#There's a nice foam on top

[da-riya]

Made ice coffee by pouring cold sparkling water with instant coffee and ice cubes

I went insane

[silasbug]

in hindsight, maybe getting platform shoes wasn't the brightest idea. i am going insane with the power that those extra 3 cm give me. i am unstoppable. i will destroy you all.

[tkbrokkoli]

mh

[tipytap]

having adhd is all fun and games until you have to put away laundry

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, yandere, captive reader, dehumanization, patronization, condescension

♡ FEM reader

This is his playroom. It’s got puzzle-piece foam flooring and is filled to the brim with all sorts of different toys—including you. He’s got stuffed animals, pretty dolls, toy soldiers, Lego builds, and a gaming station with all types of fun—and parental safety restrictions, of course, no talking to strangers for you. Your controller is a pretty baby pink, and his a cool camo-green. But today, they’re left on the floor, untouched.

Because today, he only wants to play with you.

“You’re gonna be so pretty…” His voice is as grating as always—synthetically childish, making you grit your teeth. Sitting with you between his legs before the mirror, working diligently.

You look at the floor to avoid your reflection.

He’d gotten you a brand new baby-blue dress and painted you himself—done your eyelids up in matching clear skies, black lashes moth-like and fluttery, cheeks a rosy pink, and lips a sheer gloss extra plump and pretty—no need for tint—you bite them so cutely, they’re already his favorite color. Your hair’s done up in curls and ringlets, so bouncy and soft, beribboned with plentiful white bows.

“This color suits you so well. Makes you look like a cake-topper. Bite-sized. I could eat you right up.” He hums behind you, fiddling with the many intricacies, doing them up perfectly—no rush.

Looking up, the person staring back at you looks no different from a life-sized porcelain doll. Pristine, mint condition, fit to be put behind glass. In your frilly dress, petticoat and stockings. Just like Alice down the rabbit hole.

The only thing that betrays the illusion is the leather collar on your throat and the chain running from it to the middle of the floor. But no matter.

He’s got a giddy smile on his face— chest swelled with pride at his work. You’re his most prized possession. You really are! There isn’t a single toy in this room that can compete with you.

He’s not wearing anything special to match. Bedhead, undressed, still in his pajama pants. Why wouldn’t he be? This is his playroom, after all—his downtime—where he can be a boy with his toy. Though, calling him a boy isn’t exactly right—what with him being nearly in his thirties. Not to mention that he’s about two heads taller than you, with abs like an athlete, toned and chiseled and hard to the touch, hard enough to strain your wrists when he bears down on you. Oh, and that thing in his pants.

You bite your tongue and steal yourself. It would be easy to cry, but he only gets weirder about it then. So you stifle it, even though you look so stupid you want to act like an animal. Tear the dress to shreds and rub your makeup into a mess—scream, bite, spit on him. You’d done all that once before to no avail other than punishments that still keep you up at night. Once was enough. He didn’t play nice with you.

But then again, when does he ever?

“Hmm, think I’m done…” he announces after having dallied with the lace of your corset for a quarter-hour—it’s so tight you have to appreciate every breath. “Time to have some fun.”

He treats you no different from a doll either. Scooping you up into his arms like an inanimate object and carrying off to the princess bed—the one that looks like a girl’s birthday cake with a veil on top, and mountains of pillows all too soft.

He places you down on top of the duvet and it seems to swallow you like an ocean. He dives after, covering you like a fishnet. You take a final breath before he can drown, your hand on his chest, holding him at a distance.

“I was thinking, uhm…” you start, the words coming out odd, barely recognizable as your voice—only noticing now how long it had been since you’d spoken last. “I was…” you restart, but it’s still no easier. His eyes are large and unblinking, staring down at you as though he’s just as surprised as you are to found out you speak. “Hoping we could play… a little differently this time?”

He blinks at the request, having fallen completely still above you.

“Really? How?” The suddenness of his words make you flinch. You don’t know what you had expected—maybe a smile and something dismissive. It had been a while since he’d spoken directly to you like that—and not to himself in absentminded comments about you.

You recover some time, seeing him stare down at you all expectantly in wait. He follows when you guide him into sitting instead of looming over you, putting yourself in his lap—straddling him. “Mh, like this. Maybe?”

It’s a gamble. He’d never had you on top before, nor ever shown an interest in it. Setting aside the time you’d been sprawled on your belly over his thighs, his hand riddled in your hair and his other hand branding your ass with his very own toy company logo.

His expression is unreadable—perhaps a little confused if you were to take a guess.

“Oh!” he erupts with a smile you hope is the good sort. “You mean I play the toy and you the master?” He laughs brightly, falling on his back with a hand over his face, cackling through his fingers as though it were the most absurd proposal he’d ever heard.

But despite his obvious amusement, you still feel it—his toy poking into you from beneath.

He settles after a moment. “Alright then, why not?” Looking up at you—his hair a tousled mess splayed upon the bed, eyes as gleeful as the quirk on his lips. “Who knows… it could be fun.”

He props his arms behind his head, lounging comfortably.

“I did call you a cake-topper, after all,” he snickers. “I’ll lie perfectly still, like a good toy, while you play with me. Sound good?”

You can’t believe how open he was to it. Still a little apprehensive, you nod your head.

And then the game begins…

He doesn’t exactly stay true to his word. But you suppose that would be too much to ask. His head still rests pretty on the pillow with his eyes closed, smiling in satisfaction—for now, sated with your performance. Groaning in absentminded bliss, “You’re right. This is fun~”

But he hadn’t stayed perfectly still like he’d said. He’d reached out when you’d finally begun riding and now his arms keep you snug against his chest, fine-pressed sweaty skin against your frilly bust, more in a lock than a hug. It makes it kind of difficult to do what he wants, but you try your best—knees and toes planted in the mattress for stability as you jerk your hips on his lap. It’s awkward, but riding him like this is still better than the alternative, after all.

