#ALSO LOOK AT HOW MUCH BETTER THESE LOOK ALREADY!!

[solrburst]

damn right i do — joel miller x reader

request: “can you do smth where f!reader is trying on like new dresses/clothes for joel and he can’t control himself? maybe daddy kink if ur comfortable with that, thank you ❤️”

summary: She spends his money with a smile, and Joel watches like it’s the best damn show in town.

warnings: try on haul but make it horny, joel is rich and reader spends all his money, no cordyceps/alternative universe, light daddy kink, unprotected sex, breeding kink i guess?, reader calling joel good boy (yes i need to warn you all about this bc its so hot i could die), soft aftercare, riding, established relationship, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, oral sex, slight drinking?

author’s note: i loved so much writing this one! also i love this sugar daddy behavior of him k bye

word count: 3,8k

“Alright,” you called from the bedroom, rustling through bags, “don’t fall asleep on me yet, Mr. Miller — I’ve got a lot of damage to reveal.”

Joel was on the couch, one arm tossed over the back, sipping his whiskey like a man trying very hard to look unaffected. But you knew better.

“You’ve been home fifteen minutes and already sound like you robbed a department store.”

You peeked around the doorway, smirking. “Technically, I robbed ten. With your card. So, yeah — you’re welcome.”

He gave you a look — part amused, part wrecked — and set the glass down.

You stepped out a moment later in the first outfit: tight black jeans that hugged your ass in a way you were absolutely doing on purpose, paired with a cropped, off-the-shoulder knit top. Casual. Soft. Still enough to make Joel’s jaw flex.

You did a spin. “We like?”

His eyes dragged over you slowly. “You look like a problem.”

You grinned. “You say that like it’s new information.”

Joel leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “How much was that one?”

“Why?” you said, cocking a brow. “You gonna punish me or praise me?”

He just shook his head, smiling in that way he always did when he thought he had control. “Go show me the rest, brat.”

You blew him a kiss on your way back down the hall. “Coming right up.”

One outfit after another — skirts, silks, tiny little tops that barely counted as clothing — and each one pulled something else out of him. A low curse. The shift of his jaw. That slow push of his tongue against the inside of his cheek when something hit just right.

Then came the slip dress.

Blush pink. No bra. Thin as a breath, cut low and high and everywhere in between. You didn’t walk out in it — you floated, like you knew the exact moment he’d stop pretending.

Joel sat up straighter, hands resting on his knees, eyes locked.

You twirled. “I bought this for your next company event. Think the other investors’ wives will love me?”

His voice dropped an octave. “You wear that out and we’re not makin’ it past the driveway.”

You laughed, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “God, I love being rich and hot.”

Joel stared at you — like you were a dream he was still trying to convince himself was real.

“You love spending my money.”

You walked over, slow and certain, straddled his lap without a word. The dress rode up your thighs, your bare skin brushing against the expensive fabric of his slacks.

“I love earning it,” you said, low, right against his ear.

And Joel?

He didn’t argue.

He just gripped your hips like he needed something to hold on to, dragging you in tight. His voice dropped to a murmur.

“You think you can sweet talk me outta financial responsibility by sittin’ on my lap in that damn dress?”

You gave him that slow, wicked smile. “Baby, if you think this is sweet talk, you haven’t seen the rest of the bags.”

Joel groaned, head tipping back like he was praying for strength — or losing it altogether. Then he leaned in, mouth brushing your jaw, lips barely a breath away.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” he murmured, “and I’m not lettin’ you leave this couch.”

You pulled back just as his hands gripped tighter — and slid off his lap with maddening grace, hips swaying as you walked away.

“Ah ah,” you called over your shoulder. “I’m not even halfway through, Miller.”

Joel sat there, hands hovering midair where your thighs had just been.

“Sweetheart—”

You were already halfway down the hall, grinning like sin.

“Sit tight. You’re gonna love the next one.”

He slumped back into the couch, muttering to himself.

“Gonna marry that woman and regret it every minute.”

But the smile on his face said otherwise.

You stepped back into the living room with slower steps this time.

No dramatic entrance.

No teasing banter.

Just you — in black lace and satin, high-cut and barely-there, the kind of Victoria’s Secret set you used to window shop and dream about but never actually buy.

Until Joel started handing over his card like it was his love language.

“Okay,” you said, standing in front of him with your hands on your hips. “This one’s kind of a big deal.”

Joel didn’t respond.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even breathe.

His eyes tracked you from head to toe like he wasn’t just looking — he was memorizing.

“I’ve always wanted to buy something like this,” you went on, tilting your head, “but I never had a reason to until now, so—”

“Sweetheart,” he interrupted, voice hoarse, “I ain’t even hearin’ you right now.”

You raised a brow. “Rude.”

“I’m busy,” he muttered, still staring. “You’re standing there lookin’ like a fuckin’ fantasy and expect me to listen?”

You bit your lip to hide your smile.

Joel slowly stood, towering in front of you now, eyes heavy, hands itching to reach but not quite touching.

“You wore this for me?”

You shrugged, like it wasn’t obvious. “Who else would I want to ruin with it?”

He exhaled hard, jaw working.

“Jesus.”

You stepped a little closer, voice soft and smug. “So… you like it?”

Joel finally reached out, fingers brushing the lace at your hips like he couldn’t believe it was real.

“Baby,” he said low, “I’m gonna frame this set when I’m done with it.”

You watched Joel’s fingers flex where they hovered just over your hips — like he was physically restraining himself from grabbing you.

And, of course, you couldn’t let that stand.

You reached up slowly, arms around his neck, your chest brushing his. His eyes dropped like they had no choice in the matter.

“Y’know,” you whispered, voice all sugar and heat, “I was gonna save this one for a special occasion…”

Joel swallowed hard.

You leaned in, lips just brushing his ear. “But then I figured… watching you sit there like a good boy for three straight outfits? That’s a special occasion, right?”

He froze.

Just for a second.

Then his hands snapped to your hips, gripping tight, walking you back until your spine hit the wall with a soft thud.

You gasped, grinning — breath caught, heart racing.

“Baby,” he growled, “you’ve had your fun.”

You opened your mouth to throw something else back — one more smart-ass line.

But he kissed you first.

Hard.

His mouth crashed into yours, all teeth and tongue and heat, his body pressed close, the tension finally shattering between you like glass.

His hands moved fast — over your waist, your ass, up your back, slipping beneath the straps of that delicate lingerie like he couldn’t stand another second of not touching you everywhere.

“You think I’m a good boy now?” he rasped against your mouth, voice wrecked, “Just wait, sweetheart. I’m gonna show you what bein’ bad looks like.”

And from the way he lifted you off the floor like you weighed nothing, carried you to the bedroom with his mouth never leaving your neck — you believed him.

Completely.

Joel guided you toward the mirror like a man on a mission — slow, steady steps, one hand still gripping your hip while the other trailed up your spine, fingers brushing over satin and lace like they were part of your skin.

“Stand right here,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous behind you.

You obeyed, heart pounding.

The reflection staring back at you was something out of a fantasy: black lace clinging to your curves, thin straps hugging your shoulders, skin flushed, chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. And behind you — Joel. Broad. Solid. Hungry. His eyes fixed on you like you were his personal sin.

His hands slid around your waist, pulling you back into the heat of his chest.

“You bought this only for me” he said, voice gritty.

You nodded, lips curling. “You like it?”

Joel’s laugh was low and rough.

“I’m tryin’ real hard not to rip it off you.”

You gasped softly when his hands moved lower — fingers skimming the edge of your panties, teasing over the lace. His mouth pressed hot and open to your neck, sucking gently, just enough to make your knees wobble.

Then he looked up, caught your eyes in the mirror.

“Look at yourself,” he whispered.

You swallowed hard, nodding.

But he wasn’t satisfied.

“Say what you see.”

You hesitated, breath trembling. “I look… good.”

Joel’s voice dropped even lower.

“You look like fuckin’ heaven. And I’m about to ruin you in it.”

One hand slipped between your thighs — slow, steady — and your eyes fluttered, head tilting back against his shoulder as he pressed his fingers right where you needed him.

You moaned — soft, wrecked.

“Joel…”

He growled against your skin. “What do you want, baby?”

You clenched around nothing, breath shaky. “Your fingers…”

He moved them — barely — then paused.

“You want more?”

You nodded quickly, words catching in your throat. Then:

“Please, daddy…”

Joel froze.

Then exhaled a sound that came from somewhere deep in his chest — feral, possessive.

“You say that again,” he warned, “and I’m not stoppin’ till your legs give out.”

You moaned it this time — breathy and wanton — and that was it.

He pushed the lace aside and slid two fingers inside you, deep and slow, while the other hand pressed to your stomach, holding you in place as your body arched.

You could barely stand.

Joel’s fingers moved inside you with slow, relentless pressure, curling deep with every stroke, his palm brushing your clit in just the right rhythm to make your knees tremble.

The hand on your stomach kept you steady — pressed tight to his chest, flushed against his heat — while his mouth whispered filth and reverence into your neck.

“That’s it,” he growled softly. “Just like that. You feel how wet you are for me? You watchin’ yourself fall apart, baby?”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but nod as your eyes fluttered open to meet your own reflection — cheeks flushed, lips parted, lashes damp, your body trembling in his arms.

You looked wrecked.

You looked glorious.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice low and almost tender. “Come for me. Right here — want you to see how fuckin’ beautiful you are when you let go.”

And you did.

Your breath hitched once, then you fell — the pleasure crashing over you in waves so deep it nearly took your legs out from under you. You gasped his name, voice breaking, one hand reaching behind to grip his thigh as your hips jerked helplessly into his touch.

Joel held you through it all.

Let you fall apart in his arms, against the mirror, in lace and satin and his grip.

He didn’t stop whispering.

“Just like that… fuck, baby… you’re so perfect like this. Mine. All mine.”

When your body finally went still, chest rising and falling, his arms wrapped fully around your waist, pulling you back into him like he needed to keep you whole.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he whispered against your shoulder, brushing your hair aside. “You did so good.”

You were still shaking — breath shallow, Joel’s arms tight around you — when you turned in his hold, still caught in the aftermath of him tearing you apart.

But there was that look in your eye again. That glint that said you weren’t satisfied yet. Not until he came undone too.

Your fingers tangled in the front of his shirt, yanking him into a kiss that was all teeth and heat, nothing soft about it. His groan hit your mouth just as you pushed him back a step, then another — until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he sat with a heavy thud.

You didn’t wait. Didn’t ask.

You dropped to your knees between his legs, palms already sliding up his thighs, nails scratching just hard enough to make him suck in a breath.

“Let me taste you,” you rasped, voice raw and dark. “I want to see you fall apart.”

Joel let out a rough, almost broken laugh, one hand fisting in your hair. “You’re tryin’ to kill me.”

You looked up, lips parted, eyes locked on his like a challenge. “No. I’m trying to make you lose that goddamn control.”

And the second you leaned in — fingers already working his belt — he cursed under his breath, low and filthy.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled, hips twitching. “You do this now, I’m not gonna last.”

You smirked, mouth ghosting over the hard line of him through his boxers.

“Good,” you whispered. “That’s the point.”

Your mouth wrapped around him, slow and deep, and Joel’s hand gripped your hair tighter, the other fisting the sheets beside him. His hips jerked slightly — completely involuntary — and the sound he let out was more like a growl than a moan.

“Fuck—baby—”

You hummed around him, hollowing your cheeks, dragging your tongue along the underside of him in a way that made his thighs tense under your palms. His control was unraveling — fast — and you loved it.

But just as you slid your mouth down again, ready to finish what you started, Joel’s grip on your hair tightened and pulled you back with a sudden, breathless snap.

Your eyes met his — wild, flushed, dark with heat.

“I’m not comin’ like that,” he growled.

You blinked, breathless, lips swollen. “No?”

His voice was gravel. “Need to be inside you. Now. Ride me.”

That last part wasn’t a request — it was a demand.

And God, you’d never moved faster.

You crawled onto his lap, straddling him, his hands immediately gripping your hips, grounding you against the thick, desperate pressure of him beneath you. You braced yourself on his chest, staring him down, lips parted, just as wrecked.

“Say please,” you whispered.

Joel’s laugh was low, dark.

“Ride me,” he repeated, rougher now. “Or I’ll flip you over and fuck you into the mattress.”

You grinned, dragging your hand down his chest, then reached between your bodies and sank down onto him in one slow, perfect slide.

His head dropped back with a strangled groan. “Fuck.”

Your hips rolled.

And this time?

He let you take control — for now.

You moved over him slowly at first, sinking down until he filled you completely. His hands gripped your thighs, hard enough to bruise, eyes locked on where your bodies met — then trailing up to the black lace stretched tight across your chest.

Joel let out a breathless curse, jaw clenched as he watched you rock your hips.

“Look at you,” he rasped, voice thick. “That fuckin’ lingerie—Jesus. Like it was made just for this. For me.”

You smirked, biting your lip, hands braced against his chest as you set a rhythm — slow, rolling, deep. His head dropped back for a moment, his hands tightening on your waist.

“Goddamn, baby,” he groaned. “You know what you do to me? Ridin’ me like that—like you own it.”

You leaned forward slightly, letting your chest brush his — lace teasing against his skin — and he groaned again, fingertips sliding to your ass to pull you down harder.

“Fuck, I love this body,” he murmured, voice low and reverent. “Your tits—your thighs—this fuckin’ mouth. You’re perfect. You know that?”

You gasped, shivering from the rough praise, your rhythm faltering as he thrust up into you once — sharp and sudden — just to hear you moan.

“Look at you,” he whispered again, one hand slipping up to palm your breast through the lace. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Bought this for me.”

You nodded, breath caught. “Yeah,” you whispered.

Joel’s thumb swiped over your nipple, his other hand guiding your hips harder, deeper.

“And now you’re gonna come for me wearin’ it. Gonna make a fuckin’ mess in it—show me who you belong to.”

“Yes, Daddy. Fuck—”

Your pace quickened — breathless now, dizzy from how full you felt, how seen you were under him.

And Joel?

He was still watching you like he could die right there and be satisfied.

Your climax hit like a tidal wave, violent and all-consuming, your body arching beneath him as you gasped out his name. Every nerve ending sang with pleasure and raw vulnerability, trembling under his weight.

Joel’s breath hitched, his hips stuttering once, twice — then he spilled inside you, hot and relentless. His fingers curled into the small of your back, steadying you as his body shuddered against yours.

Without breaking contact, he flipped you both over with deliberate strength — now he was the one above, his eyes dark with need. “Fuck, baby girl, you feel so good—so fucking tight,” he growled, sliding two fingers inside you slowly, fucking you to keep every drop inside.

You felt him press closer, every movement a promise: you were his, and he wasn’t letting go.

“Damn, you feel like you’re made for me—made to hold my fuckin’ load.”

“God, Joel…” you gasped, breath catching on a moan. “Don’t stop—fuck, don’t you dare stop…”

He smirked, low and dark. “Yeah? You want more, baby? Want me to stuff you full all over again?”

You nodded, nearly delirious, grinding down against his hand. “Yes—fuck—want it dripping out of me. Want you so deep I feel it for days.”

That made him groan, rough and guttural. He pushed his fingers harder, faster, the wet sounds between your legs obscene.

“You’re so fucking dirty,” he growled, lips brushing your jaw. “Saying shit like that—beggin’ for me to keep it in you.”

His gaze dropped to the delicate lace hugging your curves, the lingerie you’d bought just for him—just to see this moment, to watch him lose his mind.

“Look at you—dressed like you’re made for me,” he growled. “That fucking lace, that tight little fit… you knew exactly how to fuck with me, didn’t you?”

You shivered, trembling beneath his praise, feeling every word like a fire. “Only for you.”

You shattered hard, gasping and trembling, your walls squeezing like you were drowning in raw, burning heat.

“Fuck…” you moaned, voice ragged and dripping with need, desperate for more.

Joel’s grin was dark and hungry. “You’re so fucking wet for me. You come like a filthy little slut—so tight, so perfect, it’s driving me insane.”

“That fucking outfit? Wearing it just to get ruined by me. You’re mine, and I’m gonna make sure everyone knows it.”

Joel’s fingers slammed inside again, curling deep and slow, fucking you with merciless control, dragging you over the edge once more. “Come for me again, baby, I know you can. Show me how hard you belong to me.”

Your legs shook violently, toes curling against the sheets as Joel’s hand clamped around your thigh, forcing it wide open, exposing everything to him — raw, pulsing, drenched. His fingers plunged deep again, dragging a broken sob from your lips as he curled them just right, hitting that spot over and over like he owned it — because he did.

“Fuck, listen to you,” Joel growled, breath hot against your ear as his hips pressed into your side. “This is what you wanted when you put that little thing on, huh?”

“Say it,” he growled against your neck. “Say you’re mine.”

Your voice cracked as the orgasm slammed through you, your scream breaking into a sob as you shattered around him, every muscle locking tight. “I’m yours — fuck — I’m yours, Daddy—!”

Your body was still trembling — muscles boneless, mind hazy — when Joel finally eased away, his touch suddenly gentle, reverent. No more growls, no more brutal commands. Just breathless quiet, his calloused hands sliding slowly over your skin as if he was putting you back together piece by piece.

