm.

“Well… until you do, you’ve got me.” You said as you nudged your shoulder against his softly. Bright eyes shining as you looked at him.

For the first time he found himself that maybe tomorrow didn’t sound so terrifying anymore.

——————————————————————————

You didn’t realize it yet, but something was shifting inside him. Slowly. Like spring thawing frozen ground. Every time you said his name, it softened him. Every time you smiled at him like he wasn’t broken, it pieced him back together.

But cracks let the light in.

And the light hurt.

——————————————————————————

One night, he snapped.

It was the first time he raised his voice at you.

You’d brought him a flyer for a local festival. They were holding a charity volleyball event. You thought it might cheer him up.

“It’s just a small thing.” You said. “You wouldn’t have to play. Just be around people. Might feel good.”

He stared at the paper. Then his jaw clenched.

“I said I can’t play.” He barked harshly.

You blinked. “I didn’t mean- ”

“I’m not a mascot.” He cut in, voice low but sharp. “I’m not interested in pretending I still belong there.”

You stood, holding the flyer like it had burned you.

“I wasn’t pitying you, Wakatoshi. I thought maybe it’d help to be near the thing you love.”

“I don’t need help.”

Your chest tightened.

“Yeah, well…” You said, voice cracking. “You’re doing a hell of a job proving it.”

You turned and walked away.

He didn’t stop you.

——————————————————————————

He didn’t sleep that night.

The room felt like it was closing in. The air too heavy. The silence too loud.

He hadn’t meant to yell. He hadn’t even known the anger was there until it boiled over. But it wasn’t you he was mad at.

It was himself.

His body. His failure. His fear.

He didn’t know how to say any of that. So instead, he said nothing.

Which meant he had to live with the echo of your hurt expression. The way you walked away like you couldn’t fix him anymore.

And maybe that’s what scared him most.

That he was pushing away the only person who saw him as more than an athlete. The only one who didn’t flinch when he broke down.

——————————————————————————

Two days passed.

You didn’t show up at the café. Or the park. Or the bench.

He stared at your last text:

Take care of yourself Wakatoshi.

Neutral. Kind. But distant. Full last name instead of the nickname he had quietly grown fond of.

He hated it. God, how he hated it.

——————————————————————————

The morning of the festival came.

He didn’t plan on going. Of course not. But his feet took him there anyway.

You were working a booth when you saw him.

The crowd parted like it knew. Like the story was unfolding just for you.

Ushijima Wakatoshi. Standing still in the middle of the street, in a sea of movement. No crutches. Just a limp. In a plain black shirt that clung to the curve of his shoulders, eyes scanning every stall until they landed on you.

You froze.

He walked toward you, slow, deliberate.

“I was wrong.” He said, stopping in front of your table. “The other day.”

You raised an eyebrow. He looked down. Swallowed hard.

“I was scared.” He said. “I still am. Everything I am. Everything I’ve worked for was built around being the best. And now I don’t know if I’ll ever get that back.”

Your expression softened. “I wasn’t trying to take that from you.” You whispered.

“I know.” He said. “But I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

You stepped around the booth, closer now. Close enough to feel the heat of his skin.

“Toshi” You said quietly, “I’ve only ever seen you like this. And I’ve never once thought less of you.”

He looked at you like you’d just said something in a language he couldn’t translate. Like the words didn’t make sense, because no one had ever spoken them before.

You lifted your hand slowly, touched his chest just over his heart.

“You don’t have to be strong with me.”

His breath hitched and in that moment, he leaned his forehead against yours.

Not a kiss but something closer. Something deeper.

——————————————————————————

After the festival, he stayed by your side the entire day.

You didn’t ask for it but he handed you water when your voice got hoarse. Kept kids from knocking over the display. Sat on a crate in the back of your booth like a silent bodyguard, expression unreadable but his eyes never strayed from you.

When the crowd thinned and your feet ached, he offered his arm. You took it without question. He felt… steady again. Not because he was healed. But because you were there.

Later that night, you brought him to the lake.

Same bench. Same spot. This time, you leaned into his side. He didn’t move away.

“I’m sorry for being a brat.” You said quietly.

“You weren’t.”

You turned your head against his shoulder.

“You sure?”

He glanced down at you. “You were right to be upset.”

You smiled. “Wow. Did Ushijima Wakatoshi just admit I was right?”

A long pause.

“Yes.” A reluctant smile on his lips

You grinned, poking his ribs gently. “Growth.”

It was silent for a while. But it wasn’t empty.

Then you said, “Do you ever think about what you’d do if you didn’t play?”

His hand twitched beside yours.

“I don’t know.” He said finally. “I’ve never let myself think about it.”

You looked up at him. “Well. Maybe you don’t have to figure it out alone.”

He met your gaze. And something softened. “Okay.”

Just one word. But when he took your hand in his it it felt like a beginning.

——————————————————————————

The lake was quiet when you brought him there again.

A week had passed since the festival. Since he let his forehead touch yours like it meant something. Since he started showing up without needing a reason.

Now, he came because he wanted to.

He still didn’t talk much. Still didn’t smile often. But the way he looked at you had changed.

He watched you like he was trying to memorize something fragile. Like he was afraid of blinking and losing it.

Tonight, you sat side-by-side on the grass, the stars reflecting in the still water.

And you told him, soft and sure. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

Wakatoshi swallowed thickly. “Sometimes I feel like… if I’m not playing, I’m nothing.”

You turned, eyes warm and fierce. “You’re so much more than that.”

He met your gaze, slow and aching.

“You’re the first person who’s ever said that to me.”

Your heart broke a little at that.

But it bloomed too. Because it meant you could be the first and maybe the only.

This time you were the one that reaches for his hand. He took it without hesitation.