You keep your arms around the back of his neck, resting your face in the cradle it creates beneath his chin, panting lowly—eyes closed in focus away from the pain, brows tight with your tongue between your teeth, trying to maintain the rhythm despite the blossoming ache that’s started to spread from your hips down your thighs—another ill sting in the small of your back crawling up your spine. It’s hard staying bent over like this, and your movements are turning sluggish…

There’s a sigh from above you, pitchy and just awful. “Aww, is it really time already?” he whines—previous satisfaction dwindling—bordering on something else entirely now, the opposite and so much worse—boredom with a hint of disappointment—a spoiled child with a toy that’s run out of battery.

You shake your head, burying your face in his neck and tightening your grip, stealing yourself with newfound strength to maintain the tempo you had before while muffling out a desperate, “No, I can keep going—”

He lets out another sound, this time in thought. “Hmm...” It doesn’t give you much confidence—how lax a sound it is—as if he isn’t even close to being spent yet. “I don’t know… You’re so slow. I’m gonna get soft if this is all you got, y’know?”

He starts moving—sitting up. He takes his own hold on your hips, and you know what that means. And you can’t handle being played with, not when he damn near breaks you each and evert time.

“No, wait! I can keep going, please, just a little longer?” you insist, both palms pushed flat on his chest with your round eyes looking at him hopelessly in plead for a second chance—even though you know he isn’t one with the patience to give you one.

He stares blankly back, big-eyed in surprise at your outburst. Though still not convinced it would be worth humoring you. If he was being honest, he’d enjoyed it more than he thought he would but had now had his fill and wanted to take charge as usual and finish the job. However…

Oh, you’re being so uncharacteristically cute today—and that pathetic look of desperation on your face is truly something else…

He smiles deceptively softly, so brightly it reaches his eyes. He very nearly looks innocent like that, but you know him too well—so well that the sight of his lips curling gives you nothing but a churning stomach.

“Okay then, doll. You convinced me.”

Suppose it doesn’t hurt letting you have your way sometimes. You have been on very good behavior lately, after all. He ought to reward you.

“I’ll be your toy a little longer.” He murmurs with a lazy smirk, nose-kissing you—patronizing, as though he’s doing you a big favor.

It doesn’t grant you any peace, and neither does the way he keeps his hold on your hips, rubbing smooth circles into the fat leisurely, letting you know he wouldn't be removing them—it serves as some type of encouragement as you start moving again.

It’s easier now when you’re upright. Holding his shoulders, you can jump rather than buck—up and down, up and down, up and down—it’s simple enough. Or it was for a moment, at least, before he planted your hips down.

“Not like that,” he shakes his head softly. “Like this.” He moves you after his will, wanting you to grind instead—putting you back in square one.

Your movement staggers, and you mask a wince with a moan—fuck, your muscles are so sore, maintaining this movement is enough to make your loins scream, feeling all but set on fire.

With one hand keeping you seated, the other takes hold of your leash and pulls you in close, his lips on the dew of your rouge-dusted cheek—you feel the grin, and like prey threatened by a hunter’s teeth, you shiver in respect of it. “Come on, dolly, ride or die, faster,” he simpers, voice laced with mockery and amusement.

Your thighs are shaking now, tightened up in anguish, begging for a break—soon to take it without your permission. How much you can take reaches a point, and everything goes slack not a second too soon.

“And now you’re done,” he snickers hotly under his breath, planting a kiss on the side of your glossy lips while you exhaustedly and gingerly take your break with a feeling of defeat. He speaks low, and you dread every eerie lick of his words, “My turn to play.”

You want to protest, but you know it’s no use. He’d made up his mind now, and challenging it any further would only turn you into a nuisance—toys are supposed to enjoy being played with, after all—best take it with grace and shut up before he reminds you.

He flips the both of you around with ease, reclaiming his spot—on top. He loves you like this, splayed out beneath him like a puppet—just waiting to have all your strings pulled.

It was good while it lasted, you think—maybe if you get better, you can make him finish and not have to endure what comes next.

“Don’t pout, dolly—that was fun,” he kisses you lips as they start to tremble. “But you suit being my toy so much better.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Denki, Mirio ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo ♡ HQ – Oikawa, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[foldingfittedsheets]

Had to look into this cause I’d actually endorse that topper. Purple has no plans to sell one of course it’s the one good thing about their beds but there was an offbrand one I found that looks a little sketchy but up up the right alley. Search for “gel grid mattress topper” and see if that’ll work.

I had either the pleasure or misfortune of walking into a Purple mattress store with my friend today for funsies, both of us broke as hell and neither looking for a new mattress but wanting to pretend for a little while that we had money in this big touristy outlet mall. And I need you to tell me something awful about these beds because the only thing I could say as we left was "I need to win the lottery." The salesman had us lay on the soft bed (per my preference) and then showed us the adjustable settings and the vibration mode. The pillows alone are like 250 but I don't think I have ever been so comfortable in my life. Please ruin this picture perfect out of budget bed for me. Or at least give me hope that I can find something just as comfy at a better cost once I look to replace my mattress with a new one.

Do you want to know a secret? When your bed is old and broken down almost every bed should feel amazing to you. Because it is new and still functioning as a bed.

Purple is not remotely in the ballpark of what I consider good bang for buck in general terms. For one major reason: they come in a box. Why?? Why compress a luxury bed into a box!? It just degrades the support.

I’ve made my peace with selling Purple and if it were not compressed with the gel grid I’d say they’re a top contender but as it stands I have reservations about their longevity.

[honeipie]

can i request kuroo x reader? they get ready for bed together in the bathroom and then have a little make out session in bed. nothing smutty just some kisses maybe a few hickies if you want 🥰🥰🥰

routine

kuroo x reader

synopsis: you and kuroo take in the domestic feel of getting ready for bed together

w/c: 651

authors note: thank you for the request!

“ugh, i hate that you take longer in the bathroom than i do. you’re such a girl” you groaned leaning on the door.

“well you could always come inside. couples usually do that”

“yeah but you’re peeing. i don’t wanna watch you pee”

“you know, some girls would pay to watch me pee” he flushed the toilet moving over to wash his hands “you’re telling me you get this whole show for free and you don’t even want a peek?”

you opened the door face scrunched up in disgust “i will look down there any other time. but if we’re in a bathroom i’m not” making your way over you grabbed your toothbrush hands brushing as he grabbed his.