“You alright, baby?” he whispered, his hand slowly rubbing your stomach, grounding you. “Talk to me.”

Your throat was raw, your voice shaky. “Yeah… yeah, I’m okay. Just… floatin’.”

He chuckled, a soft, warm sound against the back of your neck. “That’s ‘cause you gave me everything, didn’t you?”

His other hand brushed your hair back, fingers running through the tangled strands like he had all the time in the world. He kissed the side of your head this time, slower.

“You did so fuckin’ good for me,” he said. “Took it all. I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

The words melted into you, sinking deeper than anything else had. That kind of tenderness from Joel — rare, raw, and real — left your eyes stinging.

He must’ve felt the shift in your breath, because his arm tightened around you protectively. “Shhh, I got you. No rush. We’ll stay right here. As long as you need.”

The silence stretched, heavy with safety. You weren’t just ruined — you were held, wrapped in everything he wouldn’t say but made damn sure you felt.

He pressed one more kiss to your temple, murmuring:

“Mine. Not just when I’m takin’ you apart. Even now. Especially now.”

Joel lay behind you, chest to your back, his hand tracing soft, absentminded circles on your thigh beneath the silk sheets. The lights were low — golden, dim — and everything about the moment felt expensive. The bed, the air, the way he held you.

You let out a small sigh, turning just enough to glance at him over your shoulder.

“So,” you murmured, voice still scratchy from earlier, “if I order Louboutins tomorrow, are you gonna be mad or just fuck me harder next time?”

He huffed a low laugh, the kind that rumbled deep in his chest. “You mean the ones with the red satin and ankle straps?” His hand slid a little higher on your thigh. “Saw the tab open on your phone last night, sweetheart. You’re not slick.”

Your smile curled lazy and smug. “You checkin’ my phone now, Miller? That’s cute. Thought you trusted me.”

“I do trust you,” he said, nuzzling into your neck, voice warm and heavy with sleep. “Just don’t trust you to not bankrupt me with skincare products and designer heels.”

You grinned, flipping over fully to face him, the sheets slipping down just enough to tease the line of your collarbone. “You’re rich, Joel. You can afford to have a hot, high-maintenance girlfriend. It’s literally your job.”

Joel looked at you like you hung the goddamn stars.

He brushed a knuckle along your jaw. “It ain’t your face cream or your heels that make you high-maintenance, darlin’. It’s that mouth.”

You rolled your eyes, but your grin deepened. “And you love it.”

“Damn right I do.”

“You know I’d still want you if you weren’t rich, right?” you said quietly, fingers idly playing with the chain around his neck. “Still mouth off. Still ruin your peace.”

Joel let out a soft breath, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he pressed his forehead to yours.

“I know, baby,” he said. “But I like spoilin’ you. Makes me feel like I’m doin’ somethin’ right. You want somethin’, you get it. No questions. Long as you come home to me wearin’ it — or not wearin’ a damn thing at all.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the smile. “You’re so fucking obsessed with me.”

He tilted your chin up and kissed you slow, thorough, like he had all night and a world more time.

“Damn right I am.”

[heavenlybodies333]

Goddamn, Baby, you drink like Hemingway -S.R

Spencer Reid x bsf coworker!reader

You slam your second shot down and wince. “God. That tastes like jet fuel.”

Spencer nudges his drink with two fingers, grimacing. “You know this place is objectively disgusting, right?”

“Which is why it’s perfect,” you grin, tossing him a look over your shoulder. “Also, you’re welcome. If it weren’t for me, you’d be at home alphabetizing your books by language root.”

He snorts. “They’re already alphabetized by language root.”

“Jesus, Spence.”

“Don’t act shocked. You know I’m like this.”

You do. You know every weird little habit, every nervous tic, every tangent he slips into when he’s rambling his way out of a trauma spiral. You know how he likes his coffee. How he prefers to be touched—sparingly, and only by people he trusts.

And you know that despite his body being planted on that cracked vinyl stool, Spencer Reid does not want to be here.

“Come on, just one more drink. You promised.”

He narrows his eyes playfully, leaning toward you. “I said I’d come. I didn’t say I’d drink enough to forget what you make me do when I come.”

You blink. He blinks. A hot flush crawls up your neck. “Okay,” you mutter, lips twitching. “I walked into that one.”

“You dove,” he deadpans, sipping his watered-down whiskey like it’s a crime scene sample.

The bar is a dive—the kind of place that serves beer in cracked mugs and smells like spilled tequila and missed rent payments—but it’s cheap, and anonymous, and just a few blocks from Quantico. After the week you’ve had—case in rural Pennsylvania, two hostages dead, one minor kidnapped and rescued by the skin of your team’s teeth—you needed a reset. And Spence, bless his cardigan-wrapped soul, needed it even more.

“I think you’d be better off alphabetizing drinks by how much they destroy your liver,” he says dryly.

You lean in with a lazy smile, propping your elbow on the table and resting your chin in your palm. “That’s funny coming from the guy who just sipped a watered-down Old Fashioned like it was poison.”

He looks down at his glass. “It is poison. Chemically.”

“You’re no fun.”

He looks back up at you, eyes warm, unreadable. “I think I’m having fun.”

“Yeah?” you murmur. “You only say that when I make you.”

“That’s not true.” His voice is quieter now, head tilting slightly toward yours. “Sometimes I like it.”

Your stomach does a lazy, drunken somersault. “Yeah, but you’re cute when you’re like this,” you say, poking his cheek. “All logical and judgmental. Like a drunk little owl.”

He blinks. “Owls aren’t judgmental.”

“They are. They have very judgey faces. You do the same thing when I suggest karaoke.”

Spencer tilts his head. “That’s because last time you sang Beyoncé’s ‘Partition’ in front of two Quantico instructors and a guy who once testified in a Senate subcommittee on organized crime.”

“Yeah and I killed it.”

“You also fell off the stage.”

“Dramatic exit.” You down the rest of your drink and motion for another. Spencer watches you, biting back a smile.

“You know,” he starts, tone going into that signature Reid fact-voice, “alcohol affects women differently than men. Lower water content in the body means higher blood alcohol concentration. Technically speaking, you’re probably at .12 right now.”

You stare at him. “Technically speaking, you’re hot when you talk statistics.”

He sputters. “That wasn’t—that wasn’t meant to be sexy.”

“It’s sexy because it’s not meant to be. You’re, like, drunk and still trying to teach me things. It’s adorable. Like if Bill Nye and a golden retriever had a baby.”

“That’s horrifying. That’s genetically improbable.”

“And yet—” you pause, sliding off your stool to press a palm to his chest, “here you are. My own drunk, genetically improbable nerd.”

Spencer’s breath catches, and you swear his pupils dilate a little. He grabs your wrist lightly, eyes locked on yours.

He steadies you with one hand at your waist, the other gripping his drink with the intense focus of a man pretending not to panic.

“Did you know,” he says, like a last-ditch effort to distract himself, “that Hemingway once said you should write drunk and edit sober?”

“God, I love when you spit literature at me.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“You’re quoting Hemingway and grabbing my waist, Spence.”

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. You were best friends. You’d been there for each other through the worst of it—loss, fear, heartbreak, cases that left you both shaking. He held your hand after your first shooting. You bandaged his wrist after a suspect almost broke it. You crashed on his bed more times than you could count. You knew his favorite tea, he knew your bad dreams.

By the time you make it back to his apartment—stumbling back, actually, with you laughing into his chest as he fumbles with the key—your cheeks are flushed and your stomach aches from the buzz and the banter.

“Okay,” you say as the door shuts behind you. “Rate the night.”

Spencer kicks his shoes off. “Four out of ten.”

You shove his arm, fake-offended. “Four?!”

“Sticky floor. Terrible lighting. Music was objectively bad.”

“You are so annoying.”

“You did fall off your bar stool.”

“Okay, technically, I slid off it,” you correct, poking his chest.

He catches your finger. Holds it. Doesn’t let go. “Also,” he says, voice quieter now, “you told the bartender I cried during a Pixar movie.”

“You did!”

“I was seven.”

You’re both laughing now—until you realize he hasn’t let go of your hand. And that you’re still pressed against him, in his entryway, breathless, a little drunk, and way too aware of the heat between you.

Your smile falters just enough for him to notice.

His brows draw together. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Just… thinking.”

“About?”

You look up at him, flushed and buzzing and full of so many buried things. You didn’t sleep with your best friend. But god, he looked at you like he wanted to. And tonight, you couldn’t stop yourself from admitting the things you’d shoved down for too long.

“Spence,” you laughed, standing in his living room, clutching his hand to your chest, swaying. “I think I’ve been in love with you since that case in Boston. The one where we almost got shot in the stairwell and you said I was your favorite person.”

His head shot up from staring at his feet. “That was three years ago.”

“Exactly.”

“I—You’re drunk.”

“You are too,” you counter. “But that’s not why I’m saying it.”

Spencer’s gaze drops to your lips. And for once, he doesn’t try to hide it. You reach up. Touch his cheek. Let your fingers linger. “I think about you a lot, Spence.”

His voice is hoarse. “You’re my best friend.”

“I know.”

“And if we do this—”

“We are doing this,” you whisper, stepping closer. “Unless you want me to stop.”

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he whispers into your neck, even as he’s guiding himself into you, slow and reverent.

“You won’t,” you breathe, cupping his face. “It’s us, Spence.” you close the space between you, your lips moving slow against his soft ones.

You moan into his mouth, wrapping your arms around him as he walks you backward, blindly, into the bedroom.

You’re both giggling and breathless between kisses, bumping elbows and fumbling with buttons.

“Oh my god,” you laugh, pulling his shirt over his head. “This is the least coordinated I’ve ever seen you.”

“I’m nervous,” he huffs, tugging your dress down your thighs.

You arch a brow. “Spence. You’ve disarmed bombs while quoting Latin. You’re not nervous.”

“I’ve also never had my best friend naked in my bed before,” he says pointedly, hands spreading across your thighs. “So yeah. I am.”

Spencer’s hand slides between your thighs, and you gasp when his fingers find you wet.

“Oh,” he breathes. “God, I didn’t think—”

“You make me this way,” you pant, biting your lip. “I get handsy when I’m drunk, yeah. But you? You make me needy.”

His whole body shudders. “Jesus.”

“I’ve thought about this,” you whisper. “So many nights. What you’d be like. If you’d talk dirty or be all clinical about it. If you’d—”

“I’d what?” he interrupts, pushing two fingers into you with a sharp breath.

Your back arches. “Fuck.”

“Tell me,” he urges, kissing your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. “Tell me what you thought.”

You reach between you and stroke him through his boxers. He gasps, grabbing the edge of the dresser for balance.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Okay, I’m not gonna last if you keep—”

You smirk, dropping to your knees in front of him. “That’s okay. I’ve got all night.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, head falling back.

Spencer’s normally so in control—you’ve seen him talk down terrorists and survive torture—but right now, he’s all hands and lips and want. He strips you down carefully but quickly, like he’s afraid he’ll wake up and this will have all been a dream.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, lips brushing the swell of your breasts. “So perfect. I don’t deserve this.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, pulling him back up to kiss you. “You deserve everything.”

And when he pushes into you—slow, inch by inch, eyes locked to yours like he’s memorizing your face—it’s like something clicks. Like your body was made to fit his. Like this was always supposed to happen.

Spencer stills, buried deep inside you, eyes blown wide and reverent, like he's trying not to fall apart.

Your hands cup his face, thumbs stroking the sharp bones of his cheeks. “You okay?” you whisper, heart racing under your ribs.

He nods, once, shakily. “You feel like... everything I’ve ever wanted.”

You kiss him then—deep and unhurried, full of every soft, aching thing you've never had the courage to say. His hips start to move, gentle at first, like he’s learning you all over again. Like he wants to remember every breath you take, every sound you make just for him.

"Faster," you murmur against his mouth. "Don't be careful."

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you promise, gasping as he thrusts harder, deeper. “God, Spence—feels so good.”

His lips trail down your throat as he sets a rhythm, murmuring against your skin like he’s still trying to process that this is real. "I used to dream about this. About you." A sharp thrust. “Thought I was going crazy.”

You cling to him, fingers digging into his back. “You’re not. We’re here. I’m yours.”

He groans, burying his face in your shoulder. “Say that again.”

“I’m yours,” you whisper, trembling as he rolls his hips just right. “Only yours.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, hips stuttering. “I’m not gonna last—shit—I want to make you come first—”

“You already are,” you gasp. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You clench around him and he shudders, lips parted, totally gone for you. You rake your nails down his spine and his control finally snaps. He thrusts harder, deeper, desperate now, chasing the edge.

“I can feel you,” he groans. “So tight, so warm—god, I love you—”

You crash over the edge with his name on your lips, back arching as pleasure wracks through you like lightning. He follows with a low moan, spilling into you with a trembling cry, burying himself to the hilt.

For a while, neither of you speaks. You just lie there tangled in each other, breath syncing, fingers stroking sweat-damp skin.

Eventually, Spencer shifts, brushing your hair from your face. “Was that… okay?”

You huff a laugh, chest still heaving. “Okay? Spence. That was the best sex of my entire life.”

His mouth twitches. “Even better than the bartender you flirted with in Atlanta?”

You smack his chest. “Shut up. I was trying to get us free drinks.”

“Well,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I’ll get the next round. No flirting required.”

You curl into him, cheek on his chest. The silence between you now isn’t awkward—it’s safe. Warm. Full.

“Spence?”

“Yeah?”

“I meant it. I love you.”

He wraps his arms around you tighter, pulling the sheets over your naked bodies.

“I love you too,” he whispers. “Always have.”

a/n: im graduating so soon im so sad i literally cant

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[cathnospam]

When Bakugo is mad at you he pouts and stares.

Bakugo is kind of a brat, now that you think about it.

He never admits his anger he just waits for you to point it out. But unluckily for him you don’t and he always is the one to falter first.

You’re fresh out the shower and he’s laying on your bed just watching you. Angrily, Same little face he did when you smiled at him going in the shower.

His arms were crossed now though.

“I feel so much better now.” You speak your thoughts out loud as you toss your dirty clothes in the hamper, “felt icky all day.”

Bakugo doesn’t say anything, just looks at your figure facing the tall mirror, you notice, also noticing he was upset, and though you love him, his lack of communications skills can be a pain in the ass because you know once you ask him “What’s wrong” he’ll be bratty and say nothing.

So you instead decide to tease him, why not? You were kinda horny today anyway.

You take off your bun and scarf and let your braids fall down your back, while also dropping the robe that was loosely draped over your body anyway down to your ankles. In an instant you see Bakugo shift in his seat to try to look away.

“It’s so colddddd.” You fake burr while tip toe’ing to the thermometer, “Freezing in here.”

“Maybe because your tits are out.”

Finally. He speaks.

“I thought you liked my tits? You did last week, see. Still have the hockey for it.”

“Shut up.”

Smirking, you lightly prance your way over to him, he noticed the bed dipping under your weight and that damn intoxicating scent of your body wash bearing his nose, Bakugo knew if he turned he’d be face to face with you.

“Look at me.”

Only his eyes gracing your with a second glance he stays still for a moment until you take his chin and force him to.

“Put some damn clothes on.”

“Make me.”

Bakugo didn’t wanna accept defeat, his pride wouldn’t let him. No matter how sexy you look to him right now, how good you smell, or even how badly he wants to stuff his face between your thighs.

He’s still mad at you.

“Why are you mad at me? Did I do something?”

“‘M not mad.”

“Liar.” You bark back quickly, his graze went down to your chest, when you realize you adjust yourself on his lap, your bare damp cunt taking its place on his semi hard dick already through his sweats, “What happened?”

Your breath fanned his lips, Bakugo felt his will breaking, his determination to stay angry at you, but got damn you and those big doe eyes you have with such need and curiosity.

Those same eyes he wants tearing up under him again, “…..You…you didn’t notice.”

“Notice what?” You started to look and search over his face and body, no new haircut or anything.

“…I got the highest score on the final exam and you didn’t even congratulate me….”

Blinking at him he starts to grumble and shuffle in his seat, relaxing his arms to land on your hips his cheeks begin to flush.

You typically do praise him with every accomplishment he has whether big or small, but you didn’t mention it once today after you both left the lecture to check your scores. He don’t know why it made him so upset but it did.

And that was just so fucking cute to you.

“Oh baby…..” You practically whine out to kiss all over his face, “I’m so sorry baby c’mere.”

Your voice had some teasing undertone to it, but Bakugo didn’t care to point it out feeling on your naked body grind and press against him, he closes his lips with yours, almost greedily sucking your bottom lip and licking your own tongue in your mouth he holds you closer, lower growling, still annoyed feeling in his chest, but it begins to get ignored when your fingers traced against it.

“Can i make it up to you?”

He pulls away not saying anything, but watching you adjust your body between his legs, you pat his thigh to lift his hips, dick springing up embarrassingly to slap against his lower body with prickles of pre cum, your eyes practically glowing at the sight.

“Wait.” Bakugo uses the last bit of sanity he had to cup your cheek, “Turn around.”

