#im in my ''missing being in a relationship'' mood

[seraphim-soulmate]

I can't believe there are some people who "grow out" of tumblr. like damn, life got so good for u that u don't even have time for social media anymore? ur busy spending time with others, doing activities like reading books and going to events, and generally having such a fulfilling real life that you feel no need to endlessly scroll and post about your miserable life online anymore? damn.... I hope I get there someday too, and I'm glad you managed to live a fulfilling life.

[ganondoodle]

honestly i feel like im at a point where i just dont want to see anything new they put out about zelda

like, dont get me wrong i still have a lot of attachement to this series .... but totk, as most of you know, has really killed alot of . ... most ..well, the love and faith i had in it, made me convinced this will only get worse, i dont want it to get worse but .. i dont believe it will ever be what it had been for me again, the sour taste of it is immeasurable

i likely wont be able to fully escape it given its popularity but i feel like im gonna be happier if i do everything i can to not see news about it, trying to pretend the series died shortly after botws release or something :/

[napping-sapphic]

Living is crazy because sometimes you know someone and feel absolutely completely normal about them and then you look back and just KNOW that if you spoke to them now you’d fall like crazy in love in a split second

[time-is-restored]

MAFUYU'S WL2 CHAPTERS HAVE HARMED ME IRREPARABLY.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE KNOWS SHE'S IN A DREAM? WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE'S GOING OUT OF HER WAY TO FIND NIIGO? WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE PULLS IDENTICAL SAD SMILES AT SEEING ALL OF THEM INTERACTING WITH HER LIKE A STRANGER? CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME?

she was SURPRISED when her mother said they 'had a talk' about mafuyu not being a doctor. she doesn't remember that conversation. she didn't KNOW what their relationship was in this world until her mother explicitly told her.

she reached out to ena THROUGH airi (when she shouldn't have otherwise even KNOWN about her) so they could all practice drawing together. she let mizuki suggest clothes for her to wear (going on a whole expedition with her classmates just to engineer a chance to take them to her boutique) bc there's no other way for her to interact with her?????????????

she literally said that kanade's songs give """"everyone"""" a warm feeling when everyone else has referred to them just as being 'cheerful' and 'popular'. and then the way she pushed kanade to list all the things she wanted to do... insisted on doing all of them in what might literally have been experienced by them AS a montage... it's like she's trying to gift kanade experiences + memories that she otherwise wouldn't have? and it's such a clear parallel between all the expeditions/trips niigo take HER on in the prime timeline in the name of finding herself?

i was already betting everything on kaito being the vocaloid to sing to her but his use here is now like. infinitely crazier to me in the context of the actual story. the 'hold onto your true feelings' vocaloid sings to mafuyu to comfort her in a world where she doesn't have her friends. and then she acts on those feelings by bringing them as close together as she can? because? she loves? her friends?

[lucettalovingly]

Wait wait wait you and your sister fuck regularly and you sleep with your middle sister? Fuck I missed this Lucy lore

i suppose i should make a post about this for the new account, lol

my sister and i have always been extremely close and open about everything, and we share a lot of kinks (including incest), so much so that we were each other's first kisses. in high school, this culminated in the two of us trading some admittedly terrible oral sex, later taking each other's virginities, and then becoming long-time fuck buddies. we were insatiable for basically all of high school, only really slowing down when my sister moved out to go to a college a ways away. she's currently living with her girlfriend, a cousin of ours (a cute little thing, though you probably won't hear me talk about her much for the time being), and sis and i still fuck whenever we have the time to visit 🤍

now, my middle sister has been aware of all this since nearly the start. she was home all the time, unlike the rest of our family, and so inevitably, she caught us. thankfully, she's incredibly chill and is fine with our relationship. for years, that's all it was.

she and i have been living together for a while now, and just recently, she proposed we become siblings-with-benefits, so to speak. she hasn't had a partner in years and was feeling lonely. she's not into incest, but it's not a turn-off for her, and without my youngest sister around, I haven't been getting much action either, so it worked out well. as such, for the past couple of months, whenever we're in the mood, i get the privilege of dicking down my big sis 🤍

im also actively trying to seduce my aunt, + i would love nothing more than to marry my eldest sister, but that one's dream for the time being, haha

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Hopefully it’s not too much of an ick for you, but if you’re up to it, would you ever write Ford eating Reader out on their period?

not the disaster you think it is

a/n: hey love, no ofc it's not, im absolutely ok with the whole period thing. i meant to post this a few days ago, but it’s like i forgot how to write or more like i hated every sentence i wrote and couldn’t get past it. anyway, hope this mood leaves me soon. but here we are!! back to Ford being a total freak, as usual, who’s absolutely head over heels for his partner <3 enjoy, i guess?? and thank my period for the delay :/

tags: Ford x reader, nsfw, fluff and smut, gentle sex to rough, emotional rollercoaster for reader, vaginal sex, period sex, oral sex (f receiving), i guess blood play, embarrassment, a lil bit of hurt/comfort, overthinking, established relationship

you think you're about to die of embarrassment, but Ford’s just getting started because sometimes, the worst-case scenario ends up being the best one.

finally, finally you and Ford are alone. do you even remember the last time this happened? no Stan grumbling at the tv, no Dipper hovering around with a thousand questions, no Mabel dragging you away to watch Waddles collapse in the dirt, no Soos excitedly telling you about some strange new creak in the shack’s walls that sounds exactly like a “genuine ghost noise, dude.” no distractions.

what did matter was that you and Stanford were alone, and after the morning you had, there was absolutely no way you weren’t going to fuck the life out of your man.

and god, it’s not like you hadn’t been thinking about it since the second he stepped out of your bedroom looking like that. at first, the missed period had you panicking, your mind spiraling into absolute worst scenarios, but then you chalked it up to stress, shrugged it off, and forgot about it until you saw him. jesus, he didn’t even have to try. you’d made him wear that outfit though, because it was criminal to let him sweat through another goddamn trench coat when summer in gravity falls was like hell had opened its gates and breathed directly onto this weird town, and you weren’t about to let him die of heatstroke just because he was too stubborn to dress appropriately. so you gave him something lighter. and fuck, that was a mistake, because the second you saw him in it, sleeves pushed up, collar slightly undone, his forearms out, his hands, you swore you nearly ovulated again.

but the worst part was when he came running into the shack with those big, dirty, calloused hands holding some kind of tiny, wriggling anomaly he and Dipper had just dug up in the woods, showing it off to everyone like it was nothing, like it wasn’t the sexiest fucking thing you’ve ever seen. all sweaty and flushed from the sun, completely unaware of how fucking delicious he looked, rambling excitedly to Stan, Soos, and Mabel while you had to physically restrain yourself. and you did. you were so good all morning, sitting there, waiting, swallowing down every desperate little urge watching your nerdy man gesturing with those dirty hands as he explained something.

and all you could think was, “i want to eat this man alive.” god, it was unfair how much you wanted him today.

thankfully, Stanley eventually had enough of the science talk. he let out a loud, suffering groan and declared, “that’s it, i’m getting out of here before i have to listen to one more goddamn sentence about anomalous worm lizards or whatever, Soos, Mabel, Dipper, we’re going fishing.”

so of course, there was absolutely no way you weren’t going to take advantage of this moment! it was so rare that you got Ford all to yourself like this that the second the door closed behind Stan, you practically pounced on him.

you had Ford laid out beneath you, his wide back against the mattress, your hands braced on his scarred chest as you rode him like your life depended on it.

and god, you were hungry for it, so desperate. the morning had wound you up so tightly that by the time you finally got him beneath you and finally sank down onto his cock, it felt like release, but still nowhere near enough.

you bounced on him, panting and whimpering, rolling your hips, feeling sweat beading on your skin because it was still summer. and there's no fan strong enough to save either of you. it must be at least 90°F, around 32°C, but it feels even worse and hotter when you have sex. besides, you were the one putting in all the work as your Ford, your good boy, was lying there, being so good for you. looking up at you with little hearts in his eyes, huge hands gripping your waist, trying so hard not to buck up into you too soon because he was such a gentleman even during sex. he wasn’t controlling the pace, you were, and god, he was letting you use him like a toy, groaning so beautifully every time your pussy clenched around him.

yeah, you’d definitely need a cold shower after this, but right now you couldn’t care less. little did you know, though, the shower won’t just be for the sweat.

but that’s a problem for future you.

now, however, your legs start to give out first. despite the pleasure that’s still flooding you in blinding waves, your poor thighs are already trembling and the rhythm getting uneven as you desperately try to keep fucking yourself on him. Ford notices it, even flushed, messy, drowning in you, he watches you like you’re the fucking answer to every equation he's ever scribbled in his journals.

“easy, sweetheart,” he says gently, and then his arms are around you, flipping you over with no effort at all, manhandling you so tenderly. you barely get a second to breathe before he pushes in again from behind and your mouth falls open in a cry. that's deeper. so much deeper like this, and your whole body jolts forward with a ragged moan. “let me take care of you now.”

“Ford, fuck, Ford!” his name spills from you in a gasp just as he starts thrusting, making your toes curl, fingers claw at the sheets, and he just leans over you, grinding into you, murmuring against your ear.

“just like that, you’re doing so good for me,” he groans, kissing your shoulder, “so tight, just keep taking it, beautiful, you’re perfect like this.” Ford rolls his hips, filling you to the brim, keeping you pressed flat against the sheets with nothing to do but take it.

every time he thrusts in, you feel yourself get wetter, making it so easy for him to move and keep grinding into that soft, sensitive spot inside you until you’re crying out, clutching at the pillows. and that’s it. your body breaks as you cum again, shuddering under him as your body jerks with each deep thrust. Ford holds your hips in place while the sheets muffle your screams. he knows your body, god, he knows exactly how to hit those aching spots and how to angle just right, how to drag every last sob and tremble from you until you’re nothing but a pathetic overstimulated mess in his arms. and damn it, Ford loves you like that, clutching at the blankets, so fucked out and trembling, all because of him.

and still, it’s not enough for him. hasn’t been enough all week. you feel it in the way he doesn’t even stop to let you breathe, doesn’t even let you sink down into the afterglow. instead, Ford carefully pulls you onto your back, kissing your jaw and neck, and keeps going, pushing deep into your sore, overstimulated pussy like he’s possessed.

“Ford, s-sensitive, oh god—“

“cant stop,” he pants, hunched over you, sweat dripping down his temple, “just one more. i missed you so much, just let me, i missed you, i missed this,“ he’s so deep again, making your soft walls flutter again, stretched wide around him, and his back, oh fuck, your nails drag down his skin and leave bright red scratches over old scars, painting your love right into his skin as you cry out beneath him.

“so beautiful, darling, so good for me. love you so much, l-love you, mhmm.” Ford's words make you ache in a way you can’t describe and your whole body feel like warm honey, melting under his touch. you pull him closer, wrap your arms around his neck, bury your face against his shoulder as he keeps pounding into you, making love to you like he means it, practically crushing you with his weight.

your thighs tighten where they frame his waist and you're literally clinging to him. his cock slides over your sensitive walls and you still feel so tight, despite how well he worked you open with his fingers before this and the slick mess between your legs. you're drenched, and he knows it by the way his cock nudges inside you so smoothly as you gasp each time he presses flush against your cervix.

“mmh, i love you so damn much, you feel so good, holy moses, taking me so well.” Ford's voice is husky as he kisses you between words, pressing his mouth against your temple, your cheek, your lips and sweet heavens, you’re drowning in it, in him, in the way he praises you like you’re the best thing to ever happen to him. and you know you are, because nobody’s ever looked at you the way Ford does.

”fuck, baby—“ you sob, clinging to his shoulders once he finally slows down just enough for your mind to stop spinning. “you looked so fucking hot this morning,” you whimper, biting your lip, “i wanted you, wanted you so bad, you looked so fucking good today, i couldn’t stop staring—“

Ford’s smile is all soft, even as his cock still pulses inside you. “you should’ve told me, gorgeous, m-maybe we’d have done something about it sooner.”

“i couldn’t, there were people, you know we can't when everyone's at home.”

Ford kisses you and whispers against your mouth, continuing moving inside you. “now you can, love, now it’s just us, be as loud as you want, please. . . but so?” he asks again, “tell me, was it the shirt? or the forearms?”

“shut up—shut up—”

“no, no, i’m serious,” he chuckles breathlessly, slightly changing the angle, “you’re adorable when you’re flustered. i wanted you too,” Ford says suddenly, a little softer. “it was horrible not being able to touch you all week. i kept thinking about you, sweet—“

you interrupt him by kissing him for that, you just have to because you can never get enough of his lips. you drag him down into a kiss and breathe him in like you’ll die without it. and Ford groans right into your mouth, he’s louder this time, letting out sharp grunts and drawn-out moans, that gorgeous fucking voice of his breaking with each thrust. you love it. god, you love when he’s vocal, when he lets go and stops trying to hold himself back, when you can hear how good you make him feel and how much he's enjoying this too.

then, Ford's rhythm gets rougher as he straightens his back, holding himself up as he growls out, “sweetheart, can i go rougher?”

you gasp, nodding fast. “Ford, we talked about this, y-you don’t have to ask, just take what you need, please”

“thank you, my love, thank you, you don’t know how much i needed that.” his voice breaks on it, so full of need it makes your pussy throb.

he grabs your waist, lifts you off the bed slightly, holding you there suspended in the air as he slams into your soaked fluttering pussy again and again. and your cunt takes it like she was made for him, squelching wet and hot around his cock as he uses you like a fucking fleshlight, fast enough the bed is creaking beneath you, the headboard knocking.

“Ford— oh, god!” your head tilts back, pleasure spiking, spreading through your whole body. you love this. you love him when he’s this desperate and rough, that means he needed you really damn bad. “yes! oh, my god, yes!” you arch your back automatically, body tensing as he buries himself to the hilt, his cock brushing your cervix over and over, making your thighs spasm and your toes curl. tears suddenly stinging your eyes.

but Ford keeps pounding into you, determined to bring you to your third orgasm now, and it’s all too much, making your clit throb. your brows knit together in that desperate needy expression he lives for, pretty lips parted, chin wet from drool, cheeks flushed and streaked with tears.

“mine, you're mine,” you hear Ford through your own screams and just nod eagerly.

you swear, nothing feels better than Ford's thick cock stretching you like that, fucking into you like crazy, building the sweetest pressure in your gut. filthy sounds echoing off the walls of the room and god, you’re such a mess, sobbing, literally sobbing, with tears leaking down your temples. eyes glossy and unfocused, every inch of your body betrays you, twitching and fluttering around him like you were made to be filled like this.

“so wet for me,” he grits out, “god, listen to you, soaking me.”

you can’t even answer because you’re just moaning as he keeps thrusting roughly and deep into you like you’re just a toy in his hands. his toy. your hands scrabble helplessly at the sheets as your body climbs toward another high.

oh, you think, dazed, this is actually filthy.

you’re wet, too wet. not that it’s ever an issue with Ford because he gets you soaked, dripping and ruined just from his voice alone everyday. the sounds in the room are straight-up filthy, like something out of a fucking porn. slick, lewd noises every time he thrusts in, your cunt welcoming him, spreading your arousal everywhere.

the sheets beneath you are absolutely ruined and your thighs feel sticky and messy.

Ford has to feel it too, how effortlessly he slides in and out, how fucking easy your wet pussy swallows him every time. and he doesn’t stop. your head’s a haze of pleasure, but somewhere, deep in the rational part of your mind, a little warning bell rings and you hate it.

okay, let's think then. you’re wet, and that’s good, but something feels weirdly weird. you feel you're leaking like a damn waterfall, it gets too warm down there too. your moans taper off slightly, not enough for Ford to notice yet, but you’re thinking too much now, caught in a spiral of why is it so much and why does it feel different. your period is one week late. couldn’t be, right? right. . .

just in that moment Ford slides out and you almost yelp from the loss, but he presses the thick head of his cock against your aching clit, rubbing slow, teasing you like he knows you love. you barely suppress a whimper, melting in this feeling, but before he can push back in you open your eyes and whisper.

“Ford, stop.” you feel your stomach twist with nausea before you even look down.

but that makes him freeze immediately. “what? what happened? did i hurt you?” his voice sounds hoarse from all the moans and groans, but concerned still. he sits back on his heels, wide-eyed, hands hovering over your hips.

ignoring his questions and gathering your strength, you look down and there it is.

blood. a lot of it. smeared on his cock, slick on your inner thighs, staining the sheets beneath you.

“oh my god,“ you gasp. no. no, no, no, no. you’re about to fucking die.

Ford follows your gaze, sees the red, and panics. “holy multiverse! are you okay?? did i— was i too rough? fuck, sweetheart, i’m so sorry,“ he looks like he’s about to pass out from guilt, already reaching for you, checking you over like you’re injured.

“no, Ford, it’s not that, i—“ you squeeze your eyes shut, heat crawling up your face. embarrassment punches through you like a fucking bullet. your throat tightens and you barely get the next words out of yourself. “it’s, uh, my period.”

yeah, your period that just ambushed you, right in the middle of the most intense sex you've had in a month, and of course, it would happen now. during the one time you feel gorgeous, needed, good, loved and craved by your man.

silence. fucking silence. your worst fear is coming true now. you can’t even look at him. your hands tremble as you try to close your legs to hide yourself from this fucking shame, but Stanford who's still between them, doesn’t budge.

you’re bracing for it. for disgust, for Ford to pull away, wrinkle his nose and be mad or scold you or run to the shower or something—

“oh. well, that makes sense.”

your eyes snap open. “. . .what?”

