frog

Hi there! I hope we can be friends!  I just reblog kpop things, I own nothing unless otherwise stated. I'm 22, he/they pronouns

[applepiiex]

Hiii, I don't really know if you do parts 2, but I started following you since I read the "House A Home" fic and it's been absolutely stuck on my head over and over again that I have read it easily about 5 times already. I was wondering if you could do a second part where, maybe, it has been a couple months since the end of the fic (maybe a year?)

Reader is in the middle of a business trip away from home when it's late and Toji finds Megumi crying on the couch after work, when Toji tries to comfort him he just denies him and tells his something like

"I want dad..."

And when Toji tries to comfort him again telling him that dads right there he just sobs and shakes his head, repeating his words for Toji to understand

"I don't want papa, I want dad..."

While he just starts crying again, Toji realizes that Megumi is actually talking about reader.

I think that would be really cute and show to Toji how much reader is important to Megumi and maybe to himself a little. Or something like that, you can take all the creative freedom you want, I absolutely love the way you wrote them as a family !

Hope this request isn't too much and a bunch of info dump and if it is you can decide what to change, or not even post it, I'll be fine with that.

It's just and idea that have been popping in my mind recently <3

IN MY HEART !

Toji Fushiguro x Male!Reader

Toji never thought that someone would stay, much less put up with his kid. Not that Megumi was a bad kid, but reserved. After so many people, Megumi didn't let any of his father's flings ever have a say in how he feels. However, here you've proven to be the exception.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The apartment is warm when Toji Fushiguro gets home. Warm in that quiet, lived-in way he still hasn’t fully gotten used to. There’s laundry folded on the arm of the couch. Tiny sneakers kicked off by the door. The fridge hums steadily beneath a clutter of magnets you and Megumi collected from cheap grocery stores and corner shops like they were priceless souvenirs.

Home. His home.

The thought still catches strangely in his chest sometimes.

It’s late. Later than he promised he’d be. The job ran long, then traffic got backed up halfway through the city, and now exhaustion sits heavy in his bones as he shrugs off his jacket. 

Usually by this point, Megumi’s asleep already. Usually you’re curled on the couch waiting up for him with some shitty reality show playing quietly in the background. But you’re three states away for work this week, and the apartment feels different without you in it. Too quiet.

Toji rubs at the back of his neck as he steps farther inside. “Megs?” No answer.

His brows knit immediately. The TV glows softly in the darkened living room, muted cartoons flickering against the walls, and there, curled into the corner of the couch beneath one of your blankets is Megumi.

The little boy’s shoulders shake silently. Toji freezes. “…Megumi?”

Megumi jerks slightly at the sound of his voice. Toji’s stomach twists immediately. His son’s face is blotchy red from crying. Tears cling wetly to his lashes while he presses both fists hard against his eyes like he’s trying to stop more from coming out.

Toji moves closer automatically. “What happened?”

Megumi shakes his head hard.

“Hey.” Toji crouches carefully in front of the couch. “Talk t’me, brat.”

Another shake. Then a tiny broken hiccup. Toji feels genuine panic start crawling unpleasantly up his spine. Megumi rarely cried like this anymore. Not since you. Not since the apartment started feeling stable and warm and safe.

Toji reaches out instinctively, rough palm brushing against the little boy’s knee. “C’mere.”

Megumi immediately scoots backward instead. “No.” The word is tiny. Wobbly. But it still hits Toji square in the chest.

“…What?”

“I want dad.”

Toji blinks once. His exhausted brain struggles to process the sentence properly. “I’m right here.”

Megumi’s face crumples harder instantly. “No,” he sobs, voice cracking. “I don’t want papa.”

The words land like a punch. Toji goes still.

Megumi curls tighter into the blanket, crying openly now. “I want dad…”

And suddenly Toji understands. Not papa. Dad. You.

The apartment goes strangely quiet around him for a second. Megumi’s tiny shoulders shaking beneath your blanket. Your blanket. The one Megumi drags around the apartment whenever you travel because it smells like your detergent and the stupid citrus fabric softener you always buy.

Toji stares at his son silently, and something in his chest aches so hard it almost feels unbearable. Because Megumi misses you. Not casually. Not in the vague fond way kids miss adults sometimes. No. This is the kind of missing that lives deep in little bones. The kind built slowly over bedtime stories and packed lunches and cartoon pancakes and warm hands helping tie tiny shoes before school. You carved yourself into Megumi’s life so gently that neither of them noticed it happening.

Until now.

Toji swallows hard. “…Hey,” he says quietly.

Megumi keeps crying. Toji’s never been good at this part. He knows how to fight. Survive. Bleed quietly. But comforting people… Especially people he loves… Still feels like trying to hold water in scarred hands.

He sits carefully on the edge of the couch instead. The cushions dip beneath his weight. Megumi doesn’t move away this time.

“That bad, huh?” Toji mutters softly.

Megumi sniffles miserably. “He always reads m’story.”

The tiny devastated way he says it nearly kills Toji instantly, because yeah, you do. Every night. Even when exhausted. Even when Megumi asks for the same dinosaur book six times in a row.

Toji rubs a hand slowly over his jaw. “He’ll call tomorrow.”

“I want him now.” Christ. Toji closes his eyes briefly. Then sighs.

“C’mere, Megs.” 

This time, after a long hesitant second Megumi crawls into his lap. Still crying. Toji wraps both arms around him automatically, holding the little boy carefully against his chest while tiny fingers clutch desperately at his hoodie.

“He said four sleeps,” Megumi mumbles tearfully.

“Yeah.”

“But it’s too many.”