“Baby….” Already knowing what he was implying he wanted to do you begin to get flushed, “That position is embarrassing.”

“Not to me.” Shaking his head he already begins to pull up your body to adjust yourself on top of him, nothing, but your pussy and asshole right in his face, “There we fucking go. Shit—- You just drooled on my lip Y/N-“

“‘Suki!” You whine, “You better watch your fingers too this time—aah!”

Shutting you up he latches onto your dangling little clit, aching for a suckle, you felt his hands spread your ass out further for more access, ignoring how slutty he must look right now you take as much of him as you could.

69 is typically Bakugo’s go to, he loves be smothered by you completely, the way you shake your ass in his face when he begins to tease you with the tip of his tongue only doing figure 8 shapes on your clit, when you moan on his dick when you’re close, the way he just sometimes gets away with licking your ass too, he was a freak, and he doesn’t care how embarrassed you might be because at the end of the day he really loves all of you.

Even if he gets mad at you sometimes.

[sirfrogsworth]

Let's talk about screens and eye comfort.

@krakenartificer wrote this in response to my motivated lighting post.

Maximum-visibility lighting is also accessible lighting. I cannot turn the brightness on my screen up any more than it is -- even a few seconds of a light-mode app at 75% brightness will give me a migraine. I believe you when you say that the train-light photos are legible to you. But with my screen at ~50% brightness in a medium-dim room, that second one, with the bright-white light, is already painful to look at. And since my pupils have constricted to protect me, I can't see almost anything else going on there.

I already mentioned that if people are having issues seeing dark elements in their content, their room may be too bright. That is a strategy to get the highest quality viewing experience, but it may not be the most comfortable for people with various eye sensitivities.

So I'm going to address eye comfort over image quality in this post.

I think many people have a misconception about the brightness setting on their display. Often people will turn it up and down depending on the content they are viewing. If something has a really bright element, they may turn it down. If something is too dark, they may turn it up.

That isn't really how display brightness is meant to work. This setting is meant to maintain picture quality and contrast as much as possible while raising and lowering the overall intensity of the display. And the intensity is meant to be adjusted according to the viewer's environment, not what is on the screen from moment to moment.

You want the intensity of light in the room to match the brightness of your screen.

Some people prefer to adjust their screen a little brighter than ambient so it is a little more legible. But that is a personal preference.

So if you are in a dark room, you'd turn the brightness down.

If you are out in bright sun, you'd turn your brightness up.

If your screen is displaying near white or pure white and it hurts your eyes, that usually means your room is too dark. A brighter ambient environment can help make "light mode" more comfortable. Try turning on some lights or going to a brighter space and see if it helps.

However, some people do not feel comfortable in brighter rooms. This is when you might consider "bias lighting." This is a soft light source behind your screen that you can adjust to the maximum tolerable brightness to keep your eyes from going into night vision mode or max dilation.

It's better if the bias lighting is spread out rather than using a small light source like a night light. Small light sources feel much more intense and can add to eye strain. You want the light to cover a large surface area.

String lights across a wall work well.

Or you can bounce a light off a wall or ceiling to diffuse and spread it out. Many people just put a light behind their TV and light up the wall behind it.

The idea is to make the room *feel* dark while still having enough light to keep your pupils from opening up and feeling like any sudden bright light source is blasting you in the eyeballs. Your pupils prefer gradual adjustments to light and dark. If you go straight from a dark scene to a bright scene without any bias lighting, your eyes might feel a bit melty.

If you are *still* uncomfortable with white on your screen and have a particularly strong eye sensitivity, then you might consider sacrificing picture quality for comfort.

Turning down your brightness is not a great solution because it makes *everything* darker. Again, the brightness of your screen should be close to the room lighting.

Typically, to get the highest quality image you want to adjust your screen so the blacks are as black as possible and the whites are as white as possible without losing any detail.

Rtings has a guide for monitors and TVs for this.

They have two patterns for black and white point adjustment.

They look like this.

You want to see bars all the way up until the reference point.

The white point is most commonly called "contrast" in display settings. Sometimes there will be a contrast adjustment AND a white point adjustment. In that case, the white point only deals with the brightest highlights and the contrast will affect all whites.

But if you have really sensitive eyes... forget the charts. Forget peak image quality.

Instead, try lowering your contrast and reducing the intensity of *only* the white elements rather than darkening everything.

The picture might look a little gray and dull, but you won't lose as much legibility in the shadow areas. You are just turning down the brightest stuff to make your eyes more comfy.

Max white point...

Lowered white point...

And if you still need to turn down your screen brightness, you can raise the black point to keep more detail in the shadows.

Again, that might not look great, but it will keep your eyes comfortable and you will be able to make out all the details you need to see.

You might also consider adjusting the color temperature of your screen to be warmer. Blue light is higher frequency and more energetic. Which means it can pierce and glare more than warmer light. So shifting things to the orange could also bring some comfort to sensitive eyes. Search for a “Warm” mode, “Eye Comfort” mode, or Night Shift settings.

Most TVs and monitors have these adjustments. Sometimes they call them different things, so you may have to do some googling. (God forbid tech companies ever agree on a standard.)

And if you are on a phone or laptop, you may need a special app to adjust these specific things. I would research "how to reduce white point" for whatever device you are using.

To review...

Adjust your ambient room lighting first. Brighter ambient room lighting can make bright white elements on your display more comfortable.

Display "brightness" should be adjusted to your lighting environment, not the content on screen.

If you don't like bright rooms, bias lighting behind your display can keep your eyes from going into night vision mode. This can prevent bright screen elements from being too intense or glaring.

If you have eye sensitivity issues, try all of the above first, and then consider lowering your contrast or white point setting. This will dim only the brightest elements on screen without making everything else too dark.

If you need to lower the screen brightness AND white point/contrast, you may lose detail in the shadows as well. You can try raising the black point to compensate. This is a worst case scenario and will probably not look great.

Consider warmer color temperature settings to reduce glare from high-frequency blue light.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

cw - toji x fem!reader, stalking, suggestive, home invasion

an - idk what this is. just something silly i quickly wrote while cooking dinner.

Toji had been slow and methodical. He spent his time watching you for months and months, waiting for the perfect opportunity to get inside your house. He knew you better than he knew himself except he was completely befuddled by your entire existence.

Sure, he didn’t know a lot of 20-year-olds, but he imagined at your young age that you would spend a lot of time out dating, partying, going out with friends but no, you were always at home. Even worse than that, you were always alone at home.

You were a pretty thing, he decided. It wasn’t an issue in the looks department that forced you to stay home alone every night. Were you perhaps socially awkward? Highly likely. Toji had witnessed you talking to your cats about the most random shit on more than one occasion.

He was honestly so fucking enamored with you. You were an enigma. Someone he wanted to steal away from the world just to study you.

Unfortunately for both him and you, time was money, and Toji had found his opportunity to finally break in.

Rustling around in your spare room, he was unplugging the gaming pc you seemed to love so much. He honestly felt a little guilty for stealing that one sims save that you had hyperfixated on for three weeks on end.

There was also that 3-year Stardew Valley save. You could surely get that back if you bought a new pc, right?

Besides, his mouth was watering by the possibility of getting to know more about you. He was going to scour this entire thing for every bit of knowledge before he wiped the hard drive and sold it.

That was when he heard it: the soft sound of the floorboard creaking and the unmistakable meow of your cat. Hopefully, your cat was just getting up to get a bite of food.

“Meoooww,” you said right back to your cat.

Toji froze. Fuck. You shouldn’t be awake right now.

He heard the sound of a TikTok looping on your phone, and he risked taking a small look down the hall. You were using your phone screen as a flashlight. Your tiktok was blaring some obscene edit of a fictional character.

Teach me how to scream. Teach me, Teach me how to scream. Teach me how to scream. Teach me, Teach me how to scream.

In your other hand, a watered down Baja Blast from the Taco Bell you Doordashed earlier.

This was a fucking nightmare. He knew he should’ve done this while you were at work, but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to feel close to you, being in the same house as you.

Glancing towards the window, he nearly groaned. It had been completely covered with a blackout curtain that was pinned to the wall. Were you allergic to the sun or something??

Teach me how to scream.

That tiktok was going to be the death of him, except…no, he couldn’t… He shouldn’t.. He should not use your loneliness to his advantage.

He was already stomping into the kitchen. “What the fuck are you doing awake?” he grunted, staring down at you. This was such a surreal experience. The person who he had been shamelessly watching and following was right in front of him, staring at him with big, frightened eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” you shrieked, looking around pathetically before grabbing a knife out of the knife block.

Well, at least you had more self preservation skills than a fucking worm.

“It’s the fifth of June.” He crossed his arms over his chest, still glaring at you.

“So!? I already paid my rent. Please leave—“ You were holding the knife wrong. He sighed. This was honestly just sad.

He stepped forward, making you step back. “It’s the first day of your cycle. You should be in bed asleep. Every fifth day of the month you order takeout, come home, eat, and curl up with a heating pad before hibernating for at least four hours. So, answer my question. Why are you awake?”

Your jaw dropped, staring at this…intense, cruel, enticing man in front of you. You tried to shake the thoughts out of your head. He had been stalking you. He broke into your home!

“You don’t wanna know.” You stepped back one more time. “Please go. If you leave, I promise I won’t tell a soul about this.”

He let out a dark chuckle, shaking his head as he took another step forward. “That’s where you’re wrong, princess. You have no fucking idea how badly I want to know.”

“You’re sick,” you scoff, eyeing him up and down.

“Says the one who’s eye-fucking her home invader.”

“I am not!” You yelled way too defensively. “I’m awake because I bled through my tampon and pad. There. Happy?”

“Damn,” Toji reacted before he thought better. He immediately regretted it as he saw your face twist in hurt. “Don’t give me that look. I’m robbing you, remember?”

“You broke into my house to rob me?” you asked, tears welling into your eyes.

Why did your tears feel like a punch to the gut?

He groaned. He was so beyond fucked — in way too deep. This was already a bust. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

“Why? So you can rob me?” You accused, pitifully dropping the knife at your side. “Wait. What were you going to steal?” you asked, looking at your cat nervously.

“Relax, princess. I don’t want your fat ass cat.” He shook his head, kicking the knife away from you. Now that you couldn’t hurt him or yourself, he finally approached you. “I’m serious. Come on. I’ll leave once you’re back in bed.”

You sniffled, wiping your eyes. Why were you so inclined to believe this stranger? Just because he was insanely attractive, didn’t make him trustworthy. If anything, he had only proved to be horrifically untrustworthy.

“You’re gonna leave with my stuff though,” you murmured, letting him guide you back to your bedroom.

Toji snickered. For a socially awkward introvert, you were pretty funny…and cute too. “Fine. I’ll stay. You don’t have to beg, princess.”

“I wasn’t asking you to stay—“ you protested while Toji tucked you into bed, placing the heating pad on your tummy. He then kicked off his boots before crawling into the bed next to you like he had imagined doing for months.

“Shut up. I’m staying. End of conversation.”

You shuffled in the bed next to him, feeling the weight of his heavy muscular arm wrapping around you. It was inexplicably comforting to have him next to you. You were wrapped up in a warm safe cocoon, lulled to sleep by the subtle hints of his cologne.

Toji was out like a light. He normally tossed and turned in bed for hours before he finally fell asleep, but for whatever reason, his body found immediate peace with you, giving him no time to question what the fuck just happened.

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @airandyeah

[asiatic-apple]

Fluff prompt 1 with Sylus and female reader

Thanks for the request, nonnie! Hope you enjoy this one

Requests are open for my follower celebration

First kiss in the rain

Sylus x female reader

Prompt: getting caught in the rain together

Content: one mention of the pet name “kitten”, a little bit suggestive, making out in the rain

The sky had looked innocent enough when you left the cafe with Sylus. It was cloudy, sure, but not too threatening. It wasn’t until the two of you were halfway down the street that the first drop fell. Then another. And another.

Now you’re sprinting side by side, completely soaked, laughing as you duck under the overhang of a closed flower shop. Rain comes down in heavy sheets, drenching the pavement and painting the world in watercolor grays and glimmering reflections.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you mutter, breathless from the run and the ridiculousness of it all.

Sylus pushes back wet strands of silver hair, looking unfairly handsome when he’s soaked to the bone. “I told you we could have taken the car,” he teases, water dripping from the sharp edge of his jaw.

You elbow him lightly, feeling slightly embarrassed that you were the one who stubbornly pushed to walk back to your apartment. It’s more romantic to walk, you had said, sticking your chin out in that cute pout Sylus loves so much. Now you’re eating your words and drowning in the torrential rain.

But you’ve always been too stubborn for your own good. Some might call it a flaw, but Sylus likes that you stick to your guns—you’re his feisty kitten for a reason.

“I was right, though,” you exclaim over the patter of the rain. “This is way more romantic than a boring car ride.”

You playfully flick a droplet from his collarbone, subconsciously licking your lips when you watch it scatter into smaller rivulets that glide beneath the lapel of his dress shirt. Yeah, Sylus looks even better when his clothes are damp and sticking to him like a second skin.

You shiver without realizing it, and Sylus shifts closer, ready to take care of you. “Cold?” he asks with a raised brow. It’s unclear whether he’s smiling out of affection or because he knows exactly what made you shudder like that.

“A little,” you lie, wrapping your arms around yourself. Your own clothes also cling a bit uncomfortably to your skin. But your face is too warm—probably from how he’s looking at you.

“You should’ve let me bring my jacket,” he teases.

You scoff. “And have you suffer instead? No way.”

He hums thoughtfully, then steps in front of you, his hands reaching out to gently tug your arms from your sides. He wraps them around his waist, pulling you flush against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“There,” he murmurs. “Now you can steal my body heat.”

You tilt your head back to look up at him. “This is very convenient for you, huh?”

“Extremely.” His smirk is handsome as always, but the look in his eyes is different now. It’s calmer, softer. Like the rain has washed everything else away but this moment between the two of you.

A drop of water slides down your cheek, and he brushes it away with his thumb. His hand lingers, warm against your skin despite the chill in the air.

You swallow, heart pounding. “We’re very wet.”

“I noticed,” he murmurs, his voice lower now. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth before returning to your cheek too quickly for your liking. “Should I pull away?”

“Not if you’re about to kiss me,” you whisper, already rocking forward on your toes to lean in.

The kiss is gentle at first, sweet and careful, as if he’s savoring the moment. But when your fingers curl into the front of his shirt, damp fabric bunching in your hands, Sylus deepens it with a quiet groan that makes your knees go weak.

His hands cradle your face, keeping you anchored as the rain hammers the pavement around you. For a second, you forget everything else. You forget the cold. You forget the puddles. You forget that anyone could walk by and see you both soaking wet, making out under a flower shop awning like something out of a movie.

You pull back just slightly, enough to catch your breath and whisper, “This is a little cliché, don’t you think?”

Sylus leans his forehead against yours, his soft panting the only sign that your kiss affected him just as much as it did you. “You say that like it’s a bad thing, sweetie.”

“It’s not,” you admit with a smile. “I like it.”

“Good,” he whispers, pecking you on the forehead. “Because I’ve been wanting to kiss you in the rain for a while now.”

You have half a mind to laugh, assuming he’s just being a tease as always. But the look on his face is sincere. You don’t have a witty response this time. All you want to do is kiss him again, until he’s breathless and dragging you back home to peel off these clothes that stick to your body.

The rain shows no signs of stopping, but for once, you don’t mind. Not when you’ve got Sylus pressed against you, his warmth soaking in deeper than the cold ever could. Not when your lips find his again, slower this time, like there’s no rush. Like this is exactly where you’re both meant to be.

💕 tag list: @heartyluv @doeeyes515 @lethalasylum @starryeyed-apple @starlitfics @craeatio @rafayelslittlestar @ruralamours @alyssac9 @blushofeve @alastor-simp @nezuswritingdesk

🐉 tag list: @voidsylus

Want to be added to my tag list?

divider by @/thecutestgrotto

[oopsiedaisydeer]

manhandle me

smut, manhandling, oral (f!receiving), p in v, semi-public (bathroom), jealousy, possessiveness, mild hair pulling

word count - 1.9k

Chris knows Dolly.

Knows how to move her. Hold her. 

Handle her. Throw her.

Touch her.

So why is she keeping her distance tonight?

He had kind of assumed that even though she was busy last night, they’d see each other tonight. Find their way to each other, like they always did. 

That was the only reason he was here. He didn’t really like going out. Too many bodies, sweaty and disorganised. He always drank too much to cope with the discomfort, and then people started getting on his nerves, and before Chris knew it, he was swinging.

That was sometimes worth it, when she’d look into his eyes afterwards, cleaning the cuts on his knuckles, and he knew, knew somewhere deep in his bones, what was going to happen next. How it was going to feel. Sliding into her warm, wet mouth, easing away the pain in that language, the rhythm that seemed so easy, felt so good between them.

She’s too far from him tonight. Not that he’s the possessive type. But she’s his, and he knows that. They both do. 

