#I need to get it printed so please let me know if you like the confetti background or blank

[misshoneybee]

— 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦 —

Pairing: Staffer!Reader x Congressman!James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes Content Warnings: Workplace romance/sex, oral sex, vaginal fingering Word Count: 3.8k Rating: Explicit A/N: I got some feelings when I heard the bass line to Knee Socks and thought about Congressman James Barnes...so, this little brainchild was born and brought me back from a three-year hiatus from writing fics. 🤪 As always, I do my best to keep my reader as inclusive as possible but please let me know if there’s anything I can do to improve upon it! There’s no use of Y/N or anything else where you need to insert information to read just because that’s my personal preference! Please enjoy and I’d adore any reblogs or feedback, if anyone feels so inclined! Navigation: Masterpost | Divider Credit | AO3 Summary: When you overhear Bucky talking to Mel and think he's suddenly looking for a new assistant, he'll go to any lengths to make sure that you know that you're the only one he needs (or wants.)

You couldn’t stop turning the words over and over in your mind, picturing the softness behind Bucky’s eyes as he’d slipped his business card to Mel. The business card that you’d meticulously designed and sent to print. The one you’d agonized over for hours. You knew they’d be used for networking but you’d never though they’d be used to find a replacement for you.

‘You can choose who you work for.’

He wasn’t wrong, but fuck—those words cut deeper than you thought they could. There was an empty pit in your stomach as the late spring air swept through the city, making it feel cooler than it was as you stood tensely beside the congressman with crossed arms, waiting for the limousine to pull closer to the curb where you were both waiting. You’d loved the dress when you’d chosen it last week—the slinky, sleeveless black silk gown with the high neck and low back—but now you just couldn’t wait to get home and shed the second skin so you could scroll through LinkedIn or some shit.

Or maybe you would take some time and lick your wounds first before exploring your other options; you’d been by Bucky’s side for years. You’d been on his campaign since he’d launched it. It was easy to recall the day that you’d walked into the makeshift office in Brooklyn and offered to canvas for his campaign since you were sick of the congressman who’d represented your district for too many years. Since then, you didn’t think there’d been a day that you hadn’t been in some kind of contact with James Buchanan Barnes. The pair of you had fallen into an easy camaraderie.

As the long car rolled to a stop before you both and he opened the door for you, waving off the valet, you realized that everything he’d been saying for the past several minutes that you’d been waiting had fallen on your deaf ears. Carefully keeping your knees pressed together—even if you weren’t going to be working for Bucky much longer, you still didn’t need any upskirt pictures out in the tabloids—you murmured your thanks and slid into the backseat. The partition between the backseat and the driver was already up; Bucky always insisted on it for privacy. He unbuttoned his coat and ducked in after you were settled, maintaining the middle seat’s distance from you.

It was quite a feat being able to fit three phones into the tiny bag that was your clutch. You handed Bucky’s over to him on autopilot as you grabbed your work phone, leaving your personal one safely tucked away. Opening your email app, you steeled yourself and carefully left the address blank as you quickly typed Letter of Resignation into the subject line. Finally, some of his words finally bled through your endless stream of thoughts.

“Do you know what Gary was talking about?”

Finally, you glanced over at him. You were annoyed but fuck. It’s like you forgot how attractive he was every time you looked away for too long; the tux you’d picked up for him was perfectly tailored, tight on his biceps and across his broad chest. Finally, you met his light blue eyes as he continued, “He mentioned some packets that I should look at.”

The aggravation from his words overrode your momentary attraction and you let out a short exhale of an almost laugh before returning to typing your email as you pointed out, “You mean the packets that I add to your briefing folder every morning that you ignore?” Biting your tongue from including some more choice words, you gave a delicate shrug and finished nonchalantly, fingers still flying over your keyboard, “I think he was talking about those.”

You could feel the light gray-blue eyes boring into your cheek as you kept your attention directed at the little screen in your hands. The need to flinch under his scrutinizing gaze was overpowered by your attitude.

“Is there something wrong?” From the corner of your eye, you saw his brows draw together as he hesitantly tried to piece together what had happened. In all your time of knowing him, you’d always had a quick wit, but your ire had never been directed at him.

Schooling your features, you added sugar to your tone as you finally met his eyes and played dumb, wanting him to draw his own conclusion, “Why would anything be wrong, Congressman Barnes?”

“Oh, so, I’m Congressman Barnes now?”

Although it was dark and the passing headlights and streetlamps only provided flickers of illumination, you could see there was a glint of amusement in his eye, and it lit a fire where the empty pit in your stomach had just been moments before. Was this a fucking joke to him? Taking a slow breath, you corrected, “Fine, James,” before continuing your typing.

“Cut the shit.”

Your fingers faltered on your keyboard as you sat up straighter at the abrupt change to his tone. While he’d never been on your bad side, you’d also never been on his. Bucky had always been exceedingly kind. Even in his silent ways—ordering your favorite dinner when you guys spent too long at the office, holding an umbrella over you as you both canvassed the neighborhood in the rain, riding past his subway stop at the end of the day to get off at yours and make sure you got home safely before backtracking eight blocks to his own apartment when you guys were in the city and not in the capitol.

“Excuse me?”

The muscle twitched in his sculpted jaw before he continued frankly, “Come on. You’ve been giving me the cold shoulder for half the night, doll.” You cut your eyes at him as the nickname rolled off his tongue and replayed in your head. Doll. It made your heart beat a little faster, but you attributed it to your annoyance—nothing else.

He huffed a half-laugh of exasperation at your continued silence, running a hand over the short scruff of his beard, “Look, you gonna make me drag it out of you? Or can you just tell me?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you schooled your features into something calm and finally gave him your undivided attention. Letting your eyes rove over his earnest expression, you hesitated. Did he really not fucking know? Or was he just an asshole and didn’t think you’d care? Sitting up a little straighter, your voice was even as you ignored the hurt and cooly acknowledged the elephant in the limousine, “It just would have been nice to know that you were looking for a new assistant. That’s all.”

Even he couldn’t feign the confusion that crossed his face as he pushed back, “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“What do you mean?” Exasperation colored your tone as your eyes carefully searched his. His silent confusion only served to aggravate the tension that wrapped around you, as the words finally spilled out, “I have basically been on your campaign since you announced your bid for congress! I know what you look like when you’re charming people for donations and you don’t think I can’t tell when you’re working someone?”

“It wasn’t—”

“I was five feet away, James!” You cut him off, your knuckles blanching as you gripped your phone tightly. The blinking cursor waited for more of your (admittedly, kind of rude) words of resignation. Feigning thoughtfulness, you carried on as if attempting to job his memory, “What was it you said? Oh! Yeah. You can choose who you work for.��

Shaking your head, both wounded and pissed off, you glanced out the window to see you were still half an hour from the building that housed both of your apartments. This was going to be a fun ride. You’d barely pulled away from the museum’s curb. As you sat back against the leather of the seat, you returned your attention to the email, continued typing with too much force, and attempted to ignore Bucky’s presence. Surely, you’d have to edit out some of the notes of ‘fuck you’ and ‘asshole’ before you sent it Monday morning.

“Can you stop fuckin’ typing?” He grumbled frustratedly. The dark metal and gold of his vibranium hand glinted under the flicker of the streetlight as he easily plucked it from your hands and tried to diffuse the situation. “Baby, listen—”

You reached for your phone as he quickly locked it and gave you a chastising glare as you tried to reason, “Look, I’m just trying to draft my letter of resignation. So, I’d really appreciate that back.”

Holding it out of your reach, he snorted a laugh. His tongue ran over his teeth, and he shook his head, almost as if he was entertained by your reaction, murmuring lowly, “I’m not gonna accept your goddamn resignation.”

A bolt of something shot through your stomach at the almost growl and you felt a shiver roll through your body, goosebumps rising on your bare arms. You shoved that aside and continued to argue, “You don’t have a choice!” Giving up, you crossed your arms and sank back into the seat, “It’s a resignation, not a request. I’m not asking if I can quit, I’m—”

“You’re not doing shit!” His voice was raised and that was the first time you’d ever seen the cords of his patience finally snap and you were momentarily stunned into silence. Taking your hand in his, and taking advantage of your sudden lack of talking, he was almost imploring as he hurriedly explained and held your gaze, “I wasn’t looking for a new assistant; I just needed Mel to know that she could work for someone aside from Valentina so maybe she’d testify at the impeachment. That’s all.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you hesitated as his words finally computed in your brain. Well, fuck.

Maybe you’d jumped the gun because…that made sense. For the past two weeks, you both had been discussing strategies to try and ensure an impeachment for Valentina was within the realm of possibility and Mel’s name may or may not have come up a handful of times. So, maybe—just maybe—you’d gotten ahead of yourself.

You knew it was a toxic trait, but you were already in the thick of this argument and completely relenting wasn’t an option no matter how reasonable he was. So, you rolled your eyes, ignoring the way his thumb brushed over the back of your hand as you looked past him, out the window, and mumbled without any real heat, “Okay. Sure.”

His chin dropped to his chest as he huffed out a short, dry laugh and shook his head, “You think I’d ever want anyone else by my side?” His vibranium fingers laced with yours and the corner of his lips ticked up in a half-smile at your attitude. Your eyes flicked down to your hands as he gave a gentle squeeze, and continued quietly, “Baby, I couldn’t do anything without you. We wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you.”

His eyes were soft as you disbelievingly shook your head with a small smile that matched his and looked out your own window, “Shut up…”

“I guess I do a pretty shitty job of letting you know how valuable you are to me.”

Turning your head, your breath caught in your throat as you realized how close he was. The familiar spiced cologne that reminded you of whiskey and citrus clung to his chest; it invaded your senses, and you felt your face go warm. Your teeth dug into your bottom lip as a shaky breath threatened to pass from you. The blue of his eyes was just a ring around his pupil, dilated with want; you knew yours had to look the same. The fire in your stomach had dropped lower and you shifted under his wanting gaze.

This had been almost two years in the making and maybe there wasn’t a point in trying to fight it anymore. Your eyes flickered to his lips before returning to his eyes and you whispered shakily, “Bucky, we…”

Like you saying his nickname pulled some trigger, he shook his head with a crooked smile, “Fuck it.”

Bucky’s hand cupped your cheek, and, with a surprising amount of gentleness, he crashed his lips into yours and the pieces fell into place. Every feeling that had been behind some secret dam you didn’t know that you’d built rushed out. Your hand drifted over his chest and around his neck as you pulled him closer and sighed softly against his lips.

“I didn’t know you were so jealous, baby…” He teased, pulling you into his lap and you couldn’t help the way it made you smile into the kiss.

“Not jealous,” You murmured before your teeth grazed over his bottom lip and he groaned, his hand tracing down your spine before landing on your ass and giving a gentle squeeze. Giggling, you continued and pressed your body closer to his, “Just wanted some job security…”

“Trust me, baby. The job is always yours.” His words were muffled as his lips moved down your jaw and against your neck, trailing up and down, never staying in one spot long enough to leave a mark as one of his hands trailed down to the slit in your dress. “Tell me what you need.”

“Touch me.”

“I am.” He teased and you gave a soft whine, the fingers of one of your hands tangling in his hair as the other tried to urge his hand higher up the soft skin of your thigh. Feigning surprise, his lips finally moved away from your neck as he sat back and grinned wide, “Oh, you want my fingers?” Feeling the way his chest rose and fell while pressed against your own made you shiver as your legs spread slightly.

“Fuck…” He groaned, his thumb grazing the inside of your thigh before it easily zeroed in on your clit that was still hidden behind the silky material of your panties. The muscles in your stomach clenched as he pressed gently against your bundle of nerves.

“Bucky—" His name was a soft whimper as it was pulled from your lips at the pressure you needed more of.

Bucky’s fingers grazed your cheekbone as he traced your face reverently before pressing his thumb to your lips as he murmured lowly, “Get it wet for me, baby.” Your tongue swirled around his digit, sucking as you hollowed out your cheeks and watched his eyes darken. “Fuck…that’s my good girl.”

Slipping his finger from your mouth, he glazed it over your bottom lip, tugging on it gently before shifting to his knees in the spacious floorboard. You whined softly as the dress restricted your thighs from spreading any further. The ripping of fabric pulled a gasp from your lips as he tore the pre-sewn slit in your silky skirt higher.

“I’ll get you a new one.” His wolfish grin stopped you from chastising him as he tugged the gusset of your underwear aside and let out a low groan as the wetness that glistened on your folds. Digging your fingers into the leather of the seat, you shifted shyly under his gaze.

“Bucky…” You begged with a whisper, “I need you. Please.”

With a breath caught in your chest, you watched as he bit his lower lip and traced his thumb up and down your slit before letting out a low growl, “Gotta fucking taste you.”

You couldn’t stop the yelp as he easily grabbed your hips and tugged you further down the seat, slipping your panties off you and shoving them in his back pocket before hooking your legs over his broad shoulders as his big hands held your thighs wide. His thumbs spread your folds apart as his tongue licked a broad, languid strip from your weeping entrance to your swollen clit as a keening moan was pulled from your lips at the pleasure that coursed through your veins.

With a playful click of his tongue, his tone feigned disappointment, “Made such a mess of this sweet little cunt. You sensitive, baby?” He barely brushed a finger down your soaked slit again, and you couldn’t stop the way your hips bucked at the stimulation, a sob pulled from your chest. Clamping a hand over your mouth, you tried to stifle the noises that wanted to spill from you. Nipping at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, you could feel the way he smiled as you shifted restlessly and he cooed teasingly, “Look at this perfect fucking pussy, all spread out for me.”

Without adieu, Bucky returned his lips to your clit, his tongue tracing a circle around the bud before sucking it between his lips. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you felt the way he groaned against your center as you tugged gently. No matter how badly you needed to clench your thighs closed, whether to keep him close or push him away because the pleasure was too much, it wasn’t possible. “So sweet for me, baby…”

The vibration of his words made you whimper as he sucked an erratic pattern that made you writhe on the leather seat as your fingers gripped his hair even tighter; he was ravenous as he licked and sucked and nipped, driving you wild and pushing you closer to the edge. Slipping his middle finger into your tight channel, he pumped it in and out with lewd noises from your wetness. After a moment, he slipped a second one in with the first and crooked them up against the ridged spot that made you see flares of light. You felt your face grow warm at the sound as you begged, “Buck—”

A warmth pooled low in your stomach, and you couldn’t stop the breathy “oh’s” that were pulled from your chest. Squeezing your eyes closed, you rocked your hips up into his mouth as he sucked at your labia and dipped his tongue into your clenching core like a man starved. Just as you were about to fall over the edge, he pulled back with a lecherous grin. A needy whine fell from your lips as you gripped his hair tighter, trying and failing to keep his mouth pressed where you needed him most as he held you firmly by the hips, pressing you into the seat.

“So greedy, baby…” Pressing his lips to your mound, his thumbs brushed over your hips as he asked teasingly, “What? Did you wanna come?”

With a shuddering breath, you dropped your head back against the pillows as your fingers tightened in his hair, pleading, “God—fuck, yes.”

“Where are your manners, baby?” His words were low as a gentle nip to your clit made your back arch off the seat at the surprising cocktail of pleasurable pain. Rubbing over your button with a thumb, soothing the barely-there sting, he cautioned with a teasing smile, “If you come, I’m not letting you stop ‘til you’re begging.”

