#Blazer with inner jacket

[rorygilmre]

oh i am in LOVE with ralph lauren’s fall/holiday 2024 collection. i desperately wish i was able to afford a few pieces.

[lacy-oh-lacy]

*cough* agatha with a controversially young lover *cough*

✧₊⁺ 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟

𝐀/𝐍: I'm combining this with another request for Agatha and a virgin reader because it seemed like a very natural fit. I hope that's okay.

𝐂𝐖: Age gap (reader's in their 20s), Virgin!Reader, Dom!Agatha, Oral (Agatha receiving), fingering, accidental exposure, slightly mean domming

Agatha called you out for eyefucking her the first time you met. Reveling in the flustered panic that followed.

“What? No, no, I um- I didn't mean to-”

“Oh, relax twerp, it takes more than a horny Zoomer to make me clutch my pearls.”

As unimpressed as she seemed with you though, that wasn't the last time she sought you out.

Because apparently, despite your age you made the best potions of anyone in the state, and her need for one drove her right up the grungy stairwell to your apartment.

Dressed to the nines in her expensive blazer and fancy updo, she looked almost comical outside your door, glaring through the threshold. “I'm here for the potion.”

“Shhh.” You ushered her inside, glancing over your shoulder. “My roommates don't know… about my extracurriculars.”

“Of course you have roommates.”

Of course that was the only part of your statement she addressed.

“It’s finished, come in.”

She followed you to your bedroom, a sad little thing, half taken up by your desk alone.

Your college textbooks were pushed precariously to the side to make way for your supplies, from which you plucked a vial and handed it to her.

“Here you go.”

Agatha held it to the light, examining the dark liquid inside with something like approval sparkling in her eyes… At least until you opened your mouth.

“That'll be 500 dollars.” You said, wincing as her inspecting gaze turned to wide, fiery eyes. “...Mam.”

“500 dollars? Are you joking?”

“Sorry. College is expensive.”

You wisely didn't mention that most of your customers were a lot less magically experienced than her and easier to gouge.

“I didn't even bring 500 dollars.”

You sighed. You could -as was evident- really use the money but you weren't going to pick a fight with The Agatha Harkness over it, that was for sure.

“Fine. 100.”

She huffed but reached into a pocket and handed you the bill.

“Great. Just great. Ya know, if you think I'm wound tight now you should see me on a budget.”

“Uh huh.” You couldn't muster sympathy for her if you tried, you doubted you could even brew a potion to. “I'd think at your level you could just magic-up whatever you want... I'm not even sure why you need me.”

Nerve struck, her only reply was a withering glare as she tucked the potion away in an inner pocket of her jacket.

Talking just to fill the silence, shooting your shot because you figured you weren't going to make her any more pissed off, you continued,

“If stress relief is what you're after there are other ways. Free ones.”

You didn't know if she'd catch your meaning, you thought it might be better if she didn't, but oh, she did.

Suddenly, you were the center of Agatha Harkness’ attention, a gleam in her eye and a smirk twisting her face.

“You offering one?”

Your stomach lurched. Did that actually work?

You clawed inwards for any shreds of confidence, enough to get out, “I, well, I could be-”

“That what the discount was for? You wanted a different kind of payment?”

And that threw you off completely.

“What? No, no I-”

“Careful.” She teased. “A sweet little thing like you really shouldn't be offering up what you're not willing to part with.”

She was fucking with you.

And you stumbled right into her trap with no thoughts of getting out.

“I'm not, I mean, I am, I'm willing, if you…”

As much as she clearly enjoyed chewing on your embarrassment, you could tell her patience was thinning by the straining look on her face. She wasn't going to stand there all day waiting for you to get a sentence out.

Fuck it.

Agatha Harkness respects bravery you rationalized, seconds before your lips hit hers.

The terror of free-falling only faded as her lips pushed back against your own, returning your kiss with one more domineering, more violent. So heated your brain was almost melting.

Agatha pulled back, but with swelling lips you hardly felt the difference.

“You sure you know what you're getting yourself into?”

You nodded dumbly, “I’m really into you.”

“Oh, I know you are, Hon, that's not what I'm asking.” Her tone was dark and steady, as soft as a caress. “Do you honestly think you can handle me?”

You swallowed, eyes locked on hers against every instinct to avert them.

“I-I’ll try my best.”

She laughed, a breathy kind of cackle that left a wicked grin on her face.

“Prove it.”

Her hands on your shoulders turned heavy and almost thoughtlessly you sank to your knees under their strength.

“You want me to…?”

She gave you that same look again, like she was waiting for you to catch up and running low on patience.

“Okay… wow, um…”

Your hands, so steady and precise an hour ago while you worked, shook as you reached for Agatha's zipper.

This couldn't have been real, you waited with bated breath for her to slap your hands away.

For someone to jump out of your closet laughing.

For her to pull out a dagger and slit your throat in some kind of virgin sacrifice ritual, because, hey, what was more likely, Agatha Harkness fucking you or killing you?

But her zipper went down, and with a huff Agatha pushed her pants and panties down right along with it.

Holy fuck.

You nearly moaned at the sight of the most perfect cunt you had ever seen in your life. Which was redundant, but it was the only thought your fritzed, virgin brain would supply.

But with white-hot lust came a knot in your stomach as it dawned on you that hundreds of years of experience was staring you down.

How could you possibly live up to that? Be adequate even?

“This is where you lick it.”

You startled at her gravelly voice.

Right. Try now, wallow in your inevitable failure later.

“Should we lock the door first?” you asked, glancing at your crudely installed cheap lock.

“I don't know, should we?” She asked rhetorically, looking like she was seconds away from pushing your head where she wanted it herself.

“Right, nevermind.”

You dove forward, licking straight up her slit and earning a catch in the older woman's breath.

Was she surprised? Expecting you to back out just as much as you expected her to?

Wetness gathered on your tongue, a taste of pure sex that made your head spin. You heard yourself moan. Go figure you’d be the first one to.

You lapped greedily at her cunt, a sloppy exploration that you could've spent an eternity on, but Agatha wasn't having that.

“More.” She exclaimed, halfway between a moan and a growl.

You weren't too inexperienced to know what that meant.

You dragged your tongue up and prodded around for her clit, barely making out the little bud.

Okay. Now what?

You wracked your brain for sex tips. The alphabet trick? Did that even work in real life?

Testing the waters, you used your tongue to spell out your name on her clit, and in a flood of relief and liquid heat you heard a breathy, little moan above you.

Her bundle of nerves swelled under your tongue, hardening into something defined, something easy to play with.

“Oh! That's it! That's a good girl.”

God, she was gonna make you cum on the spot talking like that.

Lust caving in your brain, your licks dissolved to messy, thoughtless circles and crosses. Not that Agatha seemed to mind.

You glanced up at her with hazy vision. Her arm was pressed to her forehead, fist closed as tightly as her eyes. She was already so close.

Possessed by a desperate need to give her that final push over the edge you brought your fingers to her pussy, sliding two inside of her in a gentle thrust.

Agatha moaned through gritted teeth, clenching hard around you while you curled inside her, grazing her g-spot.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Saliva and Agatha’s own wetness dripped down her legs, down your hand, down your chin. She trembled beneath you, breath hitching and coming back a choked sob.

Violent flutters errupted beneath your tongue and around your fingers, but you didn't dare ease up without her command, you didn't until she broke off panting.

“Easy, Tiger, what are you doing? Going for two?” She all but gasped out.

“Sorry.” You said, no more composed yourself. “So, um, was that okay?”

She laughed, “yeah, you did good.” As if remembering that she was the wicked witch of Westview she twisted her features into something meaner. “But don't get too cocky, it's been a long time for me.”

Before you could be proud of the praise or offended by it being cut down you jolted -nearly out of your skin- with the click of your door opening.

“Woah! Ever heard of a sock on the door?”

Oh fuck.

You couldn't even look at your roommate. Wide, apologetic eyes on a groaning Agatha pulling her pants up. Annoyed but not quite embarrassed about this stranger getting an eyeful of her ass.

With her own scolding gaze burning into yours you could only cringe deeply, watching as any chance of Agatha returning the favor faded into the abyss.

“I gotta say, I think this warrants a refund.”

[baigepueckers]

Caitlin Clark X Reader

Tunnel Vision

You weren’t supposed to be in this long.

Technically, you’re still a full time student…double majoring in fashion merchandising and visual media with a soft spot for late night sketching and iced coffee fueled styling projects. Modeling at first, was just a way to make connections. A side gig. Now, three campaigns later, you’re on your second Nike shoot, standing under studio lights in a converted warehouse studio in downtown Indianapolis, trying to look cool while sweat trickles down your back.

You’re mid wardrobe change when one of the producers peeks into the fitting room.

“Caitlin Clark just got here. She’ll be in Look C with you.”

You blink. “Sorry…the Caitlin Clark?”

The door closes before you get an answer, but sure enough, when you step out in the mesh top and windbreaker shorts combo, she’s there…stretching her legs in the corner, long brown hair pulled into a ponytail, Jordan 1s on the floor beside her like she’s still warming up for a game. She’s in a crisp neutral set, blazer over a white crop, looking more like a finance intern than WNBA star.

You’re adjusting your waistband when she glances up.

“Hey,” she says, eyes flicking up and down like she’s sizing you up…but not in a rude way. “You look good.”

You try to play it cool. “Thanks. Nike picks the fits, not me. But I’ll take the compliment.”

She smiles, almost sheepish. “I’m Caitlin.”

“Y/N.”

Her gaze lingers. “Are you a model, or…?”

“I’m a student,” you say. “Fashion merchandising. This is just my side hustle.”

She nods like that makes sense, like she can already tell from the way you carry yourself or the way your socks are cuffed just right. Then she gestures at her blazer with a small grin.

“Be honest. Do I look like I’m headed to a board meeting?”

You laugh. “Like you’re about to pitch a startup on Shark Tank.”

Caitlin groans and drops her head. “I knew it.”

The shoot goes smoothly, but it’s the breaks in between that matter.

You’re sitting on a trunk flipping through your sketchbook when she walks over with a protein bar and a smirk.

“So if I let you dress me,” she says, casual but not really “what would you do differently?”

You close your notebook slowly. “Like…for what? A date? Press? Game day?”

She raises a brow. “Tunnel fits.”

You raise both. “You’d let me style you for games?”

“If you promise not to make me look ridiculous.”

You grin. “Caitlin, you’re six feet tall with a baby face and a jumper that breaks records. I could put you in a trash bag and people would still post it.”

She laughs, rubbing a hand over her face. “Not helping.”

You scoot forward on the trunk, tapping her leg. “No blazers unless they’re oversized vintage. No more slacks…try cargo or leather. Maybe a graphic tee layered with something unexpected. You ever worn a bomber jacket?”

She looks at you like you’ve just solved a riddle she didn’t know she was asking. “You’re serious about this.”

“Deadly.” Then, teasing, “Unless you’re too scared to let go of your inner CEO.”

Her eyes narrow, playful. “You’re on.”

Two weeks later, Caitlin Clark walks into Gainbridge Fieldhouse wearing a structured bomber jacket over a cropped retro tee, cuffed cargos, and custom dunks with laces you tied yourself.

The media loses its mind.

The outfit hits X within five minutes. “Caitlin Clark soft launch era??” is trending by the end of the night. One photo, in particular, goes viral…her walking in with headphones on, jacket slung low, and a blurry shot of you holding her duffel behind her like some kind of behind the scenes scandal.

She scores 26 that night. During the postgame presser, someone asks about the look.

Caitlin doesn’t hesitate.

“Y/N styled me. She’s a fashion student. And a genius. I just wear what she tells me.”

Another reporter raises a brow. “Is this a…new partnership?”

She smiles, a little too wide. “You could say that.”

After that, it keeps happening.

You show up to practice with two racks of options. She pretends to be decisive, but always asks what you think.

“You like this one?” she’ll ask, holding a tee up to her frame.

“I picked it.”

“Yeah, but do you like it?”

She starts texting you photos from store fitting rooms. Compliments your rings. Steals your lip balm. Introduces you as her “stylist” but she always says it with a grin like there’s more behind it.

The team catches on first. Then the commentators. Then the fans.