Ford’s face softens. “considering the amount of blood that comes out during your period, i'd guess your cycle kicked in just as your uterus was having those strong contractions during climax. its. . . fascinating, really. i mean, maybe the orgasm actually triggered the bleeding? what do you think?“

“Ford, let’s NOT.”

he pauses and smiles. “oh. right. sorry, sorry.”

you exhale shakily, rubbing at your face. “god, this is so embarrassing.”

“why?” Ford frowns.

“why?? Ford, i literally just ruined everything. i got you all dirty and the sheets and— fuck, im so sorry! this is disgusting—“

through all your panicked monologue, you dont even notice Ford looking at you like wants to eat you alive.

your body is still sensitive, but the shame sits heavier than the pleasure now. you don’t even want to look at him. god, you were just bouncing on his cock, losing your mind on him, moaning into the mattress like a fucking animal and now you’re bleeding? how humiliating.

“anyways, this is—“

“not a big deal,” Ford finishes for you. “you're overthinking.”

you glare at him. “of course i'm overthinking, Ford. i just ruined—“

”ruined? is that what you think you did?”

“well, yeah, obviously.”

“sweetheart,” he moves closer, “why do you think that?”

“b-because sex is over now?” you flail an arm vaguely at the mess beneath you. ”we can't just—“

“sex is over?” he interrupts again, tilting his head, genuinely perplexed. because truly, he doesn’t understand the concept.

“uh. yeah. i mean, obviously? normal men wouldn’t want to keep going after.“

Ford’s expression tightens. “‘normal men’? darling, if you wanted a normal man, you wouldn’t be with a virgin who hops dimensions and gets annoyed by bad grammar.”

you stare, feeling the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from sheer humiliation. “so, you’re not mad you mean? or disgusted?”

“honey, there's nothing in your body that could make me mad or disgusted.” Ford huffs, wiping a smudge of blood off your thigh like it’s nothing but a wine spill.

and you want to believe him, you do, but god, your thoughts are spiraling again. he didn’t even get to finish, because you ruined everything. sheets soaked, mood killed, you were so close and now it’s all gone. and all of that is because of you.

“i still ruined it.” you admit and hate how ashamed you sound. “it was so good and now it’s just—“

“but darling,” Ford cuts in. he leans down, kisses your hipbone, tongue brushing so hot and tender it makes you twitch. “who said anything was ruined?”

“i mean, we can’t exactly keep going.”

“but why? who says i was ever going to stop?”

and it hits you. he hasn’t even finished. not once, he’d been so deep in you, feeling your pussy gripping him like a fucking vice that he didn’t even bother to chase his own orgasm.

you gape. “wait. you’re still—“

“hard?” he chuckles. “yes. painfully.”

“and you’re not mad?” you ask the same thing again, confused.

Ford kisses the inside of your knee. “the only thing i’m mad about is that i didn’t get to make you cum with my mouth first. you think I could be satisfied knowing I haven't tasted you yet?”

“wait, wait, wait, im—“ you start to panic when you realize what Ford is hinting at.

but it's too late because he's already gripping your thighs and spreading you open.

“you know we don't have to—“

”yes, we do,” he murmurs, “yes, we absolutely do.”

honestly, if you think Ford’s gonna let a little blood stop him from eating the prettiest pussy he’s ever seen, sweetheart. . .please, you clearly don’t know how fucked in the head this man is for you.

because after a week of not having your body beneath him, this is nothing.

“but—“

“sweetheart, ive been waiting a week. a week. let me take care of you.”

god. this man, fuck. you want to be mad. really, you do. you want to groan, roll your eyes, throw a pillow at him for ruining your chance to bury your shame in silence. but the worst part is that he’s smiling in that awful, devastatingly gentle smile.

and oh fuck, you cry out, trying to twist away because you dont want to make him uncomfortable or anything, but Ford's strong arms are caging you in. “i love this pussy. love how wet you get for me. i don’t care if you’re bleeding, i care that you’re not done yet, sweetheart.”

“you’re insane,” you whisper, biting your lip.

“for you?” Ford grins against your skin, “absolutely.” and then he’s already lowering, teasing at your folds, unbothered by the mess, more turned on by your shuddering and beautiful whimpers. your blood is barely noticeable compared to the way you leak for him, messy and dripping still, your clit so swollen and sensitive, you jerk as soon as he touches it.

Ford's tongue slides against you like velvet, then circles, and flattens.

fuck, he’s good.

he groans when you grind into his mouth, and the sound rumbles right through your gut. your hips buck, and he holds you firm.

shit. you should’ve never taught him. you should’ve kept the knowledge to yourself, never guided his eager mouth and shown him the way your body sang under just the right pressure, never taken his trembling fingers in yours and said “no, baby, slower, feel how sensitive i am here?”

because now, Ford is using it against you.

he starts slow, tracing that familiar path from the crease of your thigh up to your clit, breathing you in like it’s a drug he’s been deprived of.

you want to scream, cry and curl up into nothing and vanish forever, but Ford is licking right over the spot that makes your legs kick, and you swear he smiles when you do. because he knows your body. knows your pulse, rhythm and your shame and he’s pulling it apart with every flick of his fucking tongue.

“so sensitive already,” his breath ghosting over your drenched folds. “you really thought we were done?”

you don’t even know what he’s doing anymore, only that it’s working. it’s so working. too well, in fact, because you’re not even thinking straight, brain full of static and white noise and the obscene sounds of his mouth devouring your pussy like he’s making up for every lost second of the week you went without.

and he has improved. god, he’s weaponized everything you taught him. the way you showed him to suck your clit gently, not too much, just a little pressure like he’s savoring it. . . yeah. he remembers. that damn freak

each groan against your clit is like a vibration in your bones, each sigh filled with hunger and fucking adoration, because you gave this to him. you taught him this. you trusted him to touch you, to taste you, so now you pay for this. your pussy’s so sensitive, sore from earlier, still fluttering and tender, but he doesn’t stop.

“F—Ford, please—“ you don’t even know what you’re begging for. mercy? more? less? it all blends together. hearing your weak voice, Ford smirks against your pussy and then moans as if the taste of your blood and arousal is some forbidden elixir that gets him drunk on you. “s’too good,” you cry out. “how are you this good now? you damn nerd, oh my god—“

you can't finish your sentence because he flattens his tongue and licks again, so slow, making a long drag from your entrance up to your clit that makes your hips jerk and your hands fist the sheets.

and fuck, fuck, he remembers this too, how you explained him how to circle his tongue just beneath the clit too, where your nerves are raw and sensitive, and now he’s there, swirling soft, teasing spirals that make you shudder down to the bone.

and then he sucks your clit deep into his mouth again, groans, sending vibrations through your entire pelvis, making your back arch and your legs twitch around his head.

“that’s it, sweetheart,” Ford's voice all fucked-up and hungry, and god he sounds ruined, “give it to me.”

his thick fingers slide in without resistance, two of them, slow and fucking perfectly angled, crooking just right, the pads of them brushing over your sweetest sensitive spot in lazy pulses. he’s stroking you like he’s trying to coax something out, and you’re so soaked that the sounds are filthy, wet and too obscene.

you whimper, trying to close your legs but his wide shoulders are there, unyielding, pinning you open.

Ford kisses your clit like he’s in love with it, and you feel your orgasm coming like a storm on the horizon, making your thighs shake violently around his head.

but what kills you is knowing that this is your fault because you made him this good. you trained him. shaped him. built him into this monster of a man who eats you out like you’re the center of the universe.

and now he’s fucking feral with it

you cry out, too breathless, feeling your cunt pulsing around his fingers now that he added third one, your clit is so swollen under his mouth. “you’re so perfect,” Ford pants, grinding his mouth into you, his fingers pumping harder now, “god, you’re gonna cum, aren’t you? let me have it, sweetheart, give me that pretty orgasm.”

holy shit, you cum so fucking hard your body locks up, hips lifting off the bed, thighs clamping around his head, but that doesn't stop him. not even when you sob and beg, not even when your clit twitches and your hands shake, he’s still licking through it, swallowing you down. your pussy squeezes his fingers and leaks, your whole body folds inward.

but Ford holds you through it, tongue slowing to soft kisses, his fingers gently easing out.

“that’s my girl,” he breathes, smiling silly, chin wet with you.

“never knew you were such a freak, Ford,” you breathe, giggling through your tears, your fingers tightening in his silver hair. “i created a monster.”

Ford looks up, brown eyes glassy. “darling, didn’t you read my journals?”

you laugh breathlessly, still dizzy from your orgasm, but then it falters because your gaze flicks down to the blood. the mess. the ruined sheets and the guilt curling hot and tight in your chest.

“do you still love me?” you ask, unexpectedly even for yourself. “after all this. . . i ruined the bed and—“

Ford's heart breaks at that. he’s kissing your thighs before you can even blink, holding your hips like you’re something fragile. “hey. hey. look at me, sweetheart. you didn’t ruin a thing. you gave me you. and i’ve never wanted anything more. blood, tears, whatever. . . you think any of that changes how much i love you?”

you don't even notice how quickly a smile creeps onto your tear-stained face.

“you’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever touched, and i’d ruin a thousand sheets for just one more taste of you.” and that’s what love sounds like in Ford’s voice.

[kiyuhai]

summary. Kageyama worries that he isn’t reading you correctly. You reassure him that he is,  pairing. Kageyama Tobio x reader tags. Fluff, established relationship, communication, reassurance, comfort(?) request: If your requests are open could you possibly do a cute kageyama fluff? Maybe because hes not good at communication hes struggling a lot with reader and how to read us? But we reassure him and squeeeeee notes. Hii!!! Sorry for the lateness ehehe, i was hyperfixated on other fics </3 also, Thank you for the request, sweets. I’ll try my best hahah. i'm also interpreting this also as "kags struggles in social interactions when in high school because he's awkward outside vb like that" because im out of brain cells and having no electricity for over a week is jinja killing me!

Kageyama tobio stares at you and wonders how he managed to woo you. Better yet, how he hasn’t ticked you off yet. 

He isn’t unaware of what people say about him, the serious setter of the volleyball team, a genius volleyball player, that one guy who is too blunt for his own good– hinata once told him that tobio should really learn reading other people and their moods because oftentimes, his bluntness and lack of awareness on interactions outside of volleyball lands him as a… not so pleasant person to others.

So there are things that weigh on him- especially when it comes to you.

“Babe?”

“Hm?” you look up from your phone to see tobio, staring at you, with a frown and a furrow in his brows that makes you smile at how cute he looks. But you know that look. It’s the look he has when he’s trying to say something but really doesn’t know how to approach it. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. I- just…” he trails off, but you grab his hand, tilting your head. Tobio purses his lips, then, his voice is quiet as he asks, “do i- Am i… doing this right?” there’s a sort of hesitancy and quietness in the way tobio asks you that makes you pause. You turn to him, and you notice the nervous furrow in his brows, the small frown and the way his fingers twitch as he waits for you to answer.

“What do you mean by that?” your voice is soft, and you take the drink he got for you, placing it to your side. 

“I, well, its just… i don’t know if i’m doing this right.” he swallows. “This whole thing. I… feel like I miss a lot of things with you.”  

You stay silent, watching as a nervous look passes on his face. tobio continues, “there are parts of you I’m not catching. Subtle things.” his hands fiddle on his lap. “The way your tone shifts, or how your face changes when you're tired or upset. Other people seem to pick up on things like that without thinking.”

His voice turns quiet, “I don’t want to hurt you or throw you off by being slow on… reading you.” You blink slowly, letting the words settle. Then you squeeze his hand, leaning forward as you look at him, voice soft but firm.

“tobio, you don’t miss as much as you think.” He gives you a silent, disbelieving look before his gaze flits down towards the ground.

Tobio shakes his head, and you frown.

"tobio." he doesn't look at you, and you sigh softly. "tobio, look at me." when he looks at you, you smile.

"You're doing amazing, kay? you may not notice it, but i do. You notice the things that matter. Like how I get quiet when I’ve had a rough day. You ask if I’ve eaten when you see I haven’t touched my lunch. You check my hands when it’s cold because you know they go numb first.”

He looked down at your intertwined hands, his gaze flickering back up to you. Your name falls off his lips, and his voice is still quiet, unsure of himself. It’s different from how he carries himself, different from the way he is on the court- and you understand its a vulnerability you don’t see often. Tobio sighs, “sometimes I can’t tell what you’re feeling. Not right away.”

“That’s okay,” you murmur softly. “I don’t expect you to be a mind reader, tobio. I don’t want you to be. I want someone who listens when I speak, not someone who guesses before I do. And you— tobio, you listen.” you search his eyes, and you smile softly. “That matters more to me than perfect timing or knowing the right social cue.”

He swallows hard. “It just feels like… I’m different, behind on things that i’m supposed to know by now.”

You hum. “You’re not behind. You’re just on a different frequency. Just like when your on the court and in your element. This is just a different kind of court- and you’re in a different pace and level. And I hear you, loud and clear.”

There was a long pause. He let out a small breath, one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“You really don’t mind?” he asked.

“No,” you say, your thumb rubbing gentle circles over his. “Because when you look at me, I know you’re really seeing me. Not just reacting to me. And that… that’s rare.”

He nods, but there’s still something in his eyes that tell you he’s still worrying, and you nudge him. “That’s not all, is it?”

Tobio shakes his head. “I just wish that I understand you quicker, in the same way i understand volleyball.” tobio tries to word it, fumbling over as he nervously looks at your reaction. “Just- well, i know how bad i am with these kinds of things  and i don’t mind how others react to me– except when it comes to you.” 

You nod, reassuring him that you are still listening. Tobio swallows, “Hinata is good at these things and Sugawara-senpai, or Daichi-senpai and I’m…”

The silence that follows is a bit heavy, and you take a moment to think, before you slowly say, “You don’t have to force yourself to be like others, y’know?” You hum. “You’re not hinata, or sugawara-senpai- you’re tobio.” 

He looks at you, and you smile. “You’re my tobio. The one who is there when I need someone, when i need someone to listen.” you continue, voice soft as you try your best to word your thoughts out. “Tobio, i’m not looking for a mind reader, or someone good at reading the room or me. You don’t have to know what I’m feeling immediately, nor fo you have to be good at it– that doesn’t matter to me.” 

You lean your head on his shoulder. “What matters to me is that you care enough to try. That you ask. That you want to understand me. That’s more than most people do.”

He exhaled, something loosening in his chest. “But I don’t want to exhaust you. Or make everything harder.”

You smile, shaking your head as you continue. “Loving you isn’t hard, Tobio. It’s quieter, maybe. Slower sometimes. But never hard.” Squeezing his hand, you watch his shoulders sag, the tension slowly being released as your eyes crinkle, sincerity seeping through your tone. “I don’t need you to read every signal. I just need you to keep showing up. And you do—every single day.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy this time. It was calm, steady. Like a rhythm they both understood, even if no words were spoken.

And in that quiet, tobio finally let himself believe you, his hand squeezing yours in a silent thank you.

[julietsf1]

All is Fair in Love and Pastries - Kenan Yıldız x Reader

summary: She came to Munich for romance and got ghosted instead. Now, all she has left is a non-refundable ticket, a wounded ego, and an ongoing feud with a man who stole her last pretzel. (8k words)

content: serendipity, slight enemies-to-lovers, unexpected chemistry, teasing, fluff :)

AN: getting that real life inspo lmao I'm actually still going to Munich this weekend as my ticket is non refundable :') bet im gonna go shopping tho!! have a lovely day darlings <3

_______________________________________

I stared at my phone for the hundredth time that day, hoping—no, praying—for a notification. A single message. A carrier pigeon, even. Anything to prove that I hadn’t just imagined the last 5 months of my relationship.

Nothing.

Just the same empty screen, as quiet and indifferent as the man who swore he loved me five days ago.

I refreshed our chat anyway, like that would suddenly make a difference. Maybe my WiFi was acting up. Maybe he had texted, and the message was just... stuck in the digital abyss, waiting to be delivered.

Nope. Still nothing.

I sighed dramatically and flopped back onto my bed, holding my phone above me like it might suddenly start explaining itself.

It had been four days since my boyfriend—ex-boyfriend? Current ghost?—had last texted me. Four whole days. No explanation, no excuse, not even the cowardice of a half-assed breakup text.

Just... radio silence.

Besides the instagram stories of his friends, where he was seemingly having the time of his life clubbing and going to basketball matches.

The man who, less than a week ago, had been telling me he missed me so much, that he couldn’t wait to see me, had apparently decided I no longer existed.

Cool. Very cool.

I unlocked my phone and stared at my last message to him. A simple:

"What time are you picking me up from the airport <3"

Sent. Read. Ignored.

I clenched my jaw and rolled onto my stomach, glaring at my laptop screen where my non-refundable plane ticket sat in my email inbox. A round-trip flight from Nice to Munich, purchased in what I now recognized as the stupidest burst of romantic optimism I’d ever had. 

What was I supposed to do now? Cancel? Waste the money and sit at home, marinating in my own heartbreak like some tragic rom-com protagonist?

Absolutely not.

He may have ghosted me, but I’d be damned if I let some spineless man ruin my weekend. If nothing else, I was going to Munich. I had been there quite often for him anyway; I can figure out town for myself. And if nothing else, I was going to eat overpriced pastries, wander through fancy boutiques, and romanticize the hell out of my heartbreak.

So that’s exactly what I did.

I packed my bags and boarded the plane with all the enthusiasm of someone heading to their own public execution.

…

Munich was cold, and I was hungry—a dangerous combination for my already fragile mood.