“Don’t care—please, Bucky.” Shaking your head as you looked down at him worshipping between your thighs, you weren’t even certain that your words were intelligible as you begged and babbled with hooded eyes, “Please, let me come. Please, fuck—”

Without a verbal response, he ducked his head back down and returned to his lingual assault, pulling a loud, ‘Fuck!’ from deep in your chest as you rocked your hips against the two fingers that were thrusting deep inside of you at a punishing pace, working you open. It wasn’t long before your thighs were clenching as he crooked his fingers just right and sent you over the edge.

“That’s it. Fuck…” He hummed against your center.

Your back bowed off the seat as a pleasant warmth spread through your body, radiating out through your fingers and curled toes as his tongue laved over your sensitive skin, graduating from flat broad strokes to little kitten licks that made you twitch with aftershocks of your climax. Trying to close your thighs and shy away from his touch, you whined before he sat up, blushing as you spotted his lips and chin shiny from your wetness. With the back of his hand, he wiped away some of it with a smug wink.

Pressing a hand over your chest, grounding yourself with the feeling of your skin, you tried to catch your breath as a soft laugh huffed past your lips. Sinking back into the warm leather of the seat, you watched as Bucky’s eyes trailed after his hands that worshipfully grazed up your still shaky thighs before trying to fix the skirt of your dress, gently trailing his lips over your skin as he tugged it back down to cover you. However, that did nothing to help the torn fabric that had been ripped too high.

You’d barely remembered he’d ripped the silk it until the cool air from the vent brushed over your thighs chest and you felt your face go warm, suddenly feeling overexposed as you sat up, “Bucky!” Fruitlessly attempting to tuck or adjust the fabric to maintain some kind of modesty, you couldn’t help but whine about his (slightly hot) barbarism, “I just bought this!”

“I told you I’d get you a new one.” He grinned from where he was still on his knees and slid off the black suit jacket, leaving him in his dress shirt and undone bowtie. “Here, baby.”

Sliding back into the seat beside you, he held the jacket for you as you slid your arms into the too-big sleeves, grateful it was long enough to fall to your mid-thighs. Fixing your hair for you so it wasn’t tucked into the collar, he pressed a soft kiss to your neck as the limousine began to slow. You quickly buttoned the coat as he groaned and adjusted himself where his slacks had grown tighter.

Shooting him a coy smile, you questioned innocently, “Problem?” He huffed a laugh with a shake of his head as your grin widened.

He couldn’t stop himself from pulling you back in for another searing kiss, murmuring against your mouth, “You gonna take care of it when we get inside, baby?”

Pulling away with a soft moan, you teased breathlessly, “You mean when you come inside, baby?”

His eyes darkened as you opened the door with a sly smile, stepping on to the bustling sidewalk. Your knees were still weak from the orgasm that had wracked your body, and you were quickly regretting the heels you’d decided to wear earlier. But, in a flash, Bucky was beside you with his hand on the small of your back, guiding you inside as his lips brushed against your ear and made you shiver as he murmured, “Remember when I said I wasn’t gonna stop until you were begging? That’s exactly what I mean, sweetheart.”

[quinloki]

Hi,

I gotta tell you that i LOVE your kinky head canons seriously they make my day ☺️ 💖

I'm curious though what you think would be 3 kinks Marco, Sir Crocodile and maybe Thatch would definitely have/be into.

You don't have to answer this if you don't want - feel free to just ignore me 😅

\o/ I'm here for this!

I'm not going to get into heavy details like an actual event ask [that's a lie], but sure, sure, I can shift gears for a second and just give my two cents on some of my favorite blorbos!

For Marco, we've actually covered most of his favorite kinks just from asks. I like a LOT of head canons for him -

@hannahbarberra162 has a one-shot called Stress Ball that is consensual mean Marco. I love this head canon of him - mean, but not cruel, taking out the frustrations that build from being the "calm collected older brother" on the crew. It's a great outlet for him.

I also absolutely love @standfucker's White Out - in which Marco is hesitant to even pretend to be mean, but realizes that he's into it (maybe he's into because you are, but still).

My head canon for him is somewhere between that. He's experienced and knows what he likes - and if you want him to be MEAN, he can be mean, but his default is fairly tame. He likes to tease and please and while you can fluster him with a well-aimed flirt, he's not Shy by any means.

I think his three big hooks are Over Stimulation (forced orgasms, tickling, post-orgasm torture, etc.), Impromptu Sessions (Free use, 24/7 dom/sub, checking consent in the middle of things), Public Sex (he won't force you to be perceived, but he'll bend you over the rails in front of the crew if you let him).

He enjoys bondage and toys and stuff, but as a means to an end. He's not as into Shibari as, say, Izou or Mihawk, imo. He'll also hand over control, not 100% - you're not ever really going to bend him that way, but he'll be good for you and indulge you, and pay you back for anything you dare to have him do while he's like that later on >.>

Sir Crocodile is all about control. 10,000%. He may adore you, he may love you, he may be uncontrollably smitten with you, but you will obey. You will bend to his will and squirm in the ways he wants you to.

Sure, he'll take things into consideration depending on the equality within your relationship. He'll slowly mold you toward what he wants you to be if he's smitten, or he'll simply force you to oblige if you're just endearing enough for him to not discard.

I do think he's an incurable romantic, honestly. If you're on his arm more than one night he's so hooked it's embarrassing and 90% of whatever he does is to ensure you and no one else realizes it.

Three big hooks are Control (orgasm control in all its forms, humiliation, taming, Dom/sub lifestyle, etc.) Impact Play (especially spanking), Marking (he can be super subtle with it, but it feeds into the jewellery/clothing he buys for you, the scents you wear, the hand print on your ass. Everything needs to be reapplied or it doesn't work for him in this way).

Thatch is probably one of the newer loves on my list of blorbos honestly. I can see him being Terrifyingly Mean and Yandere in probably the Darkest and most uncomfortable ways, BUT

Non-Yandere Thatch is just a giant fucking teddy bear. He's definitely a switch, but it's way more like 80/20 than 50/50 (and I feel like people assume it's 20/80 and feel bad for "making" him dom so much), but honestly he's sated when everyone's having a good time. He's a commander, so he's not enough of a teddy bear to end up neglected without speaking up.

The three big drivers for him are Domination (yeah, he is a switch, but looming over you with his size, restraining you, forcing pleasure from you, taming the brat out of you, he revels in it), Bondage/Shibari (Much like Izou he finds comfort in the quiet time spent in prep, and it plays into the domination too), and Breeding.

Yeah, you know, I think Thatch wants like a HUGE family. This is a man who could actually help you raise 20 brats, and the smile on his face won't falter. He's not going to force motherhood on anyone, but it does play into why breeding so specifically sticks for him.

Second to that is the fact that he just loves emptying inside of you. Like, rock hard through it, cumming for hours, you can still see him twitching even as he's cleaning you up in the shower during after care. He has a lot to give, and he just wants to give it all to you.

[imnez-daydreams]

mango in the building w more sammy who cheered !!

"his sleeves were pushed up, as usual, hands on his hips as he glanced around your mess of a flat. the stance should’ve been criminal, black tee clinging to his flexed biceps. he brought a hand up, dragged it over the lower part of his face. this place was going to be a nightmare to get put back together."

this image already has me fanning myselfff. pushed up sleeves of a tight black tee, hands on hips, biceps flexing as sammy brings his hand to his face (need to him put me in a chokehold).

"no?" he asked, shifting to weasel into your line of sight, coaxing your gaze back to his with a quiet, calculated shift. he knew exactly where you’d look, just to avoid him, and met you there anyway.

GAWDDDDDDD PLEASEEEEE i literally went "ohmygod" in my head reading that. the teasing "no?" and moving to keep himself in our eyesight. him already knowing we're gonna avoid it, already taking notes on our shy nature. need him and his forced eye contact.

"he huffed an amused breath, and did that thing with his mouth. the thing where his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, like he was holding back a laugh or a comment that would’ve knocked the wind out of you."

stop this man !!! stop the visuals popping up in my head !!! sammy's so hot n for what aaaa !!!

"good." the word caught as if he almost followed it up with something else. "....good. you know where to find me," he hummed, striding to the door and dangerously close to you along the way, hand reaching up to land a friendly thumping pat on your arm as he breezed by.

HELLOOOOO ?? MANGO YOU CANT DO THIS TO MEEEE. sammy was going to say good girl. he was going to say good girl to reader. sammy was going to call reader a good girl for listening to him. im melting.

"he stood there, in all of his stocky, 5'9, "bodyslammed people for a living" glory, dressed in his day-off uniform: police academy tee (which his biceps and pecs had filled out nicely in his years on the force. not that you were staring at his chest. that'd be weird), and loose gray sweats that sat low on his hips, and somehow, despite their bagginess, still showed a dick print."

frothing at the mouth. GREY !! SWEATS !! BAGGY GREY SWEATS THAT STILL SHOW THE PRINT !!

"you've got to be kidding," he said, pivoting towards your kitchen. "how did you—... jesus. you peel and stick tile'd your kitchen pink before getting a first aid kit?"

LOLLLL reader is so real n so me.

"you should feel bad lying to a cop," he chided, before reaching out to grab your chin without warning. he tilted your head to the side, standing over you and inspecting your cut with a little tsk. your brain immediately blue-screened. what the fuck.

HELP MEE omgomgomgomg. the image of him standing over us, looking down at us, grabbing our chin and the "tsk" aiehdidjeodke.

he seemed to realize at the moment you did, because he shifted. dropped into a crouch with a slight grunt. you thought it might’ve been to spare you, but it made it worse, somehow. now you were level. now his eyes were all you could see. keen, but warm. he started dabbing at the cut, mumbling a little "i know, i know," when you flinched at the feeling.

eye contact. eye contact with sammy. eye contact with sammy as he says "i know, i know" while pushing into you the first time and you whine at how big he is and and and *gunshots* *sirens*

"yeah, i know, chickadee. that’s what happens. what are you gonna do next time you needed help building furniture?" he asked, tone halfway to lecturing.

im going fkn feral. MANGO. CHICKADEE ?? chickadee ????? sammy is so. he's so daddy. (maybe even dad what who said that)

each word was its own sentence, his words light but insistent, and he didn’t drop your chin until you nodded (which it took the longest seven seconds of your life to realize he was waiting on).

gawd please. sammy following your eyeline to keep eye contact when you shy away. sammy not letting go of your chin until you nod. he has such casual dominance energy i cant.

"and when he leaned back just slightly to inspect it, head tilted, tongue poking into his cheek like he was weighing whether to say something that would’ve fast-tracked you to cardiac arrest, you didn’t even care how mortifying this entire experience had been."

these visuals make my brain go BRRRRR.

"no ER's today," he hummed proudly, his arm shooting out to ruffle your hair on the far side of your head from the wound. his rough hand curved against your head, teasing and playful, like you were crafted by the heavens themselves to fit into his palm.

fuck MEEEEE i need sammy so bad. ruffling our hair ??????? almost letting "good girl" slip out ???? calling us "chickadee" ???? he's so. sammy is such a dad. need to give him babies so bad. and maybe call him dad too.

mango and shea yall have ruined my brain in the best way possible. this was sooooo delicious i need sammy so bad RAHHHH. i lovedd all the descriptions of what sammy was doing, flowed easily in my brain (n made my heart boom boom). and i love their dialogue !! seems so casual and grounded. thank you mango for writing more sammy muakss <33 !!!

‎ . ݁⋆ 𐙚 sammy bryant + shy new girl next door 𐙚 ݁˖ . ݁

(chap. 2: or, blunt force trauma and puppylove. wc: 2731)

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩 a/n: hi babies! first meeting out of the way, fawngirl and sammy move into their second meeting (cute) and third meeting (less adorable circumstances and involving a head wound). as always, please spam me with any thoughts you have about sammy or ideas for ficlets to add to the series! this is only my fourth piece i've written to be posted so i'm sorry if it reads weird. and it's so self indulgent and unrealistic so sorry in advance!!

sammy was a piece of shit. he knew that. his colleagues never failed to half-jokingly let him know, and tammi not-at-all jokingly reminded him every time they spoke. and it never bothered him. he never internalized it.

but, somehow, after his first encounter with the new little deer in the wild, sprawled at his feet and speaking in mumbled one-word responses, he finally understood what ben and nate and dewey and tammi meant. it wasn’t the predominant feeling, but boy, it was there.

the aforementioned predominant feeling could best be described as something horny dressed in a pride-shaped trench coat. a little smugness, a little heat, everything barely tame enough to do under the guise of being a helpful neighbour. but, underneath that, lurked a whole lot of what the fuck is wrong with me.

because as sammy stood there, feeling more macho than any recent day on patrol ever made him, picking up your scuffed and dog-eared copies of "the art of french pastry" and "tartine," he already felt something festering in his stomach. or, maybe his dick. your voice as you mumbled a "yessir" when he offered to help, the fawnlike, endearing clumsiness as you gathered your bag and followed him to your flat.

sammy was deeply, truly an awful man, and for the first time, he felt actual, internal conflict. he shouldn’t have been thinking the things he did about you, and knowing how gross he was shouldn’t have felt so good.

the second time sammy saw you, you were balancing a couple of ikea boxes in your arms. you didn’t even notice him, what with the cardboard obstructing your view. he just lingered in the doorway of 310.

it wasn’t weird, he told himself. it was just... funny, watching you try to balance the teetering boxes of god knows what (he didn’t read swedish), one step away from a pratfall. you got to your front doorway, looked at the doorknob, then down at yourself, then back up to the doorknob. and, god, it was adorable.

you stood there, staring at the door, not wanting to let the boxes topple from your arms if you let go. sammy stepped into the hallway, content with his fill of watching you from the shadows. his hand came up automatically, fingers ghosting along the top edge of your cardboard tower. not to take it, just to steady it, for the inevitable startle you’d give when you realized he had materialized by your side.

he was right.

as soon as you realized there was a person on the other side of your mountain of stuff, you spooked like a calf and the top box slipped. the container of metal café chair parts dropped to the floor with a clatter, and you let out a high, frazzled noise that may have been fuck, sorry, or both at once.

“s’all right,” he said, voice low, and gentle, tossing your door open and bending down to pluck up the chair. he held it in one arm, took the other from you, and ignored your breathless, half-almost-maybe-a protest. by that point he was already in your living room, dropping the boxes to the ground with a thud.

"jesus. can't even see the floor over there. you gonna unpack at some point?" he quipped, turning to you. you just stood in the doorway, a little thrown off and a lot embarrassed, socked toes curling against the hardwood like they could dig you a way out.

his sleeves were pushed up, as usual, hands on his hips as he glanced around your mess of a flat. the stance should’ve been criminal, black tee clinging to his flexed biceps. he brought a hand up, dragged it over the lower part of his face. this place was going to be a nightmare to get put back together.

"you need any help un--"

"no. no, it's good, i got it," you cut him off, an embarrassed type of curt, before he could even get his words out.

"no?" he asked, shifting to weasel into your line of sight, coaxing your gaze back to his with a quiet, calculated shift. he knew exactly where you’d look, just to avoid him, and met you there anyway.

"positive. very... yes. yeah. you can...." you fumbled, tapering off as you realized how rude your words nearly were. you can go? to the man that had stepped in to save you twice since last night?

he huffed an amused breath, and did that thing with his mouth. the thing where his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, like he was holding back a laugh or a comment that would’ve knocked the wind out of you.

"um."