——————————————————————————

The walk home was quiet.

The kind of quiet that buzzed under the skin. Every brush of his arm sent a pulse down your spine. Every glance felt like a tether pulling tighter between you.

When you got to your door, you turned to him.

“Do you want to come in?”

He hesitated, just for a breath then nodded.

Inside, the lights were low. You kicked off your shoes and walked into the kitchen, nerves fluttering. He stood near the entry like he didn’t know where he was allowed to go.

“Make yourself comfortable.” You said gently, setting your keys down. “You’re safe here.”

Something in his face shifted. He stepped closer.

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

You turned to him. He was closer than before. His eyes dark in the soft light, jaw tense.

“I don’t know how to do this.” He said quietly. “But I want to.”

Your chest swelled. “You don’t have to know how.” You whispered. “Just stay with me.”

He reached out, brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

And then he kissed you.

——————————————————————————

It was slow. Careful.

Like he was afraid of shattering something he didn’t know how to hold.

But when you kissed him back. When you leaned in and let your lips open under his, he deepened it with a groan that vibrated through your chest.

Your fingers tangled in his shirt. His hands cupped your waist like he didn’t know where to touch, only that he needed to.

You pulled back, breathing heavy, and looked into his eyes.

“You can touch me.” You said. “However you want.”

He blinked. Like the permission stunned him.

You took his hand and guided it to your cheek. Then lower, to your chest, over your heart. His breath caught.

“I want you.” You whispered. “But only if you want this too.”

His voice cracked. “I do.”

——————————————————————————

You led him to your room.

He sat on the edge of your bed while you stepped between his knees, hands at his jaw.

“Tell me if anything feels wrong. Or too much.”

He nodded once. Silent. A storm behind his eyes.

You kissed him again, longer this time. Slower.

And then you knelt between his legs. Wakatoshi tensed.

“Wait- ” He started, but your fingers worked open the button of his jeans with calm precision.

“Let me.” You said. “I want to.”

He swallowed. Adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t usually… let people do this.”

“I know.”

You kissed the inside of his knee. Then the scar.

It was thick, pale, a little raised. You ran your thumb over it, then pressed your lips to the center. Slow, reverent.

His breath hitched. His hands fisted in the sheets.

“I hate it.” He murmured. “It’s horrible”

You immediately know what he was referring to. The scar that reminded him of what he might lose. You looked up at him.

“It’s part of you.” You said in between kisses as your lips trailed up along his inner thigh.

He stared down at you like you weren’t real. Like he was dreaming.

Then you leaned in and took him into your mouth.

He was big. Of course he was. But that wasn’t what made him lose control. It was the way you looked at him.

The way you held him in your mouth. Slow, unhurried, every pass of your tongue deliberate. Your hands resting on his thighs, fingers stroking gently, grounding him.

You didn’t rush.

You let him feel everything. Every inch. Every second.

He groaned your name once. Rough and low like it punched the air out of him. His hips twitched, but he held himself back, muscles trembling with restraint.

You pulled off with a soft pop, lips swollen, eyes full of heat.

“Lie back.” You said, standing to undress.

He obeyed without question. Watching you undress. His gaze didn’t devour you. It honored you. Like he was witnessing something sacred.

You climbed into his lap, straddling him, and ran your fingers through his hair.

“You okay?”

He nodded.

But his voice was hoarse. “I don’t deserve this.”

Your heart ached. “You deserve everything.”

You guided him to your entrance, bodies flushed and warm, and sank down onto him slowly.

His hands clutched your waist like a lifeline. His mouth fell open. Low grunts and moans filling the room as he looked at you as if he was scared you’d slip through his fingers if he didn’t.

You rocked against him, slow and tender. Your bodies fit like you’d been made for this. Every movement dragged another broken breath from his throat.

You kissed his jaw. His neck. His shoulder. You caressed the scar again, when you shifted his legs spreading wider under yours.

And when he came. He was shuddering, breathless, his arms wrapped around you like he’d fall apart otherwise. You held his face in your hands.

“You’re not broken.”

He came down slowly, blinking up at you like he didn’t know what world he was in.

You brushed a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

“You’re safe.”

——————————————————————————

You lay together after, tangled in the sheets, your head resting on his chest.

His arm was around you. Tight. Protective. His fingers trailing up and down your spine. But not out of fear. Out of need. Out of something new and fragile blooming between you.

He whispered, after a long while. “Thank you.”

You smiled against his skin.

“You don’t have to thank me. I want you.”

He swallowed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this… wanted. Not like this.”

You kissed his shoulder.“Get used to it.”

He didn’t answer. But you felt the way his body relaxed. The way his fingers curled into yours and he held you closer to him before kissing your lips once more.

——————————————————————————

The morning after was silent. Not because anything was wrong, but because everything was finally right.

You woke first. The sun filtered in soft and golden through the curtains. Ushijima lay beside you, broad chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of sleep, one arm still draped around your waist like his body refused to let you go, even unconscious.

You reached up and brushed his hair back from his face.

He looked… peaceful. Like the war inside him had quieted for the first time in a long, long time.

He woke slowly. Brows furrowing at first like the sunlight confused him. Then his eyes opened, and he looked at you. Like he knew exactly where he was. Like he’d been hoping this wasn’t a dream.

You smiled, soft and sleepy. “Hey.”

He didn’t smile.

But he reached up and touched your cheek, callused fingers grazing your skin like you might disappear if he wasn’t careful.

“I’m still here.” You whispered.

He exhaled. A shaky breath. Like he’d been holding it all night. “I don’t know if I want to go back.”

You curled into his side. “You don’t have to. Not yet.”

“But I will, eventually.”

You looked up. “Are you scared?”