I had spent the last hour walking through Englischer Garten, trying to shake off the lingering irritation of being ghosted. Fresh air was supposed to be good for you, right? It was supposed to clear your head, restore balance, whatever.

Did it work?

Not even a little.

I even stopped by the Eisbachwelle, where wetsuit-clad lunatics flung themselves into freezing water, attempting to surf a man-made wave in the middle of the city. I lingered for a while, waiting for the sight of someone wiping out spectacularly to cheer me up. A little Schadenfreude, as the Germans call it.

But even that failed me.

A guy faceplanted so hard that his board smacked him in the ribs, and all I felt was secondhand embarrassment. Not a single drop of joy.

Which meant I had officially lost my edge.

I needed a reset. Something warm, salty, buttery, preferably in the shape of a large pretzel.

So when I spotted a small bakery stand in Marienplatz, I knew what had to be done.

There it was. The last Brezn.

Golden brown, perfectly crisp on the outside, still steaming slightly. It looked like a hug in food form. The kind of thing that could turn your entire day around, that could restore faith in humanity, that could—

A hand shot out at the same time as mine.

Before I could react, the pretzel thief had already handed over his cash, nodding a polite danke to the vendor as if he hadn't just robbed me blind in broad daylight.

I stood there, hand still hovering mid-air, fingers closing around absolutely nothing.

The guy—the criminal in question—didn’t even hesitate. He just took a bite, slow and deliberate, as if he were performing for a food commercial.

I should have just let it go. But I was cold, hungry, and, quite frankly, on the verge of snapping.

“Excuse me?” I said, my voice teetering dangerously close to customer service polite.

He finally turned toward me, mid-chew, like he hadn’t just committed culinary theft.

Up close, he was—unfortunately—pretty easy to look at. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features softened only slightly by a full head of thick, dark blonde hair. The kind of guy who looked like he belonged in an expensive ad campaign, modeling watches he probably didn't even know how to read.

His gaze flicked down at me, scanning me with the casual arrogance of a man who had never had to fight for the last anything in his life.

“Problem?”

I crossed my arms. “You just stole my Brezn.”

He glanced down at it. Then, without even a hint of remorse, ripped off another piece and tossed it into his mouth.

“Oh?” he said, chewing. “Didn’t see your name on it.”

I let out a slow breath through my nose. “You cut the line.”

He shrugged. “I don’t wait in lines.”

I squinted at him. “Oh, wow. That must be so difficult for you.”

“It is,” he replied, entirely serious, before popping another bite into his mouth.

I stared at him. He stared back.

This was a test from the universe.

“I think I deserve it more,” he said finally, still looking alarmingly relaxed about this whole thing.

“Oh yeah?” I deadpanned. “And why’s that?”

He licked a bit of salt off his thumb—unnecessarily slowly, might I add—before replying, “I’m barely ever home. Haven’t had one of these in months.”

I exhaled sharply, glancing at the vendor like maybe—just maybe—there was another pretzel hiding in a secret stash somewhere. But no. This was it.

This stranger had not only taken the last Brezn but was now making a compelling case as to why he deserved it more.

I had two choices:

1.     Accept defeat like a normal, functioning adult.

2.     Die on this hill.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t feeling particularly mature today.

“Well,” I said, shifting my weight onto one leg. “I actually had a really rough week. So if we’re doing the who deserves it more competition, I’m pretty sure I win.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking far too amused for someone who had just ruined my day. “Oh yeah? What happened?”

I opened my mouth, then hesitated.

 “Let’s just say I’ve had a series of unfortunate events that have led me here, to this exact moment, where all I wanted—all I needed—was a Brezn.” I gestured toward the offending baked good, still clutched in his ridiculously nice hands. “And yet, here we are.”

He considered that for a moment, like he was actually entertaining the idea of handing it over.

Then, after a beat, he simply swallowed, dusted the salt from his fingers, and said, “Still not giving it to you.”

I blinked. “You’re actually the worst.”

“Probably,” he agreed, unbothered.

And then—because apparently, this interaction wasn’t infuriating enough—he shot me a quick smirk, turned on his heel, and walked away.

With my pretzel.

I watched his retreating figure, the back of his stupidly nice jacket, the annoyingly confident way he walked, and considered my life choices.

Maybe I should have just tripped him.

…

By the time I reached Jamal’s apartment, I had mostly let go of the pretzel theft.

Mostly.

Fine, not at all, but I was telling myself that because I refused to let some random bread bandit ruin my entire weekend.

I rang the doorbell, and within seconds, the door swung open to reveal Jamal Musiala—failed Raya date turned best mate.

We had met on the app ages ago, but within the first five minutes of real-life conversation, it was abundantly clear that we were better off as friends. No awkward tension, no will-they-won’t-they—just immediate sibling energy.

And when he heard about my spectacular disaster, he didn’t even hesitate.

"Cancel the hotel. My guest room is free. You’re staying with me."

Which was how I ended up here, standing in his doorway while he pulled me into a quick hug.

"Yo! Finally made it," he said, immediately pulling me into a hug. 

"Survived another international flight," I sighed, stepping inside and already feeling the tension in my shoulders ease.

He grabbed my bag, tossing it near the door like it was his personal mission to make sure I did absolutely nothing for myself this weekend. "Long day?"

"You have no idea," I muttered, collapsing onto the couch. "Between the baby on the flight and some guy testing my patience on the streets of Munich, I was one bad moment away from throwing hands."

Jamal raised an eyebrow, already amused. "Define ‘testing your patience.’"

I waved a hand. "Eh, some random dickhead cut in front of me at a bakery. Took the last Brezn. Very tragic. Anyway, I’m over it now."

Jamal snorted. "You don’t sound over it."

"I’ve grown as a person," I said solemnly, grabbing the tea he handed me. "Anyway, enough about me. What’s new? Got any hot gossip?"

"Nothing as dramatic as your bread wars," he teased, settling into the chair across from me. "But I’m still reeling over the fact that you thought long-distance dating was a good idea."

I sighed, taking a long sip of my tea. "Alright, go on. Get it out of your system."

He smirked. "No, no, I just think it’s inspiring. You—who has approximately zero patience for time-wasters—thought dating someone five countries away was a solid plan."

I gave him a look. "It made sense at the time!"

Jamal raised an eyebrow. "Did it?"

I groaned. "Yes! In theory, long-distance means built-in space. No pressure to see each other all the time, no risk of losing yourself in the relationship. You still get your own life. It’s all very mature, very evolved."

"Ah yes," he nodded seriously, "a relationship with absolutely no quality time. Revolutionary."

I ignored him. "It worked perfectly for me."

Jamal leaned forward, grinning. "I think you’re saying he just didn’t make you fall head over heels properly."

"I’m saying it was a noble experiment that failed," I corrected.

"You rationalize love like it’s a business deal," he said, shaking his head. "I bet you made a whole pros and cons list before agreeing to this relationship."

I pursed my lips.

Jamal’s eyes widened. "Oh my God. You did."

"It was a very casual list," I mumbled into my mug.

He threw his head back, cackling. "You’re mental."

I scowled. "Some of us like to make informed decisions, Jamal."

"And some of us," he grinned, "realize that love isn’t an investment portfolio. It just happens."

I squinted at him. "That sounds like something people say when they want me to shut up."

"That too," he admitted, still smirking. "Anyway, I invited a friend over for FIFA later—hope you don’t mind."

I waved a hand lazily. "No problem. I’m gonna take a long shower first anyway."

…

The shower did its job. By the time I stepped out, warm and wrapped in one of Jamal’s oversized hoodies, I felt lighter. Like maybe this weekend wasn’t a complete disaster. Maybe I could just enjoy being in Munich, enjoy my friend’s company, and ignore the nagging feeling that I had flown here for absolutely no reason.

Then I stepped into the living room.

And froze.

Because sitting on Jamal’s couch, controller in hand, was none other than the Brezn thief himself.

I stopped so abruptly I nearly slid on the hardwood floor.

He looked up at me mid-game, one hand casually flicking the joystick, the other resting against the back of the couch like he had all the time in the world. His dark blond waves were slightly damp, like he’d just showered too, and he was wearing a black long-sleeve shirt that looked unfairly good on him.

For a split second, I thought maybe the universe was punishing me. That this was some kind of elaborate karmic joke.

Then he grinned, slow and lazy.

“Oh,” he said, far too casually for my liking. “It’s you again.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you following me?”

Jamal—completely oblivious to the mounting tension in the room—paused the game and looked between us. “Wait. You two already know each other?”

The man—who I now knew was not just some random bakery menace but an actual acquaintance of Jamal’s—stretched his arms out in front of him like he was completely at ease, shooting me a look that was somewhere between amused and smug.

“We met earlier,” he said, still grinning like he found this whole thing hilarious. “Had a little disagreement over a pretzel.”

I crossed my arms. “I wouldn’t call it a disagreement. More like an act of blatant food theft.”

Jamal let out a loud laugh. “Oh my God. You’re the Brezn guy?”

I turned to him, betrayed. “You’re taking his side?”

“Oh, I’m on no one’s side,” Jamal said, still grinning. “I just can’t believe you’ve been ranting about this all evening, and it turns out it was Kenan.”

Kenan.

I turned back to him, my brain finally catching up. Kenan Yıldız. The name suddenly clicked into place. Juventus player. Young star. He had been on all the football news headlines lately, yet I hadn’t recognized him when we’d been too busy arguing over baked goods.

Kenan leaned back against the couch, clearly enjoying every second of this.

“If it helps,” he said, “I did think about giving it to you.”

I scoffed. “Wow. So generous.”

“Didn’t, though,” he added, eyes gleaming.

I inhaled sharply, mentally weighing the pros and cons of throwing a pillow at his head.

Jamal, meanwhile, was still thoroughly entertained. “Alright, alright. Before you two start a war in my living room, sit down. We’re playing FIFA.”

I dropped onto the couch, watching as he passed a controller to Kenan. “Oh, fantastic. I get to witness high-quality gameplay firsthand.”

Kenan barely glanced at me as he selected his team. “That sounded sarcastic.”

I took a sip of my drink. “That’s because it was.”

Jamal grinned. “You talk like you’ve seen him play before.”

I gestured toward the screen. "The evidence is right there. You haven’t even started playing, and I can already see the classic overconfidence."

Jamal burst out laughing. “Oh, this is great. I love this."

Kenan tilted his head slightly. “You think I’m bad at FIFA?”

I leaned back, stretching my legs out. “I think you think you’re good, which is way worse.”

Jamal wheezed. “Mate, she’s calling you a fraud.”

Kenan finally smirked, something sharper in his expression now. “Alright then. Play me.”

I scoffed. “Why would I waste my time proving something I already know?”

Kenan handed me a controller. “Because I think you’re all talk.”

Jamal let out a low whistle. “Damn. You gonna let him say that?”

I squinted at Kenan, assessing. He looked too confident, too pleased with himself, like he had already decided I was going to lose.

Big mistake.

I stretched my arms, feigning boredom. "Fine. But when I win, you’re buying me a Brezn."

His grin widened. “Deal.”

Jamal leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. “Alright, this is officially the most invested I’ve ever been in FIFA.” 

The match started, and I quickly realized three things:

1.     Kenan was as smug as humanly possible.

2.     I was not as bad as he expected.

3.     I was still losing.

“You sure you’ve played this before?” he teased, passing circles around my defense.

I gritted my teeth. “Yes.”

“You sure?”

“Shut up.”

And then—he scored.

Jamal burst out laughing as I dramatically collapsed against the couch. “I’m going to throw this controller at your head.”

Kenan grinned. “You’re just mad because you’re losing.”

I exhaled, resetting. “Alright. I’m locked in now.”

Kenan smirked. “Oh? You weren’t trying before?”

“I was warming up.”

And then—I started to figure him out.

Kenan was good, but he was also comfortable. He played like someone who expected to win—which meant he wasn’t ready for surprises.

So I gave him one.

Instead of playing safe, I started forcing mistakes. Instead of predictable attacks, I threw reckless passes forward, sprinting onto them with zero hesitation.

And then—somehow, some way—I scored.

The room went silent.

Jamal’s eyes widened. “NO WAY.”

I shot up from the couch, genuinely thrilled, throwing my arms in the air like I had just won the World Cup. “LET’S GO!”

Kenan blinked at the screen, processing. “...Alright. That was decent.”

“DECENT?” I laughed. “That was incredible. That was a masterpiece. Someone call FIFA, that was the best goal of the year.”

Jamal was dying, doubled over in laughter. “She’s actually celebrating like she won the league.”

Kenan shook his head, but he didn’t say anything.

Jamal leaned toward him. “You good, man? I think she actually rattled you.”

Kenan exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. “One goal means nothing.”

I grinned. “You sound stressed.”

“I’m not,” he said flatly.

“You look stressed.”

Kenan didn’t even respond. He just restarted the match, jaw set, eyes focused.

And that’s when I realized—he actually cared.

I had gotten to him.

And that fact alone made my entire weekend.

The rest of the game was pure chaos. I spent the entire match talking, commentating my every move like I was a sports announcer, making Jamal cry with laughter while Kenan did his best to block me out.

And then—somehow, against all odds—I scored again.

Jamal fell to the floor. “SHE DID IT AGAIN.”

I jumped up, clapping my hands together, absolutely beaming. “Someone get the cameras! Someone call ESPN!”

Kenan exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.

Jamal cackled. “I think this is the happiest I’ve ever seen her.”

Kenan looked at me then, properly looked, and for a split second, there was something undeniably fond in his gaze.

He didn’t say anything, just shook his head with a tiny, reluctant smile.

I flopped back down, grinning wildly. “Kenan, should I go pro?”

“You should retire while you’re ahead,” he muttered.

I smirked. “So you admit I’m ahead.”

Kenan sighed, picking up his drink. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

Jamal wheezed. “Nah, man, you lost. Accept it.”

I stood up, stretching lazily. “I believe you owe me a Brezn, Yıldız.”

With a giggle, I wandered into the kitchen, grabbing a coke from the fridge, still riding the high of my victory.

Behind me, I heard Jamal got up, grabbing his phone. “Food’s almost here—I’ll go down and get it.”

The appartment was quiet now besides the sound of a controller being set down. A pause.

Then, Kenan’s voice, low and even.

“She’s unbearable.”

I grabbed a coke and turned around, only to find him already walking into the kitchen.

He moved with the kind of easy confidence that was impossible to ignore, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt slightly, like he had all the time in the world. I expected him to go for a drink himself, but he just leaned against the counter, watching me.

I raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip. “Let me guess. You came in here to process your humiliating loss in private?”

His lips twitched. “I came in here to see if you’d finally crack and admit you got lucky.”

I scoffed, setting my drink down with dramatic emphasis. “Lucky? Oh, that’s cute. You think this was luck.”

Kenan tilted his head slightly, like he was really considering it. “Mmm. Either that, or you tricked me into underestimating you.”

I gasped, pressing a hand to my chest. “Are you suggesting I played mind games with you?”

His eyes glinted with something just shy of admiration. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

I smirked. “You’re right. I totally did. And I’d do it again.”

Kenan’s lips curled at the edges, like he wasn’t going to give me the satisfaction of admitting anything. But his gaze flickered—just for a second—down to my mouth before locking back onto my eyes.

There was a beat of silence, not awkward but charged.

His voice was lower when he spoke again. “I’ll get you back for that.”

I raised my eyebrow. “Sure you will.”

Before he could respond, Jamal’s voice rang out from the hallway. “Food’s here!”

Kenan stepped back, running a hand through his hair before nodding toward the door. “Come on, winner. Let’s eat.”

I followed, my smirk still lingering.

For the first time all weekend, I felt genuinely good.

…

It had gotten late the night before. Later than expected.

Jamal had ordered food, we’d all ended up sitting around, eating, talking, and somehow, between full stomachs and heavy eyelids, Kenan had ended up crashing on the couch. It wasn’t planned—just one of those things that happened when the night stretched longer than you thought it would.

I had barely registered it at the time, already halfway asleep in Jamal’s guest room, but when I woke up the next morning and wandered into the living room, there he was.

Kenan Yıldız. In all his six-foot-something, professional athlete, half-asleep glory.

Sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over his eyes, hair a mess of lazy curls, mouth slightly parted like he hadn’t fully re-entered consciousness yet.

I stared for a second too long, mostly because I wasn’t used to seeing him like this—soft around the edges, not smirking or arguing with me—before clearing my throat.

“You know, Jamal does have an actual guest room.”

Kenan didn’t move, just let out a low, sleep-roughened grumble that was probably a sentence in some language I didn’t speak.

I rolled my eyes, walking into the kitchen. “I’m going to get breakfast. If you’re alive in the next five minutes, feel free to come along.”

He was already pushing himself up onto his elbows, blinking like he wasn’t fully convinced the day had started yet. “Where’s Jamal?”

I grabbed my coat. “Still dead to the world.”

Kenan ran a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose. “Smart man.”

…

The café was small, tucked away from the main streets, the kind of place that felt warm the second you walked in. The smell of fresh bread and espresso filled the air, and despite the morning chill outside, it was cozy, inviting, the kind of place people actually took their time in.

I relaxed a little the second I stepped inside.

Kenan scanned the space, hands in his pockets, taking it in like he was mentally scoring it. “Not bad.”

I scoffed. “Not bad? This is an elite breakfast spot.”

He smirked. “I’ll decide once I taste the food.”

I rolled my eyes but before I could continue defending my flawless café selection, I noticed a small interaction at the counter.

A barista—young, probably new—was clearly overwhelmed, trying to juggle too many things at once. She fumbled slightly with the coffee machine, hands moving fast, eyes flicking to the growing line like it was personally taunting her.