“you’ve already broken that. remember that one time on our honeymoon. they had this rain shower that hit just-“

“okay! yes! thank you i remember that. i remember it very well..” he grabbed the toothpaste putting it not only on his toothbrush, but yours as well. this was when he finally noticed your choice of pajamas.

“the hell are you wearing?”

you were dressed in a dark blue hoodie, an all too familiar one to him. on the back it had hinata’s name and jersey number on it.

“.. a hoodie?”

“yeah but it’s not the right teams hoodie”

you rolled your eyes with a smile “tetsu you work for the volleyball association. aren’t you supposed to be rooting for all teams?”

“nope! i work for the japan volleyball association. that’s brazil. plus i don’t like having another guys name on you”

“it’s your hoodie!”

he mocked your words before placing the toothbrush in his mouth. you scoffed giving him a light shove.

“don’t be like that!”

“jush brush your teef” he jumbled out his words through the foam. you started to brush your teeth contently beside him. it didn’t take long before his hand was lazily resting on your waist.

it felt nice. the two of you doing these types of things together. being honest, kuroo never knew if he wanted a life like this. stuck in some routine with a person when he could be out partying in some VIP lounge with his friends. though now that he was actually here with you, the person he loved more than anything, he wouldn't trade it for the world.

the two of you finished up in the bathroom moving into the bedroom. you immediately got under the covers while kuroo shed his shirt throwing it to the floor.

"damn you couldn't even wait for me?" he mumbled climbing right on top of you.

"nope, bed was too comfy to ignore"

"i'm comfy too y'know"

"says the guy laying on me instead of the other way around"

you raised an eyebrow at him making him roll his eyes "shut up" you giggled at his sass. he moved his head up so he was face to face with you "i love you"

"i love you more"

he leaned into your smiling face, catching it in a kiss. it started off slow but he quickly got impatient. you could feel the coolness of his hands running up your sweatshirt. he moved his mouth from yours to your neck.

everything was going smoothly, just tiny kisses being peppered across your neck until-

"tetsu!" you yelped pulling him away "did you just bite me?"

kuroo scoffed trying to fight your grasp "no!.. i nipped you" he took his thumb rubbing the slightly red spot "sorry about that, but at least that one kid from your job will stop hitting on you now"

your body relaxed again feeling him rubbing the spot "he's not a kid, he's just an intern with a lot of questions"

"yeah, a lot of personal questions"

"oh my gosh i forgot to tell you. he asked what i was doing tomorrow and-"

"that's it i'm biting you again"

"but you didn't let me finish!?"

[ink-n-shadow]

youve inspired me to write a fic for ghost.....its gonna be about finger suckin..... i just think hed have some handsome hands

ghost with oral fixation!reader…🤤

i also cannot wait for your fic (you should totally tag me anon)

NICE HANDS

𝜗𝜚 pairing: simon "ghost" riley x afab!reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: smut (minors—DNI), finger sucking, dumbification, oral fixation

because he like wouldn’t really get it at first. he didn’t realize his hands were even considered attractive until you come around, heated cheeks and doe eyes unable to pull away from the way tattoo ink and veins branch up from the bottom of his wrist.

ghost still didn’t really get it until he got you folded up with your knees to your chest one night, one of his hands moving from its bruising place on your thigh to push your cheeks into a lewd pout.

“the lights even on in there?” he chuckled hoarsely under his breath as he shakes your head back and forth a bit, watching your glossy eyes struggling to focus on his with his uncut tip hammering a home against your cervix. “don’t tell me yer that cockdrunk right now, pet.”

you could only offer ghost up the most pathetic sounding mewl, your head tipping to the side just right for your mouth to seek out his thick thumb and immediately wrap your lips around it.

and it was then, with your tongue lapping stupidly at his thumb and your cunt fluttering around his thick cock as you came for the third time, that ghost understood your oral fixation. he doesn’t think he’s ever cum that hard from sex ever.

after that night, ghost puts his fingers in your mouth whenever he wants to. he’s hooking his fingers into both cheeks as he fucks you from behind. he’s gagging you with the ringed fingers on his left hand while his other scissors your gummy walls open. he’s using his fingers to shut you up as he fucks you in the bar bathroom, making sure you reach the second knuckle in order to silence the pathetic noises leaving your mouth.

but ghost is also gingerly swiping away the stray lip gloss that is swiped beneath your bottom lip. he’s wiping off the coffee foam that collects on your top lip before holding out his thumb for you, letting you kitten lick it off as you giggle warmly. he’s letting you keep sucking on his fingers after a particularly draining scene, knowing the action soothes you out of subspace.

ghost didn’t think about it before, but he really has you caged between his fingers—quite literally.

©️ ink-n-shadow 2024

do not copy, plagiarize, steal, borrow, or repost any of my work without my expressed permission

[super-lovely-star]

Summer/Hot Weather Things for Middle Regressors and Dreamers

Make some lemonade and freeze it in molds to make lemonade popsicles. These are super tasty and refreshing after a long hot day!

Water gun or nerf blaster battles with friends. If you’re using nerf or another toy that shoots foam darts, remember to protect your eyes with goggles.

Temporary glitter tattoos! You can get them done at some boardwalks or you can buy a kit online.

Body glitter, now that it’s tank top weather! I bought some at claire’s and it smells like strawberries :D

Just chilling outside in the evenings now that the days are longer. Bring a plushie with you and enjoy the nice weather.

Once it gets dark, you can play games like flashlight tag!

Thrifting summer clothes can be fun and affordable!

Dressing up dolls in summer clothes and swimsuits, or pinning flower hair clips to your plushies’ ears.

Summer playlists! I have to admit I always tell myself I’m going to make one and then forget, but remembering will be worth it.

If you have someone to drive you, take a summer day trip to somewhere you don’t usually go. Now’s a good time for that summer playlist.

Friendship bracelets! You can make kandi, rainbow loom, or traditional woven bracelets and give them to the people close to you.

On that note, miniature friendship bracelets or collars for your plushies.

Make a summer bucket list of all the fun things you want to do this summer, and check them off as you complete them!

Last but not least, remember to wear your sunscreen!

