y3oubii

[y3oubii]

Comb-Through

nanami kento x fem reader

after an especially exhausting day, nanami helps you brush and dry your hair after a shower.

CW: soft domestic fluff, established relationship, hair brushing / post-shower care, nanami being tender in his own way, physical intimacy (non-sexual), reader comforted / cared for, minor implied vulnerability, nanami kento is boyfriend material, no major plot / slice of life

the towel is warm, wrapped securely around your shoulders, but your wet hair sticks to your skin in heavy strands. it clings to your neck, your cheek, the nape of your spine like ivy too stubborn to let go. steam still clouds the bathroom mirror behind you, the tiles damp under your bare feet, and all you can hear is the distant hum of the heater and the occasional drip of water off your elbow.

you left the door cracked open out of habit, never expecting anything but silence on the other side.

instead, nanami is waiting.

he’s leaning against the doorway in his usual way, arms crossed, dress shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened just enough to make you wonder if he’s still thinking about work. he’s always thinking about work. or maybe, lately, just about you.

“you’re going to get sick,” he says softly, holding out a dry towel.

you blink at him, still stunned by his presence, fingers tightening around the edge of the towel already wrapped around you. “i’m fine, 'n i don't have the energy tonight,” you start to say, voice quiet and airy from the heat.

he doesn’t reply, just lifts a brow in that way that says you know better than to lie to me. he steps forward, takes your hand, and guides you out of the bathroom like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you let him.

he sits you on the edge of the bed, his hand light on your shoulder, and moves behind you. the room is quiet, dimly lit with the soft glow of a nearby lamp. outside, the city murmurs in muffled traffic and distant footsteps. but here, inside, it’s just you. him. and the weight of something warm and quiet stretching between you.

you clutch the edge of the towel in your lap, nervous for no reason, until his fingers touch your hair.

he towel-dries it first, gently but efficiently, working from the crown downward, patting and squeezing rather than rubbing. the way he handles you makes your throat tighten. he’s not overly tender, not coddling. it’s just… careful. considered. like he’s memorized every part of this, of you.

you close your eyes, leaning into it without meaning to.

“thank you,” you whisper, voice barely there.

his fingers still for a second. then, “you don’t need to thank me.”

his tone is even, but there’s something warmer underneath. something protective. tired, maybe. soft in a way that only ever surfaces in the privacy of these shared, stolen moments.

when the towel is finally damp and your hair no longer drips, he sets it aside. you think he might stop there, but then he steps away only to return with your brush in hand.

you smile a little, touched and startled and so impossibly fond.

“you really don’t have to,” you murmur.

he exhales, almost a sigh, but not quite. “you never do it all the way,” he replies, a little quieter now. “and then you wake up with knots and complain about it all morning.”

you turn your head, a playful protest ready on your lips, but he gently nudges your chin forward again. “stay still,” he adds, a hand steady on your shoulder.

you don’t fight him.

he starts at the ends, like he’s done this before, like he’s read the same tips you’ve heard a hundred times about detangling from the bottom up. he works through the strands slowly, untangling each knot with patience and precision. it doesn’t hurt. not even a little.

his knuckles graze the back of your neck when he adjusts your posture slightly, and it sends a wave of goosebumps down your arms.

you don’t think he notices.

but he does.

“cold?” he asks, voice low.

“no,” you reply too quickly, “just… surprised.”

he hums in acknowledgment, and you can almost feel his faint smile behind you.

the brush keeps moving. up and down, down and up. it’s hypnotic. the rhythm. the gentleness. the sound of it through your hair.

you think of all the ways he shows he loves you, never through words, never the obvious kind of affection. no. nanami kento loves in motion. in presence. in steadiness. in how he always remembers which shampoo you like and how long it takes for your hair to air-dry. in how he watches you quietly, memorizes you, and never demands more than you can give.

he finishes brushing and sets the brush on the nightstand. his palm smooths down your hair once. twice. lingering.

you lean back, just a little, until your spine brushes against his front. he doesn’t pull away.

you tilt your head, eyes closed now, and whisper into the quiet, “will you stay?”

he doesn’t answer right away.

instead, his hand slips around to your waist, his other arm circling you in a slow, grounding embrace. he rests his chin against the top of your head and breathes in.