Toji exhales slowly through his nose. You’d only been gone two days, and apparently both of them were handling it badly. He rests his chin lightly against Megumi’s messy hair.

“He misses you too, y’know.”

Megumi sniffles. “Really?”

“Hn.”

“How do you know?”

Because the apartment feels colder without you in it. Because Toji keeps reaching for you in bed before remembering the sheets beside him are empty. Because dinner tastes wrong when someone isn’t nagging him about eating vegetables. Because the silence feels heavier now that he’s learned what your laughter sounds like filling it.

But Megumi’s six.

So Toji just says quietly, “He called twice t’day askin’ about you.”

Megumi brightens slightly at that. “He did?”

“Wouldn’t shut up about how you’re probably forgettin’ to brush your teeth.”

“I never forget!”

“That’s what I said.”

Megumi huffs weakly against his chest. Toji’s hand drifts up automatically, fingers combing carefully through soft black hair.

He learned that from you. Everything soft, he learned from you. The realization settles heavily in his chest. A year ago, this apartment was barely livable. Megumi barely spoke. And Toji… Toji thought family was something that happened to other people.

Now his son cries because he misses bedtime stories from the man who painted over water stains and made clown pancakes and loved them both stupidly enough to stay.

“Papa?”

“Hm?”

Megumi tilts his head back slightly, eyes still watery. “Do you miss him too?”

Toji stills. Dangerous question. Tiny little thing. But dangerous. Megumi watches him with your same quiet patience. Waiting.

Toji looks away first. “…Yeah,” he mutters eventually.

The word comes rough. Honest. And maybe that’s what finally breaks something open in him. Because saying it out loud makes it real. You’re not temporary anymore. Not some soft thing passing through their lives. 

You’re woven into this place now.

Into Megumi.

Into him.

Megumi nods sleepily like the answer makes perfect sense. “Me too.”

Toji huffs out a quiet laugh through his nose. “Yeah, I know.”

The crying finally slows after that. Megumi sags heavily against him, exhausted from all the tears. Toji glances toward the clock. Too late to call you. You’re probably asleep in some hotel room across the country.

Still, he reaches for his phone anyway. Megumi notices immediately.

“Calling dad?”

“Nah.” Toji opens the camera instead.

Megumi blinks. “What’re you doing?”

Toji angles the phone carefully toward the two of them. “Quit lookin’ confused,” he mutters. “He’s gonna lose his mind if he finds out you cried this hard without him.”

Megumi giggles weakly despite himself. There it is. That tiny sound. Toji snaps the picture before Megumi can hide his face. Then another. One where Megumi’s tucked sleepily against his chest beneath your blanket. Safe. Loved. Home.

Toji stares at the photo for a long second before finally typing out a message beneath it.

your kid misses you.

think he’s emotionally manipulative.

come home soon.

He hesitates. Then adds, after another second:

we both do.

Megumi’s already half asleep against him by the time the message sends. Toji sets the phone aside carefully before leaning back into the couch. 

The apartment stays quiet around them. Soft. Waiting. And for the first time in his life, Toji Fushiguro realizes missing someone can feel a whole lot like love.

[cilceon]

Only thing from the Met Gala that matters btw

[milesick]

easy lovers. . .

pairing: dick grayson x fem!reader

summary: falling in love with each other was easy—a little too easy. after a series of dates and getting to know the other better, it was only a matter of time, right? no longer able to hold it in, dick finds himself desperate and decides that tonight will not end until he gets to walk home with a kiss, from you.

notes: 4.1k words…. fluff!! with a side of nasty kissing, dick is absolutely fed up and DESPERATE, reader has never had a boyfriend before so dick is the very first guy you’ve ever been with. so many feelings and love and yearning you guys are so obsessed with each other its genuinely DISGUSTING. but dick is like way worse because at least half of this is him yearning for you,,,, also a lot of making out...dick literally eats ur face. all the dialogue is later in gomenasorry. written with black reader in mind >0<

Dick Grayson was on a mission. Tonight’s date, he decided, was going to be extra special than usual. Why, you ask? Because tonight, he was going to secure his kiss from you—poor, unsuspecting, you.

Tonight marked the 8th date you guys have gone on ever since your first meeting at a late-night convenience store around the corner of his apartment, where the once peaceful environment was interrupted by a measly burglar waving his gun around with arrogance and the demand of money.

It was the one night when Dick wasn’t in costume and was nursing a severely bruised body from a villain he had encountered two days earlier. The situation irritated him even more than he already was—Bruce was still chewing his ass out over a case that he was working on; he still needed to go to work with his bruised body because he can’t exactly let them know what violent activities he’s up to at night and his injuries—now this.

So it’s an understatement when saying the burglar was dealt with easily and quickly, as Dick was able to disarm him before the man could even take another step towards another innocent customer—someone Dick learned later was you.

The anticlimactic moment ended with the man scrambling out of the store with much less confidence than before, the store clerk shakily thanking Dick with the promise of free items of his choice tonight and the next time he comes in. Accepting the gratitude, Dick was ready to go home with the multitude of free items in his grocery bag--until he spotted you.

Standing near the entrance, dressed in sweatpants about twice your actual size with a hoodie you were equally drowned in, Dick found you absolutely radiant. He wasn’t someone who believed in love at first sight beforehand, but now? Certainly, this is what it means.

It took him a few seconds of silence and staring at you with an open mouth, like a goldfish for him to realize that you were speaking to him, and just like the store clerk. you were thanking him profusely for saving you from the gun that was previously pointed to you. Dick can't remember what happened after that. But he does remember walking out of the store a happy man, your phone number having found its way into his phone.

