#to act as a balance to the caption

[transgender-catboy]

Boobs...

[yukkiji]

off-camera

in the blur of spotlight and fame, a secret relationship brews between a beloved actress and japan’s star athlete—where what happens off-camera becomes the most unforgettable part of their story.

haikyuu masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. hinata shoyo x fem!reader

genre: fluff, romance, smut, timeskip!hinata, actress!reader

wc: 13.8k

warning: 18+ mdni., smut. nsfw. unprotected sex. cunnilingus. spanking. pining. (inform me if there's more)

author's note: okay, hinata might be a bit of ooc here but i loved writing this and i hope you guys enjoy it!

you were a rising star in the acting industry, already building an impressive fanbase and stacking up offers—films, guestings, endorsements, you name it.

and you first met hinata shoyo during one of your guest appearances on a late-night talk show.

you knew his name—honestly, who didn’t?

a household figure in the world of volleyball, the fiery msby black jackals ace who went on to represent japan in the olympics.

he walked onto the set with that sun-bright smile, hair still slightly damp from some earlier shoot, and energy so loud it practically announced him before the host did.

you told yourself to keep it professional. he was just another guest. just another athlete doing press.

but then he sat beside you.

and leaned in.

and said, “you’re even prettier off-screen.”

like it wasn’t being recorded. like he hadn’t just derailed your entire ability to speak with one sentence, delivered so casually it almost didn’t register—until it absolutely did.

you were a professional. you were media-trained, polished, always quick with a clever reply or a charming laugh. compliments were nothing new. you heard them constantly—from directors, co-stars, hosts trying to flatter their guests. they rolled off your shoulders like wardrobe lint.

so why was hinata shoyo different?

maybe it was the way he said it, not with the usual sleazy undertone or that overconfident smugness some actors wore like cologne. no, his words were honest. teasing, sure. a little cheeky. but his eyes held nothing but admiration—like he meant it. like he’d thought it before and just didn’t bother stopping himself from saying it out loud.

and of course, you were a blushing mess.

you laughed, tried to shake it off, but your voice cracked a little when you spoke next. you avoided eye contact. your fingers tightened ever so slightly around your water bottle. and everyone noticed. the internet noticed. clips of the moment hit social media before the segment was even over.

and just when you thought you’d regained composure, the host turned to hinata with a follow-up question—something harmless about training schedules and balancing fame.

he blinked, lips parted, then smiled sheepishly before leaning into his mic and saying:

“i’m sorry, can you repeat that? i got distracted by the beauty beside me.”

you nearly choked.

the audience exploded.

your heart dropped straight into your stomach, bounced off your dignity, and kept going.

the host lost it, practically doubled over in laughter. your co-guest looked between the two of you like they were witnessing the birth of a scandal in real time. someone backstage dropped something loud.

and you? you froze. laughed. covered your face with your hands for a second before daring to look at him.

he just grinned, bright and unbothered, legs bouncing slightly like he hadn’t just shattered your entire professional facade on national television.

and in that moment—caught between the studio lights, the screaming crowd, and the burning heat crawling up your neck—you realized two things.

one: hinata shoyo was dangerously charming.

and two: you were absolutely, completely screwed.

the internet ate it up, of course.

within minutes of the episode airing, your name and his were trending side by side. edits popped up like mushrooms after rain—slow-mo replays of the moment he called you beautiful, zoom-ins of your flustered face, fan-made fancams with captions like “get yourself someone who looks at you the way hinata looks at her.”

the comment sections were feral.

“i don’t know what PR is cooking but it ain’t better than THIS.” “forget that boring actor, have you seen her smile around hinata??” “they look like a romcom waiting to happen.” “chemistry? that wasn’t chemistry, that was a collision.”

people weren’t just shipping you with hinata—they were invested. comparing photos of you beside the actor your agency was trying to push versus you beside hinata. and the verdict? unanimous.

you and hinata looked better. laughed harder. felt more real.

you scrolled through it all in the backseat of your car on the way home from the taping, trying not to smile, trying very hard not to double-tap anything.

the tweets were unhinged. the fancams were already being set to romantic bgm. and someone had somehow managed to find a frame-by-frame analysis of the exact moment you broke into a flustered smile, claiming it was “the visual representation of falling in love.”

you were about to laugh—really laugh—when your manager’s voice cut through the buzzing high of your phone screen.

"as much as possible, refrain from interacting with hinata," they said without even looking at you. their tone was clipped, scrolling through their own tablet in the passenger seat. "his image isn't what we want linked to you. the actor is much more… fitting. marketable."

you blinked.

“marketable.” like you were a product on a shelf. like genuine chemistry could be replaced with staged photo ops and forced smiles.

you didn’t reply. just locked your phone and leaned your head against the window, city lights flickering past like strobe flashes.

but even then, behind your closed eyelids, you saw his grin. heard the way he’d said “the beauty beside me” like it wasn’t a joke—like he meant it.

it replayed in your head like a scene from a movie you weren’t ready to let go of.

and fate, apparently, was a hopeless romantic.

because a few days after the interview—after your manager’s firm insistence that any interaction with hinata shoyo was off the table, sealed, buried, and locked away—you ran into him.

completely unplanned. totally unscripted.

at a small café tucked into a quiet street, the kind of place where no one cared about fame and your name wasn’t flashing on a marquee.

you were in disguise. hood up, oversized sunglasses on, one of your dad’s old college hoodies pulled over your head like it was a cloak of invisibility. you just wanted coffee and a quiet corner.

what you got instead was hinata shoyo—seated two tables away, halfway through a matcha latte and scrolling through his phone like he had no idea the universe had just handed him a plot twist.

you froze.

he didn’t.

he looked up once. blinked. tilted his head. then smiled.

of course.

he got up casually, walked over like this was the most normal thing in the world, and slid into the seat across from you before you could even decide whether to run or pretend you were someone else entirely.

"seems like fate is on our side, huh?"

his voice was just as warm as you remembered it—easy, teasing, like this was some private joke between the two of you.

you blinked at him from behind your oversized sunglasses, mouth parting in disbelief. “you’re not supposed to be here,” you whispered, even though it wasn’t exactly his fault fate had terrible timing and a flair for drama.

"funny," he said, leaning in just a little, chin in his palm, "i was about to say the same thing about you."

his eyes flicked to your hoodie, to the sunglasses, to the way you were hunched low in your seat like you were avoiding paparazzi in a spy thriller.

"and yet... here you are. incognito and all."

you gave him a look, deadpan. “i’m serious. if someone sees us—”

"then they’ll see two people enjoying coffee." he shrugged, like it really was that simple. "and maybe they'll think, ‘wow, that guy’s lucky to be sitting with someone that pretty.’”

you choked on your sip of coffee.

he smiled like he knew he got you again. like he wanted to.

and just like the night of the interview, the cameras may not have been rolling this time—

but your heart was.

recording every second.

every grin.

every word that made you forget why this was supposed to be a bad idea.

you didn’t even realize how long the two of you had been sitting there in that little corner café, tucked behind dark shades and baseball caps, fingers curled around warm mugs and stolen glances. the outside world blurred, your responsibilities momentarily quiet. it should’ve been a quick encounter—one polite hello, maybe a laugh or two before going your separate ways.

but hinata had a way of anchoring you to the moment. like gravity in the shape of a boy with a foxlike grin and eyes that sparkled when he teased.

he’d slid into the seat across from you like he’d been doing it for years, one arm slung over the backrest, the other bringing his drink to his lips. his orange hair was slightly damp, messy from what you could only assume was post-training sweat. and speaking of training—

you hadn’t meant to notice it at first. but it was hard not to.

his compression shirt hugged his torso like it was custom-made, drawing attention to the lean muscle of his shoulders, the defined curve of his biceps. he’d thrown on a hoodie, sure, but left it unzipped—like he knew exactly what he was doing. like he wanted you to look.

and god, you were trying so hard not to.

your eyes flicked up to meet his, only to find him already staring.

his grin widened.

“you okay there?” he asked, feigning innocence, tilting his head slightly. “you’ve been staring at my chest for a while now.”

you nearly choked on your coffee.

“i wasn’t—!” you started, cheeks going hot. too hot. your voice cracked halfway through the denial. “i wasn’t staring.”

he raised a brow, leaning forward just a little—elbows on the table, smug written all over his face.

“uh huh.” he glanced down at himself, then back up at you with mock curiosity. “must be something really interesting down here then.”

you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

“it’s just a shirt,” you muttered, looking anywhere but at him.

“it’s a compression shirt,” he corrected, voice low and teasing, like he was thoroughly enjoying your slow descent into flustered oblivion. “made for performance. enhances blood flow. shows muscle definition…”

he smirked.

“…clearly working, huh?”

you hated how good he was at this. how effortless he made it seem. and yet, there was nothing cruel about it—nothing that felt mean-spirited. it was light, playful. flirty. but never below the belt.

still, your hands curled tighter around your mug as you fought the urge to smile.

“you’re impossible,” you muttered.

“and you’re adorable when you’re embarrassed,” he replied without missing a beat.

you rolled your eyes, but the warmth blooming in your chest betrayed you. no matter how much you tried to play it cool, hinata had this uncanny ability to slip right under your defenses—like it was second nature to him. his teasing wasn’t just harmless fun; it felt personal. intentional. like he wanted to see the way your guard cracked every time he looked at you like that.

he took another slow sip of his drink, eyes never leaving yours, then leaned in slightly—chin propped on his hand, gaze too amused for your comfort.

"i’ve been meaning to ask for your number last time,” he said, voice a touch quieter now, more intimate. “but you were whisked away like cinderella at midnight.”

you huffed a laugh, setting your mug down. “i think cinderella at least got to say goodbye. i was practically shoved into the car by my manager like i’d committed a crime.”

“well,” he shrugged with a playful glint in his eye, “you did commit one.”

you raised an eyebrow. “oh? do tell.”

he leaned in just a little closer, enough that you could catch the faint scent of his cologne—clean, fresh, a little woodsy. unfairly distracting.

“you stole my attention,” he said, lips twitching into a grin. “and didn’t even leave a shoe behind.”

you stared at him, momentarily stunned. how did he say things like that without flinching? without even a hint of hesitation? like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“you’re really going all in on the charm today, huh?”

he chuckled. “what can i say? i’ve got limited time. might as well make it count.”

and then, as if he hadn’t already knocked the wind out of you once, he added—softly, but without a trace of sarcasm,

"are you and that actor really a thing?"

you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. it wasn’t accusatory or bitter—just curious. tentative. honest.

"no," you said, the word escaping with a sigh, your fingers absently circling the rim of your coffee cup. "pr stunt. apparently, for more exposure. buzz, clicks, articles—whatever keeps the spotlight burning."

you didn’t know why you felt the need to explain, but the moment you did, you felt lighter. like saying it out loud made it real—that you weren’t actually tied to someone else, that there was space for something else. someone else.

hinata leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable for a moment, eyes flickering down to his cup like he was turning something over in his head. and then—

"so you're saying there's a chance?" he asked, lips twitching into a grin that had no right being as endearing as it was.

you laughed, shaking your head, but you couldn’t hide the way your mouth curved, the way warmth bloomed somewhere deep in your chest again—persistent and impossible to ignore.

"you’re ridiculous," you muttered.

"but charming, right?"

your gaze flicked to his. he was relaxed in the chair, one arm casually slung over the backrest, still wearing that too-tight compression shirt that you swore he knew was unfair. it clung to him in all the right places, stretching across his chest and shoulders with an ease that made it impossible not to glance—more than once.

he caught you doing it again, of course.

"you keep looking at me like that," he teased, tilting his head, "and i’m gonna think you’re into me or something."

"maybe i’m just admiring the poor fabric trying its best to survive."

he laughed—loud and boyish and unguarded—and for a second, it made the world feel simple. like there were no managers waiting outside, no headlines looming, no risk in sitting here with him.

"next time, i’ll wear something looser," he said, still grinning.

"don’t."

the word slipped out before you could stop it, and it hung in the air between you—bold and shameless.

his eyebrows shot up. "oh?"

you cleared your throat, reaching for your drink to hide your flustered smile. "i mean... wear whatever. i don’t care."

but you did. and he knew.

and when he smiled again, this time it was softer. knowing. as if he was silently agreeing: yeah, this was definitely not a bad idea.

you shifted in your seat, heart beating far too fast for a casual café meetup, and fished your phone out of your coat pocket. with a playful raise of your brow, you slid it across the table to him.

"here—before my fairy grandmother calls and turns the carriage back into a press van."

he laughed, a real one, eyes crinkling with amusement. "so you are cinderella."

"more like cinderella with a publicist and a fake relationship contract."

"even better," he said, already tapping in his number, the screen lighting up in his hands. "means i still get to be the guy chasing you down with a glass slipper."

"or a phone number," you muttered, trying not to smile too obviously as you watched his fingers fly across the screen.

"both," he said, handing your phone back. "except i won't lose you this time."

and somehow, despite the noise of the café, despite the chaos of everything that had led to this moment, that sentence landed like a promise. it made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t want to name. not yet.

he stood then, stretching a little, and your eyes betrayed you once again—flickering briefly to the way the fabric of his compression shirt moved with him. he caught it. again.

"really should’ve worn something looser," he said with a smirk, voice just low enough to make your face heat.

"you’re impossible."

"but charming, right?" he repeated, grinning as he grabbed his drink.

you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the warmth blooming under your skin as he added, just before heading to the counter to grab a napkin,

"text me when you get home. and don’t disappear this time, cinderella."

he was halfway across the café before you realized—you were already reaching for your phone. already saving his contact. already typing something with a smile you couldn’t hide anymore.

it didn’t stop there.

one secret meetup turned into two. then three. then so many that you stopped counting.

you were both careful—god, you were careful. hoodies pulled low, caps shadowing your eyes, oversized sunglasses that made you look like you stepped out of a badly disguised spy movie. it should’ve felt ridiculous. sometimes it did.

but then hinata would catch sight of you from across the court—eyes lighting up mid-warm-up, a split second longer than necessary before he returned to his team—and suddenly, it was all worth it.

you’d sit high up in the stands, blending in with the crowd. pretending not to care. pretending like your chest didn’t swell every time he made a point, like you weren’t dying to run to him when his name echoed through the stadium.

after games, sometimes he’d find a way to slip away. duck behind staff exits, or fake a phone call just long enough to sneak into the backseat of a tinted car, breathless and grinning.

“you came again?” he’d whisper, like it was still unbelievable. like your presence wasn’t the thing that kept him going through grueling practice runs and double overtime.

“wouldn’t miss it,” you’d murmur back, brushing a strand of hair out of your face before it got caught in his jacket when he leaned in.

on off days, you’d meet at quieter places—a ramen shop near the river where no one paid attention, or a convenience store at 11 p.m. with instant noodles and laughter echoing off vending machines.

you learned that he trained too hard and slept too little. that his days blurred into morning drills and late-night strategy reviews, protein shakes and aching joints. he never complained, but sometimes—just sometimes—he’d let his voice soften during your calls, the exhaustion slipping through like cracks in glass. and you’d listen, quietly, offering nothing but your presence and the occasional: “you’ve done enough today, shoyo.”

he learned you hated the fake PR relationship. that you rolled your eyes so hard it hurt whenever your team sent over a new headline pairing you with that actor. the one who barely knew anything about you. who didn’t know your favorite song, or how you hated the cold, or that you could never finish a drink without biting the straw until it was bent out of shape. hinata did. he noticed everything, quietly.

he wasn’t the jealous type, not really. not in the possessive way that made people petty or loud. but on nights when you called him after a red carpet event or a staged dinner with your so-called co-star, he’d scoff.

lightly. like it was nothing.

“looked cozy with him tonight,” he’d say, clearly not meaning it. but also clearly meaning something.

you’d roll your eyes. “we were both acting. that’s the point.”