“always,” he murmurs.

and he means it.

because nanami kento doesn’t make promises he won’t keep.

and if loving you means brushing your hair after long showers and holding you close until the morning sun cuts through the blinds, then that’s exactly what he’ll do.

gah, i love domesticity! has me absolutely swooning, and i can most definitely see nanami showing his love for you in the most endearing ways. i hope this was enjoyable and thank yeww for reading!

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[y3oubii]

Ghost Code

thomas "neo" anderson x fem reader

you basically (kinda?) take trinity's spot. thomas dated you beforehand, however, you ended up having to fake your death and sever all relationships to be shown the truth. years later, morpheus organizes for thomas to join them. you don't know it's him because you were unfamiliar with his alias, neo. you're reunited blah blah blah. im sure there is going to be inaccuracies, im not perfect and i certainly don't remember all the details of the series.

CW: Mild violence, emotional tension, past grief, unresolved feelings

“Ghosts don’t bleed. But you did.”

the rain slicked off the rooftop in fractured lines, turning the skyline into a blur of color and shadow. somewhere below, the city groaned and pulsed in false life, neon signs flickering over empty sidewalks, the low whir of passing hovercrafts disguised as delivery trucks. the matrix was always noisy, always breathing.

you adjusted the grip on your weapon and tilted your head toward the figure standing across from you.

new recruit. hacker type. Morpheus was calling him Neo, like it meant something.

he was tall, quiet, sharp around the edges, watchful. and there was something about him that you couldn’t pin down. a weird ache in the back of your head every time you looked at him. like you were forgetting something you used to dream about.

“he's the one,” Morpheus had said. “you've felt it too.”

yeah, you had. but not the way he meant.

Then.

Thomas Anderson had once been your everything.

he was all warm hands and dry wit, coffee cups at 2 a.m., late-night debugging sessions, long silences that felt like safety. you'd met in the dark corners of the internet, and when you finally saw him in person, it was like something in the world clicked into place.

but it hadn’t lasted.

you started noticing strange loops in the world. people repeating themselves. time hiccupping. a black cat walking by twice in the same second. you saw the seams in the simulation and asked the wrong questions.

and then Morpheus found you.

“you're not crazy,” he’d told you. “you're waking up.”

he gave you the choice. blue pill, red pill. you didn’t hesitate.

but they were watching Thomas.

if you’d told him the truth, tried to bring him with you… they would have killed him. so you made the only call you could.

you staged your death. a violent crash. no body found. closed-casket funeral. a smear of blood on concrete and a grave that he visited every sunday for a year.

Morpheus showed you once. you made him promise never again.

Now.

the man called Neo stood at the edge of the rooftop, staring out at the city like it held answers.

you stepped closer.

“Neo,” you said quietly, testing the name on your tongue.

he turned.

and it was like a punch to the ribs.

your breath caught. Your fingers twitched.

you knew that face.

hair a little longer. eyes darker. cheekbones sharper from sleepless nights and survival.

but it was him.

Thomas.

his eyes widened when he saw you, really saw you, and then narrowed in disbelief. confusion warred with familiarity on his face.

“i know you,” he said softly, like it hurt to say. “i—”

your voice cracked. “what's your real name?”

“…Thomas,” he whispered. “Thomas Anderson.”

and the world swayed beneath you.

“You died.”

his voice echoed in the corridor later, long after the firefight ended.

you sat on the cold steel bench of the nebuchadnezzar’s med bay, your arm bandaged and stiff with blood. he stood across from you, eyes locked on yours, not quite angry, but broken.

“i buried you,” he said, voice hoarse. “there was a funeral. your mother cried.”

“i know.”

“you're supposed to be dead.”

you looked at him.

“i had to protect you.”

he ran a hand through his hair. “you could’ve told me.”