Back in the present, Dick knew that maybe 8 dates was a little too much to come to this decision; after all, for him it was only on date number 2 that he knew he wanted you, badly. But he knew he had to be patient, especially after you revealed that you’ve never been in a relationship—or on a date at all. It was for this reason that he decided to take things slow and wait for a sign that you wanted him too.

By now, he’s reached his limit.

Every other date you’ve had prior to this had been more casual: going out for coffee, the arcade, movie nights at his place (more often yours because he absolutely adores your cat, mocha), grocery shopping together, and going for a stroll in Melville Park to walk Haley, his adorable pitbull you fell in love with.

Tonight, Dick took you to a nice restaurant with tables reserved on its rooftop. He knew you weren’t someone who frequented fancy restaurants too often, so he found a solid one just in between fancy and casual.

Dinner was going well, and you were absolutely perfect. He’d told you beforehand to come wearing a blue outfit, and the dress you wore had surpassed his expectations so much that he considered dropping down on one knee right then and there before ever asking you to be his girlfriend, if it wasnt apparent just how much it affected him seeing that colour on you with his lovesick gaze the entire night.

The dress you’re wearing is dark blue silk, the kind of colour that shifts like midnight water under the lighting of the restaurant's stringed lights. It drapes across your frame in a way that seems deliberate, highlighting your curves, and Dick feels his mouth dry at how it complements your brown skin—like the colour was meant to be worn by you, and you alone.

The glow of your upper body lets him know of the shea butter you’d rubbed on yourself, your legs that slip through the slit sharing the same glow.

The matching gold jewelry you wear and the updo you’ve done with your curls make him fight demons he never even knew he had, wanting to jump over the table to show you how much he loves you.

It truly doesn’t help how much he’s reminded of his Nightwing costume every time he looks at you.

He finds himself murmuring more compliments than usual because he can’t contain how much it moves him. The blue that once belonged only to his suit now belongs to you too, and he adores it—adores you—in a way he can’t keep from showing.

Dick finds himself craving dessert earlier than usual.

But he knows he has to act accordingly; he can’t afford to scare you away. So he does what he’s best at and eyes you with a disgustingly lovesick, yearning look as if he’s some schoolboy with his very first crush for the entire night as you guys chat over dinner.

He pays even closer attention to you than ever (if that’s even possible), maintaining intense eye contact with every word delivered in the air, squeezing your manicured hand (that has the nails he paid for) while you excitedly share the plot of the most recent book you read last weekend, and feeding you some of the food he’s ordered (you protested against stealing his food, but he insisted, claiming, “It’s my duty to feed you.” how do you even respond to that?).

Overall, dinner was perfect. He thinks this is the best date you guys have been on so far, as after dinner he surprises you with tickets to the movie he remembers you wanted to see when it came out.

What a coincidence that today happens to be its release date, and the happy squeal it pulled from you once he revealed the surprise made the rest of his year, he thinks. It’s something he could listen to on repeat for hours and never get sick of.

As the night got darker and you got tired, Dick knew it was time to take you home. As much as he’d love for this night to continue, he doesn’t want to keep you up later than you’re used to.

It brings you both to his car, pulling up into the neighbourhood of your apartment complex, the car filled with a comfortable silence as you gaze out to the passing buildings. His jacket covers your previously bare shoulders during the car ride after he’d noticed the goosebumps rising on your skin (he wouldn’t quit sulking at the fact that you didn’t tell him anything about you being cold and forced you inside his jacket desite your protests).

Parked in front of your building, you unbuckled your seatbelt and grabbed your purse, ready to thank him for tonight once again and wish him a goodnight—before you were surprised with him unbuckling himself and turning off the engine. He paused his actions when he spotted your questioning stare.

“What? You thought I was gonna let you walk up there alone? Absolutely not,” Dick huffed, quickly circling around the car to open your door and making space for you as you stepped out. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t walk you to your door? I need to make sure you make it inside safely, you know.”

Normally you would’ve been your own ride home (he’s never liked it but agreed if it made you happy), but Dick insisted that he’s the one who drives you home this time.

Dick walks you into your building, already knowing his way around from past visits, and unlocks the lobby’s door with his own copy of your keys, then leads you further into the elevators with a hand on your back that’s still covered by his jacket.

It’s almost pathetic how during the entire elevator ride, the two of you are stealing glances at each other—oblivious of the other person’s nervous shifting. Dick knows that it’s tonight that he gets that kiss from you.

At last, when having reached your door, it’s as though the once simmering tension has announced its presence, and settles in the air between the two of you. As you turn to face him with your back to your door, he gives you a soft smile that lets butterflies rise in your stomach, the warm orange lighting that complements his tanned skin doing nothing to help.

If anything, it makes whatever you’re feeling worse, and you don’t know if you can keep acting oblivious to your true feelings.

“I had a really great time,” his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, your full attention back on him, “And I really loved our conversations tonight. I'd love to do something like this again, with you.” His tone at the end has a hopeful implication. He hopes he doesn’t come off as too desperate, but part of him can’t get himself to care.

He thinks now would be the perfect time for that kiss, but he doesn’t want to pressure you. Dick knows it would kill him to ruin what you guys have, and this might be the most nervous he’s ever been in his entire life.

“Yeah?” You ask with a hint of shyness, holding your hands behind your back. “Thank you, Dick. I had a really great time with you tonight, too. The movie made me really happy and...I’m glad you remembered that small detail.”

Dick feels his heart practically melting at the sound of your voice. Your obvious nervousness only boosts his confidence in what he plans on doing, and he can’t get over how much he loves your voice. You’re so adorable. He thinks to himself.