“yeah, well,” he'd mutter, “maybe i should start showing up to premieres in a suit and pretend to be your bodyguard or something. see how he likes that.”

it made you laugh. always did. because hinata didn’t know how to be jealous in the normal way. he didn’t brood or sulk. he just... got quiet. thoughtful. like maybe he was wondering if the world would ever let you be his for real.

but he never asked you to stop. never made you choose. he just waited—trusting, steady—like someone who believed that whatever you were building together could survive the noise.

and every time you heard that soft scoff or the way he’d shift his voice, just a little sharper, a little less sunny, you wanted to say: it’s not real. he’s not you. he’ll never be you.

but instead you’d promise, “soon,” because that’s all you could offer in the quiet, secret space you and hinata had carved between the cameras. and for now, it was enough.

what surprised you most—though maybe it shouldn’t have—was that hinata wasn’t just patient. he was your biggest fan.

he made it his personal mission to collect every magazine cover you were on, even if it meant ducking into convenience stores in full hoodie-disguise, mask on, hoping no one would recognize japan’s star volleyball player clutching three copies of elle like they were limited edition.

he’d send you pictures, too—half blurry, always with a dumb grin on his face.

“guess who’s on aisle three again?” he’d text, along with a photo of your face next to some shampoo ad, and “i told the cashier i knew you. she didn’t believe me.”

he made a point to stop and stare (dramatically) at every billboard you were on, whether it was in shibuya crossing or a random subway station. once, he even asked a stranger to take a photo of him standing beneath one. arms crossed. chin tilted up.

you could see the pride in his smile, even through the screen.

“should’ve signed it for me,” he’d tease, and you could only laugh, cheeks warm with something heavier than affection—something that felt dangerously like love.

he didn’t treat your career like it was something intimidating or separate from him. he treated it like something to cheer for. something to be proud of. and in those moments, between your exhaustion and his training, you realized that hinata didn’t just see the version of you the world wanted—he saw all of you. and still, he stayed.

still, he smiled.

still, he bought every single magazine.

every cover you landed on, every spread you graced—hinata had it tucked somewhere in his apartment. he never made a big deal about it, but you’d catch glimpses: one stacked beside his bed, another on the coffee table, a few more carefully placed on a shelf like trophies he didn’t win but still celebrated.

your shared off-days were quiet rebellions against the lives you both led in public. no disguises, no handlers, no staged smiles. just dim lighting, takeout containers, and the kind of peace that only came when the world wasn’t watching.

his place was your favorite hideout. not because it was spacious (it wasn’t), or particularly tidy (it definitely wasn’t), but because it smelled like him—fabric softener and worn-in cotton and just a hint of sweat from training. real. grounding.

you’d spend hours doing absolutely nothing. tangled in his sheets or curled on his couch, limbs overlapping like it was second nature. his arm slung over your waist. your fingers tracing absentminded patterns across the ridges of his abs through the thin fabric of his shirt. breathing in sync, like you’d practiced this rhythm your whole life.

sometimes, the kisses started lazy. playful. you straddling him without meaning to, a knee on either side of his hips while you teased him about something he said, your face hovering just close enough to make him chase it. his hands would find your thighs like muscle memory, pulling you down gently until your bodies met in full.

and then it would shift—slow lips becoming deeper, hungrier. like every second spent apart had built up behind a dam now cracking under the weight of want. you kissed like you were trying to memorize each other all over again, mouths moving in sync, breaths coming faster, more uneven.

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan softly against your mouth. his palms, warm and sure, pressed into the curve of your spine, pulling you closer until your bodies aligned, chest to chest, like puzzle pieces that just fit.

his hands slid beneath the oversized hoodie you were wearing—his, of course. they moved with purpose, calloused fingertips skimming over your bare skin, teasing the soft dip of your waist before finding the swell of your breast. he cupped you gently at first, thumbs brushing just enough to draw a breathy gasp from your lips.

the sound made him smirk into the kiss, all boyish mischief and quiet satisfaction, like he was proud of himself for getting that kind of reaction from you.

“so sensitive,” he murmured against your mouth, the words a soft tease, but his tone reverent—like he was discovering something precious and trying to take his time with it.

your hips shifted instinctively, grinding down into his lap, and he let out a low, shaky breath—eyes fluttering shut as if your weight alone could undo him. his hands tightened on your waist, holding you there like he never wanted you to move. like he wanted to feel every shiver of your body right against his.

the kiss deepened again, slower this time, but still just as urgent. it was the kind of kiss that made time blur, that made your stomach flutter and your fingers twitch with the need to feel more. you could feel the heat of him through the thin barrier of clothing between you, his breath coming faster whenever you shifted just right.

his hoodie—oversized on you—was pushed up halfway by his touch, and when his thumbs brushed the underside of your breasts again, you arched into him with a soft, broken sound that had him smiling into the kiss.

“you’re trouble,” he whispered, voice roughened by want, his lips ghosting along your jaw, down your neck, where he lingered just enough to leave goosebumps in his wake. “you know that?”

you mumbled something in response, too breathless to be coherent, threading your fingers through his hair again and tugging lightly—because you knew how much he liked that. and he did, a quiet groan escaping him as he pulled you closer, letting you feel just how hard it was for him to stay patient.

but you two never let it go too far. not all the way. there was a kind of tenderness in your restraint—a quiet agreement between the two of you. this wasn’t just about need. it was about trust, about the slow, magnetic pull between two people who wanted everything but weren’t in a rush to take it all at once.

still, there were moments—lazy, drawn-out nights in his apartment or yours—where your hands would wander a little more boldly. where the kisses would trail lower. where you’d end up tangled in his sheets, soft moans filling the dim light between mouthfuls of laughter and whispered promises.

and sometimes, when the tension built too high and the ache was too much to ignore, he’d take his time with you—slow, unhurried, and focused like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. and maybe in those moments, you were.

you’d sink into the couch, already breathless just from the look he gave you. and he’d kneel between your thighs, hands steady and eyes locked to yours as if asking, again, silently, for permission. and when you nodded, or whispered his name, it was like flipping a switch.

because hinata could eat like a man starved.

his mouth was reverent, like he was worshiping more than just your body. he listened to every gasp, every soft cry, adjusting his pace, his pressure, until you were arching against his tongue, one hand gripping his hair, the other over your mouth to muffle the kind of sounds the neighbors definitely didn’t need to hear.

and when he finally pulled back, lips slick and eyes heavy-lidded with pride and affection, he’d always kiss your thigh, rest his cheek against it like it was the most natural thing in the world. and you'd laugh, breathless and dazed, brushing your fingers through his hair like you couldn’t quite believe how lucky you were.

those nights weren’t about release. they were about intimacy. trust. knowing someone would learn every part of you without rushing to take all of you.

and in that slow burn, in that secret, sacred space you shared—it always felt like enough.

but maybe the tension had already reached its peak the night you went to watch one of his games, still hidden beneath a hoodie and cap, tucked into the farthest seat you could find. you weren’t supposed to be there. no one knew. but you had to see him—not through a screen or a photo or someone else’s words. you needed to watch him move. to feel that electric pull in real time.

and something inside you always shifted whenever he played.

it wasn’t just the way he moved—though that was part of it. it was the way he pushed his body past its limits, the way his jaw set with determination, the way he called for the ball like he knew the whole court belonged to him. and yes, maybe the way his arms flexed after a spike or how his shirt clung to his back didn’t help the ache low in your stomach.

you were so wound up from watching him that when your phone buzzed, and it was his name lighting up the screen—“come to my room?”—you didn’t even hesitate.

you were already halfway there when you texted back, “on my way.”

his hotel room door opened just as you were about to knock, like he’d been standing there waiting. his hair was still damp from the post-game shower, and he was dressed in just a loose shirt and sweats—but his eyes lit up the moment he saw you.

“you came,” he said, voice a little hoarse.

“you called,” you replied simply, stepping inside, heart pounding, heat still coiled tight in your chest from watching him earlier.

the moment the door shut behind you, it was like the space between you snapped. he didn’t waste time with small talk—just reached for you, tugged you forward, and kissed you like he needed it as badly as you did.

and you kissed him back like you’d been holding it in all night.

your back hit the wall before you even realized he was walking you there—his hands gripping your waist, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like it could anchor you through the rush of it all. his lips never left yours, moving with a hunger that had been simmering under the surface for far too long.

he kissed like he was trying to make up for every second you’d spent apart. like the crowd, the court, the noise—all of it faded the second you walked through that door.

his body pressed flush against yours, one knee sliding between your legs, widening your stance. and then his hands—hot and sure—moved under the hem of your hoodie, finding bare skin and dragging a gasp from your throat.

you moaned into his mouth, and he smiled against your lips, a low sound of satisfaction rumbling from his chest.

“missed you,” he breathed between kisses, and you could barely answer, too busy chasing the next touch, the next kiss, the next place his hands would go.

he pressed you harder into the wall like he couldn’t stand the distance between your bodies—not even an inch. not now.

not after tonight.

"baby, tell me you want this. i don't think i can hold back anymore," he said, voice low and frayed at the edges, each word pressed into your skin like a confession.

his mouth trailed down to your neck—slow, deliberate—until he found that spot, the one he knew too well. the one that always made you shiver, no matter how many times he found it.

he lingered there, lips brushing over it once, then again, just to feel the way your body reacted, the way your breath caught, the way your hands clutched tighter at his shoulders.

“right here, huh?” he murmured against your skin, the smile in his voice unmistakable. he sucked, just a little—just enough to make your knees wobble and your head fall back against the wall with a soft whimper.

you weren’t sure what gave you away first: the way your hips tilted toward him like gravity had shifted, or the way your hands were already under his shirt, dragging it up, desperate for more skin.

“yes, shoyo. please,” you moaned—soft, breathy, and unguarded.

his breath hitched at the sound, like it struck something deep inside him. your voice—like that—was a kind of possession. one no crowd, no camera, no spotlight could ever compete with. it was his, and his alone.

“you have no idea what that does to me,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours for a second, as if grounding himself. and then his lips were back on yours—slower this time, but deeper. every kiss full of something he didn’t always know how to say out loud.

his hands were on the hem of your shirt, pausing, eyes flicking up to meet yours—checking, asking without a word. you gave him a nod, barely more than a breath, but it was all he needed.

in one fluid motion, your shirt was peeled away, tossed to the floor without a second thought. his hands were reverent—warm, calloused from endless hours of practice, but gentle as they skimmed over the bare skin now exposed to him.

your pants followed shortly after, unbuttoned with trembling fingers and slipped down your legs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. they were flung carelessly across the room, a forgotten casualty in the urgency that pulsed between you.

“god, you’re…” his voice trailed off as his gaze dragged over every inch of you. there was awe there. hunger, too—but not the kind that rushed. this was slower. deeper. like he wanted to savor you.

he leaned in again, pressing kisses from your collarbone to your sternum, then lower, each one leaving a trail of warmth and intent. “been thinking about this since the moment you walked into the stadium,” he murmured, lips brushing the skin just above your bra. “you drive me insane, you know that?”

you let out a small squeak when hinata suddenly lifted you with ease, strong hands gripping the underside of your thighs, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. his mouth was back on yours before your back even hit the mattress—hot, urgent, tasting of everything you’d both held back until now.

his weight hovered just enough not to crush you, but you could feel every inch of him, feel the way his restraint was fraying with every second.

your hands found his shoulders, dragging down the smooth, toned lines of his back as you gasped against his lips, “shōyō… take off your shirt too.”

he pulled back just enough to smirk down at you, chest rising and falling with sharp, shallow breaths. “yeah?” he teased, voice low, fingers already reaching for the hem of his shirt. “been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

you only bit your lip in response, watching with wide, hungry eyes as he peeled it off in one motion—revealing the full view of his sculpted chest, the lines of muscle carved from years of training, the light sheen of sweat from the game still clinging to his skin.

“this what had you distracted the whole match?” he said, leaning closer, his nose brushing yours, that teasing grin back on his face. “because i saw you. front row. couldn’t even look away when i stretched, huh?”

you hated how right he was.

and he knew it—especially when your hands slid down his chest like you were confirming every part of it was real.

his lips found your neck again, mouth warm and relentless as he left a trail of small, possessive love bites. each one pressed into the sensitive skin with just enough pressure to make you whimper, to make you shift beneath him. you knew they’d darken into purple and red by morning—badges of something secret, something sacred—and the thought made your breath hitch.

his hands slid around your back with practiced ease, fingers finding the clasp of your bra and undoing it in one smooth motion. you barely registered the sound of it being flung somewhere behind you, too focused on the way his eyes dropped, hungry and reverent all at once.

the chill of the hotel room kissed your skin, and your nipples perked up from the sudden cold—but before you could shiver, his warm palms were already there, cupping your breasts with a tenderness that made your breath catch. his thumbs brushed softly over the peaks, slow and purposeful, and the contrast of his touch against your cooled skin made your back arch almost instinctively.

he chuckled, low and warm, his breath ghosting over your collarbone. “so sensitive, baby,” he murmured, like he was committing every sound you made to memory.

his mouth dipped lower again, this time latching onto one nipple, tongue flicking in slow, teasing circles while his fingers rolled the other between his fingertips. you whimpered, hips bucking lightly beneath him, needing more—needing him.

“you always get like this for me,” he said, pulling away just long enough to whisper the words directly into your skin, “so perfect, so responsive.”

his lips latched onto your other nipple, tongue swirling, sucking gently—giving it the same slow, thorough attention while his free hand traced hot trails down your body. the pads of his fingers danced along your stomach, pausing just briefly at the waistband of your underwear before slipping beneath.

he didn’t rush. he touched you like he had all night—like he wanted to memorize every reaction.

his fingers found your clit, and he started slow, dragging them up and down with the lightest pressure, teasing, testing. your hips jerked at the contact, breath catching in your throat as he began to circle, gradually adding just enough pressure to make your thighs tense around him.

“s-shoyo. ngh,” you moaned, your voice shaky, almost pleading. “it feels so good…”

he hummed against your chest, clearly pleased by every sound that escaped your lips.

“yeah? already this wet for me, baby?” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. his fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles over your clit, then dipped down to gather more of your slickness before returning, dragging out every wave of sensitivity. “you don’t even know what you do to me.”

then, without warning, one finger slid inside of you—slow but sure—stretching you just enough to make your back arch off the bed, a sharp gasp catching in your throat.

“sh-shoyo—” you breathed, hips pushing forward instinctively.

his lips never left your skin, still trailing across your chest—kissing, sucking, his tongue flicking over your nipple with slow, deliberate devotion. every movement was purposeful, almost reverent. he touched you like you were sacred—like he needed to memorize the taste of your skin, the way your body reacted to him, every breathless sound he pulled from your lips.

then, he added another finger—sliding in beside the first, curling just right. your hips jolted as another moan escaped you, raw and needy. and when a third joined, moving in rhythm, his palm grinding softly against your clit, you swore you could’ve come undone right then. just from his fingers. just from his mouth on your chest.

“gonna cum, baby?” he asked, voice low and thick, his lips now hovering over yours.

you nodded quickly, almost desperate—but he pulled back just an inch, teasing.

“i want words, baby. tell me.”

“yes—ugh, shoyo—please, i’m gonna cum,” you gasped, barely holding it in.

that was all it took for him to smile, all soft and satisfied, before kissing you again—deep, consuming, like he wanted to feel your pleasure through your mouth.

and then it hit—your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, white-hot and blinding. your body arched, back lifting from the sheets, thighs trembling around his hand. for a moment, everything blurred, all thought wiped away by the intensity of it. all you could see were stars behind your closed eyes.

then, gently, his hand moved up to your cheek, brushing back a few damp strands of hair. his thumb caressed your skin, grounding you, coaxing you back into your body.

“you did so good,” he murmured, voice soft but thick with heat. his eyes were locked on yours, gaze heavy with something deeper—affection, need, pride. “my good girl.”

he pressed a kiss to your lips, slow and reassuring. but when he pulled back, the smirk that curved his mouth told you everything.

“but we’re not done yet.”

true to his words, hinata pulled you toward the edge of the bed, his hands firm but gentle as he guided you exactly where he wanted you. he dropped to his knees before you, eyes dark with hunger as they swept over your body—bare, flushed, and still trembling from your last orgasm.

your soaked panties were peeled off slowly, almost teasingly, before being tossed aside to join the scattered pile of clothes on the floor.

you were completely bare now. exposed. vulnerable. wanted.

his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them with ease, and he looked up at you like you were the only thing that existed.

“all mine,” he murmured, voice low, reverent. “so fucking beautiful.”

then he leaned in.

his tongue met your folds with no hesitation—lapping you up like he’d been craving you for days. it was messy, intense, almost greedy. he flattened his tongue against your clit, dragging slow, deliberate strokes before switching to firm, rhythmic suction that made your hips jerk and a strangled moan catch in your throat.