“if i had, you’d be dead.”

his jaw clenched. “so you let me think i was crazy?”

you stood, suddenly furious. “do you have any idea what it was like watching you suffer? watching you search for answers i already had? wanting to scream every time you were one step closer to being killed?”

he flinched.

“i died,” you whispered, voice trembling. “but not how you think. i died every time i saw you and couldn’t reach you.”

silence stretched between you like wire.

then he said, “i kept dreaming about you. every night. even after i accepted you were gone.”

you blinked. “i know. Morpheus let me see. once.”

his eyes searched yours like they were trying to make sense of a paradox. “and now you’re here. alive.”

you gave a shaky laugh. “yeah. surprise.”

he crossed the room in two steps and kissed you like he’d been drowning without it.

and you kissed him back like breathing.

“You’re not the same.”

the next few days were strange.

Neo was still learning, still stretching his limbs in this new version of reality. you were tasked with helping him train. simulations. sparring. code-reading.

you could see it in him, the pull toward something bigger. the doubt. the fear. the longing.

he wasn’t the same man you fell in love with.

and neither were you.

“sometimes i think about that morning,” he said one night, sitting beside you on the floor of the loading bay. “the last one. you kissed me and smiled like nothing was wrong.”

you didn’t look at him. “i was trying to remember every detail of your face."

silence.

“i keep waiting to be angry at you,” he admitted. “but i'm not.”

you finally met his eyes. “i wouldn’t blame you if you were.”

“i'm just glad i get to see you again. even if everything else is broken.”

you reached for his hand and held it. “maybe we can rebuild it. something new.”

he squeezed your fingers. “together?”

you nodded. “always.”

somewhere deep in the code, a ripple spread.

two anomalies—entangled. one old, one forgotten.

the system tried to erase the deviation. but something was off. unstable.

too much emotion. too much chaos.

tol much love.

it tried to contain them. to split them apart.

but every time it tried, it failed.

because the world had changed.

because you were no longer just a glitch.

you were a ghost reborn.

and Neo?

Neo was never alone again.

the end!!! this was my first time writing something like this and posting it..so hopefully it was okay! if you read this far thank yeww 🥰

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[y3oubii]

Prettier in Pink!

shota aizawa x pink obsessed! fem reader

recently married to the love of your life, you two began a search for the perfect home to start your little family..how cute! it took lots of consideration, but you eventually found just the place, and your obsessed husband couldn't say no when you so excitedly came to him with...certain decoration plans. i based the house off of the murder house from ahs to add a little something sooo..thats whats with the jokes of death lol!

CW: creepy house vibes, light supernatural suggestions, strong domestic fluff, pink overload, aizawa being so in love it hurts

the sky was heavy with clouds, the kind that hovered like ash over the city, turning the light silver and soft. It made the peeling white paint of the house stand out even more, chipped, weather-worn, and desperately charming. ivy crawled up the stone pillars like veins, and the porch creaked beneath your heeled boots.

you clasped Shota’s hand and gave it a giddy squeeze.

“this is it. i need this house.”

he blinked slowly, dark eyes trailing up to the pointed spires of the victorian. “it looks like somewhere people go to die,” he muttered, deadpan as ever.

“exactly.”

shota sighed. the sigh of a man already lost. he was in too deep, had been since you first flounced into his life like a strawberry milkshake personified. now you were his wife, and if his pretty little wife wanted a dilapidated murder mansion with pink curtains and floral wallpaper, then goddammit, he’d patch the roof himself.

you tugged him through the doorway, the massive double doors groaning open with theatrical flair. the air inside was cold. heavy. like time had stopped sometime in the seventies and just… waited.

the grand foyer stretched up two floors, with an iron-wrought staircase curling up into darkness. a chandelier hung low above your heads, its crystals catching what little light filtered through the stained glass. dust coated everything in a soft layer of gray, and the wallpaper was a dark, faded red with roses.

you turned to him, eyes alight. “imagine this… but all of it pink."

he blinked. “you want to paint the murder walls pink.”