Make sure to keep cool and stay hydrated <3

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Day 24 for @steddie-spooktober, Pumpkin. I'll just finish this hellish month and then write all the good Halloween-y stuff when people already look forward to Christmas. There.

"Oh my god. That's Eddie Munson!"

Steve's eyebrow did that treacherous twitch. Here we fucking go again.

Robin just snickered. "Oh wow. That's like what, the fifth one today?" She didn't even look sorry for Steve, the traitor! She just kept making the coffee order, creating a lovely heart in the milk foam.

The woman who ordered the coffee didn't even bother to try and whisper to her friend. She was squealing and pointing at the unsuspecting rock star who had earphones over his head. "What do you think he's reading? It must be something dark. He has a reputation, you know."

Another twitch in Steve's eyebrow, but he was a professional. It was fine. He could do his job even when annoyed. Maybe.

Robin flipped the whiteboard with their seasonal specials. The other side revealed a meticulously prepared game of Eddie Munson-themed bingo. "Wanna play, Steve?"

He scowled at the board. All of those were classics, the stupid shit people say when they meet a rock star like Eddie Munson.

He took an erasable marker and scribbled X next to the questions, comments and other atrocities he managed to catch.

I wonder if he'll show me that special tattoo if I ask nicely. Check.

I heard he's unforgettable in bed. Check.

People say he has a...you know. A piercing down there. Check.

I don't believe the rumors. A guy like that can't be taken for long. He was made to sleep around. Check.

I wonder what he's drinking. Probably something dark and bitter. Mmm, how mysterious!

"Bingo!" whispered Robin. "Now, as per the rules of this humble establishment, once we have a bingo, you get to go there and be a bitch. Do your worst, oh platonic soulmate of mine. I'll be watching."

Who was Steve to deny Robin one of her favorite hobbies? He fluffed his hair and re-applied his lip oil, arranged some pastries on a kitten-shaped plate and made his way to Eddie Munson.

Eddie was lost to the world, but there was a familiar pattern in Steve's footsteps, one that reverbated through the wooden floor. In a second, Eddie had dropped his book and gave Steve the widest smile. One that he couldn't even conjure up on stage. This smile was only for Steve, and Steve fucking hoped the women noticed that.

Eddie made grabby hands at him, pulling him down into a quick kiss. "Is your shift over, Stevie? Can we go?"

Steve shook his head. "Nah, two more hours to go. Ish. Are you sure you don't want to wait for me home? You must be tired."

"Tired?! Pffft. I mean, yeah, but I want to spend time ogling my boyfriend when he's at his sexiest - covered in flour and sugar. And speaking of sugar..." He glanced at the plate. "Is that for me?"

Steve laughed and set the plate in front of him. "Honestly? Even if it wasn't, those doe eyes of yours would persuade me in a second. But yeah. It'll be Halloween soon, and I was testing out some spooky cookies. Do you like pumpkins?"

Eddie gasped and clutched his heart. "Do I?!"

Steve kissed Eddie on the top of his head and put his earphones back on. In a few seconds, Eddie was back in his own world, book, music and cookies.

In a corner of his eye, Steve saw the two young women, speechless. Robin was serving them their coffees, giddy with anticipation. She'd prepared them in to-go cups, just in case.

Steve stood in front of them, flipped his hair and smirked. "Well, ladies. You've had many questions or guesses, and I'm happy I can answer them. You know. To give you some peace of mind" He nodded to Robin. "The list, Rob?"

Robin glanced at their bingo board. "I wonder what he's reading!" she read out.

Steve nodded and returned to the frozen guests. "The book to end all books. That's what Eddie calls the...uh. Tolkien bible thingy. Silmarillion." He pronounced it gery carefully. "He reads it to me sometimes, when I can't sleep. Works like a charm." He might have smirked at the blush creeping up the woman's face. "Next."

Robin saluted him. "Special tattoo?"

"He won't show it, I made him promise he'd no longer get arrested for public indecency. Besides, it's only me that gets to see it. Next."

Robin fake gagged. "Is he unforgettable in bed?"

"Sure is. He talks to my chest hair. I think they're a couple."

Robin gagged again. "Why...ladies, get better questions! That piercing down under?"

Steve snickered. "Very real. Very...effective." He sneaked a glance at Eddie. Sexy and charismatic, yes, but more importantly warm, happy and home.

In a sing song voice, Robin got to the next point. "Is he really taken?"

"Take a guess," Steve winked at them. Or at least tried to, because the customers were already halfway out of the door with their coffee cups, and a very generous tip left on the counter.

"Aw," muttered Robin. "Shame, I thought these two would last longer. It's been ages since someone lasted the full Munson reverse bingo."

Steve laughed and helped her clean the table. "Would a pumpkin cookie console you?"

"Only if I don't have to hear about your bedroom rituals ever again," she said and reached for a cookie. "Or at least until the end of the shift."

[slvttyplum]

hiii plumalum! can you PLEASE do yoga instructor reader x gojo? i just know you’ll do it justice queen!!

satoru was a close friend and regular client of yours. he came into your studio three times a week, in the back, following every move that you made. thursday was his favorite day. he got to see that sexy pink outfit that showed off all your curves, filling out the outfit as needed. he couldn't help but stare.

he wanted you so badly that he signed up for your private classes—the best thing he could've done. he was up close and personal with you, seeing the way you bent down and stretched yourself, his imagination going wild thinking about the other things you could do. it didn't stay in his head for long, though.

knowing that he had to play the long game to get what he wanted, and so he did, and it worked so well that he couldn't believe it when you were moaning and bouncing on his dick in his penthouse. taking a deep swallow as he stared at you in awe. the pleasure mixed with surprise rushing through his body made him finish fast, but this wasn't the last time he fucked you.

satoru wasn't the only one foaming and drooling at the mouth; you were also looking at him and thinking about the things he could do to you. there was no denying that he was a fine ass man; he had a nice body, a fun personality, and he had money. he was ideal for you, but he was your client. that was wrong. 

that's what you were thinking one day prior to sleeping with him and having the best sex you've had in years. he wasn't only pretty in the face but also pretty in his dick; he gave you exactly what you fantasized about and then more.