“fuck—shoyo,” you gasped, hand flying to his hair, fingers curling tight as he buried himself deeper.

hinata always ate you out like this. like he worshipped the taste of you. like your body was something sacred and he was the only one allowed to kneel before it. each lick, each suck, each flick of his tongue was laced with the kind of hunger that left your legs shaking around his head.

he moaned against you—low and guttural—the vibration making your toes curl. he thrived on the way you trembled, on the way your thighs tried to clamp shut around his face. and he didn’t stop. not when you cried out, not when your hips bucked up against his mouth. in fact, he gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open like a man on a mission.

“so fucking sweet,” he murmured between strokes, “you were made for this.”

your hands moved instinctively, cupping your breasts and squeezing, thumbing over your own nipples in desperate search of more friction—more of everything. and hinata looked up just long enough to see you like that—head thrown back, lips parted, hands on your chest as your body begged for more.

god, he nearly lost it right there.

“fuck—baby,” he groaned, voice rough with want, “you’re gonna make me cum just watching you touch yourself like that.”

but he didn’t stop. if anything, it spurred him on—his mouth working even faster, tongue flicking and circling your clit with purpose. his grip on your thighs tightened, dragging you impossibly closer to the edge of the bed, like he needed to be closer, like he’d crawl inside you if he could.

every moan you let out, every tremble in your legs, was feeding something wild in him. it lit him up from the inside, drove him deeper into you with an intensity that felt almost primal. he wasn’t stopping—not until you were unraveling again, trembling and wrecked, completely his.

“sho—i’m coming,” you gasped, voice breaking on the edge of a cry.

hinata looked up briefly, his eyes dark and full of hunger, lips glistening with your slick. “go on, baby,” he said, voice low and rough, like gravel and heat. “cum for me. i want it—need it.”

and with that, his mouth was back on you, sucking and licking like he knew every spot that made you come undone. it didn’t take long—your second orgasm slammed into you like a jolt of lightning, thighs tightening around his head, body convulsing under the weight of your release. your hands gripped the sheets, breath catching in your throat as the pleasure surged through you.

he didn’t stop until your legs were trembling, twitching from overstimulation, and your breath came in broken gasps. only then did he slow, tongue now soft and lazy, his lips trailing reverent kisses along your inner thighs—like he was thanking you for letting him worship you.

hinata rose from between your legs, crawling back up your body. his hands smoothed over your sides, warm and grounding, gently coaxing you back to earth. he pressed his lips to your shoulder, then your collarbone, each kiss a soft anchor.

“still want to continue?” he murmured between kisses, voice low, tender—but laced with heat.

his eyes searched yours, fingers still drawing slow, soothing circles on your hips, grounding you in the moment. there was no rush in him now—just heat, reverence, and something deeper.

“of course,” you whispered, voice a little hoarse from all the moaning, but filled with certainty. your hand came up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing just beneath his eye. he leaned into your touch instantly, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, as if grounding himself in you.

“my girl,” he breathed, so softly it was almost a prayer, before he kissed your palm, then your lips again—slower this time, but no less hungry.

with gentle care, hinata shifted beside you, adjusting your position so you were lying comfortably against the pillows. he smoothed your hair back from your face and tucked a pillow beneath your lower back, like he knew exactly what your body needed after everything.

“there,” he murmured, voice still thick with affection and desire, “comfy?”

you nodded, heart fluttering as he kissed your forehead, then your jaw, then trailed lower again, as if starting all over—but this time, slower, deeper, more deliberate.

he wasn’t just taking his time now. he was savoring you.

your hand trailed slowly down his chest, fingertips brushing over his skin with intent. you felt the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch—every inch of him responding to you. your fingers reached the waistband of his sweats, tugging at the knot, and without hesitation, hinata helped you, quickly shimmying out of them, his boxers following right after.

your hand wrapped around his length, warm and pulsing in your grip. he hissed softly through his teeth, his hips twitching at your touch. he was big—thick and long, the veins along his shaft prominent beneath your fingers. the sight of him, paired with the heat radiating off his body, had your mouth watering and your core clenching in anticipation.

hinata’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment as you stroked him slowly, your thumb grazing the bead of precum that had gathered at the tip.

“fuck,” he breathed, voice rough and low, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

your body was already responding to him again, the ache between your thighs growing deeper, wetter, as you imagined what it would feel like to have him inside you—stretching, filling, claiming. your legs shifted restlessly beneath him, need blooming hot and fast all over again.

“shoyo, can i suck?” you asked, voice soft, eyes wide and innocent—but laced with heat. hinata swore under his breath, jaw tightening at the sight of you like that, looking up at him so sweet and desperate.

he leaned down, brushing his nose against yours as he chuckled lowly. “not now, baby. maybe next time, yeah?”

you pouted, lips pushing out slightly, and it only made his cock twitch in your hand. but he just shook his head, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“i want to pleasure you,” he murmured, voice deep with intent, “tonight’s all about you.”

he kisses you again—slow and warm, with a hint of growing urgency—before pulling back just enough to reach toward the drawer beside the bed.

his brows furrowed a little as he rummaged through it. “shit,” he muttered under his breath, still searching.

you bit back a smile, watching him with a mix of amusement and affection. “can’t find it?”

“i swear i put one in here,” he grumbled, lifting and shuffling through random things—lip balm, a stray pen, an old receipt—everything but what he needed.

“it’s okay,” you said softly, resting a hand on his arm. “i’m on the pill.”

he paused, eyes flicking to yours, the heat in them momentarily eclipsed by something tender—concern.

“are you sure, baby?” his voice was low, careful, but laced with desire.

you nodded, your thumb brushing slow circles against his skin. “you don’t have to worry about going raw with me.”

his jaw flexed, clearly affected, and he leaned in to kiss you—slow, deep, reverent. when he pulled back, his voice was rough with restraint.

“fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

he pulls you closer, one hand gripping your hip as the other wraps around his cock. he drags the head through your folds, teasing your clit, smearing your slick over the tip and down his length. the sensation makes you gasp, hips twitching toward him.

“so wet already,” he groans, his voice low and shaky, “all for me, huh?”

he keeps rubbing the tip against you, slow and deliberate, letting the tension build. every little twitch in your thighs, every stuttered breath, was making him lose his mind.

“fuck, shoyo, stop teasing.”

your voice was breathless, almost whining, and it made him smirk—eyes dark with want.

“can’t help it,” he murmured, dragging the head of his cock over your entrance one more time, just to hear you gasp. “you’re too perfect like this. squirming for me.”

but then he leaned down, kissed you like he couldn’t bear to wait any longer—and he didn’t.

with one slow, steady push, he began to slide in, inch by inch, filling you completely.

he was big—thicker, longer than anyone you’d ever had—and your walls clung to him greedily, stretching around every inch. it burned in the best way, a slow, delicious ache that had your breath catching in your throat.

your eyes fluttered open as you pulled back from the kiss, gasping. instinctively, you looked down between you, where your bodies met—where his cock was slowly sinking deeper into you—and your stomach flipped at the sight. he wasn’t even all the way in, just halfway, but you already felt impossibly full.

“fuck,” you whispered, legs trembling, fingers digging into his shoulders. “shoyo, you’re… so big.”

he groaned, low and strained, watching every twitch in your face with hungry eyes. “you’re taking me so well, baby,” he murmured, leaning forward to kiss your cheek, your jaw, your neck. “so tight… feel so fucking good around me.”

you could feel your eyes roll to the back of your head the moment he finally bottomed out—every inch of him snug inside you, stretching you just right. your breath hitched, and your nails dug slightly into his back as you tried to ground yourself.

hinata paused there, buried to the hilt, his forehead resting against yours. he was breathing just as hard, holding himself still for you, his hands gripping your hips like a lifeline. his restraint was barely holding, his muscles trembling with it.

“you okay?” he whispered, voice rough and shaky.

you nodded, lips brushing his. “you can move now, shoyo. please.”

that was all he needed.

hinata moved with a hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface—now unleashed. his thrusts were deep and purposeful, hitting all the right spots with practiced ease. it was overwhelming in the best way, the drag and push of him inside you sending your mind spiraling.

he was feral, and you loved every second of it.

the way he gripped your thighs, the way his hips slammed against yours—it was like he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t have enough of you. each thrust had your breath catching, your moans spilling freely into the air between you.

and god, the sounds—skin meeting skin, his low groans, your gasps—they could send you straight into cloud nine.

his name tumbled from your lips like a chant—shoyo, shoyo, shoyo—your nails digging into his back as he fucked you like he needed you to breathe. his pace was relentless, but not careless; he knew your body too well, chasing every twitch, every gasp, every tremble like it was a reward.

“look at you,” he gritted out, sweat dripping from his brow as he hovered over you, his thumb finding your clit and circling it just right. “taking me so fucking good.”

“fuck—look at that,” he growled, eyes glued to where your bodies met. his cock twitched deep inside you at the sight of your slick coating him, a creamy ring forming at the base. “you’re making such a mess on me, baby.”

his thrusts deepened, slow but punishing, each one pulling a gasp or moan from your lips. his thumb never let up on your clit, drawing tight circles that made your thighs tremble around his hips.

“feel that?” he groaned, pressing your hand down gently against your own lower belly, his eyes locked on yours, dark and wild with desire. “that’s me—so deep inside you.”

you could feel it—his cock, thick and pulsing, pressing against your insides from the inside out. the sensation made your breath hitch, made your body clench tight around him, earning a low, broken moan from his lips.

“fuck, baby… you’re so wet,” he muttered, hips rolling with deeper intent now, grinding into you as if he wanted to mold himself to every part of you. “can feel you dripping all over me.”

your body was burning, shaking with overstimulation and pleasure—but the way he moved, touched, and praised you only made the fire grow hotter.

“you gonna cum for me again?” he asked, thumb working your clit faster now. “wanna feel you fall apart on my cock.”

"yes shoyo, fuck, i'm cumming," you moaned.

hinata pulled out just slightly before slamming back in, his thrusts becoming more erratic, rougher, deeper—chasing both your highs like he needed it to breathe.

the only words you could form were broken chants of his name, over and over, like a prayer on your tongue—and he loved it. every sound you made pushed him closer to the edge.

hinata's eyes were wide in awe at the sight before him. you looked breathtaking—mouth open in bliss, chanting his name like it was the only word you knew, your tits bouncing with every deep thrust, decorated with the red and purple marks he'd left across your skin.

to him, you weren’t just beautiful. you were a goddess—divine, untouchable, and yet here you were, unraveling just for him.

he lets out a deep, guttural groan as he feels your walls clench tighter around him. you were so close—he could feel it in the way your body trembled, in the desperate way you held onto him. and fuck, so was he.

“come on, baby,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, breath shaky against your ear. “cum for me. i wanna feel you fall apart around me.”

his thrusts were deeper now, heavier—less rhythm, more need. the way you clenched around him, warm and tight, was making him unravel faster than he wanted to admit. but he held on, just long enough to get you there.

his thumb found your clit again, circling it with practiced pressure. your moans grew higher, breathier, body tensing beneath him. your hands clawed at his back, nails dragging down as the pleasure built and built until you couldn’t take it anymore.

you cried out his name, voice breaking, back arching off the mattress as your orgasm slammed into you like a wave. your whole body shook with it—legs trembling, walls fluttering around him so tightly he almost saw stars.

“that’s it,” he groaned, watching you fall apart completely. “just like that, baby. fuck—”

the way you squeezed him, so wet, so perfect, pushed him right over the edge. with a final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, broken moan, spilling inside you. his hips stilled, trembling slightly, chest heaving as he pressed his forehead against yours.

you both stayed like that for a moment, breath mingling, skin hot and slick with sweat, hearts pounding in sync.

“fuck… you’re perfect,” he murmured again, softer this time, almost reverent. his arms wrapped around you protectively, pulling you into his chest like you were something fragile and precious.

your fingers found his hair, running through it gently, grounding both of you. and for a few quiet seconds, the world disappeared—just him, just you, tangled in warmth and something deeper than either of you could name.

hinata leans in, breath still heavy, and begins peppering your face with soft kisses—your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, anywhere his lips could reach. between each kiss, he mumbled in that warm, husky voice, “good girl… so good for me… fuck, you’re amazing…”

his fingers gently ran up and down your sides, grounding you as your body slowly came down from the high. you were still shaking slightly, but his touch was tender, soothing. each press of his lips felt like reassurance, like he couldn’t get enough of you—not just the sex, but you.

“you did so good,” he whispered again, eyes soft as they met yours. “you’re everything.”

he pulled you closer into his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin. his hand rubbed your back in slow, lazy circles while he continued to kiss your hairline.

of course, it didn’t stop with just one round.

the two of you were insatiable—drunk on each other, on every touch, every kiss, every moan that fell between tangled sheets. it was like something had snapped the moment he first slid into you, and now, neither of you could stop. time blurred, and the only thing that mattered was the way you felt in his arms, how perfectly your bodies moved together.

at one point, you were straddling him, thighs shaking but determined, riding his cock at your own rhythm. hinata laid beneath you, flushed and panting, his eyes dark with lust and adoration. his hands roamed your waist, guiding your movements as his mouth latched onto your breasts—kissing, licking, sucking like he couldn't get enough. he moaned against your skin every time you sank down fully, the wet drag of your bodies moving together making you both shudder.

"just like that, baby… ride me," he whispered, voice hoarse, lips brushing against your nipple. your name tumbled from his lips like a prayer, like you were something divine—something to be worshipped.

but he needed more.

he flipped you over with ease, manhandling you like you weighed nothing. the next thing you knew, you were on your knees, face down in the pillows, your ass raised high for him. he knelt behind you, hands spreading your cheeks as he watched his cock slide back into you with ease, slick from everything you’d already shared. the angle had you seeing stars instantly, your cries muffled in the sheets.

"fuck, look at this pussy... taking me so good," he groaned, leaning forward to press his chest against your back, his hand wrapping around both your wrists and pinning them behind you. you felt so exposed, so completely at his mercy—and you loved it.

his free hand found your hip, pulling you back into him with every thrust, and then—

smack.

his palm came down on your ass, the sting blooming across your skin and making you clench around him. he grunted, losing himself a little more every time your body reacted like that.

your mind was a haze of heat and pleasure, completely undone. words stopped making sense. all you could manage were broken, breathless moans and endless chants of his name.

you had no idea how many times you'd come—three? five? more?—but every time you thought you couldn’t take anymore, hinata gave you another reason to fall apart.

he never once let you go untouched. his lips, his hands, his voice—they were all over you. his mouth kissed your spine, your shoulders, your neck. he kept whispering filthy praise, calling you his good girl, his perfect baby, his everything.

"you’re so fucking pretty when you fall apart for me," he breathed, fingers digging into your waist. "so tight—so wet. fuck, i can’t get enough."

your legs trembled, body slick with sweat, sheets tangled around your limbs—but still, you wanted more. and so did he.

and long into the night, even when your body was too spent to move, he’d still be touching you, still be pressing kisses to your skin, still making you feel wanted, worshipped—completely his.

because this wasn’t just about sex.

it was about you. and for hinata, that was everything.

you thought you were done.

your bodies were sore, your legs barely steady, and your throats hoarse from the moaning, the whispering, the breathless gasps that filled every corner of the room. the sheets were a mess—damp and tangled, the air heavy with heat and the scent of shared pleasure. both of you were exhausted, limbs tangled together as your chests rose and fell in sync, basking in the quiet aftermath.

but hinata wasn’t quite finished.

"come on," he murmured softly, pressing a kiss to your temple as he stood. "we need a shower."

you groaned, muscles aching, but followed him into the bathroom, your hand resting in his like it belonged there. warm water began to cascade down, steam rising around you both as you stepped in together. he pulled you close beneath the stream, hands gliding over your skin with tender intent, washing away the sweat and evidence of everything you'd shared—at least, on the surface.

his fingers lingered a little too long. his gaze roamed, a spark reigniting behind those warm brown eyes. his touch shifted from gentle to teasing—thumb brushing over your nipple, hands sliding down the curve of your waist, his body pressing against yours from behind.

"i know we should stop," he whispered against your ear, his breath hot, "but you feel too good… i can't help it."

before you could answer, he was inside you again—slow, deep, the water masking your gasp as your hand gripped the slick wall for balance. you were already so full from the night, overstimulated and tender, but that only made every thrust feel more intense. every inch of him hit home, coaxing another wave of pleasure from a body that didn’t know it could take more.