The businessman at the front, impatient and already checking his watch, let out a loud, exasperated sigh. “Jesus, is it always this slow?”

I didn’t mean to intervene.

It just kind of… happened.

I leaned slightly against the counter, offering a calm, easy smile.

“Take your time. It’s way too early for people to be this impatient.”

The words weren’t pointed, not really, but they carried just enough weight to cut through the tension.

The barista glanced at me, a flicker of relief in her expression before she nodded quickly and refocused on the drink in front of her.

The businessman, unimpressed, muttered something under his breath but dropped it, grabbing his coffee and stalking off.

Kenan, silent up until now, turned his head slightly toward me, like he was seeing me differently for the first time.

I ignored it, focusing back on the menu.

When we finally stepped up to order, the barista, still looking a little frazzled but better, managed a small, genuine smile.

“Thanks,” she murmured, adjusting her apron. “Some people are just…” She trailed off, rolling her eyes slightly, as if she couldn’t quite find the right word.

“The worst?” I offered.

She laughed. “Yeah. That.”

Kenan was still watching me, but now there was something else behind it.

Something almost amused.

“So you do have the capacity to be nice,” he mused, smirking as we stepped aside to wait for our drinks. “Interesting.”

I scoffed, stirring a sugar packet between my fingers. “I am perfectly capable of being nice.”

Kenan raised a brow, feigning deep contemplation. “Mmm. Just not to me?”

“The barista never stole my pretzel.”

He let out a low, lazy laugh, shaking his head as if he almost respected the answer. “Fair point.”

I took a sip of my coffee, pleased with myself, but before I could gloat, the barista returned, sliding an extra croissant onto our tray.

“On the house,” she said with a grin. “For being nice.”

I shot her a bright smile, but that smile slightly fell when I turned back to Kenan, I caught him watching me.

Not smirking. Not teasing.

Just looking.

It wasn’t obvious, nothing overt or lingering enough to call attention to itself. But there was something there—something unreadable, like a thought passing through his mind before he could decide what to do with it.

I frowned. “What?”

Kenan blinked, shaking his head slightly like he was resetting his expression. “Nothing.”

I squinted at him. “You’re weird.”

He smirked. “And yet, you invited me to breakfast.”

I rolled my eyes. “Because I was feeling charitable.”

Kenan took a slow sip of his coffee, eyes still flickering with something I couldn’t quite name.

“Lucky me.”

And for some reason, that sentence stayed with me longer than it should have.

…

The rest of the day, after dropping Jamal’s breakfast and Kenan went home, I was on a mission.

Enough sulking. Enough rehashing why I was even here. If I was going to spend a weekend away, I was going to make something of it—starting with the one thing that had never failed to lift my spirits.

Retail therapy.

Now, let’s be clear—I wasn’t the kind of person who regularly indulged in luxury shopping sprees. I was a firm believer in financial responsibility and splurging on sales.

But sometimes—just sometimes—a girl needed to treat herself.

I had no intention of actually buying anything.

But the moment I stepped inside Saint Laurent, something in me shifted.

Maybe it was the soft golden lighting, making everything look like it belonged in a dream. Maybe it was the quiet elegance of it all, the way the sales associates moved like they had all the secrets to life itself.

Or maybe, for the first time all week, I felt like I deserved something just for me.

I started with the handbags, lightly running my fingers over smooth leather and delicate gold clasps, trying to soak up the feeling of being in a place that felt so effortlessly put-together.

And then—I saw it.

It wasn’t a bag.

It was a dress.

Simple, timeless, and undeniably perfect.

I hesitated for a second, fingers hovering over the fabric, wondering if I was allowed to try something this nice on.

Then a sales associate appeared, smiling warmly. “Would you like to see how it fits?”

I bit my lip, a little shy. “Oh, I was just—”

But then, in a rare moment of self-indulgence, I nodded. “Actually… yeah. Why not?”

And that was how it started.

Five minutes later, I was standing in front of a mirror, staring at a version of myself I hadn’t seen in a while.

The dress fit like it was made for me.

It hugged just right, elegant but effortless, like I’d just thrown it on and magically looked stunning. The kind of dress that didn’t need accessories or complicated styling. It just… worked.

I smoothed my hands over the fabric, twirling just slightly, inspecting every angle.

And for the first time all weekend, I actually smiled at my reflection.

The saleswoman clasped her hands together. “That’s the one, isn’t it?”

I exhaled, still staring at myself. “You’re very good at your job.”

She laughed. "You look stunning, dear."

I let out a small, giddy giggle, the kind I hadn’t heard from myself in a while. It felt nice, to like how I looked—to do something that was just for me, without a single ounce of guilt attached.

For once, I wasn’t overthinking it.

I wasn’t analyzing whether I should or shouldn’t.

I was just happy.

So before I could talk myself out of it, I lifted my chin and said, “I’ll take it.”

As I handed over my card, I thought about where I’d wear it.

Jamal’s match tonight. The VIP box.

And then, out of nowhere, another thought crept in—one I definitely didn’t mean to have.

What if Kenan sees me in this? Surely he would be there too.

The moment the thought fully registered, warmth crept up my neck and into my cheeks.

I nearly choked on my own internal monologue.

I shook my head quickly, forcing down the blush before the saleswoman could notice.

I wasn’t buying this for him. Obviously. No. This was just for me.

…But if Kenan happened to see me in it, well.

That wasn’t my fault.

….

By the time I arrived at Allianz Arena, I felt genuinely lighter.

Maybe it was the crisp night air, the buzz of excitement in the crowd, or the fact that I was actually looking forward to something for the first time in days.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that I felt good in my new dress.

The stadium lights shone down as I made my way to the VIP section, clutching my pass. The energy inside was electric, fans already singing, the deep thrum of anticipation settling over the stands.

I stepped inside the box, scanning the seats for Jamal, when a familiar voice cut through the crowd.

I turned, already knowing who it was before I even saw him.

Kenan stood next to me, hands tucked casually into his pockets, his usual smirk firmly in place. The stadium lights did unfair things to his features, casting a warm glow over his already obnoxiously handsome face, and for a split second, I hated that he had the nerve to look like that in any setting.

His gaze flicked down ever so slightly, scanning my dress before he met my eyes again.

“You look good.”

I blinked, caught slightly off guard by the lack of sarcasm in his voice.

Then, as if he could sense me registering the compliment too much, he added, “Unexpected, really.”

There it was.

I let out a scoff, placing a hand on my chest. “Oh my God, Kenan. That was almost a normal, genuine compliment. You must be exhausted.”

He hummed, nodding. “Yeah, I don’t know what came over me. Won’t happen again.”

“Shame,” I teased. “I was really enjoying the moment.”

He shook his head, biting back a smile. “So, what brings you here? Finally expanding your horizons past FIFA?”

I crossed my arms. “Actually, I’m here for Jamal. Some of us support our friends.”

Kenan nodded slowly. “Mmm. And yet… you’re standing here, talking to me instead.”

I opened my mouth to fire back, but before I could, the stadium erupted in cheers, the players stepping onto the field.

I turned my attention to the match, trying to pretend I wasn’t slightly flustered.

Kenan, however, didn’t seem as interested in the game as he was in continuing his favorite pastime: annoying me for fun.

“So, be honest,” he murmured, leaning in slightly. “You understand the rules of football, right?”

I gave him a dry look. “Wow. Incredible assumption. You see a woman at a match and immediately assume she doesn’t get it?”

Kenan grinned, unbothered. “No, I just see you at a match and assume you’re mostly here for the snacks.”

I gasped. “Excuse me, I am deeply invested in Jamal’s career.”

Kenan hummed, clearly not convinced. “Okay. What position does he play?”

I stared at him. “...Defense?”

Kenan smirked. “He’s a midfielder.”

I groaned, throwing my hands up. “Alright, whatever, I’m here for vibes and friendship. Sue me.”

Kenan chuckled, his eyes twinkling with pure amusement.

For once, I didn’t feel annoyed by it.

I turned back to the field, taking in the sheer energy of the stadium, the rush of excitement that rippled through the crowd.

And out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kenan watching me.

I glanced at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be watching the match?”

His smirk didn’t waver. “I am.”

Something warm and fluttery settled in my stomach before I could stop it.

…

By the time the match ended, I was happily full of stadium energy but tragically underfed.

The VIP box had food, sure, but it was the kind of small, fancy bites that looked better than they tasted. You know, the kind that was supposed to be "elevated dining" but just made you angry and hungrier.

I popped another tiny canapé into my mouth and sighed dramatically.

Kenan, who had been watching me struggle with barely concealed amusement, finally smirked. “You’re starving.”

I turned to him, offended. “I am not starving.”

Kenan gestured lazily to the criminally small appetizer on my plate. “You just inhaled that in one bite.”

I crossed my arms. “Maybe I have a very refined palate.”

He snorted. “Right. That’s why you look physically betrayed after every bite.”

I sighed, defeated. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’m a little hungry.”

Kenan hummed like he was deep in thought, then glanced at his watch.

“Come on.”

I frowned. “What?”

He was already heading toward the exit, looking over his shoulder like it was obvious. “We’re getting food.”

I blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Kenan chuckled, his expression full of mischief. “Trust me, anything outside is an upgrade from whatever that was.”

I tilted my head. “And what if this is an elaborate scheme to lure me into a suspiciously empty street?”

His smirk deepened. “I’d like to think if I wanted you gone, I’d be more creative than that.”

I considered it. “That’s… unsettlingly fair.”

…

Kenan’s car smelled unfairly nice—not in an overwhelming, aggressively expensive way, but in that effortless ‘I have my life together’ way. It was all clean leather, faint cologne, and something subtly fresh, like pine or citrus, the kind of scent that made you want to breathe a little deeper just to keep it around a second longer.

I did not breathe deeper.

Instead, I focused on the city outside, on the soft blur of streetlights streaking across the window as we drove through a quieter part of Munich. The streets were mostly empty, the chaos of match day behind us, and for the first time in what felt like ages, I wasn’t feeling weighed down by my own thoughts.

I was full, I was warm, and for once, I wasn’t thinking about him.

And then, Kenan spoke.

“So.” His voice was casual, almost offhanded, like he wasn’t about to upend my peace. “You never actually said why you were in Munich.”

I blinked, looking away from the window. “What?”

He glanced at me briefly, his fingers drumming idly against the steering wheel before he turned back to the road. “You don’t seem like the type to just book a random flight for fun.”

I scoffed, feigning offense. “Excuse me, I am very spontaneous.”

Kenan hummed like he didn’t believe me. “Right. And how many of these ‘totally random’ solo trips have you taken before?”

I opened my mouth. Paused. Frowned.

“…That’s not important.”

Kenan chuckled, shaking his head. “So, you’re telling me you woke up one day and thought, Munich sounds nice?”

I huffed dramatically, crossing my arms. “Maybe I did.”

Kenan shot me a pointed look that said ‘I know you’re full of shit.’

I exhaled, shifting in my seat. “Fine. I was supposed to see someone.”

He didn’t react—just kept driving, waiting.

It was almost worse than if he had immediately jumped in with a question.

I sighed, resting my head against the window. “But, uh… turns out he didn’t feel like seeing me back. And I had the ticket booked already.”

The words felt… lighter now, like they didn’t hold the same weight as they did a few days ago. Maybe because I’d said them out loud before. Maybe because I wasn’t alone with them anymore.

Kenan’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel, his jaw tightening for half a second before he spoke.

“Idiot.”

I blinked, turning toward him. “What?”

His voice was even, casual, but the way he said it was too sure, too final. “The guy. He’s an idiot.”

I let out a small, surprised laugh, shaking my head. “You don’t even know him.”

Kenan didn’t hesitate. “Don’t have to.”

Something about his certainty made my stomach twist.

I licked my lips, choosing to ignore the warm feeling creeping into my chest. “You’re very confident in that assessment.”

Kenan finally glanced at me, just for a moment, then looked back at the road. “Yeah. I am.”

The air in the car felt different all of a sudden, not uncomfortable, but charged.

I opened my mouth, about to say something to break whatever this was, when—

Kenan reached into the backseat, grabbing something, and tossed a small paper bag into my lap.

I frowned down at it. “What’s this?”

Kenan kept his eyes on the road, one hand resting lazily on the gear shift. “Something I saw.”

I gave him a suspicious look before reaching inside.

The first thing I felt was something soft.

And when I pulled it out, I actually gasped.

It was a Jellycat plush.

But not just any Jellycat plush.

A pretzel-shaped one.

Ridiculously soft, golden brown with tiny embroidered salt flecks, its round body twisted into a perfect loop, like an adorable, carb-shaped hug.

I stared at it, completely thrown.

My brain short-circuited.

I turned to Kenan, wide-eyed. “You—” I stopped, shaking my head, too stunned to be normal about this. “You got me a Jellycat pretzel?”

Kenan shrugged, like this was completely normal behavior. “Figured you’d appreciate it.”

I blinked down at my lap, still gripping the plush like it might disappear if I let go. “I—this is—I don’t even know what to say.”

Kenan smirked. “Wow. A rare moment.”

I ignored him, still reeling. “Wait. How did you—” My eyes narrowed as the realization hit. “Jamal.”

Kenan huffed a small laugh. “Jamal.”

I groaned, slumping back against my seat, embarrassed beyond belief. “I swear, he’s worse than an actual gossip column.”

“He told me the full pretzel tragedy while you were shopping this morning.” Kenan’s lips twitched. “Said you looked genuinely devastated when I took the last one.”

I gasped, pressing a hand to my chest. “I was devastated.”

Kenan let out a real laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I got that impression. Little drama queen.”

I glanced back down at the plush, running my fingers over its ridiculously soft surface, warmth blooming in my chest for an entirely different reason now.

I swallowed. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this, you know?”

Kenan exhaled through his nose, his smirk fading slightly. “I know.”

There was a small pause, then—

“I wanted to. I like to see you smile”

I froze.

Just for a second.

It wasn’t even what he said.

It was how he said it. Like it was simple. Like it wasn’t a big deal.

But it was a big deal.

I looked down at the Jellycat pretzel, tracing my thumb over one of the little embroidered salt flecks.

Kenan cleared his throat, like he wanted to move the conversation along before I got weird about it.

“I, uh—” He rubbed his jaw, focusing back on the road. “I couldn’t exactly smuggle a fresh one into the match, so I figured this would keep you warm in a different way.”

I swallowed, my grip tightening on the plush.

Somehow, slowly over the last few days, my heart stopped feeling so heavy.

I glanced at Kenan, and for once, he wasn’t watching me with his usual smirk or teasing expression.

He was just watching.

Like he was still trying to figure out why I looked so surprised.

Like he didn’t realize he had just completely disarmed me.

I turned back to the window, hiding my smile.

Kenan shifted in his seat, adjusting the air conditioning like he suddenly needed something to do with his hands.

He still hadn’t started the drive back to Jamal’s.

Good. I wasn’t in a rush to get anywhere.

…

I woke up earlier than expected, the kind of early where the world still felt half-asleep, where the streets outside hummed quietly with the first stirrings of the city.

The apartment was still, save for the occasional distant sound—pipes groaning as someone used the shower, the soft buzz of an electric toothbrush in another room.

And then—

A loud "OH, COME ON!" followed by rapid button-mashing and what I could only assume was a FIFA-related disaster.

I groaned, pressing my face into the pillow, trying to will myself back to sleep.

It didn’t work.

Instead, my hand reached instinctively for something beside me, fingers brushing against—

Oh.

I cracked one eye open.

There, sitting right beside my pillow, was the Jellycat pretzel plush.

Warmth bloomed immediately in my chest, completely uninvited.

It had been exactly where I left it, tucked neatly beside me like some ridiculous comfort object. I had slept next to it. Like some sentimental idiot.

I exhaled sharply, flopping onto my back and covering my face with my hands. “I’m losing it.”

Jamal’s distant FIFA agony continued in the other room.

I peeked at the plush again, this time reaching over to pick it up, squeezing it absently in my hands.

It was too soft. Too huggable. Too… thoughtful.

Kenan had really gone out of his way to find something like this. He had listened to Jamal’s retelling of my pretzel tragedy and then acted on it.

That thought alone did something weird to my stomach.

I needed to leave before I started reading into things.

After a long, slightly too-hot shower and a reluctant change into travel clothes, I zipped up my suitcase and walked into the living room, where Jamal was still intensely focused on FIFA.

“Morning,” I greeted, adjusting my bag strap.

Jamal barely looked up. “Yo. Ready for your flight?”

I nodded, shifting my weight. “Yeah, time to go back home. Thanks for letting me crash.”

He finally paused his game, stretching lazily. “No problem. You’re welcome to crash here whenever your love life implodes.”

I gasped, fake offended. “Excuse me, that was one time.”

Jamal smirked. “That was this time.”

I glared at him. “You’re very lucky I don’t have time to fight you about this.”

Jamal grinned, unpausing his game. “Safe flight, man. Oh—Kenan’s out front, by the way.”

I froze mid-step, my brain short-circuiting. “What?”

Jamal tilted his head toward the window. “I think he’s waiting for you.”

I blinked rapidly, my stomach flipping for reasons I refused to acknowledge.

Kenan was… waiting for me?

I didn’t even have time to process what that meant before my feet were already moving, slipping on my coat and heading for the door.

And sure enough—

When I stepped outside, there he was.

Leaning against his car, hands tucked into his pockets, his posture completely at ease, like he had been there for a while and had all the time in the world.

The moment he saw me, his lips curved into a smirk, like he had been expecting me to be surprised.

“You’re awake,” he said, as if he had any reason to assume I wouldn’t be.