His next smile is a lot more dorky, cheeks warm with his dimples coming out to reveal themselves. It’s your favourite feature on him, right after his blue, blue eyes, you think. You both feel like high schoolers again with a pathetic crush. “Nothing you tell me is ever small.”

He’s taken aback by how fond he let that come out of his mouth, but he decides it’s worth it when your eyes avert down to your feet—flustered. It’s his favourite look on you.

But he knows just like this isn’t enough. This thought leads him to slowly reach for your arms behind your back, gently uncrossing them while his hands trail down to hold your own. He searches your eyes for any discomfort before intertwining them, when having found none, his calloused palms swallow your smaller, softer ones. The contrast does nothing but make his heart beat faster.

It’s when you look up at him with wide, glimmering dark eyes filled with hope and a drop of insecurity that it clicks—you are the woman he wishes to share his life with.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t have a crush on him. It was impossible not to, with his easygoing grin that you’ve observed goes toe to toe with the sun itself. With each action done with careful consideration of you, with each compliment given, with each laugh he’s pulled out of you, with each dinner cooked together, with each night spent on his fire escape with shoulders touching– each day learning about what makes you, you.

It was too easy falling in love with Dick Grayson.

And that scared you.

Similarly to Dick, it was around the third date that you knew you wanted something blooming between you.

Love. What a strange concept for a girl who’s never fallen in love.

You find that the only reason why you hadn’t initiated anything further with him is because you’re unsure if this is how the process goes. Along with the slight insecurity of slipping up if you did, with Dick having more experience than you did. Soon those worries disappeared, because Dick had done nothing but soothe them.

Every moment where you felt as though you needed to initiate anything physical beyond what you were used to, he noticed, and every anxious thought was blown away with a simple reassuring smile.

He never said more than a quiet, “It’s okay,” because to him it was always about your comfort before anything.

He’s never made you feel forced to do anything, content to lead you through each encounter until you found the moment you were ready.

You realize as soon as he holds your hands in his—he’s the one for you.

Dick chuckles softly at the look in your eye and squeezes your hands gently. His blue eyes, nearly swallowed up by his dilated pupils, are fixed on yours, studying your reaction with an intensity that makes you want to squirm. He can feel how warm your skin is and his heart feels like it could pop out of his chest.

With a deep breath, Dick takes another step closer, now only inches apart. He lifts a hand to lift your chin ever-so-slightly, making you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. Dark eyes meet blue.

You swallow thickly as your eyes remain locked on each other, feeling his other hand move down to your waist. His expression is so vulnerable and raw as he looks down at you, and you think you might throw up from nerves alone. Your eyes water as these thoughts circle through your mind.

It doesn’t take detective skills to read you like a book. He can tell what you’re thinking. He knows the reason you’re unsure as you begin shaking in his arms. His thumb traces slow circles against your jaw, coaxing you to relax. He hopes you can’t hear how fast his heart is beating, how he’s memorizing the sound of your soft breaths.

The two of you are the only ones in the hallway at the risk of being seen by neighbours, but neither of you can find it in you to care.

"You okay?" He murmurs softly, searching your face with those impossibly blue eyes. There's no teasing now–just genuine care and something achingly tender beneath it all. "I can... we can stop if—"

(But the way he lingers shows he really doesn’t want to stop.)

"No!" you interject louder than intended to, freezing when you realized ust how loud that came out. A surprised laugh bubbles out of him at your sudden outburst, the sound warm and so fond. That adorable reaction just makes him squeeze you a tiny bit closer.

"N—no, I... this is okay. I'm okay." You finish softly, heart aching for more. You’re incredibly greedy when it comes to his touch, and you don’t feel a drop of shame for it.

"Good," he murmurs, leaning in until his forehead brushes yours—so close you can feel his breath against your lips. His free hand lifts to cradle your cheek now, thumb sweeping beneath your eye to catch that traitorous wetness before it falls.

"Because I really wanna kiss you right now," he admits in a whisper, grinning that stupid lopsided grin that makes your stomach flip. "But only if you really want me to."

Your heart almost stutters to a stop, and your gaze is consumed by nothing but want. Your pupils were almost as blown as his, and the way the wind blows, tussling at his wavy hair, drives you crazy. You melt against him as your foreheads touch, letting out a shaky breath.

It’s as you lose yourself in the pool of his impossibly blue eyes that you realize death doesn't scare you if it's by drowning in his eyes.

You lean into his warm palm, memorizing the sweet scent of his cologne. You give your answer in a hushed tone, as though sharing a secret that's to remain between the two of you alone. "I really wanna kiss you, too."

It sends a shiver down his spine. Holy smokes, he thinks to himself. You look like a dream.

The world seems to melt away as he gazes down at you with an intensity that is both gentle and smoldering. Dick can feel your breath on his lips, and it drives him insane.

"Damn," he mutters roughly, his voice suddenly raw with emotion, "you're going to be the death of me."

It's the only time he'll use the Lord's name in vain.

Just like that, he can't hold back any longer. The dam breaks, and he closes the last meager distance between the two of you, capturing your mouth in a deep, starved kiss.

A cut off gasp is swallowed by his lips, your eyes tightly shutting closed as your lips lock with his— and you feel alive. This is your very first kiss, and it's one you will never forget.

Dick’s arms circle your waist completely, pulling you flush against his body as his one hand slides up your spine until his fingers thread into your hair, tilting your head back as he kisses you with everything he has.

If it weren't for his arms holding you up, your knees would have buckled. He can feel how your body shakes with nerves and anticipation against his lips, and he can’t resist brushing his tongue over your bottom lip, groaning at the rewarding whimper he gets.