"shoyo—" you whimpered, your voice trembling, but he only shushed you with a kiss to your shoulder, his pace steady, deliberate.

"just one more," he promised. “wanna feel you like this. warm, wet… mine.”

the water dripped down your bodies, slicking your skin as your back arched into him. he held you tight—one hand on your waist, the other slipping between your legs again, determined to wring out one last climax from you. and when you came, trembling under his touch, your name a breathless whisper on his lips, he followed not long after, burying himself deep with a groan of your name.

you leaned back into his chest, heart racing, your body humming with aftershocks.

and this time, when he washed you gently, carefully, whispering soft “thank yous” and “i love yous” between kisses, you knew—for sure—you weren’t just full of him.

you were full of something deeper. something lasting. something real.

you woke up the next morning feeling sore in places you didn’t even know could ache. every little movement reminded you of the night before—of his hands gripping your hips, his mouth trailing heat down your skin, the way your bodies moved together again and again until you both lost count.

but the ache was worth it.

you turned your head and smiled softly at the sight beside you—hinata, fast asleep, hair tousled and lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. his body bore the evidence of everything you gave him. faint red scratches down his back, purpling love bites along his collarbone and shoulders—your marks, painted proudly on his skin.

he looked peaceful, completely undone, and yet, wholly yours.

you reached out and gently traced a finger down one of the marks on his side, careful not to wake him. he stirred a little, brow twitching, but didn’t open his eyes—just moved closer, as if even in sleep, he needed to be near you.

your heart swelled.

yeah, you were sore. but if this was the price for being loved by him—touched, marked, and held like that—it was worth every single bruise, every ache, every breathless moment.

and you’d do it all over again.

you reached over to the bedside table, grabbing your phone with a quiet click of the screen. the morning light filtered perfectly through the curtains, casting a soft golden hue across the room. it was calm, warm—the kind of stillness that made everything feel dreamlike.

slipping on hinata’s hoodie, the fabric smelled like him—clean sweat, a hint of his shampoo, and something distinctly him. it was oversized on you, falling mid-thigh and completely swallowing your frame. the warmth of it soothed your sore muscles, a comforting reminder of last night.

you padded across the room toward the mirror, tucking strands of messy hair behind your ear. something about the glow in the room and the way the hoodie fell just right made you pause. you lifted your phone, angled it slightly, and snapped a mirror selfie.

it was casual, almost innocent at a glance—hoodie-wrapped, bare legs, no makeup, just soft morning light on bare skin. but if someone looked closer, really looked, they might notice the faint silhouette behind you. hinata’s muscular back, the curve of his shoulders half-covered by the sheets, was just barely visible in the corner of the frame. not enough to be obvious—just enough to hint.

you posted it anyway. no caption, just the image.

you laid back down on the bed, the soft mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight as you turned to face him. hinata was still asleep, his breaths slow and even, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that calmed you instantly.

the golden morning light streamed lazily through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room—and across him. it kissed his skin in the most delicate way, highlighting every dip and curve of his toned body. the tan of his skin looked impossibly rich in this light, glowing like sun-warmed bronze.

hinata’s eyes slowly fluttered open, adjusting to the soft golden light filtering through the curtains. it took him a second to focus, but the moment he saw you—curled beside him, wearing his hoodie, your hair a little messy and your lips curved in a sleepy smile—his heart felt like it might burst.

a soft, warm smile spread across his face as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“good morning, baby,” he murmured, his voice still raspy from sleep.

he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world worth waking up to. his thumb brushed gently across your cheekbone, his touch lazy, affectionate. “you look so pretty right now,” he added, voice low, like he didn’t want to break the calm.

you leaned into his touch, your nose brushing against his. “you’re not so bad yourself,” you teased, and he chuckled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

his arm slipped around your waist, pulling you close until your foreheads touched. “how are you feeling?” he asked, his tone more serious, concern hidden beneath the warmth in his voice.

“sore,” you admitted, with a grin. “but worth it.”

hinata let out a low laugh and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “i went a little crazy, huh?”

you shrugged, playful. “you were just passionate.”

his grin widened. “and you were perfect.”

his hands slid down to your thighs, warm and familiar, fingers tracing soft circles against your skin. slowly, deliberately, they inched higher, slipping beneath the oversized hoodie you wore—his hoodie. his touch was gentle, teasing, but purposeful.

“shoyo,” you whined, shifting slightly under his hand, “stop... i’m still sore.”

he paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours, a crooked smile forming on his lips. “sorry,” he murmured, not sounding sorry at all. “can’t help it. you’re just too pretty like this.”

his fingers rested just at the edge of your folds, not pressing further—just staying there, tempting. he leaned in, brushing his lips along your jaw, then your neck, slow and unhurried.

“i won’t do anything,” he whispered, voice low and soft. “just touching... promise.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the way your breath hitched when his thumb gently caressed the inside of your thigh, the sensation light but electric. he was taking his time, just enjoying the way your body responded to his touch—even in your sore, sensitive state.

“you’re insatiable,” you mumbled, barely suppressing a small gasp.

“only with you,” he said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, grinning against your skin. “besides... we don’t have to do anything. i just wanna feel you.”

his fingers traced the delicate curve of your folds, barely touching, just enough to make you shiver. the teasing motion sent a spark straight through your core, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that slipped past your lips.

“shoyo…” you breathed, your voice already tinged with need despite the soreness lingering in your body.

he grinned against your skin, lips ghosting over your neck as he murmured, “mm, hear that? you’re already getting wet for me again.”

his fingers moved a little more deliberately now—slow, featherlight strokes that made your thighs twitch and your breath hitch. the hoodie you wore suddenly felt too warm, too heavy, as heat bloomed between your legs.

you buried your face in the crook of his neck, hiding the way your cheeks burned. “you’re unbelievable,” you whispered, hips tilting just barely into his touch, betraying your own resistance.

“i could say the same about you,” he chuckled, fingers now slick with your arousal. “still sore, but your body’s already begging for more.”

his free hand slid up your back, holding you close while the other toyed with you—slow, careful circles that had your stomach tightening all over again. it was maddening, how easily he could unravel you even in the quiet, golden light of morning.

“just a little more,” he whispered. “let me make you feel good again.”

hinata was insatiable, and despite the soreness still lingering in your muscles, you found yourself on top of him once again. his hoodie was now discarded and crumpled beside the bed, long forgotten in the heat that bloomed between your bodies.

your thighs trembled slightly as you straddled him, but his hands on your hips steadied you—warm, firm, possessive. his mouth was latched onto your nipple, tongue flicking and lips sucking greedily, like he couldn’t get enough of you. soft whines and gasps spilled from your mouth as his teeth grazed your sensitive skin, leaving faint love bites in his wake.

“you drive me crazy,” he murmured against your chest, voice husky, breath warm.

you began to roll your hips slowly, your slick folds gliding over him, teasing him both with friction and restraint. he groaned, his head tipping back against the pillow, the veins on his neck straining as he fought to hold himself back.

your hands splayed over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palms, and you smiled—half dazed, half wicked—as you sank down on him again.

his cock filled you deeply, stretching you open all over again, and your moan echoed his own. your pace started slow, deliberate, savoring every inch as your walls clenched around him.

“fuck—just like that,” he gritted out, hands tightening on your waist as you bounced on his cock, the wet sound of skin against skin filling the room.

every movement made your breasts bounce, and he couldn’t help but sit up, wrapping his arms around you, mouth finding your chest again as if he’d been starved for it.

“you’re so perfect like this,” he murmured between kisses. “riding me like you were made for it.”

and in that moment, with the sunlight casting a golden glow across your bare skin and his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer, it was impossible to disagree. every thrust, every moan, every desperate kiss he pressed to your collarbone made you feel like the center of his world—and you basked in it, drowning in the overwhelming pleasure only he could pull from you.

of course, hinata didn’t stop until he’d wrung two more orgasms from you—each one more intense than the last. your body trembled, overstimulated and utterly spent, but he held you through it, whispering soft praise and brushing sweaty strands of hair from your face.

“that’s it, baby… you’re amazing,” he murmured, voice rough but tender as he kissed your temple.

by the time he pulled the blankets over both of you, tucking you into his chest, you were already slipping back into sleep. your breathing slowed, your limbs heavy and warm, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek.

he held you close, one arm wrapped protectively around your waist, his lips resting against your forehead as the morning quiet settled around you both.

when you woke up again you felt the other side of the bed empty.

"he probably went to the gym."

your guess was spot on the moment you saw the instagram notification pop up on your screen: shoyo_hinata just posted a photo.

curious, you opened it—only to nearly choke on your own breath. it was a picture of his back, shirtless, his toned muscles on full display and unmistakably covered in fresh scratch marks. red, raw, and clearly recent. and the caption? just a smirking emoji and a volleyball. classic hinata. subtle, but not really.

your own post from earlier—taken just an hour before—was now blowing up too. the mirror selfie you’d casually posted in his hoodie, his faint silhouette in the background, had fans in full detective mode. and they were ruthless.

your notifications were in chaos.

@spikemyheart: OH MY GOD IS THAT HINATA IN THE BACK??? @liberoinmydreams: wait the scratch marks on his post… YOU DID THAT??? @sweatyforthevballboys: y’all are literally feral i’m not even mad @kneesforhinata: this is so nsfw and i LOVE IT @softservequeen: you’re sore aren’t you. blink twice if you need electrolytes 💀

later that afternoon, hinata came back to the hotel room, still a little damp from the post-training shower he’d taken at the venue, his bag slung over his shoulder and a smug grin playing on his lips.

he dropped the bag by the door, immediately walking over to where you were lounging on the bed, scrolling through your phone—still trying to recover from the wild fan theories flooding your dms and comments.

“so…” he started, plopping down beside you and tugging you close until you were tucked against his chest. “guess the internet had a little meltdown today, huh?”

you groaned, hiding your face against his neck. “don’t even start. some people are already making tiktoks syncing the posts with timestamps and analyzing the lighting.”

hinata chuckled, low and satisfied. “well… serves them right. we were subtle. kinda.”

you looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “subtle? you posted your back covered in scratches like you just survived a bear attack.”

he shrugged, clearly unbothered. “what? it’s art.”

then he tilted his head slightly, grin turning mischievous. “but hey…” he leaned in, brushing his lips just shy of your ear. “you think they’re still gonna link you with that actor now?”

you stiffened, pulling back to stare at him. “shoyo—”

he laughed, fully amused at your expression. “what? just saying. guess they know exactly who made those marks now, huh?”

you smacked his shoulder lightly, cheeks burning. “you’re impossible.”

“mmh. maybe. but at least now they know you’re mine.” he said it so easily, like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

as if on cue, your phone buzzed in your hand, screen lighting up with a message from your pr team:

[urgent – need you at the office asap. call when you’re en route.]

you stared at it for a moment, dread pooling in your stomach. hinata glanced down at your expression, then raised a brow. “bad timing?”

you sighed, sitting up slowly and tossing your phone onto the bed with a groan. “it’s my pr team. i think they saw the posts.”

he leaned back on his hands, clearly not surprised. “oh, now they noticed?”

you shot him a look. “they’re probably trying to figure out how to spin this before it explodes more than it already has.”

hinata just grinned, watching you pull his hoodie back on. “want me to say i scratched myself in my sleep?”

you blinked at him, deadpan. “please never say that in front of my publicist.”

he chuckled, standing up and helping you gather your things, stealing a kiss here and there as you tried to get dressed. “don’t stress, babe. worst case, we just tell them the truth.”

“that i spent the weekend getting railed by japan’s volleyball star?”

“well…” he smirked, leaning in to kiss your neck. “worked out pretty great for both our engagement, didn’t it?”

you shook your head, unable to fight your smile as you grabbed your phone again. chaos or not, the internet could wait. but your publicist definitely couldn’t.

you sat inside the sleek glass-walled conference room of your agency’s office, dressed in a hoodie you borrowed (stole) from hinata’s suitcase and a pair of oversized sunglasses to shield your face from curious stares. despite the casual outfit, the room was filled with an unmistakable energy. your manager, two assistants, and even someone from the PR team were all seated across the table — and right next to you was hinata, legs sprawled, hand casually resting on your thigh under the table like this wasn’t the most high-stakes meeting of your month.

you felt slightly overwhelmed, if not dazed, from the sudden turn your morning had taken. not even an hour ago, you were in bed, your hair still damp from a too-long shower turned… something else. now you were staring at a stack of documents and your manager practically vibrating with excitement.

“okay, i’m just going to say it,” your manager started, slapping a stack of printouts on the table. “this is insane — and i mean that in the best way possible.”

you raised a brow. “what is?”

“you. hinata. the photo. both of your photos. the internet basically exploded.” she turned a few pages, revealing printed-out screenshots of social media reactions. “you broke the algorithm.”

hinata leaned in, amused, as your manager continued. “people figured it out immediately. ‘oh my god, is that hinata’s back?’ ‘are those her nails on his shoulder?’ and don’t get me started on the slow-motion analysis videos on tiktok.”

you felt heat rise to your cheeks. “they’re analyzing the nails?”

“yes,” one of the assistants chimed in. “there’s already a fan account documenting your ‘secret soft launch’ relationship timeline.”

hinata chuckled beside you. “i told you they’d figure it out. you think they’re still gonna link you with that actor guy now?”

you shot him a side glance. “i forgot about him.”

“your pr team didn’t,” said the woman from PR, adjusting her glasses. “but don’t worry. that ship has officially sailed. now, onto the real news…”

she pulled up a presentation on her laptop and turned it toward you. “endorsements. projects. appearances. not just for you individually — but together. turns out, everyone wants a piece of the ‘it couple.’”

you stared at the screen in disbelief. makeup brands, fashion lines, travel companies, even a luxury watch brand — all with interest in pairing you and hinata together for campaigns. one of them was a magazine shoot titled undeniable chemistry. another was a high-profile drama offer for a couple-centric storyline, with an optional steamy twist if “the actors are comfortable.”

hinata whistled under his breath. “we’re gonna be busy.”

your manager grinned. “if you say yes to even half of these, you’re set for the year.”

you leaned back in your chair, overwhelmed but not entirely displeased. the idea of working so closely with hinata was… distracting in a way that made your stomach flutter. he must’ve sensed it, because his thumb gently rubbed slow circles on your thigh under the table.

“so,” your manager asked, eyes expectant. “do we want to ride the wave?”

hinata answered before you could. “yeah. we’re in.”

you looked at him, wide-eyed. “you’re just going to agree to everything?”

“not everything,” he said, smirking. “but the stuff with you? absolutely.”

you tried to play it cool, but the way his voice dipped lower at the end made something in you stir. you crossed your legs, subtly pressing them together.

“fine,” you said, clearing your throat. “we’ll look through the offers.”

“great,” the PR rep said. “oh, and… try to keep it PG for a bit. at least until the magazine cover drops.”

hinata gave a lazy shrug. “no promises.”

you groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “this is going to be a lot.”

“maybe,” hinata said, grinning at you sideways. “but at least it’ll be fun.”

and deep down, even with your nerves tangled and your heart racing, you knew he was right.

you eventually left the meeting with a folder full of contracts, a dozen potential collaborations swirling in your head, and hinata’s hand still comfortably entwined with yours. the hallway buzzed with agency staff and interns sneaking glances, whispering to each other, probably already texting their friends about seeing you two together in person.

as the elevator doors closed, hinata leaned against the mirrored wall, watching you with that lazy, satisfied smile.

“you good?” he asked, voice softer now that it was just the two of you.

you looked down at your reflection, then up at his. “i don’t know. i think so? it’s a lot. but also kind of… exciting.”

he tilted his head. “scary?”

“a little,” you admitted.

hinata reached out, brushing your hair behind your ear. “well, don’t worry. we’ll figure it out.”

“you sure about that?”

he leaned in, lips ghosting over your jaw. “you’re stuck with me now. might as well enjoy it.”

you laughed under your breath, eyes fluttering shut for just a second, letting the moment settle. the doors opened with a soft ding, and the sunlight poured in once more, casting that same golden glow that started this whole thing.

you stepped out together — not just into the lobby, not just into a brand-new set of projects and headlines — but into something that felt, for once, completely right.

you didn’t look back.

[kxsagi]

Hey how would blue lock boys (Rin, Reo, Sae, Isagi, Michael and Yuki) react to their son taking his first steps pls.

"𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐢'𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮"

a/n: awww this sounds so cute! tik tok ruined the title song for me but the lyrics are fitting for this request 🙂‍↕️

ft. itoshi rin, mikage reo, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, yukimiya kenyu

itoshi rin

he doesn’t react at first. just squints across the living room like your baby just challenged him to a duel. 

“what is he doing?” rin asks flatly. 

you’re like, “he’s walking.” 

“no, he’s not. he’s throwing himself forward with hope.” 

your son, brave little soldier, launches into an awkward, wobbly step, and lands square on his diapered ass. 

rin sighs like he just witnessed tactical failure on a battlefield. he even rubs his temple. “i told you. weak ankles. needs core training. i’ve been saying it for months.” 

you: “he literally just turned one.” 

the baby tries again and makes it three steps. right to rin. 

now rin’s frozen like this is some anime flashback scene. his eyes are wide. he’s malfunctioning. 

your son reaches him, giggling, grabs onto his sweatpants for balance. 

rin very stiffly picks him up, holds him out like a museum exhibit. 

“he has potential,” he mutters. 

he won’t say it out loud, but he watches the video of that moment later, over 17 times, alone in the dark with airpods in and his hand over his mouth like he’s reliving the birth of the universe. 

mikage reo

reo is acting like your child is about to walk the victoria’s secret runway. 

he’s holding up his phone camera at every possible angle, narrating like it’s project runway for babies. 

“okay, my little mogul, serve. give us WOBBLE. give us STAGGER. and yes, baby, the DISMOUNT? ICONIC.” 

your daughter takes two unsure steps, and reo SCREAMS. 

you think something’s wrong because he literally fell to his knees. 

“THIS IS IT. THIS IS THE MOMENT. THIS IS THE COVER OF MIKAGE MAGAZINE.” 

confetti cannons. no literally, he had them delivered same-day. 

he facetimes nagi, shouting, “BRO, OUR SON CAN WALK!!” 

nagi: “he’s not my son.” 

reo: “he’s everyone’s son. we’re building an empire.” 

then he pulls out a mood board for the baby’s future. “okay, i’m thinking modeling career by age three. sneaker brand by five. junior startup entrepreneur by seven. she’ll walk into the stock market and never leave.” 

you: “… or she could just be a baby.” 

reo: “not when she walks like that.” 

itoshi sae

sae does not react like a normal person. 

he’s sitting on the couch, sipping tea, scrolling through transfer rumors like a bored CEO, and he hears you gasp. 

you: “sae. he’s walking.” 

sae, not looking up: “good. gravity finally lost.” 

your son, teetering like a baby penguin, takes his first step. then a second. 

sae glances up… pauses… then casually starts recording on his phone without moving. 

“mm. decent foot placement. posture’s a little off. and where’s the composure?” 

you: “he’s a baby.” 

sae: “babies can have composure. mine should.” 

when your son stumbles into the couch and collapses, giggling? sae leans over and picks him up by the armpits like he’s handling a prized trophy. 

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” he mutters, poking your son’s cheek. 

later he edits the footage into a slow-mo black and white video, adds piano music, and sends it to rin with the caption: “my son walks with more purpose than you ever played with.” 

you swear you hear him chuckling to himself while watching it again in bed. 

isagi yoichi

this man goes feral. 

he doesn’t even wait for the baby to fully commit to walking, he sees one leg lift off the ground and he SCREAMS. 

“BABY. OH MY GOSH. BABY HE’S– HE’S WALKING. HE’S ACTUALLY DOING IT.” 

you: “yoichi. he took like half a step.” 

“EXACTLY. THE MOMENTUM IS THERE. THE DREAM IS ALIVE.” 

he immediately runs to grab the camcorder. yes. he bought a camcorder. “we’re going retro. it makes the moment more cinematic.” 

when your baby makes it four steps, isagi gasps like he’s witnessing a marriage proposal in public. 

“WE’RE GOING TO NATIONALS,” he shouts. “HE’S GOT THE IT FACTOR. LOOK AT THAT GAIT.” 

then he picks the baby up and spins him like he just won player of the year. 

“do you wanna play striker or midfielder? we’ll keep your options open. you’re left-footed, right? we’ll train both. do you want a nutritionist? no pressure, of course. just breathe. i’m proud of you either way.” 

the baby spits up on his shirt. 

“that’s okay,” isagi says tearfully. “that’s the sweat of a champion.” 

kaiser michael

kaiser is laid out on the couch like a bored nobleman. 

you: “he’s about to take his first step!” 

kaiser doesn’t even look up from his phone. “call me when he takes a second.” 

but when your son actually does it? he perks up like a wolf sensing prey. 

your baby waddles, legs chonky and determined. one step. two steps. kaiser sits up. 

three steps. kaiser throws his phone across the couch. 

“WAS THAT MY GENETICS??” he bellows. “I SEE MY FOOTWORK. I SEE MY DOMINANCE.” 

he starts clapping like he’s at a boxing match in vegas. “ladies and gentlemen! the heir to the throne!” 

your son immediately faceplants. 

kaiser gasps. “no. no! you were doing so well! was it the flooring? the lighting? did someone jinx it?!” 

he rushes over and dramatically drops to his knees beside the baby. “don’t you DARE give up. not when the world is yours. you were born to walk.” 

your son sneezes. kaiser kisses his forehead and whispers, “my little lion. we march again at dawn.” 

yukimiya kenyu

yukimiya had the baby journal ready. 

he’s been documenting everything: first smile, first burp, first time the baby held his finger for longer than 1.5 seconds. 

so when your son pushes himself upright and takes that tiny first step? 

yukimiya gasps like a victorian woman fainting. “did you see that??” 

he clutches his pearls (okay, not pearls, but metaphorically). 

then he starts crying. like full tears. 

“he’s growing up. our little boy… he’s walking. soon he’ll be driving. then leaving for college. then marrying some terrible person who doesn’t deserve him–” 

you: “KEN. he just stopped crawling yesterday.” 

he gently kneels next to your son, hands over his heart. “every day with you is a miracle.” 

he makes a handmade “first steps” trophy out of play-doh and gives an emotional acceptance speech on behalf of your son while the baby chews on it. 

“i just… i never thought we’d get here so soon. i’m so proud of you. even if you become a dancer instead of a footballer. or a florist. or a scuba diver. i support you.” 

“he’s not listening, ken.” 

“a genius in the making.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[prettypinksusi]

lovesick ♡

synopsis: how gojo would be when has a crush on you.

paring(s): teen! gojo satoru x gender-neutral reader.

disclaimer(s): none!

teen!gojo who flirts with you 24/7.

— gojo constantly teases you, throwing out over-the-top compliments like, "you’re soooo lucky i’m not blinded by your beauty," or calling you ridiculous nicknames like princess or sweetheart.

— but when you tease him back? its a whole new story. he gets flustered and deflects by laughing too loudly or making a dumb joke.

teen!gojo who tries (&fails) to impress you.

— to impress you, he brags about his workout routine, saying he can bench press twice his weight.

— when you challenge him to prove it, he quickly changes the topic to, "why are you so obsessed with me lifting weights, huh?”

— gojo swears his sunglasses make him look cool, but you once caught him squinting at a menu because they're prescription.

— he’s convinced he's irresistible, so he shows off constantly-basketball trick shots, balancing a broom on one finger, or "accidentally" letting you see how easily he aces a test he didn't study for.

teen!gojo who is always listening to you.

— gojo remembers the random details you casually mention, like your favorite snack or that you're stressed about an upcoming quiz.

— the next day, he'll "magically" have your favorite candy in his pocket— or whisper the quiz answers he definitely stole from the teacher's desk.

teen!gojo who gets jealous easily.

— if anyone flirts with you, gojo will swoop in, throwing an arm around you and loudly proclaiming, "sorry, they’re busy being obsessed with me!"

— he’ll act nonchalant, but if you show any interest in someone else, he'll sulk until you ask what's wrong. typical!!!!

teen!gojo who panics when ur nice to him.

— if you compliment him genuinely-like saying he looks good without his sunglasses-he'll short-circuit for a second before brushing it off with a cocky, "i know, right?"

teen!gojo who has ridiculous pick up lines for you.

— “if beauty were a crime, you'd be serving a life sentence."

— “do you believe in love at first sight, or should i walk by again?"

— when you roll your eyes, (per usual) he adds,
"hey, that was gold! you’re just in denial."

teen!gojo who enjoys texting you whenever, wherever.

— gojo sends you memes at 2 am with captions like, "us, if you'd just admit your feelings."

— and if you don't reply immediately, he texts, "?? hello? did you die? or are you just playing hard to get like always?"

[kvroomi]

artist!reader and skater!suna who you first meet in college one morning when you’re running late for class, carrying a comedically large portfolio across the campus square. your head is buried deep in your phone, checking for last-minute updates on the class. that’s when an abrupt gust of wind shoots across your face and forces your head up instantly, only to see a skater soaring past with hardly an inch of space between you. 

“what the hell, watch it!” you yell, immediately stepping backward and using both hands to grasp your portfolio tightly. 

the skater remains undisrupted, gazing forward and only casually waving a hand back to call, “my bad!” 

artist!reader with skater!suna who you see again, a week after almost knocking you over. coincidentally enough, he's sat at the exit steps to the art building, tying his shoelaces with his skateboard next to him.

"fucking prick." you walk straight past, muttering under your breath.

he must have heard you because, within seconds, he's walking by your side. "no way! you're the girl from last week. don't tell me you're still mad about the other morning! it was an accident." he throws his hands up in disbelief.

you ignore him and continue walking.

artist!reader with skater!suna who is determined to befriend you after your brief interaction. he waits at the same steps of the art building until your classes finish, skating up to you when he spots your familiar figure. he attempts to strike up a conversation by commenting on how "serious" you always look, and it's then that you bite back with a witty retort and he grins.

"took you long enough to talk to me."

artist!reader and skater!suna who both hang out at the skatepark together one afternoon. you're practicing your motion sketches, discreetly observing suna skate and using him as a reference for your drawings. 

suna walks over to you, leaning on his board. “whatcha drawing, picasso?”

“you,” you say without looking up. his heart skips and he can feel his face grow warm.

“oh yeah?” he peers over your shoulder. “do i look cool?”

“you’d look cooler if you didn’t wipe out every five minutes,” you deadpan, flipping to another page.

“alright, picasso,” he says, with a roll of his eyes. “let’s see you try then.”

and that’s how you find yourself on top of suna’s skateboard, gripping his shoulders for dear life.

“relax, you’ll be fine,” he says, holding your hands to steady you.

“easy for you to say,” you grumble, eyes wide as he starts to slowly push the board.

you don’t even make it five feet before you’re losing your balance and falling. suna doubles over laughing, pulling out his phone with a sinister grin. “hold still, i need a picture of this for the archives.”

“don’t you dare,” you warn, scrambling to your feet. but it’s too late—he’s already posting it on his story with the caption: skating > art

artist!reader who gives skater!suna the nickname deckhead, after a particularly grueling painting session. 

“can you please just focus for once?” standing up from your desk and tossing your paintbrush aside, you continue angrily. “i’m trying to get this done, and you’re just—”

“distracting?” suna interrupts, raising an eyebrow. “you’re the one acting like the world’s ending because you can’t paint a perfect line.”

there’s a sharp jab of irritation. "it’s not just about the line! i’ve been working nonstop on this, and all you’re doing is—"

he cuts you off again, this time with a half-smile. “i know, i’m sorry.”

you close your eyes to take a deep breath, trying to keep calm. but the words slip out before you can stop them. “god, you’re such a dickhead.”

the moment it slips past your lips, you feel the tension rise in the room. it’s silent but as if the universe had a sense of humor, you glare at his skateboard propped against the wall.

“no.” you scoff, shaking your head, your frustration turning into something more mocking. “you’re not even a real dickhead, you’re just a… deckhead.”

suna blinks, frozen for a second. “deckhead?”

you cross your arms, mouth curling into a sinister grin. “yeah, a deckhead—wandering around with that stupid board like it’s your whole personality. you just can’t be serious about anything!”

a beat.

and then he laughs. suna laughs. he laughs so hard that tears are forming in the corners of his eyes. he laughs so hard that you begin laughing too. 

suna sighs slowly, dropping his gaze to meet yours. “i didn’t realize you were genuinely getting upset. i promise i didn’t mean to make you feel worse.”

you let your head rest against your desk. “i know. i’m just frustrated because i’ve been at this for hours and it feels like i’m getting nowhere.” 

there’s a long pause before suna steps closer. “i’ll stop being a deckhead.” 

he grins and ruffles your hair. “... but only because i care.”

artist!reader who invites an incredibly eager skater!suna to one of your artsy gallery showcases. he surprises you by showing up in an actual button-down instead of his usual baggy jeans and shirts, bringing along his skater friends who also happen to be equally fond of you. upon seeing your work, they all begin hyping you up loudly, drawing eyes from surrounding exhibitions and sticking out like sore thumbs.

at one point suna leans in and whispers, "i'm pretty sure that guy over there is trying to steal your vibe."

confused, you turn to see a very serious art critic examining your painting and it takes all your effort to not burst out laughing.

skater!suna who shows up unannounced at artist!reader's studio with a blank skate deck and a set of paint markers.

"what's going on?" you'd just woken up from a nap and suna thought you looked absolutely adorable.

"empty canvas," he breathlessly replies, distracted by his newfound urge to just shrink you and keep you in his pocket. "i thought you could make it cooler." 

and he’s right because you do. 

“dude, where’d you get that?” atsumu asks, pointing at the board the next time suna is at the skatepark. 

“custom-made by that genius over there,” and suna proudly nods towards you, sat on the concrete of the park and deeply concentrated on a sketch.

artist!reader and skater!suna begin dating not through a grand confession, but just a subtle shift.

it happens when suna walks you to your class, a daily ritual that you've both become accustomed to, so it's almost instinctual the way he leans down and leaves a soft kiss on your cheek. you both pause, realizing what just happened, but instead of freaking out, you're clutching onto one another from outside your classroom laughing.

from then on, there's no formal conversation about it--just a mutual understanding. 

skater!suna who asks artist!reader to paint his nails black for him because he saw someone at the skate park with painted nails and thought they looked cool. you nod excitedly and oblige. by the end, suna’s nails are decorated perfectly in black, except for his ring finger which you sneakily managed to paint pink. 

when he notices, he glares at you, “really?”

“you wear it well,” you shrug in response.

artist!reader who stumbles across a notebook in skater!suna’s backpack when he asks you to grab his phone for him. you’re curious and can’t help but flip through it to find… doodles? 

you bring it back for him, his phone long forgotten. “are these supposed to be me?” 

“woah, what the fuck! where’d you find this?!” suna snatches the notebook, immediately shutting it closed before offering you a sheepish grin. “art is hard, okay? not all of us are picasso reincarnated.”

you’re flattered he’s been doodling you in his spare time. 

skater!suna who gets oddly competitive when other skaters are present at the skate park while you’re there. he pulls off more tricks than usual (which is already a lot because he’s always trying to impress you), but looks for your approval after every single one. 

he may have gotten a little too carried away because the next second he’s slipping from his board and now he’s landed flat on his back. he groans, embarrassed while you laugh. he watches you from the ground and wonders if he should make a fool of himself more often just to hear you laugh. he doesn’t let this show and instead rolls his eyes, getting up from the ground. 

“glad you’re entertained, y/n.”

skater!suna who loves to blast his music when practicing tricks vs. artist!reader who needs the quiet to focus. 

“riiiiin! can you turn it down, please? i’m trying to concentrate.” you yell at him.

“i’m literally landing this trick for you.” he replies teasingly, turning the music up even louder. 

you end up compromising with a pair of suna’s noise-cancelling headphones and he begrudgingly lowers the volume—slightly.