"i'm not tryna be rude," he started, voice soft, but laced with dry amusement, like he was choosing his words carefully. "just... knock when you decide you wanted help."

when. not if.

your eye twitched. funny guy, you thought flatly to yourself, though your pulse sounded like a buddy rich solo rip on the drums.

"yes, um.... yessir, i... will. i will." you blinked, hard, and gave a jerky nod. cervine, like a deer in headlights. unsure of where to go, what to look at, if to bolt.

his smile wasn’t big, but god, it was devastating. crooked teeth barely showing through the smirk, eyes teasing as he bit back whatever comment had been dancing on his tongue.

"good." the word caught as if he almost followed it up with something else. "....good. you know where to find me," he hummed, striding to the door and dangerously close to you along the way, hand reaching up to land a friendly thumping pat on your arm as he breezed by.

you waited until his door across the hallway thudded shut to close your own, before sliding down against it and into a swooning little puddle on the vinyl floors. you were pretty sure you could fry an egg on your face at this point.

this was going to be an issue.

fuck the swedes.

whichever one of them had decided to make furniture assembly this much of a torture ritual needed to be taken out, JFK style.

had you maybe gone into this a bit overconfident? sure. but sticking together particle wood and some screws and pegs, objectively, shouldn’t even have been that hard.

it wasn't a house. you weren't disassembling an IED. power tools weren't even involved. but somehow, some european had managed to make the process about as intuitive as open heart surgery and with instructions less clear than the hieroglyphs.

with screw packet H sort of, mostly tightened into the wood, and maybe seventy-five percent of the bookcase upright, you were feeling confident. confident enough that you let your hand rest on it. not hard, with almost no weight behind the movement.

and then the shelf groaned.

and you blinked.

and then the entire thing tipped with the same final-moment theatrics of the titanic sinking directly onto where you'd backed up at the noise.

the crash was biblical. so much so that, in the stunned few moments after your two hours of work had become a half-busted pile on the floor, you didn't care that it had clipped you in the head on the way down.

and then, three seconds after the giga-impact, your temple started smarting. bad. it throbbed, and when you reached up to tenderly prod at it, your hand came back with wet redness on the pads of your fingers.

oh, this was awesome.

you just stood there, eyes trained on the ruins of your efforts across the living room floor. moving would mean you had to start over. maybe, you thought, if you stared at it really, really hard, it'd fix itself and get you a bandaid. your eyes started to water, and you were unsure if at your throbbing hairline or the waste of your afternoon.

and then, a few heavy knocks came on your door.

"christ, kid. did your ceiling come down?" a voice called through your door. mr. bryant.

oh, of course, the gorgeous hunk you went to bed last night with images in your head of had heard.

you didn't move. no answer, not at first.

"hey. hey, c'mon." another harder knock, less teasing and more "ready to kick the door down like he did on the clock." the doorknob jiggled a bit. you grumbled something about waiting for a second, pattering over pitifully and flipping the deadbolt.

the door cracked open just enough for your face to peek through. blood carving a line down your cheek from above your temple, watery eyes a contrast to the frustrated, completely over-it look on your face. sammy’s expression shifted. jaw tense, brow pulled in, some dark mix of concern and defensiveness.

because with you stood there, pissed as all get out but hurt and upset underneath the frustration, he knew he'd been right. and he knew you knew he'd been right. sammy just couldn't stop swooping in to pick up after your messes.

the universe had known you needed someone to watch out for you, he rationalized in that moment, looking down with all the pity he could muster. the injury was superficial. and, with his worry subsiding a bit, that recognition of how good it felt to be such a disgusting man was stalking up behind him, salivating and hungry.

"what'd i tell you about needin' my help, huh?" he grilled lightly, not waiting for an invitation and pushing the door open enough to step in before closing it behind him.

god. fuck. you were alone, in your flat, door shut, with mr. officer bryant from 310.

he stood there, in all of his stocky, 5'9, "bodyslammed people for a living" glory, dressed in his day-off uniform: police academy tee (which his biceps and pecs had filled out nicely in his years on the force. not that you were staring at his chest. that'd be weird), and loose gray sweats that sat low on his hips, and somehow, despite their bagginess, still showed a dick print.

maybe the shelf should've killed you.

"siddown," he insisted, pointing to the off-white couch and turning to stride to the bathroom. "where's your first aid kit?"

"oh, um, i... um, i don't... have one." you gingerly wiped at the blood that had streamed down to your cheek. yuck.

almost out of the living room, he stopped, and turned to you with an exasperated look. mouth slightly open, eyebrows knit and the eleven-lines of his forehead pronounced.

"you've got to be kidding," he said, pivoting towards your kitchen. "how did you—... jesus. you peel and stick tile'd your kitchen pink before getting a first aid kit?"

he said that like it was irrational, or something.

you watched through the pass-through between your kitchen and living room as he yanked off a few paper towels and wet them, before looking down at your lap. the domesticity of this entire fiasco had hit you square in the solar plexus.

"i don't get hurt much," you mumbled at your legs. he snorted. short and mean and fond.

the faucet clicked off, and then he was pacing back in, heavy steps softening as they reached the persian rug your sofa sat upon.

"you should feel bad lying to a cop," he chided, before reaching out to grab your chin without warning. he tilted your head to the side, standing over you and inspecting your cut with a little tsk. your brain immediately blue-screened. what the fuck.

"hold still."

his frame towered over your sitting one, broad shoulders boxing you in, and your eyes shot upward. directly into the lap of his sweats, the gray fabric hanging low and loose. this could not be happening.

he seemed to realize at the moment you did, because he shifted. dropped into a crouch with a slight grunt. you thought it might’ve been to spare you, but it made it worse, somehow. now you were level. now his eyes were all you could see. keen, but warm. he started dabbing at the cut, mumbling a little "i know, i know," when you flinched at the feeling.

you sat in silence as he applied pressure to the cut. your skin stinging under the damp towel. his thumb came up to graze the edge of the split, after a few heavily silent minutes, slow and careful, just enough pressure to pull the skin taut and get a better look. the pad of his pointer brushed against the raw, broken edge of the wound, and you hissed, shoulders flinching.

"yeah, i know, chickadee. that’s what happens. what are you gonna do next time you needed help building furniture?" he asked, tone halfway to lecturing.

you could feel your pulse beating in your head, eyes falling onto a throw pillow as he held your head to the side. "um. not... screw up the instructions?" you muttered, to which he sighed through his nose affectionately like that was the dumbest thing he’d heard.

he turned your chin so you were facing him, and he leaned in ever so slightly. his brows were raised, like he could not believe he was having to go through the motions of saying this. at this distance you could probably count every little scrape and scar on his face.

"you come. get. me. capisce?"

each word was its own sentence, his words light but insistent, and he didn’t drop your chin until you nodded (which it took the longest seven seconds of your life to realize he was waiting on).

"...'kay," you hummed, looking back down. anywhere but his eyes. and when he pushed up from his crouch and made for your door, you were almost (as embarrassing an admission as it was) dejected. he was leaving already?

"sit there. i'm getting a butterfly bandage so your forehead doesn't scar to shit. don't go anywhere." and you, suddenly some type of housebroken, perked up and nodded. thank fuck his back was already to you at that point. you sat, thumbs fidgeting in your lap, until he returned in under a minute.

"shocking," he said, crouching back in front of you, "that you managed to not break a bone sitting here." his hands tugged at the wrapper of the bandage.

you huffed, trying to play off the scene unfolding right now as casual, neighbourly banter. anything to pretend your heart wasn’t about to beat out of your chest, that you weren’t going to be dreaming about this man in the full throes of puppylove for weeks after this.

his fingers brushed your temple, featherlight but certain, and it sent a stupid little shiver down your spine you hoped he didn’t notice. the pads of his thumbs were warm, careful, pinching the skin on either side of the cut with more tenderness than someone like him ought to have. you blinked, and he was already pressing the steri-strip into place. centered, clean, like he actually cared if it scarred.

and when he leaned back just slightly to inspect it, head tilted, tongue poking into his cheek like he was weighing whether to say something that would’ve fast-tracked you to cardiac arrest, you didn’t even care how mortifying this entire experience had been. you didn’t care that your skin was burning hot, that the past two days had thrust you into more confusing, blurred-line conversation than you'd ever had before.

the universe had given you to him in open palms, it seemed. pointed you out to sammy knowing that he was stumbling into a life sentence. "this one," it hummed, "will be yours." the soft spot he had grown not even two days before had suddenly become a spot in the same way jupiter's was— a cataclysmic, raging storm, with enough force to shake the cosmos. the tumultuous, conflicted needs to make you safe, gently, and make you his, by far less gentle means.

he pulled back, giving the bandage a final once-over before nodding curtly.

"no ER's today," he hummed proudly, his arm shooting out to ruffle your hair on the far side of your head from the wound. his rough hand curved against your head, teasing and playful, like you were crafted by the heavens themselves to fit into his palm.

sammy agreed with the universe. you, he'd decided, were going to be his.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩 a/n contd: ah! i hope you liked it! i'm supposed to move home for the summer in 5 hours and i literally haven't started packing or cleaning. oopsies.

i know the header/name setup is a bit cheesy but i am doing it anyways. if there are typos or weird sections in here please let me live in ignorant bliss. i wrote most of this procrastinating my packing in a craze fueled by the nectar of the gods (baja blast) and the fruit of the garden of eden (nacho fries) and quite frankly have very little interest in correcting how much of a mess this chapter is. yes i know this situation is entirely unrealistic. if there is one thing mango loves it is self indulgent slight-whump with an age gap.

love u guys byeee!

[thidwickdoodles]

[pepurika]

i wanted to thank you all for being patient with me, today i managed to ink half a page and made this small doodle!

it's been very difficult to get into that mindspace of being excited about comics and drawing. my main worry is that there might not be book two or three of tigers.

i've been trying to look for an agent to help me with the hiveworks and seven seas contracts and to give me guidance on how to move forward with all of this, but no luck so far! i've been sending emails right and left just hoping that someone would answer, but i know it's a long game anyway. my main driving force is that all the people who have bought the first volume deserve the rest of them in their shelves too. a single volume would look so sad haha! like a failure of some sort! and your money wasted somehow!

but today when i was drawing i forgot all about that for a little moment. i just drew and drew and i got that excitement again, that i can't wait to show this page to you. to see what people think about the story. and i felt so lucky that i have the opportunity to experience that communication between the creator and the reader, even if i've chosen to be a silent observator mostly, your comments and interactions mean so much for me. my way of talking to you is the comic itself, in a way.

i cannot promise you that the rest of tigers will ever be printed, but if it happens, it happens! for now i'll let all of this float slowly forward, maybe it will end up somewhere, maybe not. i hope you will be understanding with this issue, i am doing my best but sometimes things might not work out!

but i feel my excitement coming back today. the small hiatus was much needed, but i miss the comic so much and i miss this small internet world of our strange communication. i cannot even begin to explain how you have helped me through a slump after slump, during all these years. this has been the worst, but now it's finally starting to loose its grip from me.

so, you have my most sincere thank you. please know that tigers wouldn't have gotten this far without every comment, fanart, fanfic and interaction i've had with you.

only two more chapters to go- i hope you will keep enjoying the finale of the comic. i'm working very hard to deliver it through the finishing line, and i'm so, so excited to be able to show you this strange world of sea sponges, dramatic siblings and elder gods.

thank you!!!

[shapelytimber]

Pj party for the gang <3

[BG3 PRINTS] - [COMMISSIONS]

(Please don't spoil me act 3, I've still not got around to play it-)

Everytime I go to camp to clock in for the night, and a good 4 out of 6 of these fuckers go to sleep wearing *leather* outfits- I understand it from a 'this is a video game of course they don't change clothes to go sleeping' perspective..... But on the other hand I slept once in leather pants and that was one of the worst experiences of my life, so to think these people do it voluntarily everynight- freaks. All of them.

So I gave them pyjamas :D that was a lot of fun ! Also I like when characters have a more diverse builds and sizes, so I killed two birds w one stone and drew what the gang looks like in my heart <3 and of course I made a quick little line up !

A lot of yapping about the pj choices and process below vvv

Gale : fancy depressed wizard gets a fancy bathrobe type get up ! I don't think this man was getting dressed a lot in that sad year post his breakup, so why not invest in a comfy cool pj he can slip on in the morning feeling like it kinda counts as dressing up ! And I get that they didn't exactly pack before getting kidnapped by aliens, but Gale is a wizard I'm sure he can just reach into a pocket dimension where he stores some of his belongings (ala my tes mage !) or something

Astarion : I don't think astarion owns many clothes. He isn't wealthy, and well.... Let's not talk about Cazador in the fun pyjama party post- so his ruffled shirt untucked from a pair of looser cotton or silk pants it is ! Also I learned that elves are typically shorter on average in dnd and that's great, that's perfect, that's so funny, I can just picture him insisting this is true (which it is).... And then enters Halsin fjdjdk anyway

Halsin : I just know in my heart that man sleep in his bear form. It's when he's most comfortable, and he doesn't need to talk to other people when sleeping so why not. Also comfy bed mate :) ! Other option is completely nude (yes I forgot to include him in the lineup, sue me but I'm too tired to re open photoshop rn-)

Shadowheart : this is my art, and if I want the resident goth girly to be in a cute little nightgown I can >:( she gets lace and everything let me be a lesbian !!! Also she small and sturdy

Wyll : a slight variation of his canon camp clothes :) made his top less skintight, and once again changed the texture from leather to something less terrible to sleep in seriously why are all these people committed to this lifestyle-

Lae'zel : no pjs, a githyanki must be ready for battle 24/7 only the weak wear comfy clothes and don't commit to sleeping in leather pants and leather underwear. She's a freak and I love her dearly

Karlach : she deserves the best pyjamas of them all : topless in underwear. Nothing comfier than that and it's not like she'll get cold :) also she wears it very well what can I say fjdjdkd

I started working on the lineart like a month ago alongside a commission that I really didn't like working on- so anytime I got work done for the commission (btw not from someone online so it's none of you tumblrinas), I would reward myself with adding more shit to the bg3 drawing djdjdkk which resulted in a lot of details and clutter, that I didn't want to start coloring because that would be a nightmare to figure out and very long to do, so I would continue adding shit instead of starting colors- and the circle kept turning. Also 10 hands..... So this took a while to get right fjdjdk

But on the bright side, it's the most detailed illustrations I've done yet and I'm really proud of it (especially all the little story elements I could include <3)

[aleksatia]

You went for a drive out of the city, and during a coffee stop, you decided to break the news in a creative way. You had "Best Dad Ever" written on his cup.

🧜‍♂️ Rafayel

The drive is calm. For once, Rafayel isn’t dramatically complaining about how boring the scenery is, nor is he blasting music at full volume just to mess with you. Instead, he’s relaxed, one hand draped over the wheel, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, humming lazily to himself.

You hand him his coffee.

“Mm, thanks, cutie,” he purrs, taking it without looking, already lifting it to his lips—

Sip.

Pause.

His fingers tighten slightly.

Then—

The car swerves.

"RAFAYEL!"

With zero hesitation, he veers off the road and slams the brakes, the car jerking to a sudden, dramatic stop.

"WHAT THE HELL—" you start, gripping the dashboard.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!"

Rafayel is staring at the cup like it just personally betrayed him. His eyes are huge, his fingers clamped so tightly around the cup that you’re genuinely worried it might crack.

He snatches off his sunglasses, turns to you, and—says nothing.