“yes. like a blushy kind of pink. and maybe a pink shag rug right here under the chandelier. and heart-shaped frames on the stairwell. it could be our ‘pink palace.’”

shota pinched the bridge of his nose, but you saw it, just for a second, the twitch of his lip. that barely-there smile he only showed when you were being particularly you.

“you’re insane.”

“and you married me, babe,” you said, leaning up to peck his cheek. “’til death do us part, remember?”

he grunted, hand finding your waist to ground you. “you better not mean literal death.”

the tour continued.

you danced through the rooms, practically skipping from one hauntingly beautiful spot to the next. the kitchen still had rusted fixtures and a cracked tile floor, but all you saw was a pink retro fridge and rose gold appliances. the parlor, with its looming fireplace and ghostly antique mirror, was, in your mind, already decked out with velvet throw pillows and bubblegum-pink walls.

the upstairs was worse. the hallway stretched long and narrow, with cold spots and doors that groaned when you opened them. one room still had a child’s bed in it, untouched, as if the house hadn’t been abandoned for decades.

“shota,” you whispered. “this could be the nursery.”

he glanced at the rocking horse in the corner, at the pale handprint on the window that hadn’t been cleaned in years.

you gave him the sweetest smile. “pink crib. ruffled canopy. you’d look so cute rocking our baby in here.”

his heart clenched like a fist. not from the haunted ambiance, but from the image of you, glowing with excitement, dreaming of your family’s future in a place most people would run screaming from.

and he’d follow you into hell if you asked him to.

he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “fine. but we’re putting salt in all the corners.”

you squealed and spun in his hold, hands clutching his scarf. “you really mean it? we can buy it?!”

“you already decided. you’re just waiting for me to catch up.”

you beamed.

“i'll let you paint one room black.”

“oh, how generous.”

you kissed him again, and he let it linger, just for a moment longer than usual. long enough to pretend the mirror behind you didn’t flicker. long enough to ignore the faint sound of footsteps upstairs, where no one had gone.

this was your home now. haunted or not.

and pink, very soon. terrifyingly, unapologetically pink.

bonus:

three weeks later, aizawa stood in the foyer, covered in dust and pink paint splatter, staring up at a barbie-pink chandelier you’d installed with horrifying pride. he sipped his coffee in silence.

“still think it looks like a place people go to die?” you teased from the staircase.

he looked around, at the floral walls, the lace curtains, the heart-shaped doormat that said “welcome, cutie.”

“yes.”

he paused.

“but now it’s the cutest death trap I’ve ever seen.”

i hope you enjoyed and thank yewww for reading! this was super fun to write!

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[y3oubii]

My Introduction !!

hiya!! my name is isa. i have been writing for a while, however, i have just recently started opening up to the idea of sharing with others and posting.

this blog is basically just a way for me to get acclimated to writing and getting outside of my comfort zone a little bit!

i write for and am interested a lot of different shows/movies. to just list a few:

mha

the matrix

haikyuu

literally ANYTHING marvel

dc

and literally sososooooo much more! soo..if any little freaks have requestss, EVEN IF ITS FROM SOMETHING NOT LISTED YET, ask and you might possibly receive if ik it! 😉

aside from writing specific characters paired with the reader (you!), i also write for generic characters (if that makes sense?) for example: stalker! neighbor x reader or just something like that i cant think of anything better rn lol!

i loveee music and may occasionally attach songs to my fics/drabbles/shots etc etc. give me recs! i listen to a lil bit of everything, but lately ive been hooked on mac demarco (fear i always will be), daniel caeser, frank ocean, thee sacred souls, kali uchis, faue webster..stuff like that! obsessed!

when im not writing or listening to music, i lovee reading and making blankets! its a bit childish but i have loads of lego sets and ive become a bit obsessed with collecting them. i love dolling up and experimenting with different makeup styles and fashion!

i was born and raised in america, but my family originates from both mexico and germany! odd pairing, right? im the eldest of three children, with two younger, half-brothers.

i am licensed in cosmetology and currently majoring in interior design.

a lot of this stuff was irrelevant but i think its fun to introduce myself and little fun facts! thank yeww for reading if ya did!

