୭̥⋆*｡ be my ny when hollywood hates me ୭̥⋆*｡ you’re only as hot as your last hit baby
|| lee || 37 || she/they || older brother fucker || || masterlist || wip list || rules || my ocs || ao3 ||
content warning: multifandom, 18+ content, nsfw, dark content, villain fucking, older brother fucking/simping, monster fucking, villain apologist, not spoiler free, you have been warned
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I disabled my comments section because it was full of bots trying to scam people
how someone sets their boundaries has absolutely nothing to do with censorship.
censorship is when someone tries to control other people what they can or can’t create and consume.
censorship is not about a random person disabling their own comments section for whatever reason. censorship is not about people blocking other people on social media as their way of setting boundaries and curating their internet experience. censorship is not about disrespecting other people’s boundaries and censorship is not about tolerating it when other people disrespect you or your boundaries.
so your comment is entirely irrelevant to the point. I say censorship is bad. you say but the sky is not green.
まほあこ by Miyon [Twitter/X]
※Illustration shared with permission from the artist. If you like this artwork please support the artist by visiting the source.
Imagine: When Follo returned from the mission, you did not hear his footsteps right away. First, you heard someone quietly curse behind the door, and then came a dull thud, as if a shoulder had accidentally hit the doorframe.
“Everything’s fine, really. I can do it myself.”
And without a doubt, it was him.
You set your cup down on the table and rose just as Follo stepped inside. He was still wearing his work clothes, covered in dust. His cap sat crookedly, the goggles on it pushed off to one side, and a thin scratch ran across his cheek, marked by a dried streak of blood. His right hand, however, he kept hidden behind his back.
“Don’t even start,” you said.
Follo froze in the doorway.
“I just came in.”
“You’ve got ‘I’m fine’ written all over your face.”
He blinked, then tried to smile.
“But I really…”
“Follo.”
The smile immediately turned guilty. He lowered his gaze.
“Alright. Maybe not completely.”
You silently pointed to the chair. He looked at it as if you had suggested not that he sit down, but that he confess to some terrible crime.
“I need to take the report first…” he mumbled.
“The report can wait.”
“And check the equipment…”
“The equipment too.”
“And I think Tomme’s fastener jammed again on…”
“Follo.”
He let out a noisy breath.
“You’re especially strict today.”
“Sit.”
Follo sat down, but not right away. First, it was as if he mentally ran through the list of everyone else’s problems once more, all the things he considered more important than his own hand. But then he finally sat, carefully resting his elbow on the table.
You went to the shelf, took out the first-aid kit, and placed it beside him.
“Show me.”
He hesitated.
“It’s nothing serious.”
“I didn’t ask for commentary. I asked you to show me your hand.”
Follo looked up at you from under his brows.
“Are you always this bossy with injured people?”
“Only with the ones who try to run away from treatment.”
He gave a quiet huff of amusement, but still held out his hand. And immediately, you no longer felt like joking: his knuckles were split, a long mark stretched across his palm as if his skin had been dragged over rough metal or stone, and his fingers trembled slightly from overstrain, though Follo was trying with all his might to keep them steady.
You frowned.
“And this is what you call ‘nothing serious’?”
“It could be worse.”
“I don’t like answers like that.”
He turned his gaze toward the window. Beyond the glass, evening was slowly settling in. Dust hung in the air like a murky golden haze, and the usual sharp noise of headquarters now sounded muted. As if the whole world had stepped back for a while, leaving only the two of you in a small room that smelled of antiseptic, old wood, and exhaustion.
You dampened the bandage and carefully touched his palm. Follo flinched.
“Does it hurt?” you asked.
“No,” he answered.
You lifted your eyes. He immediately corrected himself.
“A little.”
“That sounds more like the truth.”
Follo fell silent. You began to clean the wound. Slowly, trying not to press harder than necessary. He sat motionless, only occasionally clenching his teeth when the cloth brushed against a particularly sensitive spot.
“What happened?” you asked.
“A collapse.”
“On the mission?”
He nodded.