Just breathes heavily.

Like he’s witnessed something cosmic.

You raise an eyebrow. "Something wrong, babe?"

He flips the cup toward you, jabbing at the words printed on the side.

Best Dad Ever.

"Is this a joke?" His voice cracks. “IS THIS A JOKE?!”

You bite back a laugh. "Nope."

His entire body freezes. His brain disconnects from reality.

Then—

He LAUNCHES himself out of the car.

“RAFAYEL, OH MY GOD—”

He starts pacing.

Wildly.

Hand in his hair, fully spiraling.

"I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN!" He throws his arms in the air. "MY GENES ARE TOO POWERFUL—THIS WAS INEVITABLE—"

You lean out the window, exasperated. "Can you—"

"I CAN’T BREATHE—"

"Then inhale through your nose, genius."

"I AM. IT'S NOT ENOUGH."

He stops abruptly. Whips back toward you. Marches over to the car like a man with a mission, plants his hands on the doorframe, and leans in—

"You’re serious?" His voice is deadly quiet now.

You hold his gaze. “I’m serious.”

For a second, he just stares at you.

Then, suddenly—

He laughs.

At first, just a short breath. Then—full giddy, unfiltered joy. He grabs your face, kisses you sloppy and hard, and laughs against your lips like he can’t believe it.

"I KNEW IT!" He pulls back just to yell into the sky. "I AM ABOUT TO CREATE THE MOST GORGEOUS CREATURE IN EXISTENCE. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? THIS IS HISTORIC. THIS CHILD WILL BE A CULTURAL ICON—"

You groan. "Rafayel—"

“I HAVE TO DOCUMENT THIS MOMENT.”

"—No."

He’s already reaching for his phone.

"—RAFAYEL, NO—"

"WE NEED A PORTRAIT. A MONUMENT. A SERIES OF LIMITED-EDITION ART PRINTS."

You physically reach over and grab his wrist. "GET BACK IN THE DAMN CAR."

He gasps.

Dramatically.

Hand-on-heart levels of betrayal.

"You wouldn’t deprive me of this joy?"

"I will deprive you of seeing your child if you don’t start driving."

Instantly—he’s back in the car.

Straightens his jacket. Adjusts his hair. Puts on his sunglasses.

"Holy sharks," he breathes, gripping the wheel. "I'm gonna be a dad."

You sigh, finally relaxing. "Yeah, babe. You are."

He exhales slowly.

Then, softer this time, he reaches out, brushing his fingers over your stomach—reverent now.

"You just made me the happiest being alive," he murmurs. His smirk is still there, but his voice is completely serious.

You smile, resting your hand over his. “I know.”

The moment lingers—soft, intimate, perfect.

And then—

A wicked glint flashes in his eyes.

“Ohhh,” he grins, leaning back lazily. “This kid is gonna be a menace.”

You groan. "Rafayel—"

"THEY WILL BE CHAOS INCARNATE."

"Stop—"

"WE HAVE A DYNASTY TO BUILD."

And just like that—your entire future flashes before your eyes.

🖤🐦Sylus

It’s been a quiet drive, Sylus tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, humming along to the music. He’s in a good mood. Relaxed. Smug, as usual, but easygoing.

You hand him his coffee.

He takes it, sips, lets out a pleased little hum—

And then—

The car jerks.

You barely have time to register what happened before he slams on the brakes, throwing an arm across your waist to stop you from lurching forward.

“SYLUS—”

"EXCUSE ME?!"

The wheels screech to a stop on the side of the road. A cloud of dust kicks up behind the car, but Sylus doesn’t even look at it. No—his full, undivided attention is now locked onto the cup in his hand.

He turns it slowly, his crimson eyes glowing as he reads the words again. And again.

Best. Dad. Ever.

He blinks.

Then he grins.

Not just a smirk—a full, wicked, teeth-flashing, Sylus-style grin that immediately puts you on high alert.

“Kitten,” he purrs, tilting his head, voice dangerously low. “Is this what I think it is?”

You cross your arms. “If you think it means I’m pregnant, then yes.”

He lets out a low whistle, tapping the cup against the steering wheel like he cannot believe his luck.

“Oh-ho-ho,” he laughs, running a hand through his silver hair. “Oh, kitten.”

“…Why do you sound like you won something?” you ask, already regretting everything.

He takes another slow sip of coffee, relishing it, before placing the cup deliberately in the holder. Then he turns to you.

And just—stares.

His eyes gleam. His smirk deepens. And then—

“You belong to me now,” he murmurs, voice soaked in satisfaction.

Oh. Oh no.

“Don’t—”

“You were already mine,” he continues, ignoring your protest, fingers tracing slow circles on your knee. “But this? This makes it official.”

You squint. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, leaning in until his nose barely brushes yours. “You are so trapped.”

Your breath catches.

His lips brush your jaw. Soft. Slow. Dangerous.

“Our baby,” he murmurs against your skin. “My legacy.”

Okay, that makes you snort. “Legacy? Are you serious—”

His fingers tighten on your thigh.

“I never joke about ownership, kitten.”

Your stomach flips. “Sylus, I swear—”

“I am,” he continues, voice so dangerously pleased, “about to be the most unbearable man alive.”

“You already are.”

He chuckles, dark and smooth.

Then, with zero warning, he pulls your seat lever—fully reclines it—and cages you in with both arms.

“SYLUS—”

“You think I’m letting you out of this car without celebrating properly?” His knee presses between yours. His lips hover just over yours. “Oh, kitten.”

A smug, deadly whisper—

“You’re not going anywhere.”

And just like that—you are so. Completely. Screwed.

☃️ Zayne

The drive is quiet, smooth, the hum of the engine steady. Zayne is driving like he does everything else—efficiently, precisely, with absolute control. One hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift, his posture effortlessly composed.

You hand him his coffee.

He takes it automatically, barely looking away from the road as he lifts it to his lips.

Then—

The cup stops midair.

His fingers tighten.

His eyes flick down.

The muscles in his jaw shift.

You can see the exact second his mind starts processing.

His lips part slightly. His brows furrow just a fraction.

His eyes scan the words again, like data he needs to verify.

Best Dad Ever.

And just like that—Zayne enters full diagnostic mode.

His pupils dilate. His breathing adjusts. His shoulders tense in micro-movements.

Then, before you can speak, he mutters—

“Seven weeks.”

You blink. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. He’s already calculating. His eyes flick to the dashboard clock—counting back the exact number of days since your last cycle.

“No, wait,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, “six weeks, five days. That lines up better with—”

He cuts himself off, his grip on the wheel adjusting, his mind racing a mile a second.

Then he grabs his phone with one hand and immediately dials a number.

You stare at him. “Zayne, what are you—”

“It’s Doctor Zayne, I need a full prenatal assessment scheduled immediately.”

“What?!”

He ignores you, listening intently. His tone is calm, clipped, entirely professional, as if he’s in the middle of a patient consultation.

“Yes, priority level one.” His fingers tap against the wheel. “Standard screenings plus full genetic panel. I also want a full cardiovascular assessment given her recent—”

“ZAYNE.”

His jaw tightens. He barely spares you a glance, still listening to whoever’s on the other end.

“No, reschedule that for tomorrow, I’ll be overseeing this personally—”

You reach over and end the call.

Silence.

Zayne blinks once, slowly, as if rebooting.

Then he turns his head very carefully toward you.

“…Did you just—”

“Yes.”

His eyelid twitches.

“You,” he says, deadpan, “just ended an emergency medical consultation with one of the most sought-after specialists in the Linkon-city.”

“Yes.”

His lips press together tightly. His nostrils flare just a fraction.

Then—the cracks start showing.

His throat bobs. His fingers flex around the wheel. His chest rises with a sharp inhale—

And then, finally, he breaks.

His entire body sags forward as he presses his forehead to the steering wheel, exhaling shakily.

“…Oh, fuck,” he mutters, voice completely wrecked.

You blink.

He takes another sharp breath, his hands gripping the wheel like he’s stabilizing himself.

“…I was fine,” he says, more to himself than to you.

You stare at him. “No, you weren’t.”

“I was,” he insists, head still against the wheel. “I had a plan. I was handling it.”

You tilt your head. “Handling it like a patient case?”

His fingers flex again. “It’s not the same.”

“Zayne.”

He doesn’t move.

“Zay.”

Nothing.

So you reach out, fingers slipping into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp—

He lets out a breath that absolutely shatters you.

Like something inside him has finally collapsed.

Then—without warning—he turns and kisses you.

It’s not like before. Not calculated, not measured, not careful.

It’s desperate.

Like he needs to feel you, needs to know you’re here, with him, real.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.

“I can’t…” He exhales slowly. “I can’t lose control of this.”

Your chest tightens. “You don’t have to control everything, Zayne.”

His hand slips down, pressing gently against your stomach. His fingers splay, warm and reverent.

“…You’re right.” His voice is quieter now.

Another pause.

Then—

A tiny, breathless laugh escapes him.

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

His eyes flick to yours, golden-green and impossibly soft.

“…I’m going to be a dad.”

You smile. “Yeah, you are.”

Another shaky exhale. Then, a full-blown smile—rare, genuine, warm.

“…Shit.” He laughs again, shaking his head. “I should’ve seen this coming.”

You grin. “Should I be concerned that you can predict organ failure before it happens, but not this?”

His hand tightens just slightly over your stomach. His smirk is smaller now, more sincere.

“No,” he murmurs. “Because this—”

He leans in, lips brushing just over your temple.

“This is the best surprise I’ve ever had.”

🍎 Caleb

It’s a perfect drive—at least, for now. The sun is low, stretching golden light across the road, and Caleb is relaxed, one hand on the wheel, the other lazily resting on the armrest. He’s humming to himself, terribly off-key, completely endearing, and utterly oblivious to the bomb you’re about to drop on him.

You hand him his coffee.

“Thanks, pip-squeak,” he murmurs, taking it automatically, his eyes still on the road.

He takes a sip.

Then—

He stops.

His hand tightens around the cup.

His posture locks up.

And just like that, you realize you’ve made a terrible mistake.

The car swerves.

“CALEB!”

With military precision, he pulls over so hard the tires skid, shifts into park, and slams the brakes.

He doesn’t move.

He doesn’t breathe.

You barely have time to process before he whirls toward you, holding up the cup like it’s an explosive device.

“WHAT. IS. THIS?!”

You blink. “Uh. Coffee?”

His eye twitches. His chest rises in one sharp inhale.

Then—his voice drops to a whisper.

“…Are you messing with me right now?”

Your lips twitch. “Nope.”

Silence.

Pure, deafening silence.

Then—

His entire soul leaves his body.

He throws the door open, jumps out of the car, and immediately crouches down with his hands on his knees.

You watch in real time as a fully grown man has a complete emotional crisis on the side of the road.

"OH FUCK. OH FUCK. OH FUCK."

“CALEB, GET BACK IN THE CAR.”

"I NEED A SECOND."

“You’re going to get hit by—”

"I NEED A FUCKING SECOND."

You drop your head into your hands as he rakes his fingers through his hair, muttering to himself like he’s trying to process the meaning of life.

Then—abruptly—he stops.

Stands up straight. Spins to face you.

“…How long?”

You hesitate. “Caleb—”

“HOW LONG?!”

You sigh. “A few weeks.”

His jaw clenches. His eyes dart down, scanning you, like he’s only just now realizing that oh shit, you’re actually pregnant.

Then—he yanks open the car door, sits back down, and buckles his seatbelt like it personally wronged him.

You blink. “…Are you okay?”

“No,” he admits immediately.

He exhales sharply, presses his hands to his face, and just—

Whimpers.

Not dramatically. Not in distress. Just the most overwhelmed, overjoyed, short-circuited noise you’ve ever heard come out of him.

Then, suddenly—he laughs.

Not just any laugh—a helpless, breathless, disbelieving laugh.

“Oh, fuck.” He drags a hand down his face, his grin growing. “Oh, fuck. We’re having a baby.”

You grin back. “Yeah, we are.”

He turns to you, and something changes.

The panic is still there—but beneath it? Something warm. Something so impossibly, devastatingly soft.

Then—he moves.

His hand presses to your stomach.

Just rests there.

Like he’s afraid to push too hard, afraid to shatter this moment.

His throat bobs. His fingers spread slightly.

And then, his voice—softer than you’ve ever heard it—

“…That’s our baby.”

You nod.

His eyes flicker. His entire body tenses.

Then, without warning—

You are no longer sitting.

You yelp as he hauls you into his lap, wrapping both arms around you and crushing you against his chest.

“CALEB—”

“NOPE.” His voice is muffled into your shoulder. “I NEED THIS. GIVE ME THIS. RIGHT NOW.”

You laugh. “You’re squishing me—”

"YOU’RE PREGNANT WITH MY BABY AND I HAVE TO DEAL WITH THIS EMOTIONALLY, THANK YOU."

You let him have it.

For a long moment, he just holds you. His breath is shaky, his grip tight, like he’s trying to memorize every second of this before it slips away.

Then—he shifts slightly.

A deep breath. A pause.

Then, suddenly—

His grip tightens, and he leans back just enough to look at you dead in the eyes.

“…Okay but—what about me?”

You blink. “What?”

His ears start going red.

“I mean,” he clears his throat, gaze darting anywhere but your face now, “what about… you know.”

You smirk. “I don’t know. Clarify.”

He groans, tilting his head back against the seat. “Pip-squeak, come on.”

You hum, trailing your fingers over his shoulders, down his chest. “Ohh. You mean—”

"YES." His grip tightens on your hips. "What happens now? Do I just—" He gestures vaguely between you. "Forget about it? Nine months of nothing?"

You shrug innocently. “Well. There are other ways…”

He freezes.

His eyes darken. His jaw clenches. His fingers twitch.

“…Other ways.”

You nod. “Mhm.”

He stares. Processing.

Then, suddenly—

He grabs the steering wheel with both hands, stares straight ahead, and shifts into drive.

“Okay.”

You snort. “That’s it?”

“I have to drive us home. Immediately.” His voice is far too serious. “This is now a time-sensitive situation.”

You laugh. “Caleb, you are so—”

He shoots you a warning look, eyes still burning. “Do not finish that sentence unless you want me to pull over again.”

You grin wickedly. “And then what?”

His grip tightens on the wheel.

Then, low and dark—

“…Don’t test me, pip-squeak.”

And just like that—

You have created a monster.

☀️ Xavier

The drive is smooth, effortless. Xavier handles the car the way he handles everything else—calmly, efficiently, like he’s already three steps ahead of reality. The road stretches endlessly ahead, the soft hum of the engine filling the silence between you.

You hand him his coffee.

“Thank you, love,” he murmurs, taking it without looking, perfectly composed, as always.

He lifts it to his lips, takes a sip—

Then stops.

His fingers tighten slightly around the cup.

You watch as his eyes flick down to the message.

Best Dad Ever.

For a moment, he doesn’t react. Doesn’t tense, doesn’t flinch. Just…observes.

Then, with deliberate ease, he tilts his head slightly in your direction.

“…Very funny.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

He gestures toward the cup, lips twitching in amusement. “You can’t fool me, princess. I know you too well.”

He takes another slow sip, entirely unbothered.

“This is a joke,” he continues, matter-of-factly. “You wanted to see if I’d panic. Clever, but predictable.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Oh, yeah? What makes you so sure?”

His smirk grows. “Because if it were real, you’d be significantly worse at hiding your anticipation.”