[y3oubii]

Masterlist !!

last updated: july 3, 2025

here’s where you’ll find all my fanfics, organized by fandom and character. any characters already listed are not the only ones i'll write for, just request and i'll add them!

🔞 = nsfw | 💔 = angst | ❤️ = fluff | 🌀 = ongoing series

the matrix

• thomas “neo” anderson

- ghost code (semi) 💔❤️

-

• morpheus

- [coming soon!]

• agent smith

- [coming soon!]

haikyuu!!

• kuroo tetsurou

- pretty woman 🌀

-

• akaashi keiji

- [coming soon!]

• ushijima wakatoshi

- [coming soon!]

my hero academia

• shota aizawa / eraserhead

- pretty woman 🌀

- prettier in pink ❤️

-

• bakugou katsuki

- [coming soon!]

• todoroki shouto

- [coming soon!]

• dabi

- pretty woman 🌀

-

marvel

• moon boys (steven, mark, jake) / moon knight

- pretty woman 🌀

-

• matt murdock / daredevil

- [coming soon!]

• loki

- [coming soon!]

• stephen strange

- pretty woman 🌀

-

• eddie brock

- pretty woman 🌀

-

dc

• bruce wayne / batman

- pretty woman 🌀

-

• jason todd / red hood

- [coming soon!]

• john constantine

- [coming soon!]

• clark kent

- pretty woman 🌀

-

jujutsu kaisen

• satoru gojo

- pretty woman 🌀

-

• kento nanami

- pretty woman 🌀

- comb-through ❤️

-

• suguru geto

- pretty woman 🌀

-

• megumi fushiguro

- pretty woman 🌀

-

• togi fushiguro

- sharp things 🔞

-

star wars

• din djarin / the mandalorian

- pretty woman 🌀

-

• kylo ren / ben solo

- [coming soon!]

• obi-wan kenobi

- pretty woman 🌀

-

unnamed characters

• obsessive sub bully

- "shove me again and i'll make you say please" pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7, pt. 8 🔞🌀

-

note: if a link isn’t active yet, it means the fic is in the works or queued, stay tuned!

want something specific? check the rules + request info or drop by my inbox!

[y3oubii]

Blog Rules & Info !!

general info

i write fanfiction, mostly for the matrix, mha, marvel, dc, jjk, star wars, etc!

requests: open!

🔞 this blog will contain nsfw content, so 18+ only. minors, please don’t interact!

feel free to send asks, comments, or just talk about characters with me, i love talking!

navigation: get to know me!, masterlist

dont's

no plagiarism. don’t repost or claim my writing elsewhere.

don’t request things that go against tumblr’s (and frankly, my) content policy (incest, pedophilia, noncon without tags, etc.)

no unsolicited advice. if i want feedback, ill ask for it!

do's

reblog if you enjoy a fic — it helps more than you know!

be kind in my inbox and to each other.

use trigger warnings or tags when needed if we’re talking about sensitive topics (i personally am not too adamant abt this one, but have common sense..be respectful!)

have fun and enjoy my journey with me!

🖋️ request guidelines

include character(s), prompt or vibe, and any kinks/genres you want or don’t want

i write at my own pace. i might not get to every request, thank you for understanding!

i reserve the right to decline anything i’m uncomfortable with or not inspired by

if there isn't a fandom that you're interested in listed on my masterlist, that doesn't mean i won't write for it! ask me about it and i'll most likely add it if i know and enjoy!

i love juicy, tropey, slightly crazy ideas, so don’t hold back!!

Thanks for stopping by! 💕

- Isa

[y3oubii]

"Shove Me Again and I'll Make You Say Please"

unnamed bully x reader

bully who is actually an obsessed, lowk perverted, yearner.. but too embarrassed to do anything about it! unfortunately he's a bit too obvious..how cute!