He was quiet for a long time. “Yes.” He exhaled as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You didn’t offer empty encouragement. No false hope. Just your arms, and your warmth, and the solid truth of your presence beside him.

“You’re not alone this time.” You said simply. “I’ll be there for you.”

He nodded and, finally he smiled.

——————————————————————————

The weeks passed slowly, and for once, neither of you minded. He stayed longer than he planned.

Sometimes he helped your elderly neighbor carry groceries. Sometimes he sat in the sun with you and read, barely turning the pages, just listening to the sound of your voice as you rambled.

He limped less. The stiffness faded.

But what changed most wasn’t his body, it was the way he carried himself. Like he wasn’t rushing to prove anything anymore. Like he knew that, even if he never played again, someone still saw worth in him.

You did.

And that changed everything.

——————————————————————————

One morning, you found him at the bench by the lake. Same one you always went to. This time, he was alone.

You approached quietly, but he didn’t look up. Just held out a hand as you came near, like he felt you before he saw you.

You took it without hesitation and sat beside him.

“I’ve been talking to my trainer.” He said softly. “They think I can start light drills next month.”

You felt your heart leap but didn’t let it show too much.

Instead, you squeezed his hand. “That’s great, Toshi.”

He looked at you then, eyes quiet but steady.

“I want to go back.”

You nodded. “Then you should.”

“But not because I need to prove I’m still strong.” He said. “Not to anyone. I just… I want to feel the court again.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “That’s the best reason.”

He exhaled through his nose. “And I want to take you with me.”

You blinked, startled.

He turned slightly toward you. “You don’t have to answer now. But… if I go back to playing, to traveling. I want you to be part of that world. However you can be.”

“Toshi.” You whispered.

He squeezed your hand. “You make it quiet. In my head. Like I can breathe.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. You leaned up and kissed him, slow and full, pressing your heart into every touch.

“I’m already yours.” You said.

——————————————————————————

That night, he laid you down again.

Not rushed. Not broken. Just full of love he didn’t know how to put into words.

He kissed your body like he was learning you all over again. Touched you with reverence.

When you made love, it was less about need and more about being known.

He whispered your name into your neck as you moved together.

And for the first time, he let go completely.

——————————————————————————

You saw him off a few weeks later.

His rehab was scheduled to continue back in the city. There were evaluations, contracts, trials. But this time, when he stepped on the train, he didn’t look hollow.

He kissed you softly and promised he’d call every night.

And he did. Every time.

——————————————————————————

Months passed.

You visited when you could. He sent you photos of his practices. His scar faded, but not entirely and he never hid it.

You never stopped telling him how proud you were.

And when the first game came, and he stood on the court again stronger, slower, more deliberate. You watched from the stands.

He spotted you right after the final point. They’d won. But the look on his face wasn’t victory. It was peace.

——————————————————————————

Later that night, in the quiet of the locker room, a teammate asked him. “Hey Ushiwaka what changed? You play different now.”

He paused. “I found something that matters even when the game ends.”

——————————————————————————

As time passed the lake was quiet again. You sat on the bench, older now. Still just as in love.

He came up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist. You tilted your head to look up at him, grinning.

“You’re early.”

“I missed you.”

You beamed.

And he did something he only did for you. He smiled.

You lived together now, in a small home near the city but close enough to visit his hometown. He still played, but more balanced. Not like it was life or death because now, he had a life outside of it.

A life that included you. Warm meals. Early morning cuddles. Your voice reading out loud while he rested. He talked more now, always honest. Always tender. And always yours.

Sometimes, you’d trace the scar on his knee before bed. Kiss it. And every time, he’d close his eyes and breathe a little deeper. Because you never saw it as a wound. You saw it as a part of him like his silence, his strength, his love.

And slowly, he started to see it that way too.

“I love you.” He’d whisper every night as he held you close to him.

“This would be quite awkward if you didn’t.” You laughed, caressing his face softly, the metal of the ring on your hand that matched his felt warm against his skin. “I love you too.”

He kissed you slowly and tenderly because now he had the rest of his life to do so.

Taglists are open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #2

The Phantom Affair started as a tweet.

One blurry photo. Midtown High’s parking lot. Danny Fenton and Peter Parker sitting shoulder to shoulder on the curb, sharing a burrito, looking like two tired teenage boys who had absolutely trauma bonded over AP Physics and probably something illegal involving lasers. Danny had one arm lazily slung over Peter’s shoulder. Peter, red-faced, was clearly mid-whine.

The caption?

“FENTON-PARKER IS REAL. MY GAY NERD SONS. I WILL FIGHT FOR THEM.”

And from there, it spiraled.

Danny was already public knowledge. After “Phantom Planet,” the entire world knew the pale kid from Amity Park was Phantom—half-ghost superhero, savior of Earth, general menace with bad hair. What they didn’t know was that Peter Parker, sweet, awkward Midtown science student with tragic eyebags and a mild vitamin D deficiency, was also Spider-Man.

But what the public did know was this:

1. Phantom and Spider-Man were attached at the hip. Fighting together. Flying together. Flirting mid-battle.

2. Peter Parker and Danny Fenton were inseparable. Studying together. Walking to school together. Literally sharing a dorm, thanks to Tony Stark.

3. Danny Fenton and Phantom were the same person.

4. Peter Parker and Spider-Man were not the same person.

Cue the chaos.

It didn’t help that Danny and Spider-Man were caught mid-air in a very compromising position—Danny flying backwards with his arms full of Spidey, who was clearly laughing like a Disney princess while twirling his web around Danny’s waist like a lasso. It was broadcasted live during a ghost attack in Queens. The internet lit up like the Fourth of July.

“DANNY FENTON-PHANTOM CAUGHT CHEATING ON BOYFRIEND PETER PARKER WITH SPIDER-MAN?”