They zoom in on clips of you adjusting her necklace in the tunnel. Caitlin reaching over to fix your hair. The way she looks at you like you matter more than whatever press conference she’s about to walk into.

Everyone’s asking.

But Caitlin won’t confirm anything…won’t deny it either.

She just walks into every game looking better than the last, eyes always finding you in the tunnel, smile curling like you’re her favorite part of the routine.

And after tonight’s win, she pulls you aside before media even gets the chance to chase her down.

“You coming to dinner after this?” she asks, one hand still gripping her water bottle, the other tugging gently at the sleeve of your hoodie. You’re tucked off to the side of the tunnel, lips still parted from congratulating her.

“Didn’t know I was invited” you say, tilting your head.

Her smile is soft, slow. “I’m inviting you.”

You raise a brow. “Strictly business?”

She hesitates, then shakes her head…tiny, but certain. “Not if you don’t want it to be.”

And that’s the shift.

The moment you feel something in your chest and flutter in your stomach at the same time. Because she’s been dancing around it for weeks…calling you hers, in little ways that didn’t ask for anything back. But now she’s looking at you like she’s finally brave enough to mean it.

“I like working with you,” she adds, quieter now. “But I think I’d like hanging out with you even more.”

You let the pause stretch between you…just long enough for her to get nervous. Her foot taps once. Twice.

“I’d like that too” you say, and the relief floods her face so quickly it makes you laugh.

She exhales, almost like she just finished a close game.

“You’re cute when you’re scared,” you tease, bumping her hip with yours.

“Shut up,” she mutters, blushing. “You’re the intimidating one. You style me like I’m about to own the court and then stare at me like you already do.”

You grin. “Someone’s gotta humble you.”

She’s still smiling when a staffer calls her name down the tunnel. Before she turns, she reaches out and brushes a loose curl behind your ear…gentle, like she’s not used to touching people this way yet, but she wants to.

“I’ll save you a seat,” she says, already backing away. “Unless you’d rather ride with me.”

You watch her walk off…glancing over her shoulder like she doesn’t really want to leave…and you realize you’re already moving toward her, heart skipping over the line you just crossed together.

And in the clip that goes viral the next morning…Caitlin stepping out of her car at the team dinner, jacket slung low, cheeks pink…you’re right behind her, slipping out of the passenger side, laughing at something only she could’ve said.

No caption. Just a flood of comments.

They soft launched each other and think we wouldn’t notice.

y/n styling her AND riding with her? okay power couple.

someone get these two on a tiktok.

tunnel fits with tunnel vision ;)

[lilyprettyremy]

Building a Timeless Wardrobe: A Fashion Student’s Guide

Girl let’s be honest, the last thing you want is a closet full of random pieces that don’t make you feel amazing. Instead of mindlessly adding things to your cart, let’s focus on building a wardrobe that truly reflects you. A wardrobe that’s authentic, versatile, and just the right amount of chic. It’s not about having less; it’s about having what works for your vibe, your lifestyle, and your inner fashionista.

Step 1: Find Your Signature Style

Okay, let’s start with the fun part—figuring out what makes you feel amazing. What outfits give you that “I’m totally owning this” feeling? Which colors, fabrics, and shapes make you feel like the best version of yourself? Create a moodboard that’s not just about clothes, fill it with your favorite art, dreamy places, and things that make your heart skip a beat. Fashion is all about self-expression, so let your wardrobe tell your story!

Step 2: Give Your Closet a Real Heart-to-Heart

Before you shop, let’s get real about what you already own. What pieces are your absolute faves that you wear on repeat? What’s just sitting there, begging for a little love? Take a moment to figure out what’s working, what’s not, and what gaps need to be filled (hello, shopping spree).

Step 3: Tailor Your Wardrobe to Your Real Life

A wardrobe that works for you isn’t just cute, it’s practical. Think about your day-to-day. Do you need lots of looks for work, casual hangouts, or nights out with your girls? Your wardrobe should reflect your actual lifestyle, not some dream version of it.

Step 4: Choose Quality Over Clutter

Invest in pieces that’ll last you forever (and feel amazing every time you wear them). Quality doesn’t always mean expensive, it’s about finding pieces that feel luxe, with great fabric, stitching, and that perfect fit. A perfectly tailored blazer or the perfect pair of jeans will always feel way more chic than a closet full of impulse buys.

Step 5: Start with the Basics, Then Have Fun

Basics are the foundation of your wardrobe. A crisp white shirt, tailored trousers, a pair of classic jeans, and a jacket that goes with everything—those are your essential staples. Once those are covered, add in the fun stuff: the unique, flirty pieces that show off your personality and make your wardrobe pop.

Step 6: Shop with Purpose (Not Impulse)

Before you click add to cart, ask yourself: Does this piece go with what I already own? Can I wear it a bunch of different ways? Do I absolutely love it, or am I just caught up in the hype? Stay intentional, your wardrobe is about pieces you adore, not just things you feel like buying on a whim.

Step 7: Let Your Style Evolve (Because You Will)

Your style will change as you do, and that’s so exciting! Your intentional wardrobe isn’t static, it evolves with you as you grow. It’s not about perfection, it’s about building a wardrobe that’s true to you, now and forever.

An intentional wardrobe isn’t about rules or restrictions. It’s about embracing who you are, feeling confident in your choices, and wearing what makes you feel like the best version of yourself. As a fashion student, I’ve learned that style isn’t just about clothes, it’s how you wear them. So go ahead, embrace your wardrobe, and wear it like the boss you are.

[hevvxx2]

Title: Loud Thoughts, Hot Coffee- Part 9: “The Kiss, the Chaos, and the Creeping Threat”

Characters: Joaquin Torres x Reader

(Sam and Bucky mentioned)

Warnings: None!

Blue words: Inner Thoughts

Summary: After a kiss he can’t stop thinking about, Joaquin plans a real date—just dinner, no powers, no pressure. But from spilled water to being jealous of a waiter to a breadstick-stealing pigeon, everything goes hilariously wrong. Still, between laughter and awkward confessions, they find something real. Their night ends with a kiss under city lights… watched from the shadows by a mysterious figure reporting on her powers. The file they carry is stamped: PROJECT: ECHO.

Joaquin hadn’t stopped thinking about the kiss.

Correction: he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The softness of her lips, the way her fingers curled in his jacket, the faint hum of her mind brushing his — not reading him, not pushing, but there — electric and warm and full of want.

He was a soldier. A recon specialist. A calm, composed operative trained for high-stress scenarios.

So why was he pacing in his room like a lovesick cartoon?

“It was just one kiss.” “A really, really good kiss.” “Maybe I hallucinated it. Maybe I died and this is heaven.” “Should I text her? Is texting too casual? Should I send a raven? A signal flare?”

He flopped face-first onto his bed with a loud groan.

Outside his door, Bucky passed by and muttered. “Still spiraling.”

“I HEARD THAT.”

The Real Date (aka The Disaster)

Location: A quiet rooftop restaurant Sam helped them reserve.

Outfit: She’s in a black leather jacket over silk blouse. Joaquin wears a blazer he definitely called Bucky about five times to style correctly.

Mission: A normal date. Just dinner. Normal people stuff. No telepathy. No awkwardness.

It goes badly immediately.

Joaquin knocks over the water pitcher within 30 seconds.

Their waiter calls him “sir” and her “miss” and then winks at her — twice. Joaquin glares for ten straight minutes.

A pigeon steals a breadstick from their table. A pigeon... LIKE COME ON!

He tries to open up a bit, accidentally blurts out, “You smelled amazing that day I tackled you during training,” then chokes on a mint.

They hadn’t even been seated for a full minute when Joaquin knocked over the water pitcher....

Not just a splash — a full-on tidal wave. Water drenched the tablecloth, soaked his sleeve, and somehow managed to cascade into the breadbasket. He froze, eyes wide, hand still mid-gesture like he could rewind time.

She blinked. “Wow. That was fast.”

“I panicked...”:he muttered, already grabbing a stack of napkins, trying to mop up the flood.

“Panicked over… sitting down?”

“No! I just— The table’s small, and your knee brushed mine, and the pitcher was just… there.”

She arched a brow, lips twitching with amusement. “So my knee is the problem.”

Joaquin opened his mouth, closed it again, then gave up entirely and leaned back in his chair with a dramatic sigh. “This is going great.”

Then their waiter appeared — a tall, overly confident guy with perfect hair and zero shame. “Good evening, sir.” he said smoothly to Joaquin, before turning his full attention to her. “Miss.”

He winked. Once. And then again, like he’d double-clicked a flirtation setting.

Joaquin’s eyes narrowed. The glare he shot the waiter could’ve melted steel.

She said nothing, just smiled sweetly and thanked him as he set down new silverware. But the moment the waiter left, Joaquin leaned across the table, voice low and sharp.

“He winked. Twice.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Who winks twice?! What is this, a cartoon?”

She bit her lip, fighting a laugh. “You’re jealous of a waiter.”

“No. I’m… observant.”

A pigeon landed on their table. The fateful pigeon...

It was so casual about it too — like it had a reservation. It hopped once, leaned in, and snatched a breadstick with zero hesitation before flapping off into the night.

They both stared in stunned silence.

Joaquin lifted a hand. “A pigeon. A pigeon just robbed us.”

“I saw.”

“LIKE COME ON!”

She snorted. The laugh escaped before she could stop it, and Joaquin looked at her like the sound was the most important thing in the world.

Trying to salvage the date (and maybe his pride), he cleared his throat, sat up straighter, and said, “So, uh… what I meant to say earlier—before the bird mafia hit us—was…”

He looked at her. Then down at his hands. Then back up.

“You smelled amazing. That day I tackled you during training.”

The words hung in the air.

Then he froze.

And immediately choked on the mint he’d just popped into his mouth.

Violently.

He reached for his water, realized he’d spilled it already, then wheezed something that sounded like, “I’m fine.” as she leaned forward with wide eyes.

She waited until the coughing fit passed, until he slumped in his chair, red-faced and defeated.

Then she grinned.

“Best date I’ve ever been on.”

He groaned. “I’m never asking you out again.”

“Good.” she said, stealing his replacement breadstick before another pigeon could. “Next time, I’m asking you.”

Joaquin blinked.

Then smiled.

Wide. Stunned. Slightly dazed.

And, for the first time all night, he forgot to panic.

But despite all of it…

They laughed. They connected. They clicked.

And as the night fades, she finally takes his hand.

“I liked this.” she says.

He smiles. “Even with the pigeon?”

She leans in. “Especially with the pigeon.”

“Can... Can I...?”

“Yes.. Yes you can..” She breathed out with a small smile.

For once Joaquin's mind was... quiet. No internal monologue. No screaming thoughts. Not even a stray thought. Just quiet..

He kissed her — soft, sweet, under the city lights.

Just two blocks away, in the shadows of an alley, a figure watches through binoculars.

Their voice crackles through a comm to someone unseen.

“Target confirmed. She’s active again.” “And the mind-reading and telekinesis is intact.” “Proceed?” “…No. Let them think they’re safe.” “For now.”

The figure pockets a file — labeled with her name, her abilities, and a red stamp across the bottom that reads:

“𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙹𝙴𝙲𝚃: 𝙴𝙲𝙷𝙾.”

Taglist: @mochminnie @je33123 @saintbusan

Like my work? Here's my Masterlist!

[chariaki]

Rain, rain, don't go away.

Kento Nanami x reader

Dear Diary,

I always thought that being offered a jacket from a man when a lady is cold was sooooo cliché, and I admit, a little desperate. I am and will always be a responsible and independent woman, who is very much capable of warming myself up in the cold.

But then, today, as I was walking out of the library, there was a heavy rainfall outside. Much too my discontent, I didn't bring a jacket or an umbrella with me.

So much for being independent, i guess.

But out of nowehere, an acquaintance of mine, a handsome and kind Kento Nanami approached me from behind, and slipped his blazer over my shoulder.

Kento Nanami who hurriedly packed his things when he saw you leaving.

Kento Nanami, who noticed it was raining, and ran after you to give you his umbrella, or even, walk with you under it, he had hoped.

Kento Nanami who nervously searched his bag in a hurry to find his umbrella before you leave, but to his dismay, he realized he had left it at his front door.