pushing you through the matress almost every day while running his hands over your body and whispering how pretty you looked, his words so sincere and soft that it made the sentiment even sexier, making you want him more. his voice was like smooth vanilla, which you wanted to hear all the time.

if this was so wrong, then you didn't want to be right. he felt so good, and he talked you through everything. placing one hand on your cheek as he whispered in your ear how good you were doing and how wet you were for him.

once this started, neither one of you could stop; this started to become a regular occurrence. just as he was coming into the studio three times a week, he was also cumming on top of you three times a week. 

instead of a regular schedule and having clients make sure their cores were tight and getting them right, you were instead doing quickies in the bathroom with your favorite client.

this wasn't something that you planned to happen, but you're glad it did. the sex that you were having with him was off the charts; it had you squirting repeatedly and screaming out his name while the neighbors banged on the door to shut the fuck up. it was great—more than great, more than amazing, actually.

stretching you out more than you ever could in one day. this was what you needed; he was what you needed, and he needed you even more. sliding his hands over your body and even cuddling you to sleep; he couldn't have it any other way, and neither could you. 

what was a client-teacher relationship that slowly turned into fucked buddies and turned into a few years after him proposing to you because he was just that bad? who could blame him?

[cynopoe]

I’m sorry I’m not tripping there definitely is something wrong with this coffee 😭 I deliberately cooked it longer so it wouldn’t foam. It foams. It ALWAYS foams. I mixed the coffee I brought from home with the one I bought from the supermarket here and its both under-roasted and dull and ALWAYS foams! I suspect there is some sort of chemical in it to get that foam. I watch as the coffee gets roasted and grounded at home and it never foams that much especially after a while so I know that’s not the problem.

There is something so sinister so evil about this coffee

[sanguineterrain]

professor pretty | charles xavier

Summary: You duck into a pub to escape a creep. Just when you've lost hope that you'll get to go home at all, a pretty-faced professor comes to your rescue.

Pairing: young!Charles Xavier x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings/tags: creepy guy intimidating reader, charles to the rescue, flirting, drinking, professor!reader, i tried to make it accurate to an english university and make him English but if there's any mistakes feel free to lmk.

this is a modern au in that movie canon is the same but they have cellphones here bc it's easier lol

the divider

There’s a man at the back of the pub, in a scary leather jacket and combat boots, and he won’t stop staring at you. 

Instinct tells you that he’s not going to let you leave either. 

You noticed him after you left the school. That’s what first pushed you into this pub across from the university. Now you’re parked on a stool. You really want to go home, but instead you’re sticking close to the frazzled barman who’s managing about thirty first years who are just jazzed about the new school year. 

You’ve ordered a pint, even though you’re not really a beer drinker, but when in Rome and all that. You’ve had about two sips. 

You sneak a look over your shoulder. The man is still there. Fuck.

“Could I have another pint, please? Cheers.” A man leans against the bar top, hand running through his light brown hair as if on instinct. You’ve seen him once this week, at the university, when you were trying to get your own classroom set up for the term. 

You don’t know his name or what he teaches, but you do know that he likes the poofy-haired, off-duty secretary in the red dress that came in about an hour earlier. And she seemed to like him back. You’re surprised he’s still here.

You rest your chin in your hand, watching detachedly as he orders. He’s got a nice smile and even nicer manners. Posh. Probably a jerk. 

“Hello.”

You look up. Professor Pretty Boy is standing closer to you, blue eyes warm. His smile fades as you look at him.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, brows knitting in concern.

You sigh. “Yeah, great.”

The last thing you need is another guy screwing up your night. Even if this one is considerably better looking.

He rests his elbow against the bar top and pushes his finger against his temple. 

“Is someone bothering you?” he asks after a moment.

Your eyes widen. “How did you–?”

“I recognize the look. Fella in the corner, yeah?”

His words make you tense. You sneak a look back. The man is still there, though he’s now on the phone. 

“I think he’s going to follow me home if I try to leave,” you whisper. 

His eyes soften in concern. You watch him watch you. Then he seems to make a decision.

“I’ll be right back. Stay here, alright?”

He heads straight for the creep. You watch, slack-jawed, as your unsuspecting knight in a crisp, white button-up says a couple words to the man. Then they go outside. 

You turn around, guilt washing over you. What if he gets hurt?

Well, so what, says another part of you, it’s not like you told him to confront the guy.

But your knight returns in thirty seconds, every hair in place. He gracefully slides onto the stool next to you and takes a gulp of beer. Foam gathers on his upper lip. You can’t help your disbelieving smile.

“You’ve got…” You gesture to your mouth.

“Ah.” He takes a napkin and wipes his mouth, avoiding your gaze. Is he flustered? 

“There’s just no dignified way to drink a pint, I’ve learned,” he says, clearing his throat. He smiles at you, less rakish and more bashful. 

“How did you do that?” you ask. “He must’ve been there for half an hour.”

“Hm? Ah, well, I politely explained that that sort of behavior isn’t tolerated here, and that I was very happy to call the police.”

Your brows rise. “Wow. He seemed determined to stay.”

“I can be very persuasive, I’ve been told. Oh! How rude of me.” He sticks out his hand. “My name is Charles. Charles Xavier.”

You shake his hand. It’s cool and soft. You tell him your name. He repeats it softly.

“It’s very nice to meet you, though I wish we’d met through better circumstances,” Charles says.

You nod. “Me too. But thank you, seriously.”

“No thanks necessary. Men should let others live in peace.”

“Words of the century,” you say, raising your glass.

“Cheers,” Charles says, clinking your glasses together. 

You both take a drink. You’re considerably more relaxed. And no, you’re not really Professor Xavier’s type, but you like the company. At least for tonight. 

“So, are you visiting?” he asks. “Pardon my saying, but you don’t sound…”

“Like you?” You playfully raise an eyebrow.

His eyes widen. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ve only been here a week, actually. I took a teaching position at the university.”

“You don’t say! I teach here too. What are you teaching? Wait, no, let me guess…”

Charles squints in concentration, putting his hand to his forehead. “Hmm… ah! Women’s literature?”

You shake your head. “You’re on a roll, seriously. I’m in awe.”