“LOVE TRIANGLE OF THE CENTURY: GHOST, SPIDER, AND THE BOY NEXT DOOR”

“WHO DOES DANNY FENTON LOVE MORE?” with a dramatic black-and-white photo collage set to Lana Del Rey.

Thus began: The Phantom Affair.

The world divided into two camps.

Team Parker: loyal, nerdy, wears mismatched socks. Probably bakes. The “true love” since high school.

Team Spider: hot, athletic, mysterious. Definitely leaves hickeys and emotional damage.

The hashtags trended hourly.

#GhostSpider vs #FentonParker

#HeBelongsWithSpidey vs #PeterHasHisHeart

#LetThemAllDateEachOtherHonestly

Talk shows invited “relationship experts” to weigh in on the psychology of dating a ghost and/or a superhero. Morning news anchors were screaming about betrayal and interspecies romance. One tabloid cover showed a badly photoshopped image of Phantom crying while Peter and Spider-Man had a slap fight in the background.

BuzzFeed did a quiz:

“Are You Team Parker or Team Spider?”

Danny took it. He got “Needs Therapy.”

He called Jazz.

At Midtown, things were worse.

Posters started showing up in the halls.

• “FENTON, PICK A SIDE.”

• “SPIDER IS JUST A PHASE.”

• “PARKER DESERVES BETTER.”

• A single one that just said: “POLYAMORY IS VALID.”

Peter accidentally walked into a student-organized debate club arguing which one of them had better chemistry with Danny. One girl tried to defend Spider-Man by referencing the velocity of Danny’s blush during live battles.

“HE GLOWED, MRS. WARREN. GLOWED.”

Peter screamed into his locker and left.

Meanwhile, Tony was having the time of his life.

“I’ve never seen anything so ridiculous!” He laughed, kicking back in the Tower and flipping through Twitter threads titled things like Body Language Analysis of Phantom When Standing Next to Peter vs. Spider-Man. “This is better than Twilight. This is fanfiction-level drama.”

Happy groaned. “Shouldn’t we, like, fix this?”

“No.” Tony said, taking a bite of his sandwich. “We let it grow.”

Back at school, Danny wasn’t helping.

“Wait, wait…” He said during lunch, twirling spaghetti and pretending not to notice the entire cafeteria watching him. “So they think I’m dating Peter and Spider-Man?”

Peter looked like he wanted to die. “Yes, Danny. That’s the problem.”

Danny grinned. “They think I’m a ghost with two boyfriends.”

“You are a ghost with two boyfriends. The boyfriends are just the same person.”

“It’s a metaphor.”

“It’s a mental breakdown.”

Someone across the room yelled, “TELL PETER THE TRUTH, YOU COWARD!” and threw a napkin. Peter caught it mid-air like a ninja. He deserved a Grammy for Best Performance in a Romantic Crisis.

Things hit a boiling point during the Midtown Spring Fling.

Danny showed up in a black suit with green trim. Peter, flustered and adorable, wore a bowtie. The minute they walked in, the room exploded in flash photography. Someone was live-streaming.

“PARKER’S HERE. WITH FENTON. WHERE’S SPIDER-MAN?”

Two hours into the night, the lights flickered. Green. Eerie.

Ghosts. Obviously.

Danny went full Phantom in five seconds flat, eyes glowing, hair flaring, looking like the cover of a paranormal romance novel. He turned to Peter, who sighed, yanked his phone out, and whispered, “Happy’s gonna kill me,” before vanishing into the crowd.

And then ten minutes later—

Spider-Man.

Swung in through the ceiling. Landing in a crouch. Doing a dramatic flip off the refreshment table.

People lost their minds.

“HE’S HERE! SPIDEY’S HERE!”

“THEY’RE GONNA FIGHT!”

“OR KISS!”

What followed was twenty solid minutes of Danny and Spider-Man fighting ghosts back-to-back while whispering furiously to each other like a married couple mid-argument.

“Why did you swing in like that?!”

“You LEFT me to deal with the punch bowl poltergeist!”

“You were doing fine!”

“I was sticky!”

“Well I’m always sticky!”

When the fight ended, they stood in the middle of the gym. Dusty. Glowing. Glorious.

Someone yelled, “KISS HIM, SPIDEY!”

Danny blushed a bright green.

Spider-Man waved awkwardly and ran.

The next morning, the internet exploded.

“Phantom Fights For Love: Team Spider Dominates With Surprise Appearance.”

“Peter Parker Was There Too. Sad.”

The memes were relentless. Edits. Fanart. POVs. Dramatic TikTok transitions.

One viral post:

“Fenton with Parker in the library vs Phantom with Spider-Man mid-battle. Choose your fighter.”

Danny texted Peter at 2am:

Danny: I love you. You. Just you. All of you. The nerd. The spider. The panic. The allergies.

Peter:

Danny:

Peter: … even the spider thighs?

Danny: Especially the spider thighs.

Peter: okay. okay I forgive you.

Danny: for what?

Peter: I don’t know but everyone keeps saying you cheated on me with me and I’m upset about it.

Eventually, they cracked. At a press event where both Phantom and Spider-Man were invited—by Tony, obviously—Peter accidentally yanked his mask off in a moment of frustration while yelling, “I AM ALSO PETER PARKER AND I AM DATING DANNY FENTON-PHANTOM. THERE IS NO LOVE TRIANGLE. WE ARE JUST TWO DUMB BOYFRIENDS WITH IDENTITY ISSUES.”

Danny, in the background, raised his hand. “Can we still sell the merch though?”

The world imploded. Again.

People were angry. People were delighted. Tumblr rejoiced. Twitter died. A new hashtag was born.

#PhantomArachnid

BuzzFeed did a follow-up quiz:

“Which Version of Peter Parker Are You?”