“One of the passages started coming down. We were almost out, but a guy from the technical team was still there. His leg got trapped under a beam. I thought I could make it in time.”
You gripped the bandage tighter between your fingers.
“And did you?”
Follo gave a quiet chuckle.
“I did.”
“And your hand?”
“My hand helped a lot with that.”
You looked at him. He tried to smile, but this time the smile came out completely crooked.
“I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“Of course. Your hand decided all on its own to go under the rubble.”
“I tried to stop it, honestly.”
You wanted to scold him. To tell him that he was reckless, that he did not have to rush forward every time as if his own pain meant nothing. That his body was not a tool he could use to pay for every saved second.
But Follo looked so tired that the words got stuck somewhere in your throat. He was not acting heroic for praise, and he was not showing off. He was not trying to prove to you how strong he was. He had simply done what he always did: seen someone who needed help and been unable to walk past. And that was exactly why you wanted, all at once, to smack his shoulder and pull him close.
“Are you angry?” he asked quietly.
You blinked. Follo was watching you carefully, almost guiltily. There was no defensiveness in his voice. Only a cautious, aching expectation, as if he had already prepared himself to hear that he had ruined everything.
“Yes,” you answered honestly.
His face twitched slightly.
“I see.”
“Not because you helped.”
He went still. You returned to bandaging his hand so you would not have to look him directly in the eye. Speaking was easier that way.
“I’m angry because every time, you forget that you can be lost too.”
Follo did not answer. The room became very quiet. Somewhere far away, a door slammed, and in the hallway, someone gave a short, tired laugh. And still, the young man remained silent.
You had almost finished wrapping his hand when Follo suddenly said,
“I don’t forget.”
You raised your gaze. He was looking at his bandaged palm.
“It’s just that sometimes it feels like, if I have to choose between myself and someone else… it’s more right to choose someone else.”
Your fingers froze on the knot of the bandage. Follo had said it with terrifying calm. As if it were not just a bad thought, but a fact long since accepted. Something simple and obvious, like a duty schedule or a list of equipment before going out.
You slowly let go of the bandage.
“Look at me.”
He did not obey right away. First, he inhaled, as if he were about to joke again. Then, apparently realizing it would not work, he finally raised his eyes. There was so much exhaustion in them that your heart clenched.
“Don’t say that,” you said.
“I wasn’t…”
“Don’t say that. Ever.”
Follo looked at you in confusion.
“But I really think that.”
“Then think differently.”
He smiled weakly.
“Sounds simple.”
“No one said it would be simple.”
You walked around the table and stepped closer. Follo lifted his head, following you with his eyes, but he did not pull away, even when you carefully touched your fingers to his cheek beside the scratch, careful not to brush against it. His breathing faltered.
“You are not a backup option,” you said softly. “Not temporary help. And not someone who can be placed between danger and everyone else because ‘that’s more right.’”
Follo swallowed.
“You don’t have to…”
“I know.”
You ran your thumb over the clean patch of his cheek. He closed his eyes. For some reason, that gesture turned out to be stronger than any words. Follo, who endured pain, noise, the weight of other people’s requests, exhaustion after missions, and his own sense of inadequacy, suddenly could not withstand one simple touch. His shoulders dropped. The tension he had held for so long that it seemed part of his skeleton finally began to loosen.
“I was scared,” you admitted.
He opened his eyes.
“Because of me?”
“Yes, you idiot. Because of you.”
This time, he did not laugh. He only looked at you intently.
“I thought,” Follo said quietly, “that you were just… kind to everyone.”
“I really am just kind to everyone.”
“Oh.”
He tried to nod, but it came out unconvincing. Something painful flickered across his face so quickly that someone else might not have noticed. But you already knew Follo too well, and you saw the way he knew how to hide himself behind other people’s conclusions.
You sighed.
“But I don’t worry about anyone else as much as I worry about you.”
Follo went completely still. Even the fingers on his bandaged hand stopped trembling.
“What?”