I scoffed, shifting my bag higher on my shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

Kenan shrugged. “Driving you to the airport.”

I blinked. “I—what?”

He tilted his head slightly, amused by my confusion. “What, you thought I’d let you navigate Munich public transport with a suitcase?”

I narrowed my eyes. “I was literally just going to call an Uber.”

Kenan rolled his eyes, exhaling through his nose. “That’s boring.”

I stared at him, the weight of this entire situation settling into my brain.

Kenan—who had no reason to be here—had woken up, driven across the city, and was now waiting for me outside, completely unbothered, like this was just something he did.

I adjusted my coat, voice quieter. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?”

Kenan looked at me like I had just said something profoundly stupid. “Yeah. I know.”

I didn’t know what to do with that.

So instead of overanalyzing it to death, I just sighed, adjusting my bag.

“Fine. Let’s go.

…

When we finally pulled up to the departures area, Kenan shifted into park, tapping his fingers lightly against the steering wheel.

I unbuckled my seatbelt slowly, suddenly feeling like this was weirdly… final.

Like leaving now meant returning to normal.

And for some reason, I wasn’t ready for that.

I turned to him, opening my mouth to say… something.

But before I could, Kenan reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out.

A tiny bag of pretzels.

I blinked, thrown completely off guard. “You—”

Kenan smirked, holding it out toward me. “Figured you might need some snacks for the flight.”

I stared at him, something warm creeping into my chest before I could stop it.

I took the bag, shaking my head. “You’re trying to buy my goodwill?”

He leaned back against the seat. “You love it.”

I scoffed, but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Debatable.”

Kenan’s gaze flicked to my carry-on, and before I could register what he was about to say, his smirk deepened slightly.

“Did you pack the Jellycat?”

My face immediately heated up.

I opened my mouth—to lie, obviously—but Kenan just let out a laugh, shaking his head. “You did.”

I huffed. “No comment.”

Kenan’s lips twitched. “Good. It means my plan worked.”

I frowned. “Plan?”

He nodded toward the plush peeking slightly from the top of my bag. “Now you have to think about me every time you see it.”

My brain short-circuited.

I had no response to that.

I huffed, adjusting my bag. “Okay, well. Thanks for the ride, I guess.”

Kenan nodded once, casual as ever. “See you around.”

I hesitated for half a second.

Then, before I could stop myself—

I turned back to him one last time.

And said, without thinking:

“Don’t miss me too much.”

Kenan’s smirk was slow, lazy, and way too confident.

“No promises.”

I stared at him, my brain doing at least fifteen flips, before turning on my heel and walking inside before I could make this worse for myself.

I had no idea what had just happened.

All I knew was that my face was burning, and I was smiling like an idiot.

…

Back home, everything was exactly as I had left it.

The same apartment, the same slightly-too-loud coffee machine sputtering in protest before coming to life, the same half-empty fridge reminding me that I should really start grocery shopping like an adult.

Everything had resumed as normal.

And yet—

I found myself standing in my bedroom, suitcase still half-unpacked, as if some part of me refused to fully settle back into my routine. My fingers ran absentmindedly over the plush pretzel sitting on my bed, its soft, squishy loops an absurd but strangely comforting reminder of the past weekend.

I wasn’t supposed to still be thinking about him.

I wasn’t supposed to be replaying conversations in my head, breaking apart the way he had looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, the small shifts in his expression, the casual, almost careless way he had handed me that bag with the Jellycat and the pretzel, as if it hadn’t meant anything at all.

I let out a frustrated sigh, squeezing the plush against my chest like it was somehow responsible for all of this.

“You’re not helping,” I muttered at it.

Unsurprisingly, the Jellycat did not have a response.

I groaned, flopping onto my bed and burying my face into my pillow, as if that would somehow smother my thoughts into submission.

This was ridiculous.

I was being ridiculous.

I had gone to Munich with a very specific reason—to see someone who had ultimately proved to be unworthy of my time. But somehow, I had left with something else entirely.

A new inside joke. A new routine. A new, completely inconvenient way my stomach flipped whenever I got a text notification.

Which was precisely why I should not have reached for my phone just now.

But I did.

And when I turned it over—

There it was.

A new message.

From Kenan.

I hesitated for a beat, my thumb hovering over the screen, already knowing that whatever it said would only make things worse for me.

Then, finally, I clicked it open.

Kenan: Buy a nice winter coat.

I frowned, sitting up slightly as I typed back.

Me: Why?

The reply came almost instantly, as if he had been waiting for me to answer.

Kenan: I’m playing in the Netherlands next Wednesday.

Another message followed before I even had time to process the first.

Kenan: I need you to see how much better I am than Jamal, obviously.

I stared at my screen, my heart doing a very, very inconvenient thing, something warm and fluttery and deeply annoying settling into my chest.

I didn’t respond right away.

Because I already knew what I was going to do.

I was going.

[paiges-1vur]

hey loves! heres another pazzi fic for you guys because i know you love pazzi fics as much as i do. <3 🏀🌌👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

“mm.. your not going anywhere. get back here” paige mumbled into azzis shoulder as she tightened her grip on her waist, pulling the girl towards herself.

“paige i have to get up i told you. i havent texted my parents all night, they are gonna think you kidnapped me,” the brunette jokes, giggling slightly. “paige- oh my gosh” the brunette says trying not to laugh, while also being slightly irritated that she cannot get up. she eventually gives into the blondes touch, smiling. “dont worry paigey im right here. not going anywhere.”

the two girls have been friends, teammates, and practically sisters for the past three years. they had both felt feelings for each other ever since they got closer, when paige was a senior in highschool. although they felt this way, they never told anyone except those who were very close to them. family, friends, and teammates were all very supportive but the girls didnt want to tell the media just yet. they liked keeping what they had special, and they didnt want the media to twist anything, their relationship was perfect the way it was.

“you better not,” paige mumbles. her voice is husky and low. “you know i miss you like a bitch when your not visiting right? i need all the azzi time i can get.” she says pulling the girl even closer to herself, earning a giggle from the brunette. “and you better come to Uconn, or else…” paige threatens azzi, jokingly.

“oh yea?” azzi asks smirking to herself. “and what would you do if i didnt commit next year..?” the older blonde gets clearly upset at the idea of being without the brunette and her demeanor quickly changes. before she knows it, azzi is being flipped over onto her back. paige hovers over her, smiling down at her. “take it back..” she taunts azzi.

“wha- paige” she says starting to laugh, “i was just joking i promise its not that serious.” she tries to escape from under paige to lie back down but only gets denied when paige grabs her wrists and pins them above her head. “hmmm” she says leaning into azzis ear. “i didnt like that joke, it wasnt very funny..”

“i-” azzi swallows. “i was just kidding paige..i-i already said that.”

“and i heard you the first time baby..” paige says leaning down to leave a trail of kisses down her jawline. “so i said take it back..” slowly her kisses move down to her neck. azzi throws her head back, allowing paige more access to her neck. paige lets out a low laugh at this, starting to leave little bites and marks all over her neck.

“it.. was just a joke. im not going to take it back” azzi doesnt budge. she doesnt understand why all of a sudden paige got so worked up, but shes not complaining. it was rare paige had her dorm to herself, but tonight was special. azzi loved cuddling, but she was secretly hoping that something different would happen tonight…

paige kept placing kisses and love bites on her neck, driving azzi wild. she took a hand and snuck it just under azzis sweatshirt, placing it just above the waistband of azzis sweats.. well technically paiges sweats. “paige-”

paige immediately stopped and looked up at azzi. “yes baby?” she was concerned about why azzi stopped her. did she want her to stop? maybe she wasn’t in the mood anymore, which would have been totally fine with paige, but that wasnt the case.

“i love you.” is all she said before putting her head back down on the pillow. paige smiled and broke the waistband of azzis sweats with her middle finger and ring finger. “i love you too baby.. just lay back for me”

sorry this is so short loves. congrats if you read all the way through, and any interaction is appreciated <3 please dont be shy to drop reqs in my anon, or message me! of course also dont be shy to be “too specific” i want to make you guys as happy as i can with my writing. tips also appreciated always

[waechan]

nct dream's love languages (hyung line)

i was just thinking ab what my love language was and was like...wait this could be cute for my tumblr

fluff! sry if im rusty its been ages

ׂׂૢ

mark lee - words of affirmation

i thought about this one for a while bc i feel like he could be many things

mark is always busy and at first i thought quality time bc he's such a fun guy to hangout with but i don't think he has much time to spend:(

i finally decided on words of affirmation cause this man is always telling people "잘했어요!" (good job) or "수고했어!!" (you've worked hard) or literally anything else he can think of with a big ass smile on his face

he's so sweet im like awh even just thinking about it

if you were in a relationship w mark i could only imagine he'd be there to talk about anything and everything with you...the deep talks would be so intense but so amazing to have

he'd make you think of life differently, truly

he could also be an acts of service boy as he's always helping his members with things they need, it'd probably be the same for you!

text example: "you did great today babe, i'm so proud of you."

2. renjun huang - acts of service

i feel like in dream renjun gives off such a mom vibe and he's so nurturing and caring to them

i see him always doing things for you, bending down to tie your shoe, holding your things for you, planning on the entire day when the two of you hangout, ordering your food for you

he's such a chivalrous guy and i think he'd be that way as a boyfriend too

he'd be so quick to fight for you too like if someone talked shit about you behind your back he would RUN to beat whoever up omg i swear

could see him being a physical touch boyfie too bc he's always cuddled up with whoevers near him

hand holding when walking, you leaning on his shoulder when you're sitting down, it's the little things for this guy

he's adorbs

he will always always ALWAYS pay for your meals i already know that for a fact. he won't even let you get NEAR the bill

text example: "hi my love, how are you doing today? did you need anything? i'll be right there"

3. jeno lee - quality time

i was looking for pictures of him on pinterest and it honestly just pissed me off

he's so fine it makes me angry lol

i had a feeling he'd be quality time because honestly i feel like it doesn't matter what you do together he'd just want to be with you

he's always so happy and in a good mood and i feel like you being there would make everything a hundred times better for him

i think he'd love going on dates with you and he'd have something different planned everyday

but i also think he'd cherish the moments the two of you would have together just chillin on your own at home...gaming, watching movies, doing work..literally anything

he'd 100% be the most loyal boy in the world

i see him being an acts of service guy too, like lifting things for you or running errands for you...he just wants to make your life as easy as possible!

text example: "what do u wanna do today! i mean we could stay home too...whatever you want i just want to see you:)"

4. haechan lee - quality time

he's a loverboy and i already know he'd want to be around you 247

while jenos more of a calm presence, i feel like haechan is such a huge ball of energy

late night talks and walks, going to the grocery store, anything as long as he's with you

he'd hate being left out of any plans you have with other people...he'd sulk omg it'd be so cuteee

he's also definitely a night owl so i could see him wanting to talk with you until morning comes

i could also see him being physical touch because i mean, come on. have you seen the guy?

he's ALL OVER whoever he's talking to, even if it's in the most subtle ways

if your feeling down i already know he'd try to make you laugh, and treat you like his princess

text example: "soo when are you gonna stop ignoring me and tell me that you love me and you're coming over:) or i could come over!"

ׂׂૢ

i missed writing this was so funnn

lmk if u guys like it and i'll do a maknae line:) miss all of u and this community so much <3

[ddaisyvision]

𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜!𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢 𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨

𝐜𝐰: fem!reader, toxic relationship dynamic (toji’s a cheater), mention of violence, brief breeding mention, unprotected sex, some angst, you might think y/n is a lil dumb, some yearning and sexual tension.

its been about a year since you and toji fushiguro called it quits.

365 consecutive days of trying to heal from the pain your split caused. who knew another 365 days would be dedicated to dealing with him long after the fact? he’s always fucking starting shit. everytime he hears word you’re seeing someone new he comes along to try and ruin it. whether it be popping up at your apartment whenever he had an inkling you might have company, showing up to your job to apologize a million times or even beating up some poor guy who dared to even ask you out within his proximity; toji was always around.

you’d be a liar if you said that you weren’t madly in love with him still. but he threw it all away when he was caught fucking whats-her-face in the apartment you shared together. the last thing toji saw that day was your hand slapping him across the face and you tearfully throwing his stuff into the hallway and kicking him out. why couldn’t he put the effort that he’s wasting trying to ruin your relationships into actually saving yours?

tonight was the first date with a new guy in months since the last time was completely ruined by “he who shall not be named”. your friends encouraged you to put yourself out there even if toji was always trying to sabotage you. they said hopefully when you found a decent guy, he’d get the hint and finally move on with his life. Maybe this time they were right. You haven’t seen Toji lurking around your apartment or reaching out to your friends to keep tabs on who you’re with and what you’re doing. Finally. You just might be free.

you do a couple quick turns in the mirror, admiring how your dress hugs every sultry curve of your body. you looked fuckin good; and you smelled even better. after a few finishing touches on your makeup, you grab your purse and open the door. to your absolute dismay, you aren’t greeted by the hallways you always find behind your apartment door. it’s toji fuckin fushiguro standing at there with that stupid smirk across his lips and holding a bouquet of pink lilies, his smirk dropping when he notices how dressed up you are to just be hanging out in your apartment.

“the fuck are you doing here?” you groan, annoyed and absolutely not in the mood for the foolishness that you knew would follow.

“im here to see my girl, the fuck you mean ‘what am I doin’ here?’” toji spits back, eyeing your outfit and drinking in the smell of your sweet perfume. you notice the grip on the bouquet he was holding get tighter, practically strangling the poor flowers you presumed were for you.

“where are you going?” toji asks, the calm tone of his voice just barely covering the irritation laced within the question.

“out.” you answer shortly, trying to get around him only to be blocked by the wall that is toji. he looks down at you and squints, your flippant answer obviously only pissing him off further.

“out? out fuckin where?” this question sounding far harsher than the last. toji knows the answer but delaying you from going to meet whatever bozo that isn’t him was ultimately the goal.

“just out, okay? can you please move? i’m late.” you say, exhausted already from being hounded. you try side stepping to get by but toji refused to budge, gently pushing you back inside your apartment and slamming the door behind him.

“ohh, you’re late. am I supposed to give a fuck?” toji asks with feigned concern. you stand there in defeat, tapping your foot against the hard wood below you.

“i guess fucking not. you always do this shit toji, why?!” you shout. You end up swinging your purse at his hard chest to which Toji takes with ease, not even budging an inch. “just leave me the fuck alone already.”

“i miss you.” toji admits, watching you rage at him in awe. a part of him finds this side of you to be so sexy. the other part feels guilty he’s even bringing this side out of you in the first place.

“okay?! I miss you too, but you dont see me popping up at whatever hole you crawled out of and harassing every whore you bring there. why me- why can’t I move on?!” You snap, tears threatening to fall but you refuse to let them, turning your face quickly to bat them away.

toji inches closer to you, tossing the flowers onto the couch to grab your hands and squeeze them earnestly.

“how many fuckin times do I gotta tell you i’m sorry? you can’t move on because I don’t fuckin want you to. I don’t care how stupid that sounds, y/n, I love you. Fuck those girls, fuck whatever I did- it doesn’t matter. I just want you.” toji confessed, his words vibrating against the thin walls of the living room.

he could feel his heart beating against his chest. toji isn’t the mushy type but for you he was willing to be tender. his bed’s been cold since you broke up and frankly he can’t take it anymore. that’s why he resorted to being so criminally persistent. he didn’t know how else to just say how he felt.

you turn to look into his dark eyes and see the man you fell for right in front of you, sniffling and sobbing like a child as his words settle in. you want to believe his words and take him back but how can you?

“how am I supposed to trust you again, toji? this shit isn’t easy. you think I wanted to break up? you did this to us.” pain is laced in your words as you try to control your emotions, looking up at toji with wet lashes as you let yourself cry.

“i know and I’ll spend the rest of my life payin for it if you just give me another chance. please.” toji leans forward to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes shut as he does this. it’s like he’s trying to transfer his thoughts into your head so you know he’s sincere, his strong body weakening at the thought of you taking him back and finally having a shot at redemption.

he knows he doesn’t deserve forgiveness but there’ll never be another you in this lifetime and he’s not going to spend another year without you. you’re torn between your heart and your brain, an internal war you’ve fought for a year since he’s been gone. as much as you wanna hate him, as badly as you wanna punch him in the face and tell him to get the fuck out, you just can’t. you give into his touch and reveal in how familiar it feels, telling your brain to shut up and letting your heart decide for you.

“fine.” you say with a glimmer of hope in your gaze. toji doesn’t even hesitate to kiss you, victory swelling his chest. he lifts you off your feet and you instinctively wrap your legs around his slim waist as he leads you away to your bedroom.

toji’s foot can be heard closing the door behind him with a thud and a slam, hands groping and kneading at your soft ass as he hustles towards the bed. your lips commingle with his without a breath in between, desperate for each other. as he tosses you down toji’s immediately on top of you, caging you in his arms as his large frame hovers over you. he practically tears your dress off in a fit of blind lust and hunger just as he imagined himself doing so the minute he saw you in it.

“toji!” you squeal, not too upset about the dress since his lips are already kissing your neck. he’s nibbling and licking just how he remembers you like it, groaning as you moan softly in his ear.

toji’s hands wander mindlessly as he realizes just how badly he missed your skin, your scent, the sounds you make from the start of him tasting you to the end when you unravel and cum for him over and over again. god, no one compares to this. what the fuck made him cheat in the first place, he wondered.

you find yourself bare naked underneath the somewhat gentle giant above you, your teeth catching your bottom lip as toji’s mouth wrapped around your hardening nipples. his calloused and crude fingers find their way between your plush thighs and part the petals of your flower, savoring every little whine that comes from your lips as he gently rubs circles on your clit.