Because Chris knows that she gets wet whenever his hands are on her. Grabbing her by the waist and moving her, like a body moves through water, easy, pliant, relaxed. Randomly picking her up when she can’t reach something on the top shelf, and then tugging her to the bedroom, kissing her all the way, because he’s impatient, because she’s already soaked.

Also knows that she loves it when he gets protective. Physical but not violent. Picking her up, guiding her away, away, away. Away from those people, the ones he doesn’t like, the cocky assholes. Not that he isn’t one, but they’re annoying. Dolly doesn’t belong with them. She belongs with him. Under him. On top of him. 

With him.

Not that this dude needs to know any of that. He just needs to know to steer clear.

He’s been watching them from across the room, this guy leaning closer and closer to Dolly, an ugly smile spreading across his face as Chris grips his cup tighter and tighter. He probably smells like beer and bad cologne. She probably hates it.

He’s been flirting with her, sweet talking her for the past twenty, creeping ever so nearer to her, now with one hand lightly brushing the end of her braid, and that makes the blood in Chris’s veins boil, because her hair is his to touch. Just like her face is his, her body is his. She’s his.

It’s not that Dolly is uncomfortable, although she’s definitely not going to go home with the guy. And Chris knows better, knows he should just stay where he is, wait for her to come to him, but he just can’t anymore. Can’t wait for the other guy to know better. 

Chris can’t just stand there, and, and just, just watch.

So he puts his cup of soda down on the nearest surface and marches up to them, Dolly eyeing him, full of quiet warning and promise. 

She barely has time to part her lips before he’s there, a quiet warning, quiet question on her lips, please?, all in one look. His arm snakes around her waist roughly, the other slipping down her thigh with intention, claiming her in front of this stupid, clueless man. 

“C’mere, Dolly," he whispers down her neck.

“Hey,” the guy starts, brows lifting. “We were talking!”

“Chris, don't–” she starts, but it’s too late.

He grabs her without ceremony, strong arms scooping her right off the floor like she weighs nothing, tossing her up and over his shoulder. Her skirt hikes. Her gasp is sharp and startled, palms smacking against his back, braid swinging with each step as he carries her off like a prize.

“Put me down,” she hisses, but she’s blushing. She clutches at the fabric of his hoodie, pressing her thighs together, knowing exactly where this is going.

“Nope,” he says casually, like he’s done this a hundred times. “Too busy teaching your new little friend boundaries.”

A slam of the bathroom door. A twist of the lock.

Then Chris has her up against the wall before she can say another word. One hand at her neck, just holding, thumb grazing her jaw. The other pushes her skirt up slow… teasing, possessive. A greedy palm slides over her ass, fingers digging into the crease just enough to make her squirm.

“You let him touch your hair?” he asks, voice low, breath warm. “You think that shit’s funny?”

Her breath hitches. “You were ignoring me.”

“I wasn’t,” he says, mouth grazing her jaw, pressing her back harder as he grinds his hips against her. “I was watching. Trying to be good. You were being a brat.”

One hand grips her thigh, the other tilts her face up.

“I should make you say sorry,” he murmurs, breath hot against her skin. 

“But I’d rather make you come instead.”

He presses her back harder, grinds his hips against her. “You knew I was waiting, especially after you ghosted me the other night.”

Her breath catches. She had known. “I was busy–”, she begins, but he cuts her off again.

“I should spank you,” he mutters, grabbing a fistful of her ass, dragging her hips flush to his. “Make it so you can’t sit through brunch tomorrow.”

Then he spins her, bends her forward over the sink with a roughness that makes her moan, quietly desperate. His hand snakes between her thighs, and he groans when he feels her.

“Already dripping?” he grits. “Fucking knew it. My girl gets wet just from me looking at her.”

He spreads her gently, fingers filthy and slow, pressing where he knows she’s sensitive. His other hand reaches for her braid, winding it tight around his fist and tugging her head back with a smirk.

“I should leave you like this,” he says against her ear. “All pretty and needy. Maybe let that guy get a look at what he won’t be touching.”

“Chris, please,” she whimpers, grinding back against him, shameless.

And he groans, pressing a kiss to the back of her shoulder.

“Nah,” he breathes. “Patience.”

He drops to his knees behind her, mouth already trailing open kisses along her thighs, tongue teasing just where she needs it. His hands keep her still… big, warm, a little rough, palming her doughy soft skin and keeping her spread for him.

“You gonna say thank you?” he murmurs against the inside of her thigh, voice thick, eyes dark. “For rescuing you?”

She whines, shifting her hips back, needy. “You’re so dramatic.”

Chris grins. “That’s not a thank you.”

He kisses the dip where her thigh meets her pussy, then drags his tongue slow, hot, deliberate, flattening it against her until she gasps and grabs the edge of the counter. His hands hold her firm, thumbs spreading her open as he eats her out. 

Like he’s starving, like he’s proving something.

Dolly trembles, soft and slick against his mouth, braid hanging loose, unravelling places, swung over her shoulder as she tries not to cry out. One of his hands slips up, palm flat on her back to hold her down, keep her still, while the other keeps her spread, just how he likes her.

“You taste like mine,” he mutters, breath hot between her thighs. “All sweet and messy.”

She makes a strangled sound, hips twitching.

“You like that?” he asks, lips brushing her swollen clit. “Me talking with my mouth full?”

“Shut up,” she gasps.

He chuckles, low and wicked, then sucks hard and slow until her knees start to give.

“Mm, you love it,” he says, and she does. Of course she does.

And just when she’s right on the edge, when her thighs start to shake, he pulls back.

“Chris–” she whines, voice breaking.

He’s already standing, already undoing his belt, pupils blown wide and mouth slick from her. He strokes himself once, twice, then grabs her hips and lines up.

“You were gonna let him touch you,” he says, more possessive than angry. “You let him look at you like that.”

“I didn’t do anything,” she whimpers, but her voice is too breathy, too turned on. “I never do.”

“You wore this little skirt,” he mutters, dragging the head of his cock through her slick folds, teasing her entrance. “You knew I’d see it.”

“I didn’t wear it for him–”

He thrusts into her in one smooth, hard motion, and she gasps, hands flying to brace against the mirror. Chris groans into the crook of her neck, his chest pressed to her back as he bottoms out.

“You wore it for me,” he says, hips snapping forward. “Say it.”

She nods, breathless. “Wore it for you.”

“Damn right you did,” he growls.

He fucks her slow and deep at first, letting her feel every inch, one hand tangled in her braid, the other gripping her hip so tight she knows she’ll feel it tomorrow. His rhythm builds fast, rougher with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping echoing off the tiles, as he leans in to nip at her shoulder, to whisper filth into her skin.

“Fuck,” he groans, thrusting deep again, harder. “You love being tossed around, huh?”

She gasps, nodding helplessly, all flushed cheeks and glossy eyes. “Mhm,” she manages to get out.

He laughs, breathless. “You’re like my own little ragdoll, just for me.”

He doesn’t even need to say it. The way his hands move her, confident, practiced, like she’s made to be handled, says everything.

And Dolly, soft little thing that she is, lives for it. For the way he’s moving her without asking. The way he picked her up before like it was nothing. Puts her where he wants her, where she wants to be, bent, breathless, pliant in his grip. He fills her up so good, warm, thick, the drag of a prominent vein making her stomach flutter.

She melts for it. Gets even more wet from the way he grabs her hips to steer her. Moans when he grabs her jaw to kiss her just how he likes, a little too hard, a little too needy. Whimpers when he manhandles her into another position, one hand on her lower back, the other fisting her braid like a rope.

And Chris, he’s obsessed with how easily she lets him. Like her whole body wants to be moved. Like his hands are the only ones who know how to. She squeezes around him, velvet and vice, and he nearly loses it. Nothing else ever feels like this. Nothing ever could.

“You gonna come for me, Dolly?” he pants. “Gonna come on my cock like a good girl?”

She nods, helpless, fucked-out already. “Y-yes, Chris, please.”

And he loses it a little at that, hips slamming into her as he fucks her through it, her body trembling under him as she falls apart, moaning into the bathroom vanity. He holds her tight, keeps her grounded, even as her legs shake and she cries out his name like it’s the only thing she remembers.

He follows close behind, biting down on her shoulder as he spills inside her, hand clamped over her mouth. Because he loves the way she moans into his palm, nothing getting him off harder than those desperate, muffled little sounds.

Afterwards, he doesn’t pull out right away. Just keeps her pressed to the counter, kissing her neck, her cheek, her temple, soft and reverent and slow.

“You good?” he murmurs, smiling as he brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She hums. “You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah,” he grins. “But I’m yours.”

And Dolly doesn’t argue with that. Because she’s his. 

His perfect, pretty ragdoll. Just how he likes her.

dividers by @enchanthings ꨄ

a/n: aaaaa i feel really good about this so i hope you all enjoy xx

credits: thank you @strnilolover for this idea!! love u gabby <3

thanks for reading!!!!!!!! likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

[https-bobreynolds]

insane together

pairing: robert ‘bob’ reynolds x reader, mentions of the void x the enchantress

summary: just a random conversation on a monday morning in the kitchen with your boyfriend, bob.

author’s note: this is just pure random fluff, thanks for all the love guys <3 am not having a good time rn, reading all your comments and reblogs makes me feel so much better

“love,” you called the man, your boyfriend, who’s sitting beside you, “do you ever find it weird..?”

he gave you a look, “do i find… what, weird?”

“the fact that the two entities inside of us are also a thing?”

bob sighed, sipping on his cup of coffee. “it is a bit… weird, i suppose. why… why do you ask?”

you shrugged, “i don’t know, the thought just crossed my mind, that’s all.”

bob nodded, setting his cup down on the kitchen counter, “well yes, it is weird, but i prefer not to think too much about it, it’s-“ he paused, trying to find the right words, “it’s like… trying to make sense of an unsolvable math problem.”

you chuckled lightly, “yeah… i guess it is pretty much like that, huh?”

he nodded, a small smile on his face, “yeah… i don’t really want to get a headache trying to do the math to figure them out.”

you nodded, picking up your mug, “yeah, i don’t want to either. our relationship already confuses the public enough, imagine what their reaction would be if they find out that our respective entities are practically dating, too.”

bob chuckled quietly, his expression turning amused, “probably… probably just utter confusion and disbelief, followed by a lot of questions, and a few headaches.”

you laughed, “yeah, no kidding. they’re either going to think we’re insane or we have lost our minds completely. maybe both.”

he nodded, a smirk on his face, “oh yeah, they’ll definitely freak out. and imagine how they’ll react when they learn about the whole treaty thing we have with them…”

you rolled your eyes, a small grin on your face, “that’ll blow their minds- they’ll wonder how the hell we manage to come to an agreement with a goddess, worshipped by the pre-columbian maya and inca civilizations, AND a destructive entity which is the literal embodiment of depression.”

bob chuckled, “yeah, i’m sure they will. hell, i don’t… i don’t think they’d even believe us if we told them the whole thing… they’ll think we made it up.”

you nodded, “honestly, i wouldn’t be surprised if they do end up thinking we made it all up. the whole idea of it sounds a bit ridiculous when you say it out loud, don’t you think? who do you think will believe that?”

he sighed, “not one person for sure. they’ll think we belong in a mental institution… but… i don’t mind, though. being crazy with you seems better than being normal. a-at least, in my opinion.”

you rolled your eyes playfully at that, “yeah? you enjoy being crazy with me, huh? do you like being labeled as insane?”

he chuckled, “hey, being insane with you? i love it. as long as we stick together… i don’t care what people think of me or what they label us as.”

you cracked a smile, “yeah, who needs normalcy anyways? insane together, right?”

he returned the smile, his eyes filled with affection, “insane together indeed, sweetheart.”

tag list:

@lovetoalll

[greenplumbboblover]

[WIP] TS3 UI "Krystal"

I figured it would be cool to finally publicly share what I've been working on behind the scenes, as well as some mockups!

A few of you on Patreon or Discord may have already seen sneak peeks/given feedback. I kept things quiet because I wasn’t sure I’d even do it in the first place as a next modding project, and I didn’t want to let anyone down.

Luckily, @lazyduchess’s Monopatcher made the job ten times easier. The biggest hurdle was that I would've had to make a core mod to override UI code (I’m normally anti–core mod), but the patcher solved that and let me push ahead.

(Psst, if you're looking at seeing the mockups bigger, I also posted this post on my site: Simblr.cc 😉)

Creating the Mockups

Fun fact: I actually have a degree in UI/UX design! (for websites) While principles like “How wide should this padding be?” or “Which colors send the right signal to the user?”—game UI is a whole different beast.😬

Main Menu

I started with the main menu:

Cut the SimPoints clutter and the “Buy TS4!” banner—after a decade, we get it exists 😉.

Grouped items into clean blocks

Added a text-free “Create New Family” icon

Swapped lot thumbnails for family shots (still baffled by EA’s original choice).

Dropped an options gear in the bottom-left; might label it if it’s too subtle.

Different backgrounds: one solid blue, one closer to the classic gradient.

A lil' sneek peek of where I'm at:

She's not finished, but it's definitely getting there! 😉

Load Screen

Not much has changed here! It's just less... busy I suppose, lol!

2 Different backgrounds to choose from

Moved the Game Tips to the bottom, so the main focus stays on that loading bar 😉

I also have a third option but I'm strongly leaning towards just having the loading bar as it's the most clear!

Live Mode

The hardest of them all lol. Kudos to EA for figuring that one all out! I really struggled with this one in regards to shape and what to even move around/remove!

I figured, it should be nice to pull really into that glassmorphism I've been using over the Mockups! Now I do realise that it can hamper user experience in the sense of not being able to read anything. But these are pictures! So that should be all fine and dandy.

The active item in the queue will now be more "visible". The queued item however, you'll see look a bit more "unactive" compared to what the current version has.

I also completely overhauled the thumbnails for your sims, showing their moods a bit better, and giving the active sim a tiny plumbob! :D

And now the real deal: The control panel! You might notice it's not the whole thing, but I'm still working on that part.

I removed the camera controls from the panel. However, upon feedback, I did hear that it's better to have them as some people are limited in their hand movements on their keyboard and that those controls are really useful. So I will make sure to share 2 versions :)

I also realised I completely forgot the Build/buy mode buttons 😬 So, err, stay tuned for that? lol.

Notifications I really just tidied up :p

I am aware that the space where the text is and the thumbnail is huge, and normally I'd wrap the surrounding text, but apparently in TS3's UI stuff that's practically impossible. Hence that they got this "2 column" effect to them 😉

About releasing the UI:

I'm hoping to release them all in bits and pieces! So first up is the Main Menu (and possibly the Loading screen given it's simplicity).

After that, I hope in my second "update" to release a big portion of Live mode, but that's a bigger task on it's own of course 😉

Any feedback at this point is also completely welcome by the way!

[dictatorkelly]

Patterns aren’t necessary in the same way a cookbook isn’t necessary. Recipes in a cookbook aren’t going to exactly suit your taste, nutritional needs, or dietary preferences. But they are vital to a person who has never been taught to cook. You need a basis from which to develop other skills. Saying commercial patterns are unnecessary is like telling someone who wants to learn how to make a simple loaf of bread that they need to mill their own grain as step one. Pattern drafting accurately is a specialized skill that takes time to develop independently of sewing.

I have used commercial sewing patterns. I have drafted my own from scratch. I have made patterns from my own clothes and modified commercial patterns. I’ve read sewing books and watched youtube videos. But! pattern drafting isn’t a *necessary* skill to first learn how to sew and if you start there newbies would never actually learn.

Those books and videos were only helpful after I had a good bit of experience sewing. The information in commercial patterns on things like fabric weight, grain direction, even precise seam allowance was already a foreign language. I used commercial patterns incorrectly at first because I didn’t fully understand what it was telling me. Do you think that I would have had a better time having my starting point be to *draft my own pattern* without even knowing those basic terms? You are vastly overestimating a beginner’s knowledge of technical terms. Starting there would have been so overwhelming I just wouldn’t have sewn anything at all. I understand I would have learned those terms faster drafting my own pattern, but at the expense of being told to do a marathon when all I've ever done is light walking. It’s okay and good to be able to have the option for training wheels. I agree that the best teacher is just messing around with fabric and looking at the construction of clothes. But I also have learned so much modifying commercial patterns, more than I would be able to for drafting general articles instead of looking at the premade pattern for that specific thing. To be told how to construct something specific rather than “how to sleeve” etc. The difference is like having a video on how to break down a chicken, identifying muscle grain, and proper cook temperature versus getting a recipe for chicken fajitas. I don't learn a lot about how to fabricate meat or best practices but I do learn a specific recipe that I can then tailor to my tastes.

The liquidation of this company is a loss to the culture and craftsmanship of America. It makes sewing more niche and less approachable. Learn to draft your own patterns, yes, but realize that not everyone needs to craft their own recipe just to cook.

Well my loves, it appears as though the answer to "Can the Big Pattern Company (Simplicity/Burda/McCalls/ect.) survive the death of JoAnn?" has come.

The answer is no. No it cannot. It has been sold to a liquidator just like JoAnns was.

So if there is ANYTHING you want I suggest you get it now. simplicity.com is currently having a pattern sale and I snatched up some that might be useful for cosplay purposes.