KVROOMI © 2024, DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[lucy90712]

Champions

Pedri:

- As soon as all the players come off the pitch Pedri goes straight to you he doesn't care about all the cameras and the people shouting questions at him he has one thing on his mind and that's you 

- Once he finds you his arms go straight around your waist to hold you tight he doesn't spin you round or jump up and down with you in his arms he simply just holds you soaking up the moment

- You tell him how proud you are of him and the season he's had which makes him a little emotional because after last season he wanted nothing more than to just play as many matches as possible and he's done just that exceeding all your expectations 

- He doesn't want to go back to the party he knows will be happening in the locker room he just wants to enjoy this moment with you because your encouragement and unwavering support is a major reason why he's been so motivated this season because he wanted to show you that he's as good as you always believed he was 

- You didn't let him just stay with you because you want him to be part of the team celebrations but you do give him one more minute to hug you which he takes full advantage of by spending the whole minute kissing you until you have to physically push him off you 

- Before he goes he takes a picture with you which he posts on his story with the caption my trophy which you know is super cheesy but still you save the photo to remember this moment forever 

Gavi: 

- He is so full of energy when you finally see him even after all the locker room celebrations as soon as he sees you he runs towards you full speed which nearly has you falling straight to the floor but luckily he had enough balance to keep you both upright 

- Straight away he picks you up and starts throwing you in the air he nearly drops you a few times and other times he nearly throws you high enough to hit your head on the ceiling but somehow neither of those things happen although you didn't care one bit how close you came to getting hurt because you were just happy for Pablo and the team 

- If you let him he'd spend the rest of the night with you in his arms throwing you in the air like it's nothing but you don't because eventually you know he will drop you and after a while it makes you feel a bit sick so he has to let you down but not before he's had his fun 

- Once your feet are finally back on the floor his lips are straight on yours. He always kisses passionately that's just the way he is but he was extra passionate as he kissed you this time there was just something special about the kiss like it held all the emotions of the last year the highs and the lows that all led to this exact moment 

- To win the title after going through such a horrible injury even if he didn't feature as much as he might have liked meant a lot to Pablo and to have you there to celebrate it with him meant even more because you stuck by him every second of his recovery and cheered him up with the dreams of this moment now it's here and he couldn't be happier 

- The rest of the night is crazy with celebrations at the training centre and then the chaotic drive home but Pablo has you by his side taking in as much of it with him as he can while also protecting you from some of the craziness as he's knows it's a lot for you even if you say you enjoy it 

Alejandro: 

- He's so excited he's almost bouncing off the walls but that doesn't surprise you when he's really happy he always acts that way which makes you smile knowing that he's proud of his achievements because he should be 

- As soon as he gets the chance he slips away from the team celebrations and comes straight to find you and when he does you brace yourself for impact because you know he's going to run straight into you which he does but he surprises you by picking you up 

- He spins you round even though he knows spinning can make you feel sick because he's just that excited and honestly you don't care because you are excited too and you want to celebrate with him even if it means getting a little dizzy 

- To make up for spinning you round and making you dizzy he makes sure to smother you in kisses all over your face and neck before he finally kissed your lips which he doesn't want to pull away from but you don't want to be seen almost making out so you pull away eventually 

- At some points you feature in his live when he randomly decides to pull you in and kiss your cheek or dance around with you which ends up all over tiktok with so many people calling you two the cutest couple 

- On the way home the fans surround your car so Alejandro decides to celebrate with them but he can't leave you out so he makes you put the car in park and join him standing out the sunroof and he even sits you on the roof so you can take it all in and it's a lot but it fills you with joy that you get to be part of all this 

Ferran: 

- There's no great time to get appendicitis but the timing really couldn't be worse for Ferran as he has to miss all the teams celebrations for the title he contributed to helping them win but as sad as he is about that it's made slightly better by having you with him 

- Your celebrations are somewhat muted as Ferran is still recovering so instead of jumping around like the rest of the team are Ferran has you climb into his bed so he can cuddle with you as that's the best way he can think of to celebrate in his position 

- Your try it be careful as not to hurt him but he pulls you right into his side so he can hold you and shower you with kisses which really you should be doing to him but who are you to argue with him after he's just had surgery 

- During the celebrations the boys FaceTime him so you grab his phone and hold it so that he can see everything going on and feel as much a part of it all as possible and of course it's not the same but just from the smile on his face you can tell he's still enjoying himself 

- After leaving the stadium some of the guys come to the hospital to see Ferran so you go to get out of his bed so he can talk with his teammates but he doesn't let you he makes sure you are still curled up next to him the entire time as that's when he's at his happiest especially if he can't be amongst the whole team and the fans

- Once the boys left things get quieter and the both of you settle down for the night although it takes a while for you both to fall asleep after all the excitement but eventually Ferran falls asleep first so you text the guys to thank them for trying to include him as much as possible before going to sleep yourself 

Fermin:

- The match against Espanyol had everything it was tight, full of tension and most importantly of all Fermin scored, you really didn't see it coming so when the ball went into the back of the net you couldn't even cheer your jaw was just on the floor but you were so proud of him 

- He spent a while celebrating with the team which you fully expected so you just waited patiently until Fermin finally emerged hair a mess and still jumping around until he saw you then he stopped jumping around and ran over to you bringing you straight into his arms so you could jump around together 

- Eventually you get to properly congratulate him on his goal and the title but that's the only words he lets you get in before he kisses you and grabs your hand to bring you to join the celebrations which by that point are slightly less intense but it's still a lot of fun 

- At some point you somehow end up wearing Fermin's shirt which was all sweaty but it really didn't bother you as you were just having so much fun and soaking up the moment because Fermin will never win his first la liga title again although he will hopefully win many more in the future 

- The night was long and you get separated from Fermin again as the players go out onto the balcony at the training centre but you watch it all filming every second to show him at some point although he has his eyes on you in the crowd most of the time occasionally blowing you a kiss or making a heart with his hands directed at you 

- By the time you get home you are well and truly exhausted but Fermin is still full of energy but because he knows you're tired he settles down in bed with you and just holds you taking in everything that's happened in the last few hours and as he does he realises his lucky he is to get to experience it all with you so he kisses you gently just as you are falling asleep

[yeoniverseee]

𐔌ㅤdate night ! 𓈒۫　ׅ ✧

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Pairing : Dick Grayson x female!reader

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Summary : You and your boyfriend do each other’s skincare and nails.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Warnings : typos, not proofread, probably out of character

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Word count : 1k

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Author's note : My first fic everrrrr!! Not proofread 😭 but @minorlyatfault read it and said it's good. And I trust my cherry girl. I don't know how Tumblr works so bear with me😞 pink divider by cherry girl obvi!!

I'm aware that Dick has dated other girls and probably also made him do skincare. But this is between you🫵🏼 and Dick‼️

It was all because of a TikTok. A 12-second video of a couple doing skincare and painting one another's nails, set to some glittery synth-pop tune and captioned "he's not my boyfriend, he's my bestie with benefits".

You forward it to Dick with three pink hearts.

He responds "is that an invitation?"

And well… that's how you're here.

“Okay, first rule of skincare night," you stand over him, acting like a glam general. "No criticizing the headband."

Dick's already on the bed in an silly black headband with fuzzy cat ears, smiling like he's having the best night ever. He spreads his hands out in defeat. "Wouldn't dream of it. I think it's the finishing touch.”

You suppress a chuckle. "Your appearance is boxers and a GCPD hoodie."

"And now? Boxers, GCPD hoodie, cat ears. Iconic, yes, queen." he declares, reclining like this is a fashion show. His legs hang off the edge of your bed, one sock still in place, the other vanishing into thin air. "So. First, babe, cleansing balm? Exfoliating scrub? Full-face glitter mask?"

You shoot him a raised eyebrow. "Woah. You memorized that list too quickly.”

He shrugs. "What can I say? I do my research when I want to impress you."

You frown at him, already reaching for the baby pink washcloths in your drawer. "Did you really look this up?"

"Maybe."

"Dick."

"Okay, yes," he chuckles, rolling his eyes. "But in my defense, I wanted to learn the difference between a toner and a serum. You lecture about them as if they were ancient runes."

You throw a washcloth at him. "They're significant! Serum is targeted care, toner balances your pH."

He salutes. "Yes, ma'am."

You're both cross-legged on your bed now, your stash of skincare treats laid out on a tray in front of you like holy offerings. There's something awfully adorable about watching Dick Grayson — formerly of Boy Wonder fame, vigilante sex symbol, Blüdhaven’s beloved vigilante, acrobat extraordinaire — sitting there looking so giddy while you squirt your micellar water onto a cotton pad.

He regards you with this tender-eyed smile that twists your gut into a sluggish somersault.

"Okay, lean in," you say, and he respectfully tilts his head in your direction. You sweep the pad across his forehead, down his cheeks and jaw, slow and gentle.

"You're so gentle," he says, his eyes fluttering shut. "Like a wee facial fairy."

You smile. "You'd better say that after the clay mask, too. It's gonna dry like cement."

His eyes slowly open. "You mean I won't be able to smile?"

"Exactly."

"So tragic," he exhales. "How will I flirt with you?"

"Maybe with your words for once?" you tease, grabbing the cleanser.

He smiles. "Oh, that's cruel.”

You give him a little pink headband of his own (this one has bear ears), and he happily puts it on, even making a pouty kissy face at himself in the mirror. You struggle not to melt.

The two of you take turns in washing your faces — he lets you rub in the foamy cleanser and rinse it off with warm water and a gentle towel, leaning into your touch like a sleepy cat.

When it's his turn, he's a bit too vigorous.

"Dick — that's too much — you're foaming like a rabid dog — "

He's laughing so hard he almost gets bubbles in your eye.

At last, after all the mess, you're both newly washed and radiant. You grab for the face masks — identical sheet masks with small stars printed on them.

"Oh my god," he says, holding one aloft. "These are like something Damian would make fun of me for."

"Good thing Damian's not around."

He carefully peels the mask away and places it over your face, smoothing out wrinkles with his thumbs. "There. Now you look like an alien baby.

You snort. "You resemble an alien grandma."

"Wow. That hurt. Right here." He lays a hand against his heart, feigning woundedness.

The two of you are lounging on your bed like some ponies who just got out of pinkie pie's party, sheet masks in place, snuggled up under your fuzzy blanket. There's a K-drama playing on your laptop. You're explaining the plot as he nods along like he completely gets the love triangle, despite missing three episodes.

"Wait," he says out of nowhere, eyes wide. "That guy — he's her ex?"

You stop. "Dick. That's her twin brother."

"Oh.”

Finally, the masks are removed, and you pat on the extra serum as Dick makes dramatic "mwah mwah" noises with each tap on his cheeks.

You're almost done with toner when he points at your nail polish basket.

"Okay," he says. "I'm choosing."

You arch an eyebrow. "You sure? This is hallowed ground."

He's already rummaging through the bottles. "I want us to match.”

"You're going to stroll around Blüdhaven with glittery lilac nails?"

He glares at you, fondly. "Babe. I fight crime in tight blue spandex. I rock glittery lilac."

You bursted into laughter and let him get a head start painting your nails. He's not bad at it, actually — he paints with the same methodical attention to detail that he uses to sew up wounds(a little messy, but good). The scowl on his face as he concentrates is cute. So cute.

When it's your turn to paint his nails, you paint a small heart on his thumb and he says not a word. Just smiles to himself as if it's a secret(he might have also squealed).

Later, you're on your stomach, chin resting on your arms, watching him scroll on his phone.

"Hey, Dick?" you whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think Jason would ever allow me to paint his nails?"

He chokes. "Absolutely not."

"What about Tim?"

"Maybe one hand."

"Damian?"

He pauses. “You value your life, don’t you?”

You laugh, and he turns to face you fully, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Why? You starting a glam squad?”

“Obviously. I need backup.”

He leans in and kisses your nose. “Count me in, always.”

© yeoniverseee

[harrysgal]

I DIG YOUR CINEMA (9)

harry styles x yn aspiring filmmaker — social media AU

About the smau: yn starts posting videos on youtube and is trying to build a career as a filmmaker. Things are going pretty well for her and she starts getting more attention when she creates content about shows she goes to. She’s also a fan of Harry’s music and some of his fans start getting suspicious when his team starts interacting with her.

About yn: although the character does not have a faceclaim, pictures suggest reader is white.

Disclaimer: The story it’s set in 2021 and it will follow their relationship through the LOT leg in the US. Since this is nothing but fiction, I will be following some of the real timeline but also adding my own stuff. On top of that, I won’t be basing myself on Harry’s actual posts.

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PART 8 // MASTERLIST

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I DIG YOUR CINEMA (PART 9) — BEFORE NASHVILLE

liked by bestfriend, lookitsnyoh, sisterinlaw and 65,017 others 

yourinstagram chicago, i will never forget you. had nothing but fun and did nothing but laugh. i might’ve also cried a little, but that was just to balance things out. it’s okay. you’re worth it every time. i might’ve arrived in nashville right now, but my mind is still there with you. lets do it again sometime. all my love. yn. 

view all 5,361 comments

user7 AHHH YOU’RE BACK harryfan43 GIRL WE MISSED YOU YOU CANT GO MISSING ON US LIKE THIS 😭 harryfan3 ohhh, so you were still in Chicago

↳ harryfan7 of course she was. she couldn’t leave without sightseeing  ↳ harryfan3 of course she couldn’t !

bestfriend what is this? a love letter to chicago? 

↳ yourinstagram are you surprised? ↳ bestfriend not at all lol

harryfan34 I don’t even read your captions anymore I just know they’ll say something stupid harryfan54 3rd picture is exactly the reason why I don’t like you. you’re constantly finding a way to beg for attention.   harrystyles thats interesting 

↳ harryfan19 HARRY???? ↳ harryfan21 SIR WTF ↳ harryfan29 WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE ↳ harryfan31 ??????????  ↳ harryfan33 WHAT IS THIS WHATS HAPPENING RN ↳ harryfan35 are you all seeing this comment too? or have I gone officially insane now?

user9 that quote! 👏 such a clever and classy way to tell everyone to fuck off

↳ harryfan66 so you think it’s classy to mix your job with orgasms? ↳ harryfan11 if the job involves harry styles, then yes x ↳ harryfan25 THE WAY I JUST GASPED

user27 why do you treat yn as if she’s 10yo? and why do you act as if she’s got this corporate job or something where she needs to act a certain way? please grow up

↳ harryfan56 no matter what the job is, you should always respect your superiors  ↳ user27 for the love of God you’re making me gag  

user35 why did you cry? :( harryfan15 WHY ARENT WE TALKING ABOUT THE DOGS BEING BACKSTAGE IN CHICAGO??? 

Sep 28, 2021. •

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liked by user1, bestfriend, and 47 others

ynupdates Ny Oh (Harry Styles’ band) just posted a picture of Yn on instagram! Apparently, the two of them were out and about in Nashville. She also posted a picture of flowers, which is extremely Yn coded haha 😄 

view all 12 comments  user7 ahh, I think this is the first time anyone posts a picture of her? 🥺 why does it make me emotional? lol

↳ user8 I know, I love to see them hanging out together  ↳ user9 same here!! also, I love how supportive she is by hiding yn’s face  ↳ user7 proof that you can be on social media and still remain private  ↳ user9 PREACH

harryfan5 most supportive friend following and liking pictures from this account… we like to see 

↳ ynrryfan ＠bestfriend you’re the best we love you

harryfan9 someone pls explain to me why i feel so protective of this woman? 😭

Sep 28, 2021. •

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Hey Deux! I work in a golf course here in Chicago, and I might have some info that will probably interest your followers… Last Sunday I was at work when a very famous british popstar (who had just played two shows in town and had already visited us multiple times before) showed up with a female guest. They were both very low-key and clearly not wanting to draw any attention to them, but it was very difficult when you’re someone who looks like HIM, lol. Anyway, the popstar and the youtuber spent most of their afternoon there, just the two of them. She clearly isn’t a golfer, but he was more than happy to teach her all about the sport and just have fun for the sake of it. Not a lot happened, and as far as I could see, they never held hands, nor kissed or got touchy with each other, but they were chatting and laughing a lot, all the time. So even though I can’t tell you for sure if they were on a date or not, I feel pretty confident to say that they’re clearly way comfortable with each other’s company. They seem like two people who know each other very well by now, so even if they’re not a couple, they’re definitely near the besties-zone! 

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Hey Deux, Chicago-golf-course-girl here!  Following up on my previous email, I didn’t say anything at first because tbh it wasn’t my first time seeing him, and also bc I’m used to seeing celebrities at the golf course. Besides, I didn’t know who she was so I didn’t think too much of it… But then somehow the algorithm brought her latest post to my attention earlier today, and that’s when I saw the name and connected the dots. I thought it was very interesting how she included a picture from the golf course but completely left out who she was with lol. Had I known it was her, I would’ve definitely taken a picture for you! Idk why her posts are so cryptic about what she looks like, because the girl is GORGEOUS! And funny. Harry isn’t wasting any of his time! Would’ve definitely taken her to the golf course myself, too, lmao. 