The smack of your lips is nasty; after each smack comes the sound of a deep groan which then triggers a breathy whine. Your blood is rushing to your head, and you think you might die. You’re suddenly immensely grateful for living on a nearly empty floor.

DIck groans low in his throat when he feels your grip tighten on his dress shirt, like you’re terrified he might pull away. As if he would ever want to. His tongue teases along your bottom lip again—asking without words.

His other hand drops from your chin to squeeze your hip possessively, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp against his mouth.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs between feverish kisses, voice wrecked already, "c'mon, open up for me."

That tone—half praise and half demand—sends a bolt of heat straight through you. Holy shit. You’re embarrassed at the mewl that escapes you at the pet name. Please call me that again, please, please—

It's almost instantaneous that you open your mouth, giving his tongue access. The pleased chuckle that escapes him makes your entire body flare up in warmth. It felt good, getting his approval.

Dick takes full advantage of your obedience, the kiss turning downright filthy as he explores your mouth, his tongue coaxing against yours in the most distracting way. He groans again, a hungry, guttural sound that reverberates through his chest. He has to have more of you.

"Dick—" you whine against his lips as the smacking of lips circles around the small, dark quiet hallway. You find out just how easy it is to forget your surroundings when Dick Grayson is all-consuming in your mind, and on your lips.

The sound of his name on your lips grows his greed, wanting to own every gasp and whine and whimper you make. When your tongue brushes against his, something ignites in him, some feral, possessive feeling that makes his skin burn. You're so cute; he feels like a starved animal.

He pulls away with a wet sound, breathing heavily against your lips and resting his forehead against yours. He can feel your heart racing. He presses one last desperate peck to your lips.

"God," he mumbles raggedly, "you're doing things to me, sweetheart."

"I d-didn't do anything," you pant quietly, catching your breath as a string of drool remains between the two of you—your eyes half-lidded.

Dick stares at your face, taking in your flushed cheeks, the way you pant, and that adorable little strand of drool—God, he is so obsessed with you it isn't even funny.

His hands roam your body, one still gripping your hip and the other sliding up to cup your cheek, his calloused thumb tracing your kiss-swollen bottom lip, wiping away the wetness. You resist the urge to take his thumb in your mouth where it sits against your lip.

"Baby, look at you," he murmurs, gaze darkening as he looks down at you. "I could eat you alive right now." His comment makes you squawk. "Please don't," you sigh weakly, a protesting frown on your lips.

"I won't," he murmurs between nips and pecks along your jaw, "not unless you ask very nicely." He punctuates it with a slow drag of his teeth against your pulse point before pulling away just enough to see the reaction on your face.

His fingers tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear as his expression softens into something warmer—something more like home. "But I should probably get going before I actually do something reckless."

Oh. Yeah.

"You should..." You realize sadly that as much as you wanted to stay out longer with him, you couldn't risk getting in trouble with your roommate. "I wish you didn't have to," you murmur sadly, looking down at your heels.

His face falls for a second, reading the disappointment in your tone instantly. Dick pulls you back into a tight hug, pressing his lips to the top of your head before sighing dramatically.

"Ugh, don't look at me like that," he whines, squeezing you lightly as he rests his chin on your head. "You're gonna make me stay. And then I'll have to explain to your roommate why I'm camped out on your doorstep like some lovesick stray."

You couldn’t resist the giggle at his comment, equally wrapping your arms around him. You’re overwhelmed and also not whelmed (heh, yj ref) enough by his scent. “I would've let you stay the night like usual, but she just came back from vacation. Sorry, Dick.”

He only sulks above you, letting out one last dramatic sigh. He’s as dramatic as ever. “It’d be easier if I could just bring you back to mine,” Dick huffs enviously. “If only life were so easy.”

“You talk like I won’t just see you soon, silly. I promised Haley treats.”

“So you only like me for my dog?”

“Crap, you caught me...” you grin, unbothered

He lets out an undignified squawk, your laughther following up with the dramatics.

“To be fair, she’s super adorable. I can’t resist her eyes; she’s just a baby!”

“I’ll have you know, I was the one who trained her. Her cuteness is a direct reflection of me.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine, fine. Maybe I like you a little too.

Dick beams instantly, smug as ever. “I knew it.”

He pulls back just enough to cup your face again—and this time, there's no joking in those stupidly blue eyes. Just something painfully sincere.

"But I’ll see you soon? Like… really soon?" His thumb traces the apple of your cheek hopefully.

You nod eagerly, returning his hopeful smile with a tender one of your own. “Yeah...I’d like that.” You confess quietly, holding his hand against your cheek.

His smile brightens immediately, boyish and so unfairly charming. You hate him. "Good," he murmurs, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead before finally—reluctantly—stepping back.

Dick walks backwards to the elevator like an idiot, unable to tear his eyes away from you. "And hey," he adds with a grin that promises trouble, fingers tapping against his chest where his heart is still racing. "You did this to me."

You can’t resist a laugh at his antics, pulling out your keys from your purse as he gets closer to the elevator. You grin like a lovesick teenager—you both do. “I sure did, Golden Boy. Call me when you get home?”

“Always,” he promises, taking a moment to admire your glowing figure under the warm lighting. He stuffs his hands in his pockets to keep himself from walking back over and hauling you into his arms again.

It’s when you unlock your door and give him one last smile that he dramatically blows you a kiss, his heart warming even further when you playfully catch it.

Dick’s grin softens one last time, pausing as the elevator doors open. “Goodnight, baby.” He tells you. You parrot after him. “Goodnight, Dickie.” Only you know how much that nickname makes his heart flutter.