Charles waves you off. “You’re too kind. I’m just perceptive.”

And there’s a pinch of something in your gut, something that tells you that it’s more than good perception. But you don’t detect any malice in Charles. In fact, you feel nothing but kindness and genuine interest emanating from his gaze. 

“Well, let’s see if you’ll go two for two. What author am I teaching first?”

Charles smiles at you knowingly, and you’re sure he’s about to say it.

“Oh, I haven’t a clue. Hmm… Ms. Austen?”

You laugh. “No, I’m very sure that the students at Pembroke have gotten their fill of Austen in their A-levels. Do you give up?”

He grins. “Yes, I do. Tell me all about it, please.”

“I didn’t peg you for a quitter, Charles.”

“I know when I’m beat,” he says softly, and the tips of his fingers touch yours. 

To your surprise, you don’t pull away, even though getting involved with a professor your first week would be bad.

But there’s something magnetic about him.

“I was thinking I’d teach The Haunting of Hill House.”

Charles raises his brows. “Horror? My, my. Quite a first impression. I like it.”

“Got to make it memorable, don’t I?”

“I don’t think you’ll have trouble with that,” he says. Your face warms under his incessant charm. “You’ll get on fine here. I’ve been teaching for a few years. My sister keeps pushing me to find a place in America, but I have a hard time letting go of the familiar.”

“I bet you’re popular here,” you say, and Charles immediately catches onto your meaning.

“Heh, well…” Charles purses his lips mischievously. “Ahem. I try to make the course engaging, especially since I teach graduate courses. But I’m a homebody, truly. It’s my sister who pulls me out here, and one thing leads to another, and I get to meet lovely new lecturers with impeccable literary taste.”

You turn and focus on your all but abandoned beer, tracing shapes into the condensation and hoping you’ll get some reserve back.

“Does this charming routine work on everyone?” 

Charles laughs. “Actually, my routine is something like, um…” 

He leans in, half-lidded. “I have all the time in the world for a darling with the TCHH gene. You would call it curly hair, I call it a mutation. A most alluring mutation, mind you—you see, mutations are what took us from single-celled organisms to the dominant form of reproductive life on the planet. And being that it’s my field of study, and I take my studies very seriously, I would love to explore what other genetic wonders you’ve been gifted with.”

It’s quiet for several moments. Then you begin to giggle. Charles schools his expression, feigning indignance. 

“And what’s so funny?”

“You’re not serious,” you say. “Does that really work?”

“I don’t know why you’re laughing—it has a nine out of ten success rate,” Charles says, sticking his nose up. “People like genetic facts.”

“I think they like your pretty face more than the facts, Professor.”

You wince as you realize what you’ve said. Charles pounces immediately.

“Apologies, I can’t hear you very well in this loud pub… did you say my face is pretty?”

“Oh, put a sock in it,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Like you don’t know.”

That draws a full laugh from him, face scrunching in delight. You smile back, shaking your head.

You check your phone out of habit, feeling like it’s been a long time and… holy hell! 11:46. You curse, scraping your stool back.

“Dammit, dammit. I’ve got a lecture tomorrow morning! I’m so sorry, Charles, I have to go.”

You hadn’t meant to stay so long, but the stranger had frightened you, and then you’d met Charles, and…

But you stop short upon seeing the door because of the terrifying thought of the stranger waiting outside for you.

Charles must sense your hesitance. “I can drive you home.”

“Oh, it’s fine. I’m only a ten minute walk away,” you say, but it’s weak.

He puts a hand on your back. The touch is fleeting, but he’s warm through your shirt. 

“Then I’ll walk with you. I love walking. And the rain will come soon—got to take advantage of clear nights.”

You look at him. He already has his coat. You suddenly remember the woman he’d followed to the back table. 

“Are you sure? Didn’t you have a…”

“She wasn’t interested,” Charles says, back to his perceptive ways. His gaze is fond. “I’d rather walk with you, anyway.”

“You’ve already charmed me, Charles,” you say as he walks you out of the pub.

“No charm,” he says simply, holding the door for you. “Just being honest, darling.”

You feel infinitely better on the way home. Charles keeps your spirits high, providing you with endless advice and assurances for your new job. 

You go up the steps, taking out your key to the flat. 

“Look, um…” 

You stop and turn. Charles follows you up. He starts to touch your arm, then stops. He straightens his tie instead.

“If you see that man again, or someone like him. Someone who doesn’t look right. Promise you’ll tell me, alright? You can reach me on my mobile any time.”

He hands you a card. Charles Xavier, Mutant Expert. Huh.

You look at him, fear returning. “Do you think he’ll come back?”

Charles shakes his head. “No, he won’t bother you. But if… I don’t know. Never mind. No, I’m worrying you. I’m just making you paranoid. Forget that.”

You shrug. “You’re keeping me safe. I like that.”

Charles chews the inside of his lip for a second. Then he leans in and kisses your cheek. You inhale sharply. 

His thumb lingers on your jaw before he pulls away completely.

“Good night,” he says, pupils dilated in the dim light. 

“Good night, Charles. Thank you.”

“Any time. And if you just want to go for a pint, that number isn’t just for emergencies.” 

“Are you that sure of yourself?” you ask, hand on your hip.

“No.” He smirks. “I just happen to be very perceptive.”

[nomazee]

“This is unnecessary.”

At Blade’s snide comment, you pull sharply at the strands of his hair in your hands. He grunts in displeasure before obediently quieting down, only a little scared of you scalping him if he annoys you any further. 

Perched behind him on the couch while he sits on the floor, your hands find themselves coming through his hair (long, smooth, untangled despite the fact that you’ve never seen him take a brush to it). Your efforts to part his hair with just your fingers are fruitless. His hair is thick on the top, so much so that you’re surprised his neck doesn’t constantly ache with the weight of it. Your hands pause, resting on the top of his head while you try and figure out how you’ll style it. 

“Be nice,” you warn, two hands on the sides of his head tilting it from side to side, treating him as a foam mannequin on which you can project your very thorough cosmetology skills. “Your fate is quite literally in my hands. I could knock you out and shave you bald very easily.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he says earnestly, and you can’t help the way your lips twinge into a smile. “This is clearly a hassle. My hair looks fine the way it is.”