“so wet for me already. you missed me too, huh?”

you nod and go “mmhm~”, your pretty eyes looking up to see the intense look in his. you feel yourself shivering as toji operates your body like a machine, pushing every button the right way every time. toji’s cock is now firm behind his jeans, itching to get them off and slide himself inside you with the ease he always has. you always took him so well; like your perfect pussy was made just for him and him alone.

in a flash toji’s cock is free from the confines of his clothes, hissing as his blushing red tip oozes with precum. you look at the size of him and drip thinking of all the times he’s made your body weak and your legs shake with every stroke of it, squirming eagerly as toji takes his hand to stroke his cock to relieve the pressure in his balls.

“look how fuckin’ hard you make me.” toji groaned, watching his cock jump and throb at the thought of fucking you through the mattress. you salivate and spread your legs wider for him to get between, letting out a long and sultry moan as his girth stretches you to compensate. its been so long since you’ve had sex with toji — or anyone for that matter, your sight blurred as you feel him slowly stroke his length in and out.

toji can feel it in how tight you are that it’s been a while, refraining from pounding you out like he’s typically done. instead the pace of his hips remain steady, letting you feel every vein of his cock with each glide inside your gummy walls.

unspoken words urge him to go faster, hearing the pitch in your cries rise as you grip the back of his shirt. you feel him deeper now, the fat head of his cock nudging deliciously against the sweetest spots inside. by now you’re a stuttering mess, spewing strings of i love yous and i missed yous to which he replies humming,

“i know, baby. i fuckin’ love you too.” toji pants next to your ear, each huff blowing just below your ear. “im sorry.” he says, to which you hold him closer as his hips start to sloppily rut against you.

he’s cumming hard and so are you, feeling your pussy ooze your sweetness as the sound of skin colliding and your needy moans growing louder. toji lets out a string of raspy swears as his pace gets sloppy, his cock spitting out his thick seed deep inside you. not planned, but you’re his now and forever. a baby couldn’t hurt, right? You whimper and mewl with every finishing stroke of his cock, taking him in and practically milking his balls of whatever he’s had pent up all this time. you let out a satisfied sigh and bask in the warmth of coming down from such an addictive feeling.

you feel the spot on the mattress next to you sink as toji’s weight plops down next to you, your bodies hot and sticky with sweat. not much is said. not out of awkwardness or shame having slept with an ex , but out of awe and newfound love for each other. toji’s more in love with you than he’s ever been, tangling his long limbs with yours as he stares up at the ceiling.

to some, taking back an ex who cheated on you and betrayed your trust is nuts. but the way toji makes you feel doesn’t make much sense either. you love him fiercely and as does he. you smile to yourself and nuzzle up against toji’s skin, feeling him pull you impossibly close so the two of you can fall asleep in each others arms.

[cringe6fail6star6]

capvincible x stalker!reader who tries to get better (tw:obsessive tendecies, desperate mark, unhealthy relationship)(im writing about stalker bffr obvi its unhealthy)

They fail.

they admit in the passing that they went to therapy to manage their obsessive tendecies and mark feels his heart sink.

Because in his head its like: if my stalker stops being my stalker they wont pay for my stuff and ill be broke again and no one wants to be around broke people(<-projection)

And to reader is: if i get better, i can properly date him(<-chad mentality)

So now mark steals n hides their meds, or outright says if they go to the next therapy session he wont talk to them. And reader has two choices: not go along with manipulation and follow through with their healing but lose contact with mark or go back on their bad habits and keep mark close. And reader cant accept being NOT close to him so they lie to their therapist and say the meds arent helping.

...

Reader, in a good mood: so i started writing down my thoughts and setting them on fire afterwards instead of sending texts at 3 am to u bc i know u need to sleep more and i care for your health.

Mark, thought reader hates him now: either double text me or im killing myself

Reader:...

Reader, taking their phone out to tell their therapist that they cant come in: i just got another idea for a text!

.....

Like, it feeds mark ego to have a sugar daddy that doesnt even ask for sex, just to be around. The fact that those messages about them stealing his clothes and using them to pleasure themselves, or writing his name in their skin, or blackmailing some random that ruined marks evening(bumped into him in a crowd), and sweet messages that they miss him after spending whole day together -> is just a bonus!

And reader whos emotion dictate their actions, their ego thriving on a victim who "reciprocates"(doesnt stop them if not full on enabling) their feelings. Because they CAN afford mark and CAN provide for him AND feed on his happiness -> is just cherry on top for their deal and balm for the ego!

Neither of them are normal. If reader sees mark threaten someone and then backtracks bc of public image of his hero persona, reader doesnt have to backtrack and will keep their loves promise.

Reader would probably work with Machine Head if it lets them see Mark more often when hes acting like a hero. They learned so many new skills and got even more money from working with the mafia that mark is conflicted if he wants to put them in jail or play a good sugar baby and forgive them for a nice present.

Reader is paying both for therapy and mark but since mark knows theyre going to therapy he assumes they arent giving him enough money bc they spent majority on something else. Aka, he got jealous of their therapist. (Obvi reader is paying more to mark +presents +unhinged confessions +affection - but mark doesnt see that)

...

To win reader fully over he introduces them as his partner and now they have to spend all free time together(like it wasnt like this already) to hold the title up. Which reader now has even more reasons to be obsessive and therapist is forgotten to pamper mark.

This little shit sabotaged their healing and reader just cant tell him no

[heartsforvin]

Hi! I Hope you’re well🫶

Can you write something where vinnie was rude to y/n because he’s quite irritable since he’s trying to quit vaping (proud of him btw!) and then he feels terribly sorry so he covers y/n with kisses and hugs🥹

MOOD SWINGS

i’m doing good thank you ! and thank you for the request !! so proud of vin for tryna quit cus ik that shit is not easy to do 😭

pairing; vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings; cussing, use of pet names (baby, princess, etc), lil bit of angst, i think that’s all but lmk if i missed somethin !!

summary; vinnie accidentally lashes out on you but quickly realizes what he did

for a few years now, vinnie has been trying to quit vaping. it’s been a rough road over the years, but you’re proud of vinnie for actually sticking to his goal.

you knew when you started dating vinnie that he vaped, but he had told you he stopped months ago.

when you saw him vape about a month ago, you were confused, questioning him on it and wondering why he was starting the habit back up again.

“baby i swear i’m quitting, i’m sorry,” he rambled to you. “i’ve been taking zyn’s to help me quit it, and i know it’s like swapping one thing out for another, but they’re really helping me.” he explained.

you smiled at him and had given him a hug, looking up at him with your pretty eyes. “don’t be sorry, my love,” you told him. “i know you’re trying to quit, you’ll get there eventually.”

vinnie gave you a quick kiss and had thanked you for being so supportive.

fast forward to a few weeks later and his habit is still here, but you know he’s trying to stop it, and you knew it took some time.

it’s been difficult on you, on your relationship, but you know the two of you will get past this.

vinnie’s become a bit more irritable since he’s been trying to quit the habit, you try not to take it personal and tell yourself it’s just a mood swing thing, but it’s hard not too when it’s the person you love so much.

“sweetheart, have you seen my zyn’s anywhere?” vinnie asks you as he walks into your guys’ shared room in his apartment.

you’re sat on his bed with hera in your lap when you saw him walk into the room. “no i haven’t, im sorry.”

muttering what sounded like a cuss word under his breath, vinnie goes into the bathroom to see if he had left them in there.

“fuck,” you hear from the bathroom. you carefully place hera on the mattress next to you and stand up to see what has vinnie so upset.

“vinnie?” you slowly walk into the bathroom to see vinnie move stuff that’s on the counter around. “baby it’s okay, calm down,” you walk up to him and rub his back. “we’ll find them.”

you’re trying so hard not to let your emotions get to you when vinnie suddenly turns to face you. the look he’s giving you is something you can’t explain.

“and what if we don’t?” he asks, the look in his eyes immediately changing and you can tell he’s getting upset.

“i need to quit this awful fucking habit,” he says, pacing around the bathroom. “you hate it, i hate it, everyone hates it, it’s no good.”

you agree with him, it is no good, but getting upset over losing something to stop that habit shouldn’t be happening.

“this whole thing just pisses me off,” he tells you as he continues to walk around the bathroom. “i should’ve never started.”

it’s silent for a moment before vinnie yells out something and that’s when you knew he was really upset.

“vin, baby, it’s okay we can—no, we can’t do anything. this is a me thing.” vinnie cuts you off, and when the words come out of his mouth tears immediately well up in your eyes.

you and vinnie are a team, always have and will always will be, it’s how you two work. so when the sentence ‘we can’t do anything’ fell from his lips, you wanted to cry.

you knew you shouldn’t have, and was probably gonna hear it from him after, but you hit his chest out of frustration and walked out of the room.

vinnie watched as you walked away with a slam to the bedroom door, muttering something to himself once the door shut.

he knew it’d end up like this at some point, and he felt like shit for raising his voice at you and making you cry.

hours went by and you were back in vinnie’s room, curled up in his bed with hera laying against your chest.

you hear the door quietly open and you know it’s vinnie, but don’t make an attempt to roll over to face him.

“sweetheart?” you hear as his voice sounds hurt, like he knows what happened hours ago, as if it finally processed in his head.

the mattress dips and that’s when you know he’s laying on the other end of you. vinnie moves some hair that’s in your face and he plants a soft kiss right below your eye.

“i’m so sorry i raised my voice at you, my love,” he starts, making you smile that he’s finally apologizing. “and for making you cry.”

“i just, it’s been tough on me, you know? all the mood swings and shit, but that can’t be an excuse, i shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.” he explains.

you carefully roll over to face your boyfriend, hera still laying beside you as you do. vinnie carefully reaches up to caress your cheek and smiles.

you lean into his touch and kiss his palm softly. “it’s okay, you just need to remember that you’re not alone in this, i’m with you.” you explain.

vinnie smiles and leans in to kiss you, smiling once the two of you pull away. hera moves out from beside you and that’s when vinnie gently pulls you closer to him.

wrapping his arms around you, you nuzzle into his chest, loving the way he alone can calm you.

“i know,” you hear vinnie speak, the vibration in his chest making you giggle. “i’m still so sorry. i know we’ll find them, i just need to quit this, it’s giving me terrible mood swings.”

it’s silent but vinnie knows you heard him, soon you’re being covered in kisses and you can’t help but laugh.

vinnie hugs you tight after, making you smile and nuzzle into him more, loving being in his embrace.

“i love you, baby, we’ll get through this.” you tell him, looking up at him as you do.

vinnie looks down at you with a smile. “i love you too, i know we will.” he replies kissing you softly once more.

the two of you lie there wrapped in each others arms for awhile, knowing the two of you will in fact get through this.

hii !!! i hope you enjoyed this !! so so proud of vin for sticking to his goal and trying to quit vaping <33

tags: @cosmicanakin , @lyndys , @forevergirlposts , @visualbutterflysworld , @slvthrs , @bernelflo , @kriissy4gov , @laylasbunbunny , @st4rswrld , @hallecarey1 , @supabhad , @lovingsturniolo , @leqonsluv3r , @violet0182

[delusionallyobsessedwriter]

How He Would Cuddle You

Percy Jackson x gn! reader and how he would act when you two cuddled!

warnings: a bit of smoochin', no smut, not proof read we die like men

~750 words

A/N: okay guys so this is like my first fic ever im so nervous ahh!! (⁠๑⁠•⁠﹏⁠•⁠) but anyway, i hope you guys like it and feel free to leave requests, i'd love to write more!

love y'all!! (⁠｡⁠・⁠/⁠/⁠ε⁠/⁠/⁠・⁠｡⁠)

This man literally has THE TIGHTEST GRIP on you I swearr

You say things jokingly like "oh my god Percy i cant breathe," and he lets out a huff of annoyance, buries his head deeper into your hair and grumbles a half-assed excuse along the lines of "but you smell so good babe," or "sorry sleeping people cant talk,"

This man is so sassy I swear he will be the death of you

Luckily he loosens his grip when you remind him that 'sleeping people' can't consent to kisses either, which at first he protests about but after dodging his advances for a few minutes (or lets be honest a few seconds, this man is whipped for you) he finally gets the message and cuddles you without the strength of someone who seems to be trying to strangle you

On a seperate note, when Percy's in a cuddly mood, he gets so sweet with you, it's adorable to watch. Like when you find him so exhausted after a quest that the sassiness melts into clinginess its just *chefs kiss*

As well as his bashful nature towards affection melting, his need to be reassured regarding your relationship increases tenfold.

"babe can you just let go for a sec im almost done my work," you mutter as your near endless assignment seems to be coming to a close "Work isn't as important as our your ever-loving undervalued boyfriend, is it?" He asks drowsily in company with his arms coiling slowly around your shoulders in your seated position and coiling his fingers absentmindedly in your hair. As you giggle to yourself and repeat "undervalued, huh?" in a questioning tone, you're met with his hot breath on the side of your neck, followed by a couple sloppy, feather-light kisses.

"C'monn,*kiss* i miss you*kiss* so much*kiss*" He mumbles into the side of your neck as you restrain yourself from providing him with any signs of enjoyment because you know you'll end up trading off you're incredibly uninteresting assignment with being pinned under your extremely muscular and sleepy boyfr- okay yeah maybe this deal doesn't sound too mentally taxing.

As your resolve is finally broken, you reciprocate his affectionate gestures by kissing his forehead followed by his somehow always soft lips and whisper with a giggle"You always know just what to say," to which he responds by picking you up bridal-style and dropping you on the bed, which you yelp rightfully at.

He flops on top of you ungracefully and places his head in the crook of your neck, mumbling many things which you can't make out(519), but the jist of which are all extremely sweet and along the lines of "you're.. the best.. did you know that?.. you're like.. oh my gods you know like... that outfit you wore like... a week ago... everyone was staring at you but... you're mine," he buries his face deeper as you can feel his face heating up and a lazy smile etching deeper and deeper as he keeps gushing over you "All mine, yeah?.." he uses all of his remaining strength to look up at your face expectantly, awaiting your response like an eager puppy, "All yours, Percy," you say, with each word dripping with as much affection as you could muster.

You start to twirl your fingers in his scalp as he takes refuge back into the crook of your neck "so sweet t'me... how are you real... you must be like... from olympus... y'r too pretty... prettier than aphrodite I'll tell ya that much... hmmm... yeah that feels good..." he dreams out loud, keening into your touch "I could say the same about you, prettyboy," you retort as he suppresses the need to kick his legs like a schoolgirl.

As the comfortable silence lengthens, and you wonder if he's finally been taken to dream-land, he presses one last soft, love-filled kiss on your neck and whispers the softest and sweetest "I love you," that has ever graced the Earth, to which you can only hope he heard you respond,

"I love you too, Percy."

[heartofwritiing]

Oh why can’t he just bore me to death?

Summary: In which you and wilbur live in the same apartment building and one day your boyfriend complains that he can’t sleep due to the noise through the thin walls. Reluctantly, you go over to tell them to quiet down. It’s then that you meet wilbur for the first time. Inspired by Maybe I was Boring By Wilbur Soot & Oh Yeah You Gonna Cry? By Lovejoy

parings: musicianbur x fem!reader, fem!reader x boyfriend.

note on text: I have had this idea lying around in my drafts since about December 2022! (I know, it’s been so fucking long) it’s kinda set around when lovejoy first started doing shows, man i miss those days. it was originally going to be a series but I really wanted to write it so i shortened it to one fic. I genuinely love the idea, sorry if it’s kinda fast paced, messy, and long but i really hope you guys like it!

warnings: the reader is in a toxic unhappy relationship, cheating, angst, fluff, flirting, swearing, emotional, kissing, Im like super self projecting with this one so bare with me lol. unedited!

"If that wanker across the hall doesn’t stop I swear-"

Your boyfriend, Jared, complains for what seems like the 100th time this week. Honestly, the noise didn't bother you at all. You had gotten used to it. Living in this apartment building for the past year, you’ve come to realize the neighbor across the hall was in a band, and they would practice three times a week. But the thing was with this old building was that the walls were so thin. Hence the noise.

Having moved in with you just a month ago, your boyfriend wasn't thrilled about it. He needs to wake up early for his accounting job, and sometimes the late-night activities of the neighbors band practice kept him up for hours. You however loved it. It felt like having a personal concert in your own home, and you couldn't complain about that.

Jared sighs exasperatedly next to you in bed, tossing and turning. You were curled up with the book you were currently reading, and you peered at him from the corner of your eye.

"Jare, could you try and relax, please," you ask calmly. "Im sure they will be done soon."

He continues his rant, ignoring your words. Huffing and puffing.

"You should go over there before I do." he grits.

You frown. Knowing that you'll never hear the end of this and being in no mood to argue, you let out a tired sigh. You place your bookmark between the pages of your book and set it on your nightstand. Then, you pull the covers off your body, carefully maneuver out of bed, slip on your slippers, and exit the bedroom.

"Be right back."

Jared just gives a dismissive noise and rolls over.

You walk to your front door, open it, and step out into the fluorescent-lit hallway. Instantly, the sound of guitars mixed with a cajon becomes louder. You pause for a moment to listen. You get lost in the music, but then quickly remember that you were supposed to ask them to quiet down. Leaving your door ajar, you step over to the adjacent door and reluctantly press the doorbell a couple of times so they can hear it. Standing there with your arms crossed over your chest, you wait.