Being too excited and preoccupied by his thoughts of you, to care about such trivial things.

I was aware he was studying in the same library, as we were in the same table, but I wasn't aware that'd he'd follow me on my way out, and of course, drape his blazer on my figure. I felt odd. A rush of blood went up my cheeks, butterflies in my stomach– the good kind– and, maybe falling in love?

Kento Nanami who learned from the obnoxious Gojo Satoru about giving a jacket to a lady in cold circumstances.

Kento Nanami who shared the same thoughts as you, thought it was cringey and didn't want to look weird in your eyes.

Kento Nanami whose thoughts were tangled between a nagging Satoru and a lovesick inner voice, finally gave in and shrugged off his blazer.

Kento Nanami, with trembling hands, flushed cheeks, and a racing heartbeat, nervously and ever so gently, placed his blazer atop your shoulders.

The blazer wasn't even that thick, nor did it provide much warmth, in fact, a shiver ran through my spine, and my tummy felt light. I now understand the rage and popularity of receiving a jacket in the cold.

It's romantic because it was gentle, his lingering perfume surrounded me, the details of how he is can be seen from his well-taken cared of blazer, and the sweet and silent gesture made it all so intimate.

Kento Nanami, whose eyes nervously darted everywhere but at you– who couldn’t help but stare wide-eyed with a mix of curiosity—and, perhaps, a hint of something more tender.

Kento Nanami who didn't want to delude himself into thinking, believing you were giving him heart eyes.

When in fact, you were.

The both of you were so caught up in the moment that neither of you noticed.

Kento Nanami who told you to wait for him inside the library as he ran in the rain to the nearest convenience store to buy the both of you umbrellas.

Kento Nanami who also used it as an excuse so you wouldn't see his flushed face, his own heart eyes, and the fluttering embarrassment he felt in that moment.

Unbeknownst to the frantic blonde gentleman, dear reader was standing in that spot for a while. Frozen in place, not literally, thanks to his blazer, but in an awful embrassment and an intense rush of feelings.

My heart pounded, my cheeks burned, and in an instant, my feelings for Kento Nanami grew even more.

With love,

Reader.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ⋅ᡣ𐭩 ་༘࿐

Kento Nanami who bought only one big umbrella for the both of you.

And in the rain, walked two hopeless romantics huddled together beneath a single umbrella, blissfully unaware of each other's feelings. They walked in silence, the only sound they heard was the gentle patter of rain drops falling on their umbrella, and the pounding of their hearts, the warmth of their closeness melted away the chill.

Maybe not so hopeless, I suppose.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ⋅ᡣ𐭩 ་༘࿐

[joocomics]

inspired by this look

18+ mdni

for a few hours of the night he was just the guy who crashed your birthday party…

you learn his name is yangyang. nice build, impressive hairstyle, enticing smile and even more captivating voice. even in this overcrowded stuffy club with blasting music you feel shivers on your skin just from the way his voice sounds close to your earlobe, you can only imagine the effects it will have if you go outside where it’s quiet.

he narrows his lips to your ear, wishing you happy birthday and to apologise for coming like this, but your mutual friend insisted that he joins the party, and you assure him that you’re happy to meet him.

you’re both sober in comparison to most of your friends. you’re not a big drinker while yangyang on the other hand had one drink so far and probably feels uncomfortable to order more because he wasn’t invited in the first place.

“what was the best gift you received for your birthday?” he asks in the middle of your conversation.

“money.” you reply with a hand on his shoulder.

his appeares on your thigh and your eyes smile as if they’ve been waiting all night to see it there. his fingers caress your bare skin and when his gaze captures yours the lustful sparks he sees tell him everything he needs to know.

your dazed eyes still hold the same glow as he thrusts into you, pushing himself as deeply as possible, causing your arousal to drip down your inner thighs. his fingers grip your jaw in order to maintain the eye contact at all times while his cock bumps against the desired spot. he loves how you flutter weakly with curled lashes, trying so hard to keep blinking; how your red eyes beg for more; and last but not least, the washed off look that’s contorting your pretty face.

the sounds echo in the bathroom. lewd and alluring to anyone who may walk in and hear some of them seep through the door of the miniature cabin you’re in. if that happens, you wouldn’t mind it. he sounds so hot and it’s all because of you.

“no, gorgeous, look at me.” yangyang utters. his voice is breathy, a bit tense from the rush, as he keeps your body steady in the small space. “keep those pretty eyes open for me, baby, i want to see you.”

it doesn’t take long for you to cum around him after hearing that. with a voice like his it’s impossible for your body not to react.

yangyang swallows your pleasant sounds by smashing his lips onto yours, colouring them with your sweet lipstick. his cock twitches one last time against your sensitive walls just before he drags it out. turn around for me birthday girl, he says.

you feel the presence of his hand on your lower back as he grips the fabric of your dress with his fist. all you can think about in those few seconds he’s jerking off is how you don’t want this to be the last time you hear him like this.

“fuck—“ his fingertips tighten intensely as he’s seconds away from spilling all over your ass.

one last groan spreads in the air until all you can hear is his panting heating up your skin even more as he leaves lazy kisses on your neck.

after you clean yourself up with tissues you notice your reflection. apart from your flushed lightheaded face, your dress has visible stains and messy spots where yangyang’s hands have been.

he takes off his black blazer jacket and helps you out putting it on. it’s much bigger on you and it perfectly hides your ruined dress.

nobody will be able to tell what you and yangyang did after you walk out the bathroom. you will go back to your seat, pretending you spilled your drink by being clumsy and yangyang was nice enough to help you cover it up. except, it’s written all over your face, and they will.

they will also see that you leave the club together.

[irregularcollapse]

you’ve got this strange effect on me (and i like it)

a Buck/Bucky agent vs. assassin AU, heavily and blatantly inspired by Killing Eve

2.8k words | frottage, knifeplay, references to canonical character death and other killings

read on ao3 (or in full below)

It fits well. The fact of that has Gale grinding his molars into the raw inner flesh of his cheek, but it’s undeniable: it fits well. It fits well, which means that Gale has never worn a single piece of clothing in his entire life which was actually the right size. There’s copper on his tongue; he works his teeth until there is the slightest tag of meat between them, and keeps on grinding so his mouth is nothing but sting.

Gale looks at himself in the mirror, wearing a suit delivered to him by an internationally-wanted assassin-for-hire, and is consciously aware of the emptiness and heat cleaving out his gut.

He’s never had an occasion to wear a cummerbund, and likely never will, but the rise of it over his abdomen is secure in a familiar way: the posture that settles across his shoulders and down his spine carries the muscle-memory of wearing his holster. There hadn’t been a shirt wrapped with the suit in the luggage, and so Gale had foregone anything under the jacket, and seeing it now he thinks that’s the intention. It’s severed at the hem, shorter than a man’s blazer is supposed to be, grazing the line of where the cummerbund reaches over the waistband of the pants. When Gale turns in the mirror and cranes over his shoulder, the garments gape and his lower back is bared. He pauses. He swallows. Grinds out, “Get a grip” for no-one to hear but himself.

There are boots in the case as well, oil-shiny and sharp-toed with a heel height that forces a sound like tchah from Gale’s throat, a derisive “Jesus” and roll of his eyes. Hands curling with an urge for collision, he hooks the boots with rough fingers and tugs them on over his bulk-bought socks. The double stomp is to settle his heels, a louder burst of what’s tightening his tendons. The heat in his gut is an angry fizz now, and it’s spreading. Hands at hips, fingers drumming, Gale looks to the mirror again.

“Jesus,” he curses once more, glaring at himself fractionally taller and grossly flashy and draped in blood money. He sucks his teeth, and forces back the acrid taste seeping over his tongue. Curt’s dead, and Gale has this suit. He should wear it, when he wins the hunt. When he puts a goddamn bullet between the Major’s eyes.

Gale flexes his shoulders under the sharp lines of the jacket; none of the coil in his body loosens. His hip juts, pointed into his palm. The neckline of the blazer shifts, yawns over more of his skin. He chews at his cheek anew, and the lean of his hips leads him into turning again. It’s a marinated movement, this time.

The lifted heels of the boots have changed the angle of his body, the flow of the pants. Noticeably, they hug. The tailoring doesn’t feel tight, but the fabric is cupping him in a way none of his other pants do. Gale is staring at his own ass in the mirror, and his brain is only giving him one thought: “Huh.”

There’s a bubble sitting at his uvula where it could make him gag, which might be a laugh or a surge of vomit. Either way, it floods his mouth with saliva. His fingers run themselves over the fabric, the curve of himself, and what escapes his mouth isn’t laughter or bile, but a low hum with much too much air in it. Gale can feel his own pulse, throbbing in his neck and wetly in his chest. It fits well.

The Major never touched him. Never stood in close enough proximity to be able to, and certainly never measured him. Gale has never had a suit tailored, but there should be a process to it: measurements, and fittings, and adjustments. His hands smooth over the seams at his hips, sight tracking too as he traces the band of the cummerbund where it meets his own skin—a sway he hadn’t noticed before, a certain camber accentuated by the high rise and the crop of the jacket—and he feels the clothing caressing as closely and precisely as the Major’s eyes must have, for it to all fit this well. Gale licks his lips.

Nestled next to the tissue-wrapped suit was the velvet-lined box containing the aftershave that had been lab-tested for anything malicious and found to be innocuous: the feeling that Gale got when he even looked at the bottle couldn’t be blamed on any poison or drug or biochemical agent. He picks it up, uncaps the nozzle, and sprays a light mist of it over where his jugular is pulsing. One more, on the other side of his neck. He leaves the bottle on his nightstand, and breathes out slowly as he presses his wrists to the damp spots of fragrance. Cuff pulled back and inner arm presented, he inhales against his own skin. Smoky, thick with musk. Heady spice. Gale breathes in once more, slower. Deeper. A bright knife of citrus. His gut twists, and his lips part and drag as he breathes out. The coil is tighter; the urge is hotter. Gale lowers his arm, and clears his throat deliberately. It isn’t right.

He’s nervy, and all blood, and riddled with edges as he strides his way to the kitchen, not contemplating the decision as he takes the half-drunk bottle of wine from the fridge. Marge said she’d come by later in the week to polish it off, but he can always buy her another. If there was ever a time to drink, it’s when he doesn’t have control over what his brain’s doing anyway. He’s alone, no one to see it, and he can just tell Marge he put it in a meal. She won’t call him on it, despite intimate knowledge of his culinary failures.

The wine is dry, and crisp, and slakes some of Gale’s thirst on the first sip. He leans against the countertop, and takes another. His eyes are closed as he breathes through his nose, tries to savor it, tries to let it go down easily and do what it’s supposed to do to calm him, when a rough voice says, “You didn’t have to get dressed up for me, babydoll.” Gale’s eyes snap open.

The Major is standing in his kitchen, smiling crookedly. Gale throws the glass of wine at him.

“Hey,” the Major protests, sounding indignant more than anything, and the impromptu missile never connects because he slaps it out of the air—crack and smash as it hits the wall instead—but Gale has time to dart past him, toward the hallway, the coat rack by the doorway where his holster is hanging, improper storage but he’d been tired and irritated and wound up when he got home with the suitcase—

The hemline of his jacket jerks like a seat belt under his ribs, and the slick heels of his boots slip on the tiling, his feet scrabbling for purchase as he’s dragged back into the kitchen by an assertive hold. The Major has him leashed by the belt encircling the bottom of the blazer, and he’s cooing little shush noises as he reins Gale in, and for all Gale’s thrashing and flailing he still ends up thrown down onto his own kitchen floor.

Gale scrambles, boots scraping as they grind glass into the tiles, pants wet at the hip from the spilled wine, straining for a hold on the counter’s edge to drag himself to standing, launching himself toward the knife block—birthday present, “Maybe you’ll take better care of yourself with the right tools,” Marge had said—but barely has the chef’s knife in hand before his wrist is cuffed by an uncompromising grip and he’s spun, sick imitation of a dance, and pinned into the cabinets. The Major’s hips are an anchor against Gale’s own, and he slams Gale’s hand on the granite once, twice, a third time that makes his grip loosen and flex as the pain smarts, and it’s just as quick then that the point of the chef’s knife is pricking at the hollow of Gale’s throat. He stops moving, at that.