You felt a little embarrassed. Not because of the words you had said, but because of how strongly they sounded in the silence. As if you had opened a door to a place where everything had been piling up for a long time, and now it was impossible to pretend nothing had happened. But you did not want to retreat. Not now.
“I said that you matter to me,” you said more slowly. “A lot.”
Follo looked at you as though you had struck him with something far stronger than a hammer. Only without pain. Or maybe, on the contrary, with the kind of pain that appears when a person is suddenly given something they denied themselves for a long time.
“To you?” he asked, barely audibly.
You frowned.
“To who else?”
“No, I understand. It’s just…”
He ran his good hand through his hair in confusion, knocking his cap even more crooked.
“It’s just strange.”
“What is?”
“That someone could… worry about me like that.”
You silently looked at him. Follo smiled nervously.
“I think I ruined the moment?”
“A little.”
“Sorry.”
“Follo.”
“Don’t apologize?”
“Exactly.”
He shut his mouth. You could not help it and laughed. At first uncertainly, then a little softer, more freely. And Follo, it seemed, realized himself how it looked: him sitting in front of you covered in dust, with a bandaged hand, a crooked cap, and eyes wide with astonishment because he had just been told something very important, and still, his first instinct had been to apologize.
His lips twitched.
“I really am trying.”
“I can see that.”
“And I’m doing badly.”
“It’s alright. I’ll remind you.”
“Strictly?”
“Very strictly.”
He smiled. And this time, there was something shy but happy in his smile. Follo carefully raised his bandaged hand, but immediately winced. So instead, he held out his other hand and touched your fingers. He did not take them right away. It was as if he were asking permission first.
But you intertwined your fingers with his yourself. He looked down at the touch, then raised his eyes to you.
“After the mission,” he said quietly, “I wanted to go to the medics first.”
“Very sensible.”
“Then I thought they already had enough people without me.”
You narrowed your eyes.
“Follo.”
“But then… I thought about you.”
You fell silent. He squeezed your hand a little tighter.
“About how you would tell me to sit down again. How you would grumble. How you would call me an idiot if you found out I’d tried to bandage this myself.”
“I would have.”
“I know.”
Follo lowered his gaze, smiling very faintly.
“And for some reason, I wanted to come here instead.”
Your heart gave a painful little tremble. You stepped closer. He lifted his head. There was almost no distance left between you now. Follo sat while you stood in front of him, and because of that, he looked up at you without the usual urge to retreat, without a hurried smile, without trying to pretend nothing was happening. Right now, for you, there was no one else in the world except this tired, kind, awkward young man.
“Then come,” you said. “I’ll always wait for you.”
Follo breathed in quietly.
“Even if I say again that everything’s fine?”
“Especially then.”
“Even if I’m in the way?”
“You’re not in the way.”
“Even if…”
“Follo. Please.”
He fell silent. You leaned down and gently kissed him on the cheek beside the scratch, where his skin was warm and smelled of dust, soap, and something entirely his.
Follo stopped breathing. Only for a couple of seconds. Then he exhaled so quietly, as if he were afraid to scare the moment away.
You did not pull back right away. And when you finally straightened, you saw that he was looking at you completely stunned. His ears had turned noticeably red.
“You…” he began, then immediately faltered.
“Yes?..”
“You just…”
“Kissed you.”
“Yes.”
“Does that need explaining too?”
Follo slowly shook his head. Then suddenly, he smiled, covering his face with his good hand.
“No. It doesn’t.”
You felt yourself smiling too.
“Good.”
“Just give me a second.”
“What for?”
“I’m trying not to look stupid.”
“It’s alright,” you waved it off. “I know you’re shy.”
He let out a quiet laugh from behind his hand.
“As always, you prefer honesty.”
“Definitely.”
He lowered his hand from his face. This time, Follo reached for you himself. Slowly, carefully, every movement still requiring courage from him. His fingers settled on the edge of your sleeve, then a little higher, on your wrist.
“Can I… too?”
You did not answer with words. You simply leaned closer. Follo kissed you on the cheek just as carefully as you had kissed him before, almost weightlessly. But there was so much tenderness in that brief touch that your eyes treacherously began to sting.