Tony sold limited edition plushies. They sold out in three minutes.

But in the middle of it all, in between the media frenzy and the fandom wars and the paparazzi hiding in the trees, Peter and Danny sat on a rooftop eating pizza.

Just them. No secrets. No masks.

Peter leaned into Danny’s shoulder and sighed. “We really should’ve told people earlier.”

Danny shrugged, mouth full. “I don’t know. I kind of liked being in a love triangle with you and you.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Danny kissed his cheek. “Yeah. But I’m your impossible.”

And somewhere, miles away, Tony high-fived himself.

[ducksido]

I just read your famous reader x idia in the bikini photoshoot and that was FIRE

I really love the idea of Idia with a famous reader so may i suggest famous reader who is a very popular singer, so much they get a role in a movie (a musical) were they and Vil act as the main characters. They share an absolutely iconic duo song and after the movie is released ppl just go crazy about readers and Vils chemistry while acting and singing. They are actually just very good friends but nothing else ofc since reader is with Idia but the public doesn’t know that reader is in a relationship

Idias reaction to the whole internet shipping his partner with one of his former classmates, just JEALOUS IDIA KQOFBIQWNDGU (fem or neutral reader, and thank you for your time 😔)

Idia had never seen this many hashtags in his life. And that was saying something for a guy whose entire For You Page was algorithmically curated to show 98% anime clips and 2% cat videos.

But now?

#VilxY/N #V/N #SwanSongSoulmates #TheirChemistryThough It was inescapable.

“Ughhghgghhh…” he groaned, faceplanting into his limited edition RFA pillow. “What kind of sadist coded the algorithm today?!”

Your name was trending again. Not unusual. You were always trending lately. Your voice alone could shut down the internet. But this time, it wasn’t your latest single, or your runway appearance, or even the viral video of you teaching Ortho how to Dougie.

No.

It was the movie. The movie. The romantic musical masterpiece you starred in. With Vil. Two gorgeous leads. One fire duet. And now the world was foaming at the mouth with their OTP delusions.

He was trying to ignore it—he really was! But every scroll brought up another edit, another post, another cursed caption:

“WHEN HE SPUN HER AND SHE HIT THAT HIGH NOTE??? GET MARRIED???” “Vil looking at them like they hung the moon... Idia who??” “No but imagine the musical s*** scene they cut out 👀🔥”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN S*** SCENE?!” Idia shrieked, nearly knocking over his gaming chair as he bolted upright. “THERE WAS A S*** SCENE?! THEY FILMED A SEX SCENE?! I’M GONNA BLACKOUT—”

“Brother,” Ortho peeked in calmly, holding a tray with cocoa, “you’re at a ten. Let’s try to bring it to, say… a six.”

Idia grabbed the cocoa with a tremble. “I’m fine. I’m chill. I’m—I’m going to throw up. Why didn’t they say they were going to have chemistry?! They’ve got enough charisma to flatten an entire fanbase!!”

And to make matters worse?

You hadn’t told the public you were dating. You wanted your privacy. He respected that. Really, he did.

But that meant the entire world thought you and Vil were star-crossed lovers plucked straight from the screen, and he—your actual boyfriend—was in the background like some glitchy NPC with emotional attachment issues.

It drove him insane.

Later that night, you strolled into his room, still glowing from the movie premiere, cheeks pink from fan praise. “Hey, babe,” you smiled, plopping onto his bed. “You okay?”

Idia gave you a look. A pained, dramatic, cursed look.

“You and Vil trended for six hours straight,” he said. “I think the internet proposed on our behalf.”

You blinked, then snorted. “You saw that, huh.”

“Oh I saw it,” he grumbled, pulling a hoodie over his head like a turtle. “Did you see the fanfic where Vil and you got married on stage after singing a love confession at the Tonys? Because I did.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You jealous?”

His hair flared magenta in an instant. “Wha—ME? No! What?! Pffft—That’s—Jealousy is a basic human emotion and I’m clearly more evolved—”

“I’m your duet partner in real life, you know.” You kissed his neck this time, slowly. “I like singing in your key the best.”

His mouth opened. Closed. He turned into a blubbering mess.

“You can’t just say that! I’ll short-circuit—”

“Sing with me then, Mr. Shroud,” you teased. “And remind me who I actually belong to.”

Idia.exe stopped working.

Vil may have been the co-star. But you? You always saved your best performances for him.

[arolesbianism]

I've been thinking abt new game+ friend quests and it's just me going ah yes and they have all these issues and talk abt these things and oh oops this is all accidental foreshadowing

[amywritesthings]

press four for more options. | part two.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 3.5k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - smut, alternate universe (modern), sex work, phone sex, dirty talk, dom!levi, light dom/sub, guided masturbation, pet names, nipple play, overstimulation, multiple orgasms Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part one. / part three. | masterlist

2-5-1-2.

It’s an easy enough combination to remember, being Christmas Day and all.

Pressing 2, 5, and 1 is easy. The final '2' makes you second guess yourself.

You’re not sure why you’re panicking. He’ll pick up.

(It’s literally his job, idiot.)

Fuck it.

Your index finger hits the '2' and the hashtag to finalize the combination.

When you hear the line go dead, you tense every muscle in your body.

No breathing.

No blinking.

Just waiting for that silky, sultry siren song to come over and confirm your bias that it’s the single sexiest voice you’ve ever heard.

—but it’s that automated lady you tried to bypass from the menu.

“Please enter your credit card number, followed by the expiration date—”

“Oh, Goddamn it,” you groan, shouldering the phone to shuffle your purse around.

Eventually after some digging, you find your card before she can continue a second loop of her payment spiel. 

You can’t believe you’re legitimately putting your credit card information out there for anyone to steal.