I am very glad these last couple of years I have built up my collection.

[a-writer]

Invisible String - Part 3

So… it’s pretty obvious that this has become a series. Hope you enjoy our little toxic dumbasses!

Azriel x reader

Part 1 | Part 2

Warnings: angst, cursing, toxic relationship, smutty talk

“I can’t believe he said that to you” Nesta sits next to you on the couch, talking to you with that deadly calm voice she always uses when something is not sitting right with her. “I’m going to kick his ass next time I see him.”

“We can kick his ass together.” Mor says from her spot on the floor.

“Not necessary, girls.” You watch them roll their eyes at you at the same time. “Besides, it’s not like we haven’t said worse things to one another…”

“But (Y/N),” Feyre interjects from her spot at the armchair in front of you. “Saying that he thinks about you when he’s hooking up with other girls is, like, really bad.”

Nesta and Mor nod at that and you look at them. It’s not common for the sisters to be together sharing an intimate space such as the library at the House of Wind. Nesta and Feyre are civil now, even friendly most of the time. And they will always come to you if you call. That is why you love them so much, as well as Mor, who you’ve known for the longest time.

“I don’t know…” You rub your temples.

Yesterday Azriel dropped you that bomb and, luckily, today he was sent away on some mission. The bad thing? He has gone to the Spring Court, where Lucien resides now with her. Elain. “Has Rhys heard anything from him at all?”

“Last he heard he was about to enter the Spring Court, so he’s probably there talking with Lucien and Elain.” Feyre says cautiously.

“Great.”

“What happened between you two, anyway?” Nesta has never been one to dance over a subject. “Cass always says that you and Azriel were basically attached at the hip.”

You feel your lungs constrict at her words, because it’s true. Azriel was your partner in crime, the first person you always looked for in a room, the one that you wanted comfort from, who you could show everything within you, the good, the bad and the ugly, because you knew he would never judge you.

“When Rhys was Under the Mountain, it was hard here.” You sigh and Feyre gets up to sit by your side, a hand on your shoulder that you appreciate. “A lot of stuff happened, we blamed each other, but we also felt guilty for the situation. I don’t know. I guess we didn’t know how to process it.” You look at Mor and she gives you a little smile. She understands how it was better than anyone else.

Your throat closes and you feel almost dizzy remembering those days. Feyre puts and arm around your shoulders and Nesta grabs your hand. Mor gets up to sit on the floor again right in front of you, both her hands resting on your legs. You look at your friends and thank the gods for bringing them to you and understanding you so well. Because whatever it is you are doing with Azriel, you know it makes no sense. And it pains you to see how things ended after everything you went through with him.

“(Y/N), we love you, all of us.” Feyre mumbles and squeezes your shoulders. “But this thing you have going on with Az… It’s hurting you more than making you any good.”

“I know…” You whisper. How is it possible that something that was so beautiful turns into this ugly and complicated situation?

You flip the pages of a book you can’t even name mindlessly. Where is he? It’s already so late, he should have arrived already. The meeting with Cassian had probably ended hours ago, and he promised you that today you would have dinner together. But now it’s already nighttime, the food is cold on the table of the living room and you feel like crying. It’s not the first time Azriel has disappeared and completely ditched you. In fact, it has become something so usual that even Mor asked if you’d like for her to come and have dinner with you, because, deep down, she knew Azriel would not appear today.

Your heart beats fast and you feel the book slipping from your sweaty hands. What is he doing? Is he with someone else? Before you can overthink more, the door from your little apartment in Velaris opens and you hear steps walking in slowly. His smell envelopes you, like rain and wind, and you feel tears prickle at your eyes. Azriel appears at the threshold of your shared bedroom. You drop the book and sit up on the bed, wait for him to say something, to apologize, but he just stares blankly at you.

“Are you drunk?” Your voice is high and it seems to wake him up of some trance.

“No.” Lie. You can smell the alcohol now that he’s closer.

“Where were you?”

“Out.”

You purse your lips. Is this how your relationship will be forever? You have had your ups and downs with Azriel, but for the last three years, it seems like a constant fight.

“Out with who?”

“Out with Cass.” His tone changes to annoyed, and you can see he fights not to roll his eyes at you. “After the meeting we went and had dinner, and we grabbed some drinks. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I was hoping it was, taking into account that you skipped the dinner that you promised me to go grab some drinks with your friend.” Annoyance fills your voice and now Azriel does roll his eyes at you.

“Let’s not do this, please.”

“Do what, Azriel?” You get up now, pacing around the room, too nervous to stay still. “You know how many times I’ve been here, alone, waiting for you to finally show up? How many nights I’ve spent asking myself where were you? I’m tired of this shit, I can’t do this anymore.” Your eyes fill with tears at the words coming from your mouth.

“What do you want me to say, (Y/N)?” Azriel’s voice sounds weird, annoyed, mad, sad. “I’m sorry, okay?! But it’s been almost 50 years. 50 years without Rhys and I don’t know what to do. Fuck! I hoped by now we would have rescued him back, but he’s not here and all of us are trying to fucking rule this city in the shadows and it’s just tiring. I just want to leave.”

“You want to leave me?”

“I want to leave everything.” He runs his hands down his hair and a single tear drops from your eye. “I can’t do this anymore, (Y/N).” He walks towards you and grabs your face. “I love you, you know I do. But…”

“But what, Azriel?” The tears are now freely running down your face, and Azriel tries to wipe them with his thumbs.

“I don’t think I know how to be with you.”

You feel like you might be drowning, because your relationship has been complicated, but Azriel has never said he wanted to give up on it.

“Why?” Your voice is low and you hate how pathetic you sound.

“I just…” He drops his hands from your face, looks down. “This isn’t working anymore. I love you, (Y/N), I really do. But I feel like I’m falling and I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

“I can help you, Az.” Now it’s you who grabs his face, make him look at you, trying to make him remember everything you’ve gone through together. “I’ll help you, I don’t care if I have to fall with you. We’ll get up together, like we’ve always done.”

“(Y/N)…” You can see his eyes glint with tears. “I don’t want to leave you, but I have already hurt you enough, I’m so sorry.”

Azriel grabs one of your hands, kisses your palm and takes a step backwards. You want to get close to him, to grab him and not let him go, but your feet aren’t moving. He looks at you one last time, a tear rolling down his face, and then he turns around and leaves you.

 

“(Y/N)?” Mor’s voice drags you out of the painful memory, and your three friends have concerned faces.

“I’m sorry, what?” You swallow the knot in your throat.

“Are you coming to tonight’s dinner?” Mor repeats softer.

Rhys has organized a dinner with everyone in the inner circle tonight, even little Nyx.

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world.”

————————————

Feyre has decorated the table with flowers and candles, and the dining room from the River House looks as dazzling as ever. When you arrive, everyone is already there, Azriel included. You can’t hide your surprised expression at seeing him, you thought he wouldn’t have come back from Spring Court yet.

A loud laugh catches your attention and you smile at Nyx, his little wings flaring while Cassian throws him up and down and Nesta tries to snatch the kid from him. You laugh at the image and get close to them. Nyx sees you and gives you a big smile.

“(Y/N)!” He doesn’t pronounce your name quite well yet but you forgive him.

You grab him from Cassian and plant a big kiss on Nyx’s cheek. “What was Cass doing with you, huh? Getting himself into trouble with auntie Nes?”

Cassian laughs and grabs Nesta’s waist, who rolls her eyes but leans into him. You feel an unexpected weight on your shoulders, and a too familiar smell envelopes you. Azriel’s muscular arm is on your shoulders, which now are tense.

“Hey, Nyx.” Azriel smiles at the babe and pinches his little cheek. Nyx, of course, laughs, delighted that Azriel is giving him some attention. Kind of relatable.

You look at the side of his face, then at Nyx in your arms, and suddenly everything becomes too real, an unwanted memory resurfacing once again.

The cool breeze enters through the window and makes goosebumps appear on your skin. Tangled up with Azriel in bed, both of you naked, it’s the perfect Sunday morning. He’s got your hands intwertwined and is looking at you like you hung the moon.

“Do you want to have kids someday?” The question pops out of your mouth without much thought.

Azriel contemplates you for a few seconds. “Yes, I would like to have kids in the future.” He gives you a little smile. “As long as they look like you.”

You laugh and get closer to him, your bodies flushed.

“I would love to have a mini you running around. Except from the whole brooding thing you’ve got going on.” You tease him and he flicks your nose. You get more serious, look him in the eye. “I’m sure you’ll be a great dad, Az.”

He doesn’t answer, but you can see his eyes, grateful, loving. You kiss him slowly, as if you want to remember every inch of his mouth.

“Someday we’ll have kids. But in the meantime…” He puts you on your back and hovers above you, his majestic wings shielding you both from the real world. “We can start practicing.”

Azriel winks at you and you laugh, and that’s the last thing you see before he passionately kisses you.

A soft touch on your neck wakes you up from the memory. Cassian and Nesta are gone, Azriel is making silly faces at Nyx and his thumb is caressing the side of your neck. An almost imperceptible touch, but you feel it. Because you feel and see everything he does. Luckily, Nyx decides he wants his mom and calls for her. Feyre is there in the blink of an eye, and you give her Nyx before he starts crying.

Azriel’s arm is still on your shoulders, his thumb giving delicate strokes to your neck. You step away from him, put some distance, try to think coherently.

“How was the Spring Court?” You cross your arms over your chest. It’s just a casual question.

“Good. Flowery. Luckily Tamlin was nowhere to be seen.”

“How was Elain?” You know you’re not being exactly slick with it, but you’re past the point of caring. Azriel knows you too well anyway, always gets your intention.

“She was good. She seems happy with Lucien.”

Azriel has this serious face that you can’t decipher, and before you can continue and make it awkward for all of you, Rhys calls you to the table.

The dinner is fantastic, and you look around the table to your found family. How lucky you are. Dessert comes and then drinks, and Feyre excuses herself to go put Nyx in bed.

“We have to organize a ball in Hewn City, it’s been a while now and Keith has asked me to.” Rhys looks at the table. “We need to invite Eris.”

Cassian grunts and Azriel tenses. Mor doesn’t react.

“I think it’s the right thing.” Amren adds. “He is our ally now.”

“Barely.” Cassian mumbles and Amren gives him a cold stare.

“(Y/N) I would like for you to meet him in advance, extend the invitation yourself.” Rhys looks at you and you nod. “You can meet on the border of Hewn City, no one will care there.”

“I’m going, too.” Azriel’s voice is cold.

You look at him, so does the rest of the table. Feyre just came back and she sits next to Rhys.

“You don’t have to.” Rhys says.

“I can take care of myself.” You say at the same time.

“I know.” Azriel looks at you and then at Rhys. “Eris looks at her like she will be his next snack. I’m going with her.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t think Eris will appreciate you being there.”

“I agree with (Y/N).” Rhys says.

“I’m sorry but it is not up for discussion. Eris may be our ally but he’s clearly not someone who we can trust. I’m going with her.” Azriel looks at Rhys, his tone leaving little to discuss.

Rhys and Azriel’s eyes turn void, Feyre’s too, and you know they are having a conversation. It doesn’t last long, suddenly their eyes are back to normal and Rhys looks at you almost apologetically.

“Okey, Azriel is going with you. You’re leaving in two days.”

[softnderanged]

Make a man of me

“I know baby, i know.” he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. This isn’t who he is, he would never do this with someone he just met, he’ll distance himself..right?

summery: In a world of violence and survival Joel miller gives you the care that the world lacks

WARNINGS: heavy age gap (20ish years) , reclaiming childhood trauma, reader is mute, vague descriptions of reader but you can imagine her as yourself (wavy hair, freckles, doe eyed), readers horrible with feelings, joel is horrible with feelings, reader is a virgin, p in v activities, daddy kink, hard yet soft joel, caretaker joel, actually fatherly joel, outbreak, prn with plot, SLOWBURN. (more tags in the future)

a/n: heyy this is my first post annnddd also my first writing i have a hard time finding joel miller fics that suit my taste soooo here we are any feedback would be appreciated!🎀

Part 1: A soft friend

maybe i grew up when i didn’t want to, maybe i grew up because i had to.

It’s what you told yourself every-time you doubted your strength, your ability to overcome, adapt. You grew up in the quiet of a second floor of a city apartment, scared, underweight, and silent. It was the first thing you were taught by your mother just after you had learned how to read.

scribbles filled your ears as she wrote into the dirt of the coffee table that laid in-front of you. “Searching for food. will be back.” Looking back up at her she gave you a questing nod, you shook your head in agreement, already feeling the pit in your stomach forming as you watched her leave from the worn and weathered couch of a bed and out the fire escape that acted as your front door. You waited what felt like days on end, you knew she wasn’t coming back home and there was nothing you could have done to stop her from from going. Your mother was a stoic woman, knife at her side at all times, rough and rigged from surviving the initial outbreak as a young girl. But she loved you, you could feel it in the way she tenderly finger brushed through your hair and gently braided your wavy strands to keep you maintained, or how she always fed you first when she found the little food she did. You missed her more than anything, she wanted better for you yet all the strength you had suddenly vanished. half a month had passed, though you swear it’d only been an hour but the empty bottles of water and rations from your mothers emergency stock splayed all around the couch you laid in said other wise. there was nothing else, it was time to get a move on yet your feet dragged on the floor, feeling so heavy until you didnt even realize you had reached the door.

“I have to survive.” is all you could think as your little hand grabbed at the handle, you barely recognized yourself as a child way back then anyways.

The present isn’t much different, it’d been around 6-7 years after you’d went about surviving by yourself, it was hard to keep track of time. You had kept in the City area and mapped out the entire surrounding city, you knew it like the back of your hand. The scarcity in everyday items was steadily growing ever so more, and right now what you needed the most was Tylenol for your horrible, almost chronic headaches and some ammo for the P365 handgun you had picked off of a cocky patrol man that strayed off further than he could handle. It’d become routine for you to go through and check the routes you drew out in the old and worn map that you obtained from some sort of news stand, sometimes straying to explore, like now, currently standing in the shade of an alley way you looked around the area squinting your eyes for any landmarks you recognized. None, until your eyes landed on what looked to be an old pharmacy across the street, bingo!

Carefully placing the fragile map back into your torn grey backpack that definitely needed some love. You set off towards the worn and abandoned building, making sure to watch for any sudden movement before darting across and into the narrow space between the pharmacy and another building. Not wanting to be seen from the street you looked for a way in, spotting a small smashed in window above a garbage bin and deciding that was going to be your entrance. “fuck.” you thought as you climbed up onto the overgrown Garbage bin and use all your strength to pull yourself to sit on the window sill and land feet first through the shattered opening, feeling yourself wince at the sharp pain of tiny shards dug into the palm of your hand— scaling was never your strong suit.

Debris mixed with glass crushed under the foot of your boots as you landed and immediately took in your surrounding as you took careful steps to skim over the few isles for supplies, realizing you jumped into the back of the prescription pick up. If not for your mother induced mutism no one would—

—CRACK—

Before you knew it you ducked down behind the pharmaceutical counter, grabbing at where your gun lay in your holster. You questioned if this was even worth it, you could leave and go without your needs. Weighing your options, you decided if there was too much to handle you would book it the same way you came in. Listening, you gripped your pistol and slipped in and out of the isles of the pharmacy, slowly making your way to where the sound had come from. you paused— a voice came into coherent range.

Holding your breath, you peeked around the corner,, there was a man on his knees wearing what looked like militia wear pinning another man by the neck on the floor. “I knew checking this area would be worth it, it was a stupid fucking mistake on your part getting into other peoples shit.” The militia man’s grip tightened as the taller and bulkier one of the two thrashed against him, filling your ears with the sound of struggle and grunts as his left hand fisted around the other mans wrist and the other,, throwing heavy punches that didn’t seem to make a difference, the scene made your wide eyes twitch at every blow. Steadying your quiet but uneven breaths, you prepared yourself to leave. You weren’t staying around to see the end, but there was a quiet thought that flooded your mind.

This man is going to die.

Surviving on your own made you frayed at the edges, you survived for yourself and death was nothing new but you couldn’t shake this, couldn’t shake the nauseating feeling it gave you thinking about what would happen if you left the two men to their business. Convincing yourself you were doing this for yourself, you let out an internal groan as you reached in your pocket and flipped out the switchblade you kept on you and snuck along a few more isles, being careful for glass shards that laid sparse all across the tile floor until you had view of the back of the armored man.

Realizing you had the advantage, you ran up and jumped on the mans back desperately stabbing into his neck as a choked out scream left his mouth and hands coiling back to claw at your arm that held him secure under his jaw. The room fell silent as you ripped out your now sticky with blood switchblade from the lifeless body of the now dead man, your breath slowed as you looked at the grump you just saved. getting a closer look he was disheveled as fuck. He looked around 40 but still extremely built and strong but not over done, wearing what looks like a muted dark green not fully buttoned button down, with one or two missing and a worn and well loved brown leather winter jacket over top. His jeans thick and straight cut, surprisingly with no rips or tears minus the washed out hint of green and brown on his knees.