He pulled away first. Embarrassed, but no longer so frightened.
“I’ll probably still sometimes think I don’t deserve this,” he admitted.
You stroked his palm with your thumb, trying not to touch the bandage.
“Then I’ll remind you.”
“With all due strictness?”
“Don’t doubt it.”
Follo smiled. Behind the door, someone called his name again. He rolled his eyes with such quiet, almost domestic despair that you nearly laughed.
“I really do have to go,” he said. “Otherwise they won’t manage without me.”
“First, go to the infirmary.”
“But you already…”
“No.”
He raised both hands in surrender.
“That’s it. I understand. To the medics.”
You took a clean cloth from the shelf and handed it to him.
“And everything else after.”
“Yes.”
“And if your hand starts hurting more, you’ll say so.”
He thought about it for one second. You narrowed your eyes.
“I’ll say so,” Follo quickly added. “Honestly.”
“Good.”
He stood up, but before leaving, he paused and turned back. In the hallway behind him, voices were already rising again, boxes rattling, someone calling, someone hurrying, someone demanding help. An ordinary, familiar, hectic evening for the Cleaners.
But Follo was not looking there. He was looking at you.
“I’ll come back,” he said.
It was not a desire to report in, but a careful, almost new admission for him: now he truly had somewhere to return to.
You smiled.
“I know.”
Follo nodded and left. And you remained standing in the middle of the room, holding the open first-aid kit in your hands, and for the first time that evening, you felt the anxiety in your chest retreat into the background.
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⋆˖ when you accidentally unfollowed sae and now everyone thinks the two of you broke up ( ˘𖥦˘;) 🗯️
you and sae had been doing long distance for a while now. with him in spain and you back in japan, most of your days consisted of stolen calls between his training sessions, little updates about your day & sending each other reels whenever one of you couldn’t sleep. which was exactly why the entire misunderstanding felt so absurd.
it happened on a random afternoon.
you’d been lying in bed scrolling through instagram, mindlessly stalking your own profile after posting a new photo. somewhere between checking comments & accidentally opening your following list, your thumb slipped.
unfollow.
you didn’t even notice.
a few minutes later, you tossed your phone onto the mattress and rolled over for what was supposed to be a quick nap. you’d been feeling exhausted after running errands all morning, so you figured a short nap wouldn’t hurt.
meanwhile, on the other side of the world… the internet started speculating the worst.
apparently dating one of the top soccer players in the world meant people monitored your relationship status like it was a full-time job. and within an hour, the screenshots were everywhere.
user12345: DID ITOSHI SAE & HIS LONG-TERM GIRLFRIEND BREAK UP????
itoshino1fan: OMG SAE & Y/N NO LONGER FOLLOW EACH OTHER
saeglazer101: OOOPP TROUBLE IN PARADISE??! 👀 HERE’S MY CHANCEE 😜
gossip & tea pages were already running with the narrative. fan accounts started reposting each other. tiktok edits of your “failed relationship” started flooding everyone’s feed.
and unfortunately for you, the news had travelled all the way to spain.
sae had just finished his morning run when his phone started exploding with notifications from multiple people & journalists. even shidou who he has not spoken to in weeks somehow sent him a screenshot of the news with the caption:
💬: so she finally dumped you? 💀
for a few seconds, he simply stood there with his phone in hand trying to figure out how the internet had somehow came to the conclusion that he’d been dumped. the last thing you’d sent him before he went out for his run was a picture of the lunch you made, so there was absolutely no way you’d broken up with him in the short span of three hours (and without his knowledge too).
still, when he opened instagram & saw that you really weren’t following him anymore… something in his chest dropped.
immediately, he tapped on your contact & started calling you.
the ringing echoed through the speaker until the call eventually ended on its own. no answer. his jaw tightened as he tried again.
beep
the line disconnected, so he tried again.
beep
and again.
beep
by the time the tenth call went unanswered, his text messages had already started flooding your chat.
sae ♡: answer your phone
sae ♡: ???
sae ♡: y/n
sae ♡: i’m serious
sae ♡: we need to talk
sae ♡: hello?
back in japan, however, you were peacefully asleep; completely unaware that half the internet had assumed you’ve broken up with your famous mid-fielder boyfriend, or that said boyfriend was currently having the worst few hours of his life.