The Major’s still smiling. “You got me wet,” he says. His chest is heaving, just like Gale’s is, and his white t-shirt is blotched translucent with wine. The knife indents Gale’s skin; he can feel it in his collarbones.

“Do it,” Gale grunts. “Do it, because if you don’t, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“You won’t.”

“Give me back the knife, then.” The Major huffs a short laugh, and the tip of the knife twists and presses as he shifts his grip.

“You won’t,” he repeats. “You like me too much.” He leans in, heavy, hips grinding into Gale’s and the blade digging hard enough that it seems about to burst the skin. His lips are incongruously soft at Gale’s ear, brushing and breathing with delicacy. “I get you wet.”

Gale’s lungs wrench out a noise, rough with rage. “You killed Curt.” The image of it rises, dark and hazy, club lights through smoke: the way their bodies had been entwined. The way the Major had held Curt close, as he drove the knife in. The way Curt had shuddered and it looked to Gale a lot like pleasure.

“It was always going to be just you and me, Gale. He was gettin’ in your way.” His nose traces a near-gentle path from Gale’s temple to the corner of his jaw. It’s a nuzzle, where his vein is beating. “He was nice. Good kid. You’re not nice, sweetheart.” He breathes in, measured, and his cheek grows into Gale’s with the broadening of his smile. “You’re wearing it.”

“Jesus,” Gale says, and this time he can’t deny that it’s a moan. His back is the sweep of a bow, arched by the way he’s caught against the counter, bent by the Major and how he’s got Gale snared. They’re flush from thighs to chests, hips to hips and lungs to lungs, and from the prick of the knife to the roll of his breathing to the hardening of his cock, Gale can feel the Major’s every inch.

“You shouldn’t have killed him,” he whispers, and it’s low like a plea. “He didn’t think about you, he—He didn’t hate you. You were just a perp to him.”

“Not worth my time, huh? That what you’re getting at?” The words are coming harsher, just like his breaths hot on Gale’s skin, spelled out too in the movement of his hips, rubbing himself against Gale like a scratching post.

“He was nice. Not the one you wanted. Not—oh, Christ.” Gale doesn’t know what he’s saying, but it breaks off in a groan anyway. He’s gripping the edge of the counter tight enough that he can feel his knuckles lock up and start to ache. The heat in his belly, the gape of fire and frustration, is flaring and sparking.

“Go on. Say it. Say what you were goin’ to say.” The Major’s other hand, the one not holding the knife poised at Gale’s throat, is hunting and taking in its own way—along Gale’s side, up under the jacket, burning and ravening over his bare skin.

“Not like me. Should’ve taken me instead. Take—Take me.”

It’s the wine. There’s something in the aftershave. Something about the suit. Something done to Gale one of the times they crossed paths—or something done by the Major’s steel blue eyes, in the moment they met and Gale didn’t know who he was, a hypnotism wrought by a rakish crinkled smile and the audacity of the pet-name “Dollface” said to a stranger. Any of it, Gale grasps for any lifeline that will excuse it, the sour-sweet want coursing through him and how since he learned it, the Major’s face has been coming to him each and every night and all his waking minutes too.

“You want me to kill you?” He growls it, arm a restraint snaked around Gale’s waist, and now it’s that hold keeping him up, not the bench. The Major doesn’t only have lips at Gale’s neck now, but his teeth as well, scraping and nipping as he ruts. His cock is hard, a blunt obvious line, and Gale’s is hard, rubbing and turning the inside of his trousers damp.

“No,” Gale groans. The knife digs in, and his skin splits—barely a sting, barely the tip, but it’s lush and alive and Gale’s cock twitches with it. “Yes. I want you to—Major.”

“Bucky, call me Bucky.”

He does: “Bucky,” in a long sighed-out moan, and he doesn’t know what he’s begging for. His life. The win. To come.

“Christ, you want it.” All of it. Gale can’t even refute that, not when his body is blazing with awakeness and his hips are rocking against the Major’s, Bucky’s, not when he can feel the thin rillet of blood wending its way between his clavicles, over the rungs of his breastbone, teasing and warm. This man’s hands on him, they have squeezed life from other people, beat and gutted and pulped, and Gale wants them in every inch of himself. When Bucky draws his face from Gale’s neck, teeth scraping over his jaw, and looks at him with eyes hungry and violent, Gale shudders from cock to throat: those eyes have witnessed so many others empty out. He wonders what Bucky will see in his when he comes, and if it’ll be anything like death.

“Too pretty to be a CIA agent,” Bucky is huffing, panting, close enough to put his hot breaths into Gale’s open mouth but not close enough to kiss, except for the blade at Gale’s throat. “This body, hidin’ it the way you do—this face, God, I think about you. Look at you, dolled up for me.” His big hand is a clamp at Gale’s waist; one of Gale’s own hands tears from the counter, fisting in the back of Bucky’s t-shirt. “I like you like this. I like you so much, Gale Cleven. You’re like me. We’re the same. We’re the same, aren’t we?”

“No,” Gale groans out, then, leg hooking behind Bucky’s of its own accord, leverage for his own humping, the way he’s trying to get at the hard hot friction in Bucky’s pants: “Yes.”

“What have you done to me?” Bucky grits, breathy, gasping. That should be Gale’s question. “There’s something about—Fuck, I feel—oh, fuck—” He moans without any real words then, shaking and slumping against Gale, mouth open and slack and loud and sweet as his hips buck through it, as his forehead finds Gale’s with surety.

He’s barely quiet, still panting, when he drags his grip from Gale’s waist and reaches back around to his crotch, directly at the zipper and shoving his hand inside. There’s frenzy in how he grips Gale’s cock, in how he tugs and twists, in how he murmurs, “You are wet for me, aren’t you?” The sound of it is obscene, decadent: in Prague, when Gale had found one of Bucky’s marks bleeding and dying (presence of Bucky still hot in the air) it had sounded wet like this, wet like the way Gale’s rattling and gasping, wet like the choke of Bucky’s hand on his dick and how much Gale is leaking.

Bucky’s hands are occupied, one holding the knife and the other holding Gale’s cock, so Gale is the one to clutch, to wrap: his hands clamor at shoulder and spine; his leg hitches. He’s already come, but Bucky groans, huffing and sighing, their heads still pressed together and his closeness making Gale’s mouth wet too. The pace, the vice, Bucky’s thumb—the feeling is a piston through Gale’s core, and he shudders, and the knife scrapes. The pain is a concentrated spike, clean and sharp, and Gale feels himself clench, shake, release. The orgasm comes with a drawn out cry, “oh, oh fuck,” and quieter, longer, “Bucky,” and when Gale’s body loses its tension he finds himself guided to lean back against his kitchen counter. The flat of the knife is laid against his cheek.

“You know, I just wanted to have dinner with you. Maybe watch a movie.”

Gale can’t open his eyes; he isn’t sure when he closed them. The dizziness isn’t only in his head. The knife grazes, delicate, over his skin and clatters when it’s set on the stone. Gale’s mouth is open, and invites Bucky’s tongue when it delves inside—quick, a savoring taste that comes with a suck to his loose bottom lip and a short, bitten moan. He’s still trying to locate his lungs when he hears the slam of a door. Gale opens his eyes, and his kitchen is empty. He lifts his wrist to his nose. Smoky, thick with musk. Heady spice. A bright knife of citrus. He feels his own teeth on his skin, as the smile comes.

[wutheringcaterpillar]

one shot request about the Tommy head canon where he gets jealous that the reader has imaginary friends? could be technically considered voyeurism because he makes the friends “watch”? thank youuu

Thank you for the request! Had a lot of fun with this one!

Warnings: daddy!kink, voyeurism (kinda), oral (f!receiving), p in v, fingering, pet names, jealous!Tommy, creampie, age gap (not specified)

The long day had come to a hault, Tommy’s mind spinning from all the business and finance bullshit that comes with the job. Now here he was a grown man that people found to be intimidating and powerful sitting on a small white cushioned chair, sipping tea out of a petite porcelain, pink pastel cup with his baby girl sitting across from him with her ribboned pigtails, looking adorable as always.

She was always a fragile, bashful little thing but loved Tommy for whom he was.

His typically frigid, void heart warmed immensely whenever he was in the presence of his little girl. She was his soft spot, and smelt of daydreams and berries, completely enchanting and he would go to the end of the earth to protect you from any harm.

Folding your legs, flashing your baby blue knee socks, a sliver of your thigh was exposed, causing Tommy to shift in his seat, readjusting himself.

“How was your day my love?” His large, older calloused hand brushed over yours, squeezing it gently and caringly.

“Missed you, I’ve been stuck with Alfred all day, the rest of my friends left to go color without me. He says he thinks I have a pretty smile, and that I’m far too cute be coloring alone.”

Tommy’s top lip quirked up, slightly annoyed by Alfred’s confidence of saying such an inappropriate compliment to his girl. Glancing at the empty chair, Tommy set the cup down onto it’s plastic decorated plate, raising his eyebrows with a fierce hint of jealousy glowing in his eyes.

“Oh yeah? Is that so Alfred, eh?” 

Standing up and removing his jacket, the heat built in between your thighs, warming your insides when he revealed revealed his long white shirt and blazer with the dazzling gold chain wrapped subtly around his bicep.

Kicking the chair to face the bed, you fiddled with your thumbs anxiously, knowing what this would lead to.

Lifting you up from small pink seat, you gasped when his hands latched beneath your delicate thighs and carried you over to the bed, plopping you down making your small butt bounce on the mattress. 

“I think Alfred needs to learn his place, don’t you darling?” Biting down on your bottom lip, you nodded as Tommy swung open your legs effortlessly, revealing the visible wet spot, painting your pink frilled panties.

Your cheeks burned a rosy shade of pink, gasping when you heard the sound of your panties ripping in half followed by the smooth exterior of his tongue lapping, delectably between your soaked folds.

Smooching seductive kisses into your desperate mound.

His sapphire eyes glanced up, connecting with yours. Seeing your chest rising and falling slowly, lips parted in pure ecstasy always sent shivers up your spine, you were wonderous, perfect in every way.

His digits skimmed at the your tight slippery opening, breathing in the fumes of your freshly shaved, showered heat. The tips of his fingers entering and exiting you playfully.

His princess was always so impatient, so desperate for his cock when they were alone.

 “Daddy, please…More.” You whined, fists curling in the sheets while his plump, velvet lips sucked at your throbbing clit, one finger pumping in and out of your warmth.

Smirking, he stood back up, flipping you over onto your tummy before you heard the movement of his zipper, feeling his cock pop out slapping against your inner thigh spontaneously.

Pulling your tender cheeks apart he examined how your sweet slick was dripping from your antsy cunt, making a wet spot form on the bed.

“Eh, see that Alfred? Something you’re never gonna get. My pretty pussy, isn’t that right sweetheart?” 

“Yes, yes! All yours, only yours daddy!” Hearing the excitement, and the overwhelming tone of desperation was like music to Tommy’s ears. His precious little baby.

Lining his cock up, you felt the large tip swipe over your gaping hole with precum, causing your body to grind down, needing him to stuff you full and fuck you hard.

“Patience, princess.” His hand combed through the strands of your hair, pulling your head back by the baby blue bows of your pigtails, causing you to release a loud, lustful whine.

Planting a passionate kiss to your neck, making you moan in pleasure, he dipped his cock in. The sudden feeling of being so full nearly taking the breath out of your little lungs.

“Dadddyyyy….” Such a beautiful serenade your voice was. He started at a slow pace wanting to take his time with his princess. The soft fabric of your knee socks grazed against his thighs, making Tommy all the more eager to pick up the pace, but he wanted to see his baby girl ride him, wanted to see a full view of your pussy devouring his cock so well.

“Bounce back baby. Wanna see that little ass clap against me.” He striked your bare cheek, a bright red handprint forming immediately, marking his territory

Without needing any guidance, your hips rolled back, the head of his thick shaft stuffing your little pussy full without any shame.

Your knuckles turned white as you gripped the fluffy bedding, focusing on the sound of his deep, growling moans. Feeling the way his hands grazed seductively down your thighs, stopping at the fabric of your knee socks and picking you up slightly so he could slide in deeper, able to hit your cervix.