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liked by user3, loveynrry, bestfriend and 27 others

ynupdates Yn tonight! She was spotted filming Harry and enjoying his first show in Nashville. 

view all 81 comments harryfan5 HI MOM user9 oh i love this! harryfan68 You mean… She was spotted doing her job? Lmao  harryfan44 Are you kidding me? harryfan44 A whole instagram to update what exactly? The way she follows Harry around? 😂😂😂

↳ ynupdates I know it’s hard for you to comprehend that Yn is a human being with her own talent and her own job, but many of us are really interested in her career so if you don’t have anything nice to say about her you’ll simply be blocked! Have a nice life.

Sep 29, 2021. •

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— — — — — 

PART 10 — NASHVILLE

— — — — —

[thebroccolination]

THE DIRECTORS OF “THAMEPO” AND “BE MY FAVORITE”

After “ThamePo” ended, I was perusing the Instagram stories of the cast, and I decided to check out the director’s page too since “ThamePo” was her baby that she apparently held onto for five years (!) until she had the right cast to do it justice, and I have an enormous amount of respect for her.

And look who she posted about:

Waa, the other director I have an immense amount of respect for! And I immediately thought, “Ohhhh, these two having mutual respect for each other makes sense.”

I don’t want to trust auto-translate but I think the gist of her caption is that she always knew he’d do great things, and she’s proud of the work he did on a certain movie called “Love You to Debt.”

Which is the movie that Thame and Po can’t get around to finishing because they have to make out instead.

But y’know what she also included in “ThamePo” that’s directed by Waa?

“Good Old Days”! The series Thame and Po watch that first time they spend all night talking on the phone.

It’s fairly common for GMMTV series to sneak snippets of other series into the narrative, but I love that Mui chose two of Waa’s to feature.

It gave me a little spark of joy to see this overlap of directors, because of all the Thai series I’ve seen, I think “ThamePo” and “Be My Favorite” are the all-rounder best in overall quality thanks in large part to the dedication of their directors who also worked on the scripts. And in both instances, they truly brought the best out of their actors.

Mui knew Est was the lead she was waiting for, and Waa wanted to work with Krist again after working with him on “Good Old Days.” As protagonists, Est and Krist brought a lot of pathos to Po and Kawi, and both roles asked a lot of them in different ways. Po’s character grows in such a quiet way that Est didn’t have a ton of emotional range to work with, so he really had to knuckle down and find small ways to show it. Meanwhile Kawi runs the gamut of extremes and it took an enormous amount of physical energy from Krist to convey it all. Mui had to make sure Po was still visually interesting, and Waa had to keep all of Kawi’s extremes balanced so he still came across as realistic.

But Waa and Mui also knew how to get the best performance from their less experienced actors, too.

“Be My Favorite” was Gawin’s first lead performance after a slew of side characters and cameos. He was cast as Pisaeng after 1) Singto turned down the role to go freelance and 2) Mike left the production, but Gawin really made that role his. In behind the scenes interviews, Gawin said that Waa both expected and asked a lot from him, and his acting saw sharp improvement as a result. Gawin was always good at playing outwardly sassy characters, but Waa helped him prioritize portraying Pisaeng’s interiority. Pisaeng has that same sass Gawin is known for portraying, but there’s also got a lot going on that Pisaeng can’t and won’t express in words or actions, and that was a real challenge Gawin pulled off beautifully under Waa’s meticulous direction.

Meanwhile, “ThamePo” is William’s first series ever and bro, what a powerhouse this kid is already. But a lot of what makes his performance really shine are the guidance given and choices made by Mui. His unbroken soft-spoken delivery as Thame, the long holds on his face to give him space to emote, etc. I think it was a genius decision to have Thame never raise his voice in anger or fear or anything, not even once, and that definitely came from the director. Having Thame express his strongest emotions quietly made a profound impact and gave real nuance to his character.

When I heard that Mui had been holding onto this script for years because she hadn’t found the right fit yet, it immediately made me think of “Be My Favorite.” In a podcast interview in 2023, Waa said he told GMMTV at some point early on that he needed more time to work on the script for “Be My Favorite,” that he wanted all the major characters to have their own separate arcs, and that he didn’t care how much the fans complained about the wait, because he wasn’t doing it for them. “Be My Favorite” became his favorite child of all his productions even though he knew before it aired that it wasn’t going to be a massive hit for him in large part because of ~fandom politics~ (the atypical casting meant both sets of fandoms loudly planned to boycott it—and did). His only concern was making a series he was proud of, and in the long run, the pettiness of the fandoms won’t be remembered, but the quality of the series will.

Directors like Mui and Waa are the kinds of champions I always hope for with queer series. Because of course they want people to watch their work, but they’re creators before they’re anything else, and you can see their passion and devotion to craft in every frame of their work.

Sometimes a series is just a vessel to launch an actor to popularity so they can sell things and make money for the company who signed them.

Sometimes—if you have the right people—it’s art.

[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — golden hours, golden hearts : chapter 022 !

one week passed in a blur.

by the time you got home from your latest interview, exhaustion clung to your limbs like a second skin. you barely had the energy to kick off your heels before stepping into your apartment, but the familiar scent of something warm and savory made you pause.

"you're finally home," mitsuki's voice rang from the kitchen.

you blinked, surprised. "su-?"

"don't act so shocked," she huffled, turning to face you with a wooden spoon in hand. "you barely eat properly when you're working, so i figured i'd make something before you shrivel away."

before you could respond, another voice chimed in.

"she's right, you know."

you turned toward your couch, where hyoma sat comfortably, scrolling through his phone like he belonged here.

"you too?" you sighed, setting your bag down.

hyoma smirked. "mitski dragged me here. but i won't complain if it means free food. ...and maybe gossip?"

"obviously," mitsuki said, placing a steaming bowl in front of you. "now, eat."

the three of you settled into the living room, plates balanced in your hands as you sat on the floor around the coffee table. mitsuki had made something comforting. stir-fried vegetables, crispy tofu and rice.

"you should just move in at this point," you mumbled between bites.

mitsuki grinned. "tempting. your apartment is so fancy and i'd get to eat dinner with a celebrity couple every day."

you shot her a look. "we're not-"

"yeah, yeah," she waved you off. "pr relationship, i know."

hyoma leaned back against the couch. "do you think it's working, though? the pr part, i mean."

you hesitated, setting down your chopsticks. "i mean... i guess? they still talk about the picture he posted and how it has to be me because i posted my outfit a few hours later."

mitsuki smirked, propping her chin up with her hand. "oh, they know it's you. the internet detectives are crazy. some of them even matched the museum's lighting to your story."

chigiri huffed a quiet laugh. "people are invested."

you sighed, dragging a hand down your face. "great. love that for me."

mitsuki grinned. "i mean, you did sign up for this. and let's be so for real right now, sae knew exactly what he was doing when he posted that picture."

chigiri nodded. "it was a smart move. subtle, but not too subtle. keeps the mystery going."

you rolled your eyes. "yeah, yeah. pr genius, whatever."

mitsuki tilted her head. "you sound... almost annoyed. don’t tell me you’re regretting it?"

you hesitated. were you? no. not really. it was just... complicated.

"i wouldn’t say that," you muttered. "it’s just weird, you know? everyone analyzing my every move, acting like they know we're together even though we didn't do anything yet."

mitsuki hummed, tapping her nails against her glass. "well, that’s the point, or not? keep people talking, keep the mystery alive. that’s what makes it fun."

you sighed, leaning back into the couch. "fun for them, maybe. i just have to sit there and pretend i don’t see the comments saying 'oh my god! sae's mine!' or 'back off!' like damn, you don't even have a chance, the fuck??"

"you did sign up for this," hyoma pointed out, shooting you a knowing look. "and let’s be real, it’s not like you haven’t dealt with this kind of thing before."

"yeah, but this is different," you frowned. "it’s not just me anymore. it’s him, too. and he’s not exactly making it easier."

mitsuki perked up. "oh? what’s sae doing?"

You waved a hand vaguely. "just… being flirty with me ...lowkey? he texts me almost every day and is chalant instead of nonchalant. everyone says he's a dick to everyone.and now, cryptic captions, just enough interaction to keep people guessing. and then he does stuff like take that picture of me at the museum and post it without tagging me, but making it obvious enough that everyone figured it out anyway."

"that’s called marketing, sweetheart," mitsuki teased. "besides, you don’t seem that mad about it."

you opened your mouth to argue but stopped yourself.

hyoma smirked. "see? you don’t even deny it."

"whatever," you muttered, picking up your chopsticks again. "enough about me. let’s talk about suki’s thing with michael."

mitsuki nearly choked on her drink. "I DO NOT HAVE A THING WITH MICHAEL."

hyoma grinned. "oh, please. you literally just admitted you liked kissing him."

"that is not what i said!" mitsuki protested, but her face was already turning pink.

you and hyoma exchanged looks before bursting into laughter.

—

later that night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the soft hum of the city outside barely reaching your ears. the room was dark except for the dim glow of your phone screen resting beside you, notifications lighting up every few seconds, but you ignored them.

your mind was too loud.

the wedding was in two days.

your flight to kyoto was tomorrow morning.

you had to meet his whole family.

and you had to spend an entire weekend playing the perfect girlfriend to sae itoshi.

you exhaled sharply, rolling onto your side. it wasn’t that you couldn’t do i. you had played your part well so far. the public was eating up the “relationship,” and sae… well, he was playing along just fine. but this was different. this wasn’t just posting cryptic photos. this was attending a family wedding together. his family would be there. people who actually knew him. who would be watching you both closely, scanning every detail.

would they believe it?

would he even bother keeping up the act when no cameras were around?

you pressed a hand to your forehead, willing yourself to stop overthinking. it wasn’t like you had a choice. the flight was at 7 am, and you needed to wake up in a few hours.

still, sleep didn’t come easy.

—

the next morning, you forced yourself to get up despite the lack of sleep, dragging yourself through the motions of getting ready. you did your makeup with practiced ease, throwing on something comfortable for the flight, something that still made you look put-together.

after calling a cab, you made your way to the airport. the usual rush of airport energy, people moving in every direction, announcements echoing, felt almost comforting, like a routine you could disappear into. you breezed through security, checked in, and found your gate.

you grabbed a seat and plugged your airpods in, deciding to zone out and pass the time.

the gate area slowly filled with passengers, people bustling around, the soft murmur of voices mixing with the distant call of another flight being called. you settled in, the familiar feeling of travel settling over you.

you adjusted your bag and got comfortable in your seat, scrolling through your phone to distract yourself. the thought of sae and the wedding was still there in the back of your mind, but you didn’t let it take up too much space.

until someone slid into the seat next to you.

you glanced up, slightly annoyed that they had to sit right next to you, only for your eyes to meet a familiar pair of sharp, lazy ones.

sae.

your heart skipped a beat as you stared at him in disbelief. “what are you doing here?” you asked, barely able to mask the surprise in your voice. he was supposed to be in madrid, preparing for his own flight to kyoto.

sae, as nonchalant as ever, grinned at your reaction. “can't i fly with my girlfriend?” he asked, almost as if reading your mind. “it’s not every day i get to spend a few hours in the air with my favorite model."

chapter 021 > here > chapter 023

taglist is open ! <3

back to golden hours, golden hearts

a/n: oh no forced proximity

taglist: @darling-dearesttt @saeslove @yuukiririix @sof888a @beepbopzlorp @luvrrin @narcjsistx @catukin @megumismyhusband @morgyyyyyyy @levihanmyotp @kaz-0e @nensi @vaelils @loverryxx @kunascutie @swagkittybear @alexiaray @kaidostwin @pookiei-bookie @syarc0re @vayahatesu @yangx2isawhore @pinkfqiry @treeguzzler @shumeow-h @modxbea @90s-belladonna @rory-cakes @sapph1r3x @yuiearyi @pctterheadd @thecallofmedusa @whisperofae @belovedfedya @anqelkoz @yukari1k @dontmindtheevie @pookalicious-hq @pan-kojiwa @spookysoowpprince @mivqko @chuuyalvover @viviinpt @h1sllvr @luvvmae @renchai @yourlocaleffy @x3nafix @saeglazer

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[whimsicalpolitical]

i just saw an edit w this caption and thought u would be able to write something good with it

“i just want him to whisper in my ear that im the prettiest girl hes ever seen and then tease me infront of his friends”

thank you!! cw: suggestiveness, dirty talk

“god, i needed this,” you sigh, taking a slow sip of your champagne.

your friend laughs, swirling the bubbles in her own glass. “what, a dinner with all of us or the free-flowing alcohol?”

you grin. “both. but mostly this,” you lift the glass slightly. “you know how much i love champagne.”

“yeah, you do. should’ve just gotten you a stache for your birthday.”

“should’ve.”

she nudges your hip with hers, teasing. “next year then.”

you clink your glass against hers in agreement. the kitchen is warm, cozy, full of the quiet clatter of plates and the occasional burst of laughter from the dining room.

“i’m gonna take these to the table,” she says, balancing two bowls of snacks in each hand.

“got it,” you say, watching as she disappears through the doorway.

and then, like clockwork, matty steps in.

his eyes land on you immediately. he looks good—slicked-back hair, slightly rumpled shirt, that lazy kind of confidence in the way he moves. his gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate, and he’s already smirking by the time he reaches you.

he doesn’t say anything at first, just steps in close, presses a warm, lingering kiss to your cheek. his hands settle on your hips, thumbs brushing over the fabric of your dress.

“you alright?” he murmurs.

you nod, smiling up at him. “yeah, i’m good.”

but his eyes linger, like he’s seeing something more. “nah,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “you look more than alright.” his fingers flex against your hips. “you look fuckin’ perfect.”

heat creeps up your neck. you bite your lip, but he catches it, grinning like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“this dress,” he continues, voice smooth as silk. “christ, love. love this dress on you so much.”

you roll your eyes, trying to downplay how flustered you already are. “you’re ridiculous.”

he hums, pretending to think. “don’t think i am actually,” he says. “i think i’m completely serious.”

his hands slide lower and over your arse.

“can’t wait to make you feel good in it,” he says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

your grip tightens on your champagne glass. “matty,” you whisper, warning, but he just grins, leaning in like he’s telling you a secret.

“gonna use the mirror, yeah?” his breath ghosts over your skin. “wanna make you look at yourself. see how perfect you look while you’re wrapped around my fingers.”

your stomach flips, heat pooling deep in your core. he’s looking at you like he already has you unraveling, like he knows you’re already gone for him.

you exhale, shaky. “you’re—”

“—the best boyfriend ever?” he supplies, grinning.

you huff out a breath, trying not to let him see just how much he’s affecting you. “insufferable.”

you close your eyes as he presses feather light kisses to your jaw and your neck and your shoulders.

you hum and cup one side of his face, brushing your thumb over his stubbles as he continues to quietly worship you.

he presses one last, teasing kiss to your lips before pulling back. “come on, darling. let’s go back in, yeah?”

you blink, trying to gather yourself, but your mind is already stuck on later—on the mirror, on his hands, on everything he just promised.

you sit next to him at the table, conversation buzzing around you, but all you can think about is him. the way he smells, the way his voice dropped when he said your name, the way your whole body is burning for him.

then his hand lands on your thigh.

you inhale sharply, but no one notices. he acts like it’s nothing, just resting his hand there, but his fingers start moving, slow and teasing, creeping further up.

you shift slightly, pressing your thighs together, trapping his hand between them in the process. that’s when he leans in, his breath warm against your ear.