His eyes slowly trailed up your body to meet yours, his hand cupping at his neck to sooth the ache. The sound of trucks came creeping in. “We need to go. Now.” He said, quickly getting up and leaning on a side door before pushing it wide to stick his head out.

“Alright go on out now, s’fine.”

Nodding you stepped out and held the door with all your strength while he made himself fit out the opening. You ran and hid with him for what felt like forever, your legs long gone sore and everything, but god, you wouldn’t imagine what his legs were feeling right now hes pretty fucking old. Eventually you both made it to a hide out of his, he pulled out a key and unlocked the door holding it open for you as you walked in. The place was fairly clean considering the world you lived in, it didn’t look like a permanent place, just a hide out with a sofa and supplies. Was he not from here? Why is he here? What does he want? God what did you get yourself wrapped into.

The man stared at your deep in thought face while he leaned on the peeling wall of the room. “So..you from aroun’ here?” You turned to him and nodded, his eyes followed as you looked down to rub at your palms. “Let me take care of that f’ya, least i could do. just take a seat.” You didn’t even know this man let alone trust him at all, on-top of that you can handle yourself, you weren’t going to stay and that was final.

…

And you sat, Gaddam it. “Your hand.” He says, hesitantly you raise it up for him as he wipes at it with a wet rag. He’s gentle, too gentle like he’s afraid you’ll shatter as he wraps a bandage around both of your palms. “Not much of a talker are ya, the names Joel, Joel Miller.” Your eyes followed him up as he got back on his feet, knees popping.

“Assumin’ you got no where to go and no one with you ill give you some options, you can come with me or stay. headin’ to a place called Jackson, bout’ a week trip over only reason i came here was to scope out loot, your decision.”

Your mind raced, he really is a stranger but you have absolutely no one here, it was a risk you weren’t sure on taking, it couldnt hurt to go along right? if things went south you can book it, you didnt have to trust him to follow behind. By the time you came to your decision the door had shut behind him, getting up you turned the handle and set off.

“Glad to see you made your choices.” You couldn’t see his face but the lack of tension in his body as he walked made you feel a little more at ease.

It’d been about a day since you started Traveling with him, now in a shopping district scavenging around for what you could find in a clothing store. The fancy dresses of the time made your eyes hurt at how unpractical they were. “Time t’get a move on, we got another store to go through before we’re out.” Motioning you to follow him through a door, It was a back hallway that connected each of the buildings, the last store being the toy shop.

Joel held the door for you as you stepped in, small trinkets and plushies of all sizes filled the area but one caught your attention. A soft brown teddy bear with beady black eyes and decent size to use both your hands to hug.

Picking it up struck a chord, a chord you couldn’t describe but it hurt, maybe it was the lack of being able to be a child, to have the luxury of toys, or live a life of having no worries of going to sleep hungry, maybe its everything. Joel noticed immediately how your body trembled holding the bear that looked like its purpose was to be in your arms. Taking slow steps he walked towards you until he was the closest he’s been to you.

“you alright?” he said, snapping you out of it and turning to look up at him.

you wanted to hold it in, you haven’t felt like this in forever, you don’t know him and this was just so embarrassing but you just couldn’t hold it in.

Like a overflowed dam cracking, it all came out, tears pouring, you couldn’t do anything but look down to save at-least a part of your dignity. You could hear him let out a soft “oh..” before he held your face to look at him, thumb swiping at a tear like it was question if this was okay, there was a look on his face, like seeing you cry broke a part of him, it wasn’t pity, it was care. There was no going back so you leaned into him craving any sort of security and comfort. Joel took that opportunity to take the bear out of your hands and pick you up with his left arm, quietly shushing you while his right cradled your head into his neck, not caring about the puddle of tears that would stain his jacket as he made his way to the book section of the store that had a white worn down rocking chair, his knees cracked as he balanced the chair before sitting down and laying back with you in his arms.

“I know baby girl m’sorry the worlds unfair, you’re doing the best you can, don’t need to act all tough right now.”

His words melted into every crevice of you, it was so calming, nothing like you’ve ever experienced, his heart beat, the small gentle circles he’s been scratching on your back, his scent of pine and faint smell of sweet vanilla, the soothing rocking, his warmth, so warm. The tears slowly subsided and you could feel your eyes drift shut from how exhausted your tears made you, sniffles dying down.

Once joel noticed you fell asleep he tucked the bear under you arm.

“I know baby, i know.” he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. This isn’t who he is, he would never do this with someone he just met, he’ll distance himself..right?

[blanchetteminxia]

bllk boys when u call them after your car breaks down (u changed the oil yourself with olive oil)

michael kaiser

kaiser answered your call on the third ring, voice full of smug confidence. “miss me already?” he teased.

you hesitated. “so… the car kinda died.” his tone immediately changed. “what do you mean died?” “i changed the oil myself,” you said proudly. “wait, you changed the oil?” “yeah! all by myself.” “…okay, wait—what kind of oil did you use?” you smiled nervously. “olive.” silence. “what?” “extra virgin,” you added quickly, like that would help.

you could hear the sharp inhale through the phone. “you mean to tell me you deep-fried your engine like it’s schnitzel?” “i panicked!” he let out the longest sigh in recorded history. “you cooked your car. congratulations, it’s officially a gourmet tragedy.”

thirty minutes later, he pulled up with sunglasses, iced coffee, and the most insufferable smirk. “smells like italy in here,” he said, poking your smoking engine. “are you going to help or not?” “oh, i’ll help. but i will be roasting you about this at your wedding toast.”

_________________

 rin itoshi

you knew rin would be annoyed. you also knew he was your only option. “rin… can you come get me?” you asked over the phone. “what happened?” “i changed the oil… and now the car won’t move.” there was a pause. “what kind of oil?” you swallowed. “…olive.” click. he hung up.

you stared at your phone. “oh my god.”

a few minutes later, it rang again. “drop your location.” “so you are coming?” “i’m coming to rescue your dumb ass, not the car. it’s probably in a coma.”

he arrived stone-faced. looked under the hood. “…it smells like focaccia.” “are you mad?” you asked. “i don’t have the energy to be mad. i’m trying to comprehend how you thought cooking oil would help a vehicle.” you shrugged. “it said oil. i got confused.” he muttered something about getting your vision checked and helping you pick a new car. one he maintained. for everyone’s safety.

_________________

sae itoshi

“don’t laugh,” you said immediately as sae answered. “that’s never a good start,” he muttered. “my car broke down after i changed the oil.” “…okay. what kind did you use?” you whispered, “olive.” “…come again?” “extra virgin olive oil. cold-pressed.” there was a long pause. then a quiet, “you absolute dumbass.”

he showed up in record time. no music, no expression. just sae and an overwhelming sense of judgement. he stared at your engine for a long while. “it’s marinating in there.” “i thought it was fine!” you defended. “it says oil!” “babe, if i drink gasoline, can i call that a smoothie?” you pouted. “you’re being mean.” “i just watched you murder a car with salad dressing. you don’t get to play victim right now.”

he called a tow truck and said nothing the entire ride back—except to quietly ask, “so balsamic next time?”

_________________

shidou ryusei

you: “so… funny story.” shidou: “this better be stupid.” you: “my car broke down and i think i know why.” shidou: “go on.” “i changed the oil with olive oil.” "NO. SHUT UP. THATS METAL"

he showed up not with tools, but with snacks and a camera. “holy hell. you actually did it. you fried a car like a tempura shrimp.” you pouted. “i thought i was doing something cool.” “you did. you committed vehicular culinary homicide.”

he popped the hood, gagged theatrically, and took a selfie with it. “caption: 'girlfriend cooked her car. send help and seasoning.’” you slapped his arm. he winked. “next time, let’s just bake cookies and call it a day.”

_________________

nagi seishiro

you called him with a whisper. “babe…” “mmh.” “the car’s dead.” “what’d you do?” “i changed the oil… with olive oil.” “…why.” “i thought it was the same thing…” another long sigh. “do you want me to come get you?” “yes please.”

he took forever to show up because he stopped for snacks. when he finally arrived, he just stared at your car like it personally offended him. “too much effort,” he muttered. “for me or the car?” “yes.”

he opened the hood, smelled it, and simply said, “this car is a crouton now.” you whined. “you’re not gonna make fun of me?” he shrugged. “i’m too lazy to even be surprised. next time, call a mechanic. or me. or anyone who doesn’t cook.”

then he gave you half his melon bread and let you rest your head on his shoulder while waiting for the tow.

[adieutristana]

Heyhey!!! Dont know if u already did it or not but I WOULD LOVEEE arcane women x chubby girl. <3 love your writing

of course! thank you for the request <3

domino dancing by pet shop boys on repeat rn

summary; headcanons of arcane women with a chubby girlfriend.

characters included; jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn, lest

tags/warnings; fluff, talk abt body of course, some talk about body image but i wanna keep it positive, just a lot of fluff

men dni.

jinx;

✧.* to say jinx loves every inch of you is a cruel understatement. she loves your voice, your mind, your heart, your smile, and of course your body. how could she not?

✧.* jinx marvels at just how soft you are so much of the time. your arms, your tummy, your hips, in her mind you’re the perfect size to hold and love. more of you to embrace, soft and warm in her arms.

✧.* jinx loves your thighs. she’ll often lay her head in your lap, relishing in the soft feeling and letting out little sighs. you make an incredible pillow, she says- way better than any actual pillows or beds. also sits in your lap frequently and wraps her arms around your neck, laying her head on your shoulder.

✧.* “comfy down there?” you tease, looking at your girlfriend- utterly blissed out with her eyes closed and head on your lap. “mhm, very. this is heaven.”

✧.* jinx is usually the type to give constant (although off the wall) compliments, and that wouldn’t change based on any body type. she’s constantly telling you how beautiful you look, pinching your cheeks and giggling, telling you being this gorgeous should be a criminal offense.

✧.* it’s often you’re in jinx’s hideout trying on outfits, sometimes her own clothes (she has several items that are baggy on her), and jinx positively melts every time she sees you. “holy shit!” she gasps, running over to look you over more accurately. “you’re gorgeous all the time, toots- but damn!”

✧.* jinx is also constantly kissing your stretch marks and sometimes just running her fingers over them in comfortable silence. she finds every part of your body beautiful, including these- lovingly referring to them as ‘stripes’ or ‘tiger marks.’ also enjoys the texture.

✧.* “y’know i love these?” she murmurs, often in quieter moments between the two of you. “they’re great, just like the rest of ya. but i like feelin’ em.”

✧.* cuddle time is sacred, no matter what. but jinx insists on being the big spoon most of the time, no matter how much taller or shorter you may be than her. she loves snuggling into the crook of your neck, hands wrapping around your waist and arms resting against your belly or knee resting against your soft thighs, just to feel closer.

vi;

✧.* we already know vi is an absolute lover girl, and she’d adore your body. every dip and curve and roll and mark, she’s in awe and sees you as some kind of divine being. vi often asks herself how she got so lucky.

✧.* that being said, though, vi tries not to make any spectacle- unless you want her to, of course. she’s considerate of your feelings and you are so much more than just a pretty face or a body to her, as beautiful as said body is.

✧.* though if there’s any lingering insecurity, vi is quick to try and shoot that down. insecure girlfriend? not on her watch. the second she sees you staring in the mirror for just a little too long, she’s gently coaxing you away and pressing sweet kisses to your temple. “hey, don’t worry about that stupid mirror. you’re perfect.”

✧.* borrowing vi’s hoodies and smelling her on them while she isn’t able to be with you <3 you’re similar sizes due to her being rather bulky, and she often buys oversized outerwear! and best of all, she doesn’t tell you when she’s leaving them. you’ll get a call from vi, her telling you to check the third drawer in your dresser or something along those lines.

✧.* “i- huh? why?” you’d mutter, but still move to the dresser. “just trust me, babe.”

✧.* you’d find one of her black hoodies folded up with your clothes, with a little post-it that reads, “i know you’re busy, and we won’t be able to see each other for a few days. i hate it as much as you do :( but i left something for you to keep while i’m not there, at least physically.”

✧.* vi is pretty partial to physical touch in general, but especially with you. she loves hugging you from behind and feeling the soft plush of your hips and arms, nuzzling into your neck and breathing your scent in. feeling your arms wrapped around her, vi swears she’s in paradise. you’re unreal.

✧.* especially drawn to your cheeks, for some reason. she doesn’t necessarily squeeze them or pinch them (though she has been tempted to), but she loves how well they suit your face. loves the way they look when you smile at her, and how they look when flushed.

✧.* and you can bet vi is constantly telling you how gorgeous you are. vi is the type of girlfriend to worship the ground her girlfriend walks on, telling you at every turn things like “you’re the most gorgeous thing i’ve ever seen,” and “you get more beautiful every day. i don’t know how you do it.”

mel;

✧.* from the moment mel laid eyes on you, she thought you were the most stunning thing she’s ever seen. better than any glass chandeliers, or rolling mountains, or gold jewelry.

✧.* of course there's no spectacle, but mel absolutely adores every physical trait of yours. your hips, your stomach, your thighs, any stretch marks or cellulite. your face shape and just how sweet you look, whenever your gaze falls on her.

✧.* mel does try to help where she can though, especially in the hotter months when your thighs are prone to chafing. of course she's got anti-chafing products for you- only the best of the best for you. one of the many perks of dating the richest woman in piltover. but she's got baby powder and vaseline ready if you need that as well.

✧.* "do you have everything you need?" she hums, getting her own bag together. piltover's heat is unforgiving, and the last thing she needs is for you to be uncomfortable when you're supposed to be having a nice time. "water, a light snack, sunscreen, baby powder?"

✧.* and she also has access to some of the best tailors in piltover. if there's something you've been eyeing but doesn't come in your size, mel has it covered. no questions asked. she'll even ask if you want any changes to be done to the design, because the woman just wants something that feels like you.

✧.* mel does not shy away from letting you know just how stunning she thinks you are. it's often that you'll be getting ready in the morning, and you'll feel the woman's arms wrap around your middle from behind. pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder and murmuring, "you're as stunning as ever," and "it's almost unfair that you wake up this beautiful every day."

✧.* if any insecurities are present, mel does her best to comfort you through them. while she understands that these things are easier said than done and you can't just get over it, what she can do is be there for you. to assure you that there's nothing wrong with your body, every inch of you is perfect. every roll and bit of extra skin.

✧.* she loves being in your arms. not only does she feel comforted by your warmth and softness, but she feels safe. mel feels like nothing in the world can reach her- no violence, no corruption. as long as you're holding her.

sevika;

✧.* sevika cares for every part of you- your mind, your heart, your soul. your body is absolutely a plus though, seeing your eyes light up and your smile. the way your tummy spills over your jeans a little, and your hips are the perfect size for her to hold onto while you're out.

✧.* she's incredibly loyal, and incredibly protective. can't have anyone laying a hand on her girlfriend, especially not with you looking as gorgeous as you do.

✧.* sevika is handsy, but in an absentminded, instinctual way. sometimes she grabs onto one of your thighs and gives a gentle squeeze while she's sat next to you, as a silent reassurance that she's there. sometimes sevika holds onto you from behind, hands on your love handles while she presses soft kisses to your neck.

✧.* you could be cooking, cleaning, reading a book, sevika doesn't care. she just needs to be touching you at all times, both for her peace of mind (although she'll seldom admit that out loud), and because you're just so soft.

✧.* "..hey, pretty," she murmurs, wrapping her arms around you from behind. you're stood in front of a gas stove, preparing today's lunch. trying to. "hi, sev... trying to cook." you chuckle, but there's no actual malice in your tone. "i know, i know. just couldn't help myself."

✧.* sevika may be brash and rough to the majority of zaun, but she lets her guard down around you. it takes a lot of time and a lot built trust, but there comes a time when she'll seek your comfort after a long day. laying her head on your stomach while you card your fingers through her hair, murmuring sweet nothings to her.

✧.* "mm... you're comfortable," she hums, her words nearly slurred with exhaustion. "i am, huh?" a breathy chuckle escapes you, but you can't pretend this isn't endearing. "yeah. comfortable."

✧.* sevika absolutely lets you borrow her clothes. although she may not outright say it, she wants you to wear her clothing. she's always thought it looked better on you, anyways- and the scent of you after you've worn them is a plus.

caitlyn;

✧.* caitlyn has always been captivated you- that's the only way she can describe it. your drive and passion was the first thing that caught her eye, but she couldn't help noticing how beautiful you are. she's only human, after all.

✧.* she's not really the type for pda, but you can bet that the second you're alone, caitlyn is all over you. she loves cuddling in general, and the softness of your stomach and hips might be her favorite part. being held against your chest, almost like you're her own personal cushion. maybe it's your warmth, or maybe it's exhaustion from her long days, but she ends up falling asleep more often than not.

✧.* it's hard not to, when you're rubbing your hand along her back in little circles and whispering sweet things to her- like "i can't get enough of this," and "i love you so much, you have no idea."

✧.* caitlyn often has her clothes tailored, but she might start buying some items that are baggy on her. "i'm just exploring my style," is her excuse, but it's really just so she can lend you clothes. any time you mention needing something to wear while you do your laundry or you're too cold for what you're wearing right now, your girlfriend comes swooping in.