“Fuck! Daddy! Fe-feels so good mm..” Your words faltered from the enthralling, profound feeling of pleasure.

He fucked into his tight cunt, craving to please his baby girl and hear her screams, the screams he caused.

Turning your head, he forced you to look at the chair your friend sat in as he slammed into you relentlessly. Your tits bouncing against the soft padding of the mattress while you released whimsical, high pitched moans.

“Bet Alfred can’t make you feel this good can he sweetheart?” The thick shaft of his cock was overwhelmingly pleasurable, sliding in and out between your tight wet folds delectably. Your teeth bit down onto the plump bottom of your lip as he drilled into your tight cunt.

His balls slapped against your bare sex, when in one powerful thrust, waves of pleasure were building up your spine, making you whine out in ecstasy.

“Mm- ungh, no, no. Just you daddy!” Tears sprang at the brim of your eyelids from the overstimulation and the stuffed feeling of his cock throbbing in your cunt.

“Daddy, I-I’m going to cum, ca-can I-fuck! Can I please cum!” Tommy would always allow his darling dove to cum first as a gentleman should, you’ve earned it.

“Go on love, release.” The sizzling, euphoric sensation took over every detrimental part of your body. The rising pleasure settling like a pit of fiery, building euphoria as your aching walls squeezed his long, thick cock. Your flood gates budding open like a watered flower, oozing out onto Tommy’s shaft, your sweet nectar coating his unshaved mound white.

“I’m cumming, I-oh daddyy! Ohhh….” Tommy was seconds behind you, collapsing onto your back as he arched, bottoming out in you filling his little princess with his swimming seeds, releasing an exasperated, deep, groan, moaning out “Oh Baby..” In the process.

He lay there for a moment before pulling out and seeing his cream pie gushing out of your overstimulated cunt. Such a breathtaking sight.

Taking a seat on the bed beside you, when you goanced over at him he could see the tears from your dreary, tired eyes. Beads of sweat forming by your now messy hair.

“My little cry baby aren’t yuh, eh?” Tommy pulled you closer, his large calloused hands hovering over the little goosebumps on the smoothe skin of your arms, holding you warmly and close feeling your little heart thumping rapidly against him.

“I brought a gift along with me since you’re always such a good girl.” Your eyebrows suddenly perked up, wanting to lean over the bed and see but he stopped you. Patience and surprise being a thing he was still working on with you. Always such a eager girl you were.

Pulling out a stuffed pink rabbit, Tommy’s heart melted when he heard your little gasp of surprise. Instantly you grabbed hold of the fluffy stuffed toy, hugging it whole heartedly and adoringly.

“Oh daddy, I love it! I love you! How did you know?” Tommy wasn’t oblivious, he always paid close attention to things you stared at longingly out in public through store windows and that had been what you were eyeing for weeks now.

Shrugging, he walked over to your closet, picking out a frilly short, flowered dress that he hadn’t seen you in yet and tossed it on the bed along with a pair of white shoes.

“I love you more sweetheart. I know with work being busy we haven’t had many date nights and I insist on treating my princess to a night out.” A wide smiled spread across. Feeong from the bed you ran up to Tommy and he caught you in his arms, placing a giddy kiss to your delicate, inviting lips.

Upon getting ready, Tommy watched you adoringly in that short little dress twirl happily, and cutely in the mirror, grabbing the new bag he had bought you just last week.

“I think you scared Alfred away for good daddy. I hope you know I’ll only ever have eyes for my protector, my love.”

“Yeah fuck you Alfred.” Kicking the chair over, Tommy pulled you close to his side before spitting at the floor, making Alfred learn his place. Rendering the boy speechless as you watched him run out the door completely scarred making you giggle.

“What do you think love? Ready for dinner at the chateau?” You nodded gleefully, holding onto the older man’s arm in deep devotion as he guided you out to the car, ready to enjoy the rest of the night with his baby girl.

[ihaveforgortoomany]

Discussing Isolde's new garment "And all that Jazz" as an evolution of her original and insight 2 Outfits

Consider this a continuation of an earlier post with greater focus on the similarities of Isolde's new garment to her previous two and how they tie to her character development in Ch. 6 (this is global friendly)

(spoilers for just Chapter Six )

In short her new garment in 2.1 can be considered the development of her character post the events of Ch.6.

The outfit we met Isolde in, the white one, signifies Isolde's previous repression of herself, her outfit similar to Trista in the Small Room story. While this sprite was used to depict young Isolde primarily, we can say that this more resembles Trista and how Isolde especially in her younger years was haunted and tormented by Trista. Isolde's boss the Mezzo takes a similar appearance to her original outfit than the insight 2 Tosca one, here again Isolde is repressed and allows Trista to possess her during the fight.

(Side note: Trista probably is the most powerful Dittasdorf in terms of the family's arcane powers, plus the fact that she died during a seance at a young age, became this relentless spirit that even years beyond her death continues to torment Isolde and as seen with her boss fight possess her)

Moving onto her insight 2 outfit this signifies the release of the repression, the inner self as Isolde peforms Tosca, kills Mr Karl, jumpstarts WW1 months earlier and proceeds to kill both Heinrich and Hoffman. Unlike the outfit she no longer has a veil obscuring half her face, a much smaller one signifying that loss of repression of desires.

Ignoring the green highlights and feathers clearly alluding to Kakania, the upper "jacket of the outfits does appear to mimic Kakania's jacket/ blazer or the ruffle on Isolde's first outfit, the overall sliver colour of the "And all that Jazz" garment calls back to her original outfit in being a darker shade, no longer is Isolde tied down by societal expectation of Vienna and acts freely (within the limitations of the Foundation ofc).

Both the low cut in her dress and the headpiece both reference to her insight 2 outfit, alongside her new voicelines signifies further this freedom from previous repression that Kakania (regardless of how much it did backfire) gave her. Yet despite this freedom was remains alone.

Additional note: in this new garment the knife is replaced with a cane that features very prominently. The cane has been historically seen as a overt status symbol of wealth and power, in comparison to a knife that would be easily concealed. We can speculate how Isolde in her younger years in the Small Room was thought to be meek and not stand out by Mr Karl, who eventually dies by Isolde's hand by a knife, no longer repressing any part of herself. What is noticable is that both Mr Karl and Isolde in her new garment dominantly hold the cane in their left (looks on the right to us and Mr Karl's is largely covered below) . We can speculate Isolde now possessing a cane reflects her increased power no longer under the repression of others (noteable ones being Mr Karl and Trista) instead able to act on their own, yet still cling to Kakania at the same time.

(Idk if it is the same cane Isolde is using as Mr Karl as I can't find a full spite of him but it would be interesting if it was, signifying her own triumph over the man who tormented her over the years to take his symbol of power)

Even her posture/ default stance is different: the previous outfits have a more reserved posture aiming to make herself the smallest in the room (does this count as a pun) whereas her new garment has her in a more confident and powerful pose, more open and empathises the cane again.

Summary - it is fascinating how her new garment doesn't seem like just an Opera Singer turned Jazz singer, instead a progression of her character following the events of Vienna as someone who while has escaped the torment and societal pressure is not truly free of that pain and trauma, but nevertheless no longer represses herself in the same way as before.

[girlsgirl06]

HOW TO BE UNFORGETTABLE..💅🏻

You just want to have the best first impression, the best impact in the life of people you ever meet, you wanna be the most favourite of your favourite ones, you wanna leave sparkle wherever you step, you wanna be remembered till centuries wherever you place your foot, you wanna turn heads wherever you walk, you want everyone to be so obsessed with you, you want them to fall in love with you, you want them to become your fan, you want them to revolve around you, but you always wonder how you can do so? Well my friend don't worry, I GOTCHA😉

-AREAS TO WORK ON:

1. HEALING INNER CHILD

Healing is very important. Heal your inner child. Ask yourself questions, be aware, do things your inner child loved to do. Every night before sleeping say this to your inner child- I AM SORRY, PLEASE FORGIVE ME, THANK YOU, I LOVE YOU. (You can also visualise the childhood you standing in front of you then say this prayer and hug them).

2. ME CORE

Learn about yourself. What you like, what you love, do self care, skincare, move your body, be your own soulmate, love yourself first, do things you always loved, study, gain knowledge, learn new skills, do everything just for you. Say Affirmations, do mirror work, breath work, EFT tapping and just Focus on you.

3. BODY LANGUAGE

Be confident, Good posture, eye contact, eyebrows relaxed, keep calm resting face, slow movements, clear and smooth voice, walk like you're queen/king, learn etiquette.

4. CONFIDENCE

Confidence is the most attractive thing about a person. It's only what makes you successful. Have confidence in whatever you do, whatever you wear, whatever you try. Remember Confidence is sexy.

5. PSYCHOLOGY

Learning psychology helps you to analyse and understand other's behaviour and personality. It also improves your body language, communication skills and overall personality.

6. OBSERVATION SKILLS

Observe around you. Remember the detail. Remember the name of person, people love their name they like it when we remember and call them by their name. Ask them about themselves and remember the details. Observe their behaviour, how they react in different situations. Observation sharpens your mind.

7. COMMUNICATION SKILLS

Learn how to talk. Learn new languages. Learn vocabulary. Don't use long sentences rather make it short but effective and impressive. Learn synonyms and antonyms. Learn new words. Learn idioms and phrases. Have a clear and loud voice but remember not too loud or not too low. Calm, seductive voice. Talk with pauses(At least 3 second pause).

8. PERSONALITY

Have your unique style. Wear outfits that make you not only look beautiful but also confident. Wear outfits that make you feel beautiful and confident. Know your style. Accessorize it maybe a watch or necklace, shoes or heels, blazers or jackets anything that matches your vibe.

Last but not least, the most effective and important one :

9. BE KIND

There is nothing more attractive and unforgettable behaviour than kindness. People will remember you for decades if you treat them right. Be decent. Have manners. Respect them. Give genuine compliments. Have a good sense of humor. Respect their time.

Thank you for reading❤️

[cyclegrooversbabies]

devious content - cyclegroover

summary : you and your best friend’s brother make content for his tiktok, but it takes a devious turn

warnings : swearing, unprotected p in v, creampie, breeding kink, public sex, daddy kink

a/n : he hasn’t name revealed, so we’re gonna call him aiden. enjoy :)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

your day has been long and boring, and your night has been even longer and more boring. you had plans with your best friend, audrey, but she canceled at the last minute. unfortunately, her boyfriend tends to be more of a priority sometimes.

so, instead of drinking, eating junk food, and dancing to your favorite music, you’re lying alone in bed. it wasn’t how you planned to spend your night, but it’s not the worst.

“slow down here. i don’t know my way around here.” you mumble the lyrics to the song playing on your tv.

your phone lay beside you, lighting up with different notifications, causing you to turn your head toward it. the green messages icon pops up, showcasing a few messages from aiden, your best friend’s brother.

despite your confusion and amusement, you crawl out of bed and head to your closet. it's not at all unlike aiden to hit you up about filming at late hours. however, telling you to wear a dress? completely unlike him.

yet, you find yourself rummaging through your clothes, flicking hanger after hanger to find something formal. you scrunch your face up, having no idea what to wear. puffing out a breath, you dig deeper into the closet, crossing from casual wear to fancy. your fingers graze over a black silk dress and you pause, tugging the fabric out to examine it.

surely, this isn't what he has in mind.

your thoughts are cut off by the loud exhaust from the all too familiar kawasaki motorbike that aiden rides. your eyes widen and you quickly yank the dress from the hanger, hastily stripping from your clothes and pulling the dress over your body.

just as you pull your hair out of the back of the dress, your bedroom door opens, and in walks aiden, cladded in a full suit.

your jaw drops as you take him in in all of his delicious glory. the sleeves of his blazer fit snugly around his torso, hugging him in all the right places. his short curls dance gracefully across his forehead, showcasing his warm brown eyes. your mouth physically salivates at the sight of him in front of you.

"hey." he says, his gaze going up and down your figure.

you lick your lips and swallow, "hi."

"so," he clears his throat and raises his eyebrows. "you ready?"

amusement plasters across your face as you look at him, "am i ready? i don't even know what we're doing, and i look like an idiot."

his eyes linger on the thigh high slit of your dress, and he shakes his head. "i told you, we're gonna film. and you definitely don't look like an idiot."

your cheeks flush the slightest bit. "don't you think i need a bit more time to get ready?"