The sounds suddenly cease, and you catch snippets of incoherent chatter from the other side. Footsteps approach the door, and after a moment, it swings open. A man with a thick beard stands before you, his brow furrowed in confusion at the sight of you at the door.

"Are you a neighbour?" he asks, leaning against the threshold.

"I live across the hall," you nod.

He turns back around and shouts for someone, then turns back to you.

"Sorry, I don't live here, Im Joe." he introduces.

Before you can introduce yourself, a tall man with glasses perched on his nose approaches. He glances at you before switching places with Joe. After stepping away from the threshold, he goes back inside and informs the man that you are a neighbor.

"What can I do you for?" The stranger who you assumed was your actual neighbour questions.

He gazes down at you and suddenly, you're very aware you are standing in the middle of the hallway in just your shorts and tank top, and you feel a bit awkward.

"Do you think you could tone the noise down?" you ask politely shrinking into yourself.

God you sound like an old lady.

He crosses his arms with a teasing smile appearing on his lips.

"And why should I do that, darling?" he drawls, leaning against the doorframe.

A warm rush spreads across your cheeks at the name. It lingers in the air, the way it flowed from his lips, wrapped in a charming accent that made your heart race for a fleeting moment. As you blink away the surprise, you take a deep breath, grounding yourself to regain your focus.

"My boyfriend is trying to sleep, and I would really appreciate it if you could," you say.

You see the expression falter on his face for a moment. You try not to think anything of it, but he doesn’t say anything for a moment, so you both stand there in awkward silence.

"Look, I really don't mind it. I've been living here for a year listening to you guys, and I think you sound amazing-"

"You think so?" he implores with a smile.

“yeah,” You nod shyly.

"Well, thank you darling. It's nice to know someone appreciates the music." he says, probably referring to the several noise complaints he most likely gets nightly.

That damn name again.

"-But he's driving me mad with his complaining," you sigh.

Lately, Jared has transformed significantly since he moved in with you, and the shift in your relationship has been stark. In the early days, he was charming and affectionate, and that made your heart feel light. However, over the past month, something has changed; he now exhibits a troubling combination of laziness, indifference, and emotional distance. The vibrant spark that once defined your connection had dimmed. Leaving you feeling confused. You find yourself questioning whether you said or did something to provoke this change in him. Despite your relentless support and deep empathy. You don't see how any of that could change his behavior towards you.

He looks you in the eye, and you can tell the gears are shifting in his brain as he tilts his chin up.

"Well, what's in this for me?" he teases.

You stand there, momentarily speechless, as a whirlwind of thoughts fills your mind. Your heart races, caught in confusion and intrigue. A guilt tugs at you for even finding this stranger attractive, yet there’s an undeniable charm about him that makes it hard to dismiss your feelings. His smile holds a magnetic allure, and the warmth of his brown eyes draws you in despite the nagging thought that it might be wrong. You remind yourself that you have a boyfriend, but the tension between attraction and loyalty leaves you feeling conflicted.

"Couldn't you just do it for the sake of being neighborly?" you wondered, trying to shake your thoughts.

The man hums, like he’s lost in a thought before he peers down at you through the top of his glasses.

"Tell you what, you come to our next gig, and I'll promise to keep practice to a minimum so your boyfriend can get his beauty sleep," he vows.

You flashed a grateful smile at the stranger, a wave of relief flooding through you as you realized you wouldn’t have to engage in a conflict. The tension that had coiled tightly in your chest began to loosen, replaced by a sense of calm.

"Thank you!” You clasped your hands together. "and yeah, I'd love to!"

"Great! Let me give you my number, and I'll text you the details."

He was giving you his phone number. He’s your neighbor and is just being nice. There's no harm in that, right?

Realizing you had left your phone by the bedside, you decided to put your number in his phone instead. You entered your digits into his contacts while feeling his gaze on you with every click of the keyboard. Surprisingly, it wasn’t an unwanted stare; it made you feel a wave of butterflies. Once you finished, you handed the device back to him.

His eyes scanned over the contact name, and you almost swear you see his eyes light up.

"Well, it's lovely to finally meet you, y/n," he says. "Im Wilbur, or Will, you can call me what you like."

"Nice to meet you, Will," you reply.

With that, you both step back into your apartments, still lingering in the air. As you gently close the door behind you, a smile spreads across your face that makes your cheeks hurt. The sound of the latch clicking echoed in the quiet hallway.

As you paced back to your bedroom, thoughts of Jared filled your mind, and you quickly wiped the giddy expression off your face. He was already snoring, sprawled out on the bed. You sighed and climbed back into your side, pulling the covers up around you. Just as you were about to close your eyes, a soft ping sounded from your phone on the nightstand. You picked it up and saw a message from an unknown number, but deep down, you already knew who it was.

Don't let the bed bugs bite.

You giggled and quickly added the contact to your list. With that, you shot a quick next of 'night' you drifted off into sleep.

Two weeks later, after becoming friends with Will across the hall. You both had a habit of running into each other. Whether it was one of you coming home and the other leaving or vice versa. You both ended up chatting more and more.

You were starting to form a little crush on him. You knew it was unacceptable, but he was nice to you compared to the way you had been treated lately. It felt good to have someone who could be considered a friend.

One day, as you were about to enter your apartment after a long day at work, you struggled to find your keys in your purse while juggling two bags of groceries. Just then, Wilbur stepped out of his door and noticed your predicament, greeting you with a warm smile.

“Hey y/n,”

You turn around from scouring inside your bag and smile at the familiar voice.

Noticing his attire you can’t help but think how nice he looks. A navy blue pullover, adored with black pants and Doc Martens, and his round glasses sitting on his nose. His curly hair was a little messy as he ran a hand through it.

“what’s up Will,” you say.

He walks over to you and takes the grocery bag from your arm, noticing that you’re struggling. You thank him while finally retrieving your silly frog keychain attached to your set of keys. You let out a victorious "yes" under your breath, which makes Wilbur chuckle.

“No problem darling,” he murmurs.

You turn the lock and step inside, placing your bag on the kitchen counter. You turn back to take your grocery bag from Wilbur when he asks you a question.

“So I was wondering, if you aren’t busy tonight, would you want to come to the pier with me and the band?”

The question catches you off guard. You weren't expecting an invitation to hang out with your neighbor, whom you had known for only a couple of weeks. You weren't really used to people wanting to spend time with you, but you could tell that Wilbur was a genuine person who wanted to get to know you better. During your many encounters in the hallway, you always sensed that he wanted to say something more, but you weren't sure what that might be.

Even though you wanted to go out, make new friends, and enjoy yourself after a stressful week at work, you had to politely decline. You couldn’t just leave without saying anything to Jared, who would likely be home soon.

“oh, I would really like to but, i’m making dinner for me and Jared tonight.” you said somberly.

Wilbur's smile faded, and for a moment, disappointment showed on his face before he regained his composure and nodded.

“I’m sorry,” you tried.

“It’s alright, well I’ll see you around then,” he waves and trudges down the hall towards the stairs and out of sight.

You sigh and throw your keys on the counter, kicking the door closed. Resting your elbows on the counter, you lean forward with your head in your hands, rubbing your temples.

You regretted declining Wilbur’s offer to hang out. He was being nice, you liked him, and wanted to get to know him more. Who knows what time Jared will be home tonight. He had been at work late all week, leaving you to eat dinner alone until he’d come home in the late hours.

You’d be half asleep when he’d come walking through the door at twelve am, stench of alcohol on his breath and muttering drunkly to himself.

You couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. Not when he’d be out all night, not telling you where he had been.

You knew this would just be another night in alone.

Without thinking much, you quickly went to your bedroom and put together an outfit. It was the middle of October and quite cold, so you opted for a cozy sweater, a pair of jeans, and your white high-top Converse. After fixing your hair in the vanity mirror, you grabbed your purse and keys from the kitchen counter, ignoring the groceries left behind, and left your apartment.

Locking the door once again, you thought about quickly shooting a text to Jared to your whereabouts, but fuck him. He was acting like a dick lately and it was time for him to get a taste of his own medicine of giving you anxiety.

You rushed down the stairway in an attempt to catch up with Wilbur. To your relief, he hadn't even made it a block past your apartment building. You called out to him, and he abruptly turned around when he heard his name.

He smiles wide when he realizes it’s you running towards him to catch up. “Change your mind?” he muses.

“yeah sorry, is that okay?” you asked anxiously.

He nods and gestures for you to follow him.

Upon arriving at Brighton Pier, the sun had set and the air grew chilly as you got closer to the ocean. Inhaling the smell of salt, you sniffled as your nose was starting to run. You were glad you put on a sweater before heading out.

Wilbur walked alongside you, making sure to take small strides seeing as he was taller than you, and listening intently. He had asked you about your job, and you were enthusiastically sharing your passion for photography. You explained that you worked for a travel company, where you both edited and took photographs.

You realize you've been rambling too much. Sometimes your thoughts got carried away and you’d have to catch yourself.

"Im sorry, im totally rambling to you, im sure you don't find it that interesting." You apologize.

Wilbur shakes his head, showing that he disagrees at your statement.

"No, no, I’m listening,” he reassures. “I love hearing other people talk about their passions, ramble on," he encouraged.

Your heart fluttered as you continued your speech about what initially sparked your interest in photography. Wilbur listened so attentively that you almost forgot you were supposed to meet his bandmates until someone called out his name interrupting you.

A group of three guys sat on a bench looking out onto the sea and waved at the pair of you. One of them you recognized as Joe, who was just about to put out a cigarette.

“Will you made it!” one of the guys with blonde hair greeted you with a big smile. “Hey nice to meet you, i’m Mark,”

He held out his hand, you took it and shake it in greeting.

“Hi, I’m y/n,” you replied.

A chorus of ‘hey’s’ mix from the trio.

“So this is the famous y/n,” the third man you didn’t know, with longer hair and glasses spoke knowingly. “Wills told us a lot about you.”

You look at Wilbur, eyebrows lifting in surprise, but his eyes go comically wide at the comment. For a second, he looks like a deer in headlights. He glances at you, fast, like he’s trying to wordlessly undo the moment, to silently beg you not to read too much into it. But the damage is already done. Your lips twitch, trying and failing to fight off a grin.

You press your knuckles to your mouth, muffling your laugh at his flustered state.

Wilbur mutters something under his breath a dramatic “oh my god” — before dragging a hand down his face, and you swear you can see the tips of his ears turning red.

“C’mon, Ash, don’t tease the poor lad,” Joe chuckles, elbowing the long-haired one with a grin. He turns to you next. “Don’t worry, it’s all good things. Painfully good, honestly.”

“Joe,” Wilbur groans, somewhere between a warning and a whine. “You’re actually going to kill me.”

“No, no, let’s not kill him. He’s far too entertaining like this,” Ash says with mock-seriousness, pushing his glasses up with a smirk. “It’s rare to see him malfunction.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Malfunction?”

Wilbur shoots you a look — playful, exasperated. “This is why I didn’t want to bring you around them yet.”

“Oh?” you tease, enjoying every second. “Because you knew they’d tell me everything?”

“Because I knew you’d like them too much,” he says, looking at you.

The group laughs, a warm kind of laughter that bubbles into the space. For a moment, it feels like you’ve always belonged here. Into the rhythm of their jokes, and it feels nice.

“Anyway,” Joe says, clapping his hands once like he’s shifting the scene forward, “we’re grabbing drinks. You two coming?”

Wilbur looks to you, still red-cheeked but a little more composed now. He doesn’t say anything, just tilts his head slightly, like a quiet invitation.

You nod, smiling. “Lead the way, malfunctioning boy.”

When the others start walking ahead, he hangs back just a little. Just close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. His voice drops into a low tone.

“I swear I didn’t tell them that much.”

You glance up at him. “No?”

“No.” He looks forward, then down at his feet, then cautiously, with that sweet hesitation back at you. “Just… enough.”

You bump into him slightly, just to make him smile. And he does bashfully.

“You look really nice by the way,” he confesses.

Before you can reply, Mark is grabbing his attention and you’re left once again blushing like a teenager.

The pub is warm and alive, packed shoulder to shoulder with voices, music, laughter, clinking glasses, the hum of a guitar from the corner where a band is setting up.

You sit wedged in a booth between Wilbur and the wall, his knee brushing yours every time he shifts. His arm is slung behind you across the booth and you can’t help but want it to be around your shoulders pulling you closer to his side.

Across from you, Joe is halfway through an animated story, using his pint to gesture wildly, while Ash provides sarcastic commentary with impeccable timing.

You’ve already had quite a few to drink and you’re starting to feel floaty. Just enjoying the new company around you.

You’re not entirely sure what the story is about anymore something about Wilbur, a train station, and an unfortunate hat but it hardly matters. You’re laughing, really laughing, enjoying yourself for once and Wilbur keeps sneaking glances like he’s watching you instead of listening to any of it.

At one point Ash asks you something, a teasing “So how do you put up with him?” he says. “being neighbors and running into each other has got to be getting old,” and before you can respond, Wilbur cuts in dryly.

“She doesn’t. She merely tolerates my presence like one might tolerate a recurring rash.”

You snort into your wine. “A tall string bean rash with an accent.”

The boys howl with laughter.

Wilbur clutches his chest dramatically. “You wound me darling. AND in front of my own friends.”

You lean in, smiling behind the rim of your glass. “You love it.”

And he looks at you, really looks at you, a glimmer in his eye and says, “Yeah. Maybe I do.”

Just like that, the noise around you softens, even though nothing actually gets quieter. You feel it in your chest. Something unspoken stirring. The others go back to their stories. Wilbur doesn’t look away.

You think, maybe, neither of you wants this night to end.

It’s nearly midnight by the time you step out into the street, The air settles in when the city starts to sleep and it feels almost haunted. You and Wilbur peel off from the group naturally, saying goodbyes with lazy waves and sleepy grins. The others tease a little more — something about “don’t get lost on the way back” —

The walk is quiet. Peaceful. Comfortable. All night that was how you felt beside Wilbur.

Maybe it was because you were getting to know him more and in just a few mere hours you felt like you’ve known each other since forever. Making jokes and being more comfortable around each other.

Your shoes tap softly against the pavement. A breeze rolls in from the ocean, ruffling Wilbur’s curls and making him tug his coat tighter. You hug your own sleeves around you.

“I’m glad you came,” he says after a beat.

You glance at him. His voice is soft like something he’s not sure he’s allowed to say out loud.

“I’m glad you invited me,” you reply, just as quietly.

He nods, looking ahead. The streetlamps cast long shadows that stretch across the ground.

“They like you, I could tell with the way they welcomed you right away.” he says.

It felt good to be accepted for once. You didn’t have any friends. Jared was the only person you had and you weren’t sure you even had him anymore. Now, with him everything felt disconnected and numb.

“Joes’ known me forever,” he continues. “I’ve only known Ash and Mark for a couple years now but they’ve all seen me through so many versions of myself. Even the really shitty ones.”

You hum gently, urging him to go on.

“I don’t let many people in anymore. Not like that. Not like…” He hesitates. “Not like I want to let you in…”

He doesn’t know what it is about you. But there’s something he can’t shake. Ever since you knocked on his door of the late hours asking him to quiet down. He wants to know you.

Your heart thuds, loud. Like it wants to escape your chest. You stop walking. Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was the loneliness and unhappiness you had been feeling lately. Something inside of you felt like it wanted to let him in too.

He takes another step before realizing you’re not beside him anymore. When he turns around, his expression is open, unguarded in a way.

You take a breath and exhale, the condensation puffing around your face in the cold air.

“Could we go somewhere?” you ask, your voice barely above the wind.

Wilbur doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Of course.”

The two of you make your way down dimly lit streets until the buildings thin out and the sound of the sea grows louder, like it’s been waiting. His pace matches yours steadily as your steps echo through the streets of brighton.

The beach is completely empty. Just a stretch of wet sand mixed with crushed shells and rocks. The moon glows silver reflecting off the water’s surface. The sounds of waves crashing against the shore bring you at ease.

You both kick off your shoes near a rock wall, and without saying anything, you sink down into the sand. Wilbur joins you, you both don’t speak. You sit shoulder to shoulder. Your hands rest between you, just barely touching.

The waves crash in slow rhythm. Wind rushes past your ears. And you don’t look at him when you speak.

“My boyfriend,” the word sits heavy in your mouth. You’re not even sure you’d call him that anymore. “Jared, lately he’s been acting so different.” you begin.

Wilbur doesn’t speak. He just turns slightly, giving you his full attention, like there’s nothing else in the world he’d rather be doing than listening to you try and find the right words.

You pick up an almost fully infected shell and roll it between your fingers. “It’s like… he’s still him, technically. He still says the right things sometimes. Still calls me ‘angel’ when he remembers. But it’s like he’s checked out. Like he’s doing an impression of a boyfriend, and I’m the only one still clinging to nothing.”

The words feel thick in your mouth. You’ve been holding onto them for too long.

“I keep asking myself if I’m imagining it. If I’m being too sensitive again. He always says I am. He says I read too far into things.”

Wilbur’s jaw twitches at that, but he stays quiet, letting you lead.

You look down at your lap. “He doesn’t… look at me the way he used to. Not with warmth. It’s more like—like I annoy him. Like I’m a test he’s tired of taking. I feel like I’m always saying sorry for something.”

You breathe in. Out. Trying to regain your emotions.

“And the worst part is that Sometimes I miss him. I miss the way he made me laugh when we first started dating. I miss how he used to bring me little things—like my favorite candy when I was having a bad day, or how it would feel when he’d say nice things…”

Your voice cracks slightly. You hate that it does.