—
three hours later when you finally woke up and reached for your phone, your lockscreen lit up with 30 notifications from sae.
20 unanswered texts.
10 missed calls
and approximately 100 notifications from all your social media combined of posts that you were tagged in from strangers on the internet mourning a breakup that never actually happened.
“… what the hell?” you muttered in complete disbelief as you sat upright in bed.
you immediately started calling sae back, and he answered within the first ring. “amor...” the relief in his voice hit you so fast that you nearly forgot why you’d called in the first place.
“sae?” you blinked. “what happened?”
there was a brief pause before he let out a slow exhale. “you unfollowed me.”
“… what?”
“you unfollowed me.”
“no? i was literally asleep.”
“check my profile.”
you stared at your screen before immediately going to his profile. and there it was… that mocking ‘follow back’ button staring back at you, clearly showing that you did in fact unfollow him.
“oh shit…”
“exactly what i said,” he replied flatly.
“i-i’ll fix it, okay? i’ll put up a statement on my story. hold on,” you said quickly.
immediately, you tapped onto your story and typed out a short statement— hoping it would stop the rumors before they spiraled any further.
after posting it, you let out a relieved sigh. you knew people were parasocial when it came to professional soccer players, but you certainly didn’t expect thousands of people to reach the conclusion that you’d broken up over one misplaced tap of your thumb.
“… there.” you murmured, staring at the freshly uploaded story. “crisis averted.”
“mhm.”
his response was immediate, but something about the way he said it made you anxious.
you frowned.
“a-are you still mad?” you asked, fiddling with the corner of your pillowcase.
there was a brief silence on the other end of the line. “i’m not mad.”
“sae.”
“… what?”
“that doesn’t sound very convincing.”
another pause.
then you heard him exhale quietly. “i said i’m not mad, amor.”
“… promise?”
this time, the sigh that left him sounded almost resigned. “yes amor,” he replied, the edge in his voice finally softening.
“i promise.”
only then did some of the tension leave your shoulders. you sank back against your pillows, finally relaxing. “… okay,” you murmured. “that’s good to know.”
somehow the call grew quiet again, but this time it felt comfortable rather than tense. neither of you seemed particularly eager to hang up.
“… i-i miss you, sae.” you finally broke the silence.
for a second, all you could hear was the faint sound of movement from his side of the call before he spoke again, his voice noticeably softer this time. “i miss you too, amor.”
the two of you stayed on the phone for another hour before his schedule eventually caught up with him. he listened to you ramble about your day while simultaneously packing his training bag, occasionally responding with a quiet hum to let you know he was still listening. eventually, you ended up curled beneath your blankets with the call still connected, smiling whenever his voice drifted through the speaker.
. . .
the distance between spain and japan still felt unfair.
but somehow, it was hard to dwell on the miles between you when he still felt so present in your everyday life.
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C/W : Reader being bullied, reader being the bully, everyone kind of despises eveyone, Lorenzo does not deserve this toxic environment.
𓆩𓆪 >> ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ-1
𓆩𓆪 >> ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ-1
DRAGON CODEX
Only those over 18 are allowed to compete in the trials and get a dragon training licence. Loki is an exception due to favouritism among the elite.
Kaiser's dad had a whispering death that Kaiser was really attached to, it protected him one fine day from his father's wrath and killed him. Due to this, the dragon was sentenced to death.
Bunny was set as an example for being weak during his youth and was sent into a ring with a rogue monstrous nightmare..
yandere!kaiser finally manages to get his hands on you. so what if he played foul? ۶ৎ
꒰ summary ꒱; kaiser finds the source of your happiness lately and snuffs it out to be the one who reignites it.