"all you need is your shoes and a jacket. i've got your helmet outside, and we can just put a pair of heels in my bag or something."

you bite your inner cheek and shrug after a moment of contemplation. aiden steps forward and pulls out a black jacket from your closet, holding it out for you to put it on. you grin to yourself and turn around, sliding your arms through the sleeves as he lays it over your shoulders.

“i saw your shoes by the front door. i’ll go grab them while you pick whatever heels you want.” he states, heading out of your room.

you do as he says, quickly gathering a pair of simple black stilettos. holding them by the straps, you follow him out to the living room where he’s got your tennis shoes in hand.

“thanks.” you say as he tosses them to you. slipping them on and tying them up, you look over at him, “so, what exactly are we doing?”

he gives you a look as if he’s already told you a million times — which he has, kind of — “we’re going out and we’re filming.”

you roll your eyes, “yeah, i gathered that.”

“just trust me.”

“trust you?” you snort.

he smirks, “when have i ever let you down, shorty?”

you can’t help the small smile that spreads across your face as you roll your eyes again. you toss your heels at him, not sparing a second glance as you head out the front door. he chuckles at you, slipping your shoes in his bag and following you out.

once the two of you are settled on the bike, his bag on your back and your arms around his waist, you’re off to whatever mysterious destination he has planned for you.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

it doesn’t take long for the two of you to reach an empty parking lot lit up by street lights. as you come to a stop, you almost don’t want to let go, reveling in the warmth he provides as well as the mouth watering cologne he’s wearing. not to mention his body fits perfectly against yours, like you’re made for each other.

aiden shuts the engine off and kicks out the kickstand, placing his hands on your thighs. you ignore the tingling his touch leaves and take a deep breath.

“can you explain what we’re doing now?” you ask for what feels like the millionth time.

you can’t see his face, but you can hear the amusement in his voice as he speaks, “we’re filming a tiktok. a dancing tiktok. to pony.”

you pause your movement, one leg on the ground, the other hooked over the bike, “by ginuwine?”

“the one and only.”

you bite your tongue and climb off the bike, instantly removing his bag and pulling out your heels. the song’s very sexual, and just the thought of dancing to it with him makes your stomach clench.

aiden gets off the bike and ushers you to sit back down on it, facing him from the side. he unties your shoes and removes them, along with your socks. taking one heel in his hand, he begins to slip your foot in it and lace it up.

you stare down at him, only catching his eyes through the open visor. he looks concentrated. for some reason, the gesture feels oddly intimate, and you’re not sure what to make of it. but you know how it makes you feel.

you’ve always found him incredibly sexy, from the way he talks to the way he acts and dresses. sometimes you want to jump his bones, but his sister being your best friend prevents you from crossing that line.

“thank you.” you whisper in appreciation after he gets both of your heels on.

he clears his throat, “yeah, no problem.”

he helps you off the bike, keeping his hands on your waist to make sure you’re steady. once he pulls away, you remove your jacket and set it with your sneakers. you step aside as he begins to get his phone set up and ready.

he walks backwards a bit and adjusts his jacket, smoothing down the sides before turning to you. “how do i look?” he questions, holding his arms out.

“hot.” the word slips from your mouth before you can catch yourself, causing your face to burn a bright ride. choosing not to dwell on it, you do a spin and ask, “how about me?”

“edible.” he answers.

his response halts your movement. you can feel your core practically throbbing from the one word he used to describe you. your stomach twists up with desire and uncertainty, wanting nothing more than to fuck him right then and there, but also knowing that probably isn’t the best idea.

“how do you want to start?” you ask, attempting to sway your mind and its filthy thoughts.

after a couple of minutes of explaining what he wants to happen, the two of you are ready. he starts the recording and back tracks to his bike in the middle of the screen. you stand off to the side, out of view until your cue. the song begins playing, and aiden starts the dance.

you guys do a few takes, both of you having to stop at certain points because there’s no denying it’s getting hot and heavy between the two of you. you never would’ve guessed he’d have you soaked tonight, but you can feel the dampness between your legs. luckily for you, he’s also struggling to hold it together. though neither of you address it, the bulge in his slacks is proof that he’s turned on.

deciding to give it one more shot to get it right, the music starts again.

i’m just a bachelor, looking for a partner.

you slide into view of the camera, sauntering over to him in a sexy manner. he’s straddling his bike backwards, leaving room for you to climb on.

someone who knows how to ride, without even falling off.

you climb on the bike, your thighs straddling his to where you’re practically in his lap, and you roll your hips into his as if you’re riding him. his bulge presses directly into your core, eliciting a moan from you. a groan escapes his lips at the sweet sound you made and the feeling of you against him. both of you freeze, only for him to grab the bottom of your helmet and yank you closer to him.

“i think this is where we turn the camera off.” he speaks, his voice low and husky.

your breath catches in your throat, though you choose not to think too much into his comment. he slides you back, his grip tight on your thighs. the pressure goes straight to between your legs, leaving you clenching around nothing.

“or,” you start in a breathy tone, “we can leave it on.”

his fingers dig into your skin, surely leaving bruises. he caresses your legs for just a moment before pulling back and removing his helmet. his curls fall back into place along his forehead. his dark brows furrow, his eyes darkening as he looks at you. reaching forward, he grasps your helmet and softly pulls it from your head. setting both aside, you’re both left staring at each other with heaving chests.

“you have no idea how badly i wanna fuck you right now.” he croaks, tossing his head back just a bit.

your heart races in your chest, your stomach tightening as you take in his words. you bite your lip, pondering what to say. regardless of whether or not it’s a bad idea, you’ve never wanted anything more.

“what’s stopping you?” you whisper, tilting your head.

he catches your eye and stops for a moment. in just a split second, he’s yanking you back into him with his hand around your neck. his eyes roam your face, searching for any signs of hesitation. finding nothing but lust, he kisses your fiercely.

a small gasp erupts from your mouth as his lips meet yours. in an instant, he has you back on top of his lap, one of his hands tangled in your hair, the other gripping your neck. your hands trail up his arms and run down his torso, feeling the sculpted muscles beneath his suit.

the pressure of his kiss makes you dizzy, a subtle taste of mint lingers on his tongue as he makes his way into your mouth. your tongues dance, teeth clash, consuming one another's oxygen. your hands move frantically against him, wrapping around his shoulders to pull him impossibly closer. he tightens his grip on your hips, grinding you against him.

"if you wanna stop, i suggest we do it now. 'cause i'm like ten seconds away from bending you over my bike and filling you up with my cum." aiden groans against your mouth, breathless as he speaks.

you roll your hips against his once more, your core practically sobbing for stimulation. the feeling of his hard member pressed against you as you move makes your face scrunch in pleasure. you lick your kiss swollen lips and stare into his eyes. "aiden."

his eyes almost roll to the back of his head at the sound of your whiny voice moaning his name. he brings your face closer to his, pressing a few more wet kisses to your mouth, before pulling away to let you continue.

"please fuck me." you beg, grinding against him. "right here, right now."

his mouth slams back onto yours, his hands sliding down your legs. reaching the end of your dress, he slides it up to your waist, showcasing your little black panties. goosebumps litter your skin from the cool night air mixed with the warmth of his touch.

"you're so fucking sexy, baby." he mumbles into the kiss.

his fingers trail up your thighs, dipping into the waistband of your panties, teasingly running along the trim. you pull back in frustration, using one hand to brace yourself on his shoulder, and the other to remove your underwear yourself. before you can set them aside, he takes them from you and slides them in your mouth.

"god, i can't wait to feel your pussy around me." he moans, drinking in the sight of you. he repositions you until you're straddling one of his thighs and gives you a devilish grin. "until then, you’re gonna ride my thigh like a good girl.”

as soon as your bare heat comes in contact with the smooth material of his slacks, your lips part with a small gasp. he places his hands on your waist, guiding you back and forth over his leg. lewd moans fall from your mouth as your clit bushes against his leg. he flexes his leg, his muscles tightening beneath you, providing better friction.

you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a sloppy kiss as you try to keep your composure. your arousal seeps into his pants, creating a sticky lubricant. he slightly lifts his leg, bumping into your pussy, eliciting a loud moan from you.

“fuck, you’re so wet.” he coos, peeking down at your sopping center as you chase your pleasure. “that’s it, make a mess all over daddy’s leg.”

your movement becomes frantic, your teeth biting down on your panties to try to contain your moans. your saliva soaks into them, making your arousal much more noticeable as it coats your tongue. the knot in your stomach tightens, indicating your incoming orgasm.

aiden pulls the underwear from your mouth, “aht, aht. i wanna hear how good i’m making you feel.”

one of his hands trail up from your waist, applying the perfect amount of pressure along your body. his hand grasps your neck, his thumb against your chin as he brings your face towards his. his eyes take in your face that’s contorted with pleasure, and he can’t help but admire how fucking good you look.

“all mine.” he mutters to himself as his thumb traces your parted lips.

“feels so good.” you whine, your hips bucking as the knot inside of you snaps, bringing you over the edge with a pornographic moan.

aiden holds you against him as your body convulses, kissing the side of your neck while encouraging you to let it all out. your juices drip onto his leg, soaking the material between the two of you. your breathing is heavy as your eyes flutter from the satisfying sensation.

“you’re so hot when you cum.” he smirks, “i bet you’re even hotter cumming on my dick.”

the thought alone sends a new wave of arousal through your body, leaving you clenching, your pussy desperate for more. you slowly slide off of his lap, using the bike for support as your body feels weak. after catching your breath, you glance up at him and take in his hungry gaze. licking your lips, you reach out for his belt buckle.

his mouth sports a devious grin as he watches you unbuckle his belt. his erection painfully strains against his pants, eager to be set free from its restrictions. after releasing the buckle, you immediately unbutton his slacks, yearning for the feeling of his hardened member.

"so desperate to be stuffed by my cock." he teases in a condescending tone.

"wanna feel you inside me." you mumble, your cheeks flushing at your own words.

he audibly groans at your comment and helps you in pulling out his length. your mouth waters at the sight; long and thick, a few veins running along the shaft, a pretty pink tip with dribbles of precum. your small hand wraps around him, barely able to enclose him with your fingers. a breathy sigh leaves his mouth when you make contact.

"such a pretty cock." you whisper, leaning forward to lick the tip.

his hips buck when your tongue grazes the head of his dick, his precum spread across your tongue. his hand tangles in your hair, swiftly pulling you up to his mouth and kissing you with everything he has.

he's never been so turned on in his life. you've always done something to him, and he can't believe he's finally getting you where he wants you. you're in the same exact boat. the thought of sneaking around with your best friend's brother is so wrong, but fuck, does it feel so right.

aiden kicks his leg over his bike, stepping off. he turns you to face him, taking your face in his hands and pressing his mouth to yours in a hungry kiss. his hands travel down your body and beneath you, squeezing your ass, pulling a moan from you.

he lifts you from the bike and gently sets you down on the ground, pressing a few more kisses to your lips. “turn around.”

you do as he says, turning around and bending over, using his bike for support. he softly kicks your legs apart, causing your heart to hammer with anticipation in your chest. you can feel the continuous arousal seep from your aching hole.

he very slowly lifts your dress. you take a sharp breath when the cool air hits your bare center. his hands knead your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to showcase your dripping heat.

“you’re so fucking wet, baby.” he moans.

he brings his hand between your thighs, ghosting over where you need him most. his fingers graze your pussy, pulling a soft whimper from you. spreading your juices around, his thumb massages your clit in soft circles, causing your legs to jerk. his middle digit circles around your entrance, teasing you.

before you can beg him to do something, his finger plunges into you. a loud yelp leaves your lips, and you’re instantly clenching around him. his finger so long and slender, rubbing against your rigid walls so delicately.

before you can even indulge in the feeling, he removes his hand. you whine and shake your hips, pressing your ass against him, needing to feel more. he tsks with a chuckle, bringing his hand down on your cheek with a sharp slap. you squeak and attempt to close your legs, but he places himself between them, preventing you from doing so.

he grabs his dick, pumping it a few times before sliding it up and down your slickness. your breath hitches and your body grows hot. in one deep thrust, he pushes into you, bottoming out inside of your gushing hole.