And then—just like that—you disappear into your apartment.

(you only realize minutes later thanks to your roommate that you completely forgot to hand back his jacket. when mentioning this to dick he only laughs and tells you to keep it as a souvenir.)

dont forgot to like & reblog! thank you for reading. <3

@chifuyukisser @sweets3rial @belongstomel

[galecstatic]

biblically accurate tlg hollanov i am SALIVATING

[dragon-in-a-fez]

the thing about being "good with kids" is all it takes is literally just not trying to control and mould them with every interaction. it's just being a normal person and engaging with them through normal interactions like having conversations and playing games. it's just being genuine and friendly and not perceiving them as lumps of wet clay you are there to shape. "oh you're so good with kids" thanks it's because I think they are people

[hippopopotame]

song: "fuck your face" by peaches - only fire remix

[riverofbrokensouls]

bear with me I am incredibly feverish right now

but trinity santos actively choosing not to go home when she knows she may relapse. trinity santos going out of her way to decompress in a healthy way, to make a new friend, when it would have been so, so easy to go home to that empty apartment and do something she'd regret.

to trinity (and to langdon, and to mckay), and to staying clean even when its fucking hard

she's so important to me

[patrochilles-or-bust]

Shout out to all the Black ppl that can no longer participate directly in the fandom they love because of the stresses of racism 👍🏾 you contain multitudes of value and I'm sorry that the color of your skin and the power of your voice makes people not want to acknowledge that.

[patrochilles-or-bust]

Yes, nonblack people can reblog. I'd appreciate it, in fact, if y'all took the time to vocally support your Black friends/fans in fandom.

[lavenderprose]

The thing about Hollanov is that they are constantly having nasty mean sex and Shane is like, yeah. That’s great that’s normal. As long as they kiss Shane is like Okay :) Yay :) Thanks Rozanov, see you in a few months. Stands up straightens his clothes and walks out the door and that’s it. Somewhere behind him Ilya is staring at the ceiling. Reeling.

Then they go to that god forsaken cottage and they have the kind of face-to-face under the blankets condomless sex that even the Pope couldn’t disapprove of and Shane is crying. Gnashing his teeth. Losing his fucking mind. The emotional release is fucking agony. Ilya says you are perfect you are beautiful and you are MINE and Shane almost safewords. Ilya says I’m making love to you do you like it do you like it when I make love to you and the bedsheets are tangled around Shane’s ankles and he feels like he’s going to die. Ilya says Shane Shane Shane and to Shane it’s the most perverted thing he has ever fucking done.

[sosaneitsinsane]

fall in love again and again...

please do not repost without crediting me. find me on instagram, twitter, and tiktok. you can also support me by subscribing to my patreon newsletter.

[the-ladyrae]

That was delicious. I genuinely don't think I've seen anyone line up those scene parallels so well before. This was a perfect snapshot of every branch, rock, and mattress they hit on their way down

[gravelocked]

morning sex with your husband !

“husband.” reo whispered against your lips, his leg thrown over your thigh, his hands gently shaking you awake. “wake up.”

you fluttered your eyes open, blearily looking around, “reo? what time is it..?” you rubbed your eyes with your knuckles, looking around for the clock in your hotel suite.

“don’t worry about that, just focus on me.” reo giggled, moving over to slot himself between your thighs. “i just can’t get enough of you, ever since i married you.” he grabbed the lube and condom from the bedside table, uncapping the bottle and pouring a generous amount on his two primary digits.

“you don’t mind, hm? i’ll do all the work, promise.” reo reached down to tug the sheets away, exposing your naked lower half littered with red blooming marks, his handiwork. he pushed the two digits inside of you without much resistance, your entrance still loose from last night’s doings.

“ah—baby, just put it in..wan’ it bad..” you whined, voice weak. reo pulled his fingers out quick, replacing them with his cock. “never going to make you wait, love.” he pressed a tender kiss to your cheek before thrusting in slow.

you both moaned simultaneously as he bottomed out inside of your tight heat. “you feel so good..” reo slurred, already drunk off the feel of you. his hand held yours, fingers interlacing with yours, his ring finger against yours.

“my husband, mine. all mine.” he punctuated his words with a hard thrust, sending you up the bed. “mmh—reo!” you sobbed, hands flying to grip reo’s shoulders, to steady yourself.

“i know babyboy, i know.” reo hooked one of your legs on his shoulder, his hips rolling into you. “baby, i’m so close. you do this to me, i can’t even last so long when i’m inside you.” reo grunted, head thrown back.

it didn’t take long before reo spilled inside of the condom he had rolled on, the plastic inflating inside of you. you came a while after, whole body shaking and a keening cry tearing from your throat.

reo pulled out after, tying the condom off and tossing it in the dustbin and grabbing a paper towel from nearby. he cuddled up close to you right after, sated and sleepy.

“go back to bed, husband.” reo kissed your cheek, cleaning up the mess on your stomach with the towel. “i’ll treat you to breakfast in bed when you wake up.”

you nodded, pressing a light peck to reo’s lips before drifting off to bed. reo finished cleaning you up and crumpled the paper towel up, aiming for the dustbin. but missed.

“ah, fuck it.”

a/n: my dc server chose this draft ayyee

2025-2026 — @reositos ★ don’t copy/modify/translate/repost to other sites. also don’t feed my work to ai.

[triassictriserratops]

it drives me absolutely insane to consider that the entire WORLD will know that Shane Hollander's dick game is SO STRONG that it locked down Confirmed Slut™ Ilya Rozanov.

Dick Game© so strong that Ilya Rozanov wanted a shared bank account.