꒰ content/warnings ꒱; 18+, contains smut, p in v, kaiser is very possessive and toxic, mentions of blackmail/threatening
part 1
kaiser felt content just having you by his side, tending to his public image, scolding him whenever he got too egotistical. to him, you were the hottest being to graze this very earth. he'd only get off on your berating.
but as time passed, he'd noticed you growing happier. you'd smile at your phone more often, just always having a better mood overall.
now, he didn't have much of an issue with that.
it was that it wasn't him helping you feel that very joy radiating off of you. he had a huge problem with that.
he'd collected tons of intel, hired people to dig deeper into your personal life, yet all of that barely contributed to how he found out.
it was a random saturday night, he was sprawled out on his plush couch, the fatigue of the busy week getting to him.
he'd decided on grabbing his phone and opening instagram, not having interacted with the app for a hot minute now.
the first little ombre circle catching his attention just so happened to be yours.
he'd refreshed a solid 5 times, hoping he was only seeing things and much to his dismay, he in fact wasn't.
he'd suppressed the urge to smash his phone right against the ground in hopes the shards of strewn glass would relieve some of the irritation coursing through him, instead deciding on finding a way to release his anger that'd benefit him.
truly, benefit him.
first, he'd scrolled through each and every user in your following to find the lucky bastard who'd reposted that story.
he couldn't hold back the cruel grin growing on his lips. it would be so easy to make you regret ever choosing to have a partner.
on a separate account, he'd dmed the very same person a message that'd be hard for anyone to ignore.
he'd mastered the ability to reel someone in emotionally by now, how to exploit their curiosity to the point they'd overlook dangerous— exactly how he'd get him to comply so effortlessly.
he left the messages on seen, almost 100% sure he'd show tomorrow.
and so he did.
he met the man, skipped past introductions and led him to an alley nearby the meet up point, under the ruse that he 'needed a smoke' in which the guy skeptically agreed to. kaiser could tell he was wary.
obviously, no cigarette was included. he'd waited by the side as a few other men he'd hired forced a break up onto the guy, threatening him with everything he held dear. at least he wasn't getting physical, right?
the next day, you'd shown up to his door for a discussion on his recent presence across social media as always, yet you looked terribly dejected.
it was mean, but he loved every trace of pain glistening in those unshed tears glazing over your eyes, even more so because of the reason behind it.
you tried to cut to the chase and get your routine discussions done. he could tell you'd rather be anywhere but in front of him right now.
it irked him deeply. why did you think so shallow of the man who'd sacrifice possibly everything for you? did you believe he was incapable of providing comfort?
he pried and pried a few times. they were mostly met with harsh responses, blunt 'i'm fine's', but kaiser knew you well enough. you'd cave, just with enough pressure.
and you did, eventually.
he felt a profound sense of accomplishment as you break down in his arms, blabbering on and on about everything clouding that head of yours. how you felt so betrayed, how much you loved him, how he'd been so cold during the break up and most of all, how perplexed you were at the lack of reasoning.
kaiser carded his fingers through your hair soothingly, despite being the one to break the both of you apart, murmuring soft reassurances and possessive caring words.
・・・・・
he felt an even stronger sense of accomplishment later with his aching length deep in you. your face smushed into the pillow as he relentlessly stuffed your gummy walls full of him, rhythm rid of all the sweetness he'd offered you earlier.
with every thrust and profanity slipping past him at the pleasure, you'd slowly forgotten all about your previous predicament and instead, welcomed the feeling of your pussy sucking your client's cock dry.
"m-michael, m'cumming, m'cummingg!" you whimper, thighs trembling with your anticipated orgasm, near drooling at the sensation.
all you could register in your brain long turned to mush was each and every one of his thrusts and how wide the grin on his face stretched, and even that, you could barely make out due to tears clouding your vision.
"c-cum for me, mein schatz, j-jus' fuck yourself dumb on my dick, mhm? no need to think of anyone else, i'll take care of h-haah, y-you, hübsches mädchen."
he'd always known he'd have you in this position one way or another.
he'd also always known no one else could fuck your pretty self as good as him.
a day later, he'd posted a picture of you holding a bouquet 10x larger on his story, ensuring your ex would view it.