✧.* caitlyn's always been a rather good cook, and one of her love languages is acts of service. so the second you mention being hungry, the woman is already in her kitchen while you sit prettily at the island, making your favorite.

✧.* she also does her best to make sure you're comfortable, any kind of chafing or dryness is something she wants to prevent. baby powder is something she always keeps in her bag, any kinds of lotions or creams you might need. caitlyn knows you take good enough care of yourself, but she wants to help where she can.

✧.* "dear, it's hot out," she murmurs, reaching into her bag and closing her hand on a bottle of baby powder. "are you sure you don't need anything?" "i'm sure, cait, but thank you."

✧.* if there's any insecurity there, caitlyn does her best to reassure you. although she doesn't really understand why you feel that way, because you're nothing short of perfect in her eyes.

✧.* taking your coat off and hanging it on her rack while she tells you "don't hide, you're beautiful. you have nothing to be anxious about, trust me when i say that."

lest;

✧.* lest fell for you gradually, not typically being a relationship girl due to her line of work. but she's always had an appreciation for your company, and of course, your looks. she's always admired the softness of your upper arms, she's wondered what it might be like to feel your plush thighs in her hands.

✧.* by the time you are in a relationship, lest is so incredibly sweet to you. you see a side of her she doesn't often show others, completely unguarded and free-spirited. and she does not shy away from touching you or letting you know how stunning you are.

✧.* she loves laying on your thighs, especially after long and tiring days. reaching a clawed hand up to caress your cheek. "you're so comfortable," she murmurs, her voice low and smooth. "don't move... please. i'd like to stay here as long as i can."

✧.* lest understands insecurity. she's always been beautiful, but her acclaim and her need to appeal to clients- and the public by extension has made her scrutinize her looks from time to time. while it might not be the same, she gets it if you feel self-conscious about your body. that being said, she will do her best to comfort you through them.

✧.* you could be standing near a scale, and the moment lest notices, she nudges it away with her foot. "hey, darling." she'd say, her tone soft yet firm while she grasps your shoulders. "you're more than that thing. you're beautiful, regardless of some number."

✧.* also is pretty skilled with a needle and thread, although that's one of her lesser-known skills. so she'll tailor any clothes you need, maybe even adding her own embellishments that she thinks you'll like.

✧.* lest loves walking alongside you, usually tugged to her side while you lead her through the streets of piltover. her hand is planted firmly on one of your hips, and she just relishes in the feeling.

[missmadella]

Sleepover Rules (Chifuyu x Reader)

Summary: You never meant for a simple sleepover at Chifuyu’s place to spiral like this. It’s 3 a.m., and neither of you can sleep—not with the heat between you, not with the tension that’s been building for months. You finally break the silence, crawl into his lap, and say what you’ve both been pretending not to feel: “Stop pretending we don’t want to fuck.”

From that moment on, everything changes.

Words: 4046

TW: This story contains explicit sexual content, including first-time sex, oral, fingering, shower sex, and strong language. There are also elements of sexual tension, mutual teasing, emotional vulnerability, and consensual power play (light dominance).

You didn’t plan to end the night at Chifuyu’s place. It just kind of... happened.

The rain started while you were walking back from a movie night, the sky splitting open without warning. Chifuyu had cursed softly under his breath, jacket already soaked through. You laughed and shoved your hood up, not surprised when he grabbed your wrist and tugged you toward the nearest station.

Of course, the last train had already left. Of course, the streets were empty. And of course, he had said it so casually:

“Just stay at mine. It’s stupid to get sick over pride.”

That’s how you ended up here.

Now it’s after midnight. You’re in his room. The rain is still tapping on the windows like a metronome for your heartbeat.

And there’s only one bed.

Chifuyu ruffles a towel through his hair, still damp from the shower. He tosses you one too, along with an oversized Toman hoodie. “Here,” he says, avoiding your eyes for the first time tonight. “You’ll catch a cold if you sleep in wet clothes.”

You take it with a quiet “thanks,” fingers brushing his as you do. His hand lingers a beat longer than it should.

___________________________________________________________________________

The hoodie smells like him. Faint soap, hints of smoke, something a little sharp—like mint or clean fabric softener. It's way too big, hanging mid-thigh, sleeves swallowing your hands. You feel ridiculous.

You walk out of the bathroom, and he definitely stares.

He’s already in bed, one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling like it personally offended him.

“Shut up,” you say, even though he hasn’t said a word.

“Didn’t say anything.” But he’s smiling. A little smug. A little something else.

___________________________________________________________________________

You climb in beside him, pulling the blanket over your legs. The space between you isn’t much. Maybe a foot. Maybe less.

“We should probably set some ground rules,” you murmur, half-joking.

“Yeah?” he replies, his voice low. “Like what?”

You think. “No touching.”

“Mm.” He shifts slightly, turning to face you. His voice drops a little more. “What if it’s accidental?”

“Then it better not last longer than a second.”

He laughs under his breath. You can feel it more than hear it. The bed shifts with every small movement he makes.

Then, quiet.

The kind that makes you too aware of everything—your breathing, the sound of the rain, the fact that Chifuyu is right there, inches away, watching you in the dark.

You speak first.

“You’re staring.”

“So are you.”

You smile despite yourself. “Yeah. So?”

His voice is soft now. Intimate.

“So maybe we break a rule or two.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The silence settles like fog—thick and close. Not uncomfortable, just heavy.

You can feel Chifuyu’s gaze on you even with your eyes closed. It’s the kind of look you shouldn’t be aware of. The kind of presence you should be able to ignore. But there he is: lying next to you in the quiet dark, body warm under shared blankets, breathing slow and even... until it’s not.

You shift slightly, turning your face toward him.

So does he.

The mattress dips subtly as you both adjust at the same time, and now you’re really facing each other. Nose to nose. Inches. Maybe less.

Neither of you says anything for a few long, suspended seconds.

You can barely make him out in the low light—just the outline of his jaw, the flutter of his lashes, the curve of his lips that you’ve definitely looked at for too long before tonight.

“I can hear your heart from here,” you whisper, barely audible. “That loud?” “Or I’m just really close.”

A beat.

Then Chifuyu huffs softly, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “You always do this.”

You blink. “Do what?”

“Get under my skin without trying.”

You go still. That... isn’t casual. Not banter. Not teasing.

“You saying I’m annoying?”

“No.” His voice is lower now, rougher. “I’m saying you mess me up.”

Your breath catches.

Chifuyu swallows, and the sound is somehow loud in the dark. His eyes are locked on yours now, sharp and steady even in the half-light. There’s something burning there—want disguised as restraint.

He leans forward just a little. Not a lot. Barely enough to close the distance.

And now his forehead brushes yours.

Not a kiss. Not even close.

But enough to make your whole body go still.

“If I... leaned in more,” he murmurs, “would you stop me?”

His fingers are near yours now, barely grazing—close enough to touch, not quite touching.

Your heart pounds. You don’t answer.

“You can tell me to back off,” he adds, softer this time. “I’ll listen.”

His breath smells like toothpaste and something sweeter underneath. Like green tea or those fruit-flavored gummies he always carries in his bag. The scent mixes with his cologne—fresh and clean—and you have to fight the urge to lean in yourself.

“I don’t want you to back off,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “That’s the problem.”

The space between you dissolves even more.

Your noses brush.

His hand hovers just over your waist, hesitant, waiting—like he doesn’t want to ruin this by rushing.

But then— Your phone vibrates on the floor. Loud. Sharp. Stupid.

You both freeze.

It buzzes again. A message. Probably a dumb group chat. Probably nothing.

Still, the moment fractures.

You both pull back slightly. The space feels colder now.

Chifuyu sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, gaze darting to the ceiling.

“I swear, the universe has the worst timing.”

You let out a quiet, breathy laugh. “Maybe it’s saving us from a mistake.”

He looks at you then—seriously. “Do you think it would’ve been a mistake?”

You meet his eyes.

“No,” you say quietly. “But maybe it would’ve been a little too real.”

Another silence. Not tense. Just thoughtful.

He nods once, slowly. Then shifts to lie on his back, arm brushing yours under the blanket.

“For the record,” he says into the ceiling, “I wouldn’t have stopped at one kiss.”

You bite your lip, turning your head just slightly to hide the smile creeping in.

“Sleepover rule number two,” you murmur, “don’t say things like that unless you mean them.”

“I do.”

And just like that, you both fall quiet again.

But now, the space between you isn't just space. It’s charged. Warm. Waiting.

And as your eyes close, you wonder if sleep will ever come easy again-

___________________________________________________________________________

You don’t fall asleep.

Neither does he.

You lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling every breath, every rustle of the sheets. The warmth of his body next to you is unbearable. Not because it’s too much—because it’s not enough.

The digital clock on his nightstand blinks: 3:07 a.m. Red numbers. Too bright. Too late.

You turn your head slightly.

He’s still awake. You know it without even seeing his eyes.

“Chifuyu,” you whisper.

He shifts a little, slow and cautious, like he’s been waiting for you to say something.

“Yeah?”

You hesitate, just for a second.

Then you sit up.

Then you move.

He tenses slightly as your weight shifts onto the bed, but he doesn’t stop you. You climb onto his lap slowly, deliberately, straddling him, your hands braced lightly on his chest. His eyes lock onto yours in the low light, wide and dark and unreadable.

His hands come up instinctively, resting at your hips like they belong there. His thumbs trace tiny circles into the fabric of his hoodie still hanging off your body.

“What are you doing?” he murmurs, his voice wrecked—already wrecked, and you haven’t even touched him yet.

You meet his gaze, face close to his now. You can feel the way his chest rises and falls beneath your palms.

Then, calmly, clearly:

“Stop pretending that we don’t want to fuck.”

He blinks.

Like the sentence knocks all the air out of his lungs. Like he’s unsure if he heard you right.

“What...?”

“You heard me.”

The silence that follows is electric.

Chifuyu exhales shakily, eyes searching yours. His grip on your waist tightens slightly—not possessive, just grounding. Just so he knows you’re really there. That you really said that.

“You always were terrible at playing it cool,” he mutters, a smile flickering at the edge of his mouth. “You’re the one who invited me to share your bed,” you fire back. “You climbed on top of me.”

“You were taking too long.”

He laughs, low and husky. It’s not playful. It’s not light. It’s full of tension—the kind that’s been simmering under the surface for months.

His hand slides up your side, slow and deliberate, stopping just below your ribs.

“Say it again,” he says quietly. “Say what?” “What you said before.”

You lean in until your mouth brushes the shell of his ear. Your lips barely graze his skin when you whisper:

“We both want it.”

You can feel the shiver go through him.

His hands slide to your back. Holding you there. Not pulling you down. Not yet. Just—staying. Like he’s still waiting for one more moment of confirmation. One last thread of self-control.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“I think I do.”

And still—no kiss yet. Still hanging at the edge. Still holding the thread between too much and not enough.

But now, neither of you are pretending.

___________________________________________________________________________

His hands are still on your waist, fingers splayed, holding you steady.

You’re both breathing heavily now. You can feel the way his stomach tightens under you with every exhale. Still fully clothed. Still pretending you’re not both ready to burst.

“So,” you murmur, brushing your nose against his. “You gonna do something?”

“You’re the one who climbed on top of me.”

“And?”

He smirks, eyes dark. “You’re testing me.”

“Damn right I am.”

You roll your hips just slightly against him. Just enough.

His jaw clenches. His hands tighten on your sides like he’s holding himself back by instinct.

“You said you wanted to stop pretending,” he murmurs. “So what happens now?”

You lean in until your lips hover over his—barely, just not touching.

“We find out who breaks first.”

His breath hitches. His hands travel up under the hoodie you’re wearing—his hoodie—skimming bare skin. Slow. Light. Torture.

“You sure about that?” he says, voice rough. “I’ve got patience.”

“So do I.”

You press your thighs around his hips a little tighter, lean down further, and kiss the corner of his mouth. Not the lips. Not yet.

He groans softly, deep in his throat, and tilts his head toward yours—but you pull back just in time.

Your smile is wicked.

His response? He slides one hand up your back, under the hoodie, until he finds your bare spine and strokes it slowly, finger trailing down your skin with maddening care.

You shiver.

“Getting cocky now?” you whisper.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, “you have no idea.”

Then, he kisses you.

Finally. Fiercely.

It’s not tentative. It’s not careful.

It’s months of silence breaking all at once—messy, desperate, perfect.

His hand moves to your neck, angling your head, deepening the kiss. Your lips part for him like you were waiting this whole time—because you were. He tastes like green tea and nerves, his breath hot as it mingles with yours.

You moan into his mouth as his other hand slips beneath your thigh, pulling you harder against him. He’s not hiding how hard he is anymore. He doesn’t need to.

You tug his shirt up, fingers splaying across his bare chest. Warm. Solid. Yours.

“Off,” you mutter, breathless. “Now.”

He grins against your lips and yanks the shirt over his head in one swift motion.

And then his hands are on you again—everywhere—pushing the hoodie up, revealing skin inch by inch.

“I swear,” he groans as his lips trail down your jaw, “I’ve wanted this since the first time you wore my clothes.”

“Pervert,” you whisper, grinning.

“Only for you.”

Your hoodie joins his shirt on the floor.

Now skin to skin.

His mouth moves lower—neck, collarbone, shoulder. Teeth grazing, lips soothing.

You arch against him, gasping as his hand trails between your thighs over your underwear—slow, intentional. His fingers stroke once, just enough to make you jolt.

“Already wet?” he teases, voice all gravel and heat. “Keep talking and you’ll find out what I do when I lose patience.”

His eyes darken.

“Baby, I dare you to lose it.”

Then you kiss him again—harder, dirtier.

And neither of you pretends anymore.

___________________________________________________________________________

You’re both already breathing like you’ve run a mile.

His hands roam your skin with purpose now—like he’s memorizing it, claiming it, worshiping it. His mouth finds the line of your neck again, open-mouthed kisses dragging fire down your collarbone. You can feel how hard he is beneath you, thick and twitching against your soaked underwear, barely restrained through the fabric of his sweats.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, kissing along your shoulder. “You’re unreal.”

You grind down against him, slow and intentional. His head falls back with a groan.

You lean in, lips brushing his ear.

“Take them off,” you whisper. “I want to feel you.”

That’s all he needs.

You lift yourself just enough for him to slide your underwear down your thighs—slow, like he wants to savor it—and you do the same to him, helping shove his sweats and boxers down his hips.

Now there’s nothing between you.

Skin to skin.

His cock springs free, flushed, thick, and aching.

You sit back on his thighs and look at him, eyes drinking him in. He’s gorgeous like this—eyes heavy-lidded, hair a little messy from your hands, lips red from kissing you too hard.

Your hand curls around him, and he bucks into your touch with a hiss.

“God, don’t play with me right now,” he groans.

“You’re the one who wanted to see who’d break first,” you tease, stroking him slowly from base to tip.

“Then let me catch up.”

His hand slides between your legs—fingers parting you, two of them dragging through your folds.

“So wet for me already,” he breathes, voice low and reverent. “You’re dripping.”

Your breath stutters when he presses one finger in—then another—stretching you slowly.

You roll your hips into his hand, chasing the pressure. The stretch is perfect. His fingers curl up slightly and your back arches, a moan spilling out that you can’t even begin to hide.

“Fuck, baby…” he whispers, voice like gravel. “You’re gonna kill me.”

He pumps into you steadily, watching your face the entire time—watching you fall apart on his fingers. You’re slick, throbbing, already clenching around nothing.

“Need you,” you gasp. “Now.”

“I’ve got you.”

He pulls his fingers out and lines himself up, sliding the tip through your folds—once, twice, until he’s coated in you.

Then, slowly, he pushes in.

You both groan—loudly—as he fills you inch by inch. He’s thick, stretching you just right, your body fluttering around him as he seats himself deep.

“Holy shit,” he mutters. “You feel—fuck—you feel so good.”

You bury your face in his neck, gasping, adjusting to the fullness.

“You okay?” he breathes.

You nod. “Better than okay.”

He wraps his arms around your waist, holding you tight as he starts to move—slow, deep thrusts that make you see stars. Your hips roll with his, the rhythm lazy and intimate, every drag of his cock inside you making you moan into his skin.

“Been dreaming of this,” he groans, hand in your hair, lips at your jaw. “Every fucking time you laughed at something I said… every time you wore my clothes…”

“Chifuyu…”

Your name sounds wrecked on his lips as he speeds up, hips snapping up into you harder now. The sound of your bodies moving fills the room—wet, hot, needy. You claw at his shoulders, kiss him between broken gasps, and he kisses you back just as desperately, lips crashing against yours with zero restraint.

Your orgasm builds fast—tight and burning and unbearable.

“I’m close,” you pant. “Please—don’t stop—”

“I’m right there with you.”

He reaches between you, rubbing tight circles on your clit with practiced fingers, and that’s what undoes you.

You shatter with a cry, clenching hard around him, and he groans deep in his chest as you milk him through it.

“Fuck—gonna come—”

With a final thrust, he spills inside you, hips stuttering, his mouth open against your neck as he moans your name into your skin.