Gobble Game© so filthy that Ilya Rozanov sold his sports cars.

Crank Game© so lethal that Ilya Rozanov said #ShaneHollandersHusband.

Shane Hollander will go down as the most legendary lay the NHL will have ever produced.

[yonglixx]

this is fine i’m fine 🤧🤧

[sexy-people-contests-2026]

I always forget there are maga people on tumblr, this doesn’t feel like a website you’d find them on, so to keep them away:

Reblog if your blog is a maga free zone because if it wasn’t clear enough fuck ice, fuck maga, fuck Trump, Fuck Rowling, and fuck all the other bigots I missed

[bugslibraryy]

The first time Shane calls Ilya baby, they are half asleep, exhausted limbs heavy they finally have a night together, two actually, a tiny bit of time together to fall asleep in the same bed, wake up together. Shane had missed that the most from the cottage, desperately, the intimacy of a shared bed, of waking up with Ilya on his chest, sprawled out and head heavy, sweat at his hairline. He missed the feeling of Ilya reaching for him first thing in the morning, waking up to his pouted dry lips and sleep heavy voice.

Anyway it’s the middle of the night, or early morning at this point almost, and Shane is fucking exhausted, sore, he’d been checked hard, more than once in his last game and the the long drive to Ilya right after had left his muscles stiff. He is warm, but doesn’t have the full weight of Ilya, just the tangle of his legs, and Shane wants him, but he’s so half or like almost fully asleep he can’t even make himself roll over closer to Ilya yet. Then Ilya moves, but it’s away from Shane, he’s climbing off the bed and Shane frowns, pouts into his pillow as he listens to Ilya plod sleepy heavy footsteps into the bathroom, feet scuffling. He listens to Ilya walking away from him and he misses him sorely, it’s a pathetic lonely thing, a achey pit under his ribs that feels like notimenotimenotime.

He wants him back, here, now, buried under the hours they have together. Ilya isn’t leaving, (he or Shane is always leaving) but not right now. He wakes a little more, just enough to shuffle onto his side sluggishly, into the head Ilya left behind. He listens to Ilya pee, flush, wash his hands and shuffle shuffle back to Shane, back to their bed. Shane wants him so intensely in that moment, the weight of him crawling back into their bed that his whole body thrums with it, aches, deeply. It fuses with a heady joy of knowing Ilya is crawling back into bed with him. His boyfriend, their bed, them. Shaneandilya how it’s been since the first time, a universe between them, the whole word between their mouths, hands, bodies.

Ilyas steps are slow heavy and Shane wants him here now he wants the heat, weight, shoulders of Ilya right against him. He forces, half lidded, his tired eyes to open just so, watches the shape of Ilya as he gets to the edge of the bed.

Shane reaches his hand out, grabby fingers, licks his lips and half whines, simpers, too tired to ask what he wants to explain that he has this cloying aching insane need for Ilya in that moment- to feel him, to know he knows him, to reach for his boy in the middle of the night and have his hand touch Ilyas skin not his sheets, Ilya two hours away. He wants to want him and have him.

Ilya is in the bed with a press of the mattress, all limbs and warm and his Ilya there, humming back to Shane, a nonsense sound and flops himself half on Shane, wriggling against him to knock their limbs into fitting together somehow, too sleepy to make proper work of it.

But Shane, Shane wants to cuddle properly he wants to be pressed together, wants to feel the shifting of Ilyas breathing, wants to be held.

“Come here baby” Shane breaths, the words half formed an kinda mushed together as he properly pulls Ilyas body over him, hand in his hair to fit his face to the curve of his neck, pressed close and warm.

Ilya lets out a soft keening noise and Ilyas arms, strong and firm and warm squeeze around him, collects him up into his chest tighter, they fall asleep in the next few breaths.

(The second time Shane calls him baby, he’s lucky enough to see the blush that pinks across the high of Ilyas face)

[sadisticslut666]

Your best friend Toji loves suckin’ your tits

cw: explicit smut, creampie, your best friend toji can’t help but suck on your tits when they’re in his face.

You’re standing between his knees on the sagging couch, legs bracketing his spread thighs, trying to salvage something resembling “professional” out of his perpetually fucked-up hair.

He’s got an important meeting in like forty-five minutes—some back-alley deal with a couple ex-sorcerers who apparently pay stupid money for stupid jobs. “Good payout,” he’d grunted when he asked you to fix him up. That’s Toji code for “don’t ask questions and don’t make me late.”

You’re working fast. One hand cups the back of his head, steadying him; the other rakes through the damp black strands with a little water from a spray bottle and a pea-sized dollop of the cheap gel you keep in your bathroom drawer. His hair’s thick, stubborn, always falling into that lazy, dangerous flop over his forehead no matter what you do.

Your tank top is way too short and at least one size too small—rides up with every reach. You lean in closer to get the front right, elbows brushing his shoulders. The fabric stretches tight across your chest. One wrong shift and—Pop!

Your left tit slips free entirely, nipple already half-hard from the cool air and the friction of cotton all morning. It’s right there—swaying an inch from his nose. Toji goes still. You don’t notice at first. Too focused on sculpting that one rogue piece that refuses to behave. Then you feel it: warm breath ghosting over sensitive skin. Then—

His mouth closes around your nipple in one smooth, shameless motion. A wet, sucking pull. Tongue circling around your sensitive nipple. Your whole body locks up and you look down. “Toji—” he doesn’t stop, sucking harder as his cheeks hollow, as he laps at your breast. His eyes are half lidded, he’s clearly enjoying himself.

“Toji, what the fu—” Your nipple’s swollen, glistening, darker than the rest of you now, and the cool air after his mouth feels like a slap.