Yet, if Annie’s been doing this for ages, then it ought to be safe.

Right?

After typing in the necessary numbers and confirming they’re correct, you’re so out of your own head that you don’t even realize the line switches from slight static to smooth nothingness.

“So you finally called back.”

“Shit!”

The buttery smooth greeting — or lack thereof — makes you nearly drop your phone.

You gasp and manage to catch the device just in time to hear a chuckle, graveled and low, on the other end.

“And just as jittery as last night.”

“Levi,” you greet breathlessly, straightening your outfit like he can actually see it.

You swear you hear a smile in his voice.

“Hey, baby.”

Oh sweet Jesus.

“Or do you prefer it when I call you Scarlet?”

You prefer literally anything he’ll give you, is what you want to say back, but you don’t want to automatically appear as though you’re ready to be walked like a dog at minute one.

“I’m… fine with ‘baby’,” you confess after a beat, focusing on the swirl of the marble counter below you just to dissociate to his voice.

“Thought so,” he arrogantly states before making this grunting noise, like he’s rolling his body in a chair to get more comfortable. “Are we talking again?"

"Is that alright?"

"You know it is." Levi's voice lifts, softer now. "And how's your Saturday so far?”

“Very mundane and super lackluster,” you admit. “I’m sure you’ve had a much more interesting day than me.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replies without skipping a beat.

“No?” you ask with a smirk. “I’d say getting people off with the sound of your voice makes for a pretty interesting job.”

“Who said it’s only just my voice?”

Son of a bitch.

The phone shifts from your right shoulder to your left.

“It isn’t?”

He makes a noncommittal hum, and it runs straight to your core. “That's confidential, sweet Scarlet."

"Boo," you joke. "You're no fun."

"You haven't seen me at my fun yet," he corrects. "Speaking of fun: how are you not hungover?"

“The power of heavy tylenol and H2O? Which... I have to apologize that."

"For what?"

"Uh, I pretty much poured my heart and soul out to you last night.”

He chuckles. "I didn't mind it. Feeling any better about that situation?”

“I haven’t really thought about it since last night, so you’re already a miracle worker.”

"Oh?"

"Yeah, no joke."

“Huh." He clicks his tongue. "And what have you been thinking about?”

You say it without realizing you’ve said it out loud:

“You.”

Both ends of the phone go silent.

Your eyes widen, wanting nothing more than to take a pan out of one of the cabinets to bash your head in with anguish. 

“In, like, an interested sense.”

Shit, that isn’t much better.

“An… interested sense,” he repeats, slower this time. His vowels dip deep.

“Oh no,” you bemoan. “Okay. Let me restart: I mean it in like a — you were on my mind? Today, sort of way. So I called.”

“...uh-huh.”

“Because the call ended so quickly!” you add. “I didn’t think it was going to end so abruptly at the fifteen minute mark, but I wasn’t done talking to you, so I called again.”

“You’re shit at asserting yourself, aren’t you?”

His words make you blink twice.

“Huh?”

“You don’t like making decisions or having to explain things,” he replies without judgment. “You think if you want something, then it makes you selfish.”

Ouch.

“Well, when you put it like that,” you reply in a bitter, yet lifted tone of surprise. 

You hear a noise on the other end. A ‘tch’ if you can make it out.

“Sorry," he apologizes. "Too far?’

“No! Too real,” you admit with a small laugh. “And I’m sure you don’t want to play analyst-therapist tonight, so.”

“I’m here to do anything you want,” he reminds, syrup-y sweet. 

“Anything?”

“Mostly anything,” he adds, and there’s a tiny chuckle bubbling between the words that makes your heart flutter. “Can’t hold a tune worth a damn and I don’t know how to speak some languages, so there are limitations.”

You laugh despite yourself, feeling your stress melt.

Then—

A small groan, like his head's tilting backwards. “Damn, I like hearing that.”

You turn away from your kitchen counter, subconsciously padding to your bedroom. “Hearing what?”

“Your laugh,” he explains. “It’s sweet.”

“Sweet?”

“Very.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully.

Dark hair. Gray-ish blue eyes. Sharp nose. High cheekbones.

Fit.

When your eyes flicker to your own bed, you try to picture a version of him waiting there.

He could be leaning back on his elbow, button-down shirt splayed open like a newly-peeled present.

Maybe his legs are parted.

Maybe he stares at you like you’re all he could ever want.

His voice cuts through the fantasy, causing your breath to catch.

“What do you want, baby?”

Then it drops an octave lower.

“...c’mon, be selfish for once.”

For once.

Like he can read your soul through a damn cell phone.

But Levi is right — your entire short-lived relationship with Porco and just about any other man before him has been through a small lens. Fitting in the middle seat just to never make any noise. To bend with the curve rather than against it to create your own path.

It’s just a sex hotline, but for some reason, his words resonate.

Be selfish.

Wasn’t that the point of calling in the first place?

“Anything?” you repeat a second time, much softer.

Levi shuffles on the other line then exhales like he’s getting comfortable.

“What do you need?” he asks, tone low and words slower. 

Purposeful. 

“What do you want?”

You close your eyes, drawing in a slow, steady inhale.

Are you seriously doing this?

No more overthinking.

“Should I... get comfortable?” you ask, too afraid to say what it is that you want.

What you’re about to do.

“Mm, you near a couch or a bed?”

“A bed.”

“Don’t get on it yet,” he orders, “but walk towards it. Bend over it.”

Jesus Christ.

“Bend over it?” you ask with a shaky breath of disbelief.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “You’re home from a long day. I’m home from a long day. All you’ve wanted all day is to have someone tell you what to do, right?”

As much as your face feels like it's on fire, you slowly walk to your bed and put the phone down between your splayed palms.