“seriously, darling,” he whispers. “you’re the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen and i’m gonna make sure you won’t forget that after tonight.”

your whole body shivers. butterflies burst in your stomach.

you’re done for.

but then he just—goes back to eating. like he didn’t just whisper the filthiest promise into your ear.

he squeezes your thigh once before pulling back, picking up his fork like nothing happened. he laughs at a joke someone makes, something about a terrible first date, and chimes in with a story of his own, gesturing with his free hand.

meanwhile, his other hand stays right where it is.

you can barely focus. your head is spinning, body wired, and he’s just—smirking, sipping his wine, completely unaffected.

you shoot him a look. he just quirks an eyebrow, all innocent, fingertips tracing a pattern over your thigh. again and again he writes something on your thigh.

your head shoots up at him as you figured it out. matty. he presses his finger further into the skin of your thigh to write it one last time.

he leans in, pretending to be interested in whatever conversation is happening across the table. “bit quiet over there, love,” he murmurs, just for you. “is somethin’ wrong?”

you glare at him. “you know exactly what’s wrong.”

he grins, ducking his head slightly so only you can see. “mm,” he hums, “do i?”

your stomach tightens.

his hand leaves your thigh, and for a moment, you think you might actually be able to breathe properly again. but then he takes your hand, lifts it to his lips, and kisses your knuckles like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

his lips linger, warm and soft, before he pulls away just enough to glance up at you. his eyes are dark, glinting with something wicked, something knowing.

then—just as easily as he’d let go—his hand is back on your thigh, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin.

you suck in a breath, barely audible over the hum of conversation, but he catches it.

his fingers slip higher, inching toward the hem of your dress, then underneath it. he’s not rushing. he never does. it’s slow, deliberate, teasing. and then—

he finds the lace of your panties, fingertips brushing over it like he’s just absentmindedly resting his hand there. like he’s not driving you absolutely insane.

and then he laughs. just a soft chuckle, like he’s genuinely amused by you.

“you’re so easy, aren’t you?” he murmurs, just for you. “i could say just about anything filthy, and you’d be ready for me.”

your stomach flips.

he still switches conversations and talking to your friends like nothing’s happening, still nodding along to the conversation, but his fingers?

his fingers ghost over the wetness of your panties.

his touch is featherlight, just barely there, but it’s enough to make you squirm. enough to make your breath stutter.

he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head slightly, lips twitching into a smirk.

“christ, love,” he mutters,“what am i gonna do with you?”

his fingers trace along the lace again.

“gonna be a rough night for you if you’re already this excited,” he muses.

and then he leaves you like this. stops touching you all together and you miss it already. you need him to touch you again.

he leans back in his chair, reaching for his drink, taking a slow sip like he hasn’t just set your entire body on fire.

he glances at you, smirking around the rim of his glass.

“patience, darling,” he murmurs. “don’t want you falling apart before i even get you home.”

[snnowwpheenix]

Tokyo Revengers character’s daughter asks to do their makeup or hair—plus a few extra bonus dad headcanons sprinkled in for fun

🌸 Manjiro “Mikey” Sano

He sits perfectly still, letting her smear glitter all over his face like it’s war paint.

"You think I’m pretty, huh?" he asks, giving her a big grin through blue eyeshadow.

Bonus: He proudly keeps a sparkly barrette in his pocket like a good luck charm.

🐉 Ken “Draken” Ryuguji

Bends down low so she can reach his dragon tattoo and tries to mimic it with lipstick.

He doesn't care if it stains—he’ll go out for groceries in full glam if it makes her happy.

Bonus: He lets her braid his undercut and calls it “her masterpiece.”

🌼 Takemichi Hanagaki

Nervous at first but so touched she wants to play with him like that.

Flinches every time she tugs a little too hard but keeps smiling and saying, “It looks amazing!”

Bonus: He gets emotional when she calls him her “handsome prince.”

🐯 Kazutora Hanemiya

Teases her playfully: “You’re turning me into a fairy, aren’t you?”

Ends up with hearts on his cheeks and glitter in his hair but loves every second.

Bonus: He keeps a framed photo of her putting a tiara on his head.

🐥 Chifuyu Matsuno

He brings her new brushes and little clips so she can "practice."

He totally watches beauty tutorials with her and lets her try every trend on him.

Bonus: They do matching face masks and call it “spa day.”

🐺 Keisuke Baji

Acts like it’s torture (“Ugh, eyeliner?? Really??”) but totally gives in.

Secretly wears her flower clips to work tucked in his jacket.

Bonus: He tells everyone at Toman, “My daughter’s my stylist. Got a problem?”

🧠 Tetta Kisaki

Surprisingly patient—lets her contour his face while lecturing her about balance and symmetry.

“Blend it properly,” he says with a sigh but is definitely taking notes for disguise purposes.

Bonus: He buys her a beginner's makeup kit and insists on “daily lessons.”

🃏 Shuji Hanma

Thinks it’s hilarious—leans into it by calling himself “ShuShu Sparkle Queen.”

Posts selfies with the caption: “My stylist’s 4 and ruthless.”

Bonus: He lets her draw tattoos on his other arm with eyeliner.

💜 Ran Haitani

Sits cross-legged, grinning the whole time. “Princess Daddy” is written across his forehead in eyeliner.

Wears rhinestones on his cheekbones to pick her up from preschool.

Bonus: Teaches her to braid using his own hair as the model.

🔥 Rindou Haitani

Grumbles, but ends up laying still while she carefully twists his hair into tiny buns.

Gets embarrassed when Ran takes pictures and posts them.

Bonus: Keeps a secret drawer of all the hair ties she’s gifted him.

👑 Izana Kurokawa

At first, he acts too cool—then folds the moment she calls him “my royal model.”

Asks her for “a regal look,” and she goes wild with shimmery golds.

Bonus: He walks her down the hallway like it’s a runway.

🌌 Kakucho

Gentle and patient—lets her climb on his lap to “get the angles right.”

Smiles warmly even as she gives him blue eyebrows and glitter freckles.

Bonus: He tells her she’s going to be famous one day.

💼 Hajime Kokonoi (Koko)

Buys her the best kid-friendly makeup just so she can “work professionally.”

Sits at her “salon” with a towel around his neck like it’s the real deal.

Bonus: He casually mentions to Inupi, “I’ve got an exclusive stylist now.”

❄️ Seishu Inui (Inupi)

Lets her curl his hair, even if he ends up with uneven waves.

She makes him look like a magical snow prince with silver and white makeup.

Bonus: He looks in the mirror, nods seriously, and says, “You’ve got talent.”

[rei-ismyname]

Magneto threatens Reagan and Thatcher

Mags' latest scheme is incredibly ambitious - in fact he'll be later charged by the ICC with crimes against humanity for his actions this day. A full splash of the master of magnetism in all his glory, a demand, and the consequences for refusing. The caption says he's projecting this to every capital city on Earth, but that's such a massive and abstract thing.

Seeing him dressing down real life world leaders to their faces makes the scope of his actions real. 'Reagan, go back to acting. Thatcher, you're the worst. Khrushchev, don't fuck with me comrade. Generic leaders of other countries, Marvel didn't want to offend you but I don't care. Stop nuking shit and make me king of the world FAFO.' Balls of steel and, as always, dramatic AF.

He's gotten over his grudge against the X-Men by this point, but Scott Summers and Lee Forrester got shipwrecked on his Lovecraftian island base purely by chance. Scott has doubts about the plan, but aside from the whole 'authoritarian ruler' thing, his goal is admirable. Nuclear brinkmanship and MAD hasn't destroyed the world yet, but it's hard to imagine the balancing act maintaining indefinitely.

Mags is also shocked that Scott isn't with Jean, and is sad to hear of her death.

Scott doesn't believe him, though, and calls him a hypocrite. Mags goes off about grief, giving us the first hint of his Holocaust survivor status. Their back and forth is cut short by news that the USSR has decided to FAFO. It has been less than a day since his ultimatum, so they got to the Bermuda Triangle quickly! They launch nukes but Magneto disarms them and they fall into the sea.

He doesn't take that attempted nuking kindly, and immediately sinks the Leningrad with all hands then calls the Kremlin to show he's not bluffing.

Behold! He opens up a fissure beneath Varykino and destroys the city, though he allows the people to evacuate. These two acts are not forgotten - even after the fall of the Soviet Union Russia repeatedly attempts to kill him as revenge. Let's just say that it's not surprising Russia didn't want to accept Krakoa.

The X-Men eventually manage to stop him by destroying his volcano Doomsday device, and Magneto has a change of heart when he thinks he killed Kitty Pryde. However, it's not the first or last time he'll threaten the entire world. Countries have Magneto protocols for a reason, though they aren't very effective.

[jj-maybanks-daughter]

walking is exhausting

jjs daughter takes her first steps

"come to dada!" jj encouraged as all the pogues sat on the ground d watching her like she was one of the seven great wonders of the world.

she giggled at her dad and looked over to kie. "hi y/n! come here to aunt kie?" she reached her hands out in a grabby way.

y/n knew how to get up and stanf, walking was the difficult part. her and jj had been working on it for weeks and she was starting to understand. there had been many thuds and falls, followed by giggles and laughs.

she slowly lifted herself from the ground and caught her balance for a second, all of the pogues watching in awe

"come to daddy!" jj bribed her with a toy.

"look what uncle pope has!" pope had her stuffed animal, showing it to her so she could see.

"look, aunt Sarah has pink on!" Sarah pointed to her baby pink shirt, y/ns favorite color.

she was intrigued by all of them,, but john b didn't have anythong. she furrowed her blonde little eyebrows and strutted over to john b to see what he had, not even noticing she was walking.

the all gasped and john b put his arms out to her. "jombee!" she clapped her chubby hands and opened up john bs to see if he had something in his hand.

she huffed and crawled to sit with pope. they all laughed at her actions but were proud of her for walking.

"wow I've been teaching you for months, and you don't even come to me." jj acted offend ed, crossing his arms and turning his head. she felt bad and saddled over to him

jj smiled with a wide mouth and grabbed her and put her tiny nose in his mouth "biting it" she laughed and threw herself onto his shoulder, making him lose his balance

hr fell back and she climbed back on him. he acted shocked and sat back up. "that's it your in for it,missy" he stopped her up as he stood up and threw her on the couch gently, tickling her till he got lots of little laughter.

the pogues watched amd smiled and she laughed. "I'm so proud of ypu!" he layed on the couch after he felt he she had enough. he placed her so she was lying on his chest. they fell asleep together and kiara took a picture on her phone captioning

"walking is exhausting"

[fameandfiction]

IMAGINE PART I: “Kneeling Isn’t the Headline But It Should Be” — Reneé Rapp x Reader

— Homoerotic friendship.

The dressing room is cold and buzzing, a rotating blur of stylists, camera flashes, fabric rustling, and the kind of buzzing silence only a stressed-out celebrity can generate.

Reneé’s wearing that tension like it’s stitched into her skin. You can see it in the set of her jaw, the tight grip she has on the makeup chair, the way she hasn’t looked at herself in the mirror once since the wardrobe change was called.

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.

You’re already on your knees. Not for drama. Not for desire.

For devotion. Because Reneé is your favorite person in the world and she doesn’t know how to let people care for her.

You’re helping her into the next outfit—delicate, couture, high slit. Her stylist had to step away and you didn’t hesitate to take over. Reneé’s balancing herself with one hand clutching your shoulder, the other gripping the back of your head, her fingers tangled in your hair—not to guide, but to steady herself.

And there, right above her knees, you see them. Faint, quiet, intimate stories her body carries.

Stretch marks like fingerprints across her inner thighs.

You kiss them.

Not once. Not like punctuation. But like language—a peppering of soft, reverent kisses, like an act of worship, like an unspoken litany of:

You are loved.

You are art.

You are not broken.

Reneé inhales sharply. She doesn’t say your name—she just breathes it.

And it’s not sexual. It’s not even sensual. It’s… holy.

She doesn’t move away. Doesn’t joke. Doesn’t cover herself.

She just… softens. Her grip in your hair tightens slightly—not to stop you, not to rush you—but because something in her almost comes undone.

That’s the moment someone captures it.

You don’t notice the click of the phone camera. You don’t even register the angle: You kneeling, kissing her stretch marks like an ancient vow, Reneé standing half-dressed, head bowed slightly, hand still in your hair for balance, her expression caught between vulnerable and undone.

It leaks.

Not the photo itself, at first. But the description. To DeuxMoi.

“Saw Reneé Rapp backstage during a shoot, her ‘friend’ helping her dress. Looked like a religious experience. Kisses on thighs. Hand in hair. Couldn’t look away. Love in its rawest, quietest form. Made me cry.”

The internet doesn’t know what to do with it.

Because it’s not a scandal. It’s not raunchy. It’s just… real. Intimate. Devoted.

They can’t meme it. They can’t mock it. They try to label it—"platonic soulmates," "best friends," "soft sapphics," "queer devotion," "she fell first she fell harder she fell all the way through the floor"—but nothing quite fits.

No statement is made. No caption is posted. But Reneé, a few days later, does share a blurry photo on her Instagram story.

It’s of your hand, holding hers, backstage lighting casting gold over your fingers.

The caption?

“She makes the world quieter.”

[brooklyn-raised-barnes]

"The Optics of This Are Terrible"

—a Redacted & Bucky Barnes ficlet

Bucky x platonic!oc

Description: Redacted is the code name given to the social media manager of the avengers. She is a no nonsense, tired of babysitting grumpy old men, zillenial with a caffeine addiction.

These ficlets are simply adding a narrative to the page.

I am Redacted. Bucky chose that name for me. Don't ask. I won't tell.

He's a good boy. I will protect his peace.

---

The compound’s quiet. Too quiet. Redacted knows that particular hush—like a cat about to pounce or a toddler being suspiciously well-behaved. She’s carrying a mug that says “NO I WILL NOT FIX YOUR VIBE” in chipped lettering and wearing an expression that says the same.

She passes behind the couch and catches a glimpse of movement on Bucky’s phone. A flick of his thumb. A Tumblr dashboard scroll.

And then—

She stops.

Backtracks.

Leans in.

Squints.

"...Are you reblogging gun porn?"

Bucky doesn’t even look up. “It’s a nice build.”

She sets the mug down like she might need both hands to commit a felony.

“Are you serious right now?” she groans, rounding the couch and planting herself in his line of sight. “You’re Bucky Barnes. Ex-assassin turned soft-reformed sweetheart. Tumblr’s tragic grandpa boyfriend. And you’re reblogging custom suppressors with the caption ‘clean.’”

He looks up, calm as ever. “It was clean.”

“You liked a video of someone disassembling an M1911 to jazz music.”

“That’s how I learned. It’s a good vibe.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “You are personally destroying your good boy image.”

“I don’t have a good boy image.”

“You do now,” she snaps. “You have one shitty photo of beef stew and a few asks answered with ‘oh yeah babydoll’ People think you knit in your spare time and rescue stray dogs.”

“I do rescue stray dogs.”

“Exactly,” she hisses. “So maybe stop liking posts that say ‘tactical precision is an act of love.’ You think that’s just edgy? Half the people on Tumblr think you sleep under a weighted blanket made of guilt and chamomile.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I think is cotton and glass beads...”

“Jesus Christ.”

He taps the screen again. Likes a post showing a concealed carry rig with the tags #pewpew and #freedomboner.

She lunges for the phone. He holds it up, out of reach, like a big brother tormenting a sibling.

“Give me the phone.”

“No.”

“Bucky.”

“Redacted.”

“I will shut this blog down. I will change your password to something you’ll never guess. Like ‘cozydaddy’ or ‘macramewarrior84.’”

His lip twitches.

“Don’t smile.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“It’s just funny how mad you get.”

“I am not mad.” She points at the phone like it personally offended her. “I’m strategically enraged. There is a difference.”

“Is there?”

“I’m crafting a narrative here, Barnes. Do you have any idea what it takes to maintain the illusion that you're emotionally stable and not five seconds away from stabbing a man with a fondue fork?”

He sets the phone down on the coffee table. Blinks up at her with a slow, measured look that says you’re being dramatic without actually saying it.

“I am emotionally stable,” he says.

“Are you?”

“I haven’t stabbed anyone in months.”

“That is not a selling point.”

“Maybe for you.”

She groans. Picks up the phone, starts scrolling. “Okay. Okay. I’m going to do damage control. I’m going to reblog a photo of a golden retriever and write ‘good boy energy.’ I’m going to queue a post about soup. I’m going to make you humble.”

“I am humble.”

“You just reblogged a post that said ‘God gives his hardest battles to his hottest soldiers.’”

“It had a good font.”

She slaps the phone back into his hand and walks off, muttering to herself. “Good font. He says that like a defense. God save me from reformed war criminals with opinions about sans serif.”

As she disappears into the kitchen, Bucky reblogs one more post:

A black-and-white image of a combat knife balanced on a teacup.

Caption: “Balance is everything.”

He tags it: #zen.