“It does,” you admit, “but wouldn’t it be nice to try something new? And at no cost to you, aside from mild scalp pain. I’m good at hair. I did Kafka’s that one time.” You fail to mention that it was only one time for good reason. Kafka said that you handle hair the same way a lobster would handle a violin—that is, with clumsy hands and a clear lack of refinement. She had to hide every pair of scissors from you in fear that you'd give Silver Wolf microbangs.

As if on cue, your fingers get caught in an unexpected snag in Blade’s hair, and you pull and tug and yank as if expecting it to untangle on its own. Blade hisses and reaches a hand back to smack you on the wrist, turning around to glare at you. 

“Watch it,” he orders, gentle but firm. There’s not enough heat in his words to scare you, and his eyes are a particularly beautiful shade of copper in the dim, flickering light of this dingy lounge room. Whatever you say, beautiful, you think to yourself hysterically. 

After a few half-willed apologies from you and some nudges of encouragement, Blade finally relaxes enough to turn back around and tilt his head back in your lap, letting your fingers play with his hair nonsensically. A braid, you decide, would look quite nice on him. One long one down the back. If you had ribbon, you’d use some to tie his hair, but all you have is one of Kafka’s tragically thin hair ties. 

“It’s a nice color,” you comment absentmindedly, pretending that you can’t see the way Blade’s eyes have shut in contentment at your gentle prodding. “It changes in the light a little bit. It looks very blue now, but I’ve always thought it was black.” You section his hair off into three pieces, loosely laying one over the other over and over again. The aged gold ornament still hangs securely in his hair, and you don’t do anything to move it. It suits him. 

“It’s natural, if that’s what you’re getting at,” he tells you, the slightest twinge of a joke in his voice. It plays at your smile and at your heart, too. 

“You say that now, but you’ll be scrambling to come up with a lie when I find box dye in your bag.” 

He only hums in response, reluctantly enjoying the feeling of your hands on him—they’re gentle, and you can imagine he’s not quite used to this. It’s an addictive feeling, to have him at your mercy, even with just your hands in his hair. There’s trust, unspoken, lingering warmly in the air and settling like condensation on your skin. You could very easily do a number of things that would hurt Blade—kill him, almost. You’ve only ever thought of it a few times, and those were all a very long time ago. 

You don’t think of it that often anymore. All you’re paying attention to is Blade and the splitting ends of his hair and how nice he’d look with a red ribbon tied in. 

“We should go shopping,” you tell him, voice close to a whisper now. You’ve secured the end of his braid already, and your handiwork is admirable. The strands are neatly crossed over each other, uniform in size with each other as they taper down into the end. “Some clips for you would be nice.” Absentmindedly, you comb through the layers of hair near his face, digging your fingers gently into the sides of his face and scratching at his scalp. 

“And where exactly would we go shopping? We’re not exactly upstanding members of society in some people’s eyes.” 

“Then I’ll make clips for you,” you say, a naive kind of dedication in your tone. “I used to work with metal, a little bit. I could make jewelry. Ornaments for your hair. I’ll put a ribbon in next time.” 

“What makes you think there’ll be a next time?” Blade asks doubtfully, in steep contrast with the way he lets your hands roam along his scalp, and the way his head leans back into you as if he’s comfortable. 

“You’re a loyal customer,” you quip, “you’d never let somebody else do your hair when you have me as a dedicated stylist.” 

“I’m your only customer.” 

“I know,” and in a moment of weakness—because at the end of the day that’s what you are, weak, malleable and moveable when you’re with Blade like this—you lean down just a little bit, pressing a stupid clumsy kiss on the crown of his head. Your fingers trail down to trace the bumps of the braid, the divots and grooves in it, made by your hands, and yours alone. “That just means I can put all my effort towards you alone.” 

“You shouldn’t.” And he means it when he says that, and it hurts you, puts a sickly pang in your chest that you want to reach for and tear out before it grows into something worse. 

“But I will,” you tell him. Blade is stubborn, but not stubborn enough to keep it up. Not now, not here, not when the overhead lights are flickering and making his hair look just a little bluer, illuminating the warmer ends of his hair, glinting off the metal ornament still clipped into it. He rests between your hands, still sitting on the cold floor, pretending that he isn’t falling asleep with you like the fool he secretly is.

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

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[peachesofteal]

18+ noncon, Simon drugs you/her, somnophilia

Girl who takes herself to her favorite coffee shop on the corner to post up with her laptop and a latte.

They serve them in those big ceramic mugs she likes. The white ones that seem so wide you could take a bath in them. Filled to the brim with an unbroken layer of foam on top, she always appreciates when the barista takes the extra time to draw her a quick little design. Makes her feel seen, special, almost.

She always sits a corner, headphones in, typing away on whatever it is she’s working that week, barely away of the comings and goings around her.

She doesn’t notice anyone, and no one notices her.

It’s perfect, really.

Until one morning when she attracts the wrong kind of attention.

It starts with the cup being just a tad too full, balancing on its saucer, ceramic trembling in her fingers. The shop is busy, and someone at the long table in the middle fails to look over his shoulder, sliding backwards in his chair to stand. Hot espresso and milk splashes down her chest, her shirt, and she gasps, sizzling pain shocking the breath from her body.

“Oh shit,” the man starts, turning to face her, hands out and frantic. It’s quiet now, eyes in the room fixed on her, watching, waiting, expecting a civilized reaction. They want her to say ‘oh that’s alright, it was an accident’ or ‘no harm no foul, it happens’ something like that, effectively releasing the burden of shame hanging over the perpetrator.

But, alas. She’s not the one.

“Oh shit?” She rolls her eyes. “You just made me spill my fucking coffee all over myself, and your response is oh shit?” If it was quiet in the coffee shop before, it’s pin drop worthy now.

She expects the man to back down. To cower, start stuttering a profuse apology. That, or the other option, the one where they get defensive, enraged, emotions running wild at the idea of being challenged.