“They were right there,” he says again, rough hands running up your legs. His thumb brushes the crease where thigh meets ass. “Swingin’ in my face while you’re playin’ hairdresser. What’d you expect?”

You’re still standing between his spread thighs, his knees bracketing your legs, that stupid too-small tank top shoved up under your tits now from all the movement. You can see the thick outline of his cock straining against his sweats. “I was trying to make you look presentable for your shady little meeting,” you manage, trying for annoyed but landing somewhere closer to breathless. “Not… this.”

He smirks, green eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Yeah?” He leans forward again, just enough to drag the flat of his tongue over the wet peak he just abandoned. You twitch, thighs squeezing together on instinct. “You’re doin’ a shit job of actin’ mad about it, princess.”

His free hand comes up, cups the underside of the breast he hasn’t touched yet, thumb brushing over the neglected nipple until it pebbles tight. Then he’s guiding it slowly toward his mouth too, giving you every second to pull away. But you don’t.

Instead your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan. The sound vibrates through you again and you feel yourself get wetter, slick gathering at the tops of your thighs. “Toji,” you whisper, half plea now. “You’ve got that meeting in—”

“Fuck the meeting,” he mutters, voice muffled as he latches onto the second nipple, sucking harder this time. His hand on your ass finally slides higher, fingers dipping under the hem of your shorts, finding damp cotton and pressing against your clit.

You choke on a moan, knees buckling. He steadies you, “Been watchin’ these tits spill out every damn time you lean over for months,” he growls against your skin, switching back to the first nipple like he can’t decide which one he likes better. “You think I don’t notice? Think I’m not hard as fuck every time you ‘accidentally’ flash me?”

He nips and your hips jerk forward against his hand.“Say stop,” he rasps, finally pulling back far enough to look up at you. Lips shiny, pupils blown. “Say it and I’ll stop. We’ll fix my hair, I’ll go make my sketchy money, and we’ll pretend this never happened.”

His fingers flex against your soaked panties—“Or…” He drags his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting you there. “You can keep standin’ there lettin’ me suck on you till you’re drippin’ down my wrist. Your call, baby.”

His free hand grips your ass, kneading, spreading you open a little as his fingers dip lower—two sliding through your folds, coating themselves before pushing inside slow. You clench around him instantly moaning, “Toji—oh god—”

“Yeah, that’s it,” he growls. You can’t even form words—just a needy whine as he switches breasts again, sucking the other one deep while his thumb rubs messy circles over your clit.

When you finally slump forward, forehead dropping to the top of his head, he eases his fingers out slow, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean with a satisfied hum. “Good girl,” he rasps, pulling them free with a soft pop. “Now turn around.”

Before you can even process it, his big hands are on your hips, spinning you so your back is to him. He yanks your shorts and panties the rest of the way down in one rough tug, letting them tangle around your ankles. Then he’s hauling you back, sitting you down hard on his lap so your bare ass lands right on the fat, throbbing length of him still trapped in his sweats.

You grind back on instinct, slick pussy lips sliding along the thick ridge of his cock through the thin barrier. He shifts under you—hips lifting just a fraction—and you feel the slow drag of fabric as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband and his cock flaps free. The fat head pops past your tight hole and into your wet cunt. “You’re such a perv,” you gasp, “All those times I ‘accidentally’ flashed you in the kitchen? Under the car hood when I was helpin’ with your junker? You were just sittin’ there gettin’ boners, huh?”

“Damn right.” He nibbles at you ear as he bounces you. “That time at the beach? Bikini top slippin’ while you bent over for the cooler? Nearly nutted in my trunks right there in front of everybody.” He punctuates it with a sharp slap to your inner thigh, “And don’t get me started on laundry day. Your shitty dryer always eatin’ your bras—tits bouncin’ free every time you reach for the high shelf. Been jerkin’ off to that for weeks, princess.”

“Fuck—you never said shit.” You’re panting now, grinding faster, the wet schlick of your pussy against his cock. “Why would I? You kept doin’ it.” He nips your shoulder, free hand coming up to maul your breast again—pinching the nipple he’d sucked raw earlier until you yelp.

You glance down between your bodies just in time to see it—his cock glistening, veins bulging, coated in your cream every time you lift up. The sight makes you clench hard; he curses under his breath, hips snapping up harder in retaliation. “Shit—do that again.”

You do—squeezing down on every upstroke, fluttering around the head when he’s almost out, you’re arching back against his chest, head thrown on his shoulder. “Gonna cum already?” he taunts, “Barely started and you’re shakin’ hard as hell.”

“Shut—shut up—” you gasp, but you’re too close, too full, too overwhelmed by his cock. “Just—don’t stop—fuck, Toji—” your whole body locks up, pussy spasming violently around him as you scream his name. His punishing thrusts, drawing it out until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and trembling.

“Fuck—good girl—cummin’ so hard on me—” His rhythm stutters as hot pulses fill your pussy, you can feel it leaking down your thighs, warm and sticky, mixing with your own mess.

Eventually he huffs a laugh, voice hoarse. “Hair’s completely fucked now.” You snort weakly, “Your meeting…”

“Fuck the meeting.” He nuzzles into your neck, one hand sliding up to cup your breast again, thumb circling the swollen nipple. “Got better things to do. Like gettin’ you to the bedroom so I can eat this pussy properly. Wanna taste what we just made.”

a/n: ima whore for a good titty suck like fuckkkkk

[barbie-verse]

heated rivalry twitter (40/?) in honour of connor's birthday, here are the people ilya loves exposing his deepest secret: that he's a big ole softie