The room falls quiet.

Only your breathing and the faint sound of rain tapping on the window remain.

You collapse onto him, boneless, trembling, his arms wrapping around you like instinct.

Neither of you moves for a long time.

Eventually, he presses a soft kiss to your temple.

“So, uh… guess we broke every sleepover rule.”

You laugh weakly, breath still ragged. “Every single one.”

He brushes hair back from your face and looks at you—soft, unguarded.

“Stay here. After tonight.”

“I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

And when he kisses you again, it’s slower. Sweeter.

Not a dare this time. Not a game.

Just the beginning of something real.

___________________________________________________________________________

The room still smells like heat and skin and sweat.

You’re both a mess.

Your limbs tangled over his, the sheets twisted, his hoodie halfway off your shoulder, your bodies stuck together with dried need.

But he’s still holding you—fingertips dragging slow, mindless patterns down your spine. And for a minute, neither of you says anything. You're both just breathing.

Until he murmurs against your hair, voice hoarse:

“You’re incredible.”

You huff a laugh, soft and satisfied. “You say that like you didn’t just ruin me.”

He shifts, turning his head to kiss your bare shoulder.

“You’re not the only one who got ruined.”

A pause.

Then you both groan at the same time.

“We need a shower,” you mutter.

“I was just thinking that.”

You finally untangle from each other, legs shaky as you stand. He watches you cross the room completely naked, and there’s no shame anymore—only hunger that hasn’t quite left his eyes.

You glance back over your shoulder, smirking.

“Well? You coming?”

“You really have to ask?”

The bathroom fills quickly with steam, warm and hazy. You step under the water first, sighing as it runs down your skin, washing the ache from your muscles. Chifuyu follows, pressing up behind you, his arms slipping around your waist as the water spills over both of you.

He rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Still can't believe this is real,” he says quietly.

You tilt your head, letting your temple rest against his.

“It’s real.”

His hands start to move again—slow and reverent. Not rushing. Not greedy. Just… learning you.

He kisses the back of your neck. Your shoulder. The spot just behind your ear that makes your knees wobble.

You can feel him start to harden again, pressing warm and insistent against your lower back.

You smile.

“Round two?”

“You make it sound like I wasn’t waiting years for this,” he growls into your neck.

You turn to face him.

The kiss is slower this time—no teeth, no rush—just lips moving over yours like he wants to memorize the shape of your mouth. His hand slides down your slick, wet back, cupping your ass, pulling you close.

You feel him against you again, hard and ready, and this time there’s no teasing. No challenge.

Just need.

He lifts you easily, back pressing you against the shower wall, water pouring down both of you as he sinks into you again in one smooth, perfect thrust.

You gasp—arms wrapping around his shoulders as he groans, low and deep in your ear.

“Fuck, baby… still so tight…”

You moan, clenching around him as he starts to move—slow, deep rolls of his hips that drag the tip of his cock along every nerve inside you. The water makes everything slicker, warmer. His skin against yours, his breath at your jaw, your thighs trembling where they wrap around his waist.

“Chifuyu…”

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “Always.”

His forehead presses to yours. His hands grip your thighs tight. Every thrust is deeper than the last, and all you can do is hold on to him as the waves build again—more tender this time, but no less intense.

You kiss him through it. Moan into his mouth as you come again, harder this time, writhing against the tile as he follows with a rough groan, pulsing inside you, kissing you like he’s scared to stop.

When it’s over, he doesn’t let go.

Just holds you there, still buried inside you, arms tight around your waist under the hot cascade of water.

Eventually, he sets you down, kissing your forehead.

“Next time I ask if you want to crash at mine,” he breathes, “just know it’s a trap.”

You laugh, chest to chest, and kiss him again.

“I’ll walk right into it.”

__________________________________________________________________________

The morning sun filters through the curtains in lazy golden slants, dust motes dancing in the quiet air. The room smells faintly of shampoo, skin, and the faint scent of sweat from last night — a quiet reminder of everything that happened.

You lie curled against Chifuyu’s chest, your back pressed to the steady rise and fall of his breath. His arm is draped over your waist, fingers tracing gentle circles on your skin, slow and soothing like a heartbeat.

Neither of you moves. Neither of you needs to.

Until a soft chuckle rumbles from his lips.

“You know,” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep, “I never thought you’d be the one to drag me into bed and then end up owning me completely.”

You smirk against his chest, lifting your head just enough to press a sleepy kiss to the line of his jaw.

“What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

He pulls you closer, lips brushing over your temple.

“Guess I’m lucky I didn’t chicken out.”

Your fingers play with the soft hair at his nape.

“You’re lucky now.”

He laughs, low and fond.

“You still owe me coffee, by the way.”

“Better make it strong. I’m not sure I’m ready to get out of this bed.”

His grin is mischievous as his fingers trail down your arm.

“That’s fine. I’m not letting you go anywhere. You’re mine for today.”

You snuggle back against him, content.

Outside, the city wakes up. But right here, in this soft morning light, wrapped in the warmth of his arms, time slows down — just for you two.

And maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

___________________________________________________________________________

The smell of coffee drifts through the apartment, warm and rich, mixing with the faint scent of pancakes sizzling in the pan.

You’re wrapped in one of Chifuyu’s oversized shirts, hair tousled and damp still from the shower, while he’s in sweatpants and a lazy smile that only someone who’s just spent the night with you could wear.

He’s humming softly as he flips the last pancake, glancing over his shoulder at you with that slow, easy grin.

“You sure you don’t want to help?” he asks, eyes twinkling.

You pretend to consider it—then shake your head, settling deeper into the pillows.

“Nah. I’m good being your taste tester.”

He walks over with the plate, setting it down on the low table beside the bed. Then, before you can say anything, he sits next to you, close enough that his thigh brushes yours.

His fingers find your hand, entwining with yours.

“You’re insatiable,” he teases.

You raise an eyebrow.

“About breakfast?”

He smirks.

“About everything.”

You laugh softly and lean your head against his shoulder.

“Maybe I am.”

He presses a kiss to your temple.

“Good. Because I’m not done with you.”

You glance up at him, eyes half-lidded with affection.

“Neither am I.”

And as you feed each other bites of pancakes and sip coffee, the quiet morning stretches out between you like a promise — that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

[bitchimasnakeagain-sss]

☆ best friends share!

— a bllk fanfic // where your pro-player boyfriend and his best friend are upto no good.

synopsis: you wanted to test reo's patience but ended up getting tested instead. also, nagi helps with some much-need gaming tips! wc: 2.2k cw: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. nsfw includes: switch!reo. switch!reader. somewhat-dom!nagi?? bimbofication. blowjob. penetration. doin' it raw. creampie. HIGHKEYY exhibition. lowkey dub-con threesome? futher alluding to an ACTUAL threesome. they're all nasty, idk. m.list

"reooo." you whined from your position at the bed. you turned around, laying on your stomach and resting your face in your palms instead. you pouted, staring at your boyfriend's back in the gaming chair. on the screen, some game played on and on and on as reo mikage pressed the keys on her computer with precise click-clacks.

"yeah, babe?" he hummed absentmindedly, still busy with his game.

"how much longer?"

"hm?" he paused, far too invested in the game to answer right away. once his answer had loaded, he lazily replied, "like, half an hour."

"you've been saying that for the past two hours!" and truly, you weren't the one to nag him while he played but you were growing restless. you had switched positions on the bed, made yourself a quick snack, scrolled enough tiktoks and even taken a mini nap — and still through it all, he was playing!

"i know, baby." he cooed, "but i promise. just one more game."

"but—!" you had barely started when the man husked out a warning, "angel, my mic's on, yeah?"

it was a silent plea, or a command — depending on his mood, really. his friend was on the other end and you were sure reo didn't want his best friend to eavesdrop on your personal matters. reo tried one last time, still more preoccupied with his little game than the conversation with you, "just one more game, okay?"

"right." you muttered to yourself as you plopped your face down against the sprightly mattress. your bed bounced ever-so-slightly under your bodyweight.

you had nothing to do at all! you were growing bored. so, so bored. you couldn't even talk for fucks' sake since his mic was on! wait... since his mic was on.

a cashmere smile made to your lips as you lifted your body off of the bed. tip-toeing over to his gaming desk, you noticed reo cock his face towards you slightly as you pulled at his gaming chair and positioned it slightly backwards.

"shh!" you placed your index against your plump lips, urging the man to not make any noise as you slipped in the gap between his legs and the underside of his gaming chair.

"wh-?!" his eyes widened as he realized your intentions quickly. he mouthed, trying not to actually sound out the syllables lest nagi seishiro hear them. "no. wait. i can't turn off the mic. he'd hear."

"even better!" all you could do was grin in return, even more enchanted by the spot reo mikage had found himself in. you moved your hand slowly up his thighs, pressing against the clothed muscles while your eyes were trained on his pretty face.

his features were bunched — his eyebrows drawn together and his lips pressed together at your sensual touch. his fingers twitched against the keyboard, his head felt lighter as the blood rushed to his erection, and he was sure that there was no moment in which he loved you or hated you more than this one.

he hissed as you gently pawed at his erection, pressing down the bulge with your soft palm. you could make out the shape easily under the material of his sweatpants. directing your fingers, you gently pressed against the tip and reo felt his lips part as a trembling sigh tumbled out.

"so sensitive already?" you mumbled, uncaring whether his friend on the other end could hear it. reo should've heard you when you gave him the last warning. if anything, he had written his own demise!

your fingers made their way to his waistband, pulling at the material just to let it snap against his skin. when he shot you a look, you gave him an innocent smile, "sorry, my hand slipped."

then, you were back at it. your finger stretched the material again, this time with the intentions of pulling it down. despite saying no again and again, the man raised his hips off of the chair to help you. pulling down the fabric, you found his length spring up and hit his clothed abdomen slightly.

"i-" he spoke into the mic, caught a bit off-guard, "shut up, nagi. i know how to fucking play. it's just—" he swallowed, "my hand's cramping up. don't laugh, you bastard—!"

uncaring of the conversation going on above you — you brought up spit in your mouth, coating your soft palm with a generous load before grasping his achy cock. fisting his erection, you began a slow, steady stroke on up and down on his member. you felt reo's thighs tense under you, his adam's apple bobbing up and down pathetically as you increased the tempo.

your thumb teased his slit, using his own pre to smear against the red, bulbous tip. you repeated the action in between a few stroke and reo's body shuddered underneath.

"yeah, yeah. i see him." reo grit his teeth, trying to keep up the idle chit-chat and you saw this as the golden opportunity to finally take his tip in your warm, inviting mouth. you lips covered it whole, the pink muscle licking up the pre as the man shuddered. his words grew heavy, "hah— i miss-ed. nagi, cover me."

you bobbed your head up and down, taking half of his length in your inviting mouth while the other half was stroked by your hands. you held base of his cock tightly, making his head spin between the way you were sucking his soul out of his dick and then constricting his erection right after.

he panted, "fuck, i mi-missed another." his fingers grew unsteady against the keyboard as his back arched off of the gaming chair. his entire body was thrown up in chaos — his mind was unruly, his cock was leaking out pre in droplets within your greedy mouth and his thighs were shaking. reo mikage was falling apart at your mercy.

he voice shook as he barely managed out, "hold on— i-uh, i think i heard my girlfriend call f'me. cover me, yeah?"

you were too focused on sucking him off, using the correct pressure at the correct points to undo it to even notice his arms coming to yours. he grabbed you by the arm, pulling you up and practically ripping you off of his sensitive cock. his headset was still on but he was no longer playing, instead finally focusing on you.

"what's with you." he muttered, his face was reddened as his sweat beaded at his temple, "since you wanna do this so bad, lemme sh-show you how."

"what?!" you yelped as ripped your panties off, swiping a quick finger against your sopping cunt to collect the honeydew on his thumb. forcing you onto his lap, he manhandled his cock to line with your entrance, "just follow my lead, baby."

"no, no. nagi will hear—!" you whispered, squirming against him. this wasn't part of the plan! but reo mikage was a tit-for-tat kinda man. if you thought you had one over him, you were so clearly wrong. he whispered back, echoing the words you had said not too long back, "even better if he hears."

his length seeped inside you — one generous inch at a time and you gasped at the sudden fullness. adjusting you in his lap, the man quickly took off his headset and placed it on you.

"reo—" you had barely started when reo husked near your ear, right where the mic to the headset was. "hey nagi, say hello to my girl. she wants to play."

a masculine, familiar sound greeted your ears as nagi replied, "hey."

"h-hey?" you replied back, your voice short as reo used his rough palms to hoist your body up and down on his cock. "hey, n-nagi."

"d'you even know how to play?" the man on the other end husked lazily and you gulped, "n-no?" a sharp jolt into your snug cunt had you yelp out another answer, "i-i mean... i wanna uh, learn."

"do you?" nagi quipped, and it was disorienting — hearing your boyfriend's best friend's voice in your ears while your boyfriend spearheaded his tip into your cervix over 'n over again.

"sure..." you bit down your lip to contain in your moans as reo grew more risky, using two of his fingers to messily spread your folds and press against your sweet, sticky clit. you whimpered, "reo— i can't."

but the man behind you simply cooed, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, "yeah, you can it's pretty easy, babe."

nagi gave his two cents from the other end, although his words sounded unusually smug, "yeah, you can do it. go on."

"h-huh?" your eyes widened, scared at the implications of the words at the mercy of the other man. "thanks, nagi...?"

"if you want, i can help." nagi hummed and you gulped, trying to soothe your parched throat in between all the talking and fucking, "i'd- um... 'preciate that."

"what's he saying, angel?" reo husked behind you, his hot breath tingling against your neck, his fingers still rubbing against your nub and his dick massaging your clammy, sensitive walls. you voiced out feebly, "he wants to help me..."

you nodded, and your boyfriend smirked from behind you, "oh really? ask him for some tips, why don't you then?"

"okay...?" you held back a moan, throwing your head back as your boyfriend rammed his tip right into the bullseye. reo kissed your jaw, "ask him, go on."

"h-hey nagi, d'you have any- any tips?" you barely pushed the words out of your mouth, too blindsided by the feeling of your cunt being toyed with. the snow-haired man on the other end hummed, "first, relax."

how did relaxing help with the game?

you nodded nonetheless, letting your body go slack at his command, "okay...?"

"don't be so tense, or it'll be harder to finish..." he paused, lazily finishing the rest of his sentence, "the game, i mean."

you breathed out, feeling reo's slow strokes into your velvety pussy, "yeah."

"make sure it feels good." he commanded next, "if it doesn't, let reo know."

"wh-what do you mean?" you felt your eyes widen and the man defended his wordings, "i mean, if you're uncomfortable playing this game, he shouldn't force you."

"oh..." your words trailed off as the man behind you wrapped a hand around your waist to hold you even tighter against his hot body. nagi's words echoed in your ear, "so, does it feel good?"

"yeah." you admitted absentmindedly, "s'good."

"good. the next things can take care of themselves, just let me and reo take command, yeah?" he hummed, "we'd take care of you."

reo rammed his erection into you again and you felt your lower belly tighten — an abyss formed right above your cunt, pulling at everything inside your body and running through your veins like molten lava. you gasped, "reo—"

"what's he saying?"

"he- said you and him would... take hah- care of me."

reo smiled against your feverish skin, still fucking into your pretty pussy without abandoning his rhythm. "course we will, baby. you don't have to worry."

"reo—" your hands fisted and unfisted against the arms of the chair as you moaned out, "i'm gonna—?" you didn't finish your sentence, scared nagi would hear it on the other end.

"it's okay." reo cooed and you felt nagi's voice kiss your ears next, "you can finish now. i mean, turn off the game if you want." blood roared in your ears, almost masking nagi's next words, "finishing's gonna be pretty easy with me and reo, i promise."

you were in no comprehensive state to understand his words — your eyes were clenched shut, lips parted to let soft noises out and your walls clamped down on reo's length — milking him till he was emptying out his white load inside you with a soft grunt.

once done, your body slumped against reo's and twitched. your cunt kept spasming against his half-hard length and you gasped out, feeling his seed pool 'round the edges of his thick cock and slide down to your thighs, "reo... 'm tired."

"yeah, angel? it's okay." he gently peeled the headset off of you and put it on himself. "you heard that, nagi? she said she's tired. give her the rest of the tips some other day."

"yeah, heard it." reo could practically make out the smirk in nagi's words. the snow-haired man wondered out loud, "think i can come over and help her learn this game at your place sometime? the tip's gonna be better in real life."

"hm? sounds good."

you looked back at reo, confused since you could only hear his part of his conversation. you whispered, tired, "what's he saying?"

"nothing, baby." reo pressed a soft kiss to your temple, "now let me play another game. you stay just like this, okay?"

and what could you even say? you were too tired to take yourself off of his lap, so, you just snuggled into his chest, his half-hardened length still plugged inside your filled pussy. you felt your eyes fall shut as your boyfriend went back to playing his little game.

a/n: NOT PROOFREAD. chat, i fear i cooked with this one. enjoy the filth mwuah mwuah. likes, reblogs and comments are greatttly appreciated. m.list