CW: explicit content (light, consensual smut), obsession, mild humiliation kink, possessiveness, dirty talk, suggestiveness, praise kink, reader is a tease, bully is secretly a wreck

you knew he watched you.

it started small. a glance too long in class. the way he always picked the seat behind you, even when there were plenty of empty rows. the unnecessary bumping in the hallway, shoulder-to-shoulder contact lingering too long, like he wanted you to react.

you knew what he was doing.

you didn’t know why.

why he of all people, resident jerk, hallway menace, school’s favorite too-hot-for-his-own-good bastard, seemed to zero in on you like you were some puzzle he couldn’t figure out. he had that kind of reputation: cocky smirk, cocky walk, cocky everything. but when it came to you?

he glitched.

you’d catch him staring and he’d scowl, flush, and mutter some insult under his breath before storming away like you were the one who just did something embarrassing. like he wasn’t the one gripping his locker like it owed him money every time you licked a popsicle in the quad.

he was obsessed.

and it was adorable.

it got worse after gym class.

you wore those tiny shorts on purpose. you bent over a little too much. you pretended not to notice the way his voice cracked when you tossed your water bottle at him and called him “tough guy.”

he shoved you against the lockers afterward, red-faced and breathing hard, and the look in his eyes—oh, God—if looks could fuck…

“you think this is funny?” he growled. “keep teasing me and i'll—”

“you’ll what?” you purred, your voice dangerously low. “tell me to stop? push me harder? maybe pin me next time?”

he froze.

his grip tightened just a little. his eyes flicked to your mouth. then away. then back again. his tongue darted out nervously and wet his lips, and he looked so tortured, like he didn’t know if he wanted to kiss you or kill you.

“i hate you,” he said.

you smiled. “liar.”

you found the sketchbook by accident.

well. mostly by accident.

he left his bag unattended during detention. you were curious.

inside?

drawings.

dozens.

of you.

your lips. your hands. you biting your lip. you licking a popsicle. you stretching in yoga class. you in that damn short skirt with the lace at the hem.

you.

and scribbled beside them?

“do not touch her.”

“she’s not yours.”

“god, I’d ruin her.”

“wish she’d ruin me.”

you nearly melted.

the next time he cornered you, he didn’t expect you to grab his shirt and pull him close.

“found your little diary,” you whispered.

he blanched. “you what—”

“you really are obsessed with me, huh?” your fingers slid beneath the hem of his shirt, teasing the sensitive skin there.

“i—i'm not—fuck, stop that—”

“or what?” you teased. “you’ll draw me again? maybe this time with your hand down your pants?”

he went red. all the way down to his collarbones. his breathing was shallow now, fast. his hands twitched at his sides like he didn’t know whether to grab you or run away.

you leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “you know, if you wanted to be mine, you could’ve just asked.”

and just like that, he broke.

his knees buckled slightly, and he bit back a soft whimper.

oh.

oh.

you stepped closer, slotting your thigh between his legs, and he gasped—gasped—like you’d just touched something holy.

“you like being bullied back, don’t you?” you whispered. “you want me to take you. to make you beg.”

he said nothing. couldn’t. just nodded weakly, lips parted, pupils blown wide.

the first time you kissed him, it was in the back of the art room. door locked. his hand trembling in yours.

you climbed into his lap, and he looked like he might die from it.

“you’re so sensitive,” you murmured against his neck. “all that bravado… but you melt so easy.”

he shivered under you. his hips jerked involuntarily, and you laughed. softly, lovingly.

and when you finally slipped your hand under his waistband, he moaned like you’d touched his soul.

he was needy. clingy. always hiding it with insults and shoves.

but you knew the truth.

and when he whined your name, desperate and breathless, hips rocking helplessly as you teased him just short of release, you whispered:

“next time you shove me into a locker, remember who owns you now.”

and the whimper he gave you in response?

delicious.

the end!! had a dream about something similar the other night and it inspired me..🤷‍♀️ hope you enjoyed and thank yeww for reading! might make a part 2, i lowk love him! should i give him a name?

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