“oh my — fuck.” you squeal, involuntarily clenching around him.

“i know, baby.” he breathes through his nose, attempting to keep control and not completely ravage you on the spot.

his hands hold your hips as he pulls back, rutting forward to fill you back up. soft moans spill from you as he strokes you deep and slow. his fingertips dig into your skin as he brings you back to meet his thrusts. your mouth falls open, eyes rolling back as pleasure floods your veins. he bites down on his bottom lip, head tossed back from the pure bliss.

blowing out a breath, he refocuses on where you’re connected. what a sight. your pussy grips him so tightly, sucking him back in every time he pulls away. your fluid soaks his dick, leaving a creamy ring around the base. with every pump, your fleshy ass bounces off of his hips, waves rippling through it.

“fuck — you take me so fucking well.” he groans as you push against him.

your face scrunches up, tears welling in your eyes from the immense pleasure. you’re already so close to cumming again. aiden reaches up and wraps your hair around his hand, tugging your head back. your jaw falls open, heavy breaths and mewls leaving your mouth as he reaches around with his opposite hand and rubs your clit.

“god, you feel s-so good daddy.” you cry out, both of your hands gripping the seat below you.

his thrusts grow harder and faster, throaty moans emitting from his mouth. “dirty little whore, calling your best friend’s brother daddy. who knew you were such a slut? you like it that much, hm?”

sobs leave you mouth as the tightness in your stomach grows. you can’t help but meet his every movement, it hurts so good. your legs shake, and if it weren’t for the bike beneath you, they would’ve given out by now.

“fuck, aiden..” you moan loudly as he digs into your sweet spot. “don’t stop. please don’t stop.”

he groans as he feels you clenching around him. his thrusts grow erratic, “god, you’re everything. so fucking perfect.” his finger on your sensitive bud speeds up, pressing harder against the bundle of nerves. “you’re close, aren’t you? yeah. let it go, baby.”

your pussy clamps down at his words, squeezing his cock as the pressure inside your stomach grows unbearable. silent moans fall from your mouth as your hips buck. the way he’s fucking you so deliciously sends you over the edge, your essence saturating his cock as you cum.

“that’s it.” he coos, “that’s my good girl.”

his strokes become sloppy as he chases his own release. he wraps an arm around your neck, holding you flush against his chest. his other arm wraps around your waist to keep you upright as he drills into you.

“daddy.” you sob, “want you to cum inside me. please, want your cum so bad.”

“yeah? you want me to fill you up with my babies?” he grunts, shoving as deep as humanly possible. “you’re unreal. so fucking filthy.”

he holds you tight, keeping you against him as he cums with a raspy moan. his cock twitches inside you, releasing a hot, milky load inside of you. everything feels fuzzy as he empties himself deep in your pussy, and you can’t help but smile.

before he even pulls out, your phone starts ringing. you choose to ignore it, but he picks it up and smirks as he reads the contact name. audrey. he looks over at you, then presses answer and puts it on speaker, holding it out for you. your eyes widen as you look back and forth from him and the phone.

“hello?” you hear audrey ask from the other end.

“h-hello?” you reply in a pant.

“where are you?” she asks.

aiden pulls you back into him, shoving his cock deeper into you, catching you off guard. you gasp, eyes closing from the feeling.

“hello? what’s wrong?” audrey speaks up.

you clear your throat, shaking your head. “nothing. what?”

she groans, “where are you? ethan and i got into a fight and i just need a girls night.”

before you can catch yourself, you’re rolling your eyes. of course she wants to hangout now. she blew off your plans just to come crawling back when her and her boyfriend aren’t getting along.

you’re not complaining though. you just had the best orgasm of your life.

aiden pulls out of you, leaving you shuddering. he tucks himself back into his pants and pulls your dress down, covering you back up. he sends you a look, reminding you that you haven’t responded to his sister.

“um, okay. i can be home in like 15, just meet me there.” you say, hanging up before she can reply.

you look over at aiden, catching his eye. he’s got a panty dropping grin on his face as he watches you, admiring the way your skin is flushed, how your hair is tangled, and the dried tears on your cheeks. you look especially fucked out, and he can’t help but smile because he’s the one who’s got you like that.

“so.” he says.

“so..” you awkwardly repeat.

he quietly chuckles, “don’t make it weird now. i fucked you, and you liked it.”

your face turns bright red and you shove him, shaking your head at his words.

he tosses an arm around you, laughing as he pulls you into him. “hey, it’s okay. i loved it.” he leans down and kisses you hard. “and don’t think that’s the last time, you’re mine now.”

your stomach flutters with butterflies as you kiss him. this is definitely not something you’ll regret.

“now, let’s go. my sister needs a hug from you. so, that’s what you’re gonna do… with my kids dripping down your legs.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

a/n : first fic :))) he’s so sexy idc idc, need him to breed me!!!!!

[izavella21]

Designing suits for the Danganronpa girls and dresses for the Danganronpa boys (or at least trying to)

Inspired by this post by @bad-but-sad-boi

I know nothing about fashion, but I like this idea and I want to give it a shot.

I'm not going to do everyone, so if you guys want to pitch your own ideas for other characters, or even the characters I already did, feel free!

Let's get started!

Kyoko: Royal blue jacket, royal blue pants, pale gray shirt, darker blue vest, navy tie, either ankle boots or lace up dress shoes.

Asahina: Turquoise blazer with coral piping and shortened sleeves, coral pants, casual white shirt, white sneakers, and a charm necklace in the shape of a wave. Everything is breathable, she needs to be able to move!

Chiaki: Lavender blazer, Slight pixel pattern on the shoulders (I wonder if she borrowed that idea from a certain someone), light grey shirt, black pants, either gamer sneakers or dress shoes. Or a hybrid of the two.

Kaede: Pale pink blazer, the inner collar has a piano key design, ruffled white shirt, maybe a cravat? Dark purple pants, music note/treble cleft earrings and necklace, all the metal on the outfit is rose gold.

Maki: Long, dark red blazer, floral embroidery at the collar, black blouse, black vest, black pants, combat boots, and either a black choker or a ribbon tied around her neck. I said black, but I’m imagining more of a charcoal color. (I love the idea of her and Kaede’s outfits being the anti-each other)

Himiko: Purple jacket with a subtle star pattern, also it's long in the back, white shirt with a ruffled collar, metallic colored vest, either purple or charcoal pants, black heeled shoes with buckles. She looks like a proper magician- sorry, mage. Optionally, she has a cloak as well.

Makoto: Sage green dress, flowy, layered skirt, long sheer sleeves that are fitted at the wrist, black flats. I’ve heard someone call one of his outfits “suitably plain”, and I think that would also be the case with his dress.

Hajime: Short sleeved golden yellow dress. Olive green apron thingy (I don't know what it's called) on top, sunflower embroidered on the chest of the apron thingy. The hem of the dress has little lines on it, which makes it look like a sunset or petals depending on how you look at it. Brown lace up boots. He has a lavender flower in his hair. Huh, that’s the same color as a certain someone’s suit… (should I give him a lavender corsage as well?)

Nagito: Basically his anniversary outfit but in dress form. The jacket is trimmed to about waist length. Then the dress itself is a gorgeous black evening dress. One that looks like it’s floating when he moves. (Maybe it also has a slit? I feel like that’d be overkill though). And he’d be wearing these silver heeled shoes with ribbons that wrap around. The hairstyle stays the same, it’s perfect! Maybe tie a ribbon around the ponytail?

Shuichi: One of the starry night dresses. I’m leaning more towards the first one (the ball/dance dress). He wears tights/leggings underneath it, and lace up ankle boots in either navy or gold. Maybe also a gold hairpin/ hair accessory?

Kaito: His dress would match or compliment Shuichi’s. Purple and galaxy themed. Obviously. Gold accents/details. Fairly long skirt (longer than knee length at least). He’d also make his own modifications to the dress. Gold sandals/slippers. Or maybe ballet flats? (Based on the headcanon that he hates most shoes)

Kokichi: Puffed sleeves, skirt is short and fluffy. The dress is made from multiple fabric patterns, some parts are solid purple, some are black&white checked. Mismatched socks, either heeled ankle boots or platform mary janes in black. Maybe also gloves? Kinda giving Queen of Hearts or harlequin vibes, but purple instead of red. I'm thinking some kind of head accessory: a miniature crown or tophat, or a bow. (Also, he has probably hidden stuff for pranks all over)

What do you think?

[fortycumber]

So in episode 5 of season 3 Jane:

*hid a sandwich into the inner pocket of his blazer jacket (he didn't even wrap it, he just shoved it there 🤣🤣🤣 what a king)

*planted Rigsby's card on a dead body as a part of their little card tricks game

*placed a few irresponsible bets on horses

*played around with a whip and looked very 🔥🔥🔥 while doing it

*made poor Grace ride a possibly wild horse just to prove his point

and this isn't even the wildest of things he's done tbh.

[jxerv]

Chapter four — Miss lonely girl

Lovesick masterlist

THE SCHOOL hallway was steeped in a vibrant stillness, the kind typical of the short break between one class and another. Chinatsu Yui's footsteps echoed on the polished floor, bouncing off the walls lined with school announcements and colorful posters. She wore her usual uniform — the sandy skirt swaying with each step and the red bow neatly tied at the collar of her light blue shirt — and carried her literature notebook in her arms, covered in stickers and doodles, held together by a pink folder that looked like it came straight out of a children's stationery shop.

Yui's face was relaxed, almost dreamy. Lunch on the roof with Iwaizumi and Oikawa had given her back a bit of energy, though the discussion about Kitamura-sensei had stirred up a whirlwind of emotions inside her that she still couldn't quite make sense of. The walk back to the classroom felt light, accompanied by an imaginary tune only she could hear, a spontaneous smile curving her lips.

I wonder if there'll be a surprise test today... she thought, picturing the teacher with his usual serious look, hands behind his back, and that deep voice reading the questions out loud.

Yui giggled to herself, letting out a few squeals of delight.

It was then, just as she turned the corner of the hallway, that she saw him.

Kitamura-sensei stood by the window overlooking the inner courtyard, deep in conversation with another teacher. His black hair was as messy as ever, and he wore his signature rumpled brown blazer with the reinforced elbows — the same one he wore even on the hottest days of the year. He had a faint smile on his face, but his expression was shadowed, as if the weight of something unsaid pressed heavily on his shoulders.

Yui instinctively raised her hand to wave excitedly, eager to greet him even just with a cheerful "good morning," but her gesture froze mid-air when she caught his voice, low and grave.

«The average score of Class 3 has dropped again.» Kitamura-sensei said, crossing his arms while the other teacher nodded seriously. «If this continues... they might transfer me. Or worse, I might be forced to leave the school.»

Yui's heart skipped a beat. She didn't even know if what she was feeling was panic, dismay, or a sudden ache in the pit of her stomach. She stood frozen in place, petrified in the middle of the hallway, as the sounds around her seemed to fade away, muffled like through cotton. One phrase pounded in her head: He's leaving!

No. That couldn't happen. It mustn't happen.

Her favorite teacher couldn't just leave like that!

With an impulsive burst, Yui turned on her heel so fast she nearly lost her balance, her shoes skidding on the floor. Her pink strands of hair lifted into the air as she ran down the hallway, weaving past surprised students and teachers giving her stern looks for running so wildly. She had to find him. She had to talk to Iwaizumi.

After all, he always knew everything.

She flew down the stairs two at a time, clutching her notebook to her chest. Her heart thundered louder than her footsteps. Finally, in the side courtyard, she spotted him.

Iwaizumi Hajime was there, wearing his usual stern expression, scolding Kyotani Kentaro, who apparently had skipped math class again. His hands were in the pockets of his school jacket, his body slightly leaning forward as he spoke, his jaw tight like it always was when he was trying not to lose his temper. Just as Yui saw him, she shouted his name.

«Hajimeeee!»

He turned sharply, just in time to see her charge at him like a spring gust of wind. Yui grabbed the collar of his school jacket, pulling him toward her in a sudden motion, her face flushed and her eyes wide with agitation.

«He's in danger!» she cried without preamble.