The man does neither of these things. He crosses his arms and cocks his head, sizing her up like he forgot to eat dinner last night and she’s his next meal. The hair on the back of her neck stands up. “Are you going to let me finish, little spitfire?” Jesus Christ. She shoots him the nastiest glare she can conjure, then turns on her heels.

Fuck that guy.

Simon likes himself a little spitfire. A little piece of c4 in his hand, his finger on the trigger. Likes a girl with fight in her, one that scratches, that yells.

His cock aches thinking about how she’d howl under him, face screwed up with rage, salty, sweaty slick pooling between her legs. He’d jam his thigh right in that spot, and order her to rub her pussy against the grain of his jeans until she was cumming on them. He wants to hear her gag on his finger as he scratches her tonsils with it, pressing down on her tongue, forcing her teeth wide, testing.

So, of course, he does the thing he knows he’s not supposed to do. He’s got some time, some leave, plenty of time to hunt his prey and set a snare, a rope around her ankle, stringing her up like a pretty precious offering.

She’s got a nice home. It’s small, one story, windows open with the breeze. The curtains wave with the wind, exposing slivers of her living room, kitchen, bedroom. She putters around the house for a while before the lights go dark, noise of the street enough to drown out the sound of his knife surgically cutting an opening in a screen.

Once the window is open, it’s over. There’s no match, no matter how explosive she is, there’s no him vs her. It’s just him, with her underneath, throat clogged by his cock.

Probably not tonight. Tonight, he’s going to peel her free from the top sheet and jab a needle into her ass to push diprivan, enough to keep her loose and sweet, trapped in sleep long after he leaves. She’ll be more than groggy when she wakes again, chalking it all up to some sort of dream.

She takes it so easy too. Doesn’t fuss. Barely stirs when he rubs a hand over the fat of her hips, squeezes the flesh for his needle. She gasps in her sleep, brow furrowed, listlessly drifting away.

The first thing he does is roll her to her back. She sleeps naked, a pleasant surprise, muscles soft as he pushes her knees to her chest, exposing her cunt to his hungry eyes. He’s only supposed to look, to inspect, but he can’t help pulling a glob of spit from his cheeks to the tip of his tongue, letting it drip down in a long drop, oozing onto her clit.

“Pretty pet.” He murmurs, gloved finger stroking through her folds, fingertip barely pushing against her hole, sliding down to feel the tight furl between her cheeks. “Perfect little holes f’me, eh? Tight little things you’ve got.” Maybe she’s never been fucked before. Too much acid in her blood to bend or break for anyone. He buzzes with the idea that no one has ever had a cock, or anything, inside her, and spits again, this time a bigger wad, bubbles and all, thick and viscous. “Let’s check little spitfire.” He presses inside her, working his finger in easy strokes, feeling her walls, the heated clutch of her cunt. There’s resistance there, a flimsy, thin barrier separating him and the rest of her, his chuckle dangerous in the dark. It’s tempting to take it right now, but he’d rather watch her face when it happens so he can see the moment she realizes, when he ruins her, when he rips through her purity and makes her his own.

He unzips his pants, fisting his cock, precum already beaded at the tip and dripping, coating his palm as he pumps. She moans, like she knows somehow. It’s a high pitched, breathy thing, one that rattles his bones. He answers with a thumb on her clit, pressing, circling, still stroking himself, indulging in her shudders, the jerking of her legs as she she climbs to her climax.

He wants it at the same time. Wants to paint her pussy with his cum when she explode into hers, wants to do it together. As he gets close, he works both himself and her furiously, waiting for that moment when her muscles will go rigid and her pussy will flutter.

When it hits, he follows, white spend shooting up over her belly to her breasts, almost too much to be believed. It’s a mess, really, and he doesn’t want to leave her like this. Too obvious.

He takes his time licking her clean, filling his mouth with his own cum, holding it against his teeth, under and over his tongue. He breathes through his nose until he’s satisfied he got it all, and then sticks a thumb between her teeth, prying her jaw wide-

so he can spit it, drool it, into her unsuspecting mouth, letting it drip to the back of her throat, white sticky load of spit and cum coating her tonsils, her teeth, her tongue.

See you tomorrow.

[literaila]

i suddenly thought of this:

satoru, a 6'3 man, probably lays down on top of reader...

“satoru, get off,” you say, but it sounds more like a bad receiver. you basically can’t breathe.

“sorry?” he hums. “did you say something?”

“i’m going to—“ a puff of breath and your hands trying to push him off. “die.”

“but you’re so comfy. like a memory foam mattress.”

“was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“why are you so warm?”

“i won’t be warm when i die from suffocation.”

he lifts his head to look at your face, your glaring eyes and flushed face. “you look like you’re breathing,” he adjusts himself so his head is against your chest. “oh, yup! there it is.”

“my impending doom?”

“your heart. healthy as a horse.”

“you just keep insulting me with these comparisons.”

“you’re a proudly bred mare. the prettiest of the… band? stable?”

“herd,” you say, huffing again. “now i’m actually going to die out of spite.”

“a dramatic horse,” he adds, pretending like he isn’t actively plotting against you.

“make sure to move my corpse off the couch. i don’t want the kids to see me dead.”

“if you die, i’m dying with you. megumi could probably get his dogs to eat us”

“that’s disgusting,” you say, laughing just a little. “don’t talk about that.”

“you’re the one who brought it up.”

“cause you’re crushing me!”

“but isn’t that a nice way to go?”

“i’ve already planned my death,” you tell him, trying to pull his hair. but he’s got your hands pinned. “i’m going to be executed after i murder you.”

“uh-huh,” he hums, nuzzling his nose into your neck. “let me know how that goes.”

“satoru,” you whine, but you’ve given up the fight. “you know you’re basically a giant, right?”

he shakes his head against you.

“a giant psychopath,” you add, “with tentacles for hands.”

“should we test that out?”

“shut up. get off of me.”

“ahh, can’t hear you. i’m sleeping.”

“oh great,” you deadpan. “it’ll be so much easier to kill you in your sleep.”

he pretends to snore, but you can feel his teeth against your neck as he grins.

“you shouldn’t let your guard down around me, you know?”

“i think this would be a nice way to die,” he says, instead of answering. “as long as you’re the one murdering me, of course.”

“oh, of course.”