You tilt your head. “Mm. Maybe.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head as he shifts his focus back to the road. “You’ll have to do better than this next time.”

You shrug, lifting your own coffee to your lips.

He barely glances at it.

Then—he does a double take.

His brows furrow. His body stiffens slightly.

You see it—the moment the wheels in his head start turning. The moment his brain connects the dots.

Best Mom Ever.

Of twins.

There is a pause. A deep, soul-crushing pause.

Then, slowly, very slowly, he takes one more sip of coffee.

And immediately chokes on it.

He coughs once, hard, sharp. His grip on the wheel tightens so fast his knuckles go white.

And then—he does the single most terrifying thing he has ever done in his entire existence.

He slowly eases his foot off the gas pedal.

Not jerking the car. Not slamming the brakes. Just gradually reducing speed with surgical precision.

His eyes are locked straight ahead, unblinking.

The car glides toward the shoulder of the road in complete, deafening silence.

Then, in eerie, methodical movements,

He puts the car in park.

Takes off his seatbelt.

Reaches over.

And plucks your coffee out of your hands.

You blink. “Xavier?”

He says nothing.

Instead, he places both cups onto the dashboard.

Adjusts them. Lines them up perfectly so that the words are directly facing him.

Then—

He stares.

At the cups.

At the words.

At his entire future.

Silence.

Then, very quietly—

“…Twins.”

His throat bobs.

His hand comes up and presses against his temple.

Another beat of pure silence.

Then—

He laughs.

A single breathless, helpless laugh.

Then another.

And another.

Until suddenly—

He dissolves into a full-blown existential breakdown.

His entire body tips forward, forehead pressing against the steering wheel.

“Twins.” His voice is muffled, bordering on delirious. “I—twins. Two. There are two.”

You bite your lip. “There will be, yeah.”

He lets out a sound that is neither human nor machine.

Then, slowly—he lifts his head again.

His eyes are unfocused, like he’s calculating probabilities of survival in real-time.

Then—

His head turns toward you.

And you swear you see actual panic.

“How,” he exhales, voice quiet, shaky, “do we own two of something when we never needed to own one?”

You blink. “Xav, what—?”

He gestures vaguely at the cups.

“How do we prepare for twins if we were never prepared for a singular baby?”

You open your mouth—

"WE DON'T EVEN HAVE TWO OF THE SAME PILLOW."

You freeze. “What.”

He gestures more aggressively now, looking absolutely unhinged.

“OUR BED.” He waves toward the back seat. “THE PILLOWS. THEY’RE DIFFERENT. HOW DID WE GET TWO DIFFERENT PILLOWS? HOW DID I LET THIS HAPPEN?”

You stare at him.

“You’re spiraling.”

“I AM LOGICALLY PROCESSING THE GRAVITY OF OUR SITUATION.”

“Xavier.”

He inhales. Exhales.

Then, softer now, more real, more raw—

“…We’re going to have twins.”

You nod.

His shoulders drop. His eyes soften.

Then—before you can react, he reaches out, pulls you into his lap, and buries his face into your neck.

For a long moment, he just holds you.

No overthinking. No calculations.

Just you.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low, warm, unshaken.

“…I am never going to recover from this information.”

You laugh softly. “You will.”

He leans back just enough to meet your eyes. And finally—finally—his lips curve into a small, exhausted smile.

“…They’re going to be terrifyingly intelligent.”

You snicker. “Oh, for sure.”

“And devastatingly attractive.”

“Obviously.”

He hums. “I will be insufferable.”

“You already are.”

His arms tighten around you, his lips brushing your forehead.

“…I’m going to be a father of twins.”

“You are.”

“…That’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

You grin. “You’ll be fine.”

Another pause.

Then—

A mischievous glint sparks in his eyes.

“…Twins, you said?”

You narrow your eyes. “Yes?”

His smirk returns, sharper this time.

“So.” He tilts his head. “Shall we test for a third?”

You shove him so hard the car rocks slightly. ****** More stories here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleksa_Tia

[fushitoru]

all i want for christmas is you! a gojo satoru fic

pairing ⸺ bf!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ after a well needed rest from the kids, you and your boyfriend focus on baking christmas cookies for your pta responsibilities. however, it ends up taking a naughty twist when satoru finds out the surprise you've planned out for him.

warnings ⸺ FLUFF, smut in the form of fingering and p i v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied, some jealousy, but mostly crack, pta cookie baking for megumi, very domestic, not edited, “good girl,” teasing, use of pet names like “baby,” gojo is a warning in himself

a/n hbd to my husband and loml 😚😚 i hope you guys enjoy this it kind of made me realize only long fics heal my soul but this is anticipation of holidays :33

general masterlist

You sometimes did not know what to do with Satoru.

When he told you to come over to make Christmas cookies that are part of his PTA commitments for Megumi, you really didn’t expect him to come out of his room with that sweater on. It’s an ugly sweater—so he’s got the holiday spirit nailed down—that has printed “BIG PACKAGE JUST FOR YOU.” Below it, a cartoon Santa stood pantsless, strategically holding a neatly wrapped gift box over his crotch.

You give him a look as he comes out to join you in the kitchen. “Please don’t tell me you wore that in front of Tsumiki and Megumi.”

He has the gall to look offended as he puts on his even stupider “Your opinion wasn’t on the recipe” apron. “Of course, what kind of father do you think I am?”

You sigh, moving to put in the last of the dry ingredients. “I saw Megumi watching Breaking Bad on his iPad last week.”

“What?” he gasps dramatically as he pauses while moving for the fridge. “I swear I downloaded Youtube Kids!”

Look, Satoru is a good dad. Foster-dad. Whatever. He’s been taking care of Megumi and Tsumiki for ages now, ever since that incident happened, and he’s been doing his best. But, unfortunately, his adult life and burdens and responsibilities cause him sometimes to be a absent father. He makes up for it—goes shopping with Tsumiki for her clothes, spends quality time with Megumi.

One thing he’d never miss, however, are those PTA meetings.

He is the PTA mom final boss. No matter what event is being held, he’s going to go all out. You don’t miss the smirk he gives to Karen everytime he brings an even bigger cookie platter for Megumi’s homeroom than she did for her son Sam’s, nor the sassy pursed lips as he donates artist-grade markers from Michael’s instead of Mia’s cheap ones from Walmart.

Yea, he is just petty like that, but it’s always the moms whose sons have gotten into fights with Megumi that he outdoes everytime. You know better than to question his peculiar form of revenge.

“I think that means he found a way to break through the parental controls. He’s definitely your kid,” you reply with a bit of mirth in your voice. Then, you quickly move to intercept Satoru’s journey to get the eggs as soon as you notice a miniscule movement of his. You were not about to let Satoru force another trip to Whole Foods with the clumsiness you’re all too familiar with in your five years of dating.

Grabbing the eggs before he can, you turn around to find him staring at you, a dazzled look on his face.

“What?” you ask, already smirking. The view of the outfit you’d worn today had been obscured by the apron when he first came in, but when you moved to get the eggs in front of him, he definitely got a view of your ass in your tiny red skirt and fuzzy, festive top.

“Why the hell are you wearing a sexy Mrs. Claus outfit?”

“I was thinking we’d watch Christmas movies and chill today after the cookies!” you exclaim, just as Satoru interrupts with, “We’re baking cookies for children, you freak.”

The room went dead silent.

Your cheerful smile dropped instantly. Meanwhile, Satoru’s face lit up like he’s just won the lottery, full of pure glee.

Both of you shout at the same time, “What?”

You slam the eggs down onto the counter with just enough force to make him flinch, narrowing your eyes at him. “Excuse me? Did you just call me a freak?”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he yelped, backpedaling so fast you were surprised he didn’t trip over his own feet. “It’s just—” He gestured wildly at you. “—that outfit is… is…”

“Is what?” you demand, crossing your arms and daring him to dig himself deeper.

“Babe,” he starts to whine, apologetic like a wet dog and padding his way back over to you while pulling you in for a back hug. “It’s hot, okay? Don’t get me wrong, it’s driving me crazy. I’m trying to focus on cookies, and you’re over here looking like every Christmas fantasy I didn’t know I had.”

“Get off me,” you grumble, shooting him a glare as you try to shake him off. “You are not touching these cookies. Sit on the couch.”

He yelps as you slap his hand. “Babe, but I’ll just be reinforcing the patriarchy if I let you stay and do all the work in the kitchen.” Then, he moves closer to your ear like the chronically online loser he is and whispers, “6’ 3’’ btw.”

“Go away!” you shriek, waving him off. This process would indeed be two times faster if Satoru was on his couch. There wasn’t any rush, but you’d really appreciate getting to the dicking-down part of tonight after much appreciated privacy from the kids for the first time in forever. You take a mental note to thank Yuji’s grandpa and Nobara’s grandmother with extra cookies for the sleepover as you shoo your boyfriend to the couch.

You get back to work on the wet ingredients by cracking the eggs, but not before you hear a “I’ll be reflecting on the systematic oppression women face in the workforce.”

Pulling off the oven mitts on your hands, you wash your hand but not without sneaking a peek over the kitchen counter. You were locked in on the cookies, paying no mind to Satoru’s existential bemoaning, and now that you’re done, you can’t wait for the fun part of tonight.

After waiting a few minutes and checking and rechecking the cookies to make sure they’re done, you set them aside to cool and make sure to turn off the oven. Tonight, you were determined to get that big fucking package Santa owed you, and your boyfriend was going to be the one to deliver it.

As you walk out, you know the strat you’re going to use: innocently suggest a Christmas movie to watch, snuggle close to him, and he’ll fall into the trap you set for him like a bear towards honey. You know your boyfriend all too well, and today, you were feeling coy.

He’s stretched out on the couch, scrolling on his phone, his posture as awful as ever. But the second he hears your footsteps, his head snaps up. His eyes immediately dart to the movement of your bare legs, lingering on the tiny red skirt you’re still wearing, before slowly traveling back up to your chest. Wow. He really wasn’t making this difficult.

You plop down next to him while grabbing the remote, pulling up Netflix. “What movie should we watch today?”

He blinks, clearly distracted. “We’re watching a movie?”

The Princess Switch catches in the side of your eye as you scroll through the options. Without looking at him, you answer, “Yes? What else were we going to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawls, his voice already dipping into that teasing tone you know so well. “Maybe something that doesn’t involve Vanessa Hudgens playing herself two times.”

You roll your eyes, nudging his shoulder with your own. “Don’t knock it till you try it, Mr. Holiday Spirit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave you, though, and when you finally glance at him, his expression has shifted. He’s not teasing anymore. His eyes are a little darker, his lips twitching like he’s holding back a grin. “What?” you ask, already smirking.

“Nothing,” he says, his voice lower now. “Just... you look really good in that outfit.”

Your cheeks heat, but you play it off with a laugh. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Satoru.”

“Won’t it?” he murmurs, leaning a little closer, his hand brushing against your knee. The heat of his palm lingers even after he pulls it away, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

You’re about to respond—something witty, something to keep the banter going—but then his hand moves again, this time resting firmly on your thigh. “You’re really going to make me sit through a Christmas movie when you look like that?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.

Your breath hitches, and you can’t help the way your body reacts, leaning just a fraction closer to him. “What would you rather do?” you challenge, your voice softer now.

His gaze dips to your lips, and that’s all the invitation he needs. In a second, he’s closing the distance, his mouth pressing against yours in a kiss that’s anything but sweet. It’s hungry and demanding, like he’s been waiting for this all day, and when his hand slides higher up your thigh, you realize you’ve completely forgotten about the movie and the preview playing. Satoru, clearly a little annoyed judging by the pout on his face, moves to close the preview featuring Vanessa Hudgens’ obnoxious British accent and then the room is silent except for the wet sounds of your sloppy kissing.

When you’ve both made out for a while—now with you on his lap—you both pull back with fastened breaths, looking at each other’s glistening lips. Finally, from Satoru comes out a, “That. I wanted to do that.”

Maybe it’s the attention whore in you always looking to rile up Satoru and get his affection, but you couldn’t refrain from blurting out a “Are you sure you wanted to do this with me, or would Linda have sufficed?”

At the scrunch of Satoru’s nose, his face practically spells out a Who the fuck is Linda? “You know, the one that gets really friendly with you when I’m going to the bathroom at those PTA meetings.”

Satoru sometimes did not know what to do with you.

Here he is, trying to make out with you when you’re looking like that, makeup done perfectly and looking beautiful as always. He hasn’t gotten laid with you in a hot minute, and here you are, picking at him. He has no fucking clue who Linda is, but what he does know is that you’re really cute when you get jealous. “Yeah?” he teases, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. His grin is maddeningly smug, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Linda sounds nice. Should I call her up?”

Your jaw drops, but the sharp retort forming in your head is lost when his hand slides from your cheek to your neck, his thumb brushing lightly along your jawline. He leans closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You know,” he continues, his voice a low murmur, “if you’re jealous, you could just say so.”

“I’m not jealous,” you shoot back, your voice unconvincing even to yourself. You shift under his gaze, trying to keep up the façade, but it’s hard when his lips hover so close to yours.

Satoru’s grin widens. “No? Then why are you bringing up some imaginary PTA Linda when I’m clearly only interested in you?” His lips press against the corner of your mouth, a slow, deliberate kiss that makes your breath catch.

“You’re clearly only interested in being annoying,” you quip, but the words lack their usual bite as his hand slips lower, trailing down your side until it rests on your bare thigh. His touch is firm, possessive, and it sends a shiver through you.

“Annoying?” he echoes, his tone mock-offended. “That’s a big word for someone who just ruined a perfectly good makeout session to talk about Linda.”

You glare at him, but the effect is ruined when his thumb begins tracing lazy circles on your thigh. “I didn’t ruin anything,” you argue weakly.

“Didn’t you?” He dips his head, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Because now, instead of kissing you like I want to, I’m stuck reassuring you that Linda doesn’t stand a chance against my very sexy, very jealous girlfriend.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, but it turns into a soft gasp as his teeth graze your skin, his tongue soothing the faint sting. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but your hands betray you, tangling in his hair and tugging him closer.

“Mm, but you like it,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. His free hand slides higher, skimming under the hem of your skirt, his fingers teasing against the soft skin of your hip. “Admit it.”

“Shut up,” you manage, though your voice is breathless now. He’s too close, his scent overwhelming, his touch setting your nerves on fire. When his hand tightens on your thigh and he pulls you closer, you give in, letting him capture your lips in a kiss that’s all desperation.

Linda, whoever she may be, is long forgotten as Satoru kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every second you’ve spent apart. His hands roam, his touch firm and confident, and when he pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, “You’re all I want,” you believe him completely.

A breathless “Satoru” leaves your lips as he gently–but hurriedly–lowers you down to lay on the couch while he bends over you, inching down the hem of your top to bury his head in your tits. “Oh my god,” he groaned. “I missed my girls.” He starts to leaves rough kisses, an occasional bite and suck, and then stops. Takes in a deep breath. “Wow, you smell good babe.”

You look at him, flustered. “Stop smelling my tits, oh my god.” For good measure, you grab his hair to bury his face against your breasts once more.

“No,” smooch, “it’s,” smooch, “smelling good. Like the new holiday scents from Bath and Body Works.” He then abandons your chest to kiss his way down your body, sliding your skirt down as he kisses around the edge of your panties. “I’ve missed her, too.”