«What—?!» Iwaizumi stumbled slightly, surprised by the force with which she had tugged him. His hands rose to gently take hold of Yui's wrists to loosen her grip, but not harshly. His voice dropped, calmer. «Yui, calm down. What's going on?»

She took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts which scattered like papers in the wind. «Kitamura-sensei!» she finally blurted. «He was talking to another teacher... and he said that if our grades don't improve, he might leave!»

Iwaizumi stiffened. His eyes lowered for a moment, as if trying to process the news. Then he looked up at her again, seeing the way Yui's cheeks had turned red, as if every word she said embarrassed her deeply. Her hands, still clinging to his jacket, trembled slightly.

«And I don't want him to go!» she continued, voice quieter. «He's such a good teacher... and I... I really care!»

Iwaizumi's face remained still for a moment. Then he gently pried Yui's fingers from his jacket, holding her hands in his — larger, steadier. The contrast between their hands — his, rough and calloused from all the training he endured, and hers, soft and warm — seemed almost symbolic.

«Listen to me.» he said, voice deep and serious, but not scolding. «If you really want Kitamura-sensei to stay... then the only way to help him is to improve your grades.»

Yui stared at him with wide eyes, as if the thought had never even occurred to her. Then she slowly lowered her gaze, digesting the truth in his words. Iwaizumi gave her hands another reassuring squeeze.

«If the class does better, no one can say he hasn't done his job well. Do you really want to help him? Then work hard. Prove what you're capable of.»

A moment of silence. Then Yui's head snapped up, nodding enthusiastically, her pink hair swaying like cherry blossom petals in a breeze.

«You're right, Iwaizumi! I have to ace the next test!» she exclaimed, turning suddenly to her best friend. Her smile was so bright it looked like it could wrap around the entire courtyard.

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, studying her closely as she clutched her math notebook. The words Yui had just spoken sounded more like an emotional outburst, but he knew there was a part of her that never truly took school performance seriously. She was one of those girls who followed her emotions more than logic.

Still, a small smile tugged at his lips, even if it was faint. Maybe this was just another one of her many promises, like the ones she made a thousand times before. Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes slightly, a bit skeptical, but still curious.

«How many points did you get on your last test, Yui?» he asked, his voice lower, but still calm.

Yui paused for a moment, her smile faltering briefly, her face turning thoughtful. She sighed, tapping her foot on the ground nervously, as if trying to justify herself.

«Um... 32 out of 100.» she said, head lowered, tone defeated. «Not exactly the best, huh?»

Iwaizumi let out a sigh, placing a hand on his forehead in disbelief. «Not exactly the best? Yui, that's barely scraping by.»

She made a face, but didn't back down. She lifted her head, looking at him with determination. She wasn't the kind to give up so easily. That just wasn't her style — not even a little.

«But I'm not giving up that easily!» she exclaimed with her usual lively spirit, raising a fist into the air as if making a solemn vow. «This time I'm going to study seriously — more than anyone else! And I'll show you just how much I can improve!»

Iwaizumi looked at her, his dark eyes shining with amused disbelief — and maybe, just a touch of admiration. The idea that Yui was actually planning to take school seriously was something he probably shouldn't underestimate. After all, when she set her mind to something, she had a way of achieving the unexpected.

Before he could say anything to offer his help, Yui was already running off, the sound of her shoes echoing farther and farther away as she yelled: «I'm going to the library right now! See you later!»

Iwaizumi watched her disappear down the corridor, his mouth slightly open. He shook his head and let out a resigned sigh. There was nothing to be done — Yui had decided, and no one, not even him, could stop her now.

With another, deeper sigh, Iwaizumi started walking toward the library as well, though at a slower pace. He knew Yui would be like a whirlwind, but he liked seeing how, despite her constant cheerfulness and apparent disorganization, she was always capable of stepping up when it really mattered.

Meanwhile, Yui had already arrived at the library, pushing open the glass door with a decisive motion, not even stopping to glance at her reflection. The scent of paper and wood mingled in the air as she stepped between the shelves. The library was large, and its tall wooden bookcases rose against the walls, filled with dusty books and texts that looked like they belonged to another era. Every corner of the room seemed to hold forgotten secrets, and the light filtering through the tall windows bathed everything in a soft glow, giving it all an air of peace.

Yui paused, letting her eyes wander through the narrow spaces between the books, observing the golden and silver spines that sparkled in the sunlight. The sight of books always gave her a sense of calm, but today, something caught her eye — something she hadn't noticed before.

Right in front of her, on one of the wooden tables, there was a small object gleaming, as if it had been waiting to be found. Yui stepped closer, her heart beating faster, drawn to the glimmer. She bent over, her hands reaching out cautiously.

It was a silver ring. Its smooth surface reflected the light in an almost hypnotic way, and the sunlight streaming through the windows made it shine softly. The ring was simple, yet elegant, with a shape that felt natural, as if it had been crafted with special care. There was nothing flashy or overdone about it, but its brightness and simplicity made it captivating in a quiet way.

Yui picked it up, turning it over in her fingers, trying to understand why it felt so... familiar. There was something about its shape, its sheen, that gave her a feeling of déjà vu. Her mind wandered, trying to piece it together, but she couldn't recall anything specific.

«That's strange...» she murmured, inspecting the ring more closely. «Where have I seen this before?»

Her fingers traced its cool, smooth surface with a gentle touch. Yet, there was something comforting in that contact, as if the ring belonged to someone she knew — or had once known very well.

She turned it over a few more times, feeling a strange connection to the object. Then, without thinking much about it, she slipped it into the pocket of her jacket. She figured she'd talk to someone about it later — but not now. For now, she had to focus on her goal: studying. And if the ring kept bothering her, it would be easier to think about it later, when her mind wasn't crammed with dates and historical names.

«Excuse me.»

Yui spun around, her heart pounding faster than she'd care to admit. Behind her, Kitamura-sensei was watching her with a surprised, yet relieved expression. The look on his face was a mix of gratitude and slight embarrassment, as if he'd only just realized he had left behind something important.

«That ring is mine.» he said, stepping toward her. His voice was warm, but also a bit distracted, like he hadn't quite processed that he'd finally found what he'd been searching for. «If you don't mind, could I have it back?»

Yui stood frozen, eyes wide. For a moment, she couldn't believe what was happening. «This one?» she asked, her voice trembling, as she held the ring out to him. The gesture was so natural, yet full of an emotion she couldn't quite define. The hand offering the ring to Kitamura-sensei trembled slightly, almost surreal.

He nodded, his gentle smile spreading as he approached to take the ring. «Yes, it's mine... I must have dropped it while working, and I've spent the whole day looking for it. Thank you for finding it, Miss Chinatsu.» His words were full of gratitude, but Yui barely heard them. Her heart was too focused on a different reality — the one she had built in her mind, which now seemed to fade before her eyes.

Yui remained still, watching as Kitamura-sensei slipped the ring back onto his finger with a natural grace that made her feel strangely more distant from him than she'd ever wanted. Just a ring, she thought, but the ring seemed to weigh more than a thousand unspoken words. The teacher paused for a moment, smiling again, and said jokingly, «My wife would kill me if she found out I lost it...» A small laugh followed, but Yui couldn't even manage a smile.

So they're still together, she thought, as the echo of that word rang in her ears.

Then Kitamura-sensei gave her a parting glance and a polite nod. «Thank you again.» he added before walking away, returning to his steps with a slow, calm gait.

Yui remained there, unmoving, her face slowly lowering as if all her energy had vanished in a single instant. She dropped to the library floor, the sound of her body hitting the wood echoing in the quiet room. Her back rested against a bookshelf, and her head sank to her knees, hiding the face she could no longer keep composed.

It had happened again. She had placed too much hope — and once again, her expectations had been swept away. Of course it went badly, she thought, the weight of that phrase pulsing in her mind like a mantra she couldn't shake. Reality, as always, had come crashing in with a cruelty that left no room for dreams or illusions.

She stayed there, her arms wrapped around her knees, her heart still pounding hard. A wave of sadness swelled in her chest — and yet, even so, she knew it wouldn't last. She would be sad, yes, but as hard as it was to admit, Yui wasn't the type to stay down for long. She would move forward, just as she always had, trying not to look too deeply into her wounded heart.

But for now, in that moment, all she could do was hide her face in her hands and try to keep the world from feeling just a little farther away.

Hey babes, hope yall doing good!

[cherrygirlystuff]

Indie It-Girls: The Icons Who Defined Indie Sleaze Style 🌟

Indie sleaze is all about attitude, style, and embracing a touch of rebellious glamour. These it-girls didn’t just follow trends—they set them, becoming the ultimate style icons of their time. Here’s a look at some of the most iconic figures of the indie sleaze scene and how their unique style continues to inspire.

1. Alexa Chung: The Queen of Effortless Cool 👑

Alexa Chung is the quintessential indie it-girl. With her signature blend of vintage-inspired looks and casual chic, she became a symbol of effortless cool. Here’s a breakdown of her iconic style:

Vintage-Inspired Dresses: Alexa is known for her love of vintage dresses. Think retro prints, A-line silhouettes, and high necklines. She effortlessly combines these with modern accessories for a look that’s both nostalgic and fresh.

Layering Like a Pro: Alexa’s layering game is always on point. She pairs oversized blazers with skinny jeans, and adds a quirky touch with patterned tights or retro boots. Her ability to mix and match different textures and styles is what makes her look so distinctive.

The Perfect Messy Hair: Alexa’s tousled hair is a key part of her look. It’s all about embracing a bit of messiness and natural texture, giving her an effortlessly chic vibe that’s so quintessentially indie sleaze.

Style Tip: Channel Alexa Chung’s look by mixing vintage finds with contemporary pieces. Don’t forget to keep your hair a little tousled and relaxed for that perfect indie vibe.

2. Agyness Deyn: The Bold and Brave Fashionista 🌟

Agyness Deyn made waves in the indie sleaze scene with her bold, fearless style. Known for pushing boundaries and embracing edgy looks, she became a fashion icon in her own right. Here’s what makes Agyness’s style so iconic:

Edgy Statements: Agyness loves making bold fashion statements. From leather jackets and combat boots to graphic tees and chunky jewelry, she’s all about mixing tough, edgy elements with a hint of glam.

Statement Haircuts: Agyness’s ever-changing hairstyles are a major part of her appeal. Whether it’s a chic pixie cut or a dramatic undercut, her hair always complements her bold fashion choices.

Bright, Bold Colors: Agyness isn’t afraid of color. She often incorporates bright hues and eye-catching prints into her outfits, making her stand out in any crowd.

Style Tip: Embrace Agyness Deyn’s fearless approach by incorporating edgy, bold pieces into your wardrobe. Don’t shy away from statement hairstyles and bright colors to channel that indie sleaze energy.

3. Other Indie It-Girls Who Shaped the Scene 🌟

While Alexa and Agyness are major icons, there are plenty of other it-girls who made their mark on indie sleaze style. Here are a few more to keep an eye on:

Karen Elson: Known for her striking red hair and vintage-inspired looks, Karen Elson embodies the indie sleaze aesthetic with her unique blend of retro glamour and modern edge.

Georgia May Jagger: With her iconic gap-toothed smile and rock ‘n’ roll style, Georgia brings a rebellious flair to the indie sleaze scene. Her look combines effortless chic with a touch of rock star edge.

Frances Bean Cobain: As the daughter of Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love, Frances Bean has inherited a natural sense of edgy, grunge-inspired style. Her look is all about mixing vintage pieces with contemporary trends for a unique, rebellious vibe.

Inspiration Tip: Look to these additional indie it-girls for inspiration on how to mix vintage and modern styles, and how to embrace your own unique flair.

Final Thoughts, Gorgeous: Channeling Your Inner Indie It-Girl 🌟

And there you have it—your ultimate guide to the icons of indie sleaze! From Alexa Chung’s effortless vintage vibe to Agyness Deyn’s bold fashion statements, these indie it-girls have set the bar high for style and attitude. Take a page from their book and embrace your own unique look with a touch of indie sleaze glamour.

Who’s your favorite indie it-girl or style icon? Share your thoughts and style inspirations in the comments—I’d love to hear how you’re channeling that indie sleaze vibe! 💕