“I miss the version of him I thought was real.”

Your eyes blur with tears. You blink them away, embarrassed.

“Two days ago I brought up the fact that he’d been going out late all night for the past two weeks, He said I was being dramatic about his late night work meetings. But I knew it was much more than that.”

You weren’t expecting to let all of this spill out. To make this big confession-rant to, practically a stranger. But something made you feel comfortable enough to tell him all of this.

“He’s been fucking someone else…”

You barely say it above a whisper. Like if you say it too loud then it’ll be true. You feel sick.

You don’t see it but Wilbur’s other hand balls into a fist at his side until his knuckles are white. Rage fills him, he wishes he could find Jared and punch him so hard that his nose bleeds from the blunt force. But he looks at you tenderly with empathy and feels his heart ache for you.

“And I was so scared that if I let go of him, there’d be no one else. Like I was too messy, too broken. I kept shrinking myself just to make it easier to be around me. So he wouldn’t leave. But he already has.”

You’re shaking now. All the pent up emotions getting the better of you.

“I want to leave him but i’m scared.” you whisper, not even hearing yourself but he hears you.

Wilbur’s hand moves then, not quickly, not dramatically. Just slow and steady, like the tide coming in. He places it gently over yours, warming your fingers where you didn’t even realize they’d gone numb.

“Listen to me y/n, please look at me,” he begs, your eyes meet his through the dark. by they’re genuine and soft as he speaks lowly. “He does not deserve you. Anyone would be lucky to have you as their partner. You’re lovely, kind, caring and beautiful. He’s obviously a fucking dumbass prick who doesn’t know what an amazing person he has.” he continues and peers down at you. “Anyone who makes you feel smaller than you are doesn’t deserve to see you, let alone be close to you.”

Your throat tightens. You look down at your hands trying not to meet his eyes out of fear of possibly bursting into tears right then. His thumb now tracing gently over your knuckles calms you but makes your heart pound in your ears all at once.

A wave crashes louder than the rest. Somewhere, a gull calls out into the night. But here on this patch of cold sand, you finally feel still.

Slowly, wordlessly, you lean your head onto his shoulder.

He doesn’t move, except to rest his cheek lightly against your hair.

Tears flow down your cheeks silently. Thankful for him. Thankful for whoever let you find him.

“I know we don’t know each other that well yet,” he pauses. “but if you ever need a friend or a shoulder to cry on. I’ll be here.”

“Thank you Wilbur.” you sniff.

he doesn’t hesitate with his next word. “Always.”

A beat passes.

“Sooo,” you drag out. “You think I’m beautiful?” you tease, peering up at him, head still resting on his shoulder.

Your voice is playful, but it carries something real beneath it. Like you’re hoping he means it.

Wilbur turns his head just slightly, looking down at you.

“Painfully beautiful,” he breathes, like the words are being pulled from the center of his chest. “Like… it actually hurts to look at you sometimes.”

You blink up at him, the teasing edge melting into something quieter, more stunned.

You both go comfortably quiet again, and the silence doesn’t feel like punishment. It feels like safety.

That night Wilbur walked you both back home. Both of you bidding one another goodnight retreated to your respective apartment.

You went to bed with a smile that made your cheeks hurt.

The days leading after that are well, The happiest you’d felt in a while.

You had been avoiding Jared like the plague. When he’d stumble through the door at the late hours of the night you’d already be asleep. The next morning he’d already been gone when you woke up.

He had barely texted during the day, only saying things like ‘gonna be late again tonight angel’ the pet name made you sick to your stomach now.

Now you would spend your time with Wilbur. Nothing was going on. He had become someone you could confide in. That was somthing that you hadn’t had in a long time.

You fall into a rhythm with him without really trying. It starts the morning after that night on the beach. He texts you at 11:03 AM:

You’re required by law to get coffee with me today. Not taking no for answer Sorry, I don’t make the rules. (only if you want to)- will

You can’t help the smile that creeps across your lips that makes your cheeks hurt as you get ready to meet him.

You meet him outside the little café in town. His hair is tucked messily under a beanie, and he’s holding two coffees. He had asked you what your order was, seeing as he was already there. He hands it to you, but not before holding it out of your reach teasing you as you try to reach his tall height. It’s almost like you’re both so familiar with each other already. it’s like second nature. You roll your eyes at his antics but you’re fond of it.

You sit outside, knees bumping under the table, talking about everything and nothing. He tells you about the setlist for the upcoming show. You tease him about the fact that he’ll have a rock star persona once he steps out on stage.

“Everyone has a stage presence,” you say matter of factly. Sipping your hot beverage. “I can’t wait to see Divabur,”

Your days with him are mostly like this now. Quiet, simple, and strangely sacred. The kind of time that slips by unnoticed because it’s so easy, so natural. You hang out, talk, laugh, exist next to each other without needing to impress or perform. It never felt like this with Jared. It was so strange. You’ve become so close in such a short amount of time that the time doesn’t matter anymore. How right it feels.

You sit in his apartment during band practice, curled up on his couch while he runs through melodies and lyrics with the others. You just watch him. How determined and focused he is. The way he talks when he’s passionate about how the song is going, alive in what he loves.

On other days, you walk for hours down by the pier, through the quieter parts of the city. He tells you geography facts like they’re secrets meant just for you, his voice animated as he explains certain architecture in France or why he hates a certain country’s flag design with his whole chest.

And you listen. Not because you care about flags, or France, but because you care about him. Because watching someone light up like that feels like watching a candle catch flame in the dark. And Wilbur listens to you too. He listens like it matters. like you matter. For once you feel it in the way he looks at you. He just sees you and you see him.

Somehow, in the middle of all the walks, the music, the rants, and the laughter. He becomes your safe space.

The night of the show you’re right at the barricade, exactly where Wilbur said he wanted you. Front row, dead center.

The venue hums with anticipation, buzzing with voices and the low throb of the speakers warming up. The lights are dimmed to a moody blue, and the stage glows just enough to make the equipment shimmer.

Now the crowd around you presses closer, the lights drop fully, and cheers erupt as the band walks onstage.

The band come out one by one grabbing their respective instruments and testing the sound.

Wilbur walks out last, he waves to the crowd with a wide silly grin and they all cheer. He slings his guitar over his shoulder and moves to the mic. His lips brushing the metal as he cups his hand over the top.

“How are we doing this evening?” he questions in a low tone, his accent flowing out making butterflies erupt.

The crowed responds so effectively to him. With ease the whole band flows into the first song.

The show is electric. The crowed is shouting the lyrics right back at Will, they dance around you and you can’t help but just feel the energy around you.

Between verses, between chords, even mid-lyric, his eyes always find you. Sometimes he’ll sing directly to you, the corners of his mouth twitching. He even points at you dramatically during a song with the most absurd dance move you’ve ever seen. You double over with laughter, clutching your stomach.

He’s alive up there. Absolutely burning with an unexplainable energy. You can’t help but admire him as the stage light hits his side profile just right. His eyes are closed in concentration as he sings a line and his curls falls down his forehead. You pull your phone from your back pocket and snap a quick photo. He looks absolutely ethereal.

Like an angel fallen.

You don’t want to fight the thoughts anymore. You can’t help the way you felt about him and you were fine with that.

The set ends with their loudest, most anthemic song. The one with the slow buildup and the chorus that sounds like a drum march. It gets you amped up. Wilbur throws his head back to scream the final line, sweat dripping down his temple, and the crowd screams with him. You cheer as the drum beat kicks in with every guitar note.

It ends with fanfare and then one last note and the lights go out.

The crowed is ramped up as the lights fade back on and the band bows in thanks.

“Thank you so much for coming out, we have been lovejoy!” Wilbur

The band throws out little souvenirs to the audience. Mark throws his drum sticks to either side of the crowd and blows a kiss before he joggs backstage. Joe gives someone in front row on his side the setlist.

Ash spots you in the front row, leans down near the edge of the stage, and extends a hand. Between his fingers sits a pick. You take it and it’s still warm from him playing. He tips his glasses and winks at you before moving back to center stage.

Wilbur watches the whole exchange and shoves Ash’s shoulder playfully with his hands raised like ‘what the fuck man’

Ash sticks his tounge out at Will as they begin to play fight on stage. Making your cheeks hurt from laughing so much.

Wilbur sends one last glance your way and winks before disappearing backstage with the others.

You fist the pick in your palm and your heart feels full.

Ash winked at you like you were in on a joke. Wilbur grinned at you like he was so grateful you were here. Joe waved at you during one of the songs, and Mark pointed at you with his stick after he did a cool flip with it.

And for once, you’re not just watching something from the outside. You feel like you belong in this chaotic group of friends.

You can’t remember the last time you felt this wanted. There’s found-family energy that feels too good to be real. Filled with jokes and chaotic laughter and teasing that never crosses a line. You don’t feel like you’re tolerated or a burden.

You stay at the barricade waiting for Wilbur to get you. The crowed around you slowly disperses and you feel a vibration from your jeans.

You’re still glowing, still riding the warmth of it all. Your hand drifts to your pocket. Your mind is still on Wilbur. On the way he looked at you like the rest of the room disappeared.

A message sits on your lockscreen

Unknown number

Image: 1

You frown. Tap it open.

And there it is.

A photo.

Jared. At a bar. His hands on some girl’s ass, her arms around his neck, his mouth on hers like he’s done it a thousand times.

Your stomach sinks. The weight in your chest feels heavy and your heart pounds in your ears. Tears brim in your eyes and burn.

You aren’t surprised. Knowing this was a long time coming. Doesn’t make it hurt any less. Even if you didn’t want him anymore still, the grief hits you all at once after so long. it still slices clean through you. Your suspension was true. The final nail in the coffin.

You blink at it for too long. Scanning the way he’s pulling her flush against him and the sickly smile on both of their faces. Her perfect blonde hair, legs, body, perfect everything. It boils your blood. The noise around you fades. You don’t even realize that someone is calling your name trying to break you out of the trance.

It’s Wilbur.

You look up fast and he’s jogging toward you. Quickly you whip the tears away and press the phone to your chest, keeping the image out of his sight. Hes changed out of the white button up he wore on stage into a sweater. Curls a mess, face still flushed from screaming his lungs out only a few minutes ago. Then he slows when he sees the look on your face.

He catches the way you clutch your phone, yours eyes red and wet.

“What’s wrong?” he asks tentatively.

“Nothing,” you replied, “let’s go yeah?”

He stops you, placing his hands on your shoulders. It’s not forceful, but soft as he looks you dead in the eyes. You feel his intense worried gaze and you immediately break down.

“Hey, hey—what’s wrong?”

Wilbur catches you as you fall into him, arms wrapping tight around your shoulders, pulling you close like he can shield you from everything. You bury your face in his chest, and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head as you sob. You cling onto him like a lifeline. You try and open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out but hitched breaths. You hand him your phone and don’t say anything.

He looks at the photo on your screen.

He sees red.

“You’re fucking joking…” his voice is sharp.

His jaw clenches and his knuckles turn white. You feel his throat bob with a swallow. “Is this… now?”

You nod, barely.

“Who sent it?”

You shake your head. “No idea. But… it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.” he spites pulling away from you-

“no!” you cry. “don’t leave me, please.”

Wilbur pockets your phone and wraps his arms around you tighter. Burying your face into the fabric of his sweater, breathing in the laundry smell and him. It calmed you immensely.

“it’s not worth it.”

“it’s worth it to me darling,” he says. “that prick deserves to feel nothing but pain after all the shit he’s put you through.”

Wilbur could feel the anger rising in him, sharp and unrelenting. For once, he didn’t care. Jared needed to suffer. He wanted him to feel more than a fraction of the pain he’d caused you. Because in Wilbur’s eyes, you were something rare and good. Something precious. And the thought of someone hurting you, breaking you down piece by piece, made him feel violent in a way he didn’t know he was capable of.

You didn’t deserve that kind of cruelty. Not you. Not someone so full of light.

“I should’ve been less needy, i should’ve- i should’ve-

Wilbur cups your cheeks in his palms looking deeply into your eyes.

“hey- this. is. not. your. fault.” he says every word firmly, trying to burn them into your brain. “okay?this was not your fault.”

he brushes the hair out of your face and catches the flowing tears with his thumbs.

“i’m sorry i ruined the night.” you stress.

“you didn’t ruin anything.” he murmurs. “don’t think that for one second.”

“i’m so stupid.”

“you’re not.”

“i’m so pathetic.”

“you’re not.”

Wilbur holds you like he means it. Like he’s not going anywhere. Like he’d rip apart the whole world if it meant helping you feel whole again.

And when your breathing finally evens out, when your tears slow, he tilts your chin up.

“You deserve so much better.” he says. “You are better than what he gave you.“

Your lips part, like you want to say something. Without even another thought you’re leaning forward and enveloping your lips together. No hesitation, no warning, he doesn’t let go.

It’s soft at first.

It’s not shy.

It’s everything he’s been holding back since the moment he met you. Everything he felt when he first saw you.

His hand slides down and his arm curls firmly around your waist, pulling you closer like he’s trying to erase every inch of space between you.

You kiss him back with just as much passion, if not more.

You grab the fabric of his sweater like it’s the only thing tethering you to the earth. His lips are warm and urgent, tasting like adrenaline and heartbreak and something sweeter like hope. Like home.

It’s messy and breathless and real.

When he finally pulls away, it’s only by an inch.

You both gasp quietly, foreheads pressed together, your hands still fisted in his clothes.

You don’t open your eyes. Just speak, voice small and nasally from your tears.

“I’ve wanted to do that since that night on the beach.” you confess.

Then he’s pulling you into another kiss. It’s fierce and makes your skin burn all over. You whine into his mouth as his tongue tangles with yours. Your bodies feel like they’re on auto pilot.

You both pull away agian due to lack of oxygen. Letting out soft broken laughs, and for a second it sounds like relief… Resting your foreheads together his fingers rub slow circles across your skin.

When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse. Like the kiss pulled it from the deepest part of him.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he says.

You close your eyes, letting your nose nudge his. “Then why didn’t you?”

He pauses. And when he answers, it’s not teasing. It’s honest.

“Because I didn’t want to ruin this. You were already with that asshole and i didn’t want to lose you. When you talked about the things he said, the terrible things he did to you I- I wanted you to realize that you deserved better.” he paused his speech. “That I could treat you the way you deserve.”

Your throat tightens.

“Wilbur…”

His thumb stills on your skin, and he looks at you again really looks at you.

“I care about you, y/n,” he says, voice rough with honesty. “I want you to be happy. I need you to be happy. I never want to see you miserable again. I would tear myself apart if it meant you’d never have to feel this way ever again.”

His hand finds yours, firm and steady. His eyes don’t leave your face.

“You deserve the world,” he continues, softer now. “And more. So much more. And if you let me… I want to give that to you.”

You don’t say anything. Breath caught in your throat.

You don’t have to.

Because he already knows.

Your gaze finds his, and your voice comes out quiet—barely more than a breath.

“Take me home.”

He understands.

He knows you don’t mean back to your apartment. That place hasn’t felt like home in a long, long time.

You mean his place.

Safety. Love. The feeling of being wanted without conditions.

You mean him.

And when he squeezes your hand in response, he leads you out of the venue and onto the streets of Bringhton on that cold fall night.

End.

taglist: @lillyspeakz @horny-p0et

[liesandspookyfairytales]

hai hai hai im back 😼

i hope everything’s been going well with you and that you’re drinking water and sleeping and all that jazz

basically, im always tired, no matter how much sleep i get and sleeping is one of my favorite pastimes

so i was thinking…poly recoms with chronically sleepy reader? possibly narcoleptic but such a valuable worker that the RDA can’t let them go? human or recom would be cool, doesn’t matter to me

take care of yourself pookie 🫶

Sleepy reader

HIII! I missed you!

I was going to write my book (I've officially started writing and I'm so exited!) But once I saw your asks, I just had to write this first. Also, I feel you, I'm always tired as well :( even if I get a full night sleep and my mom keeps nagging me that the best way to battle sleepiness is to get active and I'm just like 'mom I want to sleep' 😢

You take care of yourself too! 💙 and I hope you enjoy this!

Also, importent notice, I've noticed that I'm not really in the mood to write one-shots for the avatar fandom, but I'm 100% okay with doing headcanons, that's just easier for me. I hope you all don't mind!

Race and gender or reader not specified.

I saw some videos on tiktok about someone with POTS and she would just faint randomly and the people in the video would catch her and I can totally imagine that with the Recoms. (I am aware that being chronically sleepy and having POTS is very different but just go along with it)

Imagine you’re cleaning your weapon along with the rest of the squad and suddenly you’re so sleepy and you just start to nodding off and whoever is next to you notices and quickly catches you so you don’t hurt yourself. 

Ofcourse they’d be alarmed when your head suddenly drops, but they quickly realise that you’ve fallen asleep.

Que the fond chuckles echoing in the room.

They like it when you lean against them when you sleep, but if you climb into their laps and cuddle them… If they could fall more in love with you, they would.

Speaking of cuddles, two words… Cuddle parties.

Some of them, (Quaritch, Mansk, Lopez and possibly Z-dog and Walker) grumble about it, but they’d be the first to join you. 

When you fall asleep in your bed (or someone else's, it’s all the same to you) or on the couch, it's only a matter of time before you wake up because there is some kind of struggle going on between the guys which one of them gets to cuddle with you. Once they’ve finally decided, Walker and Z-dog are already on either side of you. Que the pouting and puppy eyes. 

Quaritch tries to order them away (like he often likes to pull rank, even in your relationship), so another argument ensues about keeping your work relationship and romantic relationship separate.