Despite yourself, you moan, spreading your legs to give him full access. He takes it enthusiastically, giving you a little kiss in your middle. Then, his eyes don’t leave yours as he uses his teeth to pull your panties down, slowly and sultry. Your pussy leaks even more, and the motherfucker notices, because there’s a faint smirk on his face as he hones back in your wetness, running his fingers to spread your slick. “Wow, my girl must have been sooo pent up,” he croons, eyes not leaving your hole and the way it clenched every time he spoke. “My good girl is soo desperate.”

Without missing a beat, you sneakily reply, “Don’t call me that, that’s so corny oh my god—-“ You’re interrupted with your own gasp as he enters a finger in. When he finally curls it, hitting your g-spot dead on, you suck in your breath. You really missed this.

“Oh, really?” He giggles, clearly amused by you trying to rile him up. “If my baby doesn’t like being called a good girl then why is she clenching so hard on my—“ thrust— “fingers?”

And suddenly the feminist in you leaves as his big, thick fingers ram into you faster than ever, and you start squealing like the slut you are for your incredibly hot boyfriend who’s equally as much of a slut for you, judging based on the rock hard erection against your thigh. Take that, Linda.

You’re in a daze of pleasure, too fucked out to notice Gojo wrenching down his sweats to pull out his throbbing cock, to pump it to full mast. It’s only when he rips his finger away from your cavern that you start to whimper, clawing at his arms to continue fingering you.

And he starts cooing, giving you a small kiss on your cheek as he aligns his dick with your pussy. “I know baby, I know,” and he groans as the soft, wet heat of your pussy grips on him hard as he pushes in. It’s not long before he starts thrusting, wiping your tears while driving in even faster. “Wow, good fucking pussy.”

“Satoru,” you whine, but you don’t even know for what. You were close enough when he was fingering you, but now you’re steadily approaching your climax. But Satoru, who’s attuned to what your body needs, readjusts himself to go even deeper.

It’s when you gasp loudly that a glint lights up in his eyes. “That’s the spot, isn’t it?” He drives into that spot like a jackhammer, savoring in your little squeals and moans of his name, until finally, he feels you climax.

“Oh my god,” you says breathlessly as your orgasm takes over you, convulsing while Satoru doesn’t let up, continuing his pace until his hips become more sloppy. After a few off rhythm thrusts, he comes in you, collapsing on top of you.

He’s breathing heavily from exertion, and you run your nails on his back and hair gently. You both bask in the glow of your orgasm. Of course, that is until Satoru perks his head up. “Do you think I can eat that kid Martin’s cookie? Megumi told me he doesn’t like him and that he’s annoying—-OWWW, what was that for?”

[merakidoll]

artistic connie ★ ·

other than art, artistic!connie had other hobbies that quickly turned into talents, and photography was a big one. like art, connie found a love for capturing you. mostly the most intimate parts of you that was only saved for him. coco jones played in the background of his large studio. a white backdrop making the room seem much lighter than it was. you sat in the middle, the white making your smooth brown skin pop. you were naked, curves and everything free just how connie enjoyed.

“stand baby, and touch your toes for me” you followed his instructions quickly, the tall stripper heels making you tower over connie just by an inch. but it made you feel even sexier; powerful in a way. he watched you follow instructions but not the way he wanted, walking close his toned muscles looked sexy, with the camera over his neck. he had on light pants that were baggy, purple flower hair fresh and looking so beautiful, but honestly anything looked good on him. “aht aht, other way” he grabbed your hand guiding you to turn around, you back towards the set up.

he could see the question in your eyes, but instead gave a reassuring nod making you bend slowly. “perfect” connie mumbled bitting his lip, “fuckin perfect baby.” connie bent to be on the tip of his toes, his camera in hand as he captured the the spread of your ass cheeks. your cunt fat, and slimy in wetness that made his dick bob in anticipation. you bit your lip feeling the hot flash of the camera light on the most intimate part of you. you could hear the soft click sound at the repeated camera clicks; yet you loved it all.

connie just always knew how to make you feel special, like a queen. a shocked gasp came from your mouth as his thumb rubbed from your hole to your clit spreading your fat brown lips apart and getting his hand wet. “fuck mama” connie now had his camera on recording mode, he allowed the camera to get the beautiful view of his pussy, the pink insides that were begging for pleasure. “c-connie!” you whined as he pressed his thumb into your hole, letting your walls shape around his thumb. you moved your ass back to reel in it needing more. “more baby! please” you weren’t a begger, and connie didn’t like hearing you do it. you were a queen, and he needed to give you what you needed then and there.

so, with two quick moves connie slid his curved longness into your walls groaning at your tightness that sucked him in like a glove. the camera that hung around his neck was angled above you both. the view of your back, and ass smaking aginst his lower stomach while you touched your toes being a picture connie was gonna print and put in his wallet. “s’fucking deep” you cried breathlessly pushing back to meet connie. in the camera view it could see how be fucked your walls, going in and out of you. his hand coming down to slap your cheek giving you a hard pump and nasty groan.

“f- fuck i love you ma” connie’s eyes shut momentarily as you squeezed him hard making his lips part. he could feel his cock become soaked in your cream. his words wouldn’t come out of his mouth, his cock jerking inside of you and letting out his own essence stuffing you full and it going deep. “fuckkk” you both said together, connie from being sucked dry, and you from feeling so full. connie’s hand were shaky that he couldn’t hold the camera anymore. it fell on his neck, its view a mess, but a small corner got a bit of connie pulling out of you and cum leaking from your cunt. while you both moaned.

now cuddled on his couch, you laid on connie’s chest giggling at your new movie that just so happened to be your favorite. he removed the hard drive, and put it in a colorful disk case, and putting it on his display with the rest of the disk that was hard drives of movies you and connie made! but no one had to know, that was you guys secret

[holeforzenin]

RAISE <3

Synopsis - You were going through a really tough time and needed more money so you asked your boss Nanami for a raise but it seems like he has something else in mind. Not proofread

“Fuck look at you clenching around my cock like a fucking slut". He groans loudly as he uses his pure strength to bounce you on his cock like a ragdoll.

"You dirty fucking whore bet you'll do anything for money wouldn't you?”. He snickered, chuckling while he lets out a low “fuck”

This wasn't supposed to happen, this wasn't how it was supposed to be. You were going through a really rough time and struggling with money for the past few days, and you'd hoped your sweet boss Kento would understand what you were going through and give you a raise even if it's something small, after all, he's a Jujutsu sorcerer, that man makes more money then you ever will in your whole life. But it seems like he had something else in mind.

And that's how you end up in the situation you're in right now, in your Boss's office. His cock nested into your tiny wet cunny, thrusting himself in and you of you, his angry leaky tip hitting your poor cervix with deep ecstasy as he trails wet kisses on your neck.

"You have no idea how fucking long I've been hah—waiting for this" he whispers against your neck, sending literal chills down your spine.

"Always walking around in those tiny fucking skirts, it's like you were begging to get fucked. Shit you always look so fucking hot, always making my dick hard".

You were really surprised by that, Nanami was always really nice to you, nice to everyone actually, always smiling at them and asking about their day, he’d get everyone coffee and pastries in the morning he was just super nice and sweet. This side of him was very unexpected. What's even more unexpected was the fact that he wanted you.

"Wha—what??" You asked confused, your eyes widenings

"We shouldn't be doing this sir!" you squeaked.

"But you wanted a raise, didn't you? Well, you're going to fucking get it" he groans as he picks up the pace fucking his cock into your pussy from below as you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders for dear life.

He hugs your frame, your breast against his hard chest as his arms tighten around you, he starts ramming his cock into your cunt at a faster pace, his cock brushing against your g spot with each roll of his hips while he's stretches you open.

“Fuck Ken, It's s'big" you moaned loudly, as if they aren't other people in the next room that could hear, feeling completely split apart around his cock, he was so big, the biggest you've ever had.

“You’re so fucking loud” he grunts as he lands a harsh smack on your plush ass that definitely left his handprint, “Fuck, you want everyone to know how much of a fucking slut you are clenching around my dick like this, don’t you”.

“Tell me how much you fucking love my cock you filthy bitch.”

"Lo—love it s'much” you try your best to make out. Feeling fucked out as ever.

"Fuck, have I really fucked you dumb already that you can't even form a proper sentence?" he groans while laughing. "You’re gonna have to do better than that princess."

"Your cock feels so good inside of me daddy, it's s'big!" you cried out, feeling his cock twitching inside of you.

"Good fucking girl, Hah—Fuck, that’s what I like to hear, you're gonna make me cum darling".

"You’re going to be so fucking full after I'm done with you."

Your eyes widen with the realization of what he meant. "N-no not inside, please"

"What about that raise princess? Don't fucking make me change my mind, I'm gonna fill your slutty cunt with all my cum and you're going to fucking take it" he stands up with him still inside of you as he places you flat on his desk, your legs hanging over his shoulders as he continues thrusting his massive cock into your gushing wet cunt, your slick dripping down to your asshole, ruining the freshly printed papers from below.

"Hah—Oh fuckk" he moans, slamming his cock into you at an impossible pace, his nails digging deep into your soft thighs as you looked up in horror at what he's about to do "Fucking take it bitch."

You felt his release spurting inside of your pussy, filling you up and causing your eyes to roll at the back of your head. His cock twitches inside of you nonstop, his head falling back as he slowly began pulling out, watching as his cum gushes out of your ruined pussy, dripping down on your asshole onto the desk you were planted on. A small puddle appears beneath you. You were completely fucked out, trying your best to regain your breath as you look up at him.

He slaps his cock against your soaking cunt, groaning as the cum splatters on him. "You like being filled, don't you? You better get used to this if you want to get paid more or maybe you can just be my little office slut, getting paid to Cock warm me all fucking day”.

[swtheartz]

“ LIKE STRAWBERRIES. ” — M. Grayson Part one, part two Info : Slow burn, duh. Mark’s perspective and him being an annoying little freak. General fluff before things get freaky W / C : 2.6k+. A / N : microsoft word didn’t wanna cooperate so i hopped in google docs and got to fucking work. mb for the delay, genuinely started tweaking out when i realized i was already behind schedule LMFAO

“Where do you live?”

The question was genuine and curious, as Mark sat there and let you use him as a lab rat. He was more emotional support than anything, actually, seeing as you didn’t really need to do anything too hard unless it was being the resident doctor. And, to be fair, he hasn’t seen you outside of the GDA unless you were placed out on the field for emergencies. That alone was a rarity.

You don’t even look up at him, sighing, “That sounds creepy. Like, scammer or stalker kind of creepy.”

He ignores the fact he technically is somewhat a stalker, instead focusing on the topic on hand.

“I’m serious. I’ve never even heard you mention anything outside of work unless it’s about Oliver or Eve.”

“Good,” leaning back in your new swivel chair—because Mark had broken the last one by pure accident—you look at him with a bored look in your eyes. “I like it like that. You already know too much.”

Mark shifts on the medical bed, not injured this time, which had become a more frequent thing. He’d drop by more often. Less bloody each time, but with heavier weights on his shoulders. It wasn’t something he bothered you with. Your presence alone seemed to remedy whatever ringing lingered in his ears.

“I don’t know what that means.” Mark shrugs, holding your stare. “The most I know is that you’re here, 24/7, using me as an emotional support pet.”

You snort. “You’re hardly emotional support, Markus. You’re an accessory at best. Every time I turn around, you’re there, and I don’t know why.”

“Do you have to?”

“Yes. I do, actually, because whenever Stedman catches you in here, we both get put on probation. Which is stupid considering I never tell you to come here. You’re like a dog,” You hum and set down your paperwork, done for the day. “And not in a cute way. I’d pet a dog, I’d castrate you.”

He winces at that, unable to help picturing the uncomfortable feeling of that. “That’s rude.”

You nod languidly, spinning around idly in your chair. The one he insisted on paying for because he wanted to know a little more about your preferences. If anything changed at all, if there was something new about you that he hadn’t noticed before and hadn’t made both mental and physical notes of.

“It’s supposed to be, Invinci-Boy,” You smile, but only faintly. It’s a sight that makes Mark pause every time he sees it, even if it’s barely noticeable by the untrained eye. He’s learned to watch close enough that even the smallest uptick of your lips has him stopping, just for a moment.

Over the last few months, he’s made slow progress. Slow, most definitely, but still more progress. You’re not as guarded. Mark himself isn’t sure if you’ve noticed it or not, but he’d prefer the latter. If you ever did notice how you ever so slowly relaxed around him, how you’d smile—despite it always being barely there—the longer he’d stick around. He doesn’t have the heart to tell you you’re wrong about him being like a dog.

Because you’re not wrong.

You’ve got him on a leash, and if you were to tug on it, he would follow.

“Please stop reminding me.”

“So this is your place? It’s. . .”

“If the right words don’t leave your mouth, I will gut you.”

The house itself on the outside was simple. A two story house, a light but faded blue color with a dark roof, actually quite the distance from the larger cities and areas that’d usually have crowds and countless buildings. It looked old. Something that had been passed down, for sure.

The interior, in Mark’s defense, was cute. Floral print walls that were slowly yet surely yellowing, dark wooden floors, and a plain white ceiling. It was cozy. Lived in; which was a surprise, considering how often you’d get to work early and stay late into the night. Years on years of memories scattered on the walls. People you don’t mention. Pictures you don’t talk about. Thoughts you don’t think about anymore.

“You live on your own?” He looks around, and there isn’t really any other indicator of anyone besides you living here besides those photos and decorations. Except for what looked like a cat’s food and water bowl, and a bag of what seemed to be really, really expensive cat food. But he’s not sure if a cat counts as a someone.

You’ve never mentioned a cat before. Mark supposes he should’ve known—you seem like a cat person. You have cat themed pens, and occasionally doodle weird looking animals on your reports to annoy Cecil. Maybe those were cats; even if they looked oddly misshapen. He can’t help but zone out as he thinks about it. Cats suit you, he figures. He buries the little fact deep inside his brain for later.

“I have a cat,” The words are nothing but a murmur as you crouch down, looking at the bottom of your couch with a slight furrow in your brow. With a huff, you reach under and pull out a small cat, which blinked as it woke up. “Her name is Apricot.”

“Apricot,” He repeats, testing the name on his tongue as he watches the cat in question purr and practically fall back asleep as you hold her. You don’t seem as jaded as you do when you are working. Fatigued, for sure, but you seem gentler. Softer around the edges. Something he wants to see every day. He’s surprised you’ve come around to the thought of him, enough to let him in.

It was strange. If it had been a month before this, or hell, a week before, you wouldn’t have trusted him enough. Not even enough to tell him your cat’s name.

As he said before. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless.

“Were you hungry when you named her, or?”

“I will let her claw your face off, Markus.”

Your home constantly smells of vanilla and something purely you, Mark comes to realize. There is always an extra carton of strawberries in your fridge thanks to him, and every time he drops by, you let him stay a little later. You let him stay until sunset. Then until the moon is hanging high in the sky, and then until the sun comes back up. It’s like you don’t notice, and if you do, you don’t say anything.

He doesn’t say anything, either. Doesn’t want to. This is something that is meant to go unsaid, Mark decided. It wasn’t every night, but it was definitely frequent enough to notice, even if no one said anything. He’s memorized the main floor of your house—knows the feel of the couch cushions, the smell of your air fresheners, the sound of rain against the windows. It’s something he’d subconsciously etched into his memory. Into the hollow of his bones, really. All the things he doesn’t want to forget.