You press the speaker option to ‘on’, and feel a wave of arousal hit your gut when you hear him sigh through the phone.

“I thought you said you wanted me to be selfish,” you remind, bending over your bed.

“You’re allowing me to take charge,” he retorts with little hesitation. “You’re letting me take care of you the way you always should’ve been taken care of. Your ex-boyfriend has no fucking clue what he’s missed out on.”

You exhale, trying to keep it together.

“Levi—”

“I’m right here, baby,” he huskily promises. “Right here. Not leaving you.”

You feel ridiculous.

You’re so turned on it’s almost laughable.

“You ready to let me take control?” he eventually asks, and you nod like he can see you.

“Yeah, I’m— I think so.”

“I like using a red-yellow-green light system,” Levi hums. “Red’s a hard stop. Yellow is negotiating, a slow down to check in. Green means you’re in.” He pauses, and you lean down closer to your phone, bending further. “Color?”

Even on speaker, his voice rips straight through you.

“Green,” you decide, blurting before your brain can catch up.

“Good girl.”

You’re not going to survive this.

“Are your lights off?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he decides. “I want you to crawl slowly onto the bed now. Can you do that for me?” 

Your hand slides obediently, passing over the phone as you begin to rest one knee on the mattress. It dips with give. 

“All the way up to your pillows, then you can lay on your back — but keep your eyes closed.”

“Okay.”

Eventually you drag your phone with you as you crawl to the headboard of your bed, only to then slowly turn around and drop to your back.

“Are your eyes closed?”

With the phone speaker right at your ear, it almost lends itself to the fantasy of him hovering above you.

His lips dip at the edge of your ear, the static lost to you.

“Yes,” you exhale, relaxing into the bed.

“Good. You’re doing so good for me already, and we’ve barely started.” He pauses, shifting once more. “What’re you wearing, baby?”

“Something so not sexy,” you joke, and it earns a breathy laugh from him.

“Bet you can make anything sexy,” he tells you, and it shoots straight to your lower belly.

“How would you know?” you ask, your hand already reaches for the hem of your shirt. “You’ve never even seen me.”

“No, but I hear you, and it’s fucking delicious.”

Your breath hitches, and you can hear it; the smile in his voice.

“Take everything off, except your underwear.”

“Bra, too?”

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he tells you, and it’s much less breathy. It’s certain, like he wants to check in — make sure you’re just as into it as he sounds. “Would you rather I help you take that off?”

Your brain blanks.

Slowly you push your jeans off first, kicking them to some unknown corner.

Then you rise, ripping your t-shirt off of your body, until you’re sitting in your mismatched bra and panties.

“How would you take it off of me?” you boldly ask, though you can’t quite get rid of the shake of anticipation in your voice.

“Fuck, I’d love to,” he grunts, and your face burns. “I’d be so busy pressing small, slow kisses to your neck. Reach up and touch your neck for me. Feel how I’d kiss it.”

You do.

As surprised as anyone else, you reach up and press your fingers against small parts of your neck, earning him a tiny gasp and noise of want.

“Dragging down to your throat.”

You press two gentle fingers to your skin again, following his path, before slamming your thighs together to try and relieve the heat between your legs.

“My finger would just… slip, right under the right strap of your bra.”

Your fingers dance across your collarbone, slipping your middle finger just under the delicate strap to mirror.

With your eyes closed, the motions lend to an almost out-of-body experience.

Like your hand trailing down your body isn’t yours; it’s his.

You’re his, right now.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, and you nods furiously.

“Very.”

“Good. Let me pull the other one down. I wanna see how pretty my girl is.”

The praises, the way he so easily speaks this way, has you all sorts of flustered.

Slowly you raise your other hand to pull down the strap, and whimper when you tug down as far as you can.

Your breasts spill out over the cup, allowing your hardened nipples to greet the night air.

“Can I touch you?”

The words almost make you open your eyes, as if you’ll see this mystery man hovering over you.

You know he's not here.

You wish he were right here.

“Yes.”

“How do you like to be touched, baby? Show me.”

“Levi,” you whine, allowing your shaky hands to run along your breasts.

You’re afraid, you’re exhilarated, but when you finally pinch the little buds and roll them between your fingers, you’re too far gone to care.

“Fuck—”

“Feels good, huh?” Levi’s own breathy voice interrupts your curse. “You look so beautiful like this. Letting me play with you— God, I could do this for hours—”

“Want you to.”

You don’t even recognize your own breathy tone. 

Hell, you only hear him.

You only feel him.

“Need more,” you pant, and he hums with amusement.

“No,” he replies, “think I’m gonna play with you a little more right here for now.”

You accidentally pinch your nipples, harder, like he’s teaching you a lesson.

“Levi.”

“What, is my girl getting impatient?”

His girl.

You don’t even know him, but you’d sure as hell like to be.

(How easy is it, for you to fall so fast from your judgmental high horse when Annie first slipped you this number — only for you to be moaning on your bed, hands groping and kneading your breasts, for a man you didn’t know?)

“Y-You said,” you stammer, “to be selfish, and I want—”

“Shh, I’m gonna take good care of you, okay?” Levi interrupts on the other end. “But you have to do something for me, too.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t want you holding back on me. No shyness. No second guesses. I want you, I want to hear what I do to you. Is that understood?”

You can’t take it.

Your one hand leaves your chest to skim down to your belly, unable to wait any longer.

“I want you to touch me,” you hiccup.

“Yeah?”

His voice wavers in the response before it strengthens. Demands.

“I want those panties gone first. Take them off and spread your knees. Feet flat on the bed.”

No need to be told twice; you hastily pull your panties down your hips, your knees, until they pool at one of your ankles.