The sound of both Apricot’s and your heartbeat is cemented into his mind. Mark’s never been much of an animal person, but your cat seemed to be an exception as she purred quietly against his leg.

“Why do you have a whole process for strawberries?”

“Because just rinsing them doesn’t do anything,” You tell him as though he should know, drying off your hands as you leave the strawberries he’d gotten you to soak. It’s become a new piece of your routine. Whether or not you asked, or said no, there’d be a new container of strawberries left on your desk or in your bag.

You couldn’t be annoyed. Not at the fruit, anyway. You usually ended up baking them into something and feeding it to his little brother or Eve, or gave it right back to him just to hear him insist that he share his piece with you.

“I didn’t realize you were a germaphobe.” Mark comments, leaning down to pick Apricot up after she basically tried to crawl up his leg. The joke itself was a lie. You’re a healer, and he’s seen firsthand how particular you are about the cleanliness of your workstation and of the people you interact with. He knows about the little pet peeves that you don’t even know about, the small habits that are second nature to you.

It’s just gotten worse since you’ve let him a little closer. To Mark, it doesn’t matter if you realize how much you’ve come to trust him or not. As long as he can stay in a close proximity, it won’t ever matter. As far as he knows? He’s the only one you’re willing to let invade your space. The one he gets to rant to, even if all he gets in response are mumbles and scoffs—even the taunts and sly remarks you make. He enjoys it. Revels in it, really, and he refuses to have it any other way unless it means getting even closer.

“You’re stressful. Like a toddler.” The words that leave your mouth come out as more of a yawn, and the quiet of your home accompanied by your heartbeat is what peace sounds like to him. “I wish nothing but nightmares and despair on you, Markus.”

“You know you are literally the only person who calls me that. It’s disturbing,” He hums, wandering over into the living room and is secretly delighted by the way you follow behind.

All day, you were working your ass off. Paperwork, Cecil, patients, and a last minute emergency where you had to be out on the field. Healing people with your own two hands seems to drain you, something Mark wishes he’d noted sooner. The solutions you’d made to avoid healing with your hands were depleted, unsurprisingly, with the sudden spike in injuries amongst the heroes.

The amount of times you’d berated people in the last month were too many to count. Still, the insults you would hurl towards his way still amounted to more, and he wouldn’t change that for anything—as dumb as that sounded.

It’s a comfortable silence between you two when you both settle on the couch. Opposite sides, of course, a quiet boundary that Mark couldn’t be bothered to break. Just being this close to you was enough.

At least, that was what he would keep telling himself until it wasn’t enough, and he’d crave more again.

He’d always crave more when it came to you. 

“I’m staying the night,” He rests his head against the back of the couch as he stares at the tv, which wasn’t even on. It wasn’t a question. It didn’t feel like he had to ask anymore, and you never protested. He’d leave if you told him to, but you don’t. Instead, it’s quiet for a few moments, before he can hear you sigh.

“I know.”

Mark can’t help but smile at that, noticing the way you curl up ever so slightly, shifting to get comfortable on the couch as Apricot crawled off of him and onto you. He can’t help but stare for a few moments, even if those moments are something he wants to last forever, and he blinks when you tilt your head to look at him. As usual, it’s blank. Tired, physically and emotionally. You don’t look like this whenever you’re on duty, but it is a look that he’s seen more as he spends more time with you outside of work.

Your heartbeat sounds like peace.

“Go grab the blankets from upstairs, you freak,” You lean your head on your hand as you reach for the tv remote and ignore the way he is seemingly snapped out of a trance. Slowly, he nods and stands up, wordless as he goes upstairs.

There are framed pictures hung on the walls of people. Not people you’ve mentioned before, and probably not anyone you could even remember yourself. They looked old. Aged, despite the moment being timeless and put behind glass and a wood frame to be hung up and looked at by those who could remember them. The wallpaper was somewhat chipped, little pink and blue flowers slowly fading and peeling. Every step he takes makes the stairs creak under his weight, and oddly enough, it feels comfortable.

You keep your blankets folded neatly in your room, on rare occasions. This is, what, the third time Mark’s stayed over? The second time he’d stayed, the blankets were sprawled on your bed, set up in a way you’d probably found comfortable enough to sleep on. He would figure it out at some point. Surely.

You’re still scrolling through movies and shows by the time he comes back down with all the blankets, setting them down beside you on the couch before sitting down next to you. Indecisive on what to put on, or if you even wanted to watch anything as you would doze off.

“What do you wanna watch?”

“Are we friends?”

Both questions come out at the same time, Mark’s voice being quieter than he had originally intended. He can hear the hitch in your breath, sees the way you stop scrolling through mindless television at his question. It’s been a nagging thought for some time, one that’d taken root barely even a month after he had met you a year ago. He wants to pretend that if anytime were a good time to ask, it’d be now.

When your heartbeat is slow and steady, calm and beating. When the creaks in the house have settled, when the sound of Apricot purring soothes the both of you, when he can’t help but feel his fingers twitch with want and feel his chest ache with so many thoughts swarming his head, he just can’t seem to focus on one.

You’d tilted your head slowly, a slight scowl on your face, and Mark can feel a lump in his throat.

He hadn’t felt this type of nervousness since high school—which, admittedly, felt like a lifetime ago after getting his powers, since moving on with his life. It was strange. A creeping feeling up his throat, his spine, his very soul. Down to the root.

“Friends.”

“Friends,” He repeats, nodding slowly. At best, you’d probably call Eve another coworker, Oliver an occasional nuisance, and Mark a constant pain in your ass that refused to leave no matter how much you turned him away.

The quiet that follows makes him want to claw at his throat, and he can feel his cheeks heating up. Whether or not it’s from embarrassment isn’t something he wants to think about right now, because he was certain he’d stopped being embarrassed around you quite some time ago, but it seemed that that wasn’t quite true.

And, again, you sighed.

“You know what? Sure. We’re friends,” You shrug, going back to focusing on the tv after making such a simple statement. As though Mark hadn’t felt like he was going to throw up just a few seconds ago. “Now, what do you wanna watch? Or else I’m putting on those obnoxious sleep noises and wait for a hell playlist to pop up and give you nightmares at like, three in the morning.”

He blinks, mouth opening for a moment before closing, and then opening again.

“Hell. . . Playlist?”

“I can show you. If I have to go through it, you do. I’d have to be smitten by the gods themselves if I didn’t torture you psychologically.”

As if you hadn’t done that enough just by existing, but Mark says nothing. He just laughs—relieved. You were willing to let him just a little bit closer, and that was enough. It had to be enough. Just for now, it was enough.

Until he’d start to crave more, just as he always did.

TAG LIST : @lxluvsmoney @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha @pookiei-bookie @tokoyamisstuff @koilikesthefishy @treeteaofversailles @astrelz @tryingandfailingtowrite @vghjvvhhj

[catboyieejeno]

mingyu + foreplay

18+ minors do not interact!

• kim mingyu, who leaves so many kisses all over your body that you can't get the feeling of his lips off your mind for days after.

“god, i could kiss you forever.”

• open mouthed kisses along your neck and the expanse of your chest first thing in the morning, panting and groaning into your skin and muttering a string of pleas and praises with his little lisp, that’s even more obvious when he’s just woken up

“please let me feel you, need to feel you so bad right now,”

• or at night, dragging you onto his lap fresh out of your shower to wrap a hand around your jaw/throat and kiss your lips slowly and sensually. would drag his palms along your spine to pull you closer, all the way up until his fingers disappear into your hair, the smell of your body wash and shampoo driving him up the wall and making his dick swell up in his sweats

“y’smell so good. fuck, i just wanna taste you,”

• the feeling of his hot tongue dragging across your stomach and thighs is so dizzying that it immediately makes your vision lose focus. he's obsessed with being the reason for that look on your face, eyes hazy and glossed over, drooling lips wordlessly begging him for more.

“mmm, look at you. my pretty baby is fucked out already?”

• makes out with your pussy over the layer of your pretty cotton panties until you're soaked-through and whimpering. absolutely loves when your squirm or try to wiggle away. loves to subtly dance along the line of edging and overstimulation.

“don’t run baby, let me make you feel good. you can take it right?”

• doesn’t abuse his strength, but will use it to his advantage when it comes to sex. keeps your pretty legs pinned open, or your hips rolling against his nose and tongue while you’re sitting on his face, even when you’re so exhausted from coming that you can barely hold yourself up

“I got you, honey. stay just like this f’me.”

• if any if the members are there, he’d cover your mouth with his hand to muffle your whimpers and cries as he rubs your clit with his fingers relentlessly. mind you—a few things can be true at once: yes, he loves the noises you make and would do absolutely anything to hear them as loudly and clearly as possible. yes, he doesn’t actually care if the members hear, nor does he care about the teasing he’ll have to endure later (besides, he knows they can probably hear you either way, despite his best efforts to keep quiet). while those facts are both very true—god, does he love how shy and nervous you get at the thought of being overheard by them, eyes blown wide and brows furrowed as you struggle to keep still and quiet all at once.

“Gotta be good and stay quiet, baby. you can do that, right?”

• loves to tease you before actually putting it in: taps his head against your puffy clit, presses himself to your entrance only slightly, chuckles breathlessly when his tip is so fat that it slips and ends up just laying heavy and hot on your pelvis or poking your thigh instead. slides his dick between your lips until you’ve soaked every inch of him and you’re shaking with need from the stimulation to your clit and the desire to just be filled up.

“be patient, yeah? let me enjoy this pretty pussy.”

• so easily distracted by you… if you were helping him with dinner he’d turn off the stove at the sight of you in your little shorts or lack-thereof, if you’re wearing just his shirt. immediately bends you over the counter and eats you out from the back, face buried in your pussy and hands sliding your shirt up or pinning your wrists together on your back

“forget the food baby, it can wait when you’re wearing those little shorts…”

• pictures. of your tits covered in his spit, of the marks he left on your ribs or thighs, of your spent pussy covered in his cum, of your hands wrapped around his cock, of his hand print on your ass—keeps them in a hidden photo album and jerks off to them all the time when he’s away. sends you videos of him touching himself, audio on.

“m’thinking about you. and looking at our pictures. goddamn… wish i could fuck you right now. i miss you so bad.”

[thehauntedetheral]

hi, how are you doing? If is not a bother can you make a yandere ex fuckboy x insecure reader, she is insecure of his past and the girls he used to stay with before they start dating and is terrified of him cheating on her, that bothers the yandere a lot and he goes to the extreme to prove to her that he doesn't want anyone else.

Hello I am doing well and hope you are doing well too. I hope you like this work.

Yandere Ex Fuckboy X Insecure Reader

Requests are open!

• You were always on edge thinking that your boyfriend is with some other girl cheating on you when he is not with you.

• You love your boyfriend a lot. And he has been an amazing boyfriend to you all the time being caring, protective, sweet, understanding towards you. But his past. His past always haunts you and makes you feel insecure.

• In the past before you two got into the relationship yan was the Fuckboy of your college. Girls always surrounding him and being attracted to him like a moth to a flame as he was tall, good looking, rich and extremely good in bed with his smooth as butter flirting skills and charming personality.

• Some even say that he slept with more than half of the girls in campus.

• But after meeting you this man gets changed for forever. He has never felt something so strong like this for anyone ever.

• He tries his best to court you. Begging to you on his knees to make him your boyfriend. This man becomes a simp when it comes to you.

• But you ignored him knowing his infamous Fuckboy image.

• To get your attention he follows you around like a lost puppy, Spoiling you with flowers, meals, coffee anything you want just please let him be your boyfriend and let him love you.

• Frustrated by his constant chaos you finally give him a chance and say yes.

• He tries his best to be the best boyfriend for you not wanting to disappoint you on the chance you have given him. And true to his words he is a really good boyfriend to you.

• You don't know that this is the first relationship yan ever had. Yes he slept around a lot but never dated anyone. You are the first.

• When he gets to know his love, his darling is feeling insecure due to his past he does all the possible ways to show you that he belongs only to you and no one.

• Wearing tshirts which have things like this written all over it " My girlfriend is hotter than you" or "I love my girlfriend" while walking around the campus showing everyone. If his tshirt doesn't have this written on it then it definitely will be a photo of you printed all over his tshirt.

• Wears the handmade bracelet you made for him 24/7 not taking it off ever.

• Always wears your hair ties on his wrist in case you need it and to show people he is already taken by his beautiful girlfriend.

• Is one of the best player of the college's football team and whenever he earns a goal during the matches he dedicates his goals to you pointing at you and screaming "I love you y/n" infront of the whole crowd.

• By the way he changes his jersey number to your birthday date number showing his jersey back to everyone.

• When a girl from his past approaches him he straight up says "I have a beautiful girlfriend whom I love to death so please leave"

• This man is so in love, committed and loyal to you that it's sickly disgusting for others to watch.

• Everyone thinks you have done some kind of witchcraft on him because he has suddenly became the most loving boyfriend for you from the college's Fuckboy.

• This man would do anything for you to never be insecure again that he would even say this "We can get engaged or even better married if it puts your mind to an ease y/n."

Meanwhile reader : "........"

• This man would kill himself before even thinking about cheating on you and hurting you. The thought of some another girl other than you now makes him nauseous let alone even think about touching them.

• Yan is utterly whipped and in love with you. He would even bring the fucking world infront of your knees if you want.

Let me know what you think about this fic.

Requests are open !

For more yandere reading

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Besotted 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes

Note: Saturday is fat tiddies day. I'm sorry.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"Wow, uh, I'd say that's a lot but it's really not much," you snort at Angelique as she comes out of your bathroom in a tiny string bikini. The leopard print is loud on the tiny triangles barely concealing her tits and a few other parts. 

"Not all of us are nuns like you," she retorts and sticks out her tongue. 

"I'm not a nun," you roll your eyes. 

You're not exactly modest yourself. You like your booty shorts and your cropped tops. And when you're lazy enough, you can be caught walking around in your purple track pants that read sex bomb across the ass. Not exactly classy, but fun. 

"Right, right, sure," she scoffs. 

"That's a low blow," you hiss. 

"Well, it's the truth. What's that now? Twenty-two and you're as pure as the blessed Mother Mary." 

"You're a fucking bitch," you sneer. 

"I am," she grins and shakes her tits. "But the guys love it." 

"You are so dumb," you scowl. 

"Try a smile, babe, and maybe someone will want to get it in." 

"Wow, did you just come over here to be awful?" 

"No, I came over to have fun. Loosen up, have some vodka." She insists. 

"Oh, no, I get it, you came to drink my booze," you accuse. 

"Look, it's hot enough out that I don't need you breathing down my neck. You invited me over," she snips. 

"Regretfully," you tweak your brow. 

"Boo, get you're fucking swimsuit on. I'm dying." She crosses her arms and drags her feet across the floor. She grabs her drink; some strawberry kiwi juice and too much vodka. 

"Why don't you go start?" You ask. "Better than pouting over your drinking problem." 

"Cuntttttt," she growls the last consonant. "Oh, you are the worst." 

"Isn't that why you love me?" You blow her a kiss and skip into your bedroom. 

You better keep up with her so you can put up with her. Vodka and orange juice should do the trick. A little less sickly sweet. You pull out your bikini. The sides of the bottoms are silver hoops and there's another between the bra cups. It's not exactly a nun's habit, is it? Especially with your tits. 

As you come out, you tuck in your left boob, the bigger one. Angelique swirls around her glass before emptying it. It's barely noon. 

"You know, you'll probably be drunk before you even get a tan," you chirp. 

"Probably," she shrugs and spins. "Come on, I'm bored." 

You huff and stomp around her. You pour yourself some vodka then find the carton of orange juice in your fridge. Hm, only enough for one drink. Nice of her to bring mixer for both of you. You dump it in with the vodka and head for the door. 

You grab your sunglasses before you step out into the sunlight. It's blazing hot. You slurp back the orange juice laced with alcohol and look around. You don't have much but it's yours. Somewhat. The sunburnt grass and cracked walkway. That's really the dream home. 

You put down your drink on the folding table under the mailbox and grab the kiddy pool leaning against the siding. Angelique makes no effort to help. You don't expect her too.

You drag it over onto the lawn and go around to unwind the hose. You unwind it and haul it back with you, tugging out the kinks until it reaches the pool. You'd do this all in the backyard but there's too many ant hills. 

You hold the hose and spray it into the plastic pool. As you do, you notice the peculiar dark shape in the next lot; a motorcycle. There's boxes on the other side of the duplex porch. Huh, they must've found a new tenant. 

Angelique pops open a bottle of tanning lotion and generously applies it over her arms and chest. She's shining as she smears it over her sandy skin. You'll put on some actual SPF when you get a minute. 

You wiggle the hose as you grow bored of filling the pool. Your mind wanders. She always has to say something. Always has to embarrass you. Never lets you forget every time you struck out. Well, you're just a little awkward. Maybe you should stop giving a fuck. Like her. 

"Oh, summer feels so good," she struts over with her drink and steps into the pool.

She sits and shivers so her pert tits jiggle. A top like that would do nothing but go missing under your chest. As she reclines and basks in the sunlight, you sigh. 

"Gee, Ang, thanks for all your help." 

"No problem, girly." She smirks and bends her leg, swaying it as you notice the neighbours across the street gawking. The two pot-bellied men who meet up to gripe on their lawn chair. Ew. 

You drop the hose in and go back to the porch. You dip inside for your bottle of sunscreen and come back out. You work at rubbing it in. You'll wait a bit before you get in so it doesn't wash off. It's no Hawaiian coast but that small dented pool is your only relief from the summer heat. 

Angelique swishes her second drink in the glass. You don't think she'd help with your back. She's in her own little bubble. As usual. 

You hear the snap of the door behind the wooden crisscross that blocks the other half of the porch. You glance over at the shadow that passes by. The unit's been empty almost since you got there. No tenant stayed longer than a month. 

The man tramps down his stairs and to the motorcycle leaning on its kickstand. He digs around in the saddle bags then turns. As he does, you catch his eye and give a half-smile. You wave weakly as he keeps going. Oh. 

You blink and look at Angelique. She's completely unaware; of your new neighbour or her audience. Two teen boys pass by in a not so subtle detour from their side of the street. You grimace but they're not looking at you. 

You turn the bottle in your hands. That man. He's kinda handsome, if he is a bit older. His long hair is a mix of fading brown and grey. His beard is seasoned with silver and his blue eyes shine boldly. And his jawline. That's to die for.  

Why had you been so hung up on boys your own age? 

The thought make you cringe. Are you serious? Angelique is right. You're too desperate. 

“Anj,” you approach the pool. 

“If you’re not offering to refill my drink, I don’t want to hear it.” Her eyes are closed behind the dark lenses. 

“Why are we friends again?” You mutter. 

She just giggles and finishes her drink. Nope. If she wants more, she can get it. You spin away and catch sight of that man again. 

Your new neighbour grabs a box from the stack on the front porch. You step up to the property line and smile. He doesn’t notice you as he disappears inside. 

There’s not much. The boxes are dusty, marked with the logos of the local storage facility, and his motorcycle is the only other thing there. He must’ve had the stuff dropped off. 

He emerges again and you wave, “uh, excuse me? Hi. Neighbour?” 

He pauses and his shoulders tense. He faces you slowly. His left arm is covered in ink. The patterns are intricate. His other arm is marked with scars. 

You introduce yourself as you sidle up the property line. He stares. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” You say. He still doesn’t answer. “What’s your name?” 

He looks up then back at you. “Bucky,” he grits out. His voice is sexy. 

“Oh, Bucky? That’s cute,” you say. “Say, neighbour, can I ask a favour? I’ll bring you a casserole for your trouble.” 

He considers you, “don’t gotta do that.” He crosses his arms. His biceps bulge and so do your eyes. He is built. 

“Oh, but I wouldn’t mind, it’s just...” you peek over your shoulder at Angelique as she lazes in the water. The sun beats down on you hotly and sweat beads on your nape. You look at Bucky. “I can’t reach my back.” You show the bottle of sunscreen and smile sheepishly. “Could I get a hand?” 

He grumbles and tilts his head. He looks you up and down. 

“I really don’t wanna burn. It’s so hot out.” You plead. 

Reluctantly he unfolds his arms and comes down the porch steps. He approaches and his chest decompresses visibly as he exhales. He extends his palm to you. You press the bottle into it. 

“Thanks!” You let go and shimmy then turn your back to him. 

There’s a moment before the lid clicks. He still doesn’t speak. You hear the lotion squirt and brace yourself. He smears it, barely touching you. As the lotion only slides over your skin, he sighs. He shifts and rubs it in more firmly. You push back against his strength, arching your back just slightly. 

Your heart races. His hesitance is disappointing. You know you’re not ugly. The reasons you got for your many rejections were that you didn’t want a one-night stand or you insisted on protection. It’s not too much to ask for. You really don’t think it’s your looks. 

“All done,” he says. 

The lid snaps shut loudly. 

You face him, your bikini top stretching dangerous as your chest bounces. His eyes flick down briefly. You nearly laugh. It’s a nice reassurance. 

“Thanks, Bucky,” you smile. 

He grumbles again and hands you back the bottle. Your cheeks are on fire. He’s so hot. He’s got that definition that makes you all fuzzy. You bet he knows exactly what to do. 

“So if you need anything, I’m just next door,” you point to your side of the duplex. “Oh, and I don’t mind noise. At all.” 

He nods. You wring your hands around the bottle. 

“But you know, if you do, I can be quiet,” you say, realising the double meaning only as your words hang between you. 

His brows rise and he dips his chin again. He turns and stalks away. He’s busy. You’re bothering him. You’ll try again when he’s not unpacking. 

Your eyes linger on his bike. That might be good place to start. It’s all harmless. You’re being a good neighbour. 

You go to your own side of the porch and put the bottle on the top step. You go to the pool and poke Angelique with your toe. “Move over.” 

She snorts but gives you room. You get in, arms around the edge, feet up on the other. She giggles. 

“What?” 

“He’s a bit... ancient,” she flips her sunglasses up and gives you a pointed look. 

“Whatever,” you shrug. 

“Even so... he’s in good shape,” she sits up slight, flattening her hands against the bottom of the pool. “Hmmm... maybe you might have a chance with the old man.” 

“You’re such a bitch,” you growl. 

“No, really. Do you think you do?” She asks. 

You furrow your brow and search her face, “why?” 

“Oh, it could be fun. How about a bet?” 

“A bet?” 

“Sure, you know, we’re going down to the beach. Got that old house by the shore and there’s only so many spots. You could have one if you can reel him in. No virgins on vacation,” she taunts. 

“Fuck, I hate you,” you sneer. 

“You love me and I know for a fact, you don’t have a chance of seeing the beach if you don’t come so...” 

You take a breath and peer over as your neighbour swings the door open once more. He’s entirely undistracted as he lifts another box. Your stomach swims with nerves. You can flirt; it’s that next thing you never got the hang over. But so far, he’s not even flirting. 

“Guaranteed?” You arch a brow in her direction. 

“Promise. It’ll give you something to talk about.” She cranes to watch, “you better hope his dick still works.” 

[lvmimis]

cw: this is so goofy. selfship-coded. izuku has a subtle breeding kink (i wrote this what's new). pregnancy mention. condom use. suggestive, minors dni.

you sit warily on the toilet seat, your fiancé right outside the door, and your foot tap tap taps as you wait for the little piece of plastic in your hand to decide your future.

ironically, you don't have the energy for trepidation anymore because you feel like by now you're at this literally every couple of days.

but baby it doesn't feel good?

but don't you want me to feel all of me?

i promise i'll pull out better this time.

just the tip is fine, right?

izuku's outside the bathroom door, giving you privacy as though he wasn't nose deep between your legs just last night, slobbering all over you like a starving puppy presented with a wet meal. for a moment it occurs to you that if you really are pregnant, even if you can clearly handle it financially and emotionally, you'll shove that stick so far up his ass that-

your timer goes off and it's negative.

you sigh.

izuku bursts in at the sound of your voice, immediately uttering a supportive "is everything okay baby?" the shine to his emerald eyes makes you wonder if he actually, deep down, does want you pregnant.

"perfect. no baby."

he grins and kisses your forehead as you adjust your panties up and stand to wash your hands. squishing your cheeks as he has trouble getting his hands off of you, he promises that he'll actually invest in some condoms.

you don't believe him, but you consider making that appointment to your ob-gyn to get an intrauterine device you've been thinking about sooner rather than later.

---

another night comes and he's looked at you like that and he continues to be built like that and you have no choice but to let him do whatever he wants with you, even if it is to drag you not really kicking and not really screaming from your work, going from holding you around your midsection to lifting you up effortlessly so that your crotch is pressed against his face. he sniffs you like an entire dog and you're both terribly embarrassed and terribly aroused by his sheer want for you. izuku is already pressing kisses to your mound through your yoga pants as he carries you to the bed.

"izuku, i still have shit to do!" you argue, but you're holding on tight to his head to keep your balance, as if he would ever let you fall.

"you've worked hard enough," he says, muffled by your legs around his face. "i'm asking politely. may i please have some pussy?"

the fact that he's asking this, just as you land on the bed with a practical bounce is almost offensive. you sit up.

"are you even asking?"

he leans in, grinning as he gets on all fours to descend upon you.

"i mean yeah, of course," he replies, knowing full well that you won't say no as he pulls off his shirt. you shake your head, but your shirt goes over your head as well. he catches your lips in a kiss first, and you sink into the bed under his weight as he practically smothers you in kisses. wet, sloppy, silly, you laugh against each other, groping each other with your hands, and then it occurs to you both at the same time.

condoms.

you pull away, his teeth still grazing at your lower lip.

"izuku, do you have any?"

he blinks for a moment, sitting back on his heels. then his eyes widen.

"yes!"

izuku sounds a little too excited just for condoms, and your eyes narrow, but he practically leaps off the bed and is burrowing through his workbag for something, and you squint, expecting a box.

what he comes up with dries you up so fast you'll need iv fluids.

his grin is wide as he presents to you, proudly, a string of pristine looking condoms, all printed with all might's million watt smile right on the packaging.

"see, i didn't forget!"

a moment of silence passes as you beg the heavens above that your adonis of a partner is not fucking serious about fucking you sideways with his mentor's brand of contraceptive rubbers.

"izuku."

"what?"

"..."

you walk out of the room, immediately, so irate you can't speak.

"WHAT?!" he asks, following you out immediately. "come on!"

there's no way you are coming or cumming anywhere in the next hour. not like this.

you find your seat back at your desk and crack open your hardback textbook as hard as you can, doing your best to ignore the whine his voice has taken. he can actually die of blue balls for all you care.

"come on, it's not that bad!"

you snap your head at him and give him a look, and he immediately recants.

"okay, i'll go out right now and get normal condoms, i promise."

you lick the tip of your index finger and turn the page of your book.

"please, my dick is literally so hard right now, don't you care if i die?"

"perish. let me see," you reply, without turning your head.

"wow!" you can't' help but stifle a laugh at his disbelief. you hear him shift upwards and turn, not even realizing he had been kneeling.

as he stands, you do get a look at his... impressive member. maybe he could die like this, the way that thing is rock hard and waiting desperately for you.

you blink, look at your book, then look back at him. he's looking at you with the puppy dog eyes, and he still looks the way he does and he's still built the way he is, and...

...

moments later, you're folded into a jackknife because your pro hero fiancé somehow always gets his way, but at least, mercifully, his mentor's condom isn't wrapped all over what's pumping in and out of you.

right before your eyes roll back in your head, you can still see all might's smile, and maybe you should have just stuck with the damn pregnancy tests after all.

[copperbadge]

Recently I ran across an article about an art center that was doing creative expression classes for people with disabilities. Not that unusual, I've encountered that and trauma-oriented art therapy before, but it was the first time I'd come across the idea since getting diagnosed with ADHD. While the class was aimed more at high-needs disabilities, it occurred to me that I could -- if I wanted -- make non-prose art about being disabled.

Outside of my work in scene design I've never been much of a visual artist because I've never felt I had the combination of "something to say" and "a meaningful way to say it", but I started to question how meaningful and complex I really had to be to just make some statements about having ADHD. I can do it in prose, after all.

So I started thinking about how you would talk, in visual language, about things like time blindness, shame stemming from undiagnosed disability, the shift in behavior that medication can induce. Ways to express my condition to people who don't experience it. I still didn't really know how to build the pieces but whenever I went to an art museum I'd think about how I might do a gallery installation. The centerpiece of my mental gallery was a pair of barcodes, one marked "Neurotypical" and one marked "Neurodivergent".

[ID: An interior view of a small booklet, with pages marked 1 and 2, showing barcodes -- on the left, labeled Neurotypical, and on the right, in slightly weirder configuration, labeled Neurodivergent.]

And then I thought, why not make a zine? Nothing you're thinking of couldn't be put in zine form instead of on a gallery wall.

[ID: The booklet continues to pages 3 and 4; on page 3 is a postage-style label reading AUTISM with up arrows on either side, and on page 4 is a QR code labeled ADHD. The QR code technically should work but it just dumps a block of text I wrote about having ADHD into a browser.]

I grew up with zine culture in the 90s and I always wanted to make one but much like with visual art, I never felt like I had the right kind of thing to say; either I had too much to say or too little, and anyway I wasn't confident that what I wanted to do wouldn't just come off as trite and obvious. But you can make a six-page zine out of a single sheet of paper, so I did: I made Helpful Labels For Strange Brains by idab zines, a division of Extribulum Press. (i--dab is a term for a cuneiform tablet that contains a royal communication.)

[ID: The last two pages feature the same image -- a cereal bowl with a spoon in it, the spoon containing a single Adderall pill. One image, however, is captioned "Wake up. Pour yourself a cup of iced coffee. Fix a bowl of cereal. It's going to be a good day." while the other is covered in a detailed ADHD-style step-by-step process for the same actions, culminating in "It's going to be a day like that."]

I'm pretty pleased with how it came out -- the art all looks intentional and it still has that "taped this together after school" aesthetic I remember fondly from the 90s. And the confines of six pages, each only a few inches square, offers a good structure to keep things clear, simple, and meaningful.

[ID: The cover of the zine, labeled "Helpful Labels For Strange Brains" in a kind of esoteric stampy font.]

Especially nice is that if you wanted to you could just hand out the flat sheet, and let folks fold it into a booklet or not -- there's instructions for folding it on the back of the zine. Additionally I have some sticker backed printer paper so I could print it such that you could literally turn the labels into real labels.

Anyway if you want it, here ya go. You can print it on a single sheet of paper and follow the instructions on the back to fold it. I thought about selling it but I do not have the spoons to do a bunch of printing and folding and shipping.