Your knees knock together before spreading, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“I want to touch you, too, baby.” Levi swallows, coating his throat. “How wet are you for me?”

Fingertips run past your lower belly to touch the apex of your thighs, gasping with surprise and relief when you feel that familiar electricity.

“Really fucking wet,” you admit.

The groan he emits is delicious. “Fuck.”

For a moment, you feel completely out of your depth. 

This is meant to be a sex hotline, but there are lines blurred in your mind. Something about the sheer image of him leaning back into his chair, fucking a fistful of his cock while he has a phone operator headset against his ear, only turns you on that much more.

“If we had time, I’d spend all night memorizing what you taste like. What you feel like. How you let go — for me, only for me.”

“Only for you,” you promise, unable to stop yourself from drawing circles over your clit.

You moan, head bent back against your pillow.

“Fuck, you’re touching yourself, aren’t you?” he asks, and his voice seems less controlled now. It’s got a hint of raggedness, and it only quickens your pace. “You feel amazing, you know that? Such a pretty pussy, all spread and wet for me—”

“Shit, Jesus, Levi,” you gasp, knowing that you’re not going to last long.  You’re too wound up from the night before. “If you keep talking like that—”

“What, are you gonna come for me?” Amusement tickles the question. “Oh, you can come for me, baby, but I’m gonna need at least two from you tonight.”

Your fingers press a little harder to your clit, and you keen. 

“Wh– At least?”

“As if I’d ever be satisfied with only one,” he murmurs. “No, I wanna watch you come apart. Feel it on my fingers with those cute little contrac—”

That’s it.

You moan louder than you expected, the taut bowstring suddenly snapped in half. 

You arch off the bed, relentlessly rubbing your fingers against your body to ride out the insane orgasm that you — that Levi has given you.

Even if you’re blissed out, you hear it on the receiving end:

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Fuck, you sound amazing. I know it’s gonna be tough, but keep going for me, okay? Don’t stop.”

“It’s sen– ha, sensitive!” you whimper, wanting to stop your hand.

“Mm-mm, you said you’d be good. Be selfish, baby. Give me two.”

“But Levi!”

Everything is on overdrive.

Your hand; your body; your mind.

You imagine he’s hovering over you, working you with his hand with a near-sadistic relentlessness.

As you battle your own refractory period, your toes curl, teeth clenched.

You want to be good.

You want to be so good.

And somewhere in that overwhelming intensity, you feel it: the ebb and flow of pleasure returning, crawling through your veins and forcing you to not give up.

To give this to him.

Then you hear it: panting.

As if he’s getting off to this himself. Your eyes snap open, wide, to an empty room. 

When your cheek turns to the phone, you confirm that’s what you hear:

Ragged breaths, albeit softly, with added grunts of control. 

Like he’s holding back.

Something about that image of him in a chair, his hand relentlessly pumping his cock in time with your hand, your whimpers and moans, does damage.

“I need— mm— want— please.”

“I’m right here, baby,” Levi promises, though his voice is weaker. You can even hear him swallow again. “Right fucking here, wanna hear you cum so bad.”

Maybe you really were pent up enough for two, because soon you’re slipping — falling — into that blissful nothingness while your body clenches on itself, clit fluttering from a second release.

It’s less intense, but that doesn’t make it any less good.

Everything throbs in your body as you come down, panting, with a slight sheen of sweat on your skin.

You turn to your phone, totally gone in the bliss of the aftermath.

Levi has grown silent as well; only light puffs of air come through the speaker now.

“Feeling better?” Levi asks with a hint of pride in his voice.

“Shut up,” you answer with a gentle laugh of your own. “I’m… shit. I guess that’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

That statement gets Levi to laugh, and your heart feels twice as full.

“That’s one way of pillow talk, I guess.”

The man pauses.

“Are you alright?”

As if he’s truly concerned, worried about your wellbeing.

You don’t allow yourself to fall for it, not completely.

This is his job — even if it felt so real, in the moment.

“Much better,” you promise, smiling to yourself.

“Happy to help,” he hums, his voice returning to that stormy swirl of seduction and softness.

The sobering reality of an empty bedroom should deter you, but all you can do is smile.

(When is the last time you genuinely felt giddy? Excited? Satisfied?)

“Hey, Levi,” you murmur eventually, slowly sitting up to unhook your bra and toss it away. No need to keep it on.

“Yeah, baby?”

You’ll never get over the way he sounds when he calls you that.

It’s permanently stuck to your frontal lobe, obscuring any other logic or reality.

“Am I still allowed to call?”

“Allowed?”

“Yeah, even though we…”

“What, you think you get one experience and your membership is up?”

Levi chuckles, shifting in his seat — or bed — or wherever he is.

“You can call me anytime you want.”

“Any?”

“Between company hours, yeah.”

“Even to talk?”

“Of course,” he answers, softer this time. “Always to talk. Go get some rest.”

“Mm,” you mumble, turning on your side as exhaustion takes over. “I will, but only because I want to and I’m being selfish.”

It surprises you to hear him laugh again, but it’s louder now.

More prominent. 

As if he genuinely enjoyed your joke.

Get your head out of the clouds, girl, is what you want to say to yourself, but you can’t be bothered to care.

“Good. You earned it.”

A noise emits from your tired throat to acknowledge him, too sleepy to formulate a real sentence.

Then his voice drops to a whisper, for your ears and your ears alone.

“Goodnight, baby.”

You press the ‘end call’ button and fall into the deepest sleep you’ve had all year.

.

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading part two of P4! This is insane. I still cannot believe the feedback I got in part one. Seriously, you all made my June. I hope this next part has satisfied your curiosity of how Levi would be a hotline operator.

Thank you for likes, and even more love to those who choose to reblog this to help spread the word of this series or reply in the comments. ilu xo